beautiful.”
“In every way,” Mac said, and they parted.
Annabel arrived home at eleven. Mac had already changed for bed and was listening to a recording of Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana while reading a description of what was happening in the opera, which had been included with the CD. The music was familiar to him. Portions had been used as the musical backdrop for The Godfather, Part III. He turned down the volume when she entered.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, kissing him and heading straight for the bedroom. She emerged fifteen minutes later in her pajamas and robe.
“So,” he said, “tell me about the meeting.”
“Well,” she said, “you can imagine the turmoil. A murder at the Washington National Opera, not onstage but behind the scenes, with a real victim and killer. It’s never happened before. Naturally, there’s great concern for what this will do to the season.”
Mac winced. “More important,” he said, “what it did to that poor girl.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” she said, settling on the couch next to him. “Naturally, everyone is devastated and feels terrible for her family. They’re from Toronto. Evidently, she had a tremendous future. Of all the young people in the program, she was considered to have the best chance at stardom.”
“Somebody made sure that would never happen.”
“The meeting went all over the lot, one subject to another. But what occurred toward the end should interest you.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Bill Frazier, the board chairman, suggested that while the police will be investigating the murder, he thought we, the Opera board, should take matters into our own hands and try to solve it ourselves.”
“Why? The last thing you want to do is interfere with the police investigation.”
“Image. We take on a tremendous responsibility bringing these talented young people here to Washington to study and prepare for their careers. Having one of them killed under our very noses doesn’t do much for our image. Bill says that everyone involved with the company will be prime suspects. He wants to prove that she was killed by an outsider.”
Mac laughed. “What if it wasn’t an outsider?”
“I brought that up, of course. No one’s looking to whitewash the company and its people. If she was killed by someone in the company, so be it. But he feels—and I agree with him—that by at least demonstrating that we care enough to examine ourselves and WNO, we’ll be viewed in a more positive light.”
“I suppose,” Mac said.
“Bill asked me to talk to you about it.”
“Me? Why? I’m not involved with the company.”
“But you were a top criminal attorney. Besides, meeting your old friend Mr. Pawkins might prove to be serendipitous. Genevieve was at the meeting and mentioned him, the fact that he’d been a homicide detective and loves opera. Do you think he’d—?”
“Take this on? I have no idea.” He went to the bedroom, returning with Pawkins’ card, which he handed to Annabel.
“He’s a private investigator,” she said, confirming the obvious. “Between you and him, we could—”
“Whoa,” Mac said. “If you want me to call Ray and run it past him, I’ll be happy to do that. But that’s the extent of my involvement.”
“Fine. You’ll call him?”
“Sure. Mind if I turn up the volume? I particularly like this section.”
Annabel placed her fingers against her lips to mask her tiny smile. Her husband, who’d never indicated an interest in opera, lately enjoyed basking in the recorded lush, dramatic music, and remarkable voices. That was good. Unfortunately, the brutal murder of Charise Lee now promised to involve him beyond music appreciation and being a super in Tosca.
His posture at that moment was only to call Raymond Pawkins and see if he would be willing to investigate the murder on behalf of WNO’s board. But Annabel knew him only too well. He’d never be content with simply making that call. Like it or
Learning to Kill: Stories