Death in the Choir Read online

  “Hello, Francesca. Hi, Thomas,” Lily drawled sweetly. “What a surprise seeing you both here.”

  Lily gave Thomas a particularly appraising look. Maybe Lily thinks I’m buttering him up for a solo, Francesca thought cynically. Her spirits rose a bit when she noticed that Tony looked just a bit guilty. But then she quickly chastised herself: This is ridiculous; we’re not married.

  “How nice to see you both,” she lied and then introduced the men to each other. “Tony, this is Thomas White, who’s also in the choir at St. Rita’s. Thomas, this is Inspector Tony Viscardi from the Decatur police station.”

  “Oh, a man of the law,” Thomas said, laughing. “Shouldn’t you be out patrolling the streets to make them safer for citizens?”

  “They gave me some time off – for good behavior,” Tony commented drily.

  Francesca watched as Lily and Tony headed back to their table. Was it my imagination or did Tony give Thomas a particularly intense once over? Maybe he’s jealous. Or maybe I’m projecting, she thought glumly, for when she heard Lily’s sparkling laughter moments later, she felt very jealous herself.

  After the meal, Thomas invited her back to his house for coffee and an after-dinner drink. She was tired and longing to go home and spend time with Tubs and a good book. But she figured it would be just for an hour, so she agreed. She’d already crossed him off her future dating list during the meal; they just didn’t seem to share that much in common.

  Thomas lived in a sprawling two-story house on Kathleen Drive, which was also located in Chelsea Heights. The plush furnishings rather surprised Francesca, who had been expecting bare-bones, graduate-student decor. Then she remembered he had told her about having been in real estate. He’s probably fairly well-off, she thought, settling down on the white couch in his living room. Once he’d started a fire in the fireplace, the topic turned to Randall.

  “I just can’t believe it was suicide,” she said, as they sat sipping their coffee.

  “But didn’t the police rule it was suicide and drop the case?” Thomas wondered.

  She added more cream to her coffee and took another sip. “Yes, they did, but all the pieces don’t add up in my mind. I still think there was some kind of foul play. Call it woman’s intuition.”

  Thomas walked across the room and adjusted the volume on the CD player. “I think you’ll like this. It’s ‘Depuis le jour,’ a really beautiful piece.”

  Then he sat beside her, rather close, she noted, and smiled. “Well, Mrs. Bibbo, tell me your theories. Who do you think did it?”

  She smiled too. The music was pleasant, and the flames were dancing around in the fireplace very dramatically. Maybe he’s not that bad after all. She made herself more comfortable on the couch.

  She nodded when he brought the coffee pot near her cup, and he refilled it. “I can tell you the suspects. Father John, Lily, Candy, Patricia – or one of Randall’s neighbors, Scotty Brumble – or someone else, someone we don’t know.”

  “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.

  Chapter 9

  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 t
hat 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 pie
ces 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.

  “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, so let’s just calm down.” He extracted a clean handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. She clutched it against her lips.