Death in the Choir Read online

  “I’m sorry for hurting you, I really am. I had too much to drink. Let me take you home.”

  Francesca was now trembling from head to foot. She wanted to believe he was having a change of heart, but she didn’t trust him. She decided to play it safe. I’ll go along with whatever he says. I’ll act like nothing unusual has happened. If I can just get home safely, everything will be fine. She kept seeing an image of Tubs at home waiting for her. She tried flashing Thomas a smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace.

  “Yes, Thomas, why don’t you take me home?” She tried to assume a normal tone of voice. “We’ve had a long evening and a lot to drink. I think we both need some rest.”

  He helped her into her jacket, and they stepped outside. He opened the car door for her, and she slipped inside as if nothing had happened. It was only a short drive to her house. She was silent in the car, but her mind was racing.

  I don’t want this guy in my house, so I’ll have to act quickly when we get there. If I see someone on the street, I’ll start screaming or make a big scene. I’ll yell something about calling the police.

  But as they drove down her street, she noted with desperation that it was deserted. She could see lights flickering in many of the windows. All my neighbors are sealed inside their houses, watching TV. Even if I start screaming, they wouldn’t hear me.

  She did the only thing she knew to do under the circumstances. She prayed. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me. Next she petitioned St. Joseph, as she always had as a child. Holy St. Joseph, pray for me; please help me.

  Then she said the prayer that had comforted her since childhood, when she had first held rosary beads in her hands.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

  For the first time, the closing words probed painfully at a deep place in her heart. Is this the hour of my death?

  Chapter 10

  As Thomas was parking the car in her driveway, Francesca saw her chance. As soon as he opens his door and gets out, I’ll jump out and make a run for it. But her hands were shaking as she fumbled with her seatbelt, and Thomas was out of the car and at her side before she could undo it. Without a word, he released her seatbelt, then grasped her arm in a very firm and determined way. She realized there was no chance of escaping. And unless she thought of something very quickly, it was clear that he planned to accompany her inside her house.

  “I want to come in for a few minutes and explain.” His tone of voice was apologetic as he helped her out of the car. “I really need someone to talk to.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Thomas. It’s been a long evening and I’m exhausted.” She could tell her voice had a frantic edge to it, despite her attempt to keep calm.

  His grip tightened ever so slightly on her arm. “I’ll only stay a few minutes, I promise.”

  Refusing him may incite him to more violence. I’d better do as he says. With her heart sinking, she walked up the steps and unlocked the front door. He managed to get inside before she did, so any last minute attempt to slam the door in his face was squelched. Once inside, he sat down on the couch in her living room. He started flipping through a magazine as if nothing had happened.

  She wasn’t sure what she should do. Her mouth was dry with fear. She reached down to pet Tubs, sitting by the rocking chair, but he sensed her fear. He immediately scampered downstairs to his hiding place in the basement. She perched on the edge of the rocking chair and continued her silent prayers: Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me. Sweet Jesus, Lord God, please don’t let him hurt me.

  Then she noticed the light on her phone machine was blinking. Since she and Thomas seemed to be playing a charade of normalcy, she decided to do what she would usually do under everyday circumstances. She hit the play button. She was startled to hear Tony’s voice. He sounded worried.

  “Francesca, it’s me, Tony. If you’re there, pick up the phone. I need to talk to you.”

  I wonder what that’s about. Maybe more news about Scotty. Then she suddenly saw in her mind’s eye a very sharp image of her husband’s face. All her life, she had turned to special saints in times of desperate need. She was sure her beloved Dean was among the saints in heaven. Dean, I really need you now. Please help me. Please tell me what to do.

  Thomas seemed to be getting agitated again. He had dropped the magazine and started pacing the floor. He must have read the worried expression on her face.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just that it’s been hell having to conceal my feelings for Randall all this time.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just nodded, so he’d keep on talking. The longer he talks, the more time I have to figure out what to do. The longer he talks, the more chance that someone might show up at my door. Someone, anyone, please come to visit me.

  He raked his fingers through his hair in an agitated way. really loved him. I was in a relationship with a very nice woman when he started coming on to me.” He paused. “Well, there’s no need for any more secrecy. I might as well tell you her name since I’ve already told you so much. It was Lily. Does that surprise you?”

  “Not really.” She was trying to digest this piece of information. Of course, it all made sense in a sick sort of way.

  “I wanted to change my ways. I wanted to settle down, get married to Lily, and have the house with the white picket fence. I was sick of the whole bisexual thing. I decided to go straight. Then Randall came along, and I fell for him in a big way.”

  He sat back down on the couch. He picked up a cushion and crushed it against him. “Well, then it really got messy. Randall and I became a pretty hot item, and I tried to hide it from Lily. But she found out and got very jealous. She told me in no uncertain terms to choose between her and him. And I chose him.”

  He nervously rolled up his sleeves as if he were too warm. Francesca noticed sadly that he had very big muscles.

