Final Catcall

3

Everett Henderson called at exactly one minute after nine. Susan had arrived and was working the circulation desk. “I’ll take it in my office,” I told her.

“What did you do with that tasty treat you had breakfast with?” she asked after she’d told Everett I’d be right with him and put him on hold.

“That what?” I said, staring at her.

“The guy you had breakfast with. That’s what Claire called him, and from her description I’m guessing it wasn’t your dad or your brother.” She propped an elbow on the desktop and leaned her chin on her hand. “So who was it? A husband you never told us you had? Your Internet love from Mismatch.com? The guy who had a crush on you in first grade and never forgot you so he hired a private detective to track you down?”

My sling meant I couldn’t cross my arms and give her my best stern-librarian look, so I settled for folding my free arm over my chest and wrinkling my nose at her. “No more old-movie marathons for you,” I said. “They make your imagination go into overdrive.” I started for the stairs. “I’m going to take Everett’s call.”

“I’m not letting this go,” Susan called after me.

“I didn’t think you would,” I said, waving over my shoulder in case she hadn’t heard me. Upstairs I unlocked my office door and immediately reached for the phone. I didn’t want to keep Everett waiting.

“Good morning, Everett,” I said, pulling the phone closer and sinking down onto the corner of the desk. “I was just about to call you.”

“I take it you’ve talked to Abigail.” He had a deep, strong voice and a clipped way of speaking that made him sound younger than his seventy-odd years.

“I have.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to give you all the details.” I could hear papers being moved and I guessed that he was in his office just up the hill from Maggie’s studio in the River Arts Center. “I’ve talked to everyone and the library board is fully behind using the building and the grounds to help make this festival a success. Wouldn’t hurt to bring some tourist dollars to town this time of year.”

“I’ll help in any way I can,” I said, picking gray cat hair off my gray trousers, proof that Owen had been sitting in the bedroom chair on top of the pants while I’d been brushing my teeth.

“I knew I could count on you, Kathleen. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Abigail’s already talking about using the new gazebo as a stage.”

He laughed. “That idea came from Rebecca.”

I really wasn’t surprised. Rebecca, my backyard neighbor and Everett’s soon-to-be wife, was a very creative person and she was usually involved in whatever was happening around town in one way or the other.

“How are the wedding plans coming?” I asked.

“I think we have a date . . . maybe.”

“You could always run off to Las Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator.”

Everett laughed. “You’ve been talking to Rebecca. She’s the only woman I’ve ever come across who’s getting married but doesn’t care about the details.”

“All Rebecca wants is to be married to you.” The edge of my desk wasn’t made for sitting on in any kind of comfort so I stood up and turned to look out the window. The clouds were clearing away. It was going to be a nice afternoon.

“I want that, too,” he said. “I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

“I’ll see if I can put in a good word for you,” I said.

“I appreciate that.” His tone turned serious. “Kathleen, with Abigail working on the theater festival for the next couple of weeks, you’re going to be stretched a little thin. Why don’t we put off our conversation about your future here until it’s over?”

“That’s fine with me, Everett,” I said. He reminded me, as he always did, to call Lita if I needed anything and we said good-bye. I hung up the phone and went to sit in my desk chair.

Having a couple of extra weeks to decide whether I was going to stay in Mayville Heights was just what I needed. It gave me time to figure things out with Marcus.

I reached for the photo that Lise had taken when I’d been back in Boston over the summer, the day that Andrew had seen us in the park. My mother was laughing, leaning back against Dad’s shoulder. When they were working on a play together they tended to get a little too caught up in their characters, which meant things could get decidedly odd around the house, but they were crazy about each other, even when they drove each other crazy. Always had been, which was why they’d been married twice—to each other.

Marcus made me crazy sometimes. I liked him—a lot more than I’d been willing to admit to anyone, especially myself. Well, Owen and Hercules appeared to have figured it out. But we always seemed to bang heads over his cases. Being a police officer was more than Marcus’s job; it was part of who he was. Just the way wanting to help the people I cared about was part of who I was. Were we crazy enough about each other to work through the things that made us crazy? I wasn’t sure.

I rubbed the space between my eyebrows with the heel of my hand. What had Maggie said to me? What’s meant to be always finds a way to be. Maybe what I needed to do was take a step back and let whatever was meant to be just happen. I just wasn’t very good at that.

