Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

I
DIDN’T HAVE
a chance to gather more clues that night. By the time the rehearsal had ended, Olivia and Sasha had already departed from the theater, leaving me without an opportunity to attempt to question the competition’s coordinator.

While driving home I thought over everything I’d learned so far, but only ended up more muddled than ever. Several people had both the opportunity and a motive to kill Pavlina, and my mental list of suspects was still too long to be of much help. Ethan was, in my view, the prime suspect at the moment, but I didn’t have enough evidence to share my suspicions, nor did I have enough information to definitively rule out any of my other suspects.

I hoped that a good night’s sleep would clear my mind and help me fit more puzzle pieces together, but the situation didn’t seem any less jumbled when morning arrived. Breakfast and a hot shower did nothing to spark any helpful insights, so I set off for the grocery store no further ahead with my investigation.

As I pushed my cart up and down the store’s aisles, I continued to mull over the circumstances of Pavlina’s death, and something plucked at the strings in the far reaches of my memory, sounding a repeated note to get my attention. Try as I might, however, I couldn’t figure out what my brain wanted to tell me.

Not for the first time, I had the distinct feeling that I’d forgotten or missed something, but what?

Stopping in the middle of the produce section, I tried my best to grasp at the elusive memory. Despite my efforts, it skittered away like a scrap of paper sent dancing down the street by a strong gust of wind.

Realizing that I was causing a grocery cart traffic jam, I grabbed a bunch of bananas and maneuvered my way toward the dairy products. Hopefully whatever it was that I couldn’t remember wasn’t lost to me forever. Even though I didn’t know what it was that I’d forgotten—aside from the possibility that it might have something to do with Pavlina’s body—I knew it was important, and I was frustrated with myself for failing to put my finger on it.

Frustration wasn’t helpful, though. I knew that. Getting my head into even more of a muddle than it already was would only leave me less likely to pin down the fluttering, elusive memory that continued to taunt me from the depths of my mind.

Moving on from the dairy products, I added a box of granola bars and a package of green tea to my cart before making my way toward the cashier. Maybe talking things over with JT would help me see things more clearly. Or maybe he’d spot an angle to the case I’d missed entirely. If nothing else, sharing my tangled thoughts with my best friend would release some of the frustration I hadn’t fully been able to quell.

There was also something else I wanted to talk to JT about. As much as he didn’t want to believe that Cameron might have been involved in the theft of his equipment, I couldn’t let the possibility drop. If Cameron had wronged JT, I was determined to find out about it. Whether I could convince JT to help me dig around in Cameron’s life, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was going to give it a try.

Once I’d taken my groceries home and put them away, I gathered up my violin and everything else I’d need for the day before leaving my apartment again, this time setting off for JT’s house.

Although the air had a cold bite to it, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue and the sun shone brightly. It only took a few minutes to drive from my apartment to the residential part of Dunbar, JT’s neighborhood. Once I’d reached his street I found a place to park my car and fetched my bag and violin from behind the driver’s seat. Crossing the road, I waved at Mrs. Tilley, JT’s elderly next-door neighbor, as she swept off her front porch. She waved back and I headed up the concrete path to JT’s house, thinking about how much I loved this part of the city.

The houses had character, the streets were lined with trees, and many of the residents kept nicely tended gardens. It wouldn’t be long before the area looked great at night as well, with Christmas lights brightening up the houses and adding cheer to the cold, dark evenings. My neighborhood was nice too—and I paid the price for it with my monthly rent—but I hoped to one day live in a detached home rather than an apartment. Maybe that was a pipe dream, considering the crazy real estate prices in Vancouver, but having my own outdoor space would be nice. For now, however, it was enough that I got to spend plenty of time hanging out at JT’s place, especially since he let me use his yard for gardening during the warmer months.

