Chapter 12
My mother was pleased when I told her I was going to a hockey game with Walter.
It wasn’t a date, but she didn’t have to know that, and spending time with a guy from her ‘approved’ list should go a long way toward getting her off my back.
If only she knew that the real reason I had asked him was so that I could find out if he was the murderer, she wouldn’t have been so happy about it.
I was clear when I’d texted Walter that this was just a hangout.
He’d responded with a smiley face wearing sunglasses emoji, which presumably meant he was on board.
He’d offered to pick me up, but I wanted to stay after and talk to Ernesto, though the thought of doing so opened up a pit in my stomach so deep I couldn’t feel the bottom.
I still didn’t know what I was going to say to him.
But this was his most important game of the season.
They were playing their rivals, the Ice Holes, and I wanted to support him and watch him play.
“I don’t know much about hockey,” I said. “But I’m definitely interested in it.”
We found our seats in the front row, across from the Clef Hangers penalty box.
One minute into the game, I realized my plan to talk to Walter about the murder wasn’t the best idea.
The crowd was so loud I had to turn on my noise canceling ear buds.
They helped a little, but they weren’t enough to completely drown out the buzz of the crowd.
It seemed like an eternity before Neto’s eyes drifted from the rink to the crowd. I could tell the exact moment he saw me because he grinned, and my heart dropped to the floor.
I was supposed to give him up, to do my duty to the fae monarchy and make my mother proud, but his eyes when he took in the #44 painted on my cheek sent a wave of longing through me that knocked all thoughts of ending it clean out of my head.
I couldn’t lose him. I’d keep it from my mother, lie if I had to, but I wouldn’t give him up.
Neto was focused on the ice, intense in a way I’d never seen before.
Despite my limited hockey knowledge, I could tell by the crowd’s response that he made some really impressive moves.
The large screen in the center of the rink scanned the crowd, and my mouth dropped open as it featured two gorgeous girls in crop tops with number 44, Neto’s number, painted on their washboard abs. I glared at them.
At halftime we bought popcorn from a pixie who buzzed around the crowd, her iridescent wings shining in the lights. “How’s your duet coming along?” Walter shouted above the crowd.
“It’s good. Better than when I’d been singing with Paolo, actually.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “Yeah, you and Ernesto seem to have a lot of chemistry.”
I shrugged his comment off. “Do you have any theories on who might have killed Paolo?”
“Maybe it was you. Getting Paolo out of the way gave you the opportunity to sing with Ernesto Garcia.”
I made a noise of disgust. “I would never kill someone, and that’s a stupid motive. Besides, I had no way of knowing who would replace Paolo.”
Walter laughed. “No need to be defensive, I was kidding. The cops are pretty sure it was Fred, but they can’t prove it.”
We both looked out toward the goal that Fred defended, even though he was in the locker room getting a halftime pep-talk. Or maybe he was the one giving it. “It wasn’t Fred,” I said.
He shrugged. “Probably not. He doesn’t seem the type. My money’s on Cecelia, she’s mean as a bull shark.”
“Yeah, her or James.” I didn’t want him to know I’d already ruled both of them out. “It is interesting, though, Fred being in hot water with the police opened up the way for you to conduct the orchestra.”
He snorted. “If I were going to get rid of Fred, I’d have killed him directly, not framed him. And I would never do it myself. I’d order an untraceable hit.”
I believed him about that; he wasn’t one to get his hands dirty. And wanting Fred’s spot in the orchestra was a pretty poor reason to kill Paolo. But maybe he had another reason, something I hadn’t figured out yet.
I squared my shoulders. “I know you weren’t in the practice room during the murder.”
Walter smoothed his blonde hair back from his face, and even with my powers muted, I could see the slight tremor in his hand. “And what makes you think that? I thought you were inside practicing the whole time.”
“I was. But you answered the door for the delivery guy,” I said.
Walter stuffed a handful of buttery popcorn in his mouth, probably stalling to think through his options.
“I was in the practice room and I wasn’t alone.
I was with a woman. She left and I walked her to the door.
I hadn’t gone back into the room yet when the delivery driver knocked on the door, so I opened it. ”
“Who were you with?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to bring her into this.”
“Walter, this is serious. If you have someone who can verify your alibi, then you should just admit it.”
