Panicked but feeling more in control, I steered my car north to Jonathan’s house. After what I’d just discovered, I thought there was a good chance Aldo would identify Mark’s voice as today’s mysterious caller. But I wasn’t about to leave stones unturned. At least, not while I had the time to flip them.
Jonathan lived in a blue and white two-story Victorian-style house a couple blocks away from Northwestern’s campus. The sidewalk leading to the house was shoveled and clear of ice, unlike many of its neighbors. Standing at the etched glass front door, I turned on my phone’s recorder before pushing the doorbell. Tchaikovsky’s
Nutcracker
chimed as I put my right hand into my pocket and felt for Millie’s gun.
The door swung open and a heavy-eyed, rumpled Jonathan gave me a bright smile. Either I’d woken him from a nap or interrupted him in the middle of a romantic encounter. A quick glance south and his invitation inside told me the solo nap was more likely.
Returning his smile, I followed him through a tiny foyer to a rustically decorated living room. A fire crackled in the hearth, giving the room a cheerful glow.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I said, standing near the fire. “I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. I wanted to thank you again for your supportive words. They meant a lot.”
“It was my pleasure.” He folded himself into an overstuffed leather chair. “But I doubt you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
His green eyes met mine with a knowing gleam. Feigning ignorance, I said, “I don’t know what you mean . . .”
“In the last hour, I’ve talked with Mark and Vanessa. You’ve been in a lot of neighborhoods today.”
Busted.
“I had a lot of errands. Christmas is less than two weeks away.”
Jonathan gave me a look that said he didn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. I didn’t blame him. My excuse sounded lame even to me. Jonathan stood up and slowly crossed over to where I stood. I swallowed hard and tightened my grip on the gun.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” His voice was deep and soft.
Embarrassed? No. Confused? Yes. I was also starting to sweat standing in front of the fireplace. “Why would I be embarrassed?” I asked.
“Because you came over to do this.”
Before I could ask what “this” was his lips met mine in a demonstration. Okay, maybe I should have anticipated this move, but I’d been focused on defending my life, not dodging a pass by a fellow singer. I’d missed the signals. Sue me.
Jonathan’s hands framed my face. His lips were warm, strong, and insistent as they slanted over mine. He was probably a good kisser. I mean, he seemed to be doing everything right. But I was finding it hard to pay attention to his technique. Call me crazy, but kissing a murder suspect while clutching a gun in my hand didn’t exactly inspire romance.
Jonathan moved closer. I wanted to back up, but going up in flames wasn’t on my agenda, which meant I didn’t have far to move. Sweat dripped down my back. Yep—this wasn’t a romantic moment. But Jonathan didn’t seem to notice. His lips brushed my mouth, then my cheek, before he leaned back and gave me a slow, sexy smile.
“I know you’re embarrassed that you came here, but I’m really glad you did.” His hand trailed down my arm. My right arm. At the bottom of which was a hand currently poised to pull the trigger on Millie’s gun. Back in high school, I had a boyfriend who slid his hand into my pocket to link fingers with me. At the time, I thought the gesture was a total turn-on. Today that endearing move would be bad. Very, very bad.
Before tragedy could strike, Jonathan took a step back and leaned against the fireplace mantel. “Unless I’m wrong, you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.”
I blinked. I guess Jonathan deduced that non-participation equaled stunned amazement. Singing he excelled at. His perception skills left a lot to be desired.
Giving me another sultry smile, he asked, “So where do we go from here?”
Mostly, I was interested in going out the door, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t what he was talking about. Stepping away from the fireplace, I said, “I have a rule about not getting involved with people I’m in shows with.”
“Rules are meant to be broken.”
The clichéd line should have been laughable. In Jonathan’s low, resonant baritone it sounded sexy.
“A few days isn’t that long a wait.” And heck—by then I might be able to come up with a good way to avoid Jonathan’s advances without completely pissing him off. Vanessa was right about one thing: Jonathan wasn’t royalty in the opera world, but he knew the people who were. If he wasn’t the killer, and currently I was more inclined to cast him as Don Juan than
Carmen
’s evil Don Jose, then I didn’t want him holding a grudge. I was having a hard enough time landing gigs without being blackballed. Juggling fear of losing my career and fear of death was tricky.
