End Me a Tenor (17 page)

Millie continued to stare at me instead of her food, so I added, “I admit that having another member of the cast murdered worries me a bit.” More than a bit, but who was counting? “I promise I’m being careful. I even asked Mike to come to tonight’s concert on the off chance something bad may happen.”

“You arranged for Mike and Devlyn to be in the same room?”

Yikes. I hadn’t thought about that. Mike and Devlyn weren’t known for getting along. Not only did Mike know and disapprove of Devlyn’s sexual secret, both men felt the need to be contrary to any male I might feel an attraction to.

“My students’ safety is more important than macho male posturing. They both know that.” And if they didn’t, I’d make them well aware of it by night’s end.

Aldo slid into the seat next to Aunt Millie and gave her a wide smile as she finally began to eat. While we scarfed Aldo’s gourmet breakfast, I gave Millie a brief rundown of last night’s successful rehearsal and then redirected the conversation to what Millie had planned for the day. As we finished our meals, my aunt happily discussed her desire to buy out the North Shore stores.

Once our plates were stashed in the stainless steel dishwasher, Aldo headed upstairs to try the new skin treatment Millie had devised to de-Smurf him. When he was gone, my aunt turned to me. Her eyes were steely as she asked, “Okay, tell me. What’s your plan?”

Plan? “What plan?”

She gave me the Look. When I was a teenager, it made me feel as though she could see not only my open pores but deep into the recesses of my soul. “Paige Ellen Marshall, do you for one minute believe I think you plan on doing nothing while a madman or -woman is eliminating members of the
Messiah
?”

“The police are working on catching the killer.”

“Without much success.” She cast a furtive glance at the hallway and lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to talk about this in front of Aldo; he’s the artistic, sensitive type. The idea of you going toe-to-toe with a lunatic would have his blood pressure skyrocketing, but I don’t see how you have any other choice. The killer could come after you next.”

So much for not worrying my aunt.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and took a hit before admitting, “You’re right. The cops are doing everything they can, but I don’t want to wait for the murderer to knock on my door. I’ve been researching people I think are on Detective Frewen’s suspect list, and the poison used to murder David Richard.”

“How can I help?”

An instinctive refusal sprang to my lips. Discreet wasn’t in my aunt’s vocabulary. If she started nosing around this case, the murderer would know. Then Millie would end up in the line of fire. My stomach went squishy at the thought of Millie being hurt or worse.

Unfortunately, the look on my aunt’s face spoke volumes. She was not going to take no for an answer. If I didn’t accept her offer of assistance, she’d “help” in her own way. If she worked with me, I could do my best to limit her visibility. And, I had to face it: Millie had contacts all over the city. I was betting she had a source inside the Northwestern music department who could dish up the dirt on Jonathan and David’s working relationship.

Resigning myself to Millie’s assistance, I asked about her Northwestern contacts. Without missing a beat, Millie pulled out her phone and dialed. I glanced at the clock on the microwave and cringed. If someone called me before eight in the morning, I’d cheerfully tell her where to shove her phone before I hung up and crawled back into bed.

Whoever Millie contacted must not have shared my aversion to early morning wake-up calls. After a discussion of the weather—yes, it was cold—and a small chat about the perfect concealer for tired eyes—because tracking down a killer couldn’t get in the way of a sale—Millie asked the person on the other end of the line if he would be willing to meet and talk about Jonathan and David. After several “uh-huh”s, Millie hung up the phone with a smile. “Jack will meet us for breakfast in a half hour.”

“We just ate breakfast.” If I shoveled any more food into my stomach, it would explode. As it was, my pants were feeling uncomfortably snug.

Millie laughed. “We’ll order something and push it around our plates. Jack won’t mind. He equates dainty eating with ladylike behavior. It was one of the reasons I stopped dating him. If I order a steak, I want to eat every juicy bite. Dainty be damned. Still, Jack loves to gossip. That makes him perfect for this little project. Now, excuse me. I need to make myself presentable. Meet you at the car in ten minutes.”

Making myself look presentable included fluffing out my hair and dabbing on pink lip gloss. Millie’s version involved pink rhinestone-studded stilettos, a tulip-style pink skirt, and a formfitting white sweater with a neckline that left little to the imagination. She’d also bejeweled herself with dangly diamond-and-gold earrings and a teardrop diamond necklace that sat in the crease of her very ample and exposed cleavage. On anyone else, this breakfast meeting ensemble would look a little silly. On Millie, the sparkles and tight-fitting top looked absolutely right.

From the way Jack’s eyes bugged out, it was obvious he thought so, too. The man was tall with wavy black hair streaked with silver that perfectly matched his tailored suit. Out of our trio, I was definitely the underdressed one.

Once introductions were made and breakfast (ugh) ordered, Millie got down to business. “Jack is a Northwestern alum. He spends a lot of his time fund-raising for the music department. Something he excels at. He’s even talked me into writing a check.”

“And I plan on getting you to write another one.” Jack winked at my aunt and then turned his brown hound dog eyes on me. “I was a business major, but I have a great appreciation for the School of Music. My daughter is currently attending Northwestern, majoring in piano performance. Her senior recital is scheduled for March. You should come hear her play.”

“That sounds lovely, Jack. You’ll have to remind me when the date gets closer.” Millie leaned forward, giving Jack a great view of her chest. “My niece is one of the soloists in the sing-along
Messiah
. I bet you were just as shocked as we were to learn David Richard was murdered.”

