The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (33 page)

Coconut Palms High School parking lot was almost full by the
time I arrived.  I opted not to park the car as the forty-some music folders
and my stuff would be too much for me to carry.  I eased my car up on the wide
sidewalk and drove through the courtyard, stopping just outside the band room
door.  Several of the smoking members were outside still, so I asked them to
help me take in the folders.  We unloaded them in record time.  I went in and
dropped my things on and by my chair and ran out to move my car before the
school’s security people had me ticketed.

I was lucky to find a spot not too far away, and with the
aid of my longs legs I made it back to the band room with five minutes to
spare.  I was pleased to see my folder placed on my stand.  I must have a
guardian angel today.  I quickly set up my stand, opened my case, chose a reed,
and stuck it in my mouth while I went through the task of assembling my alto. 
Clarinet players use a single cut bamboo reed in varying strengths, moistened
to produce the vibration needed.  Bassoonists and oboe players use a double
reed cut and banded together.  These sometimes need to be soaked beyond the
preparation a single reed normally gets.  In short we use the saliva in our
mouths.

The sound of a band warming up is not for the weak or
sensitive.  The trumpet players insist on hitting high notes they rarely play
in concert.  Add in the other instruments all playing something different.  Well,
I guess you could call it “Ode to a Train Wreck”.

Above the din, I could hear snatches of conversation, mostly
speculating about what happened to Carl yesterday.  I avoided any eye contact,
so I didn’t have to talk to anyone.  Cheryl sat down in front of me and pushed
back into my stand, nearly knocking the music off of it.

“Cheryl, be careful!” I warned.

“You’re in my space anyway.  When you’re in my space you
better move.”  She turned around and smiled.  “Did you see my bottle of water
yesterday?”

“Bottle of water?”

“Yes, oboe players must have the purest water for their
reeds, not just spit like you clarinets use.  I had it before the concert and
after the concert it was gone.”

“I didn’t see it, and I was the last to leave.”

“Why were you there so long?  Oh that’s right; someone has
to pick up after us,” she said smugly.

“Bitch,” I thought to myself and pointed to the clock,
indicating to Cheryl that we were going to start soon.  When she got up to get
some water from the water fountain just outside the door for her reed cup, I
pushed her chair back up with my foot, and, as I adjusted my reed on my
mouthpiece, Doctor Sanders took the podium.

“You only played half a concert yesterday.  And that half
was miserable.  People, you have to watch the transitions!  Bassoons, do you
know what an after beat is?  It comes after the beat! That said, I think that
Carl’s accident was unfortunate, but Carl was a showman and he would want us to
move forward and produce a good concert.  But right now, I think we should have
a moment of silence for Carl.”

The band quieted down.  I looked around at the band.  Most
of the members sat stoically.  The saxophones elbowed each other, and the two
bassoons whispered behind their stands.

Doctor Sanders tapped the stand with his baton.  “B flat concert
scale.”

We were well into our Bb concert scale when Cheryl sat back
down.  She chose a reed from her cup and blew out the excess water.  Some of it
landing on a neighboring flute player’s music.  We finished the scale with
Cheryl squawking out some notes.  Taking off the malfunctioning reed, she
grabbed the other reeds and put them into her mouth. 

“Last night was ill-fated but we must carry on.  We have two
more concerts this month and not nearly enough time to prepare.  Take out
March
Grandioso
.  Let’s take it from letter F.  Notice the key change, and it is
piano.  As always, piano means very quiet and not look mom hear what I can do. 
One and two and...”

The band started and was restarted several times until we
had the level of sound he was asking for.  We practiced the rough spots, and,
when Doctor Sanders was satisfied, we went back to the beginning and played the
piece all the way through.

“Since we are in a marchy mood, take out
Washington Post
. 
We had some trouble with that last night.”

Cheryl was fidgeting again.  Mark turned and looked at her
with annoyance and then concern.

“Are you alright?” Mark asked quietly.

