"Holmes, knock it off," I said, trying to pry his fingers from my arm.
He dragged me down the marble steps, shaking. "This is insane. We're both resigning. Now. And you're coming with me so quit dragging your heels."
Infuriated, I stomped on his foot. "Holmes, you ninny, listen to me. We don't even know that he killed Jessica. He could be telling the truth. Maybe she got dizzy. Maybe somebody put the rose there as a joke, or to scare her off. Maybe Molly, the second flute, is jealous. And if Jess WAS killed, then there will probably be another murder. And we have to stop it! So we have to keep coming to practice."
"Watson, you are the most stubborn, most irritating, most infuriating person I have ever met. But you are also my best friend and I'm not going to lose you."
I rolled my eyes. "Holmes, enough. The murderer supposedly marks each flautist with a rose the night before. So we'd have warning. I promise that if I get a black rose, I won't go to practice. Okay?"
Holmes narrowed his eyes and glared at me for a long, long time. "Fine," he said at last, and let go of my arm.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At the next rehearsal, I kept my eyes and ears absolutely peeled. I could see George, the janitor, in the background vacuuming. Ms. Basil was sitting in the balcony, watching rehearsal - but she looked awfully stiff and uncomfortable, like she had to stay in the same place the whole time.
Mr. Hailey was up front, talking to the principal cellist about "measure 38". Again.
But Jessica wasn't there, and neither was Molly. Where was Molly? And the chandelier - I glanced up at the huge light fixture above the stage. There was something different about the chandelier, but I couldn't put my finger on it...
"Sara?" somebody asked, softly.
"Wha - huh? What?" I said, turning.
"Are you okay?" Vicky asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I said quickly, and went back to scanning the auditorium. And there was Molly!
She was standing at the back of the theater, shying away from... oh, no, Mr. Johnson. He said something and grabbed her arm. I felt my heart beating in my mouth, and I stood. Molly broke away from his grip, and ran down the aisle to the stage, wiping tears from her eyes and taking shuddering, gasping breaths.
"Molly?" Naomi, the third chair said. "Are you all right?"
Molly gulped and nodded, putting her flute together with shaking hands. She closed the case and put it under her chair as Mr. Hailey banged on his stand for attention.
Everything during rehearsal was normal. We played through our five pieces, and I must admit it was fun. Everyone in this orchestra was really good, and we sounded phenomenal. But when rehearsal ended and I began to pack up my flute, I kept half an eye on the flute section.
Molly opened her flute case and gasped. I turned to her, feeling cold all over.
Trembling, she held up a black rose.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Okay, Holmes, this is NOT FUN." I said, as we hustled away from the theater. "According to tradition, Molly will be killed at the next rehearsal. What are we going to do? And why isn't anyone else freaking out?"
Holmes frowned. "Well, it seems to me that not everyone knows about that old play."
"And that old weirdo," I said, meaning Mr. Hailey.
"He's not the only one who's weird," Holmes said quietly. "You know George, the janitor? I heard him talking to himself the other day. He was saying how much he hated his job and the theater. Something like he would do anything to close it down again."
"You can't be serious!" I gasped.
"I am."
My head was spinning. "This just keeps getting worse and worse. Maybe we should tell somebody..."
"About what?" Holmes snapped. "What evidence do we have? Two freaked out teenagers and a black rose?"
I bit my lip. "You're right. Let's just keep an extra good eye on Molly tomorrow."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rehearsal that next day was terrifying. I sat down, ignored Vicky's polite hello, and began unpacking my flute, every nerve in my body singing. The chandelier caught my eye again. It looked ... different...
Shaking my head, I watched with eagle eyes for Molly - and then saw her at the back of the theater. Mr. Johnson was walking next to her, whispering furiously. Molly was trying to wave him off or get ahead, but he followed her almost up to the steps.
