Shirley, Goodness and Mercy (Angels Everywhere #4)(23)

“What about your brother?” she asked. “Don’t you want to introduce me to him, too?”

The music started before Phil had a chance to recover. “You know my brother?” he asked as soon as the last notes had died away.

“Oh, yes. I know a lot about you both.”

“Who are you?” He didn’t like the turn their conversation was taking.

“A friend.”

Phil was beginning to wonder about that.

“You have Greg’s loan application on your desk, don’t you?”

How she knew that, he wouldn’t ask. He’d been reading it that very afternoon just before he’d left the office, but only one person in the entire loans department was aware of it. He narrowed his gaze and studied this woman, who seemed to know more about him than she should.

“You haven’t forgiven him for what he did to your mother, have you?”

“Damn straight I haven’t.”

“Then it might surprise you to learn that he hasn’t forgiven himself, either.”

“Pigs will fly before I believe he has one iota of remorse.”

Frieda Barney turned around and glared at Phil. Someone else indicated her displeasure with his talking by pressing her finger to her lips. From the opposite end of the riser he could feel his wife’s look burn right through him.

The music started again and Phil did his best to remain focused on it. The warmth he’d felt toward the beautiful willowy blonde had evaporated. By some corrupt means, his brother had finagled this…this spy into the church choir one week before Christmas. Greg always had been a good manipulator.

“You haven’t spoken to him in all these years.” A second voice came from beside him. This woman was slightly taller than the other. A second blonde? And one who sang? That didn’t make sense. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, thinking he was losing his mind.

“Who are you?” he demanded in an angry whisper.

“The more appropriate question would be who are you.”

“I know who I am.”

“Do you?” the second woman asked. “Do you really?”

“You’ve always thought of yourself as the good brother,” the first soprano chided.

“The churchgoer.”

“The choir member.”

“Yet all the while you’ve been plotting your brother’s downfall, relishing it. You can hardly wait to see him suffer.”

Female voices were coming at him from every direction. Not one voice, not even two, but three distinct voices. He thought he’d go mad if he heard another word. “Would you kindly shut up.”

The room abruptly went silent. Everyone turned to stare at him. “I’m sorry,” Phil mumbled. He could feel the heat rush into his face as he returned his attention to his music. He didn’t know what had come over him.

Evelyn, the choir director, looked at him sternly. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

The director asked the altos to go over a particularly tricky piece of music while the others waited. They’d just sung the first line when the blondes started in on him again. “It’s the season of brotherly love,” the one beside him said. “I’m beginning to wonder if you know what that means.”

Phil ignored her, refusing to let his gaze waver from Evelyn. At last the choir director motioned for the other sections to join in. These spies of Greg’s could say and do what they wished, Phil thought, but he wasn’t going to listen.

“You hide behind a cloak of decency all the while plotting your brother’s downfall,” the first blonde sang, the words fitting the music perfectly.

Phil’s breath caught. He sincerely hoped no one else could hear these ridiculous lyrics.

“The good brother.”

“The churchgoer.”

“The choir member.”

These three lines were sung as solos. The words seemed to linger in the air long after they’d been sung. Phil was convinced everyone knew the taunts were meant for him. Angry and embarrassed, he was about to get down off the riser and escape when he noticed the blonde beside him had vanished. He looked toward the row of first sopranos and saw that the other one was gone, as well. He’d never even seen where the third one had stood. How they’d left he didn’t know. Didn’t care. Good riddance. His relief was almost palpable.

Sandy began to berate him the minute they were in the car. “Your behavior tonight was appalling,” she said angrily. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” The car engine roared to life and he drove out of the church parking lot, eager to put the entire episode behind him.

“Telling Evelyn to shut up was probably the rudest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I wasn’t talking to Evelyn.”

“If not Evelyn, then who?”

Phil exhaled sharply. “The blonde.”

Sandy was quiet for a long moment—unfortunately not long enough to suit Phil. “What blonde?”

“The one standing in front of me. Actually, there were two blondes. No, three, only I didn’t see the third, only heard her.”

Once more his wife grew quiet. “Phil, there wasn’t any blonde standing in front of you,” she finally said. “No blonde singing first soprano.”