Death in a Major (13 page)

“Okay, so maybe you didn't take anything from Major's house,” I said, although I didn't know if he had or hadn't, “but you were there without permission, going through his belongings. What was I supposed to think?”

Three more musicians made their way past us on their way to the stage.

Beaufort waited for them to pass and lowered his voice further. “
If
I'd been inside Mr. Major's house without permission, it would only have been for the sake of the orchestra.”

“If? And for the sake of the orchestra?” I couldn't make much sense out of his words, aside from the fact that I'd gathered he wasn't admitting or outright denying that he'd broken into Major's house.

“It's rather a long story.”

“One which you told to the police, I hope.”

“Actually, that's why I wanted to speak with you.”

Uh-­oh. I didn't like the sound of that.

“I'm sure you understand that I didn't want to get charged with breaking and entering.”

Then you shouldn't have committed the crime
, I wanted to tell him. But I kept quiet and let him continue.

“So I denied that I was at Mr. Major's residence.”

I stared at him. “But you
were
there.”

He loosened his blue silk tie a fraction, as if to allow himself to breathe more easily. “Perhaps you were mistaken in what you saw?”

All the pieces clicked into place and I finally understood what he was getting at. “You want me to recant my statement? To tell the police that I'm not so sure after all that it was you I saw?”

Relief wiped the strained expression from his face. “For the sake of the orchestra, of course. I knew you'd understand.”

But I don't understand
, I wanted to say.

He didn't give me the chance. As Mikayla and several other musicians emerged from the lounge, Dr. Beaufort sent a quick nod my way and hurried off down the hallway. I stood there staring after him, completely befuddled.

“What was that about?” Mikayla asked when she reached my side, having noticed Beaufort's departure.

I fell into step with her and we headed toward the stage, my thoughts in a crazy whirlwind. “I couldn't tell you,” I said as we walked, “because I'm not so sure myself.”

 

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE REHEARSAL MEANT
that I didn't have much time that evening to think about my encounter with Dr. Beaufort. Instead I spent the next two hours immersed in the music of Rimsky-­Korsakov. After Mikayla dropped me off at home later that night, however, I couldn't think of much other than Beaufort. He even overshadowed my aggravation with Elena and thoughts of Bronwyn, Aaron, and JT.

How the doctor's evening of breaking and entering could have been for the sake of the Point Grey Philharmonic, I didn't know. What I did know was that his reasons for committing the crime didn't change the fact that it
was
a crime.

Beaufort hadn't seemed to notice that I'd never actually agreed to recant my statement, and I had no intention of doing so. I hoped that sticking to the truth wouldn't jeopardize my job with the PGP, but I doubted that it would. If Beaufort tried to somehow get me fired in retribution, all I had to do was reveal the story about his evening of crime, with the police to back me up. Dr. Beaufort was the one likely to get the boot if that happened, and I knew he'd be well aware of that.

All that aside, I couldn't help but wonder what was so important to Beaufort that it would drive him to risk his reputation, his position as vice chair of the PGP's executive committee, and his career by breaking into Major's house. Maybe Jordan could find out—­if Dr. Beaufort hadn't taken whatever he'd been looking for. Jordan was, after all, living in Mr. Major's house and could snoop through his grandfather's belongings if he were so inclined. And I guessed that he might be so inclined, especially if there was a possibility that his snooping could prove that someone other than his mother was the murderer.

Why and how Beaufort would have gone about poisoning Mr. Major, I couldn't even guess. Well, I
could
guess, but at the moment my guesses would be nothing more than wild speculation drawn only from my imagination. But that didn't change the fact that Beaufort had behaved suspiciously, and in my mind his possible involvement in the murder needed to be investigated.

Glancing at the clock on my kitchen wall, I realized with a touch of disappointment that it was too late to call Jordan that night. Enlisting his help would have to wait until the next day. In the meantime, I decided to get some sleep. Maybe some of my confusion would disappear during my slumber. I doubted it, but I could always hope.

T
HE FIRST PERSON
I talked to the next morning was Jordan. When I told him my idea, his initial response was less than enthusiastic, especially since I couldn't offer him a possible reason for Beaufort to want Archibald Major dead.

“But not knowing why he might have wanted him dead doesn't mean he didn't want him dead,” I pointed out as I spoke to my student over the phone.

“True,” Jordan conceded.

I dunked a teabag in a cup of hot water as I waited for him to think it over. I didn't have to wait long.

“All right, I guess I can take a look around. I'll text you if I find anything.”

