Final Catcall Read online

  He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  “Mary, would you do me a favor?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said at once. “What is it?”

  “Could you put together a little walking tour of town for Andrew and give him directions?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “I don’t want to put you out,” he said.

  “Nonsense.” She waved away his objection with her free hand. “In fact, I think Susan put a few of those new walking maps of the downtown out here.” She moved behind the circulation desk to take a look.

  Andrew walked over to me. He propped one arm on my right shoulder. “Very nice, but you can’t get rid of me that easily,” he whispered.

  I smiled sweetly and gave a noncommittal shrug, which also managed to dislodge his arm.

  “Found them,” Mary said. She beckoned to Andrew. “Since you like old buildings, I think the place to start is the Stratton Theater.”

  I picked up my briefcase. “Enjoy your tour,” I said to Andrew.

  “I will,” he said. Then he raised his voice a little. “And don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for us to go to the food tasting. You said one o’clock, right?”

  His gaze met mine and I could see the challenge in his green eyes, daring me to say no.

  “One thirty,” I said tightly, narrowing my own gaze back at him.

  “The food tasting is going to be splendid,” Mary said. She patted Andrew’s arm. “I think you got here at just the perfect time.”

  His eyes slid away from me and he grinned at her, giving her the full-on charming-boy-next-door smile. “You know,” he said, “I think you’re right.”

  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 cu
t 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.”