End Me a Tenor (35 page)

Somewhere in the distance I heard something click. Jenny heard it, too. She swung toward the back of the theater and tightened her grip on the gun. Something shuffled. Mike and the cops had arrived. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who had figured out they were here.

Jenny swung back to me and aimed her gun. She had to believe the only way to escape was to take me out and race for the exit. I had to act.

I pulled the gun out of my pocket as Jenny’s finger tightened on her trigger. Eric’s or Chessie’s gasp reminded me they were close by. They needed to get to safety. Now.

“Run,” I yelled as I raced downstage out of the light. Jenny screamed and fired. A shot dinged off a music stand next to me. Yikes. To my right, the sound of footsteps told me Eric and Chessie had gotten off the stage. Knowing they were out of the line of fire, I turned and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Oh no! The safety must be on. I hit the deck as Jenny raced forward and fired again.

My fingers fumbled with the gun as I frantically tried to flip the safety. I could find it in the light when I wasn’t scared witless, but I couldn’t find it now. And now was when I needed it, otherwise I was going to die.

I rolled to the left and smashed my shoulder into a chair as another gunshot split the air. The chair hit the ground with a clang, and I scampered to my feet and bolted toward the stage left wings.

Another shot. The bullet clanged against something metal, sending up a spark. I spotted the outline of Jenny downstage left. Another shot. My heart skittered as the bullet lodged into the stage two feet in front of me. It was dark and Jenny wasn’t a great shot, but she was getting close. Any closer and I was going to be really unhappy.

I shifted to my right. My foot caught on something, and I smashed into several music stands before landing half on the risers, half on the hardwood of the stage floor. Oh God. Millie’s gun flew out of my hand. It hit the stage and skidded across the ground, away from me.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Crack. Crack.

Sparks flew inches from my head. Yikes. Yikes. Yikes.

Hands shaking, I grabbed a music stand and pulled it in front of me. The stands were sturdy black metal. I wasn’t sure they would stop a bullet, but maybe they’d slow one down. Yes, I was grasping at straws, but at this point that was all I had.

Jenny came closer. Her gun shifted to take aim. I sucked in air and held my breath. That’s when I heard footsteps. Someone was running toward us.

Hope lit through me as I squinted into the dim light. The footsteps came closer. Jenny heard them, too. She shifted her attention toward the sound as Eric raced on stage, illuminated by the spotlight. He clutched a large two-by-four in his hands.

Ice-cold fear raced up my spine.

“Run, Ms. Marshall,” he yelled, brandishing the large block of wood.

Jenny pointed her gun at Eric.

Somewhere in the back of the theater I heard a door open and close. Mike had to be here, but he was going to be too late.

Jenny straightened her arms. I pushed my music-stand shield off me, and it clanged to the ground. Jenny turned as I jumped to my feet and charged.

The houselights came up. The sudden brightness blinded me as I ran smack into Jenny. Her gun flew out of her hand. It crashed to the floor as the momentum of my leap carried the two of us toward the edge of the orchestra pit. Jenny’s feet hit the last board of the stage, and her fingers dug into my arm. She teetered on the edge and then slid into nothingness.

Jenny screamed. I would have screamed, too, but I was too busy leaning backward, trying to break free of Jenny’s hold and failing. My feet slid to the edge of the pit, and suddenly the ground was gone.

Oof.

Something grabbed me around the waist and yanked me back to safety as Jenny lost her grip and fell smack into the tympani drums with a resounding
thud
.

The police charged down the theater’s aisles. I spotted Mike near Detective Frewen. Our eyes locked. From here, I could see his relief and residual fear. Or maybe I was projecting, since I felt huge amounts of both.

Detective Frewen started shouting orders. The first of which was for the people on stage to get back from the edge of the pit. Considering what had just happened, both Eric and I were more than happy to comply. A team of uniformed cops wielding guns swarmed in front of the stage to ensure Jenny was unarmed. After a quick assessment, the paramedics were called in.

I was thankful Eric had saved me from needing that same emergency team. I turned to him and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks.”

He looked more than a little green when he squeezed back.

Chessie started to run out on stage, but was waylaid by one of Evanston’s finest. The minute the cop grabbed Chessie’s arm, she started to scream. While Chessie might have the occasional pitch problem, she never had any trouble being heard. The restraining cop’s ears were never going to be the same.

Detective Frewen continued to bark orders. A groaning Jenny was loaded onto a stretcher and rushed to the ambulance. Cops raced around taking pictures, marking bullet holes, and picking up guns. I felt a stab of regret as I watched Millie’s pink gun get bagged and tagged. If my aunt ever got it back, I was going to practice unlatching the safety in the dark—just in case.