Shivering, Molly sat down and unpacked her flute. Mr. Hailey banged on the stand for attention. "Please, everyone," he said, "Let's take it from measure 38."
We all groaned but raised our instruments obediently.
A minute later I heard footsteps behind me and I shifted around in my chair. Mr. Johnson was leaning against the back wall, his eyes locked on Molly. Then he glanced at me.
I felt a hot rush of anger.
LEAVE HER ALONE! I mouthed.
Mr. Johnson glared at me, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a swiss army knife. He flicked the blade open, and dug an imaginary speck of dirt from under his thumbnail. Still watching me and smiling nonchalantly, he closed the knife and put it back in his pocket.
I got the message.
I turned around, shaking with fear. Struck with sudden inspiration, I rummaged around in my backpack for my powder case. Very quietly, I flicked it open and put it on my stand.
Perfect! In the little make-up mirror, I had a good view of Mr. Johnson behind us. Throughout the entire rehearsal, I kept an eye on him, only half-playing through the pieces. He didn't move, except to look up or to the right and left.
Rehearsal ended, and I chanced a glance at Molly. Just like Jessica had been, she looked pale.
"Molly?" Naomi asked. "Molly? Oh, my god, Molly!"
Molly slumped over in her chair, eyelids half closed. Mr. Johnson rushed forward and picked her up.
NO! My brain was screaming. NO! NO NO NO NO! I looked at Holmes. He put his violin down and waited. Trying to be as indiscreet as I could, I followed as Mr. Johnson carried Molly off the stage. When I got to the front and Holmes, we waited, watching where he was taking her - to the back of the theater. We followed, quietly.
But when we got to the back, they were gone. Totally gone.
Holmes rushed and opened the door to outside, and we both peered both ways down the street. Totally gone.
"I think you had better go get your things," Mr. Johnson said from behind us, and we both jumped. Well, actually, Holmes jumped I had about a full body muscle spasm with assorted squeals.
Terrified, we slid away from him and ran back into the theater.
"Holmes," I said, panting. "This is NOT FUN."
He dragged me down the marble steps, shaking. "This is insane. We're both resigning. Now. And you're coming with me so quit dragging your heels."
Infuriated, I stomped on his foot. "Holmes, you ninny, listen to me. We don't even know that he killed Jessica. He could be telling the truth. Maybe she got dizzy. Maybe somebody put the rose there as a joke, or to scare her off. Maybe Molly, the second flute, is jealous. And if Jess WAS killed, then there will probably be another murder. And we have to stop it! So we have to keep coming to practice."
"Watson, you are the most stubborn, most irritating, most infuriating person I have ever met. But you are also my best friend and I'm not going to lose you."
I rolled my eyes. "Holmes, enough. The murderer supposedly marks each flautist with a rose the night before. So we'd have warning. I promise that if I get a black rose, I won't go to practice. Okay?"
Holmes narrowed his eyes and glared at me for a long, long time. "Fine," he said at last, and let go of my arm.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At the next rehearsal, I kept my eyes and ears absolutely peeled. I could see George, the janitor, in the background vacuuming. Ms. Basil was sitting in the balcony, watching rehearsal - but she looked awfully stiff and uncomfortable, like she had to stay in the same place the whole time.
Mr. Hailey was up front, talking to the principal cellist about "measure 38". Again.
But Jessica wasn't there, and neither was Molly. Where was Molly? And the chandelier - I glanced up at the huge light fixture above the stage. There was something different about the chandelier, but I couldn't put my finger on it...
"Sara?" somebody asked, softly.
"Wha - huh? What?" I said, turning.
"Are you okay?" Vicky asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I said quickly, and went back to scanning the auditorium. And there was Molly!
She was standing at the back of the theater, shying away from... oh, no, Mr. Johnson. He said something and grabbed her arm. I felt my heart beating in my mouth, and I stood. Molly broke away from his grip, and ran down the aisle to the stage, wiping tears from her eyes and taking shuddering, gasping breaths.
