Murder for Choir (2 page)

“Why the rush?” I asked. “I thought the competitions were all scheduled for the spring.” In fact, I was certain of it. Part of me was really hoping I’d get a call from a casting director so I could leave this job long before the competitive season began.

“We can’t wait until the spring.” Felicia’s eyes widened with horror. “The choir always has their costumes made in time for the Fall Concert. That gives us time to make adjustments. The wrong fabric or a couple of incorrectly placed sequins can make or break a team’s ability to execute their routines.”

I’d have to take her word on it. In my performing experience, sequins rarely affected motor skills.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

I blinked. “About what?”

“Getting together to plan the costumes.” She laughed. “The sooner the better.”

“Can you meet tonight for dinner?” We could get the costume stuff out of the way, and I’d have a great excuse to skip my aunt’s most recent culinary disaster.

“I have a date tonight.” Felicia frowned.

Turkey surprise, here I came.

I mentally scrolled through my camp schedule. “I don’t have to teach any sessions first thing tomorrow morning. Why don’t we meet after breakfast and talk strategy?”

“That would be perfect.” Felicia beamed, and I found myself smiling back. It was nice to have a friend, even if she drank the Show-Choir-Is-King Kool-Aid.

We reached the choir room, and I swung the door open to reveal chaos. The room was huge, with high ceilings and built-in risers that accommodated eighty-eight chairs.
Unfortunately for Larry, most of those chairs were currently unoccupied. A group of kids in the back corner were working on a tap routine. A few girls to my left were applying makeup, and the rest of the kids were doing what teenagers do best—flirting with members of the opposite sex.

Larry was sitting at the grand piano, working on the harmony of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” with a group of boys. The song was to be part of the end of camp showcase on Friday, when parents and friends would come to see the campers strut their stuff. At the rate these kids were learning, they’d be ready to perform it around Christmas.

Stepping into the room, I watched several heads snap in my direction. Students I recognized from my choir nudged others near them, and the room quieted. The silence was gratifying.

Larry looked up from the piano with a slightly bemused expression. He spotted me near the door and smiled. “There you are, Miss Marshall. The sopranos are having trouble hitting the high notes. I thought you might be able to help them.”

A bunch of teenage girls scowled at me. I was guessing they were the sopranos. Before I had a chance to answer, a voice behind me boomed, “Why don’t I work with the girls?”

I turned and tried not to cringe as the director of rival school North Shore High’s show choir, Greg Lucas, swaggered through the door. His arms were muscular, his skin perfectly tanned, and his teeth whiter than any toothpaste commercial. Too bad both his height and his personality were stunted.

The high school girls tittered and sighed. I rolled my eyes. Greg didn’t appear to notice either reaction. As he shoved a silver pitch pipe into his pants pocket, his attention
was focused on a beet red Larry. “This will give Paige a chance to see how a real show choir rehearsal is run. Right, Larry?”

Larry’s eyes looked ready to pop. “Paige is a pro-pro-professional, Greg. She doesn-doesn’t need help.”

A few girls giggled at Larry’s stutter. I gaped. I’d only worked with the man for a few days, but I’d never heard him trip over his words.

Greg walked over to Larry and clapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t doubt Miss Marshall’s professionalism. We’re all looking forward to hearing her sing at tomorrow’s master class. But I’m sure she’ll be the first to admit that performing opera is totally different than working with a performance choir. Right, Paige?”

All eyes turned toward me. Crap. Plastering a smile on my face, I said, “Yes, opera is different, but my background is also in musical theater and dance. Larry wouldn’t have hired me for this job if I wasn’t qualified.”

Truth be told, Larry hadn’t been the one to hire me, but Greg didn’t need to know that. Larry shot me a grateful look. His color was starting to return to normal—a very pasty white.

Greg shrugged. “Have it your way. Although let me know when you want to learn the ropes from a real teacher. I’d be happy to help.” He leaned down and whispered something to Larry. Then, with a wink, he disappeared out the door.

With Larry looking like he was going to hyperventilate, I had no choice but to say, “Okay, everyone, let’s get to work.”

Aunt Millie’s bright pink convertible Cadillac was in the driveway when I pulled up to her house. The thing had white
leather seats, gold rims, and the requisite fuzzy pink dice. All courtesy of the Mary Kay empire. Most women would look silly driving that vehicle. Aunt Mille and her car were a perfect fit.

I parked my blue Chevy Cobalt behind the Mary Kay Caddy and walked past the vibrant flower beds to the front door. In an effort to save money and travel time to my new job, I’d sublet my apartment in the city and moved in with my aunt. I was still getting used to the arrangement.

Don’t get me wrong. Living at Aunt Millie’s wasn’t exactly a hardship. She had a miniature castle in Lake Forest. Her neighbors consisted of business moguls, several members of the Chicago Bears, and a former guitarist from the Monkees. Aunt Millie’s house was small in comparison to her neighbors’—no indoor pools or basketball courts. Instead she managed to eke by with four bedrooms, five baths, and a gourmet kitchen that would make the chefs at Food Network salivate. Aunt Millie’s house ranked high on the amazing scale. If it weren’t for her beloved dog, the place would be perfect.

Quietly dumping my bag in the foyer, I cautiously crept through the house in search of my aunt. The cursing coming from the kitchen made her easy to find. Aunt Millie refused to hire a cook. She believed there was nothing she couldn’t master when she put her mind to it. In the three weeks I’d been living with her, putting her mind to it had resulted in four burned pans, three visits from the fire department, and six phone calls to the local pizza joint. Judging by Millie’s expression, today might be number seven.

