A Chorus Line-Up, Page 5

  “Get that woman out of here,” she yelled.

  All eyes turned toward the stage and then toward me.

  Yikes. Heat flooded my cheeks. My muscles tensed, and I forced myself to stay in my seat instead of bolting toward the door. This was the second time LuAnn had singled me out, and I had no idea why. I was hurt, angry, and totally baffled.

  “LuAnn,” a pixie-like woman in dance clothes said, crossing the stage. “Rehearsals are open to other teams and their coaching staff. It’s one of the rules all teams agree to when accepting a place at the competition. Now,” the dark-haired woman said, taking LuAnn’s arm, “if you don’t mind, we need to get started.”

  Apparently, LuAnn did mind because she pulled her arm away and yelled, “Someone find Christine McCann. My daughter isn’t stepping foot on this stage until that woman leaves this theater. I don’t want to give her any other opportunities to sabotage this competition for our team.”

  “Christine warned you about making unfounded accusations.” The dark-haired coach’s voice rang with authority. “Now, if we don’t want to lose our only rehearsal time onstage today, we have to get started.”

  LuAnn plopped her hands on her hips and glared in my direction. The dark-haired coach yelled, “Places. Cue music.” But no one moved. The kids onstage watched LuAnn. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the audience watching me. Like a game of chicken, the observers were waiting to see who got out of the way first. The only problem was I was pretty sure no matter which way I jumped, I was going to get flattened. If I left, the kids could rehearse. LuAnn would feel victorious, and everyone would think that I had something to hide. Holding my ground would prove that I wouldn’t be chased away, but it would fuel the strange grudge LuAnn had developed against me. Yep—both choices sucked. I was screwed.

  My stomach clenched. LuAnn’s face turned a shade of red that now matched her boots.

  “Hey, maybe we should just get out of here,” Devlyn said as the sound of “You Can’t Stop the Beat” from Hairspray blared from the speakers. The dark-haired director yelled again. The kids onstage took the hint and hurried to their starting positions. LuAnn looked behind her at the kids, then back at me. Finally, in a huff, she stalked into the wings and the kids began to dance.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding. “I don’t get it,” I said as one of the girls with a powerful voice nailed her solo. “Why does one of the other teams’ coaches have it out for me?”

  “I don’t think she’s technically part of the coaching staff.” Devlyn motioned for me to follow him. Which I did. Gladly.

  A few seconds later, we were standing in the lobby. Once the theater doors had closed, Devlyn explained, “The team currently onstage is Tapping to the Tunes. They’re directed by Emma Harrod and Jake Wilder. LuAnn must be one of their parent volunteers. She did mention her daughter.”

  True. Which would explain why she was one of this morning’s volunteers. The chance to size up other teams while currying favor with the National Show Choir Championships organization would be irresistible to some stage moms. “But what does she have against me?”

  Devlyn leaned back against the lobby’s brick wall. “She probably heard that Music in Motion is the team to beat and feels threatened. A lot of parents will go to any lengths to make sure their kids come out on top.”

  “Do you think she’s going to harass the team, too?” I asked. Picking on me was one thing. Sticks and stones weren’t going to hurt me. But if she started in on my kids, I was going to get mad.

  “I doubt it. Especially not if there is any chance any of the judges could be around.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll just do my best to steer clear of her during the rest of the week.” I straightened my shoulders and nodded. “If I do that, I should be able to avoid any other trouble. Right?”

  “Sure thing.” Devlyn linked his arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s see if the kids have gotten back. We can tell them about the riser positioning—”

  Yikes.

  The sound of metal crashing and glass shattering echoed from the direction of the theater and sent us racing back toward the double doors. Devlyn reached them first. He yanked the door open. I followed behind and gasped as I looked at the stage. A black lamp bar and several canister lights were in the middle of the stage floor apron. Students were huddled near the wings, avoiding both the dented canisters and the glass. Twenty feet above the stage, a cable swung from the rafters. A tech must not have properly secured the cable that held the bar to the rail beam. It was just lucky no one was hurt.

  Christine McCann raced onto the stage from stage left, verified that all the students were uninjured, and then peered up and said, “Someone please call 911.”

  And that was when I understood. First sabotaged costumes and instruments. Now a lighting mishap. Coincidence? Maybe, but the sick feeling in my stomach told me no. This wasn’t an accident. Someone had rigged those lights to fall. The question was who?

  Chapter 5

  “The rest of today’s rehearsals have been canceled,” I announced.

  “Are we going to get an extra rehearsal?”

  “What happened to the lights?”

  “Are they going to push back the competition?”

  “This isn’t fair.”

  While I agreed with that last sentiment, this scenario was preferable to the alternative. The last thing I wanted was my team to get squashed in a Phantom of the Opera moment. That wasn’t the kind of history I was looking forward to making.

