by Sofie Kelly
“She’s mad.” Sydney looked over at the door.
“No,” Pearl said.
“Yes,” Roma countered. She looked at her mother and gave her head a little shake.
“She doesn’t like me.”
“That’s not it,” Roma said. She got out of her seat, came around behind me and took both of Sydney’s hands. “Sometimes people get mad when things are going to change.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Sydney said. “Change isn’t bad. My mom says ‘change’ is just another way of saying ‘new adventures.’”
Roma nodded. “Your mother is right. But just because something is an adventure doesn’t mean it’s not a little scary. I was scared about marrying your dad.”
“Dad said you were stubborn as a cow.”
Roma laughed. “That, too. The thing is, all these changes scare Olivia. So she acts mad. She’ll get over it.”
“Okay,” Sydney said, although I thought she didn’t look completely convinced.
Our food arrived then. We ate and Maggie entertained us with a funny story about a customer at the co-op store who had bought one of Ruby’s big acrylic abstracts because he “liked the kangaroo.”
After we’d all finished eating I went over to the counter to get a cup of coffee to take to work with me. Nic was just making a fresh pot.
Nora Finley, bill in hand, joined me. “Good morning, Kathleen,” she said.
I smiled. “Good morning.”
She gestured at the table by the window. “Is that your family?” she asked.
“In a way,” I said, following her gaze. “They’re not my biological family. They’re my family of the heart.”
“Not everyone understands what makes a family,” she said. “Or what’s important.”
For some reason her words felt like a criticism. She had to have seen Olivia stalk out. “Sometimes family is complicated,” I said.
“In a family, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one,” Nora said. I immediately thought of Mr. Spock in the Star Trek movie The Wrath of Khan saying almost the same thing, although I didn’t really see Nora as a Star Trek fan. It was possible she was thinking of the English philosopher Jeremy Bentham, who’d expressed a similar sentiment, although not as eloquently as the late Leonard Nimoy, I was sure.
Nora paid her bill, wished me a good day and left.
My gaze drifted back to the table, where Maggie was having an animated conversation about something, waving her fork wildly in the air while Pearl and Sydney laughed. Roma looked pensive. I thought about what Captain Kirk had pointed out in The Search for Spock: Sometimes “the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.”
* * *
Roma and Sydney showed up for tai chi that night without Olivia.
“I thought Olivia was coming,” Ruby said.
Roma shook her head. “She had something else to do.”
“Tell her I missed her,” Ruby said over her shoulder as she headed toward the middle of the floor.
“It’s because Olivia doesn’t like me,” Sydney said.
Roma sighed. “That isn’t true.”
“It’s hard for some kids when their parents remarry,” I said.
“Olivia is a grown-up, not a little kid, and she isn’t even here most of the time. So why does it matter to her?”
Maggie set her tea down. “Syd, do you know anything about tai chi?” she asked.
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
“Yes, I am,” Maggie retorted. “This is a place where we leave our outside problems where we leave our outside shoes.” She pointed at the door. “It all stays out there.” She looked at Sydney again. “You ready?”
Sydney nodded. Maggie clapped her hands and called circle.
I put an arm around Roma’s shoulders. “What can I do?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Olivia has been acting like a temperamental five-year-old since she arrived. I don’t understand what her problem is. Syd’s right. Most of the time she won’t even be here.”
“When my parents remarried I went from only child to big sister to two siblings,” I said. “Not to mention right in front of me every morning was the irrefutable proof that my mother and father had been sneaking around having sex. I know nothing about being a parent, but I do remember how it felt when mine told me they were getting married again. Maybe Olivia just needs to work it out in her head.”
“I hope so,” Roma said as we took our places.
As we started warm-ups I remembered what I’d said to Nora Finley: Sometimes family was complicated.
chapter 16
Late morning I took an early lunch break and walked over to the Stratton. Uncle Mickey had invited me for coffee. He’d be leaving soon and I wanted to spend a bit more time with him. I found him onstage bent over the piano, making notes on some sheet music with a pencil. I watched him work for a minute, humming snatches of melody and muttering to himself. It reminded me of the way my mother worked when she was taking a script apart, although in her case she would do all the characters in different voices.
Michel looked up, saw me and smiled. “Kathleen, you’re here,” he exclaimed, coming down from the stage to give me a hug. “Come back to my office slash dressing room,” he said, making a dramatic swoosh through the air with one hand when he said “slash.”
The space, painted all white with a tiled floor, had a mirrored vanity on the back wall and a long table to the right that Michel seemed to be using as a desk, coffee station and general dumping ground.
“Is coffee all right?” he asked. He smiled. “I don’t have any hot cocoa.”
“Coffee would be wonderful,” I said. I gestured at the coffeemaker. “What is that thing?”
“That, my dear, is a Technivorm coffee machine,” he said. “It’s Dutch.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“If you’re discriminating about your coffee, it’s a very good thing.”