He sighed. “Fine, but I want your word that you won’t tell anyone.”
I crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m not blindly giving you a promise like that.”
“It’s nothing illegal. I was meeting Lillian.”
“Lillian the harpist? Why? And why lie about it?”
He shook his head. “It’s not something I’m willing to discuss. But you can ask her if you want; she’ll vouch for me.”
Lillian lived in downtown Austen Heights, in a cute apartment building a few blocks from the park.
I’d visited there once when she’d held a bridal shower for another member of the orchestra.
I’d stop by tomorrow to see what she knew.
In fact, I had the perfect excuse to stop by.
I’d be willing to bet that the mixed-up coat belonged to her.
The crowd roared again as the players skated back onto the ice, and I found myself drawn in, even during the times when Ernesto wasn’t playing. The game moved quickly, but I was able to track the puck across the rink. At least most of the time.
A few minutes into the second half, Fred made a particularly impressive save and smirked at the Ice Holes player who had missed the shot. That player, #49, shoved him so hard he fell backward. The crowd roared, and I jumped to my feet, as indignant as the other fans in blue.
The rink became complete chaos as players from both benches jumped over the wall.
I looked questioningly over at Walter, and when he leaned in to explain it, I turned off my ear buds.
The noise of the crowd hit me like a sonic boom, but I could hear his words yelled into my ear: “Never touch the goalie.”
It looked like the whole game was going to erupt into chaos, but my eyes were only on Neto, who skated over to #49 and stared him down, his body pressed right up against the guy in the most intimidating display I’d ever seen.
#49 tore off one glove and then the other, dropping them to the ice, and Neto did the same before unclipping his helmet. #49 unclipped his helmet, too.
The crowd let out a series of “ooooooohs” as Neto reached over and knocked the guy’s helmet off.
“What’s happening?” I asked Walter.
“They’re not allowed to take their own helmets off for a fight. This is a way to get around that rule.”
I gasped as Neto punched #49 squarely in the face. The crowd went wild as the two started pummeling each other. The fight probably only lasted fifteen seconds before an official broke them up and sent them to their respective penalty boxes.
“Reyes looks a lot like Ernesto.” Walter said, peering closer. “I’m pretty sure that is Ernesto.”
I brought my face close to his ear. “It is, but be quiet about it. He plays under an alias.”
“If he’s trying to keep his identity a secret, he shouldn’t take his helmet off like that,” Walter said.
“Then why would he risk it?”
He shrugged. “Both teams were about to get into it. Facing off against that other player made it so the rest of his teammates didn’t get into the fight.”
I turned to where Neto sat in the box. His posture was relaxed, though his bottom lip was rapidly swelling and he had a fresh cut over one eyebrow.
#49 skated toward us and his team’s penalty box, blood streaming from his nose.
I turned to Walter, whose face had drained of color. “You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, breathing shallowly. “I’ve just got a thing about… a thing about…” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he slumped against me.
I caught him and fanned his face, looking frantically around for some help but the crowd was still wild. A moment later, he resumed consciousness. I helped him to his seat and handed him a water bottle from my purse.
“Hey, I lost you for a minute there. Do you need me to go find a medic?”
“No,” he said, taking a long drag from the bottle. “I’m okay. I just pass out when I see blood. I think I’m okay now.”
He didn’t look great, but he slowly regained color throughout the second half.
Neto played well once his time in the penalty box was over, not letting a single puck get past him.
I was relieved that my presence wasn’t affecting the quality of his game.
Especially since he looked over at me six more times.
The game ended 5–2, with the Clef Hangers coming out on top. I walked Walter out to the parking lot, killing time while Neto was in the locker room with his team.
“I had a good time, Anne,” Walter said. “I’d love to take you out on a real date.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Although it would make my mother happy.”
“And my parents. But that’s not the only reason I’d go out with you. You score high for money, prestige, looks, and intelligence.”
I gave him a flat look. “Tell me you do not rate women on a spreadsheet.”
He straightened his collar. “Of course I do. I have a spreadsheet for everything.”
I laughed. “Well, thanks for the compliment, I guess.”
Comprehension rested on his face. “You’re seeing Ernesto.”
“Does that surprise you? Maybe his spreadsheet allows for nerdy musicians.”