Climbing the steps to the porch, I fished around in my bag for my keys. I dug the keychain out of the depths of my tote, and then paused on the doorstep, listening. Piano music floated out to me from inside the house. There was nothing unusual about that, since JT often played his baby grand piano in the front living room, but this was music I’d never heard before, and it had my full attention. Unlocking the door as quietly as I could, I slipped inside the house and stopped to listen again. The beautiful melody surrounded me, leaving me barely aware of anything but the music. The notes rose and fell, the baseline adding depth and intensity to the rich and vibrant melody.

As I listened I wanted to smile and cry and float away all at the same time. But I did none of those things. Instead I remained rooted to the spot, entranced by the music, hardly breathing until the song wound down, slowing before settling on the final note. Only when the music had stopped completely did I move again.

Shutting the door, I set my violin and bag down in the foyer and stepped into the living room. Seated on the piano bench, JT turned at the sound of my footsteps. Finnegan jumped up from his spot on the floor near the piano and rushed toward me, his fluffy tail wagging.

“Morning,” JT greeted with a smile.

“Morning,” I returned as I crouched down to give Finnegan a hug. Once I’d straightened up again, I asked JT, “Was that one of your songs?”

“Yes. I just finished it up last night.”

I crossed the room toward him and he shifted to the side to make room for me on the piano bench.

“I figured it must be new,” I said as I sat down next to him. “It’s not something I’d ever forget after hearing it.”

“You like it?”

I caught the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice and realized that my opinion really mattered to him.

“Like it? I absolutely love it.”

His shoulders lowered an inch, a sign that he’d been worried about my reaction.

“Seriously, JT.” I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a quick squeeze. “It’s incredible. In fact, it might be my favorite of all the songs you’ve ever composed, and that’s saying something.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

“What’s it called?”

As soon as I voiced the question, the front door opened.

“Your student?” JT guessed.

I glanced over my shoulder as Tricia, one of my adult students, stepped into the foyer.

“Yes. Hi, Tricia,” I said, getting up from the bench. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

As Tricia disappeared into my studio, I wrapped my arms around JT’s neck, giving him a hug from behind.

“I really love it, JT. I hope I’ll get to hear it again.”

“You will,” he assured me.

I crossed the foyer to my studio while JT and Finnegan headed toward the back of the house. JT’s latest composition had so thoroughly captured my attention that it wasn’t until two hours and two students later that I remembered my plan to talk over the murder case with him. When I had a half-hour break between students, I wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find JT and Finnegan there. The room was empty. The door leading to the basement was open and the light in the stairwell was on, but I didn’t descend the stairs. There was a good chance that JT was working in his studio, and I probably didn’t have enough time to share all my thoughts with him before my next student showed up.

So instead of going in search of my best friend, I fixed myself a vanilla latte to drink with the granola bar I’d packed in my bag that morning. When my latte was ready, I perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, my phone on the granite countertop. Since I had a few minutes to kill, I decided to do a bit of research into Cameron’s life. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find—if anything—but I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. Maybe he had a history of committing thefts, or maybe he was known by everyone as a stand-up guy who could always be relied on. Whether the Internet would reveal any of that to me, I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

Opening the Internet browser on my phone, I typed the name “Cameron Rask” into the search bar and scrolled through the results that popped up on the screen. Ten minutes later I’d finished the granola bar but I hadn’t found anything useful online. While I’d found a couple of social media profiles belonging to the right Cameron, they provided nothing illuminating. I was about to give up when I clicked on a final search result. It took me to a short news article, and I sipped the last of my vanilla latte as I read the item.

When I reached the end of the short article, I set my cup on the countertop with a clunk, lost in thought. Apparently Cameron had been involved in a fistfight outside a bar eighteen months earlier. He’d been charged with assault as a result, although the article didn’t mention whether the case had gone to trial or whether Cameron had received a conviction and sentence.