I couldn’t honestly say I was discriminating about my coffee. Oh, I’d savor a cup of the good stuff, expertly brewed, but I’d also happily drink a cup of gas station brew if that were all there was.
I looked at the photos Michel had stuck to the vanity mirror. There was one of Ruby and Ami frowning as they studied a piece of music and another of Emme grinning as she sang. I recognized quite a few other people as well.
When the coffee was ready he poured me a cup. He’d gotten cream from the mini refrigerator, and there was honey and sugar. “I should warn you,” he said. “I’m turning into one of those pretentious coffee snobs. I expect you to be suitably impressed.”
I took a sip from my mug and groaned with pleasure. Then I smiled at him. “You? Pretentious? Never! But I am impressed.”
We sat and talked a little more about the music festival and what Michel’s plans were for the rest of the year. Michel rubbed a hand over his chin. “I’m so sorry about what happened to Miss Moore and that Emme Finley felt she couldn’t stay after everything.”
“Did you know Miranda?” I asked.
“Not very well. She helped get the schedules passed out, and I needed copies one day and she offered to make them for me. She seemed kind.”
I nodded. “From what I know about her, she was.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “I saw her the night she died, you know,” he said. He held up a hand. “And yes, I told your detective.”
“When?” I asked. My detective hadn’t told me that.
“It was around six thirty,” Michel said. “I said good night to Nora and the others who were in the office. I was just heading back to the hotel. I offered Miranda a ride, but she said she wanted to walk because it was such a nice night.” He smiled then. “She was in a good mood. She told me she had a new job to start in a couple of weeks and she was going to be a whole new pe
rson. I wished her good luck.” He shook his head.
I swallowed down a lump in my throat. “I didn’t know Miranda well, either,” I said. “But I liked her. I’m happy to know she had so much to look forward to, but sad, too.”
“I am as well,” Michel said.
I glanced at my watch. It was time to head back to the library.
Michel walked me out to the auditorium. Backstage was a rabbit’s warren of set pieces, risers and chairs. I could see staging toward the right side of the stage. Michel rolled his eyes. “If the fire marshal ever comes back here, we’re going to be shut down,” he said. “I keep saying we need to move all of this out of the way and I keep being promised that it will happen, but I’ve come to the conclusion they’re just humoring me.”
I gave him a hug and promised I’d come backstage after the closing concert. “Give my love to your mother,” he said. I promised I would, although I’d do it when my dad wasn’t in earshot. As far as he was concerned Michel had always had designs on my mother. And he was probably right.
I stopped at the main doors to check my phone, and as I looked outside I saw Brent Pearson ending a conversation with Nora. What was Miranda’s stepbrother doing here? He was gesturing with his hands while she shook her head. I watched as he turned away and strode down the sidewalk while Nora went in the direction of the parking lot.
I wondered what they were talking about—maybe the service for Miranda? They both looked angry. Maybe Pearson was after money. I remembered Emme saying he used to ask his stepsister for money. Somehow, given what I knew about Nora, I doubted he’d get it from her.
When I got back to the library I discovered that Brent Pearson had gotten there ahead of me. He was using one of our public access computers. I tidied up the magazine area while surreptitiously watching him. Finally, I decided to go speak to the man. Up close he was younger than I’d thought—late twenties probably.
“Mr. Pearson,” I said, “I’m Kathleen Paulson. I knew your stepsister, Miranda. I wanted to express my sympathies.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” he said.
I wanted to keep the conversation going. “I was wondering when the service will be.”
“I’m not sure about that.” His eyes darted back to the computer screen. I was at the wrong angle to see what he’d been accessing.
“Will you be letting Emme or Nora Finley know what you decide?” I asked.
He abruptly turned back to the computer, clicked a few keys and stood up. “I have to go,” he said. Before I could say anything else, he’d left the building.
I sat down and checked Pearson’s browser history. He had been looking at new, fully loaded half-ton trucks. Interesting for a man who was always trying to get money from his sister.
I was getting nowhere, running around in circles chasing dead ends the way Owen chased leaves in the yard. I still believed those photos Alec Kane took were the key to figuring out who killed Miranda. So what I needed to do was figure out who had used Alec to take the photos.
* * *
Midafternoon I joined Abigail at the front desk. “I’m going to take an hour of personal time.”
“Go ahead,” she said. She gestured around the space. “It’s not exactly a beehive of activity in here today.” Midweek, especially this time of year, could be quiet and today was no exception.
Alec Kane met me for coffee at Eric’s. When I’d called him he’d told me he’d decided to stay around for a while. He’d been taking photos of what he called “real people” and found he liked that a lot better than hiding in the bushes.
“I’ll have mine in a cup,” he said to Claire when she came to our table with the coffeepot. She looked confused.
“Inside joke,” I said with a grin.
“So you want something,” Alec said once Claire had moved on.