It was late morning and I had my head in the book drop—literally—trying to figure out why it kept jamming when it was half full of books, when I heard a group of people come into the library. I straightened up to find a tall man dressed all in black—leather jacket, jeans and tee—smiling at me.

“Kathleen Paulson, what on earth are you doing here?” he said.

“I work here,” I said, beaming back at him. “Are you part of the theater festival?”

He nodded. “I’m the artistic director. When Abigail Pierce said the librarian’s name was Kathleen, I had no idea it was going to be you.”

I hadn’t seen Ben Saroyan in years. He’d directed my parents in several productions and he’d given my mother her first directing job. He looked exactly the same, very tall and thin with a lined, craggy face, dark eyes and short, iron gray hair that seemed to grow straight up from his head.

“How are Thea and John?” he asked. Ben had a deep, booming voice that seemed a bit at odds with his long, lanky frame.

“Dad is in rehearsals for Noises Off and Mom’s in Los Angeles working on Wild and Wonderful.” The soap happened to be one of Maggie’s favorite shows.

He slid his round wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and laughed. “I seem to remember Thea saying she was never doing a soap again after the last time. How did they change her mind?”

There were bits of paper stuck to the front of my shirt. I brushed them away with my free hand. “It’s a short-term contract,” I said. “And the executive producer sent her a chocolate cheesecake every day for a week until she said yes.” I laughed at the memory. “Mom was ready to sign by the second day, but she held out for an entire week for all the cheesecake.”

Ben laughed, the sound bouncing off the library walls. “That sounds like Thea.” He seemed to realize then that he hadn’t introduced the man and woman who had come in with him. “I’m sorry, Kathleen,” he said. “This is Hugh Davis. He’s my other director, and Hannah Walker, who’s one of our actors.” He smiled at me. “Kathleen is Thea and John Paulson’s daughter.”

Hugh Davis held out his hand. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ben. His brown hair was on the longish side, streaked with white at the temples. And there was some gray in his close-cropped goatee. “I saw your mother years ago in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” he said. “She’s very talented.”

“Thank you.” I shook his hand. I could hear just a hint of a British accent in his voice, which made me wonder if he’d worked or studied in Great Britain. I didn’t recognize his face or his name, but I knew my mother would. She knew everyone in the theater world.

I did recognize Hannah Walker, though. I’d seen her in a couple of commercials, and I was fairly certain she’d had a role on an episode of Law & Order.

“Hi, Kathleen. It’s nice to meet you,” she said with a smile.

“You too,” I said. Hannah was somewhere in her twenties, with dark, wavy hair to her shoulders and deep blue eyes. There was something instantly likable about her. Maybe it was the genuine warmth in her smile and the interest in her gaze.

Ben had one hand in his jacket pocket, jiggling his keys or something. I remembered then that he wasn’t a very patient person.

“You didn’t come here just to see me, Ben,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Abigail said there’s a gazebo here that we could use for one of the outdoor performances.”

I nodded. “It’s at the back, overlooking the water.”

Hugh Davis made a sour face. “The acoustics are going to be deplorable,” he said to Ben.

I shook my head. “Not necessarily. The river actually curves at this point.” I gestured toward the back of the library. “We’re sheltered from both the wind and the street noise.”

“Good,” Ben said, as though the issue had been settled.

Hugh still looked unhappy. “How much space is there? Where are people going to sit? I’m not convinced that this is the best way to showcase our productions.”

I was starting to be irritated by the man already, and he’d been in the building for only a few minutes. He didn’t seem to know much about the theater world’s history of taking performances to the street. The Romans had celebrated festival performances of street theater. During the Middle Ages professional theater companies were traveling and performing all over England.

I opened my mouth to say something, changed my mind and closed it again, glancing at Hannah as I did so. Her body language suggested she didn’t like Hugh very much. She’d folded her arms across her chest and she was leaning just slightly away from him.

I took a deep breath, exhaled and pasted on my best polite-librarian smile. “The gazebo is probably bigger than you’re expecting.” I pointed again toward the tall bank of windows that rimmed the computer area. “There’s lots of lawn out there and we have folding chairs you’re welcome to use. Why don’t I take you around and let you see for yourself?”

Ben rolled his left arm over to look at his watch. “I have about five minutes,” he said. He turned to Hugh. “Let’s take a look.”

Hugh shrugged. “Fine.”

