A Chorus Lineup (A Glee Club Mystery) Page 3

  A quick peek into the other rooms made it clear ours was by far the smallest staging space in the joint. It also told me that feathers and gold sequins were all the rage this year. Despite the fact that our group had better taste in costumes, the staging room’s size was going to cause problems. Between the four makeup mirrors sitting against the back wall and the costume rack near the door, there was barely enough square footage for all the choir and band kids to fit in this room. While a great deal of the time surrounding competition was spent in the audience watching the other teams or pacing the halls and hoping no one got so nervous they threw up, there were times when Larry and I would need to address our entire group. As it stood now, this room was barely going to cut it.

  As Larry ranted about our room, I considered our options. We could ask for more space as Larry suggested, but I doubted it would get us anywhere. This competition was filled with teams who were invited year after year. They were going to get the big rooms and the preferential treatment. Making waves would only count against my team in the long run.

  “The room will be fine,” I said with more enthusiasm than I felt. “But we should wait to move the instruments and costumes in until just before the competition on Thursday.”

  “Are you sure?” Larry asked. “Those instruments take up a lot of space.”

  The black-and-blue toe I’d gotten getting up in the middle of the night attested to that fact.

  “This way, there’s no chance anything will get spilled on the costumes before we perform,” I reasoned.

  Larry smiled. “That’s an excellent point. Let’s go get the kids and show them where they’ll be camping out between classes and our practice time.”

  As Larry pushed open the double doors, my cell phone buzzed. My manager, Alan, had texted:

  Audition set for Friday at 9:30 A.M. Meet you at 9:00 in the Lyric lobby. Don’t let me down.

  “Everything okay?” Larry asked.

  “Everything’s great.” Or it would be if I could figure out how to turn off the guilt I felt every time I thought about leaving the team in the middle of the competition.

  Larry gave me a look that said he didn’t believe a word I’d said.

  Hoping to change the subject, I shoved the phone in my pocket and said, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Aunt Millie or Aldo today. If they left when they planned to, they should be over halfway here.” Especially if my aunt was driving. Millie might be light on her feet while prancing around in four-inch heels, but when she was behind the wheel, Millie’s foot was pure lead.

  “It’s great that your aunt was willing to come help with the team’s makeup.” Larry dodged a couple of girls in sparkly, tie-dyed tops and promptly tripped over a potted plant. Grace had nothing on my boss.

  I gave him a hand up as several more kids raced by. With the twenty teams arriving, twelve in our mixed-company division and eight in the all-girls category, the lobby was a zoo.

  “Millie’s always happy to show off her products,” I said. As Mary Kay’s top saleswoman for the Midwest region for almost a decade, Millie wasn’t about to let an opportunity to showcase the new spring line go to waste. And unless I was mistaken, she’d not only have her pink Mary Kay Cadillac but a trunk full of saleable product in tow.

  I only hoped she and Aldo would leave their personal issues aside. While the two were obviously head over heels for each other, they had very different ideas of what they should do about it. Aldo wanted Millie to wear his ring. Determined never to get married, Millie wanted Aldo to move out and never call her again. Aldo refused to budge. Millie didn’t have the heart to throw him out, and as Millie’s houseguest, I was caught in the middle.

  Ignoring Chessie’s constant concerns about Breanna’s stash of HERSHEY’S KISSES (they might cause her to break out or the chocolate could coat her throat and make it hard to sing) and Jason’s sore arm (caused by arm wrestling over who got to take the first shower this morning), I led my team to the room, explained that we would not load in costumes until Thursday, and then gave them the schedule. Master classes would be held both today and tomorrow in the mornings. They would have a choice of two different classes to attend. After lunch, teams would each have fifteen minutes to rehearse onstage. Full dress rehearsals for all-girls teams would begin tomorrow after dinner. Mixed-company dress rehearsal would begin at eight A.M. Thursday. When the groans at the time subsided, I told them our preliminary competition was scheduled for two P.M.

  “That will be the first time the judges see you on this stage,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean they won’t be watching you in the halls or making note of your behavior. The difference between getting cut in the first round and making it to the finals could be a fraction of a point. I don’t want to give them reason to judge anything other than what they see on the stage. Got it?”

  The way Chessie glared at everyone as they headed for the door made it clear she planned on making sure they followed my instructions as they participated in this morning’s vocal jazz and tap dance master classes. When the students were gone, Larry, Devlyn, and I headed for the auditorium to take a look at the space.

  Wow.

  There were more than eighteen hundred plush blue velvet seats. Ornate trim framed the thirty-foot-tall proscenium stage. Since the bands would not be allowed to use the pit, it was not lowered. The rules for this competition stated that the instrumentalist must be in full view of the audience and judges. How their musicality enhanced or detracted from the performance would be added to my team’s total score. In the past, our band’s abilities had helped put us over the top. I was counting on their skill to help us again.

  “So now what?” I asked.

