End Me a Tenor by Joelle Charbonneau Read Free Book Online Page B

majoring in music. Since his near-arrest, he’d shifted his focus. His college applications now read criminal justice/pre-law. Eric’s brush with the legal system had left its mark.
    The bell rang, but instead of bolting for class Eric hitched his backpack onto his shoulder and said, “I hope the cops get it right this time. I really do. But if they don’t, I wanted you to know that I’d like to help.”
    Before I could respond to his pronouncement or offer him a hall pass, Eric disappeared through the door.
    “Well, that was sweet.”
    I turned to see Devlyn smiling at me from his perch on the piano bench. “Sweet?” If the kid decided to tackle a murder investigation, he could end up in the clink for obstruction. Colleges tended to frown on extracurricular activities that came with rap sheets.
    “When a teenage boy is willing to risk after-school detention to offer a teacher his help—” Devlyn stood up and walked over to me. “Yeah, I’d call that sweet.”
    Maybe. But now instead of worrying about Eric’s interest in the murder, I was panicked that his tardy would merit a detention. “Should I track down his teacher and let him know Eric was late because of me?”
    “I’ll handle it.” Devlyn’s hand brushed my arm. “How are you doing?”
    If the door to the room hadn’t been open, I would have taken advantage of the warmth of his arms and the comfort they offered. But we weren’t alone. Not really. Kids and faculty were roaming the halls. Larry and the band director were in a meeting next door—a meeting I needed to get to. This wasn’t the time.
    “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Or I will be, if I don’t walk into my meeting and hear Larry tell me I’m already fired.”
    “Larry isn’t stupid. He knows how much better this program is because of the work you’ve done. Once the concert is over, the school board will know it, too.”
    I was thankful Devlyn was right about Larry. I still had my job, which was good. But the phone call I got as the meeting ended had my stomach tied in knots. Detective Frewen hated disturbing my day, but could I stop by the police station when I had a moment to chat? Yikes. I’d seen enough television dramas to translate the polite tone and humble-sounding request. Detective Frewen wanted to see me, and he wanted to see me now.

 

Chapter 5

    The Evanston Police Station was a large, two-story brick building located a few blocks to the south and west of Cahn Auditorium. Detective Frewen had left word at the information desk that I was coming. Minutes after my arrival, I found myself seated in a small lounge with a cup of coffee that no amount of sugar and cream could make drinkable.
    “Ms. Marshall, thanks for coming so quickly. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Detective Frewen walked into the room and made a beeline for the coffeepot in the corner.
    As he took the seat across from me, I scanned his jeans and brown sport coat for handcuffs. None that I could see. Considering that a good sign, I sat back and gave him my best “I’m innocent” smile as he said, “I just need to ask you a few more questions and have you sign a witness statement. It shouldn’t take long.”
    True to his word, the questions were quick and mostly a replay of the night before. When he ran out of questions, he asked me to wait for the statement to be typed so I could sign it. No problem. I would also need to be fingerprinted before I left.
    Problem.
    “Fingerprinted?” I swallowed hard. Fingerprints were for suspects and bad guys. This wasn’t a good sign.
    “For elimination purposes. We need to know which prints on the water bottle are yours. I hope you’re okay with that.”
    As if I had a choice.
    Of course, I might have put up more of a fight about the prints had the detective pointed out to me that the ink wasn’t going to come off my hands. After three rounds of scrubbing with hot water and antiseptic-smelling soap, my hands were red, tingly, and still tipped with