  Holding up my hand, I waited for everyone seated on the staging room floor to quiet down and said, “I’ve called the hotel. No one is using the ballroom today or tomorrow, which means we can have it for rehearsal. Mr. O’Shea and I have come up with a different positioning for the risers than we normally use, and while this situation isn’t ideal, it does give us an opportunity to spend more time than we usually would perfecting the new layout. The stage might not be cleared for us to rehearse, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to sit back and wait. The rest of the teams can do that if they want. We’re going to work.”

  A couple of students cheered, easing the tension that had been building in the room. Thank God. My ability to work with high-strung, freaked-out students was chancy at best.

  The students ignored Larry’s request for them all to head for the bus and continued to talk over him. Larry yelled again. No one was paying attention. I was about to use my opera training to get the kids moving but stopped as I noticed the glint of jewelry sparkling from a hand perched on the frame of the open door. Several diamond-like jewels glistened in the light, along with a stone that from across the room looked as if it was colored a deep blue. I blinked and the pink-polished hand was gone.

  Huh.

  As Devlyn added his voice to the call to order, I weaved through the students, hoping to catch whoever had been lurking in the hall there before they disappeared. Why? I wasn’t sure. But after everything that had happened thus far today, the idea of an unknown person eavesdropping outside our room wigged me out.

  “Ms. Marshall, wait up.” Unlike Larry, Chessie had no problems with projection. “I have a question,” Chessie said as I reached the doorway and looked out into the hall.

  Crap.

  Kids filled the hall. A few teachers or parents were giving instructions. At the end of the hall I thought I spotted a streak of pink disappearing through one of the doorways, but with all the commotion it was impossible to be certain. All I knew was that whoever had been standing outside our room listening to my instructions was gone.

  Sighing, I turned and asked, “What’s your question, Chessie?”

  She beamed. “Jackie said her sequins were snagging on Brad’s cummerbund during the last competition. We’ll have time to practice with the costumes to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Right?”

  Sequins snagging. Lights falli
ng. What next?

  “We are a-here.”

  The Italian-accented announcement gave me enough warning to brace myself, but not enough time to get out of the way as my aunt and her boyfriend, Aldo, swept into the ballroom and made a beeline for me. A moment later, my aunt was squeezing the life out of me. Literally. In the last couple months, my aunt had been working out. Clearly, the upper-body exercises were working because I couldn’t breathe. Help.

  Finally, Millie must have gotten tired of squeezing because she loosened her grip. Hurray for oxygen.

  Taking a deep breath, I yelled to my team, “You have five minutes until we start the run. If you need a drink, get one now.” Then, taking two large steps back in case Millie decided she needed another hug, I asked, “How was the drive?”

  “The drive was perfetto.” Aldo stepped next to my stylishly decked-out aunt and took her hand. “Spring is in full bloom. What could be better?”

  Millie tugged to get her hand back. Aldo held tight. With his slight build, tufts of white hair just above and behind his ears, and slightly oversized plaid pants and white shirt, Aldo looked fragile and sweet. But while Millie had several inches on him in height (especially if you counted the sparkly pink stilettos she was sporting today), I’d learned the man more than matched her in sheer force of will. That was only one of the reasons I hoped Aldo convinced my aunt to marry him. The fact that the man could whip up an amazing lasagna without breaking a sweat was another. I liked good food. Sue me!

  Sighing, Millie let Aldo tuck her well-moisturized hand into the crook of his arm and frowned. “We stopped by the performing arts center first, thinking we’d get there in time for your practice, and saw the police cars out front. Aldo tried to find out what happened, but the doors were locked and the sign said rehearsals were canceled for the day. When I couldn’t reach you on your cell phone, I was worried something terrible had happened.”

  Oops. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Six missed calls. Four from Millie. Two from a number I didn’t recognize.

  “I turned my cell to silent for rehearsal. One of the lighting bars above the stage fell today.” I shoved my phone back into my pocket and tried to sound nonchalant despite my concerns about the reason the lights plummeted. “The head of the program is verifying that the theater is safe before we’re allowed back inside.”

  Millie’s eyes narrowed behind her sparkly, pink glasses. “How often do lights fall from the stage rafters?”

  “It’s been known to happen.” During earthquakes. Hurricanes. The usual stuff.

  Aunt Millie’s broad shoulders slumped with relief. “Well, then I guess Aldo and I will check into our rooms. After you’re done rehearsing, you can catch me up on everything that has happened since you arrived. I’d also like to talk about the styling choices I’ve made for the team. I think you’re going to love them.”

  Giving my arm a pat, Millie turned and headed for the exit. Aldo stayed put. Once my aunt had disappeared through the exit, Aldo gave a lusty sigh and turned toward me. “My Millie insists we get different rooms while we are here. Your aunt is worried we will make a bad impression if the students know we are sleeping in sin.”

  I was pretty sure the sin Millie referred to didn’t happen when they were unconscious, but I understood the point. “Aunt Millie doesn’t want to do anything to distract the kids. She knows how hard they’ve worked to get here.”

