Troubles in the Brasses (13 page)

“That’s a tactful way of putting it, I must say. I like Cedric well enough, but he can be an awful pest sometimes. So can his buddy, Jason.”

“We’ll get to Jason later.” Madoc pulled out his notebook and waited.

Lucy rubbed her chin fretfully. “I’m on, eh? Oh gosh, let’s see. Well, Cedric joined the Wagstaffe about ten years ago, I believe it was. He came from one of the provincial symphonies, I can’t remember which but it’ll be in the personnel files. He’d known Wilhelm long before that, so they got to be great buddies. Wilhelm thought Cedric was a riot and egged him on, which of course Cedric loved. He’s not a particularly happy man underneath, if you want my personal opinion. It’s the old Pagliacci act. You know, laughing on the outside, crying on the inside.”

“Why should Rintoul be unhappy? Does he feel threatened in his job?”

“No reason why he should. Cedric’s about as good as they come on trombone. But he’s pretty much of a washout otherwise. Especially with women.”

“Any particular woman?”

“No, just women in general. He always comes on strong to any new woman in the ensemble. Corliss Blair, for instance; he made a big play for her, but she wasn’t playing. Cedric’s problem is, he doesn’t know how to act. He’s like a kid in school, thinking he can get a girl’s attention by teasing her with a dead mouse or something.”

“Has he ever waved a dead mouse your way?”

“Getting personal, aren’t you? No, you see it was different with me. I was just one of the boys in the brass section. We’d go out and grab a bite together, that sort of thing, but that was as far as it ever went.”

“You haven’t been doing that nowadays?”

“Once in a while. Now that I’m director of operations, I never have time to eat. Besides, I’m not one of the gang any longer.”

Lucy put her hand up to her neck. “Is your throat bothering you?” Madoc was constrained to ask. “Would you rather not go on with this just now?”

“No, I’m all right. I could use another cup of tea, when you get around to it. I did want to say about Cedric that he’s really not a bad guy, even though he does drive people nuts sometimes. He’s generous, for one thing. Too generous for his own good, sometimes.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, he lends money and doesn’t get paid back.”

“To whom does he lend it? People in the orchestra?”

“Well sure. Those are the only people he knows. The only ones he associates with, anyway.”

“Can you think of anybody who’s heavily in debt to him at the moment?”

“Look, I think you’d better ask Cedric himself that. I don’t see what it has to do with this business of my getting strangled.”

“Nor do I,” Madoc admitted cheerfully. “By the way, you’re not—”

“I’m not in hock to Cedric, no, nor to anybody else. And I don’t lend, either. My money belongs to me, and I hang on to it. Next question?”

L
UCY HAD SAID ALL
she was going to say about Cedric Rintoul, that was clear. Madoc was too experienced an interrogator to force the issue. “Then what about Rintoul’s pal, Jasper?”

Lucy shrugged. “You needn’t try to borrow any money from him, either. Jason’s always broke. He has five kids to support, two of them in college, not to mention a wife and a mortgage. I believe the wife’s gone back to work, though, to help foot the college bills. She was a trained nurse before they started having kids.”

“So he’s a real family man?”

“God, yes. Don’t let him back you into a corner, or he’ll start showing you photographs. Jason hates having to leave home. I think that’s why he clowns around with Cedric so much when we’re on tour, to keep himself from feeling homesick. He doesn’t do it when we’re back in Wagstaffe.”

“That’s where he lives?”

“Just outside the city, in an area that used to be country and is getting to be another bedroom community. He’s got quite a decent place, and he’s crazy about it. We never see him in Wagstaffe except at rehearsals and concerts. The rest of the time he’s lugging the kids to hockey games or puttering around his garden. He has a little greenhouse, too. He comes to rehearsal with big bags full of stuff: cucumbers, cabbages, out-of-season tomatoes, you name it, and passes them out to anybody who wants them. Flowers sometimes, too, but the veggies are his big thing. He says they save a mint on the grocery bill.”

“With five kids, I expect they do,” said Madoc. He was thinking about castor oil plants. Jasper wouldn’t have room for one in his greenhouse, but he might grow some outdoors, now that his children were evidently old enough to leave the seeds alone. “You say he’s always hard up. Does he borrow from Rintoul?”