“I don’t know.  My heart is beating so hard and...  Lord, I
think I’m going to puke!”  She got up, ran by the conductor and out the door
heading for the ladies room.

Doctor Sanders looked from the door to Mark.  Mark shrugged
his shoulders.  Doctor Sanders lifted his baton and the band started.  Through
the piece I kept an eye on the conductor and an eye on the door for Cheryl’s
return.  She hadn’t returned by the time we finished the march.  Doctor Sanders
got off the podium and walked over to Mark, asking quietly what happened to
Cheryl.  Mark told him she seemed ill and went to the ladies room.  Doctor
Sanders leaned over her empty chair and asked me, “Cindy, do you think you
could go and see how she is?”

“Sure, no problem,” I said as I put my alto in the stand and
obediently left to find Cheryl.  What was I going to say, no, I’m sorry but the
Cheryl’s no friend of mine?  I was so blinded by my silent fit of temper that I
almost collided with Detective Curtis on my way out the door.  He looked at me
questioningly.

“Cheryl, one of the oboe players is sick.  I am going to go
and check on her,” I explained.

“Is Art at practice?”  He asked.

“Yes, back row behind my chair,” I said over my shoulder.

South Florida schools are built in an open courtyard
design.  Covered walkways connect the buildings.  The restrooms were in the
neighboring fine arts building.  Not a long walk but a big pain when it’s
raining.  Florida’s rain rarely travels straight down.  I pushed open the door
and was pushed back by the smell.  Someone had vomited and maybe worse.  I took
a deep breath and carefully walked over the vomit.  “Cheryl, are you in here?” 
No answer, I pushed stall after stall open.  No Cheryl.  I, finally, found her
in the handicap stall at the end.  She was on the toilet leaning sideways with
her head resting in the sink.

“Cheryl?” I asked quietly.

No response.  I reached over and lifted her head up.  She
moaned, her breathing was barely there, but she was still alive.  I turned on
my cell and dialed 911.  After having the operator send medical help, I asked
her to connect me to Detective Curtis’ cell phone.

“Curtis here.”

“This is Cin.  Cheryl is real bad in the girls’ restroom. 
Next building.  Get someone to show you.  I think she’s dying!”

“On my way.”

“Come on, Cheryl, hang on!”  I held her head up off her
chest.  Her body was running sweat.  It felt like her heart was beating outside
of her chest.  Her size four jeans were dangling from her legs.  “Ah, Cheryl,
you poor dear.  What did you eat?”  I reached up and grabbed a paper towel and
with my best balancing job, manage to wet it down.  I tried to cool her down by
wiping her face with the towel. I heard Tony burst through the door.  “Here!” I
yelled.

“I have someone waiting for the paramedics.”  He filled the
remaining space of the stall.  “Mother of god...”

“She’s still breathing, but… ” I gestured at the toilet.

Pushing Cheryl back a bit, he found what I had noticed just
moments before.  Blood, a lot of blood.  Too much blood.

“Where...” he started to ask.

“Intestines from the smell of this place.  Poor kid has it
coming out of both ends.”

“Food poisoning?”

“I don’t know.  Does it come on this fast?”

Just then Cheryl convulsed and more vomit flew in the sink.

“Make sure and clear it from her airway,”  he said as he
searched around for a pulse.  “This kid’s heart is going to explode.  How long
has she been in here?”

“Ten, eleven minutes, tops.”

The door burst open and Ed and Bill, the paramedics from the
night before, came in. Ed slid all the way through the vomit.  I squeezed by
them, following Tony.  He must have heard me sliding because he turned, grabbed
me securely and guided me through Cheryl’s dinner.  He stood me at the sink and
proceeded to wash my hands and arms and tried to sponge off my jeans.  I waved
him away.  I just got out of the way as Bill ran by me. 

“Ed, do you need my help?”  Tony called.

“Bill went for the board.  I think we may get her out of
here before she codes. Does anyone know what she was on?”

“On?”  I looked at Tony.

