The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (30 page)

I don’t remember much about the drive home.  I could recall
my barefoot on the gas pedal, amused looks by the toll takers, and driving into
the garage and putting down the door before getting out of the car.  I didn’t
want the neighbors to have too much to gossip about.  I turned off the alarm
and walked into the den.  The answering machine light was blinking.  I decided
I would wait till I had a long shower and a shot, no, a glass of whiskey before
playing back the messages.  I turned on the house alarm before going into the
bathroom.  It wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe.  It was because each time I got
in the shower I could have sworn I could hear someone talking.  This precaution
would ease my imagination.

My bathroom is beautiful and calming, although the beauty
did not come without cost.  This was the room I was painting when I fell.  I
was painting the ceiling twelve feet up when the ladder twisted beneath me and
I fell, landing in the marble tub.  I was injured and covered with a gallon of
latex ceiling pant.  I opted to take a shower before heading to the hospital. 
Not a real smart thing to do but definitely a Cindy Fin-Lathen thing to do.

After I healed, I finished the bathroom.  I didn’t want it
to win.  By using a long pole and the brushes needed, I painted the ceiling and
the walls.  I never got on a ladder again.  I have applied a grapevine border
and have since named the bathroom “The Grapes of Wrath.”

The shower warmed me up and eased the tension out of my
neck.  Keeping my eyes closed, I washed off the blood.  I started to mull over
the events of the evening.  I tried to remember more about the night than I
recalled to Detective Curtis earlier.  With my eyes still closed, I put myself
in my seat at the beginning of the concert and looked around the band.  Was
anyone missing?  Just Carl, and because of my ruminations, he was now in the
shower with me.  His face showed horror and something else, recognition.  Had
he recognize death or his killer?

The thought came slamming into my head. He knew who killed
him!  Yes, he did.  I was sure of it.  I turned off the water and toweled off. 
I pulled on my “husband dumped me for a whore” ugly pajamas and headed into the
kitchen.  I poured some Irish whiskey over ice and swirled the ice around by
jiggling the glass.  The tinkling sound was rather musical.  Such a slight
sound and I could hear it.  Carl dies and no one hears it, that is, beyond the
one scream.  We were all musicians, trained to listen across the band, taught
since grade school to know when we were out of tune, taking tempos from the
conductor and the other musicians we were playing with.  It didn’t make any
sense that someone wouldn’t have heard Carl.

I drank deep from my glass, feeling the bite, while pushing
those thoughts away.  The answering machine called.  With both my son and
daughter away at school, I was feeling a bit vulnerable.  Maybe one of them left
me a message.  I would have loved to hear at least one of their voices.  I
settled into my chair and pushed play.

“Cindy this is Bernice.  Call.  I will be up late.”
 
Click. 
Ten fifty-one P M.

“Mrs. Fin-Lathen, Detective Curtis here.  If you could call
me when you get in.  My cell number is 555-0103
.”  Click.  Eleven zero five P M.

I looked at the clock.  Eleven fifteen.  He could wait.  I
took another sip and toasted the phone.

“Cindy, Miles here.  The band left all of the music folders
here at the theater.”

So what did I care?  I took another sip.

“I talked to Doctor Sanders and he wants you to bring them
to practice tomorrow night.”  Click.  Eleven zero nine PM.

I took a long sip before questioning the flashing light,
“Why me, why not the present band librarian?”  Even tipsy, I knew it was futile
to ask the machine.  I had given up the position after my return from England. 
I was bored with the job, and the alimony payments would be sufficient for a
while.  Maybe I could take in a boarder.  After all, I had a full apartment
adjacent to the pool house that was just sitting there.  When Luke and I built
this house we had pictured one of our sets of parents eventually moving in with
us, at least during the winter.  It didn’t happen but for a few weeks a year.
They could stay in the guest room or take over Noelle’s room.  She had all but
moved her books to England as it was. I picked up the phone and dialed
Bernice’s number.

“Hello?”  Bernice answered on the first ring.

“Bernice, it’s Cindy.  I’m returning your call.”

“Are you okay?  Art and I lost track of you.”

“I’m fine.  I’m sorry, I was detained or I would have been
sipping coffee with the rest of you.”

“Is it true?”

“What did you hear?”

“That Carl is dead.” she whispered his name as if somehow we
could be overheard.

“Yes, officially he’s dead.  How are you doing?”

“Never mind me.  What happened to Carl?”

“I think someone killed him.”

“Bout time.”

I drained my glass. 

“You’re drinking.”

“You can hear that can you?”

“Sure, I can hear the ice.  Nothing wrong with my hearing.”

“You didn’t hear anything tonight, did you?”

“Well, as I told the nice young man.  I was playing, and I
heard a scream that made me lose my spot.  Art had to point out to me where we
were.  Then that nice Sally screamed, and I lost my place again.  I don’t know
why Art never loses his place.  Can’t keep in tune worth a darn but he sure
knows where he is.”

“Art is special that way.  Tell me what went on in the
coffee room?”

“Hang on, I think I will pour myself a drink and join you.”

“Fine.”  I put down the phone and sprinted into the kitchen
and came back with the bottle.  The ice was melting, but I would just have to
slum it.  I picked up the phone with one hand and poured with the other.

“Cindy, you there?” Bernice asked.

“Yes.”  I yawned.  “Oh, sorry about that, I’m here.  So tell
me what went on in the coffee room.”

“Well, Art and I had just got our coffee and cookies.  I
think Burt Davis’ wife made them.  Chocolate chip with nuts, pecans.”

“And.”

