Death in the Choir (15 page)

“Father John?” Thomas exclaimed with a laugh. “And Lily
and Patricia? I can’t imagine any of them harming a fly, can you?”

She chuckled. “Not really. Truth be told, my woman’s
intuition isn’t always completely reliable.”

“And who’s Candy?”

The wine had definitely loosened her tongue. Before she
could stop herself, she told him about the secret tie that connected Randall,
Candy, and Lily.

“Well, still waters do run deep,” he mused. “Sounds like
our choir director had quite an interesting life, unbeknownst to any of us.”

Then he took her hand. “But that’s all in the past.
Let’s celebrate our first date by having a glass of port. I have a bottle in
the basement that I’ve been saving for a special occasion. We can have it with
some cheddar cheese.”

One
more glass of anything,
and
I’m likely to fall off the couch
.
I’d
better be careful.
And then she thought of Tony wining and dining Lily, and
she felt a stab of bitter jealousy.
I bet
the two of them are strolling along in downtown Decatur, arm in arm, just
enjoying themselves to no end
.
 

“Sure, why not?”

I’m
not that drunk. And anyway the cheddar will absorb some of the alcohol.

While he went downstairs to get the port, she nestled up
on the couch and watched the fire. Then she noticed a few notebooks stacked
neatly on the coffee table in front of her.
I
wonder what kind of lectures on music they give in graduate school.
She
began flipping
through one of the
notebooks.

There were names of composers and musical selections,
facts about operas, plus critical comments made by the professor.
Another world to me.
She yawned.
At that moment, she heard Thomas coming
back up the stairs.

“I’m going to open the port in the kitchen and let it
breathe. And I’ll get some cheese and crackers for us. Are you doing alright?”

“Just fine. The fire is lovely, and so is the music.”

She leaned back on the couch and studied a few of the
oil paintings in the living room.
He has
good taste. The furniture isn’t ostentatious, but it’s a nice quality.

He came back into the living room and put a platter of
cheese and crackers on the coffee table. He also handed her a glass of port.
Just then, she felt an odd clutching feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was
an empty, lonely sensation like she used to have when she was very young and
her mother left her with a babysitter.

Now
what is this all about?
He sat beside her and they toasted
with the port. When he put his arm around her shoulders, she suddenly felt her
heart lurch.

Oh,
dear Lord! The handwriting in the notebook looks like the handwriting in the
love letters.

Lily’s invitation for an after-dinner drink at her
place was somewhat tempting, but Tony decided to turn her down. She was an
attractive woman, especially in that dress, but he wasn’t interested in what
else she might be offering. It wasn’t very creative, but he had used the first
excuse that came to mind. Work was waiting for him at the office.

When she heard that, Lily’s bright expression had
dimmed considerably, but he shrugged it off mentally. After all, he hadn’t
invited her out to start with. She had called him earlier that day. She said
she wanted to talk with him. She had also suggested the French restaurant and
insisted on picking up the tab.

While they were eating their appetizers, she had told
him point blank what she wanted.

“I heard through the…
er
…grapevine
that you have some of Randall’s letters and his journal. I think they belong to
the family. I want them. After all, even if we were divorced, he was still the
father of my only child.”

“And did you write the letters?” He had decided to cut
to the chase.

“I didn’t write them and if you check the handwriting,
you’ll know I’m telling the truth.” The big dark eyes had flashed with annoyance.

He had stalled for time by buttering his roll. He
wanted to annoy her a bit, because she might be more inclined to blurt out the
truth. “Who did write them then?”

“I have no idea.” But the expression in her eyes had
hinted otherwise.

“Look, Lily, I’ll give you the journal and letters,
but not until I’ve thoroughly looked them over. Even though the case is closed,
I’m starting to have some doubts about it.”

“Doubts?”
 

“It’s just a hunch, but I have to follow it. It’s
possible it wasn’t a suicide at all.”

She had licked her lips nervously. “You must have been
talking with Francesca. She seems to have this weird theory that Randall was
murdered. But it’s crazy, and I wish you would get her to stop meddling in the
case!”

“Maybe it is crazy, but, as I said, I’d rather follow
the hunch. And as for Francesca, I can’t stop her. It’s a free country, as they
say, and she isn’t breaking any law that I know of.”

Lily had sighed dramatically and looked very pained.

When Tony and Lily left the restaurant, Thomas and
Francesca were still there. Tony had glanced over at their table a few times,
noticing that Francesca wasn’t saying much but seemed quite intent on listening
to Thomas.