Aunt Millie looked up from the cookbook she was squinting at over her pink-rimmed glasses. “How did it go?”

“Better than yesterday.” I glanced around the kitchen for Aunt Millie’s dog. “Where’s Killer?”

Aunt Millie’s pup was a prizewinning white standard poodle complete with pompon feet and tail. His name was Monsieur de Tueur de Dame. Or, in plain English, Mister Lady Killer. Millie called him Killer for short. Too bad the name fit the dog. Killer loved my aunt and hated everyone else. Aunt Millie thought it was endearing. I thought it was a reason to keep my rabies shots current.

Millie stood there assessing me. She was a sight to behold in her light pink cooking apron, polished nails, and perfect red coif. My aunt’s style looked a lot like
Legally Blonde
on crack.

“He’s in the backyard trying to attract the attention of Mrs. Wilson’s collie.” Aunt Millie sprinkled bread crumbs on top of her casserole concoction and gave a satisfied nod. She slid the dish into the oven with a smile. “So, how did it really go today?”

Sighing, I admitted, “Not great. The kids roll their eyes when I ask them to do breathing exercises, and the teachers aren’t much better. I’m the outsider, and they have no qualms about letting me know it.”

“This is only your second day. They’ll come around.” Millie took off her apron. Underneath was a tailored pink business suit that showed off the ample hips and the double-D cups I wished God had graced me with. I took after my mother’s side of the family—A cup all the way. Millie smiled at me. “Once those kids hear you sing their attitude will change.”

“I have to perform during the assembly tomorrow.”

“That’s perfect. What are you going to sing?”

Good question. I’d planned on doing something from
Carmen
. The Spanish-inspired music had lots of dramatic flare. But now I was rethinking the choice. From what I’d seen, these kids wouldn’t be impressed by anything sung in
French. Maybe it was stupid, but I wanted to impress them. Which meant anything operatic was out.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What’s your favorite show tune?”

“Honey, my taste runs more toward
Hello, Dolly!
and
Oklahoma!
Those kids aren’t going to be looking for ‘The Surrey with the Fringe on Top.’ You need to sing something that will catch their attention and show them who’s boss.” She flipped the folded apron onto the counter and headed toward the door. “I have to get going. My bridge club asked me to bring the fall samples to the game tonight. I’m betting I come home with at least two thousand dollars in sales.”

“What about dinner?” I pointed to the oven where Aunt Millie’s mystery casserole was starting to smoke.

She smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Oh, and would you let Killer in when it gets dark? He gets a little anxious if he’s alone outside after the sun goes down.” And out the door she went.

While I was certain my aunt was wrong about the casserole, she was right about what I should sing. I needed something that showed vocal range, power, and a lot of style. Hitting the off button on the oven, I dialed for pizza and went upstairs to flip through my sheet music. By the time the pizza man rang the doorbell an hour later, I’d found what I hoped was the perfect song. Now if I could get Killer inside without losing a limb, things would most definitely be looking up.

“What happened to you?” Felicia’s perfectly painted red mouth curled into a circle as she stared at my ACE-bandaged wrist. Around us the cafeteria was filled with screaming teenage voices and activity. Whoever decided to feed the
kids doughnuts and coffee for breakfast should be shot. “Are you okay?”

“I tripped and fell. No big deal, I’m fine.” That was my story, and I was sticking to it. Telling people my aunt’s standard poodle pushed me down the stairs, then walked over my sprawled body to get back to his lady love was not an option. Thank goodness Millie’s next-door neighbor was a doctor. While I wasn’t thrilled that he’d witnessed Killer’s victory over me, I was happy to learn my wrist was merely bruised.

Felicia smiled. “Good. Now, shall we get to work? I brought swatches.”

Oh joy.

An hour later, I’d chosen a color scheme for my team’s first costume—blue and white with green accents. The kids were going to need three costume changes, but this was a start. Felicia said I was a tactical genius. I wasn’t sure genius applied, but the fashion police weren’t going to pay us a visit.

“So, how was your date?” I asked Felicia as she packed up her fabrics and patterns.

“Not great.” She frowned and gave the last of the fabric a hard shove into her shoulder bag. “The man was totally full of himself, and he wanted me to pay for my own dinner.”

“I guess there won’t be a second date?”

She shook her head and changed the subject. “Have you seen Larry today? I ran into him last night. He looked really unhappy.”

Thus far, I’d only seen Larry in various states of concern so I wasn’t sure why Felicia was worried. “I haven’t seen him, but he said he was going to be filing music and working on lesson plans this morning. Did he say what was bothering him?”

She looked over both shoulders then lowered her voice. “Greg really got to Larry yesterday. I’ve never seen him so upset. I called him a bunch of times last night, but he never answered.” She looked down at her watched and squeaked. “I’ve gotta run. See you at the assembly. I can’t wait to hear you sing.”

Heels tapping, Felicia barreled toward the lunchroom exit, leaving me wondering what I was supposed to do next. The assembly wasn’t for another hour and fifteen minutes. The entire show-choir-camp student population was attending a dance class in the field house. Watching a bunch of high school kids practice jazz hands and jitterbug steps wasn’t all that appealing, so I trekked over to the Fine Arts wing to see what Larry was up to. If he was as unhappy as Felicia thought, he might appreciate a shoulder to cry on.