“Interesting hair,” Roma said, struggling not to laugh.
Rebecca did laugh, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oh, my,” she said. “I’d forgotten about that. That was the first time I did Vi’s hair.”
“And it was almost the last,” Violet said, coming in with the coffee tray.
I got up and took it from her, and set it on the coffee table.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca said. “Maybe a little too poufy.”
“She back-combed my entire head and used a full can of hairspray on it.”
“Well, I didn’t want my handiwork to go flat.”
“It was windy and raining the night of that party,” Violet said as she poured. “The wind almost pulled the screen door off its hinges, but my hair didn’t move.”
“Then it was a good thing I used lots of spray.” Rebecca smiled sweetly.
I had the feeling they’d had this conversation many times before.
I took the album off Rebecca’s lap so she could reach her coffee. Roma had already started on her sliver of pie, which really wasn’t a sliver at all. I flipped through the photographs. Violet looked so young. In most of the pictures she was smiling, even laughing in a few, and I wondered what she’d been like as a girl. My favorite shot was one of Violet and another young woman, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing by the water, both of them with huge, happy smiles. “Rebecca, is this you?” I asked. She set down her cup and I turned the album toward her.
“Heavens, yes, it is. That was just before Violet left for Oberlin.”
“That’s the first picture I’ve seen of the two of you,” I said.
She shrugged. “I don’t really like having my picture taken,” she said.
“You look very pretty in this one,” I told her.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said, sliding the album back onto her lap so I could pick up my pie. “That reminds me, do you have any pictures of your family? I’d love to see them sometime.”
“I do,” I said. “Remind me and I’ll show you.”
“Kathleen, how’s the work coming at the library?” Violet asked, settling in a chair with her coffee.
“A little slower than I’d like,” I said. “Larry Taylor has the wiring almost done in the new computer room. The circulation desk is finished, and I’m hoping the police will let us back into the meeting-room space in a day or two.”
“Why have the police been at the library?” Roma asked. “Gregor Easton died at the Stratton.”
I took a sip of coffee, wondering how much I should say. “Easton was at the library earlier in the evening and he may have come back again.”
Roma started coughing. Rebecca reached around and patted her on the back.
“Do you need a glass of water?” Violet asked.
Roma held out a hand. She coughed a couple more times, then sucked in several breaths. “I’m all right,” she gasped. She swallowed a mouthful of coffee and then took a few more deep breaths. “A blueberry went down the wrong way.” She rolled her wrist over and checked her watch. “I really should get back to the clinic and check on the cat,” she said. “Thank you, Violet. Everything was delicious.”
She got to her feet and looked at me. “Kathleen, if I’m not rushing you, we could walk partway together.” She didn’t say please out loud, but I could see it on her face.
“You’re not,” I said. “I need to check on Owen and Hercules. Somebody”—I turned to look at Rebecca—“got Owen another catnip chicken. There are probably chicken parts all over my kitchen.”
“Don’t look at me,” Rebecca said, keeping her head down over the album. “It was Ami.”
Head bowed or not, I could see her smiling. I thanked Violet for dinner and for sharing her photographs. Roma and I said our good nights and headed out. The moon was almost full and the stars sparkled in a way they had never seemed to in the city.
Roma waited until we were out of sight of the house before she spoke. “Kathleen, could I ask you something?” she said.
“Of course,” I said. “What is it?”
“You said Easton was at the library before he died.”
“That’s right,” I said slowly, wondering where she was going.
“You’re sure?”
“Uh-huh. The police have evidence. Why do you ask?”
We turned the corner and started up the hill. She let out a breath and stopped on the sidewalk. “Because I think Oren might be involved in Easton’s death.”
17
Wave Arms Like a Fan
“What do you mean, you think Oren might be involved?”
“The police talked to him this afternoon.”
“The police talk to a lot of people,” I said.
“This is the second time.”
I was about to say they’d talked to me more than once when I remembered I was also a suspect of sorts.
“That’s not the only thing,” Roma said. “He wasn’t at Fern’s for meat loaf.”
“You’re going to have to explain,” I said.
“Have you ever been to Fern’s diner?” she asked. “It’s a little place down near the marina.”
“Like a fifties diner?”
Roma nodded. “That’s Fern’s. Every Tuesday night is meat loaf night. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans in the summer, carrots the rest of the time, brown gravy and apple pie.”
“Sounds good.”
“It is. I haven’t missed a meat loaf Tuesday since I came back to Mayville. Oren probably hasn’t missed one in twenty-five years.” She kicked a rock on the ground and sent it skittering along the sidewalk.
“Oren wasn’t there Tuesday night,” I said.
“No.” We started walking again. “And he wasn’t at the theater when you got there the next morning, was he?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Kathleen, Oren didn’t come home at all Tuesday night,” Roma said, her voice low and troubled.
I brushed away a small cloud of midges fluttering just in front of my face. “How do you know that?” I asked.
“The Kings bought a horse for their daughter. They thought they were getting a deal when they heard the price. What they got was a sick animal. I was out at their place from about one until close to five a.m. The back of their property meets the back of Oren’s.” She tipped her head back to study the sky. “It was a full moon Monday night. I could see Oren’s yard and house almost as clearly as if it were daytime. His truck wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.”
“It doesn’t mean Oren had anything to do with what happened to Gregor Easton.” My shoulder ached, but I didn’t want to rub it in front of Roma.
“If there was nothing off about Easton’s death, the police wouldn’t still be investigating. And it’s not like they have a huge pool of suspects. Did you know that pretty much everyone in the choir was at a birthday party at Eric’s Place that night?”
“I didn’t.”
“I know Marcus. He’s good at what he does.”
She was right. From what I’d seen Detective Gordon was thorough and persistent.
“Easton was at your library. Why does that matter if he died from natural causes? They’re not going to keep looking at a case that wasn’t criminal just so they won’t look incompetent if Access Hollywood shows up.”
She held out both her hands. “And they haven’t.”
“You think the police are investigating because there’s something to investigate,” I said.
“Kathleen, Oren is family. Our moms were cousins. I don’t believe for a moment that he’d hurt anyone, but this looks bad.”
I thought about Oren recognizing Gregor Easton’s real name. And how beautifully he’d played the piano. Those things weren’t coincidences. Oren knew Gregor Easton. How and why he was keeping it a secret, I didn’t know. But I didn’t believe he could have killed the man.
“Roma,” I said. “I don’t know what happened to Mr. Easton, but I don’t believe Oren had anything to do with it.” I held up a finger before she could interrupt. “I may have only been here a few months, but I know Oren well enough to know he wouldn’t deliberately hurt Gregor Easton or anyone else, for that matter. He had no reason. And if there was some kind of accident at the library or the theater he’d get help, not leave someone to die.”