Requiem Murder Part 16

"You're right. He thinks he's punis.h.i.+ng me."

Lars began loading the dishwasher. "Come spend New Year's Eve with me. I hate hanging around with

my daughter and her husband. She says she feels guilty about leaving me alone."

"Can I bring the cat?"

"Send him to Maria's."

"I'll think about it."

"That's what you always say. If you appeared on my doorstep, I'd probably have heart failure. At least

write. Your letters are filled with amazing stories and some of them about people I don't know."

"Hang around me long enough and you will."

"What's your take on Edward's latest match-making scheme? He nearly convinced me."

I put leftovers in storage containers and pa.s.sed the empty dishes to Lars. "He's wrong. Roger's using

Beth. She's going to be hurt."

"Don't meddle."

"After last summer I've sworn off. I'll just be an observer."

"Good." He shook his head. "Your vow will last until someone you love gets hurt. What's wrong with

Roger Brandon? I thought you believed he was the greatest. I remember hearing you say you coveted

him."

"Musically, he is, but he's not so great as a person. I've seen the pair together and there are no sparks.

He borrows her car. She feeds him. She runs errands for him.

When we went to the Pub after choir, she bought his drink."

Lars' laughter filled the kitchen. "You went to the Pub at night? How many pa.s.ses did you fend off?"

"I was well chaperoned. More than half the choir was there."

"I'm glad you got home safely."

"Beth brought me." I laughed. "I didn't even finish my drink. Too much noise, too much smoke, too much

Judith Simpson."

"Aha. Don't blame you a bit."

Once the food was stored and the dishwasher started, Lars kissed me good night. After putting the

bedroom in order I went to bed. My dreams were filled with attempts to untangle a web. I woke feeling groggy and before taking my walk I drank several cups of tea. Many more dreams filled with such frustration and I'd have to do something about the tangled lives in my sphere. The problem centered around which line to follow.*October slid toward November and on hearing that a frost had been predicted, the time had come to cover my mint beds with straw. Though most of the plants are hardy, some aren't and I'd rather err on the cautious side. I filled my garden barrow with straw and started the mindless ch.o.r.e. As I worked, I saw Marcie and waved. She ran across the street.

"You look pretty today."

"Thanks."

She wore jeans and a pink sweater that made her porcelain skin glow. Her brown hair had been curled

at the ends.

"So what's been happening?"

"A lot," she said. "The Sat.u.r.day music program is challenging. My teachers want me to enter some

compet.i.tions. They rave about my improvement." She grabbed some straw and joined me in my work. "It's because of Roger and the way he's been helping me learn how to tap my inner power."

"Have you decided on a college yet?"

She shook her head. "Roger and I are making a list of the ones with solid music programs and their requirements. I'll spend this year mastering what I need for auditions. I might double major in voice."

"What about something more practical?"

"If my voice is half as good as Roger says, I won't have to worry."

"And your parents?"

"You know Mom. She doesn't want me to compete, to

attend the Sat.u.r.days, to have lessons with Roger, to major in music in college. She's always reminding me of how much older he is than me." She bent and carefully spread the straw. "She doesn't get the picture. He can help me get what I want. Does that sound selfish?"

"A little, but I understand what you mean."

"He loves music as much as I do."

She followed me as I pushed the barrow to the last bed. "I'm sure you enjoy talking music with him. I

know I do. Maybe your mother would like to see you spend time with your peers." So would I, but

unlike Judith, I wouldn't try to bully her.

"So she says." Marcie laughed. "They're infants. I don't enjoy the things they do. All they want to talk about is boys and who's doing what with who. Boring. I'll be sixteen next month but I feel ages older than they are."

What could I say? While searching for words, I finished my ch.o.r.e. "You must have cla.s.smates who know what they want."

"And like me, they're busy laying their foundations. That's what Roger says."

The rest of her conversation focused on what Roger said. My head ached and I tuned her out. Once the tools were in the storage shed, she left. As I walked upstairs, I wondered if I'd missed anything important.

Chapter 7.

Confutatus.

As the rehearsals for the Evensong continued, my role changed from observer to partic.i.p.ant. Thank heavens I'd worked with the choir last spring and had oiled rusty skills. Roger drove me as hard as he did the choir and himself. He even spent an afternoon showing me his particular style of directing. I must admit I savored the challenge and was infused with a desire to excel.

Something in Roger's aura troubled me. I understood his pa.s.sion for music and for perfection. That wasn't what bothered me, but I couldn't finger the cause.

His likeness to a caged jungle cat grew stronger. Several times I observed temper flares, usually over petty things. A dropped hymnal during rehearsal of the Sunday offertory evoked biting remarks. A member arriving five minutes late for rehearsal produced a tirade on loyalty. The explosions were quick and ended as rapidly as they arose.

Most of the time Beth acted as a buffer between Roger and a growing number of disgruntled singers. Did he appreciate her efforts to diffuse potential problems? I had my doubts.

The pressure of the coming performance began to effect everyone. Even the most placid members caught Roger's feverish push for perfection. My prayers became a plea for the explosion to wait until after the performance.

And one more element waited to be added to the volatile atmosphere -- the soloists.

On The Thursday before rehearsal week while Beth parked the car, I hurried to the church. I intended to ask Roger to let up on the pressure. The sound of Judith's voice with all trace of stridency gone halted me on the steps. Her words brought a rush of anger.

"We just won't tell her what we've planned. Come on, Roger, you have the right to spend an evening without her. She's not your keeper."

"You know what I feel about after choir activities. Everyone should be included."

She made a purring sound. "You're too nice. Tonight's for a special group chosen by me. Do you really think your position is secure? With one snap of my fingers you could be gone. I've only invited the people you need to impress. People who could help advance your career. Not everyone's from the choir."

My hand tightened on the railing. He paused for a long time.

"Come on, cut the strings before you're stuck in the widow's web. She's a sweet, young thing, but --" She laughed, a low throaty sound. "Besides, Martin's away for a few days."

"What do you mean? Where is he? Doesn't he realize how important these last rehearsals are?" Anger tightened Roger's voice.

"His mother's in the hospital. He had to drive upstate to see her."

"Will he be back next week? We've four rehearsals scheduled and I need every voice present."

"Martin? He's Mr. Dependable. Don't worry. He'll be here. He told me seven times to rea.s.sure you about that." She made a derisive sound. "He's not the most vital voice for the Requiem."

She paused. Was she waiting for Roger's a.s.surance of her importance?

"About tonight?" she asked.

"Just this once," he said.

The heavy oak door closed with a bang. Someone clattered up the steps. A moment later an out-of-breath Beth arrived. She reached for my wrist. "You're flushed.

Are you all right?"

"Just lost in thought." And angry with the pair who'd already arrived.