Lucy scowled. “I wouldn’t know about that. Look, Madoc, I told you I don’t like these questions about money. As far as I know, Jason doesn’t borrow from anybody, unless you count the bank. His wife works, as I said. The kids get part-time jobs, and in a pinch they could all live on peas and carrots. He’s getting by. And in case you were about to ask whether he fools around on tour, the answer is no. He’s so monogamous it’s pitiful.”

“Does he gamble?”

“What do you mean by gamble? Jason plays cards with the bunch, but not for big stakes. Offhand, I can’t think of anybody on your list who does. They can’t afford to. Musicians in the Wagstaffe are decently paid, but they don’t make wads of money like rock stars. On tour, the management pays for transportation, food, and lodging, but not for incidentals. It gets expensive, all those little things like paying for your laundry and having to tip somebody every time you turn around. The only thing Jason squanders money on are silly jokes like whoopee cushions and presents he can take home to the kids. He’s a really simpleminded guy.”

“How long has he been with the orchestra?”

“Forever, I think. He was here before I was, anyway. I’m not sure but what this is the only orchestra he’s ever played with. The only major one, certainly. Jason didn’t get to be principal trumpet until about five years ago, though. He rose from the ranks, like Wilhelm. I ought to be downstairs talking with Sir Emlyn about lining up another horn player.”

“There’ll be time enough for that when you get to where you can hire one,” said Madoc. “Anyway, you can’t talk to my father now. He’s called a rehearsal.”

“Then why aren’t they rehearsing? I don’t hear anything.”

“Come to think of it, neither do I. Maybe he hasn’t finished washing the dishes yet. I hope he’s also seeing about that pit for the latrine. It slipped my mind entirely.”

“Latrine pit? Remind me to compliment Lady Rhys on what a classy conversationalist she’s got for a son. And don’t tell me Sir Emlyn’s doing the digging himself, I already told you I don’t like sick jokes.”

“No, my father’s afraid of straining his shoulder before the festival. I expect my mother’s doing it for him. So that’s all you have to tell me about Jason Jasper?”

“That’s all I can think of. Unless you’d like to know his kids’ names, ages, and the brand of toothpaste they prefer.”

“Later perhaps. Let’s see how well we can do on Frieda Loye. Did you offer to share with her last night because you’re friends or because you consider it part of your job to cope with her nightmares?”

“Wrong both times. I like Frieda well enough but wouldn’t call her a close friend. We have, however, been roommates lots of times, simply because for quite a while we were the only two women in the orchestra. She doesn’t snore, she doesn’t invite guys into the room, she’s neat in her habits, and she doesn’t always have nightmares. Why shouldn’t I room with her? Next question?”

“Is she married?”

“No, the Mrs. is sort of a courtesy title. She had what they call nowadays a significant other, but he died.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Oh, ages. I don’t believe there’s been anybody since, certainly nobody from the orchestra. She has a little apartment in Wagstaffe. It’s nice.”

She meant it wasn’t. Madoc wondered what sort of living quarters Lucy herself had, and what kind of reaction he’d get from Frieda if he asked.

“What does she do with her spare time?”

“She needlepoints. She’s got needlepoint pillows on her couch, needlepoint seats on her chairs, needlepoint pictures on her walls, a brick covered with needlepoint that she uses for a doorstop. I couldn’t stand doing that artsy-craftsy stuff myself, but Frieda says it calms her nerves.”

“Frieda’s nerves seem to be giving her a great deal of trouble these days,” Madoc ventured. “Was she always like this?”

“Like what?”

“About two jitters from a nervous collapse.”

“Well, my God, what do you expect? How’d you like to wake up and find your roommate getting strangled?”

“I shouldn’t like it at all, but I don’t think that’s her problem. She was the same way last night at the concert. And I can’t say your friend Rintoul was helping her out of it. What does he have against her?”

“What do you mean, against her? Nothing that I know of. I told you Cedric makes a pest of himself because he wants to be noticed. He was trying to get a rise out of her, that’s all. Frieda’s such a damned stoic that she just toughs it out instead of turning around and telling him to stuff himself, so he tries all the harder. If you’re trying to hold me responsible for his pulling that trick with the violin string during the performance, I’m here to tell you I didn’t know anything about it. If I had, I’d have taken the fool thing away from him during intermission, not that it would have been my job to do so. As it happened, I had the wardrobe trunks to cope with, the buses to organize, and about seventy million other things on my mind. And then there was Wilhelm. Damn it, I liked Wilhelm! Why don’t you get off my back for a while, eh? My throat hurts.”