I wonder what’s up with
them.
And
then he was surprised by his next thought:
I
hope it isn’t anything serious.

When he got to Lily’s house, she came up with a rather
creative way to get him inside.

“Oh, that’s my little Snowflake, barking. She only
does that if she thinks there’s an intruder. Wouldn’t you just come in for a moment
to make sure everything is OK?” As Lily spoke, the scent of her cologne, heavy
and musky, wafted toward him.

Now Tony couldn’t turn her down. He was, after all, a
police officer, and he would never forgive himself if he failed to protect a
woman who was in danger.

“Well, I can’t stay long, but I’ll come in and take a
quick look around.” He glanced at his watch to drive home the point.

Once inside the house, they discovered Snowflake
barking at a moth that she was chasing around the room.
Is it my
imagination or does
Lily look disappointed? Maybe she hoped for something more dramatic so I’d
stick around longer.

“Well, I’m glad there was nothing to worry about. And
thank you again for the meal.” He made his way quickly to the door, relieved to
be getting out so soon.

Lily’s nice,
he thought, as he pulled
out of her driveway,
but really not my
type.
He liked women who were a little less polished and sophisticated. He
had cringed when he saw all the ruffles on her furniture, and the distinctive
aroma of some kind of potpourri. He hated ruffles and scented candles and all
that stuff. They reminded him of Martha Stewart, whom one of his aunts
worshiped.

Every time he visited Aunt Louise, she was poring over
Martha’s magazines. Aunt Louise’s house was crammed with herds of cutesy
knickknacks and fussy flower arrangements that got on his nerves. It took her
hours to dust everything, and by the time she was through, she had to start
over again. It just didn’t make sense to him.

He liked Francesca’s house because it was fairly low
key, nothing fancy, and he’d noticed plenty of things that needed repairs.
There was something touching and slightly needy about her, which he also liked.
Unlike so many women he’d dated, Francesca’s life had loose ends that a man could
enjoy tying up.

When he’d noticed the gutters of her house overflowing
with leaves, his first instinct had been to climb up on the roof and get to
work. The yard needed tending, and some of the rooms could have used a coat of
paint. In his estimation, the trouble with so many single women was that they
didn’t seem to have room for a man in their lives. They had careers, they had
expensive cars, and they had big houses with all the trimmings. Even though
many of them claimed to be looking for a husband, a man seemed like an
afterthought.

So much for dime-store
philosophy
,
he mused, turning on the radio.
Maybe I
should take some college courses in philosophy like Francesca did
. But then
a block later, he switched the radio off. There was a doubt nagging at the back
of his mind, and it was making him uneasy.

Something about White rubbed
me the wrong way. I’m probably a little jealous, but I think it’s more than
that. It was the way he immediately had to make a joke about the police keeping
the streets safe.

Over the years, Tony had learned that people who were
quick to poke fun at his profession often did so because they had something to
hide. He also had learned to trust his hunches, so he decided to run by the
station in Decatur and run a computer check on White’s background.

He needed White’s birth date and address, so he made a
quick call to St. Rita’s rectory. He asked the woman answering the phone that
evening to look through the church records. Luckily she wasn’t the suspicious
type who might have refused to give out information over the phone. She gave
him White’s birth date, along with his current Decatur address and an address
where he’d previously lived.
 

After he’d entered the information on Thomas White
into the computer, Tony grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot in the station.
Abysmal as usual
, he thought, taking a
sip of the bitter liquid.

A few seconds later, he put down the coffee cup. He
sat ramrod straight at the desk, reading the information on the screen.

* * *

Francesca was experiencing
an uncomfortable mixture of emotions. Her rational mind said her suspicions
were unfounded; it was just a coincidence. But in her heart she felt a growing
dark cloud of doubt.

“A penny for your thoughts.”
Thomas moved a bit closer.

“Oh, they’re not worth that
much.” She hoped her emotional turmoil wasn’t showing on her face. Then she put
down her glass with an air of finality. “I think I’d like to go home now.”

His face fell.
This is stupid. He’s going out of his way to
be a good host and I’m
acting
idiotic.

“Is it the port? Don’t you
like it?”

“It’s delicious, but I feel
so tired. I need to get some sleep.”

And she realized it was
true. She felt so drowsy from all the alcoholic beverages that she could hardly
keep her head up.
And, even if I’m being
idiotic, I want to go home.
I want to
put on my comfy cow pajamas and snuggle up to Tubs.