  “Before long, Randall started getting antsy. Now that I look back, I can see he was the kind of man who’d never commit to anyone. And he was feeling pressured by our relationship, so he started playing up to Lily. When I found out he was seeing her, I confronted him about it. He said he was through with me. He said he was going to go back to her and resume the marriage.”

  He laughed in a bitter way that sounded more like a cough. “I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was totally obsessed with him. And I still loved him. So I wrote to him and practically begged him to come back to me.”

  Despite the warmth of the house, Francesca suddenly experienced an icy current that started in her toes and shot up to her scalp. Did this man kill Randall? Am I sitting here in my living room with a killer?

  Thomas continued crushing the cushion in his strong hands. He wasn’t looking at her now, just staring absently at the floor.

  “I went over to see him after the choir party.” His voice was a monotone.

  “I decided to ask him, once and for all, if there was any chance of a serious commitment between us. But he just laughed at me.” He clenched his fists at the memory, and threw the cushion savagely on the floor. “And that’s what did it.”

  Francesca was feeling extremely cold now. I’ve got to get out of here, but how?

  “I could have taken any reaction but that.” His voice broke and he leaned over, cradling his head in his hands as he began sobbing.

  She had to act quickly. She rushed across the room, pushed open the door, and started running across the front yard. I’ll pound on Myra’s door for help, she thought frantically. But it took only seconds for him to reach her and overpower her.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He gripped her wrists tightly. “I thought I could trust you.” His voice had taken on a rough nasty tone, very different from the refined tone of voice he usually used.

 
The voice is familiar somehow, she thought.

  “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.” But of course he was doing just that. He was clutching her wrists so fiercely that he was stopping the circulation. She could feel the bruises starting.

  Then she realized where she’d heard the voice before. “You’re the one who threatened me on the phone, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I ran into Scotty near Randall’s house and he said you were asking the old lady questions. I figured that call would discourage you. But you’re very persistent, aren’t you?”

  She looked around frantically, hoping someone would come along and notice them, but she said nothing.

  “Now just be a good girl and come inside, and we’ll have some coffee.” His voice assumed a placating tone, as if he were talking to a child.

  “No!” she screamed. “Let me go! I’m not going back in!” But the more she struggled against him, the stronger he seemed to grow.

  Where the hell are my neighbors? I’m never watching TV again. Someone could be killed right here on the front lawn and no one would ever hear a thing.

  At that moment, a pair of yellowish eyes peered through the shrubbery that ran along the front of Francesca’s house. When she saw the eyes, her first reaction was that it was some kind of apparition.

  Then she realized who the eyes belonged to. Her neighbor’s dog, Bainbridge. The big clumsy animal emerged silently from the shrubbery and appeared at her side.

  “Get away, you mutt!” Thomas spat the words at the dog and gave him a quick kick. Then he started pulling Francesca roughly back toward the house.

  She suddenly remembered Myra telling her about Bainbridge’s hidden qualities. “Bainbridge, defend, defend!” she shouted.

  Managing to free one of her hands, she pointed at Thomas in a way that the dog instantly recognized. Bainbridge didn’t hesitate. Snarling and baring his teeth, he sprang for Thomas, knocking the man down and pinning him securely beneath the dog’s muscular body.

  *

  Myra Findley turned the volume down on her TV. She was sure she had heard a noise outside. She peered out her front window and saw a very unusual gathering on Francesca’s front lawn.

  A man was flailing wildly beneath Bainbridge and yelling for dear life. Then she heard someone banging on her front door. She opened the door and saw Francesca standing there, crying hysterically: “Call the police!” Then she sank down on Myra’s porch in a dead faint.

  Seconds after Myra dialed the police station’s number, a car pulled up outside, but it didn’t have the flashing blue lights she had expected.

  A man emerged from the car, running. As he ran, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at the other man, still struggling beneath the growling, snarling dog. Myra was now on her front porch, anxiously bending over Francesca and calling her name. She was relieved to find a strong pulse in her neighbor’s wrist.

  “Call him off, call him off!” Myra heard the man under her dog screaming. She quickly rushed over. “I’m Investigator Viscardi with Decatur Police,” the man with the gun said to her.

  “Should I call off my dog?” she asked quickly. He nodded.

  “Excellent work, Bainbridge.” Her voice was loud and firm. “You may stop now.”

  She was pleased to see how quickly her words broke the spell. Bainbridge immediately released his hold on the man and trotted to her side with his tail wagging.

  *

  “Get up,” Tony growled at Thomas. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Randall Ivy.”

  Tony didn’t take his eyes off the bleeding man who was struggling to his feet just as two police cars, blue lights flashing, pulled up. As more officers rushed to the scene, Tony observed something he had seen a few times before in his many years in homicide. The prisoner snapped. Thomas broke down, sobbing, and had to be restrained by two of the policemen.

  “You’re right,” he screamed, as the officers handcuffed Thomas and led him to the police car. As they put him in the back seat, Tony could hear Thomas shouting, “I killed Randall and I’m glad I did. He made my life a living hell.”