It took some effort, but I managed to suppress my exclamation of triumph. Instead, I removed the teabag from the water and dropped it in the kitchen sink for the time being. As I wandered over to my small dining table, Jordan continued on.

“And today will probably be a good day for it. My aunt's determined to get my mom out of the house for a while and with Marjorie gone, I'll be here on my own.”

“Marjorie's gone? Gone where?”

“Off to a new job. She left first thing this morning.”

“And you're not going to school?”

“Nah. I didn't feel like it today and my mom said that was fine. I'll go back to classes on Monday once the funeral is over with.”

“When is the funeral?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “Is it open to the public?”

“Yes. You want to come?”

“If that's all right. I'd like to pay my respects.” More than that, I wanted a chance to scope out the attendees and watch for any suspicious behavior, but I didn't mention that part.

“Sure. There's no reception after. Just a church ser­vice and a graveside ser­vice. I'll text you the details later. In the meantime, what exactly am I supposed to be looking for?”

I blew on my hot tea, rippling the surface. “I don't actually know. Anything that strikes you as unusual or suspicious. Possibly something connected to the Point Grey Philharmonic or Dr. Beaufort in some way.”

“Okay. I'll see what I can find.”

I could tell that he still had his doubts about the whole plan, but at least he'd agreed to it. After he assured me that he'd let me know if the search turned up anything, we ended the call and I sipped at my tea.

It was Friday and I had another concert that evening. I also had to teach most of the afternoon, so if I wanted to do any investigating I knew I had to do it that morning. The problem was that I didn't know how to move forward. Unless and until Jordan found something to shed more light on Dr. Beaufort's possible involvement, I didn't think there was much of anything I could do to work on that angle.

Actually, I didn't think there was much of anything I could do to work on any angles of the case. But I decided to give it a try and see what I could come up with.

Pushing my half-­finished tea to the side, I fetched my laptop from across the room and set it on the table. Once the computer had booted up, I opened the Web browser and stared at the empty search bar, thinking.

While I doubted it would lead to anything helpful, I typed Dr. Daniel Beaufort's name into the search bar and pressed enter. I was entirely unsurprised when numerous results popped up on my screen. I scrolled down the page, scanning the list for anything that stood out. Most of the results were links to the Web site for the hospital where Beaufort worked as a surgeon, links to the PGP's Web site, or online articles about his medical work and involvement in charities.

I clicked on a link to one of the more recent articles and spotted Beaufort in a photo of a group of smiling, expensively dressed ­people at a charity benefit. He stood in the front row, flanked by a fair-­haired man around his own age on his left and a woman with graying hair on his right. Archibald Major was also in the photo, standing three ­people away from Beaufort. I scanned through the article, but it didn't provide me with any pertinent information. So Beaufort and Major had helped to raise money for the same charity. I didn't think that was of any real interest.

Another photo near the bottom of the article caught my eye. It showed the quartet of musicians who had provided live music at the benefit. I recognized Janine Ko and recalled that she'd mentioned she was playing in a quartet for extra money.

Refocusing on my task, I hit the back button.

After returning to the search results, I clicked on a random link to see what would pop up. It was a short announcement of Dr. Beaufort's recent marriage to his long-­time partner, Timothy Grimes. A photograph accompanied the announcement, showing Beaufort with the fair-­haired man from the first photo accompanying the article I'd read only a minute earlier.

I hit the back button once more and scrolled through the results one last time. Beaufort was married, a skilled surgeon, and actively involved in charity work. Great, but none of that told me whether he was or wasn't a murderer.

Disappointed, I was about to give up on researching Beaufort when one word caught my eye.

Thefts.

I clicked on the search result containing that word and another article popped up on my screen. It referred to the same charity benefit as the first article I'd read, but touched on something other than the live music and the purpose of the event. Apparently, some jewelry had gone missing during the benefit and the police suspected that the thefts were the work of an experienced pickpocket. He or she had slipped away with two watches and a bracelet, all worth a good deal of money.

Bells dinged in my head. I read the article a second time. The charity event had taken place less than a month ago. Could the thefts that occurred at the benefit be related to the theft at the PGP's reception?

With a hum of excitement running through my bones, I considered the possibility. Similar objects were taken in both cases, and both events took place in Vancouver. If I could somehow link the two crimes, that would help Bronwyn. She wasn't at the charity benefit, so she couldn't have been responsible for those thefts.

At least, I didn't think she was at the charity benefit.

