The Demon's Riddle by Jessica Brown Page A

of his monotonous rehearsals, he announced the new guest director, someone he'd brought in from Jackson.  
    His name was James Cavanaugh. He was younger, Kerry knew that, even though O'Dell's introductory speech about him was as boring as everything else he did. Cavanaugh would be arriving the following week for rehearsals, and Kerry knew something was going on with this guy when she caught some Cheshire cat grins from some other members of the choir, little knowing glances that told her he was something special.  
    She tried to do a little homework on Cavanaugh, but it all came up pretty vague. Kerry was able to access some of his programs, turns out he'd been traveling around the area as guest director for a while, flitting about here and there. There wasn't much detail available about the programs themselves, most of what she found was just printouts of the titles, and even some of those were botched and confusing.
    There were hints that he'd done some stuff out of the area as well, but Kerry couldn't verify that, all of her searches dead-ended when she got to that level of information, which frustrated her beyond belief. But she had enough to go on to build him up in her mind, which was especially easy given that she had nothing else to hold onto to battle the monotony of daily life at the church shop. By Monday of the following week, Kerry had built him up to a combination of Bernstein, Bach, and Jesus Christ himself, a musical savant and savior who could help keep her from going mad.
    Kerry tried to temper her enthusiasm when she arrived for the first rehearsal, knowing she was a half hour early and way too eager to see what he'd be like. As the rest of the choir gathered in the rafters of the tiny church for rehearsal, Kerry observed that she wasn't the only one whose curiosity was piqued --there was more energy in the group than usual, and much of that consisted of buzzing about the new choir director.  
    He was late, but not by much. Cavanaugh announced his arrival with a unique buzz of his own, which came in the form of a throaty hum just outside the church doors. Quizzical glances followed, but no one had quite enough guts to go downstairs to see what was going on.  
    When he walked up the stairs, though, they quickly got their answer. Cavanaugh was wearing a leather jacket and tight jeans, both of which were too warm for the fetid fall Mississippi air. The explanation for the noise came in the form of the motorcycle helmet he carried at his side, along with a folder that was presumably full of whatever they would be rehearsing that night. His shock of light brown hair was appropriately tousled, thinning a bit but clearly quite intact for the most part. 
    He smiled slightly as he made his way to the conductor's stand, glancing here and there but not really seeming to focus on anyone in particular. James Cavanaugh definitely knew he was being checked out, that was obvious from the small grin, and it was equally obvious that he enjoyed the process. Kerry wondered what his prior guest stints had been like, both musically and otherwise, and in spite of herself Kerry found herself wondering if there had been any affairs, involvements or trysts with female choir members along the way.  
    Cavanaugh put the helmet down carefully at the base of the stand, then turned to the business of pulling music from the file. When he did look up, it seemed to Kerry that he was staring at her, his eyes boring a hole in her, just as she was musing about any romances he might have had. She found herself blushing furiously, and Cavanaugh's grin widened just a little bit, as if he'd been reading her mind. Which, of course, only caused Kerry's face to turn even more crimson, bringing out the strawberry highlights in her long, curly blondish hair.  
    She looked down, desperately trying to regain her composure. Kerry struggled to regain the rhyth m in her breathing, forcing herself to think in measures and beats as she desperately tried