Free Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery by Sarah Fox Page A

enough. It was usually a comforting place for me, but it was nothing of the sort at the moment. I couldn’t help thinking of Pavlina’s killer stalking the hallways, whether that killer was Jeb or someone else.
    As I made my way down the short alley, I kept glancing this way and that, jumpier than a hyper kangaroo. When I reached the parking lot, my footsteps slowed. Voices danced through the cold night air, jumbled words I couldn’t decipher sounding at two different pitches. As I continued toward my MINI Cooper—one of only four cars left in the lot—I spotted Elena near her silver Mercedes-Benz, speaking with the same man I’d seen her with before the concert on the night of Pavlina’s death.
    I strained my ears but still couldn’t make out their words, and I soon realized they were once again speaking Russian. But while I couldn’t understand their words, Elena’s body language required no translation. As I watched, she threw her hands up in the air and spat out several exasperated words. The man said something in return and she shook her head, cutting him off with a rapid stream of Russian.
    Arriving at my car, I fumbled with my keys as I kept an eye on Elena and the mystery man. I managed to get the door unlocked and when I opened it, the movement caught Elena’s eye. Her head snapped in my direction and she glared at me from across the parking lot. Feigning disinterest, I stashed my violin behind the driver’s seat, tossed my tote bag over to the passenger’s side, and climbed in.
    When I pulled the door shut my eyes went back to Elena, but she too had climbed into her car. The mystery man climbed in next to her and the engine roared to life, the headlights slicing through the night. Elena wasted no time reversing out of her parking spot and careening out of the lot. I followed in my MINI Cooper at a safer pace, and by the time I reached the main road, Elena’s vehicle had disappeared from sight.
    I would have been lying if I said I had no interest in knowing who the man with Elena was. I was far too curious by nature not to wonder. But as I paused at a red light a minute later, other memories of the evening crept to the forefront of my mind, crowding out any lingering thoughts of Elena and the man who’d left with her.
    Clanging the loudest for my attention was my memory of Jeb Hartson’s recent words. What was it that was all taken care of? What did nobody suspect? That he’d killed Pavlina?
    If that was the case, who was he talking to? And why would he have wanted Pavlina dead?
    If Pavlina had threatened to make their relationship public, it was entirely possible that such news could have negatively affected his reputation and career. It was unlikely that he’d ever be asked to judge another contest once it was widely known that he’d had an inappropriate relationship with one of the finalists in the young composers’ competition. Maybe his colleagues would have looked down on him as well, causing more damage to his career by reducing other future opportunities.
    The problem with that scenario was that—as far as I could see—Pavlina herself had stood to lose plenty by making their relationship public. Revealing such information during the competition would likely have led to her disqualification, as I suspected would have happened if she’d lived long enough for Olivia to set that ball rolling. Even if she’d won the competition and had already made off with the prize money before revealing her relationship with Jeb, she likely would have been disgraced in the media, and people would have surmised that she’d won because she was sleeping with Jeb, rather than because of her talent. Whether or not that would have been true or fair, the perception could have darkened the prospects for her otherwise bright future.
    It was entirely possible that there were facts still unknown to me that would paint a clearer picture of why Jeb would want Pavlina dead, but based on what I knew at the moment, it