| |
WHILE WINSTON WATCHED Gary leave the clearing and return to the house, a familiar voice greeted him. He turned around to find Jazzman behind him. The elderly gentleman wheeled a long rectangular case.
Jazzman grinned at Winston. Dressed in an elegant velvet waistcoat, the pianist could’ve been mistaken for the man of the hour. And Jazzman was, of a sort. He’d be playing a key song during the recessional: “Chances Are.”
Jazzman shook Winston’s hand with gusto. “Huge congrats are in order.”
“Thanks. And we definitely appreciate you playing our song.”
“Of course. But could you help an old man out?” He gestured to the bag he’d been pulling.
“Is that, like, a keyboard suitcase?”
Jazzman nodded and said, “I’m not as strong as I used to be. Don’t want to hurt anything at my age.”
Winston flexed his biceps. “You’re in luck. I’ve been working out to better fit in my tux.” He grabbed the case and started wheeling it over to the gazebo. Even rolling the keyboard along strained his back a little. How had Jazzman carried it?
“Thanks, Winston. Over there”—Jazzman pointed to the area with the sound system. A huge speaker sat on the grass with wires sticking out of it.
The two of them unzipped the bag and unloaded the equipment. They set up the stand and placed the keyboard on it.
Jazzman stretched his fingers and reached inside his vest pocket, pulling out a tiny resealable plastic bag with pills. He popped two tablets into his mouth.
The medicine reminded Winston of Ming’s tampered pill box. “You remember meeting the Chan family yesterday?”
Jazzman put away the tiny bag. “Sure. They crashed the rehearsal and then the dinner. I talked to one of the sons, an artist fellow.”
“Lyle? The one with a giant camera?” Winston indicated the size of the Nikon by framing his hands.
“Yes. He showed me some great snaps.”
That’s it, Winston thought. Photographic proof. “Did he have any photos of his dad at the Mystery Shack?”
“Of course. Ming looked like he wanted to peer into every cranny of that weird place. Lyle even took one of his dad climbing stairs to nowhere. A motion shot, though. Kinda blurry.”
“Was he alone in the picture?” Winston held his breath. Might Lyle have photographed a significant shot? Perhaps the critical moment right before Ming’s fall?
Jazzman dusted off his vest as he thought. “Somebody else was there. One of the brothers, the lad wearing all black.”
Bright. It had to be. “Were they standing next to each other?”
“Real close. The son seemed to be gripping his father’s arm.”
Maybe Bright had been planning his father’s death for a while. That would explain the clothes meant for a funeral. And he’d finally pushed the old man off the stairs. Because messing with the pills hadn’t been enough.
While Winston formulated this theory in his head, Jazzman ran his fingers down the length of the keyboard. The pianist was probably itching to play.
Jazzman looked at the wires trailing the keyboard and frowned. “How do you connect this to the amp again?”
Winston bent over to find the connector to the speaker. He and Jazzman were still peering at the sound equipment in bewilderment when they heard someone approaching.
“I can take care of that, gentlemen,” Carmen said. She was dressed in an elaborate crystal-embedded ballgown, which hugged her every curve, and carried a large satchel.
“Stand at the keys, Jazzman,” she said. “And you, Winston, pretend to be the audience. Go and sit in the front row.”
They moved to the requested positions. Near the sound system, Winston watched Carmen pull something out of her bag and fiddle with the wires. She turned her back to him and blocked his view with her massive gown.
Jazzman poised his fingers over the keys. He pressed down on the keyboard, but nothing played. Had the sound system gone haywire? Somehow got corrupted? But then operatic music poured out of the speaker.
Instead of the romantic ballad of “Chances Are,” Winston was subjected to very high-pitched singing. “What is that?” he said, placing his fingers in his ears.
“I think that’s from the opera Carmen,” Jazzman said, a confused look on his face.
Why would a sound track be playing instead of his preplanned wedding music? Carmen turned around and winked at Winston. She twirled in her ballgown, showing off her dance moves.
The woman always enjoyed being the center of attention. But today she couldn’t be. Because Kristy was the bride, the star of the show. Was she feeling bitter because of it?
Winston groaned. Carmen must have hidden a music player in her bag. Along with other things, like deadly nail files, as he’d witnessed last night. The tool was so sharp it could do some serious damage . . .
He swiveled his head toward the balloon arch. Then he turned back to Carmen, who stood before him with a huge grin on her face.
He got up and almost knocked over his chair in the process. “You were the one who popped the balloons at the rehearsal.”
“That’s right,” she said, not a flicker of apology on her face.
He gripped her shoulders and shook her a little, making her giant purse fall. Its contents spilled. A very familiar black box toppled out. “You took my wedding bands?!”
He snatched up the precious rings. “I don’t understand. Why?”
“A little payback for what you did to me.” She smirked and went over to the sound system and turned off the music.
What was she going on about? He and Carmen had never been an item. Then he had a literal flash of inspiration.
A radiant light glowed around him. He hadn’t pursued a relationship with her, and that’s why she felt spite. “Is this all because I picked Kristy over you?”
“I ditch the guys,” Carmen said. She tossed her hair. “Not the other way around.”
“Sorry.” Winston didn’t know what else to say. “We really weren’t meant for each other.”
“Obviously.” Carmen made a sweeping motion with her hands, encompassing her amazing mansion and its beautiful grounds. “This is what I deserve. Riches and more. And I did it by myself through publishing a bestselling memoir.”
Another brilliant flash. Was Carmen now experiencing a physical illumination as well?
Her eyes narrowed at something behind Winston. “I thought you hired a professional photographer.”
Winston turned around to find Lyle pointing his camera straight at him.