Free End Me a Tenor by Joelle Charbonneau

smiled. “Well, don’t take offense if Vanessa hates anything you get her. She’s only going to like you and your gifts if you can do something for her career.”
    “Which means she’s never going to like me.”
    “I think you’re sensational, and I overheard Magdalena telling David Richard that you have the spark. That’s something Vanessa would be jealous of, too. She’s a strong singer and a decent actress, but she doesn’t have that extra something. David Richard had it. So does Jonathan, only Jonathan would rather teach than travel. You have to be willing to travel to be an opera star.”
    Which is why I kept my passport current. Too bad I hadn’t had reason to use it recently.
    “Were David and Jonathan friends, then? I know they were both teaching at Northwestern this year.”
    Bill laughed. “Jonathan knew how to play the game. He acted friendly with David in public, but I’ve worked a couple shows with the two of them. They weren’t friends. Jonathan’s one of the nicest singers in the business, but David had a history of pushing Jonathan’s buttons. I hated the idea of putting them in the same dressing room for this, but I didn’t have a choice.” He looked back into his coffee cup. “Now I guess I don’t have to worry about it.”
    History? What history? Before I could ask, Bill’s phone rang. Apologizing, he got up in search of a quieter spot, leaving me wondering if the police knew about Jonathan and David’s past. That the kind and debonair Jonathan could have had anything to do with David Richard’s death was hard to believe. Still, I’d learned firsthand that while psychopaths in movies looked the part, real-life killers could appear completely normal.
    I drained the rest of my coffee and waited for Bill to return. When he did, his face was pale and his eyes a little wild.
    “Is everything okay?” I asked.
    Bill might work with actors, but the look in his eyes said none of the performers’ training had rubbed off. “Everything’s fine. Just a few details that need ironing out,” he stammered, shrugging into his coat. “Let me know if you need anything before tomorrow night’s rehearsal. Okay?”
    Without giving me a chance to answer, Bill hurried to the door and disappeared into the cold. Grabbing a latte for the road, I headed back to Millie’s with the radio tuned into the local news channel in case the police had made an arrest in the case. By the time I arrived home, I’d learned someone had stolen Baby Jesus from the Old St. Patrick’s nativity and replaced it with Yoda. No arrests in either that bit of strangeness or my Messiah case.
    My fingers were raw and tingly from the cold when I peeled off my gloves and walked into the kitchen. Since Killer was nowhere in sight, I made a beeline for the refrigerator, grabbed a diet soda, and contemplated a snack.
    “You forgot your moisturizer.” Millie’s voice made me jump, sending my can of soda crashing to the ground.
    I picked up the dented can and looked over at my aunt. She was standing in the kitchen doorway in a sexy pink satin robe and fuzzy pink slippers. From the careful application of her makeup and the wafting scent of floral perfume, I guessed sleep wasn’t my aunt’s next activity of choice.
    She grabbed the soda and put it on the counter. Taking my hands in hers, Millie examined my fingers and gave a sigh of dismay. “Regular moisturizer isn’t going to do the trick. You’re going to need something stronger. Come with me. I have extra-emollient cream in my office. That should do it.”
    I followed Millie down the hall into the cosmetics command center. The room was painted a pale pink. Aside from that splash of color and the taxidermied border collie standing guard at the door, the room could have belonged to any Fortune 500 CEO. Framed college degrees hung on the wall along with photographic evidence of the sports figures and television journalists who made up Millie’s clientele. In the center of the