  Larry glanced at the schedule. “I think we should look in on the master classes and make sure everyone’s behaving. I saw Christine McCann in the halls. One word from her to the judges and our team will end up with more deductions than we’ve seen all season.” Larry turned to Devlyn. “It probably wouldn’t hurt if you introduced yourself to her. Greg used to flirt with Christine and look how well his team did.”

  I shifted, trying not to look uncomfortable with the suggestion. After all, Devlyn was supposed to be gay. Larry didn’t know we were dating.

  Devlyn laughed. “Why don’t I try and do that now? It’ll also give me the chance to scope out a better load-in door in case the one on our side of the stage door doesn’t get fixed before Thursday. Paige, do you want to meet up in the lobby in an hour? We can talk about the spacing changes we need to make.”

  “Sure.” I smiled. Talking about how we wanted to alter the team’s spacing now that we’d seen the theater made for a great excuse to spend some quality time alone together. “I’ll see you then.”

  Since the last thing I wanted was to see Devlyn flirting with another woman, even for a good cause, I headed toward the stage. By the time I climbed up the escape steps and walked to the middle of the wooden floor, Larry and Devlyn were gone.

  Even with every chair in the audience empty, there was something magic about standing onstage. Remembering the glare of the lights, the swell of the orchestra, and the feeling that I was a part of something greater than myself was the reason I could brush myself off after every rejection and risk being told “no” once again. Performing was about more than the paycheck and the applause. It was part of who I was. Who I needed to be. It was the reason I had to be at that audition on Friday. The team would be fine without me.

  Telling myself to stop feeling guilty, I exited stage left and went in search of staging room 118 to find my co-instructor for tomorrow’s master class. Drat. Except for racks of satin and rhinestone-studded costumes and neatly stacked black instrument cases, the staging room for Scott Paris’s team was empty. So much for that idea. I called the number that the planning committee had e-mailed to me. Voice mail.

  Now what?

  Since Devlyn and I weren’t planning on meeting for
another forty-five minutes, I decided to follow the sparkly pink signs to the stairs that led to the greenroom—the site of the master class I would be teaching. It was also the location of today’s vocal jazz class. Like most greenrooms, the large, fluorescent-lit space’s paint color didn’t match its name. Instead, the chipped paint was closer to mustard yellow. Teens sat on the scuffed gray linoleum floor, listening to a quartet of male singers. One of the tenors reached for a high note and missed. A few kids on the floor snickered. I was thankful none of them belonged to Music in Motion.

  When the kid missed the next high note, I decided it was time to leave. Turning, I smacked right into a guy coming down the hall. Thank goodness the wall was there to catch us or we would have both gone crashing to the ground. As it was, the loud thud drew the attention of several students, as did the sight of me pressed up against the guy’s partially exposed and somewhat hairy chest.

  Scrambling upright, I kept my voice low so as not to cause further disruption as I said, “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  The man I’d nearly toppled flashed his pearly, professionally polished whites. Or maybe they just appeared bright next to his deeply tanned skin. It was hard to tell. His voice was amused as he said, “I’m the one who should apologize, Paige.”

  I blinked. “Do I know you?”

  The man shook his head. “But let’s see if we can’t remedy that. I’m Scott Paris. Perhaps if you have a moment, we can talk somewhere less . . .” The quartet hit their final, out-of-tune chord, and Scott sighed. “Boisterous.”

  “Going upstairs sounds good to me,” I said as we walked back upstairs.

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying,” Scott said as we reached the blissfully quiet hallway, “but your pictures don’t do you justice. You’re far more attractive in person.”

  “I’m flattered you took the time to look up my website.”

  “I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t.” Scott shrugged. “Greg Lucas was a friend. I followed the story of his murder and your part in bringing his killer to justice. The art of performance choir lost a bright and shining star the day Greg died.” Scott bowed his head for a moment, and then looked up with a smile. “Luckily, we also gained an angel in you. Can you say kismet?”

  Can you say smarmy?

  “I’m sorry you lost a friend,” I said.

  Scott sighed and leaned against the wall next to the poster for an upcoming production of The Music Man. “Greg understood how to get the best out of his students. That’s why his program competed year after year at this competition.”

  The fact that he was known for romancing the female judges probably didn’t hurt, either.

  “I tried to encourage the board to invite North Shore High School’s performance choir this year, but they just didn’t score high enough in the regional contests to warrant an invitation.” He winked. “And even if Greg were still alive, I don’t know if his team would have given yours a run for its money. I’ve seen tapes. I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I hope that means you don’t mind my teaching with you. I was hoping we could talk about the class and make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “That sounds great.” Scott’s smile lost a little of its sparkle. “I hope you won’t be offended if some of the students are disappointed that Donna won’t be teaching. She and Greg taught this class last year. It was standing room only. Some of the judges even came and listened in. When it was over, Greg and Donna arranged for a few of the kids to perform for a talent scout. Donna and I were working on something even bigger this year, but—”

  We both jumped as a high-pitched scream rang through the hall. The scream faded and then started up again. This time even louder. “Oh my God!”

  I dug into my pocket for my cell as we raced toward the screams. The same woman who’d given Larry and me our schedules staggered out of one of the staging rooms and yelled, “Call the police!”

