I nodded. With my right hand flat against my chest I bent my arm and moved it up and down and back and forth. It didn’t hurt that much, or maybe it was just that I didn’t want it to.
“I’ll keep an eye on the bucket for you,” Larry said.
I smiled. “Thanks.” I went back to my office for my raincoat, and stopped at the desk to tell Mary where I was going. “If Will Redfern comes back while I’m gone, don’t let him leave,” I said.
Mary eyed the roll of plastic still leaning against the desk and a slow, mischievous smile stretched across her face. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t.”
It had stopped raining completely. I started down Old Main Street. The breeze was blowing in off the water and the air smelled clean.
Oren’s truck was in the parking lot at the theater. I felt like doing a happy dance right there on the sidewalk. The stage door was unlocked. I hesitated, feeling a sense of déjà vu. The image of Gregor Easton slumped over the piano flashed in my head. I remembered how unnaturally still he’d been. Even in sleep our bodies move. We breathe and shift, our eyelids flutter, our fingers twitch. The stark paleness of his skin made the bruised gash on the side of his head look almost as if it had been painted on by some makeup artist.
I shook my head to clear the picture from my mind, but it wouldn’t go. The injury to Easton’s head—I’d almost forgotten how severe it was. And Detective Gordon hadn’t asked me about it, either. I closed my eyes for a moment and concentrated on picturing the side of Easton’s head. Yes, it had reminded me of stage makeup, probably because I’d seen gallons of fake blood and so many “gruesome” wounds—decapitations, amputations, prop knives buried in gaping chest wounds—over the years that horror movies generally put me to sleep.
The surprising thing about Easton’s wound was that it was clean. His head had been bruised and the cut was raw and red-edged, but there was no dried blood on his skin or in his silver hair, no bits of dirt or grit in the scraped skin. I was certain it would have been a difficult spot for Easton himself to see and care for easily.
I opened my eyes. I was betting he hadn’t. So if Gregor Easton didn’t clean up his head wound, who had? Was that person with him when he got hurt? Was that how the blood had ended up on the floor at the library? Had someone hit him? I ran a hand down over the back of my head, sucking in a sharp breath as my shoulder reminded me of my own injury and the fact that right now I needed to find Oren and do something about the leak at the library.
The backstage lights were on inside the theater. I threaded my way down the hallway, past light stands and other equipment.
Someone was playing the piano onstage. I paused at the edge of the curtains. I didn’t know the music but it made me want to move, to start swirling and twirling in place the way the tune seemed to be dancing all around the stage. I forgot about Gregor Easton. I forgot about leaky windows and missing contractors. I forgot about my bruised shoulder.
I took a couple of steps forward, just past the edge of the curtains so I could see who was playing. Violet, maybe? Or Ruby. Or Ami. To my amazement Oren was at the piano, his strong fingers sweeping over the keys.
I couldn’t have moved even if the building had suddenly been on fire. I was both stunned and transfixed. That beautiful music swept around me and then it stopped. And Oren looked up and saw me.
He looked away. One arm went behind his head, fingers digging into the back of his scalp. He pulled into himself. I walked slowly across the stage, stopping at the back of the piano. He tipped his head sideways and looked up at me.
“That was wonderful,” I said. I was almost at a loss for words. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know you played.”
Oren dragged his hand down over his neck and let it drop into his lap. “I . . . uh . . . don’t. Very much,” he said. His eyes kept sliding off my face. “What are you doing here? Is there a problem at the library?”
I nodded. “One of the windows is leaking. The end one in the computer room.”
“Did you call Will Redfern?” He shook his head. “If you could find Will, you wouldn’t be here. Would you?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you still have a lot to do here, but Will came and went before I could even lay eyes on him, and I can’t leave the window leaking all weekend.”
“No, you can’t. I’ll come take a look at it.” He stood up. “I need to get a few things.”
“I’ll head back,” I said. “I’ll see you there.”
I didn’t even zip up my coat to walk back to the library. Will hadn’t called or shown up. No surprise.
By the time I’d hung up my jacket Oren had arrived. He headed for the computer room, raising one hand in acknowledgment of Larry, on his way back down to the basement electrical panel.
The leak was even slower now, a steady drip, drip, drip. “Looks like the flashing,” Oren said.
“Larry had the same thought,” I said.
Oren nodded. “I’m going to get the ladder and take a look outside.”
I studied the window frame, hoping the problem was nothing more than a bent piece of metal or a missing bit of caulking.
“Kathleen,” Mary called.
I swung around.
“Everett Henderson for you.”
I nodded and pointed toward my office to let her know I’d heard and would take the call there.
I closed the office door and reached across the desk for the phone. “Hello, Everett,” I said.
“Hello, Kathleen. Lita said you needed to talk to me.”
I explained what had been happening with Will and the renovations. I tried very hard to keep my frustration out of what I was saying. “Oren’s outside on a ladder right now,” I said, “trying to find the source of the leak. I’ve left two messages for Will, and I didn’t want to let this go any longer.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Finally Everett spoke. “Kathleen, I apologize. Lita advised me very strongly not to hire Will.” He sighed softly. “I went to school with Will’s father and I let sentiment and nostalgia influence my decision.”
I chose my words carefully. “How Will is handling this job has nothing to do with you, Everett.”
“That’s very kind of you,” he said. “I have to go out of town on business. I’ll be back Monday. I’ll stop by the house Monday evening and we’ll figure out what to do about the rest of the renovations. Will that work for you?”
“Yes, it will,” I said.
“Good. Now, are you sure you’re not hurt? Have you seen a doctor?”
I rubbed the top of my shoulder, wincing as my fingers hit a tender spot. “I’m okay, Everett. Really,” I said. “Roma is pretty good with two-legged patients.”
“Good to know,” Everett said drily.
“And I’m going to the clinic to get checked out later this afternoon. I’m fine.”
“I think you’d say that even if you weren’t. If you need anything—”
“—call Lita,” I finished. “I will.”
“Is Oren handy? I’d like to talk to him, if I could.”
“Hang on,” I said. I stepped out of my office just as Oren walked back into the building.
“It is the flashing,” he called up to me. “I can fix it for you.”
“Good,” I said. “Everett’s on the phone. He’d like to talk to you.”
Oren didn’t seem surprised. “Okay,” he said, swiping his hands on the bottom of his shirt. The phone at the desk was closer.
While Oren talked to Everett, I walked around the staging again. I didn’t like having it stay there all weekend, and it didn’t look like Will or Eddie or anyone else was coming back today.
Oren hung up and joined me. “Everett asked me to fix the window,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“He asked me to take the staging down, too—if Will’s boys don’t get back before the end of the day.” He studied me for a moment. “He said something fell off it and hit you.”