  But Tony wasn’t listening. His only concern was Francesca. If that guy hurt her, I don’t know what I’ll do. He rushed over to the neighbor’s porch and crouched down beside Francesca as she started to regain consciousness. She looked at him in a dazed way.

  “Everything is fine,” Tony whispered. “You’re safe.”

  Francesca tried to smile, but it looked like her bruised mouth hurt too much. She tried to get up, but she was too weak. Tony lifted her to her feet.

  “Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Do you need a doctor?”

  As he helped her up, he noticed that a small crowd had gathered in the street, where the neighbor was answering their questions. Meanwhile, three small children were taking turns riding on the attack dog’s back.

  Francesca seemed to be dizzy, so she leaned against him as he helped her into her house.

  “Don’t need a doctor. Just bruises. And I’m so cold.”

  *

  When they got inside the house, Francesca collapsed on the couch and began shivering. Tony went into her bedroom and came back with a blanket and a quilt. He covered her up and then turned on the heat full blast. Then he went into the kitchen and she heard the ding of the microwave. When he returned, he handed her a glass of warm milk.

  “Here, drink this, it will help relax you and warm you up,” he said in the kindest tone of voice she’d heard in a long time.

  She accepted the glass like a little child and sipped slowly, wincing as the rim touched her bruised lips. After he made a quick call to the police station, Tony sat beside her and cradled her in his arms.

  “Now tell me what happened,” he said tenderly.

  She broke down then and started crying. She felt like a dam had burst in her heart. He held her until she could talk again. Then she told him about how Thomas had turned violent and how she had feared for her life.

  “He and Randall were lovers,” she whispered, taking another sip of the warm milk.

  “And he killed Randall,” Tony added.

  She looked at him questioningly, wondering how he knew. He told her what he’d discovered about Thomas’ criminal record.

  “I was lucky,” he said. “The officer who was dispatched that night to White’s house remembered the party. He told me some of the partygoers were cross-dressers.”

  “You told me Mrs. Brumble claimed she saw two women visiting Randall the night he died. Well, I figured all along that Mrs. Brumble was confused, and the second woman was actually the first one – Patricia – who’d returned after going out to get something.”

  “Like a bottle of Scotch?”

  “Exactly.” He looked at her almost sheepishly. “I’m sorry for not taking your hunches more seriously at first. But I did eventually do some investigating on my own, even though the case was officially closed. And when I talked to Patricia a second time, unofficially, she told me that she and Randall had…er…had a brief interlude on the couch that night, but then she left afterwards — and definitely didn’t return until the next morning.”

  Francesca jumped when the phone rang. “My nerves are really frazzled.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll get it.”

  She could tell by his comments that it was Myra, calling to check on her. After he hung up, he laughed. “She said, and I quote: ‘You tell her that Bainbridge will be right here if anything else happens.’” Even Francesca chuckled when Tony added that he’d heard what sounded like an approving woof in the background.

  Tony took a seat in the rocking chair. “Are you still awake enough to hear the ending of the story?”

  Her eyes were growing heavy, but her curiosity was keeping her awake. “Yes, please go on.”

  “Well, then I stopped in to see Mrs. Brumble again. Even though I don’t think she’s the most reliable witness in the world, she insisted she had seen two different women that night. The first one I knew was Patricia. But she described the
second one as shorter than Patricia.”

  He adjusted the quilt and stroked her head tenderly.

  “That’s when I ruled out Lily and Candy as candidates for being the second woman. Lily, Patricia, and Candy are about the same height.”

  He stopped for a moment and went into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water, which he handed to Francesca. She gratefully drained it.

  “When I had supper with Lily tonight, I started wondering why she wanted those love letters so badly, especially if, as she claimed, she didn’t write them herself. There had to be something in them, something about Randall, she wanted to hide.”

  He took the empty glasses into the kitchen and returned with a bag of ginger snaps. He opened the bag and offered it to her, and she took a handful of cookies and began eating them. She was starting to feel warm again – and safe.

  “I think she desperately wanted to keep the truth from coming out about Randall,” he said. “After all, she’d spent a lifetime protecting her daughter, and she didn’t want to blow it. Lily was afraid of what was in the letters.”

  Francesca ate another cookie and offered the bag to him. “Are you falling asleep, darling?” he asked.

  “No, please go on. I want to hear the rest.”

  “Well, when I discovered that White had hosted a party with a bunch of drag queens in attendance, I put together all the pieces. The second shorter ‘woman’ who visited Randall that night was really a man in drag. And it was this ‘woman’ – Thomas – who poisoned his ex-lover.”

  Francesca shuddered. I could have been his second victim.

  He bent down and kissed her lightly on her cheek. She was very sleepy now, the stress and the warm milk taking their toll. Her muscles were crying out in pain from all the tension of the evening, and she could see purple bruises rising on her wrists and arms.

  “You need to get some sleep, darling,” he said softly.

  “I’m really afraid to be here alone, Tony. Is there any chance you might call some of my friends to come and stay over?