  “LuAnn, what’s wrong?” Scott took the woman’s arm.

  “Just look.” Her lip trembled as she lifted a hand and pointed into the room she’d just exited. In recent months, I’d come in contact with several dead bodies. The last thing I wanted to see was another. Still, I took a deep breath and stepped into the room, prepared for blood. Instead, I found—clothes?

  Satins. Tulle. Lamé. Bright costume colors. Perfect for catching the light and the attention of the audience. Or they would have been if they hadn’t been shredded. The costumes looked as if they’d had a fight with a couple of disgruntled cats and lost. Big-time.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Scott stooped down and picked up a bronze lamé top that was now in tatters.

  “I’ll tell you who.”

  Scott and I turned toward LuAnn, who was now standing in the doorway. Behind her, I could see other people who must have heard her screams and come running.

  “It was her,” she said as she raised a hand and pointed it directly at me.

  Chapter 3

  I looked behind me in case someone had materialized since I’d turned my back. Nope. No such luck.

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  “You were in this room earlier.” The woman’s eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of her head as she stomped her red cowboy boot–clad feet. “I saw you.”

  Was she kidding? She actually thought I played arts and crafts with another team’s costumes?

  Trying to keep calm, I explained, “I wanted to meet Scott and talk about our master class.”

  “Then why, Ms. Marshall, did I see you going into other staging rooms earlier today?”

  A tall blonde appeared behind LuAnn.

  “Christine.” The way LuAnn said the name told me everything I needed to know. This was Christine McCann—the head of the National Show Choir Championships. “Thank goodness you’re here. Never have I seen such a blatant attempt to sabotage another team.”

  “I didn’t sabotage anything,” I shot back.

  So much for my attempt to remain calm.

  “No one’s accusing you of anything.” Christine took a step into the room, carefully skirting the fabrics on the floor.

  “But, Christine.” LuAnn frowned. “I saw her—”

  Christine held up her hand, cutting off whatever new accusation LuAnn planned to hurl. “This competition is filled with high-strung teenagers with a competitive streak. I think it’s far more likely one of them caused this kind of damage. This wouldn’t be the first time a rivalry between teams bubbled over.” Christine sighed and turned her attention to the man to my left. “Scott, I promise we’ll get to the bottom of this. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you get replacement costumes.”

  Angry and excited whispers from the hall told me the story of the costumes was spreading. Turning to me, Christine added, “And just to make sure there is no whisper of impropriety on your behalf, Ms. Marshall, could you please explain why you were near this room when LuAnn made this discovery and what you were doing in the other staging rooms earlier today?”

  The way she glanced over her shoulder at the people hovering in the doorway told me that whatever I said was going to determine whether I would be branded a saboteur by the masses. If that happened, I wouldn’t be the one to pay the price—my team would.

  Was that fair? No. But if there was one thing I had learned from my performing career, it was that fair rarely applied to show business.

  Projecting my voice so everyone listening could hear, I explained how Scott and I bumped into each other at the master class and came upstairs to talk about our turn at teaching tomorrow. “And the director of my choir program and I were looking in the other staging rooms to see if we were the only ones who had chosen not to load in due to the broken loading dock door.” Okay, that wasn’t really the truth, but sometimes honesty was definitely not the best policy.

  Christine nodded. “I appreciate
your candor and your willingness to answer the question. If I were in your position, I might not be so understanding. Please accept my apology for asking. Also, I apologize for the loading dock malfunction. I’m hopeful the mechanic will arrive and everything will be back to normal tomorrow. Now, LuAnn, if you could please track down one of the teachers from each of the teams, I would like them to check their staging rooms for signs of tampering. Scott, let me know if you or your team need anything at all. Kelly?”

  The dark-haired woman I’d seen earlier in the check-in area stepped around several people and walked into the room. “I’m here.”

  “Good. Please meet with each coach and document any and all damage. Also, contact the media who were supposed to come today and ask them if they can reschedule. We want them to focus on the teams and their talent, not a juvenile prank.”

  With that she turned and headed toward the door. Kelly followed behind her. Shooting a disgruntled look at me, LuAnn hitched the enormous purple purse she was carrying onto her shoulder and walked out of the room, leaving Scott and me alone with the mess.

  “Nine,” Devlyn said as we stood in the corner of the lobby, trying to ignore the looks we were getting from the teens and adults in the large, chandelier-lit space. “Nine other teams reported some kind of damage to the belongings. The good news is that none of it was as bad as Scott’s team. A few ripped dresses, some missing cummerbunds, and a couple of missing instrument mouthpieces. Christine has already made arrangements to replace the mouthpieces and has asked one of the local costume designers to help with the rest.”

  I took a sip out of the water bottle Devlyn handed me. “Were all the teams from the mixed division?”

  “That’s what it sounds like. Ten out of the twelve teams have been sabotaged in some way. Only Music in Motion and Donna Hilty’s team from here in Nashville escaped the vandal unscathed. Because of her family emergency, she decided not to have the kids load in their costumes and instruments until she was here to supervise. Guess we both got lucky.”