I stepped sideways so I could see Susan at the desk. “We’re just going out to take a look at the gazebo.”

She nodded.

As I turned back around I caught sight of Marcus coming through the front doors. His face lit up with a smile as he looked in our direction and I felt my heart start to pound like a rock band drum solo. Without really thinking about it, I took a couple of steps toward him—and then stopped.

Because Hannah had already beaten me to him. She threw herself into Marcus’s arms and he wrapped her in a bear hug, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

They knew each other. Obviously very well.

She broke out of the hug, still grinning from ear to ear at him. Her arm went around his waist and with his arm across her shoulders they walked over to us.

Marcus’s eyes darted to my face. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing in his expression—embarrassment or uncertainty, or maybe a bit of both.

Hannah leaned against him with the familiarity of someone who’d known him a long time. And looking at them I got it, just as she started to speak.

“Everyone, this is my big brother, Marcus.” She introduced Ben and Hugh and then turned to me. “Kathleen, you probably already know each other.”

“Yes, we do,” I said, rubbing the top of my left shoulder, which had suddenly started to ache again.

Hannah didn’t know anything about me. Which in an odd way made sense, since I didn’t know anything about her. I’d known that Marcus had a sister, but I didn’t know her name or that she was an actress. He was a very private person, but the fact that I didn’t even know his sister’s name was more than a little odd.

My mouth was suddenly dry and I had to swallow before I spoke. “Marcus, I need to take Ben and Hugh outside to look at the gazebo. You could take Hannah over to the chairs by the windows and catch up.”

“Sure,” he said. His hair was a shade darker than his sister’s, but they had the same blue eyes.

Before he could say anything else, I touched Ben’s arm. “Let’s go,” I said. I could feel Marcus’s eyes on me as we moved toward the door, warming my back as though I were standing in a beam of sunlight. Or maybe it was my imagination. I didn’t turn around to find out.

Ben seemed happy with the gazebo and the wide expanse of lawn around it. The trees and the rock wall acted as a natural sound barrier and to me it seemed like a perfect place to stage a short play. Even Hugh couldn’t find real fault with the space, although he did try.

When we walked back around the building I saw Hannah waiting beside a silver SUV in the parking lot.

“Abigail will be in touch about the schedule and what we need for chairs and space and”—Ben flung his hands into the air—“everything.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll work it all out.”

“Give my best to your mother and father.” He pulled a set of keys out of his jacket pocket. “If Thea weren’t in Los Angeles, I’d get a cheesecake and try to lure her here.”

“It would probably work,” I said with a laugh.

They walked in the direction of the parking lot and I headed for the main doors. Marcus was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Kathleen, do you have a couple of minutes?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said. I pointed toward the stone path that curved around the building. “Do you want to walk?”

He nodded. “Your arm hurts,” he said as we started along the walkway.

I’d been rubbing my shoulder again and didn’t even realize it. “I’m all right,” I said.

He continued to look at me but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, so it aches, but just a little. I swear.”

“Don’t overdo it, please,” he said.

“I’m not . . . I won’t.”

We followed the path back to the gazebo and over to the rock wall. Farther along the shoreline I could see the large warehouses, built from stone cut at Wild Rose Bluff, that had stored lumber for shipping downriver back in Mayville Heights’s heyday as a lumber town.

“Thank you for my chair,” I said, watching a seagull floating on the surface dip his head below the water. “You did a beautiful job.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small smile on his face. “You’re welcome. Thank you for the cupcakes. I was the most popular person in the building for a while.”

I’d sent a dozen chocolate peanut butter cupcakes over to the police station as a thank-you for the chair. And maybe as a small please-forgive-me.

“I like Hannah,” I said, tipping my head back to look up at him.

“Everyone does.”

“Why does she use Walker instead of Gordon?”

“Walker was our grandmother’s name. She and Hannah were close.” He hesitated. “I should have told you more about her.”

I looked away and then back at him before I spoke. “I wish you’d told me something. You said you had a sister, but I only know her name because she came into the library today. You mentioned your father, but I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. Or your mother.” I cleared my throat. “Last night you said I didn’t trust you, but now I realize I don’t know anything about you. Are you sure you trust me?”

I could feel his body tense.

He swiped a hand over the back of his neck. “My mother and father are both alive and well.”