“Drugs?”

“She seemed fine at practice.  I could go get her purse.”

Bill was back, and I left to see if I could find her purse. 
I ran into the band room.  Everyone was still rehearsing.  It seemed so
unreal.  I flew by the conductor and grabbed Cheryl’s purse and tote bag.  I
was out of there before Doctor Sanders could stop the band.  I caught up with
the emergency crew at the ambulance where they were loading Cheryl in.  I gave
them her bags and stepped back.  My legs didn’t want to hold me anymore.  I
stiffened up my knees and waited till someone told me what to do.  Ed rode in
the ambulance, and Bill followed in the truck.  Tony was talking to the
school’s security when the patrol cars arrived. 

After briefing the officers, he turned around and stared at
me.  His serious face softened a bit.  “What the hell happened here?”

“What the hell is happening here?”  I corrected.  “First
Carl then Cheryl.  Now don’t tell me what she’s going through is natural!  She
was fine.  She was her self-centered bitchy self at the start of practice.” 
And I cursed her.  I called her a bitch, even if it was in my head, I still did
it, I finished silently. I started wringing my hands.

“Cin, hold together now.  I need you.  Did you see her eat
or drink anything?”

“She came in, arranged her stuff.  She filled her reed cup
from the water fountain.  Then she put her reeds in the cup.   Her concert reed
was bad, so she chose another one.”  I looked up at him.  “Could it be the
water?”

“First let me get my breath back.”  He opened the door and
walked in.  “Excuse me.”  Most of the band continued to play.  Doctor Sanders
looked at him coolly before he waved his arms to cut off the band.  “Thank you,
Doctor Sanders.”  He walked up to the front of the room.  “I’m sorry to report
that there has been a situation, and we need you all to move to the back of the
room.  If any of you have drunk from the drinking fountain by the door would
you please come over here?  You can bring your things.”  He walked over to Mark
and the flute player, Amy.  “I need the two of you to stay here.  Don’t touch
anything.  Do not put anything in your mouth.”  Amy all but dropped her flute,
and Mark laid his oboe down in his lap.  He turned his attention to the few
members that drank from the fountain.  “Do any of you feel ill?”  Heads shook
no, but their faces held dread.  “Don’t worry, I’m just checking things out. 
You can go back with the rest of the band.” 

I walked over and sat down on the podium across from
Cheryl’s empty seat.  Tony waved in the school security and the patrolmen. 
When the band saw the police, there were groans and a myriad of complaints. 
Doctor Sanders threw down his baton and gave me a look of pure hate.  As if I
caused all this.  Men.

Detective Curtis waited till the band had cleared out of the
seating area before he spoke to Mark and Amy.  “What I need from you two is to
remember, as best as you can, what Cheryl did from the moment she came in.”

“Cheryl came in and put together her stuff.  She soaked her
reeds.  She blew water all over my music, played, and got sick and left,” Amy
whispered as if talking was too much effort.

“Do you have anything to add?”  Tony asked Mark.

“Just that she had trouble getting a good sound out of one
of the reeds so she put all the remaining reeds in her mouth.”

“How many reeds?

“Two.  She took three reeds from her case.  She likes to
rotate her reeds, but sometimes you get a bad one.”

“Don’t touch her reeds, but look at them for me.  Is there
anything different about her reeds than, let’s say, your reeds?”

Mark took his time observing the reed on her oboe and the
two in the cup.  “They’re double bamboo reeds like mine but much more
expensive.  Cheryl believes if it costs more it must be better.”

“Is it?”

“Not all the time.  These are more colorfully wrapped but
the vibration would be about the same.”

“Mark,” I butted in.  “Do oboe players put anything into the
water they soak the reeds in?”

“Not that I know of.  I always use bottled water because I
can keep it at room temperature.  I think Cheryl used the fountain tonight.”

“Did anyone touch Cheryl’s things after she left?”

“Cindy ran in and grabbed her purse and tote bag,” Amy
accused.