End Me a Tenor (31 page)

The store looked as though the Tazmanian Devil had decided to help Santa shop. Shelves were half empty. Sale signs hung precariously from the walls. And boxes of whatever board games the store was featuring were scattered across the floor. Someone definitely needed to clean up Aisle Two.

The Barbie aisle was as bad if not worse. I pitied any girl whose parent hadn’t shopped early. Something told me those kids were going to end up with the “Ken Goes to Hawaii” fashion accessory set. And unless something had changed since my day—aside from the stamped-on tighty whities—dressing up Ken was lame.

Next to the picked-through accessories, most of the shelf space where Barbie dolls normally stood was empty. But two Barbies with gowns resembling the one in the FedEx box remained. Since the store looked like it had last restocked around Easter, chances were good the dolls had also been available for purchase earlier this week.

Time to canvass the staff.

I handed one set of photographs to Devlyn. Then the two of us headed to different parts of the store, looking for employees to show them to. I located my first potential eyewitness in the bicycle/skateboard and motorized car department. He had gray hair and glasses as thick as the jelly jars my mother used every summer. I showed him the photos and felt a burst of excitement as recognition dawned in the sales associate’s eyes. Smiling, the man told me that the photo of Vanessa was of Marilyn Monroe and that Ruth was his ex-wife. According to him, neither had been in the store buying Barbie dolls on his watch.

The two other employees I found restocking shelves didn’t recognize the women, either. Devlyn fared no better on his side of the store. That left the seven employees manning the check-out lanes, who in all probability were the most likely to recognize a past customer. Only something told me the customers waiting weren’t going to let me cut in line. Good thing I still had Christmas shopping to do.

After standing in seven lines, I had purchased a fistful of videos, a set of Platypus walkie-talkies for my cousin’s twins, two video games for my brother, and a disco light karaoke machine for Aunt Millie. In case Aldo and Millie got engaged before the holiday, I purchased a CD of love songs for them to perform together. If not, well, I had a CD of
Don’t Worry, Be Happy
at the ready. Sadly, other than the gifts, I had nothing to show for my visit. Not a single clerk recognized either photograph.

Devlyn helped me stuff the bags into his trunk and asked, “Where to next?”

“I have no idea.” In power shopping, I’d gotten an “A.” In private detecting, I’d totally flunked. “If the killer does turn out to be the concert master or one of the soloists, the producers will have no choice but to cancel the show. I don’t want to disappoint your mother. I did promise you I’d give her an autograph tomorrow night.”

“About that.” Devlyn shifted in his seat. “I’m thinking it would be better if you met Mom another day. Larry and a couple Music in Motion kids said they’re planning on coming to tomorrow’s performance. That might make things more difficult.”

I was about to ask what one thing had to do with the other when the truth slammed home: Devlyn couldn’t introduce me to his mother because she might reveal our almost-relationship to people from Prospect Glen High School. Devlyn’s secret would be out.

Which made me wonder. “What happens if we actually start dating?”

“What do you mean?” His hands tensed on the wheel.

“Everyone thinks you date men. What’s going to happen when they realize you and I are dating? We won’t be able to hide a relationship for very long.”

Especially since dating often lead to love, marriage, and all that jazz. People tend to notice when you start wearing a wedding ring.

Devlyn didn’t seem concerned. “If we go places where students aren’t likely to turn up, we should be okay.”

I understood Devlyn wanted to protect his job, but his words made me queasy. They implied I wasn’t good enough to be seen with him in public.

Was I being irrational? Maybe. Devlyn’s desire to hide his true sexual preference was something I’d known about for months. But at this moment, his solution to unwanted attention from female students seemed like a huge problem. I was tired. The headache had returned. My emotions were churning from everything that had happened this week. Now was not the time to have a rational discussion about what might happen if we officially started dating.

I told myself to stay quiet, but found myself saying, “Do you ever plan on coming out of the closet? What happens if you fall in love? You’d have to tell people you were only pretending to be gay, right?”

Devlyn shrugged. “Gay men fall in love and get married to people of the opposite sex all the time. It just means they’re more interested in the soul of the person than her sexual persuasion.”

Better than being called a liar, liar pants on fire, but still . . .

“Look.” Devlyn pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car. Reaching over, he laced his fingers through mine. Despite my annoyance, the contact made my body hum. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation, and I wouldn’t blame you for feeling put out or unhappy with the public limitations of a relationship with me. But I promise I’ll make every moment we spend together in private worthwhile. Deal?”

The kiss Devlyn gave me then made me sure he would make good on that bargain. Hot and demanding, his lips made all my doubts vanish. Who needed public displays of affection? Private was good. We’d get to know each other better. No teasing from the students. No pressure from the outside world. Just me and Devlyn. What could possibly be wrong with that?

Of course, when the kiss ended and the haze of attraction dissipated, I had a hard time ignoring the flaws in his plan. I also had a hard time not comparing his kiss with the one I’d received from Mike earlier. Devlyn’s was hot and sexy. Mike’s was strangely sweet and filled with promises. Both made me feel safe and incredibly attractive. Both came with serious complications. No wonder I was off-balance.

My cell rang, cutting off any further comparisons of the two men. I answered my phone and was grateful I wasn’t driving when I heard the voice on the other end say, “Paige, this is Ruth Jordan. The two of us need to talk. Now.”