Jack’s expression turned serious. “David Richard’s death was a tragedy. I’m assisting in arrangements for the memorial service. We’re waiting until January, when the university is back in session.”

“What kind of teacher was David?” I asked, as the waitress set a plate of silver-dollar pancakes in front of me. Just looking at the food made my stomach groan. Still, I picked up my fork, poked a pancake, and said, “I only met David once, but I didn’t get the impression he was easy to get along with.”

“The man was a royal pain in the ass.” Jack cheerfully sawed at his breakfast steak and popped a piece into his mouth. He spoke while he chewed. “And from what I’ve heard, David wasn’t much of a teacher.”

I ignored the view of partially masticated meat in Jack’s mouth and asked, “Then why did he accept a guest artist position when it was offered to him?”

Jack shook his head and shoveled more food. “He wasn’t offered the job. He asked for it.”

My fork clanged against the side of my plate. “Why?”

“The dean said it was because David loved the city and was compelled to give back to the next generation of singers.”

“You don’t believe that?” I asked.

Jack slathered an English muffin with butter and grape jelly before taking a big bite. “The man canceled half the lessons he was scheduled to teach and was late to every one of his master classes. Teaching was the last thing David Richard wanted to do.”

“So why was David Richard really here at Northwestern?” Millie touched Jack’s fork-free hand. He promptly turned three shades of red and started to choke. Millie didn’t blink. She just leaned over and smacked him on the back—hard. The momentum pitched him toward his plate of food. Before I could react, Millie stopped his forward movement and pushed him back in his chair a split second before his nose made contact with his steak. Looking serene, Millie picked up her coffee cup and took a small sip. Clearly, the agility classes she was taking Killer to had rubbed off.

Jack cleared his throat and looked down at the table as though wishing it would swallow him whole. When the table didn’t comply, he picked up his fork, straightened his shoulders, and did the next best thing to disappearing—he pretended the embarrassing event had never happened. “What did you ask again, Millie?”

My aunt gave him a sweet smile. “If David Richard didn’t like teaching, why was he at Northwestern? He must have had hundreds of other opportunities to choose from.”

“He did.” Jack resumed eating. “At the two fund-raisers I got him to attend, David told anyone who would listen about the opportunities he gave up in order to take the one-year guest artist position. London, Rome, Tokyo, New York. He put them all on hold so he could help discover the next great opera singer. At least, that was the way his public relations team was spinning it to smooth out the rough edges of his reputation. Too bad the only thing he discovered was how to rub his colleagues the wrong way.”

“He wasn’t well-liked by the faculty?”

Jack laughed. I winced. The combination of red jelly and meat in his mouth looked like blood. It was disturbing to say the least. Jack didn’t notice my discomfort as he explained, “The other faculty members were counting the days until David’s contract expired. Especially Cynthia Goodrich, Mark Krauss, and Jonathan McMann. The three of them went wild when they heard David asked the dean for a permanent, full-time teaching position.”

I knew Cynthia Goodrich by reputation. Strong soprano voice. Even stronger teaching skills. Cynthia’s former students were gracing opera stages across the world. The opportunity to work with her was one of the reasons vocal performance students wanted to attend Northwestern. Jonathan I knew, but while the name Mark Krauss rang a bell, I couldn’t remember why.

Thank goodness Millie jumped to my rescue. She asked about the other teachers, which gave Jack a chance to flex his fund-raising muscles while extolling the virtues of Northwestern’s teachers. As he talked about Mark’s wonderful work with the university’s choral program, it hit me. “Mark Krauss is the tenor section leader for the
Messiah
ensemble.”

Jack nodded. “He also sings in a number of award-winning chamber groups. The man is a good singer, but his real passion is teaching. He takes pride in Northwestern’s dedication to the students. That’s why he organized the petition to keep David Richard from being offered a permanent faculty position. The petition drew criticism from some of the higher-ups, but Mark didn’t care. He’s the kind of guy who puts students first.”

He was also a guy with possible motive and opportunity. That put him smack at the top of my suspect list. Hoping to learn more about the motive part, I asked, “Do you know why Mark wanted to keep David from being offered a spot on the faculty?”

“The petition said it was to maintain the high standards of teaching at the school.” Jack shoveled the last of the home fries into his mouth. “While I’m sure that was part of it, teaching standards aren’t the typical reason men get into fistfights. You know?”

Nope. I didn’t know. But I was dying to find out. “When did Mark and David get into a fight?”

“It was during the faculty meeting just before the end of semester. From what I’ve heard, one minute Mark and David were talking in the corner of the room, the next the two were brawling.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Probably over a woman,” Millie guessed as she adjusted her glasses. “Men think women are impressed by out-of-control testosterone. Personally, I’ve never been all that excited when men fight over me. They always expect me to tend their wounds and clean their clothes. Do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of linen shirts? After the sixth or seventh time you start to get the hang of it, but still . . .”

Jack gaped at Millie. I just shook my head and asked, “Did anyone tell you what the fight was about?”

“A few people speculated that David insulted Mark’s wife, but no one really knows. When I ran into Mark, I asked him about it. He said he overreacted and clammed up about the rest.” Jack shoved the last third of his English muffin into his mouth and chased it with coffee. He swallowed, then changed subjects and told Aunt Millie how fabulous she looked.