Death of a Songbird by Christine Goff Read Free Book Online

early?
    Teresa’s clear, strong voice caressed the air, weaving a spell that wrapped itself around Lark. A number of others also seemed enthralled. The diners on the patio ceased talking, while patrons crowded the doors.
    Lark shook off the spell and bounded up the steps to the main foyer. Peter Jacobs lounged against the doorjamb leading to the bar, watching Teresa’s performance. A short, skinny man, he sported a trim beard and displayed great, if somewhat wrinkled, taste in clothing: pink oxford shirttails tucked hastily into a pair of belted chinos, pink-socked feet crammed into brown leather loafers.
    “We need to talk,” Lark said.
    Peter started at her voice, his fingers moving nervously to his beard. “Lark!”
    “My office. Now .”
    “Can’t it wait until after the set?”
    Lark poked her head inside the lounge. The tables and chairs were packed. “I guess it will have to.”
    She noticed Paul Owens sitting near the stage with his business partner, Katherine Saunders, and the tall blond woman from the Warbler. They were accompanied by an older gentleman with graying sideburns, who watched Teresa intently. When the girl launched into a reggae-enhanced rendition of “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom,” a Latino chart topper, the gentleman danced in his seat.
    Teresa gyrated onstage, bedecked in a high-waisted, short-skirted, bright pink sundress dotted with powder-blue flowers. The dress swirled as she shimmied, a look of rapture transforming her face. After three more songs, she ended the set with “God’s Child,” and the crowd demanded an encore. Teresa promised to return in twenty minutes.
    Once she’d escaped the stage, Lark snagged her and marched her and Jacobs back to the office. Velof was waiting for them. Lark waved everyone to chairs. Teresa and Peter sat together. Velof declined, and posted himself sentinel-like beside the door.
    First things first . Lark scooted a chair next to Teresa’s. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
    Teresa’s gaze darted from Jacobs to Velof, then cast about as though seeking an avenue of escape.
    “Esther Mills is dead.”
    Teresa’s head jerked back as if she’d been struck. Her dark eyes shone with pain, the type born from years of suffering. However, she showed no remorse, for the moment. “When? How?”
    “Late this afternoon.” Lark drew a deep breath, then exhaled. “She was murdered.”
    Teresa covered her face with her hands, but not before Lark spotted a glimmer of fear. What was she afraid of? Being in the United States alone, or that someone might accuse of her killing Esther?
    Lark reached out and touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
    Teresa jerked away. “I’m not.”
    Not quite the reaction she expected. Lark tried a different tack. “Police Chief Crandall wants to talk to you.”
    Teresa’s body trembled. “I won’t… I have nothing to say.”
    “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Lark glanced at Jacobs. He kept his attention focused on Teresa, concern etched in deep lines around his eyes. Behind him, vigilant at the door, Velof looked bored.
    Teresa’s pink-tipped fingers picked at the edge of the wooden desk. “Mr. Velof must have told you.”
    “That you don’t have a green card?”
    “Yes.”
    “He did.” Lark tried in vain to make eye contact with the girl. “Is that what you and Esther were arguing about? I overheard her threatening to send you home.”
    Teresa raised her chin defiantly. “Everyone heard her.”
    “Do you mind telling me what happened?”
    The girl tossed her head like a headstrong filly. “My father arranged for my travel – we are a people at war. You must understand, he was frightened for me.”
    “Frightened of what?” Lark asked.
    Teresa fired off a rapid volley of Spanish.
    “I’m sorry. English, please. I don’t speak your language that well.” Lark looked at the others. “Unless someone else can translate?”
    Jacobs shook his head, crossing his arms and turning sideways in his