Devlyn insisted on coming to my meeting with Ruth. Which was good. It saved me from begging him to tag along. Stupid I wasn’t. The woman might have had a hand in killing David, Bill, and Barbie. I wasn’t about to let her take me out, too.

Ruth insisted we meet at her condo in thirty minutes. Lucky for us, our search for witnesses put us only blocks away. We’d be at her place well before the appointed time. Ruth would have home turf advantage, but we’d have the element of surprise.

The principle violinist lived on the top floor of a gray stone building. I pushed the call button. Without inquiry as to who was waiting below, the door buzzed.

Devlyn gave me a tense smile as I knocked on Ruth’s door.

“I told you to come alone.” Ruth’s lips pinched together, and her nostrils flared. Flaring nostrils was not a good look for Ruth.

“You hung up before I could tell you that Devlyn and I were out shopping. Since the two of you met the other night, I assumed you wouldn’t mind if he joined me.” My wide-eyed smile was innocence personified.

The smile Ruth gave Devlyn tried for pleasant but came off pissed. “Paige must not have understood. The conversation she and I need to have is of a private nature. Would you mind waiting out here? I promise this won’t take long.”

Devlyn looked at me and raised his eyebrows, silently asking what I wanted him to do. The idea of talking to Ruth alone made me want to throw up. Not only was she potentially half of a killing duo, she hated vocalists. Neither personality trait made me think this conversation was going to be pleasant. But I couldn’t see Ruth doing more than hurling snide comments with Devlyn stationed outside the door.

Knowing that one yelp from me would have him dialing 911, I told Devlyn to stay put and followed Ruth inside.

“I’d like this conversation to be quick since we both have rehearsal to get to.” Ruth led me into a living room that could have come out of the pages of a magazine.

The walls were painted a warm brown. The carpet was a rich cream, as were the couch and chairs. Light blue and yellow accent pillows were propped on the couch. A deep blue vase filled with daisies sat on the coffee table. On the other side of the room was a perfectly polished ebony grand piano. A violin and bow were resting on a stand next to the piano. An open violin case sat on the floor nearby. No Barbie heads or ketchup bottles in sight.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

Hmmm . . . let me think about that. I had a flash of David drinking from his water bottle and said, “No, thanks.”

Ruth frowned and settled on the sofa, indicating for me to do the same. Next to the cream-colored sofa her trim black sweater and tight black ski pants commanded attention. “Nora Krauss called. She said you’d been by to see her.”

Huh. Whatever I’d expected Ruth to say, that wasn’t it. I sat on the edge of the sofa and cautiously said, “There was a question I needed answered. Nora answered it for me.”

“Nora told me that you implied her husband was behind David’s and Bill’s murders.”

Nora had a big mouth. “Someone attacked me last night. The police believe the attacker was involved with our show. So I asked a couple of questions to make sure I’d be safe when I attended tonight’s rehearsal.”

Ruth’s nostrils flared again. “So Nora wasn’t wrong. You do think Mark is a killer.”

The nasty edge to her voice had me scooting farther down the couch. “I think someone has sent me threatening messages, almost run me off the road, and given me a mild concussion. If I knew who it was, I’d have the cops arrest them. It could be Mark. Or maybe it’s Vanessa or Jonathan or Maestro Tebar. It might even be you.”

“Me?” Ruth’s anger had been replaced by confusion. “What reason would I have to threaten you?”

“Whoever killed David and Bill is working to cover their tracks. I guess he or she thinks I know something that might lead the police to arrest them.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

I wanted to believe Ruth’s baffled reaction was an act, but my intuition told me it wasn’t. Ruth was genuinely perplexed, which shot my Mark/Ruth tandem killer theory—not to mention my investigative instincts—to hell.

I shifted on the couch and eased my hand out of my coat pocket. “Two people were involved in the attack against me last night. That means the murders were committed by two people working together. You and Mark looked pretty friendly when you came into the bar together on Wednesday night.”

Ruth’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “Nora and I are second cousins. She met Mark at a concert that Mark and I were both performing in.”

“Do the police know you and Mark are related?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t see a point in telling them, but I assume they must. Detective Frewen seems competent. Of course, they haven’t arrested anyone yet, so I might be overstating that. Nora is going to be a wreck until they lock away the killer.”

“Because she thinks her husband might be involved in the murders?”

Ruth’s expression told me my instincts might not be so far off target after all. “Nora thinks the stress of his work at the university has made Mark a bit edgier than normal.”

“By work stress, you mean the problems he had with David Richard?” I asked. “I heard Mark was working to keep Northwestern from offering David a full-time position.”

“Mark took an immediate dislike to David, which is understandable. Almost everyone disliked David.”

“Including you.”

“My dislike was based more on principle than personal knowledge.” Ruth shrugged. “Until this week I’d never met the man.”

“But you threatened to pull out of the show when they offered David the tenor soloist role.”

“I know. And that little stunt is why the police have me on their suspect list.” She sighed and swiped a hand through her auburn hair. “Personally, I couldn’t have cared less about David Richard being a part of this show, but Mark did. He thought if enough pressure were put on the producers they’d ask another tenor to take David’s place. Since this production is being performed on Northwestern’s campus, the dean of the music department would notice the casting change and perhaps rethink offering David a full-time faculty position. Mark asked me to talk to the producers, which I did, but he overestimated my clout. I’m one of the best violinists in the country, but next to a vocalist like David Richard—well, let’s just say if the producers had to make a choice it wouldn’t have been me.”