By the time the paramedics gave Eric, Chessie, and me the once-over and Detective Frewen took our statements, it was after eleven o’clock. Chessie’s and Eric’s parents had been called to the scene. Eric’s parents looked terrified and relieved. Chessie’s parents looked massively put out. From the dirty looks they gave me, I wondered if they’d use the events of this evening to prove my unfitness as a teacher.

Chessie argued with her parents and then raced across the lobby to me. Before I could react, the teen wrapped her arms around my waist and held tight. Her voice was muffled and shaky when she said, “I’m so sorry for everything.”

I wrapped my arms around her, rested my head on top of hers, and let the tears that had been threatening fall. Another set of arms wrapped around the two of us. Eric. The three of us stood there for a long time. Tomorrow Chessie might hate me again or she and Eric might break up, but at this moment we were grateful to be together and alive.

I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. My first thought was
I’m alive.
My next was today was supposed to be the day I took the singing world by storm. But while driving me home last night, Mike broke the news that my big break wasn’t going to happen. The cops would need at least twenty-four hours to process the crime scene. Until the scene was processed and released, no one would be allowed inside. This meant that, despite theatrical tradition, the show wouldn’t go on.

Killer whined from his spot next to me as I rolled out of bed. After a hot shower and several aspirin, I felt as ready as possible to face the day ahead.

“You are awake.” Aldo stood up from the kitchen table and folded me into a big hug. “Good. Millie is in her office, answering the phone calls that have been coming in from reporters all morning.”

“I haven’t heard the phone ring.” Which gave me hope that Aldo was exaggerating. While getting coverage from the press was something all performers coveted, we wanted glowing reviews for our singing, not stories about near-death experiences. One boosted calls from casting directors; the other meant stares in the grocery store check-out line.

Aldo smiled. “Millie turned off the ringers when the calls started coming. She didn’t want you to wake up too early, although she was getting worried that you were sleeping so late. She wanted you to have time to get ready for your big day.”

I winced. Last night, I’d been too tired and shaky to tell my aunt and Aldo the fate of the
Messiah
. Trying not to sound defeated, I said, “The theater’s a crime scene. We can’t use it for the concert, so the show’s been canceled.”

Aldo laughed. “The producer called to say your show has moved to a new theater. He also tell me he left a message on your cell phone.”

I dove into my purse for my phone. Holy crap. Aldo was right. The show had been moved to the Merle Reskin Theatre in downtown Chicago. Patrons were being notified about the change of venue. The stories running on the news were boosting ticket sales like crazy. The show was going to go on as planned, albeit with a different stage manager.

I did a happy little dance and then felt the bottom drop out of my stomach as opening-day nerves set in. The show was going on, only this version would have a bigger audience. There would also be a large press corps somewhere in the crowd. Oh God! I was going to be sick.

Aldo brought me a cup of coffee already doctored with copious amounts of cream and sugar. Next to the mug of coffee he’d placed a plate of cinnamon toast and fresh fruit. Aldo was a saint.

“Devlyn called to check on you, and Detective Michael called, too. Michael said he would drop by and take you to retrieve your car.” Aldo waited until I started eating my toast before going off to tell Millie I was conscious.

I tried to relax and enjoy my food, but nerves had set in. All I could think about was flubbing my notes or making a fool of myself in front of tonight’s audience. Which I supposed was better than the nightmares that had plagued me throughout the night. Falling flat on my face as I crossed the stage was far preferable to being gunned down in the spotlight.

Since the only thing that would banish the fears was practice, I decided to take the toast, coffee, and rehearsal bag to the living room, where Aldo had installed his baby grand piano. I was halfway through my second aria when I noticed Mike standing in the doorway of the living room. He had a strange look on his face. Did he like my singing? I couldn’t tell, and I was annoyed with myself for caring. Pushing him and his opinions out of my mind, I forced myself to concentrate as I finished the song. When I stopped singing, I turned back to him and said hello.

“Your aunt told me how good you were.” He jammed his hands in his pant pockets and leaned against the doorway. “I don’t know anything about the kind of music you were just singing, but I think she might have undersold you.”

“Thanks.” I think. As compliments went, it was one of the best I’d received, but the tone was disgruntled. Strange.

“Come on.” Mike pushed away from the wall. “Let’s go get your car.”

Settled in the comfort of Mike’s Mustang, I waited for him to talk about last night. Only, Mike wasn’t chatty. Drat. Once I’d gotten home yesterday and climbed into bed, I’d realized I had lots of unanswered questions. Detective Frewen could answer them, but I seriously doubted he would. Driving me home, Mike had mentioned he’d been invited to sit in on the interviews. Being a part of the takedown got him a seat at the table. That meant he could fill in some of the blanks for me.

“I haven’t heard any news reports,” I said. “Is Jenny going to be all right?”