Free Death in the Choir by Lorraine V. Murray

was stronger than her impulse to heed her conscience.
    Patricia appeared to be studying the night sky as if the
stars were Tarot cards revealing her future. Francesca saw Randall come up
behind Patricia and put his arms around her slender waist.
    “Hey, beautiful, are you going to forgive me?”
    Patricia turned around to face him.
    “Why did you say those horrible things about my
singing?”
    “Darling, look, you have a lovely voice, you know it and
I know it, but how was I going to deal with Lily? I don’t want to be forced into giving anyone a solo. You
were wrong to mention the solo before I had a chance to announce it to the
whole group.”
    Patricia’s expression changed. The dark angry look
softened – and Francesca felt a true wave of compassion for her. She really wants to believe whatever he
tells her, she realized.
    “Oh, I didn’t think of that. But you didn’t mean what
you said about my singing, did you?”
    “Of course not! Your voice is beautiful.” Then Francesca
saw him draw Patricia near and give her a long, lingering kiss on the lips.
    She had seen enough. She felt a quick stab of remorse
and guilt as she moved away from the window. Then she headed into the kitchen
to pour another glass of wine, nearly colliding with Thomas White. He laughed
and gave her a very sensuous blue-eyed look.
    He’s
not very tall, but that’s OK, Francesca thought.
    “Where are you headed in such a hurry, Mrs. Bibbo ?”
    “Uh, I was going outside for some fresh air, but I think
it’s starting to rain.”
    He looked her over appraisingly from head to toe. “You
sure look pretty tonight. Did you do something different to your hair?”
    “Just some highlights.” She was pleased that he’d
noticed. “Thanks.”
    A moment later, a slightly disheveled-looking Randall
and Patricia walked back into the house. When he saw them, Thomas called out,
“Hope there isn’t a storm on the way.” They looked at him quizzically.
    When Father John ambled over to ask Thomas about his
graduate studies, Francesca excused herself and headed to the bathroom to touch
up her makeup. To get there, she had to go through the master bedroom. As she
reached out to open the bathroom door, she felt someone grab her from behind.
    “Oh, my gosh!” she exclaimed, and then realized who it
was. “What are you doing?” she cried out as Randall embraced her. Then she
started to laugh. I’ve had too much to
drink.
    “Waiting for you, of course.” He switched off the light.
    He pulled her against him so tightly, she was sure he
could feel her heart trying to jump out of her chest. He kissed her, a long,
hungry kiss, and she felt her willpower dissolving. She leaned against him,
letting out a little sigh like someone devouring chocolate ice cream after a
long diet. Girl, get a grip , she
warned herself.
    “I really want to be with you again soon.” And then he
lightly stroked her earlobe, as if he knew it happened to be one of her most
intense erogenous zones. “Alone.”
    At that moment, the lights flickered on and there stood
Lily in the doorway.
    “Well, excuse me ,”
she said in a tone of voice that could have instantly turned water into ice. “I
had no idea this room was occupied. Don’t let me disturb you two...love birds.”
    Randall drew back from Francesca as if he had just
learned she had a contagious disease. He straightened the front of his shirt
and looked guilty. “I think I’ve had way too much to drink…”
    Lily smiled in a way that mystified Francesca and then
exited the room.
    Well,
thanks a lot , Francesca thought, angered by the implication that
alcohol had motivated his kiss, rather than affection.
    He must have noticed her expression. “Look, don’t
misunderstand me. I just don’t want to …well, I want to be a gentleman with
you, that’s all.”
    She wanted to believe him. “It’s alright. Let’s just
forget it.”
    He took her hand. “I don’t want to forget it, Francesca.
Look, I’m no saint.