Murder for Choir by Joelle Charbonneau Read Free Book Online Page B

to like. I’m not surprised someone wanted him dead.”
    Yowzah. “Anyone you can think of that might top the list?”
    He smiled. “Are you investigating?”
    “No.” Not really. Maybe. “I’m concerned about Eric. There must be better suspects out there than a seventeen-year-old high school student.”
    “I can name four or five off the top of my head.”
    “Like who?” I asked with a touch more intensity than I’d meant to.
    Devlyn laughed. “Honey, you need a hobby.”
    “Humor me.”
    His smile dropped. He stepped back, perched a hand on his hip, and cocked his head to one side while studying me. I fought the urge to squirm. Finally, he said, “Okay, I’ll play along. There’s the ex-wife, Dana. She was seriously put out when a judge gave Greg joint custody of their son. Dana showed up at West Side Story rehearsal at least once a week in a rage over something, threatening to kill Greg. Catfight city.”
    Dana Lucas sounded like a great suspect, although I’d hate to think what would happen to the son if she’d done it. “Who else?”
    “North Shore High’s football coach, Curtis Bennett, would also be a top contender.”
    “Why would the football coach have a problem with a choir director?” If Greg taught marching band, I would almost understand.
    Leaning against the wall, Devlyn gave me a grim smile. “Somehow Greg got the star wide receiver to give up playing football to sing in the show choir. The football coach was pissed.”
    “Losing a football player isn’t a reason to commit murder.”
    He arched an eyebrow at me. “Tell me that after you’ve met Coach Bennett.”
    I decided to add the coach to my mental list. “Anyone else?”
    “How much time do you have?” Devlyn popped the CD into the player and hit play. The intro to “Ease on Down the Road” echoed through the room. “Larry is an obvious choice. So are a number of female students who hit on Greg and were turned down. Greg was an alley cat who liked the thrill of the hunt. Aggressive women didn’t do it for him. Come on.”
    He sauntered past the piano to an empty space in the room and executed a perfect double turn. Holding out his hand, he said, “This is what I was thinking for this number. Let’s dance.” He strutted, turned, and added some hip-hop-style stomping.
    I shook my head. “They won’t be able to sing. This is show choir. If they can’t sing while they’re dancing, what’s the point? How about something like…” I did a couple of tap flaps and stomps in between some poses all the while followed by Devlyn’s intense gaze. The fact I didn’t trip over my own feet under his watchful eyes was cause for celebration.
    “I like the tap, but the steps aren’t flashy enough.” Devlyn tried a couple variations of what I had just done. “We need minimal-effort glitz with a few lifts or harder moves thrown in to wow the judges. Right?”
    “Right.”
    “Okay. Let’s do it.”
    Holy crap. Devlyn was a machine. Once we got a combination we liked, he insisted I repeat it several times while singing, just to make sure I could. I reminded him that my breathing technique was better than that of the average high school singer. He just shrugged and said I’d teach them to do it. I appreciated his confidence in me. Too bad he didn’t realize the entire choir thought I was a joke.
    Aunt Millie had always told me that women don’t sweat, they glow. She was nuts. Sweat poured off my face and trickled down my back. It was Devlyn who glowed. His skin just glistened with a touch of moisture, making his muscles look even more sculpted than they had before.
    He grabbed my arm and twirled me up against his chest. “Want to try a lift?” he asked.
    No. I wasn’t the cute, one-hundred-pounds-sopping-wet ballerina type. Opera singers didn’t have to be rail thin tosucceed. Still, while my head insisted I say no, the rest of me was enamored with the way Devlyn’s body felt pressed up against my back. The man was gay.