by Sofie Kelly
He laughed. Then he gestured at the shelf. “I can take care of that,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I asked. Getting gum off anything was a tedious job. I thought about Mariah doing the same thing out at the diner.
“It’s no problem,” Levi said.
“You’ll need a scraper. That stuff sticks like superglue. It took forever to get it out of the book drop.”
“I used to be a room service waiter, remember? Everywhere someone can put gum, I’ve probably seen. Including some that, trust me, you don’t want to know about.”
He headed upstairs to get the scraper and I thought once again how glad I was that I’d hired Levi. The senior ladies loved his manners and were always bringing cookies to try to fatten him up. He had very wide tastes in reading material, which meant he could help pretty much any reader find something they’d like, and he knew more about graphic novels than I did.
I went back to the front desk to get the last cart of books to put on the shelves.
“You don’t want Levi to finish this?” Abigail asked.
“He’s scraping gum off one of the shelves.”
She shook her head. “I swear some people behave like they were raised by wolves.”
“I don’t think wolves chew gum,” I said.
“Then they clearly have better manners than some of our patrons.”
I smiled. “No argument here.”
Abigail had been on tour for her most recent children’s book in June. She had a contract to write three more books in the series and I wondered sometimes if we’d lose her to a full-time career as a writer. She was very talented. I suspected her main character—a daring little girl with five bossy older brothers—was modeled after the little girl Abigail herself once was. She, too, had five older brothers. She’d even created a secret code so she could write things in what she called her logbook and they wouldn’t be able to read it.
The first day she was back at work—which happened to be a Friday—Mike had come in with coffee and muffins for the whole staff, but I’d always had the feeling the gesture was really aimed at Abigail. I’d harbored a secret hope that the two of them might get together. Now that was never going to happen.
* * *
Maggie and Roma were already at a table when I got to Eric’s Place. “Have you been waiting very long?” I asked as I slid onto my chair.
“I just got here,” Roma said.
“And I barely got here before she got here,” Maggie added.
Claire came over to take our orders. We all decided on the chopped salad and breadsticks. “And how about the blackberry iced tea?” Claire suggested. She smiled at me. “I know it’s not coffee, Kathleen, but I think you’ll like it.”
“I’ll try it,” Maggie said.
Roma nodded. “Me too.”
They all looked at me.
“So will I,” I said.
“Seriously?” Roma said. She looked . . . surprised.
“I do drink more than coffee.” Even I could hear that I sounded a little defensive.
“Not very often,” Maggie teased.
Claire gathered our menus. “If you don’t like it, I’ll bring you coffee, I promise,” she whispered as she collected mine.
“I heard about the medical examiner reclassifying Leitha Anderson’s death,” Roma said, picking up her napkin.
“Marcus doesn’t think her death is connected to Mike’s, does he?” Maggie asked.
I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t want to say that he did and I was beginning think he might be right. “As far as I know they’re two separate cases.” I was saved from having to say anything more because Claire came back with the iced tea, which was as good as she had said it would be.
“How’s hockey school going?” I asked once Claire had headed to another table. I was genuinely interested and I didn’t want to talk about Mike or Leitha right now.
“It’s going very well,” Roma said. “Eddie is a natural teacher and he’s already getting phone calls from high school and college hockey teams looking to work with him.”
Despite all the obstacles he’d encountered in getting the school up and running, and despite people telling him he should set up in Minneapolis, Eddie had never wavered from running his hockey school in his new hometown.
“Maybe I should get him to give me skating lessons,” I said, reaching for my glass. I had never learned to skate as a kid. Both Maggie and Marcus had tried to teach me. All I’d managed to learn was how to fall so I didn’t break anything.
“He would, you know,” Roma said. “I should have thought of that a long time ago.”
“You’re good at standing up,” Maggie offered. She always managed to find something positive to say.
“I’m fantastic at standing up,” I said. “It’s just moving that stymies me.”
“Talk to Eddie,” Roma said. “I’m serious. He’ll teach you.”
“I will,” I said. I took another sip of my iced tea.
Roma put both of her hands flat on the table. “Before Claire comes back, I have to confess. I had an ulterior motive for suggesting we have lunch. I need both of your opinions on something.”
“We are full of opinions,” I said solemnly, squaring my shoulders and laying one hand on my chest.
Maggie nodded in agreement, looking equally serious.
Roma gave her head a little shake. “The two of you are full of something.”
Mags smiled at her. “How can we help?”
“Do you remember the burlesque show at The Brick that raised money for the no-kill shelter?”
Maggie’s eyes met mine and she grinned.
“Vividly,” I said. “Mary put on a push to get me to take part in it.”
Maggie was still grinning. “You should have said yes. It looked like a lot of fun.”
I squinted across the table at her. “I don’t remember seeing you on that stage.”
“Mary didn’t ask me, but I would have if I’d had the chance.”
“You might want to be careful about saying that in front of witnesses,” Roma said.
“Why?” I asked, unfolding my napkin and putting it in my lap.
