Free End Me a Tenor by Joelle Charbonneau Page B

not the rest of her arms. An allergic reaction would not have gone unnoticed.
    My gut told me this was important. While the cops might not say an allergy to the murder weapon was definitive proof of innocence, I was pretty sure it would at least cast some doubt on her guilt. Doubt would keep her out of jail, and behind the podium for the concert.
    Of course, this all hinged on Magdalena actually being allergic to zinc. There was only one way to find out. I glanced at the clock. It was just after ten. Betting Bill was still awake, I dialed his number. When he answered, I asked, “Is Magdalena Tebar allergic to zinc?”
    The stunned silence spoke volumes. Score one for me.
    “Has she mentioned her allergy to the police?”
    “No.” The word was barely a whisper. “And the nondisclosure agreement I signed won’t let me tell them.”
    “Well, I could—”
    “You can’t say anything.” Bill sounded panicked. “Magdalena will sue me, and I promise she’ll find a way to end your career before it begins.”
    Yikes. My stomach went squishy at the idea of Magdalena Tebar using her influence to blackball me. Still. “Doesn’t she know her zinc allergy makes it less likely the police will look at her as a suspect?”
    “She says she has her reasons for keeping her medical condition quiet.” A voice murmured in the background. Bill whispered something I couldn’t quite make out back before saying to me, “Look, Paige, I have to get going. Magdalena wants to handle this her way. I’d strongly suggest that you let her.” And with that, Bill was gone.

    Between the worry that Magdalena would be falsely arrested and the knowledge that Millie and Aldo were doing “skin care treatments” down the hall, I had trouble sleeping. So it wasn’t a surprise it took several growls and a loud bark from Killer to rouse me out of bed. I was thankful that by the time I got to school for rehearsal, the two cups of coffee I’d chugged had kicked in and I was ready to sing and dance.
    The minute I spotted Chessie waiting at the choir room door, I felt my caffeinated energy sag. With my attention focused on David Richard’s murder, I’d forgotten about casting the solos. The gleam in Chessie’s eyes and the fact she was fifteen minutes early for our 6:15 A.M. rehearsal told me she had not.
    My stomach knotted as I unlocked the door and flipped the light switch. While I hadn’t given this decision much thought since yesterday, I knew what I was going to do. If a choice had to be made between doing what was best for me or best for the choir, it was my job to choose the choir. Pulling off my jacket, I turned to Chessie and said, “I’m sorry, but you’re not going to be assigned one of the new solos. I’m giving the female feature to Megan.”
    Chessie dumped her bag on the floor and planted her hands on her hips. “If there is something I should have done differently—”
    “There isn’t.” I took a deep breath. “You’re a strong singer even when you dance. Right now, the group is struggling to project sound while doing the choreography. If I take you out of the ensemble, the whole thing will fall apart.” Was that the whole truth? No, but it was part of it. Besides, complimenting Chessie was always the best way to get her to cooperate.
    Chessie’s eyes narrowed. “You know my father is on the school board, right?”
    So much for cooperation.
    The implied threat of her father’s position hung in the air. I could see Chessie waiting for me to back down. Yeah, right. “If your father wants to talk to me about why you have only one solo in the concert, I’ll be happy to explain my reasoning to him. Feel free to tell him that.”
    Ignoring the angry stare, I began setting up for rehearsal. By the time the room was rearranged, the rest of the choir had arrived. They were bleary-eyed but ready to work.
    Instead of practicing on the new song, I ran them through the older numbers, hoping familiar songs would build their