“Oh, then one of the ushers, no, security men came in and
talked to Doctor Sanders.  Another one brought in that Thebes fellow and sat
him down and told him to stay there.  Doctor Sanders made an announcement that
there had been an accident and the theater security people had asked that
everyone remain in the coffee room till further notice.  Art gripped my arm and
whispered in my ear that there was blood on the floor.  I told him to be quiet.
 We didn’t need to alarm anyone.”

“So what did you do?”

“Sat there and drank coffee.  Art pocketed a couple more
cookies.  I talked to Sharon about her father’s colon. That’s about it.”

“No one was acting funny?”  I asked.

“We’re musicians, we all act funny.”

“Now, Bernice.”

“Let me think.  People started to get restless and a couple
of people wanted to talk to their wives or husbands.  Cheryl let them use her
cell phone.  Do you know she has a phone just like yours?”

“Really,” I said, drawing out the word to let my feelings
about the twin cell phone be known.

“Tom was flirting with Debbie.”

“Debbie?”  I knew Tom played trumpet, but who was Debbie?

“Debbie Feldman, the trombone player, and she’s married!”

“Tom flirts with everyone.  Anything else?”  I remembered
that he had flirted with Cheryl before her separation.  I wondered if that was
still going on.

“Well, that big police officer came in and asked if we could
all move to one side of the room.  He stood there in the middle of the room,
big as an ox.  This nice young man came in, Pete, I think he said, and asked us
to be patient.  He told us that some officers would be asking us some
questions.  No.  He said taking our statements.  Then Mr. Thebes got up and
started to dial his cell phone.  That big guy reached over and took it from
him.  Thebes was very mad and said some wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap words.  Then
this Pete talked to Doctor Sanders, and he made an announcement.  We needed to
group together in our sections.  Three policemen came in and sat down at the
tables and Doctor Sanders called the tubas over.  We waited till our turn.”

“What did they ask you?”

“Did I know Carl?  Did I like Carl?  Did I notice anything
wrong tonight?  I told him about the two screams and the wet stuff on the
floor.  I told him you went behind the curtain and told Art to take me into the
coffee room.  Very unusual for you to not want any coffee.  Did you get any
coffee?”

“Yes, someone brought me some.  Did he ask you anything
else?”

“Oh, did I know if anyone would like to harm Carl?”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him to get a lot more paper because the list would
be a long one.”

I nearly choked on my last sip.  “You said that?”

“Yes I did.  Well, it’s the truth.”

“Truth.  Yes, you’re correct there.”

“Cindy, he did ask if you liked Carl.”

“And.”

“I told him
we
didn’t like Carl.”

“Well, that’s the true.  I think it’s always better to tell
the truth.”

“Sure beats trying to remember the lies,” Bernice laughed
into the phone.  “What happened to you?”

“After you and Art left, Miles came over, took one look at
Carl and fainted right on top of me!  I was covered in blood.  They took my
clothes!  I had to go home in a choir gown.”

Bernice started laughing and, sufficiently loosened by the
whiskey, I laughed for the first time at my adventures of the evening.

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I think some of us are in for another series of questions. 
I have a message on the machine from the Detective to call him when I get
home.”

“Did you call him?”

“No, I’m not home yet, wink, wink.”

“Have you told Alex?”

“No, he’s either asleep after studying or more likely out
with his friends.  I don’t want to worry Alex, and really I don’t know anything
yet.  I just want to deal with this myself.”

“Like you did when you fell from the ladder?”

“Exactly.  See, you know me.”  I clinked the phone with my
glass.  “Cheers!”

“Cheers.  Well, call me if you hear anything.  Do you think
we will have practice tomorrow night?”

“Don’t see why not.  I have to pick up the music folders.  I
don’t think Doctor Sanders is going to let us have a vacation on Carl’s
account.”

“Try to get some sleep, Cindy.” 

“Night, Bernice.”

“Goodnight, dear.” 

I hung up the phone and reran the answering machine till I
got to Detective Curtis’ message.  I copied down the phone number and took
another drink before I called.  He picked up on the forth ring.

“Curtis here.”

“You rang?”  I didn’t volunteer my name, but his caller ID
must have ratted me out.

“Ms. Fin-Lathen, how nice of you to call.  Take the long way
home?” 

“I had another call to make.  What’s up?”

“Gee, you’re cheery.”

“Whiskey makes me a very nice person.”  Maybe I shouldn’t
have said that.  Oh well.

“We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“In person, although I can hear that you’re in no condition
to drive.  Should I send a car?”

“What’s the bloody rush?  Can it wait till tomorrow?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no.”

“You’re a very decisive man, Detective Curtis.”  I drummed
my fingers on the handset of the phone.  “Something occurred to me while I was
taking a shower,” I blurted out.

“Go on.”

“It was Carl’s face, his eyes.  I think he recognized who
killed him.”

“Go on.”

“The backstage is normally pitch-black behind the curtain
during a performance.  If he was killed behind that sound curtain, how could he
recognize his killer if he couldn’t see him?”  I asked.  “No one heard him,
except for the one scream.  Detective Curtis, I don’t think he was killed
there.”

“That is a very interesting observation Ms. Fin-Lathen.”

“Cindy, er, Cin would be fine.”  I was abashed because my
voice had taken on a flirty tone.  I pushed the whiskey haze away and asked,
“Why was he blue?”

“Blue?  He wasn’t blue when I saw him.”

“Yep, he was blue.  Maybe the lights?”

“Cin, tell you what.  Why don’t you come up here tomorrow? 
I may have the coroner’s prelim by then.”

“You’re in luck Detective.  I have to return to the theater
and pick up the band music folders, and I am going to need a copy of the
Phantom
you took.”