Taking a step toward the exit, I added, “There’s always a chance the thrill of the performance can be mistaken for attraction. I don’t want to make that mistake.”
The look on his face told me he didn’t think another round of kissing would be a mistake. It was definitely time to get out of here.
I feigned surprise as I checked the clock on my phone. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. I have to go. There’s somewhere I have to be.”
“I know. The Prospect Glen High School Winter Wonderland concert.”
My heart skidded to a halt.
Jonathan grinned. “I looked you up after you mentioned you were a fellow teacher. The high school has the concert listed on their website.”
Yes, they did. But knowing that was true didn’t make me feel any better. I wasn’t sure if Jonathan’s interest was sexual or homicidal, but I was certain of one thing: I wanted out of here—now.
“Look, I really have to get going. A student got injured, and I’m having an understudy rehearsal before the concert.” I gave him what I hoped was a non-panicked smile and booked it toward the entrance. “I’ll see you at tomorrow’s run through.”
I was out the door when I heard Jonathan’s resonant voice say, “Maybe we’ll see each other before then.”
Yikes. I found myself glancing in the rearview mirror all the way to Prospect Glen. I took side streets with little to no traffic just to be certain a silver car wasn’t following me. My knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel and my muscles taut when I pulled up to Prospect Glen High School. It was a half hour before the choir’s call time. The lot was illuminated but mostly empty. After my run-ins with both Mark and Jonathan and the car chase last night, the shadows beyond the lights freaked me out. Especially since I’d locked Millie’s gun in the glove compartment for safekeeping. There was no way I was going to take a gun into the school. I’d just have to count on Mike showing up to protect everyone.
Grabbing my stuff, I booked it from the car to the door in record time. Once inside, I headed for the theater dressing rooms to change clothes and pull myself together. Aldo had promised to meet me at the theater’s main entrance ten minutes before rehearsal to listen to my audio lineup. I had to hurry.
A perk of being a professional performer was that I’d had lots of practice at changing clothes—fast. My quickest change to date involved donning a completely different costume, wig, and shoes in thirty seconds. I had to make that change eight shows a week. By comparison, this wardrobe and hair transformation was a cinch.
I went into the dressing room wearing jeans, a sweater, and almost no makeup. I came out sporting a knee-length green satin dress, smoky eyes, and killer silver heels. I also had ten minutes to spare.
My heels clicked as I crossed the stage to check whether everything was ready. Crap. The snowmen had lost its head—again. While a headless snowman might elicit laughs from the crowd, I doubted the school board would find a decapitated Frosty all that funny. Good thing I knew where Devlyn kept the glue guns.
I flicked on the work lights, walked into the scene shop, and headed for the supply closet. Eureka! A glue gun. I grabbed glue sticks and an extension cord and started to back out of the closet when I bumped into something. No. Not something—someone.
Oh crap. My muscles stiffened. Was it a student? A teacher? Or the killer? Whoever it was bumped me, and I stumbled deeper into the closet.
Spinning, I clutched the glue gun in anticipation of defending my life and found myself pulled into a pair of strong arms. I saw Devlyn’s smile before his lips touched mine. My body tingled at the sweet, gentle caress. My brain wanted to smack Devlyn upside the head for scaring me.
When the kiss ended, Devlyn grinned. I started yelling. “What is with men freaking me out and kissing me today? You scared the crap out of me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Another guy kissed you today?”
Oy. Of course that was the part he focused on. Not the fact that he’d almost made me pee my pants. “While I was looking in to the murders, I ran into Jonathan McMann. Turns out he thinks we’d make a good couple.”
“And you told him that you were involved with someone. Right?”
“I thought getting out of the house of a potential killer was more important than a dissertation on my love life.”
Devlyn’s voice went up about an octave. “You were in his house?”
Oops. I should have kept that part to myself. While Devlyn had tagged along during my last foray into sleuthing, nothing we’d encountered could be considered life-threatening. Going into a potential murderer’s home was dangerous. And I had a feeling that telling Devlyn I’d brought a gun with me for protection wasn’t going to make him feel any better.