That information wasn’t of great importance to me, however. I was most interested in the fact that he’d resorted to fisticuffs with another man to settle a dispute over a hockey game they’d watched at the bar. Okay, maybe he’d been influenced by alcohol at the time, but that didn’t change the fact that the fight had happened. Was it an isolated incident for Cameron, or did he make a habit of settling disputes with violence?

If he did have violent tendencies, had I made a mistake by focusing on him solely in relation to the theft of JT’s recording equipment? He was, after all, present at the theater on the night of Pavlina’s death. Perhaps he should have had a spot on my suspect list for that crime as well.

I tugged on my left earlobe as I stared off into space, following that line of thought. I’d have to check with JT if there was any time during the second half of the concert when Cameron wasn’t within his sight. If there was such a time, then Cameron could have had the opportunity to murder Pavlina.

But why the heck would he want to? As far as I knew, he’d never met Pavlina. But what if he had?

I recalled his behavior on the night in question and considered another possibility. I’d seen him in the midst of an urgent phone call, one he’d hastily ended as soon as he saw me approaching. He’d been just as jumpy about text messages he’d sent that evening too. So even if he’d never met Pavlina, could she have overheard something that made Cameron view her as a threat? Even if he’d simply thought she’d overheard something, that could have been enough to push him over the edge, if whatever it was that made him so jumpy was significant enough to drive him to murder.

If, if, if.

That was the problem. Too much supposition and not nearly enough facts.

Yes, Cameron was jumpy that night at the theater, but maybe that was because he’d planned the theft ahead of time. Nervous behavior didn’t automatically make him a murderer. Still, I couldn’t completely rule out his possible involvement in the murder. Not yet, at least.

The first thing I needed to do was find out if he’d had the opportunity to kill Pavlina. If not, I could strike his name from my list of murder suspects, leaving him only on the list of suspects for the theft.

JT held the answer I needed, but seeking it out would have to wait. As I closed the browser on my phone, my next student entered the house through the front door and I got up to greet him. The next four hours would be spent teaching violin lessons, but after that I’d talk to JT and get the information I needed.

B
Y THE TIME
I finished teaching my last lesson of the day and had eaten the sandwich I’d picked up at the grocery store that morning, JT was loading his borrowed and spare recording equipment into his truck. After washing down my dinner with a glass of water, I grabbed a couple of microphone stands from the basement and carried them outside. As JT loaded them into the back of his truck, I decided to bring up the subject of Cameron.

When I told him about the assault charge from eighteen months ago, JT gave me a suspicious, sidelong look.

“So?” he said. “Getting into a fistfight doesn’t automatically make him a thief.”

“I know that. But it does mean he’s resorted to violence in the past.”

JT shut the truck’s tailgate, locking it before we headed back to the house for more equipment. “What does violence have to do with anything?”

“Murder is a violent crime.”

JT halted at the base of the porch steps. “Hold on. Now you’re accusing Cameron of murder?”

Finnegan barked at us from where he sat next to the front door, trying to hurry us along.

“I’m not accusing him of anything.” I started up the steps, much to Finnegan’s joy, and JT followed a second later. “I’m just saying that I can’t yet rule him out.”

“That’s insane, Dori. It’s bad enough to suspect him of stealing. What possible reason would he have to kill someone he didn’t know?”

I stepped into the house and waited for JT to join me in the foyer. “First of all, we don’t know for certain that he didn’t know Pavlina.”

JT opened his mouth to cut in, but I hurried on before he could stop me.

“Second of all, I can think of a possible motive, but that doesn’t matter if he didn’t have an opportunity to commit the crime.”

JT shut the front door, and I could tell he was mulling over what I’d said. Finnegan sat down at his feet and looked up at him expectantly, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor.

“The murder happened during the second half of the concert?” JT checked.

“Yes.”

Dismay flickered in his eyes and I pounced on its significance.

“He wasn’t with you the entire time, was he?”

Stepping around Finnegan, JT strode off down the hallway. Finn and I scurried after him.