“Because there may be another show.”
Maggie eyed her, the remnants of a grin still on her face. “You’re serious,” she said.
Roma nodded. “Very.”
At that moment Claire returned with our food. Once we all had our salads and fat, chewy breadsticks, I turned to Roma. “Another show? Explain please.”
“I thought the original show was supposed to strictly be a onetime thing. Basically a last-minute idea to help raise enough money to fix the roof at the no-kill shelter,” Maggie added.
“It was,” Roma said. “I don’t know if you remember, but we were desperate. The roof was leaking in about a dozen places and none of the other fund-raising efforts were bringing in the kind of money we needed. Mary suggested a burlesque-style show—nothing that involved nudity or anything obscene, just a little slightly naughty fun. She convinced The Brick to give us the stage for a night and to kick in a percentage of the drink totals.”
Mary might look like someone’s kindly cookie-baking grandmother, but she was also an example of the old saying that looks could be deceiving. She was the state kickboxing champion in her age group and she danced regularly at amateur night at The Brick. Like the burlesque show, there was no nudity, just fishnets, feathers and flirtation.
In the weeks before the first show, I’d learned a lot about burlesque from Mary. She’d explained that shows usually featured a master of ceremonies whose job it was to keep the show moving forward. The MC not only introduced each act; he or she also interacted with the audience. Most acts ran five minutes or less. The performers included dancers, singers, magicians, comedians and, yes, striptease artists.
“But not in this show, I promise,” Mary had said when my eyebrows went up, “although . . .” She’d winked and given me a sly smile.
Mary had used all of her p
ersuasive skills to try to get me to take part in the fund-raiser. “First of all, I don’t dance,” I had told her. “And second, I’m not the kind of person to put on fishnets and feathers.”
“Everyone can dance,” she’d retorted, “and fishnets and feathers are flattering to every body type.”
In burlesque everything was big: lots of makeup, lots of hair, especially wigs, and costumes that were detailed and elaborate. There were rhinestones and sequins on everything. Burlesque, I discovered, was intended to make the audience laugh. It poked fun and skewered people and ideas alike.
We had sold tickets at the library in advance and they were available at the door as well. People were also encouraged to sponsor a cat. There were posters all over the bar on the day of the show. Ticket sales had been decent but donations to sponsor cats were slow despite the fact that the audience was clearly having a lot of fun.
Then Zorro came out. The lights went down and the theme song from the 1950s show began to play; then the music changed to a dance mix.
No one knew who the man was, but he put on the performance of a lifetime. He was bare chested under a satiny cape with black leggings and what looked to me to be black Docs. A silky bandanna with eyeholes covered the top of his face and his hair. He also wore a black hat. And he’d gotten a genuine fencing foil from somewhere. What he lacked in skill, he more than made up for with his enthusiasm.
Most of the time it’s not acceptable to call out to a performer while they’re in the middle of their act or to whistle at them from the back. With burlesque, it’s expected. The audience doesn’t have to wait to politely clap at the end. They’re expected to show how they feel during the performance with comments, whistles, claps and screams of laughter. That audience loved Zorro. People laughed but because they were having fun, not at his expense. As he left the stage, the crowd erupted in even louder applause, hooting and stomping their feet.
Mary came out and promised another dance from the masked man when they reached a certain dollar value in sponsorships. It worked. The masked man danced again at the end of the evening and the event surpassed its goal. Since then Mary had refused to give even a hint as to the man’s identity. I knew I had a better chance of finding out the secret ingredient in her cinnamon rolls.
I pulled my attention back to the current conversation.
Roma speared a chunk of cucumber with her fork. “You know the shelter never really has enough money, not for long-term things like work on the building.”
Maggie and I both nodded.
“Well, about a month ago, Sandra mentioned in passing that we should do another show—maybe make it an annual thing—to raise money for the shelter.”
Sandra Godfrey was a mail carrier. She was my mail carrier. She was also a member of the library board, which was how she’d gotten to be friends with Mary.
“I’ve been thinking about the idea on and off since she mentioned it,” Roma continued. “And it strikes me that maybe it’s not such a bad idea. What do you two think?”
“I think you should do it,” Maggie said, gesturing with her fork. “I’m not sure if The Brick is the best venue, though. You might get a larger audience if you held the show somewhere else.”
“I thought about that,” Roma said. “There are other possibilities.” She looked at me.
“I’m sorry, not the library,” I said.
She and Maggie laughed. “No, not the library, but what do you think about the idea?”
“I think it could work. Could you get enough performers?”
Roma grinned. “Well, apparently Maggie is in.”
Maggie looked up from her salad. “I am.”
“Sandra has really taken to the dancing since Mary got her started. She’s done more than one workshop herself and she’s been teaching a few women the art of erotic dancing over the past few months. I don’t think there would be a problem getting enough participants.”
“What, no would-be Zorros?” Maggie asked.
“Maggie’s right,” I said. “If you could get Zorro again, whoever he was, that would be a big draw.”