“I’ll get you that cup of tea. Oh, just one more thing. You said back in Wagstaffe that Ochs had a brother. Was that his only family? He never married?”

Lucy jerked her body straight up to a sitting position, her hand still pressing the scarf to her throat. “Madoc, why didn’t I think of that before? Sure, Wilhelm was married for a while, to a young singer he met somewhere in the provinces. That was ages ago, too. She’s not so young any more. Her real name was Norma Belschi but of course she changed it.”

“Ah so. Am I correct in inferring from your information that Madame Bellini hasn’t always been Madame Bellini?”

“You are. And she wouldn’t stand a chance of being Madame Houdon, either, if Jacques-Marie ever found out about her and Wilhelm. Jacques looks like a nice, quiet, gentlemanly guy, but don’t let that fool you. He’s jealous as hell and has the temper of a fiend once he gets wound up. Madoc, could I please have my tea now?”

“Sorry. I’ll get it right away.”

For the past couple of minutes, Madoc had been hearing tentative tweets and hoots, from which he’d deduced that the rehearsers were finally getting down to business. As he went downstairs into the lobby, he saw them grouped around his father in the chairs they’d dragged back from the kitchen. Lady Rhys and Helene Dufresne were there, too, either to lend moral support or for want of other entertainment. Helene was sitting with her knees apart and her hands making tune-up motions that suggested she was all set to rehearse even without her instrument.

Cedric Rintoul was sitting on the opposite side of the circle from Frieda Loye, Madoc noticed. Sir Emlyn wasn’t taking any chances this time. However, he’d reckoned without the tricky trombonist’s infinite resources. As Frieda raised her flute to her lips and glanced down at the score she was having to hold in her lap for want of a music stand, something small and furry whizzed across the floor, straight at her feet.

Madoc recognized the thing at once; it was the wind-up mouse he’d seen in Rintoul’s room. Frieda recognized it, too. After one shrill yip, she laid down her flute, bounded across the room, and started belaboring Rintoul with her fists, screaming like a banshee all the while.

“Damn you to hell, leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

Her screams degenerated into inchoate shrieks; she went totally out of control. Sir Emlyn stuck his baton in his pocket, stepped over to Frieda, and gave her a pretty hard slap in the face. For the second time in his conducting career, Sir Emlyn raised his voice.

“This is unprofessional behavior, and I will not have it! Mrs. Loye, you had better go to your room. Lady Rhys will go with you. Rintoul, I have no authority to fire you but you are out of this orchestra for as long as I am conducting it.”

“What?” The huge trombonist stared up at the furious little Welshman as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “But I was only trying to—”

“You were making an ass of yourself and you were deliberately disrupting my rehearsal. You have behaved abominably during every performance I have conducted thus far on this tour. I will not have you playing under me again. Please go away. Now.”

As if he were sleepwalking, Rintoul took his trombone and his mouse, and lumbered off into the kitchen. Sir Emlyn turned back to the circle. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for having lost my temper. I do not feel myself sufficiently collected to go on with this rehearsal. I ask your pardon for having taken up your time to no avail. This has never happened before, and it will not happen again. I am going out for a walk.”

He laid his baton on top of the score they’d never got to work on, made his usual diffident half bow, and walked out the front door. Those left behind turned to Madoc.

“I have to make a cup of tea for Lucy Shadd,” he told them. “Why don’t you all go out for a walk?”

They started shuffling their chairs, putting their instruments in their cases, murmuring and shrugging to one another. Madoc walked into the kitchen. Rintoul was there with his trombone, almost in tears.

“I didn’t know he could be like that. I was only trying to liven things up a little.”

“You appear to have succeeded beyond your expectations.” Madoc pulled the simmering tea kettle to the front of the stove to make it boil. “What is it you have against Frieda Loye, Rintoul?”

“I don’t have anything against her!”

“You just like to hear her scream, eh? You’re not deliberately trying to drive her round the bend?”