by Sofie Kelly
“Oh yes, restoring an old building instead of tearing it down.” Like Mary and Harrison, Everett cared about the history of the state, and as he’d said at his presentation, not every old structure could be saved or should be, but they shouldn’t all be torn down, either. “You know how Everett—and Rebecca—feel about not losing our ties to the past.”
“ ‘A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots,’ ” I said. “Marcus Garvey.”
“Mr. Garvey was a very wise man,” Lita said.
I propped an elbow on my desk and leaned the side of my head against my hand. “So what made the project fall apart?”
“Leitha’s pigheadedness. John Stone came to see Everett. He wanted to buy that building himself. John believed it had been the home of the first music school in the state, predating the MacPhail School by about two years. He wanted to turn the property back into a school. Everett agreed and tried to convince Leitha to sell to John instead.”
“I take it that didn’t go well.”
“No, it did not,” she said emphatically. “Leitha didn’t like John. I don’t think she ever liked the idea of Mike being in the band. She found that kind of thing unseemly for a Finnamore man. So she didn’t want to be accommodating. And she saw John’s desire to save the building as nothing more than just foolish sentimentality. Those were her exact words, ‘foolish sentimentality.’ ”
The same expression she’d used with me about renovating the library.
“She decided to sell to someone else who was going to tear down the building and turn it into a parking lot. John was furious and Everett wasn’t too happy, either.”
“There was nothing either of them could do?” I asked.
“No. Leitha and Everett had no agreement in place on the property. And it was impossible to reason with her. It was weeks before John got over his anger. Finally, he just seemed to accept there was nothing he could do. He even told Everett to let it go.”
“That’s not exactly something Everett is good at.”
Lita laughed. “No, it isn’t.” There was silence for a moment. “Kathleen, I heard that the police think Leitha’s death wasn’t an accident after all. Does any of this have anything to do with that building?”
I shook my head even though she wasn’t there to see me. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, if you think any of this will help Marcus, go ahead and tell him. He knows where to find us if he has any questions.”
“I will. Thank you,” I said.
After we hung up, I got to my feet and went to stand by the window. I looked out over the water. It occurred to me that to solve one murder, I might just have to solve two.
chapter 13
I spent the rest of the morning shelving books and helping several people find something new to read. The latter was one of my favorite parts of the job. It always made my day when I suggested a book to someone and they came back to tell me that they had enjoyed it.
I discovered that someone had put gum on three different shelves in the reference section. Grape-flavored bubble gum, it seemed.
I rubbed the space between my eyebrows. “Some days I think gum should be a controlled substance,” I muttered to Levi, who had been helping me get the reference section back to rights. Several students who were taking a summer school history class had just spent the last hour looking for references in “real” books for a class assignment.
“Did you know that the ancient Greeks chewed gum?” Levi asked.
“I did not,” I said. “And I hope none of those ancient Greeks ever stuck their gum on one of the wings on the statue of Nike or on Venus de Milo’s shoulder.”
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 des
pite 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 persuasive 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 co
uld 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?”