“I think it was Burtis,” Maggie said.
“Did Brady say something to you?” I asked.
She shook her head and her blond curls bounced. “No, but Burtis does love animals and the body type was right.”
I held up one hand. “No, no, no. I don’t want to think about Burtis in a cape. Now that’s going to be in my head all day.”
“What about Thorsten?” Roma asked.
Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Too tall.”
“Maybe Everett?”
Even I had to laugh at that suggestion. I couldn’t imagine Everett dancing in a mask and a cape. “I’m not going there,” I said. “I have to work with the man and I don’t want to be in a meeting and suddenly find myself wondering if that was him in that cape and mask. Besides, I don’t believe Rebecca would have been able to keep the secret from everyone.”
Maggie and Roma continued to speculate as I spotted Eric and got up to talk to him. “I’ll be right back,” I said.
Eric smiled when he caught sight of me walking toward him. “How are you?” he said. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”
“I’m well, thank you. I wanted to thank you for sending the extra cookies from the service over for the Reading Club kids. They were a big hit.”
Eric smiled. “Hey, no problem. There were two plates that didn’t even have the tops removed and I didn’t want to see them go to waste. And you know Mike was a softie when it came to kids. I figured he’d be happy that they got the leftovers.” He looked away for a moment and then his gaze came back to me. “It’s funny, you know. He was in here a lot in the weeks before he died. I keep expecting to see him come through the door, telling me he needs the largest cup of coffee I have.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “Mike was at the library working on his family tree. I keep expecting to come around a corner and see him at a table with a stack of reference books.”
“He told me about that. He’d come in after work every Wednesday for takeout, and if it wasn’t busy, we’d talk for a few minutes. I didn’t think of it at the time, but it’s clear in retrospect that he was going to practice with the rest of the band.” He shook his head. “Marcus is going to catch whoever did this, right?”
“He’s doing his best,” I said. “Hold a good thought.”
We talked for a minute or two longer and then I went back to the table. So Mike had been getting takeout every Wednesday night. Eric’s words matched what Caroline had told me. Mike had been doing something on Wednesday nights. I had no idea what it was but he’d definitely had a secret. Had it gotten him killed?
chapter 14
I went back to the table to find that Maggie and Roma had given up trying to figure out who Zorro was and were now trying to pick a piece of music for Maggie to dance to if there was in fact another show.
“And I think you should give Sandra a call,” Roma was saying as I sat down again. “You could have a couple of lessons so you’d feel more comfortable onstage.”
After lunch we parted company on the sidewalk in front of the café. Maggie had a shift at the artists’ co-op store and Roma was on her way over to take lunch to Eddie. I hugged them both.
“You know, Sandra does take students for one-on-one lessons,” Roma teased. “I mean, if you happen to be interested.”
“You’re as persistent as Owen,” I said.
“Since I know the little furball, I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said with a grin
“I don’t dance. I’ll hang posters. I’ll sell tickets. I’ll help make costumes. I’m not dancing.”
“Put her down as a maybe,” Maggie said. She grabbed Roma by the arm and pulled her down the sidewalk. I could hear them both laughing.
I was meeting Marcus at the bookstore in a little while. Mary had told him about a book on forgotten landmarks in the state that he wanted to get for his father. Since I knew Marc
us should be there in less than half an hour, I decided to take a walk along the Riverwalk. It was too nice a day to go back to my office and do paperwork.
I hadn’t gone very far when I saw Johnny coming toward me. He smiled when he saw me. “I thought I was the only person who didn’t find it too warm to be out walking,” he said as we got closer to each other.
“The Riverwalk is one of my favorite places,” I said. “I did a lot of walking here when I first came to town. I’d go all the way to Wild Rose Bluff and back sometimes.”
“I’ve been walking down by the marina. Mike and I were working on a song and I keep going back there, hoping inspiration will hit so I can finish it.”
“I’m sure it will,” I said.
“I’m glad I saw you,” Johnny said. “I’m looking for some information on a former music academy in Red Wing. I’m hoping you might know of a reference book that could help.”
“You mean the property you tried to buy from Leitha.”
“Yes.” He looked a little surprised that I knew. “Kathleen, I’m angry about Mike’s death. So angry some days I could punch someone, which wouldn’t do me or anyone else any good. But I’m not sorry Leitha is dead and I won’t be a hypocrite and pretend I am now that it seems her death wasn’t an accident.”
“Leitha brought out strong feelings in a lot of people,” I said, matching his quiet tone.
“Very diplomatic,” he said.
“It doesn’t make the words any less true.”
“She was managing to estrange her whole family. Her daughter had very little to do with her. In fact she moved to the other side of the country. Lachlan avoided Leitha as much as he could and she and Mike were on the outs when she died but Mike didn’t even know what over. It’s hard to feel grief-stricken over someone who alienated so many people. Mike on the other hand, that wasn’t fair.”
I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t.”
I could hear my mother’s voice in my head saying, Life is not always fair, Katydid. Sometimes bad people win. Sometimes good people lose.