"Molly?" Naomi, the third chair said. "Are you all right?"
Molly gulped and nodded, putting her flute together with shaking hands. She closed the case and put it under her chair as Mr. Hailey banged on his stand for attention.
Everything during rehearsal was normal. We played through our five pieces, and I must admit it was fun. Everyone in this orchestra was really good, and we sounded phenomenal. But when rehearsal ended and I began to pack up my flute, I kept half an eye on the flute section.
Molly opened her flute case and gasped. I turned to her, feeling cold all over.
Trembling, she held up a black rose.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Okay, Holmes, this is NOT FUN." I said, as we hustled away from the theater. "According to tradition, Molly will be killed at the next rehearsal. What are we going to do? And why isn't anyone else freaking out?"
Holmes frowned. "Well, it seems to me that not everyone knows about that old play."
"And that old weirdo," I said, meaning Mr. Hailey.
"He's not the only one who's weird," Holmes said quietly. "You know George, the janitor? I heard him talking to himself the other day. He was saying how much he hated his job and the theater. Something like he would do anything to close it down again."
"You can't be serious!" I gasped.
"I am."
My head was spinning. "This just keeps getting worse and worse. Maybe we should tell somebody..."
"About what?" Holmes snapped. "What evidence do we have? Two freaked out teenagers and a black rose?"
I bit my lip. "You're right. Let's just keep an extra good eye on Molly tomorrow."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rehearsal that next day was terrifying. I sat down, ignored Vicky's polite hello, and began unpacking my flute, every nerve in my body singing. The chandelier caught my eye again. It looked ... different...
Shaking my head, I watched with eagle eyes for Molly - and then saw her at the back of the theater. Mr. Johnson was walking next to her, whispering furiously. Molly was trying to wave him off or get ahead, but he followed her almost up to the steps.
Shivering, Molly sat down and unpacked her flute. Mr. Hailey banged on the stand for attention. "Please, everyone," he said, "Let's take it from measure 38."
We all groaned but raised our instruments obediently.
A minute later I heard footsteps behind me and I shifted around in my chair. Mr. Johnson was leaning against the back wall, his eyes locked on Molly. Then he glanced at me.
I felt a hot rush of anger.
LEAVE HER ALONE! I mouthed.
Mr. Johnson glared at me, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a swiss army knife. He flicked the blade open, and dug an imaginary speck of dirt from under his thumbnail. Still watching me and smiling nonchalantly, he closed the knife and put it back in his pocket.
I got the message.
I turned around, shaking with fear. Struck with sudden inspiration, I rummaged around in my backpack for my powder case. Very quietly, I flicked it open and put it on my stand.
Perfect! In the little make-up mirror, I had a good view of Mr. Johnson behind us. Throughout the entire rehearsal, I kept an eye on him, only half-playing through the pieces. He didn't move, except to look up or to the right and left.
Rehearsal ended, and I chanced a glance at Molly. Just like Jessica had been, she looked pale.
"Molly?" Naomi asked. "Molly? Oh, my god, Molly!"
Molly slumped over in her chair, eyelids half closed. Mr. Johnson rushed forward and picked her up.
NO! My brain was screaming. NO! NO NO NO NO! I looked at Holmes. He put his violin down and waited. Trying to be as indiscreet as I could, I followed as Mr. Johnson carried Molly off the stage. When I got to the front and Holmes, we waited, watching where he was taking her - to the back of the theater. We followed, quietly.
But when we got to the back, they were gone. Totally gone.
Holmes rushed and opened the door to outside, and we both peered both ways down the street. Totally gone.
"I think you had better go get your things," Mr. Johnson said from behind us, and we both jumped. Well, actually, Holmes jumped I had about a full body muscle spasm with assorted squeals.
Terrified, we slid away from him and ran back into the theater.
"Holmes," I said, panting. "This is NOT FUN."