I put my hand on his arm. “Look, I shouldn’t have taken the chance, but I was worried the killer might show up here tonight. I was trying to identify the killer before he put any of our kids at risk. You would have done the same.” I leaned in to give him a kiss, but Devlyn moved back and placed a hand on his hip. I waited for him to chastise me again and then realized I could hear voices. Student’s voices. Devlyn had gone from semi-boyfriend mode to gay-teacher mode in two seconds flat. The actress in me was impressed. The almost-girlfriend was put out.
Assuming the current conversation was tabled, I handed him the glue gun. “One of the snowmen needs a head adjustment. I have something else I have to take care of.” Not waiting for Devlyn’s reply, I hurried out of the scene shop, kicking up sawdust in my wake.
Since dwelling on the potential pitfalls of my maybe romance with a closet heterosexual wasn’t productive, I pulled out my phone and headed to the lobby. Aldo was near the box office, stomping his feet and blowing into his hands. I played each of the recordings several times, although I eliminated the part where Jonathan hit on me. Neither Aldo nor I needed that kind of embarrassment.
At the sound of Vanessa’s voice, Aldo nodded. “I have heard that voice. It must be her, yes?”
I played Mark’s, and Aldo frowned. Mark sounded familiar, too. By the time we listened to Jonathan’s deep baritone, Aldo was completely baffled. My idea to identify the perp was a major bust.
Trying not to look as disappointed as I felt, I assured Aldo the recordings were to blame for his lack of identification and went back into the theater. My investigative skills sucked. I really needed to keep my day job. I just hoped that after this concert ended, doing my day job was still an option.
All the snowmen had their heads attached and my choir was on stage by the time I reached the front row of seats. I did a quick head count. Fourteen members of Music in Motion were here, ready to go.
Since the band wouldn’t arrive until showtime, Aldo shed his winter coat and took a seat at the piano. I reminded our understudy, Claire, where she was supposed to stand and counted off the tempo. Halfway through the first number, a panicked Larry ran into the theater waving his arms and stuttering up a storm. The programs were missing. They were here earlier today, and now they were gone.
Reassuring Larry that we would find them, I asked Devlyn to watch the rest of rehearsal and went in search of the missing programs. Part of me was relieved to escape the nasty looks from Chessie and have an excuse to not witness the final run-through. There wasn’t time to fix anything. Any major criticism from me would do more damage than good. What the choir needed most was confidence. Devlyn could help with that far better than I. He’d also calm Chessie down and keep her focused. At this point, the best thing I could do to improve the concert’s success was to find the programs.
I found the box exactly where I’d watched Larry put it earlier today—on the floor in the corner of his office. Yowzah. The box was heavy. Taking a deep breath, I bent my knees and hefted it up and then teetered down the hallway to the theater.
About two dozen people were wandering around the lobby when I dumped the box onto a chair near the front doors. I scanned the crowd. No one from the
Messiah
cast. There was also no Larry. Thank goodness a teenager in black slacks and a white shirt seemed to know what to do with my delivery. He ripped the box open and began distributing stacks of the glossy white programs to the other ushers. The ushers would open the doors to the theater fifteen minutes before showtime, which was fast approaching.
I watched more audience members trickle into the building. A few parents spotted me and waved. I waved back, took one last look at the growing, suspectless crowd, and headed back into the auditorium.
Kids in choir robes were milling around the auditorium. The band was loading onto the stage. Meanwhile, my choir was finishing up its closing number. The lifts were solid. The singing was good. I only hoped the previous numbers had gone as smoothly.
Devlyn congratulated the kids on their hard work as I climbed onto the stage. He looked happy. That could be a good sign. Then again, he was a trained thespian. He could bluff with the best of them.
Deciding two could play that game, I plastered a wide smile on my face and said, “You guys have done amazing work. You should be proud. Make sure you have fun during the performance and knock ’em dead.”
My students gave a cheer and headed off to the dressing rooms. Even Chessie looked excited. Huh. Once they exited the stage, I walked over to Devlyn and whispered, “How were they?”