I put everything back in Mom’s purse except the little white tin and then I went to the kitchen. Owen was under the table doing his shamefaced act. I leaned down and looked at him. “Come out from there,” I said. “I know what you’re up to.”
He came to stand in front of me and I held out the little tin. “Were you looking for these?”
He meowed and reached out a paw before he remembered he was supposed to be pretending to be guilty over rolling on the footstool. He hung his head again.
I patted my lap. “Give it up, Fuzz Face,” I said. “I know you went through Mom’s purse and spread everything all over the floor looking for these and then you couldn’t get them open. You left teeth marks on the package.”
He understood either my words or my tone because he gave up the act, climbed onto my lap and leaned over to lick the plastic wrapping around the tin.
I shook my head. “That’s just sad,” I said. “These are not for cats.” I set the mints on the table.
He got a sulky look on his face. “They’re breath mints with the taste of bacon. No real bacon.” I shook my head. “No bacon.”
He clearly understood the “no bacon” part. He leaned his head against my arm and made a sound a lot like a sigh.
I stroked his fur. “You should be in trouble,” I said. “You should be on the kitty equivalent of bread and water for the next couple of days.”
He lifted his head and looked at me. We both knew that wasn’t going to happen.
I gave him what I hoped was a stern look. “What you did was bad. Very bad. You don’t go through people’s things just because you think you smell bacon. Are we clear?”
“Merow,” he said after a moment.
I picked him up and got to my feet. “The only thing that’s saving you is that thanks to your little stunt I think I know who killed Hugh Davis and maybe even why.”
Owen nuzzled my chin, looking very pleased with himself. I kissed the top of his head. “Now all I have to do is prove it.”
21
My laptop was in my briefcase. I set it on the kitchen table. The moment I sat down Owen jumped onto my lap. Clearly I was going to have help with the research I needed to do.
He squinted at the screen as I brought up my favorite search engine. There was a lot more information about the play Yesterday’s Children than I’d expected. I scanned several articles written about the first production of the play. Then I typed in Ben Saroyan’s name to narrow the search. Owen stayed perched on my lap, eyes on the screen as though he was reading as well. And for all I knew, maybe he was. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.
There was one more thing I wanted to check on. “Cross your paws that these archives are online,” I said to Owen.
He looked down at his feet and then up at me.
I scratched the top of his head. “Never mind,” I said.
Some newspapers have their entire archive of back issues searchable online. The paper I was interested in turned out to be one of them. It didn’t take long to finish my search.
I leaned back in the chair. Owen shifted on my lap and tipped his head to one side, eyeing me with curiosity. I stroked his fur. “I know the who,” I said. “And now I think I understand the why.”
He meowed softly in what I decided to believe was agreement.
I stretched and looked at my watch. It was almost time to head down to the Stratton. I set Owen on the floor, put the computer away and ran upstairs for a sweater.
I thought about calling Marcus and decided that part of the puzzle could wait until later.
Ben and Abigail were in the production office at the theater. “Hi, Kathleen,” Abigail said, getting up from her makeshift desk. “I think your mom’s upstairs. I’ll go tell her you’re here.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “She’s wonderful.”
“There’s no rush,” I called after her. I leaned against the door frame.
Ben got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Would you like a cup?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No thanks. How did rehearsals go today?”
“A lot better than yesterday. Your mother’s a good director. I think we’re going to be ready for next week.”
I grinned at him. “So the festival’s not jinxed.”
He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “Why do people believe in that rubbish?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s easier to believe in a jinx or a curse than it is to accept that bad things happen and sometimes we don’t have any control over that.”
“The first time Hugh mentioned Yesterday’s Children I should have said no,” Ben said, adding sugar to his coffee.
“Weren’t you supposed to direct the original production?”
He nodded. “The producers replaced me with Hugh before rehearsals even started. His vision was a lot darker than the way I saw the script. That’s why I considered adding the play to the lineup here. It would have been my chance to show a different interpretation of the script. I don’t see it being as bleak a play as Hugh—and pretty much every director since—did.”
The door frame was digging into my back and I shifted sideways a little. “So you weren’t mad at Hugh because he took your job?”
Ben’s blue eyes narrowed. “What?” he said.
“I’ve heard a couple of rumors that you two didn’t speak for a long time because he got the Yesterday’s Children directing job.”
He gave a snort. “Hugh and I stopped speaking more than once, but not because of that play. He was a good director, but he could be a first-class prick.” He picked up his coffee. “Getting replaced was the best thing that could have happened to me. I did Lesser Mortals instead. I spent a semester teaching at Tisch. It was all good.”
That was pretty much what I’d put together from my Internet search.
“So why did you offer him the festival director’s job if you thought he was a jerk?”
He sighed. “Sentiment. We went to college together. He lobbied hard for the job and I figured I could keep him from making a total ass of himself.” He swiped his hand over his chin. “Maybe I was wrong.”
I heard a noise behind me then and saw my mother coming down the stairs, pulling bobby pins out of her hair. She smiled as she caught sight of me.
I smiled at Ben. “Have a good night,” I said.
“How did things go?” I asked Mom as we drove up the hill.
“Good,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. “I have to say it’s a little peculiar to step in like this at the last minute, but everyone’s trying to pull it all together.”
“They like you,” I said, slowing down to let a man walking a golden Lab cross the street.
Mom leaned her head against the back of the seat. “I mean no disrespect to the man, but that’s because they didn’t like Hugh.”
“Ben said he was a good director.” I glanced over at Mom, who turned her head to look at me and rolled her eyes.
“Ben sees the best in people, Katydid. He’s that kind of man. And to be fair, I think Hugh Davis was a good director. But he got results through intimidation. Plainly spoken, he was a bully.”
From the corner of my eye I saw her lean her head back and close her eyes. “I don’t work that way.”
“Why do you think someone as nice as Chloe Miller was involved with him, then?” I asked.
She lifted her head to look at me. “Chloe Miller and Hugh Davis? I don’t think so, sweetie. In fact, I was surprised to see her here, but Ben said she lobbied hard for the part. Anyway, she isn’t Hugh’s type. She doesn’t have the attributes he went for.”