I nodded. “I want all the e-mails you got from the mystery person who bought the photos. And the original e-mail that tipped you off to where Emme was going to be. If you have them.” I crossed my fingers that he did.
“Do I have them? My e-mail box is the electronic equivalent of The Container Store. What are you going to do with them?”
“Try to figure out who sent them.”
“You some kind of computer whiz?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. But I know someone who is.” At least I hoped he was.
* * *
I called Gavin Solomon when I got back to the library. I’d met the security expert when the library had hosted an art exhibit with some very rare and valuable pieces. Gavin was engaging and handsome, and he shamelessly used his charm with every female over the age of eighteen. He had thick red-gold hair, a close-cropped beard and a ready smile. I had never been sure if he actually needed the dark-framed glasses he wore, or if they were just for effect.
I had a feeling that Gavin had the skills I needed and if he didn’t, he would know someone who did. He was surprised to hear from me but didn’t seem unhappy about it. “Kathleen, this is a wonderful surprise. How are you?”
“I’m well, Gavin,” I said.
“Security is all right at the library?”
“It is,” I said. “We’ve been testing the system you suggested, and it’s working well so far.”
“Good to hear,” he said. “So is this a personal call or professional?”
How could I explain what I was looking for? “Some of both,” I settled for saying.
“Now, that sounds interesting.” Gavin could be a bit of a flirt—or a lot of a flirt if he felt it could get him what he wanted. From what I’d seen while working with the man, his charm took him a long way.
“I’m looking for someone who can trace some e-mails for me,” I said.
“When you say ‘trace,’ what exactly do you mean?”
“I mean I’d like to find out where they came from.” I swiveled in my chair so I could look out over the water.
“Were those e-mails sent to you?” Gavin asked.
“They were sent to a friend of mine.” Alec and I were friends now, weren’t we? “He sent them to me. Do you know anyone who can help me?”
“I can,” he said.
“Really?”
“Really.”
I’d been hoping Gavin would say he could help me. I’d suspected when we worked together that the man had skills he didn’t advertise. “I don’t expect you to do it for nothing,” I said.
“I’m pretty sure we can work something out,” he replied, a teasing edge to his voice.
“You haven’t changed,” I retorted. I couldn’t help smiling.
Marcus didn’t really like Gavin. “He’s too slick,” he’d said. And then there was the flirting with me.
Gavin reminded me of a big friendly dog. He was fun to spend time with as long as you kept it in the back of your mind that he might try to jump up on you at any moment.
He laughed now. “Some things never change. I’m eternal, like the tides.”
I laughed.
“Seriously, Kathleen, I’d be happy to help you. And you don’t owe me anything.” The teasing edge came back to his voice. “Someday, maybe I’ll call upon you to do a service for me,” he said, paraphrasing Don Corleone’s usually misquoted line from The Godfather.
“As long as I don’t have to put a horse’s head in someone’s bed, I think we’re good,” I said.
“We’ll see.” He gave me an address to forward the e-mails to and said it would probably take a day or so. “I’ll call you when I have anything.”
I thanked him and said good-bye. Maybe, at last, I was getting somewhere.
* * *
I was restless after supper, checking my phone several times even though Gavin had said it would take him a day or so to get back to me. Finally, I decided to take back the purse I’d borrowed from Taylor. She was working out at her dad’s stora
ge business on the highway.
I started for the truck and Owen trailed behind me. I stopped at the porch door. “Did I invite you to come along?” I asked.
“Merow,” he said.
“Funny, I don’t remember that,” I said, opening the door so he could go out ahead of me.
Owen sat on the passenger seat watching traffic through the windshield as we drove up to the highway. When we arrived, Taylor was working on a laptop behind the reception counter. Keith was in his office, phone to his ear. He waved hello and I waved back.
“Thank you for the purse,” I said. “Everything I own is big enough to hold a laptop or a cat. Or both.” I pointed over my shoulder at Owen looking out through the passenger-side window of the truck.
Taylor waved at the cat and laughed. “You can borrow something anytime you need a bag.”
“I might want to buy a bag for my friend Lise for Christmas,” I said.
Taylor nodded. “Think about what you want, or you can tell me a bit about your friend and I can pull a few bags that might work.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“That was a great party,” she said. “And that cake was awesome!”
“I know. I had two pieces.”
Keith hung up his phone then and came out to the counter.
“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “How are the new shades working?”
Keith was on the library board. At the start of the summer they had paid for new shades for the meeting rooms to keep out the afternoon sun and hopefully reduce the air-conditioning bill.
“The rooms are definitely not as warm as they were,” I said.
“It’s a start.” He looked at Taylor and his head seemed to tip just slightly in my direction.
Taylor pressed her lips together and glared at her father.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Taylor said.
Keith opened his mouth, glanced at his daughter—who looked like she might whack him with the purse I’d just given her—and seemed to think better of whatever he’d been going to say.