I waited for him to say something about them. “My father’s a Supreme Court justice,” or “He grows organic soybeans on a commune in Oregon and my mother is a circus contortionist.” But he didn’t offer anything else.

My chest felt heavy, as though an elephant had decided to use it as a footstool. “Marcus, I’m sorry about last night,” I said. I held up my hand before he could say anything. “I’m sorry that what I did made you feel like I didn’t have faith in you, or trust you. I think you’re a very good police officer. And a good person.” I took a breath and let it out. “I like you. And I think you like me, but we seem to be at an impasse.”

For a long moment he just stared out over the water. I waited until he looked at me. “Can we be friends?” he asked.

I didn’t want to be friends with Marcus. I wanted to be . . . something else. I wasn’t exactly sure what the something else was, or maybe I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. But right now, maybe friends was all we could manage.

“I hope so,” I said. The sun was shining and what few clouds there were seemed to be floating in the sky, but all of a sudden I felt cold. “I need to get back to work,” I said. “I’ll . . . see you.”

I went back along the path and some small part of me hoped that he’d come after me or at least call my name, but he didn’t.

Susan returned from lunch at the food-tasting tents just before one thirty, smelling like caramel, with a dab of whipped cream on her nose and another on her ear.

“I don’t even want to know how you got whipped cream on your ear,” I said, as Abigail came through the front door, talking on her cell phone and carrying what looked like a canvas army satchel, bulging with papers.

“That would be Eric,” Susan said with a grin. She swiped at her ear and licked the bit of cream off her finger. “He was getting pudding cake ready to serve, but he got a little sidetracked.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

“Way, way more information than I needed,” I said, holding up my good hand.

That just made her laugh. Then she cocked her head to one side and peered at me over the top of her cat-eye glasses. “Speaking of information, I’m going to need way, way more about Andrew.” She did the eyebrow thing again and started for the stairs.

“Kathleen, I’m sorry I’m late,” Abigail said as she tucked her phone in her pocket. She set her bag on the circulation desk.

“You’re not late.” I glanced at the clock. “How are things going with the festival?”

She shook her head. “Kathleen, are you familiar with the play Yesterday’s Children?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So you know some people think it’s . . . cursed, or jinxed?”

“I know,” I said. “The theater burned down on the day before the very first production. A lighting tech broke his leg and I think one of the actors was in a car accident.”

“Yesterday’s Children was originally on the schedule for the festival.”

I nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me. Ben’s not that superstitious, as far as I know.”

Abigail shifted her bag on the counter, tucking a couple of loose papers inside. “There was some kind of problem with the rights and the play was dropped, but . . .” She let the end of the sentence trail off.

I gave her a wry smile. “Let me guess. People are saying the fire in Red Wing was because of the so-called jinx.”

“Exactly. Some of the actors are a little skittish. And it doesn’t help that this would have been the fourth year for the festival in Red Wing. Several of the tech people and a couple of the actors have done the festival before. People on the festival committee in Red Wing know them. I don’t know a single person involved and neither does anyone else here. It makes it that much harder for all of us.” She glanced quickly at her watch. “Has Ben Saroyan been in yet?”

I nodded. “I know Ben. He’s worked with my mother. You’ll find him easy to get along with. He seems to think the gazebo will work fine, and I think there are enough chairs here so you won’t have to bring any down from the Stratton. And I got the okay from Everett, by the way.”

“Thank you, Kathleen. You’re a godsend,” Abigail said. “I suppose Hugh wasn’t happy with the gazebo.”

“He doesn’t seem that enthusiastic about having performances outside.”

Her fingers played with the strap of the canvas satchel. “He’s still a control freak, I’ve discovered.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” I said.

She shook her head. “The biggest problem I have at the moment is that Young Harry took Elizabeth home to her other family. He won’t be back until next weekend.”

Elizabeth was the daughter of my friend Harry Taylor Senior. She was the result of a relationship he’d had when his wife was dying. They’d just found each other in the past few months.

“Why is that a problem? Oren’s around, isn’t he?” I glanced over at the wooden sunburst that Oren Kenyon had built, hanging above the library doors. It was a tribute to the library’s history as a Carnegie library.

Abigail put a hand on top of her bulging bag. “He is, but I also have a long list of things I need him to do. I don’t suppose you know how to build a small octagonal stage, do you?”

“Sorry. It’s not one of my skills.”