  “And you.” Aldo gave a toothy grin. “You do no’ get paid for half of the work you do for this choir. If they win, it is because you give the students extra lessons and rehearsal time without a single penny more. Your aunt worries you work too hard.”

  “I know.” And I was grateful. While I loved my parents and they loved me, Aunt Millie had always been the one to support my love of performing. It was her suggestion that I move into her house to save money while I taught at the nearby high school and waited for my big break. Neither of us had expected the murder cases I’d come in contact with or the harrowing experiences they’d led to. I had emerged from the adventures with a more high-profile name and my aunt . . . Well, since Christmas, Millie had canceled two business conferences and had made arrangements with Larry to do hair and makeup at this competition without consulting me. In business, Millie was fearless. In her personal life, you just had to look at her reactions to Aldo and me to see that Millie didn’t always have a handle on how to deal with the uncertainty that came along with love. As I spotted Devlyn walking through the door, I was forced to admit I wasn’t any better on the love front than my aunt.

  After telling Aldo I’d meet him and Millie later for dinner, I turned toward the stage we’d set and said, “Okay, everyone. Let’s do this.”

  My phone vibrated as Larry took his position in the back of the room to assess the overall picture the band and the choir made. I looked at the phone display and frowned. It was the same number as two unknown missed calls. Once again, the caller didn’t leave a message. Shrugging, I shoved the phone back in my pocket. Then I got to work adjusting the band’s position while Larry yelled his opinion of how the whole thing looked. When we were satisfied with the setup, Jim lifted his hands, cued the band, and away we went.

  Music filled the room. The girls twirled into the guys’ arms and then spun out. After three steps downstage, they started to sing. Hmmm . . . the positioning of those on the steps wasn’t exact. I made a mental note to run the opening sequence again and continued to watch for flaws. The tempo was a hair faster than I wanted, and the band was overenthusiastic with volume. If they played like this onstage, we’d be in serious trouble. The judges had to actually hear the singers in order to score them. Balance between the band and the choir was key.

  When the number was over, I yelled, “Hold, please.”

  The best thing about that phrase was that it brought everything—actors, singers, dancers, instrumentalists, and conductor—to a halt. Talk about power. I had once wondered how stage managers could be content running the show instead of being in it. Making high school students freeze with just two words showed me just how much of a rush that job could be. Too bad that phrase didn’t work on Millie’s prized standard poodle, Killer. Then again, if it did, I might end up gaining several dress sizes. Having a dog intent on keeping you from the fridge was the best diet ever.

  Larry and Devlyn walked over. After conferring, the two changed the team’s starting marks while I talked to Jim.

  “The kids look great,” he said. “I can’t hear them from back here, but I think I should be able to make it work.”

  “I hope so.” I gave him a wide smile. “Having you and the band center stage will show the audience how important strong musicianship is to this performance medium.”

  Okay. That might have been laying it on a bit thick, but hey, desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Jim straightened his shoulders and gave me a happy grin. “I’m glad to help. I’ve even asked the front desk to have my suit pressed. I want to make sure I look my best.”

  “You always look great, Jim,” I said, and I meant every word. Jim’s wife was a laundry fiend. Even his T-shirts were starched and ironed. And since she insisted on overseeing the packing of his competition attire, Jim wouldn’t know a crease or a wrinkle if it smacked him in the face. His students, on the other hand . . . “But I do think I’m going to try and spruce up the band’s look. We can talk about that later. Right now I need to work on making sure the musical balance fits the aesthetic one.”

  “Can I help?” Jim asked.

  Oy. Jim was a gifted trumpet player and a very serviceable musical director. His powers of observation, however, were in need of work.

  Widening my eyes a little to give me a deer-in-headlights, please-don’t-flatten-me look, I said, “Up until now the band’s placement has made it easier for the stage performers and the instrumentalists to work as one unit. This looks better, but . . .” I sighed. “The band
sounds great, but I can’t hear the singers. We need to keep the enthusiasm, but tone down the volume the way they did at sectionals.”

  Which involved my putting extra carpet under the drum set, bribing the bass player with a dozen peanut butter Twix, and channeling the time I played Shelby in Steel Magnolias. The tears worked on the audience as well as they did on Jim. I would rather not play that card again, but desperate times . . .

  Jim frowned.

  My smile dissolved.

  Jim crossed his arms.

  My lower lip trembled in what I hoped looked like sorrow instead of hours of practicing being able to isolate those muscles while killing time in my college dorm room.

  Finally, Jim shook his head and sighed. “The acoustics are different now that we’re on the stage. Okay. Let’s rein in the volume and see what it sounds like.”

  Huzzah! Score one for my lack of a social life my sophomore year. “Thanks. If you have them play at mezzo piano while the team is singing, you’ll really impress the judges when you bump up to forte during the dance breaks. The control they have over dynamics is quite possibly the thing that is going to put us over the top.”

  Turning, I heard Jim say to the players, “If technique is going to help win this thing, then let’s show them everything we got. Mike, we might need to mute your bass drum if you can’t bring down the sound.”