Read Online The Angel Singers by Dorien Grey - Free Book Online Page B

and now remembered that I’d found him quite attractive. Five-nine, curly hair, cute in a non-stereotypical way—in my single days, he’d be what I’d definitely consider my type.
    He was carrying a thick, flat gift-wrapped package that immediately caught Joshua’s eye.
    After the re-introductions, Barry handed the package to him.
    “I understand you like books,” he said, and Joshua nodded eagerly, at the same time tearing the wrapping off. “I hope you don’t already have this one.”
    It was an illustrated copy of Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tales, and Joshua’s face reflected his clearly having made a spot for Barry on his favorite-people list.
    “Thank you!” he said without being prompted for a change, thanks echoed by both Jonathan and me, and immediately plopped down on the floor to begin turning the pages.
    I got a beer (his choice) for Barry and myself and Cokes for Jonathan and Joshua while Jonathan called for the pizza.
    Barry was, as Jonathan had indicated, almost painfully shy at first, talking more easily with him than with me, but by the time the pizza had arrived and I’d convinced him to have another beer, he’d relaxed a bit.
    He and Jonathan talked a lot about what was going on with the chorus and their excitement about the upcoming concert and that they’d be performing at Atheneum Hall. I listened very carefully to everything he said, hoping to pick up any bit of pertinent information. But there were only peripheral references to Grant, until I decided to risk bringing the bull into the china shop.
    Checking first to make sure Joshua was totally absorbed in his new book—it was, as I said, a thick one and had many pictures—I said, “What did you think of Grant’s murder?”
    He looked as though someone had jabbed a pin into his leg.
    “It was…terrible,” he said.
    I realized I was walking something of a tightrope here, since I didn’t want to give him the idea Jonathan had been talking about him behind his back, so I decided to go the professional route.
    “I don’t know if Jonathan told you,” I explained, “that I’ve been hired by the chorus’ board of directors to look into Grant’s death, so I hope you don’t mind my asking you about him. I really need to know everything I can about him so I can know what direction to go in.”
    “Not mine,” Barry said. The way he said it, he reminded me of a startled baby rabbit, and I felt sorry for him.
    I laughed…and lied.
    “No, of course not. But I understand a lot of the members had good reason not to like him. That doesn’t mean they killed him. But every bit of information I can get on him will help.”
    The ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of the pizza, and the next half-hour was devoted to eating. Because of Joshua’s ambivalent presence—Jonathan’s not letting him bring his new book to the table weighed against the fact he had never met a pizza he didn’t like—the conversation remained general, mostly in the form of Barry’s asking questions of both me and Jonathan. I was quite sure he asked them largely to avoid risking our asking too many of our own. Realizing that, I tried not to press him.
    But I at least wanted to take my earlier question another step.
    “So, what did you think of Grant?”
    Barry carefully took a bite of pizza and washed it down with a swig of his beer before answering.
    “I didn’t like him very much,” he admitted. “He was rude and mean-spirited and thoughtless of how he treated others. He thought that, because he was beautiful and rich, he could do whatever he wanted.”
    I found it rather telling that he thought of Grant as “beautiful,” and by his reference to Grant’s alleged wealth gathered he had bought into the story of Grant’s being Crandall Booth’s nephew.
    “Did you ever have any personal problems with him?” I persisted, hastily adding, “Just as an example of how he treated people.”
    He stared at the pizza box, carefully not making