“It’s one of mine,” a voice behind me said. I hadn’t seen Andrew come in and walk over to us. He looked at Abigail. “Seriously, I can do it. I’m a building contractor.”

She gave him a long, appraising look. “An octagonal stage? Eight sides? You could build it?”

He shrugged. “A stage is easy. I could build an octagonal house if you wanted one.”

“By the end of the week?”

“The stage, sure; the house, probably not.” He looked at me and made a gesture toward Abigail with one hand. “Tell her.”

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” I said solemnly.

Andrew glared at me with mock annoyance. “Very funny, Kath.”

I grinned at him and turned to Abigail. “He could build pretty much any shape stage you wanted. He could build one in the shape of a nonagon if that’s what you wanted and do it almost as well as Harry.”

“Hang on.” Andrew held up one hand. “What the heck is a nonagon?”

“A nine-sided polygon,” Abigail and I said at the same time. We looked at each other and laughed.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Great. I have Encyclopedia Brown times two.” He turned to Abigail. “So do I have the job?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “For all I know you could start building the stage and then disappear.”

“I could,” he agreed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “but I won’t. Tell me what size you want the stage to be and I’ll draw a plan tonight. If you’re happy with it, I’ll get you a list of materials tomorrow. As soon as you can get everything delivered, I can start. I’d take care of the supplies myself, but since I don’t know any of the building supply stores around here, it would probably be faster if someone else does that. As for my time, I’ll donate that.”

Abigail looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because I’m a nice guy?” He phrased it as a question.

She leaned against the counter and thought about his words for a moment. “No,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

Andrew’s gaze shot to me. He shrugged. “Okay, the truth is, I’m wooing Kathleen.”

Abigail’s eyebrows went up, more from amusement than surprise. “Really?”

He nodded. “I was stupid enough to let her get away before, but I came to my senses and I plan to spend the next two weeks changing her mind about me. If I help you, that will make me look good to her and heaven knows I need all the help I can get in that department.”

Abigail turned toward me. “Is this all true?”

“Yes, it is,” I said, pulling at the top edge of the nylon sling, which was rubbing against the inside of my arm. “Andrew and I used to be a couple, before I came to Mayville Heights. We had a . . . falling-out.”

Her eyes immediately went to Andrew. “I sort of . . . accidentally married someone else,” he said, at least having the good grace to look a little shamefaced.

“Yeah, I hate it when that happens,” Abigail said dryly.

“He has the idea that he can convince me to go back to Boston with him when my contract here expires,” I said.

“Can he?”

“I don’t think so.” I glanced at my watch. Andrew and I needed to get on our way if we were going to have time to walk through both tents.

Abigail reached for her bag and swung the strap over her shoulder. “It seems to me that you and I may be working at cross-purposes,” she said to Andrew, “because I want Kathleen to stay here. On the other hand, I’ve never been one to say no to free labor and I think watching you—as you put it—woo Kathleen is probably going to be fairly entertaining. So, thank you. I accept your offer.”

She grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil off the desk, scribbled something on the paper and handed it to him. “I need a stage that’s twelve feet wide and between four and six inches off the ground. Bring whatever plan you come up with to the Stratton Theater tomorrow morning about eight and we’ll go from there.” She smiled at me. “Have fun at the food tasting,” she said, and then she headed for the second floor.

Andrew didn’t say a word until we were on the way to the Riverwalk. “Are you mad because I told your friend about us?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Are you impressed that I offered to build the stage?” He nudged me with his shoulder.

“No,” I repeated.

He bumped me again. It was like I was walking down the street with a big, bouncy dog. “Not even a tiny bit?” he asked, his mouth close to my face.

It was hard to keep a serious expression with his warm, teasing voice in my ear.

“If I say yes, will you stop asking me about going back to Boston and will you stop talking about wooing me, as though we were characters in some kind of bodice-ripper novel?”

“So I am making progress!” he crowed.

“Only in driving me crazy,” I said, but I couldn’t keep from smiling, which pretty much negated the effect of my words. I would rather have been walking down Main Street with Marcus, but I wasn’t. On the other hand, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and we were on our way to get a bowl of Eric’s chocolate pudding cake.

Andrew was still grinning at me and I gave up and smiled back. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He held up two fingers like a peace sign. “Two weeks, Kathleen,” he said softly. “Who knows what could happen in two weeks?”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I said.

Of course I was wrong.