Deciding that I should make sure, I grabbed my phone and sent off a quick text message to Bronwyn, seeking confirmation that she hadn't been at the first event. While I waited for a response, I found a pen and a scrap of paper and made a list of everyone who had been at both the charity benefit and the PGP's reception. The list included Archibald Major, Dr. Beaufort, and Janine Ko. For the moment, I added Bronwyn's name to the end of the list with a question mark after it, hoping I could soon cross out her name. If for some reason she had been at the charity benefit, the case against her would be even stronger.

Pushing that thought aside for the time being, I considered the other names on my list. Archibald Major was rich and had no need to steal for financial gain. Even if he stole from ­people to satisfy a warped sense of fun, why plant the brooch in Bronwyn's bag? Could that also have been part of some twisted game? Maybe he simply wanted to cause trouble and watch it unfold. From what I'd learned about his personality recently, I wouldn't have put it past him. At the same time, I had nothing but speculation to go on. I would need evidence, and with Mr. Major now deceased, that could be difficult to come by.

Leaving Major's name uncrossed, I moved on to Dr. Beaufort. Again, he had no need for money, as far as I could tell. As a successful surgeon, he no doubt had a good income, but there was always a possibility that he had a tendency to spend beyond his means, or an expensive habit like gambling to support. But he seemed less likely than Mr. Major to set Bronwyn up as a thief. Unless . . .

I scooped up my phone and sent another message to Bronwyn.

Have you ever had any trouble with anyone on the PGP's board of directors?

I left it at that, not wanting to name any names yet.

Setting my phone aside, I stared at Janine's name. Memories flashed through my mind.

Janine mentioning her need for extra cash.

Her new designer handbag.

Maybe the handbag wasn't a knockoff as Elena had suggested. Maybe Janine was able to buy the real thing with money obtained through stealing. Or perhaps she'd stolen the bag.

My stomach sank as those thoughts went through my head. I didn't like the idea of any of my fellow musicians being a thief, but if I wanted to help Bronwyn I had to look at all the possibilities. Of all the ­people on my list, Janine seemed to have the strongest motive for stealing.

But I still couldn't figure out why she would have planted the stolen jewelry in Bronwyn's bag. Or could I?

Janine and Bronwyn had both studied music at the University of British Columbia at the same time, a few years before I went through the program. I knew from Bronwyn that Janine had been in the front row of the first violin section of the university's orchestra in the beginning, only two chairs away from the concertmaster. However, when the professor had tweaked the seating arrangements at the beginning of their third year in the program, he'd had Bronwyn and Janine switch places, basically demoting Janine. She hadn't been pleased at the time.

Maybe she blamed Bronwyn for the change. If that was the case, and she still held a grudge years later, it was entirely possible that she'd decided to get revenge by setting Bronwyn up to look like a thief so she'd get kicked out of the orchestra.

I continued to stare at Janine's name. Could she really be so devious?

It would explain so much.

But how could I prove it?

My phone buzzed, the sound cutting through my thoughts. Bronwyn had replied to my texts, answering both questions in the negative. So she hadn't been at the charity benefit, which was a good thing, and she'd never had any conflicts with anyone on the PGP's executive committee. As I crossed her name off my list, I decided to ask her another question.

How well do you get along with Janine Ko?

Her reply came back less than a minute later.

I don't think she likes me much, not since our university days, but she's never said anything outright. We've never argued or anything. Why? Did she put the brooch in my bag?

I don't know
, I wrote back quickly.
I'm looking into several possibilities.

Thank you
, her next reply read.
I don't know what I'd do without you and Mikayla.

I exchanged a ­couple more messages with her, telling her to hang in there, and then put my phone down.

As interested as I was in my new theory about Janine, I had other ­people I wanted to look into before I put my laptop away. This time I typed Andrea Duffy's name into the search bar and checked out the results. That search turned up very little on the right Andrea Duffy, and absolutely nothing of interest. I would have liked to look up Ernest, to see what—­if anything—­came up on him, but I didn't know his last name. There was a chance I could change that, though.

I logged into Facebook and checked the profiles of some of my friends from the orchestra. I didn't know if Ernest used social media, but I figured if he did we probably had friends in common.

Sure enough, we did.

It took a few tries, but I eventually found him on the friends list of one of the oboe players. His profile photo was clear enough to confirm that Ernest Pavlyuk was indeed the Ernest I knew. I couldn't see any information on his profile because of his privacy settings, but I typed his full name into the Web browser's search bar and checked out the results.