In moments, Thomas’
disappointment seemed to intensify into a sulky, childish attitude. He put down
his glass, stood up, and began pacing. When he turned to speak to her, his mood
had changed again. She was startled to realize that he was quite angry.

“Oh, why don’t you just say
it?” he spat. “Just say you don’t like me. And you don’t want to go to bed with
me. You don’t have to make up excuses.”

“I’m not making up excuses.”
She was more confused than ever now.
Why
is he talking about going to bed with me? Does he just assume that’s part of
the evening’s agenda? And why is he acting so infantile?

“Were you and Randall
friends?”
Maybe if I can get him to talk
about Randall, I can figure out if he wrote the letters. Maybe it’s just some
very weird coincidence about the handwriting.

“Friends?” His laugh sounded
like a bark. “Yes, you might say that. We were very close, and we spent a lot
of time together. We both loved music and we both wanted to devote our lives to
it. But Randall kept getting sidetracked.”

He ran his fingers nervously
through his hair. He took a gulp of the port. He looked distraught.

“Look, I hope this won’t
shock you too terribly,” Thomas blurted out, “but Randall and I were lovers.”

“Lovers?” she echoed
incredulously.

“Yes, lovers, as in soul
mates, partners, significant others, whatever else you want to call it.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize. I
thought he was...that is, I didn’t know he was,
er
,
gay.”

Now the script started going
in a direction that she would never have envisioned.

“Who said anything about
gay? Randall was bisexual. So am I.” He pronounced the word almost proudly, as
if he were revealing his allegiance to an esoteric religious sect.

“You’ve heard of bisexuals,
haven’t you?” His voice was ringing with angry sarcasm.

Things are getting too strange here,
she thought,
I’ve got to go home.

“Listen, Thomas, I
really...” she started to say, but he interrupted.

“I know what you’re going to
say,” he hissed angrily. He stalked across the room and grabbed her by the arm.
He started pulling her roughly from the couch. “You’re tired, you have a
headache, and you want to go home. The truth is, you don’t want to go out with a
weirdo, isn’t that right?”

“No, that’s not it at all.”
She struggled against him. But he was strong and he jerked her toward him, and
then he kissed her so hard that her lips started to bleed.

“Thomas, for God’s sake, what
are you doing?” she screamed, as she felt his hands grabbing roughly at her
sweater. “Get away from me!”

Somehow she managed to break
free and started running for the door.

This must be a nightmare. I must be asleep. I’ve been stuck
in dreams before, and screaming made me wake up. But it isn’t working now.

* * *

Tony read the information on White quickly, his mind
absorbing the puzzle pieces and putting them together as he read. White had
been picked up six years ago for beating up a live-in girlfriend. She had
dropped the charges, so nothing had come of it. He’d been picked up another
time for indecent exposure, but he’d gotten out on some technicality.

Tony checked the dispatcher’s files to see if
neighbors had lodged complaints against White at either his current or previous
address.
Bingo,
he thought, as he
discovered an entry with White’s former address on it. A Decatur police
officer, Roger Spalding, had been dispatched a year ago to White’s house. It
seems the neighbors had telephoned the police department to complain about a
raucous party.

The city of Decatur wasn’t known for wild parties, and
complaints were few and far between. So Tony figured there was a good chance
that the officer who’d been dispatched would remember the event. He dialed
Roger Spalding’s extension.
 

“Hey, it’s Tony. This is a long shot, but how good is
your memory?”

“Pretty decent.
Whaddya
need?”

Tony explained about the party and gave Spalding the
exact date and address. Tony heard Spalding chuckling.

“Oh, yeah, I remember that party, you can bet your
bottom dollar on that. See, it’s not often you see a party like the one White
was hosting that night. Well, maybe in the French Quarter...”

“Meaning what?” Tony wanted Spalding to get to the
point quickly.

Tony could hear him taking a drag from his cigarette.
“It’s the only party I ever saw where the chicks were really guys.”

“You mean drag queens?” Tony shot back, simultaneously
grabbing his car keys and rising from his chair.

“You got it, buddy.”

* * *

Francesca couldn’t seem to extricate herself from the
nightmare. Thomas stopped her as she tried to get out his front door. But he
wasn’t playing rough anymore. He took her gently by the hand as if they were a
couple at a party on their way to the dance floor. She noticed that his mood
had changed again. And somehow this was even more frightening because she
didn’t know what would come next.