Софи Келли - Final Catcall

I shook my head. “I can’t play hooky. I have budget numbers to go over.”

“Then at least have lunch with me.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and took several steps away from him on the pretext of looking at the gazebo from another angle. “I can’t do that, either. I’m having lunch with Chloe Miller.”

“The actress from the festival?” he asked, running the palm of his hand over the stubble on his chin.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you notice she has a bit of a limp?”

“I did,” I said. “I’m kind of surprised that you did, though. It’s not the kind of thing you used to pick up on.”

“You’re not the only person who’s changed, Kathleen,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Touché.”

He smiled. “Okay, so I didn’t actually notice the limp; Abigail did. But I did notice Chloe had scars on her arm. She was helping to waterproof the backdrop. I asked her what happened and she said she was in a car accident. She spent weeks in the hospital.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said.

“Didn’t know what?” Abigail asked, coming back across the grass toward us. She glanced at Andrew. “That’s fine, by the way, but I think Ben should take a look just to be sure.”

“Andrew said Chloe Miller was in an accident. I wondered why I hadn’t seen her in anything for so long.”

Abigail nodded. “Ben told me that about two years ago she just seemed to drop out of sight. For months no one knew where she was.” She rolled her eyes. “You know the kind of stories that start going around. People said she had a drug problem. They said she was in rehab.”

Andrew gestured toward the gazebo. “I’m just going to double-check those bungee cords. I’ll be right back.”

Abigail and I started toward the parking lot.

“So Chloe was in a car accident?” I said.

“She was visiting family in Florida, driving to the beach in a convertible with the top down. A glass-repair truck ran the light and hit the car broadside. There was a lot of broken glass and Chloe was cut all over.” Abigail shook her head. “Ben said it was a miracle her face was okay.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Remember when we were talking about how some people think Yesterday’s Child is jinxed?”

I nodded.

She gave me a grim smile. “Chloe was in a production of Yesterday’s Child right before her accident.”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re starting to believe in the jinx?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Really?” I said.

“Originally Yesterday’s Child was going to be part of the festival lineup.” Abigail held out both hands. “There was a fire at the theater in Red Wing and now Hugh’s dead.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t believe in jinxes or curses or anything like that.”

“Normally I don’t, either, Kathleen. But you have to admit there’s been a lot of negative energy associated with this festival.”

“Hugh Davis isn’t dead because of a play,” I said.

Abigail looked thoughtfully at me. “Then why is he dead?” she said.

That was the problem. I still didn’t know.

20

Chloe arrived at the library at five minutes to one. We walked over to Eric’s and settled at one of the quieter tables against the end wall. After Claire had poured coffee and taken our orders, Chloe took off her jacket and folded her fingers around her mug.

“I like this place,” she said, looking around the room with a smile. “It reminds me of this little place in Florida called Alexander’s.”

“Florida’s home?” I asked.

She nodded. “What about you?”

“Boston,” I said. “My parents are there and so are my brother and sister. Mom’s been in LA doing Wild and Wonderful and Ethan is about to go on the road with his band, but Boston is home. We all end up back there eventually.”

“This is a beautiful little town,” she said. “Everywhere I turn I see something that looks like a postcard. Did you see the sun coming up over the water this morning?”

I nodded.

“The other day I saw three sailboats anchored in the water and the surface was so still it looked like glass. I’ve taken dozens and dozens of pictures and I only got here Saturday.”

“I did the same thing when I first got here,” I said with a smile.

Chloe tipped her head to one side. “Do you mind if I ask why you’re a librarian and not a performer?”

I laughed. “No. I don’t mind. I’m not a performer because I have absolutely no talent. I couldn’t carry a tune if it came with handles. I have two left feet and calling me wooden when I’m onstage is an insult—to wood.”

Chloe laughed. “Kathleen, there’s no way you can be that awful.”

“Sadly, there is,” I said with a grin. “I just didn’t get the performer gene. What about you? Did you always want to be an actor?”

She traced a finger around the rim of her mug. “You know, I never thought about it that way. It’s just what I’ve always done. I was onstage before I could walk.”

Claire came back then with our orders of Eric’s beef noodle soup and thick slices of sourdough bread, still warm from the oven. As we ate we talked about our favorite plays. I was surprised to find out Chloe had done several musicals.

Claire brought the coffeepot around for refills as we finished our soup. “Dessert?” she asked. “Eric made chocolate pudding cake.”

“I shouldn’t,” I said.

“I didn’t ask whether you should,” Claire said with a sly grin. “I asked if you wanted to.”

“Okay, I want to,” I said. “Please.”

“Me too, please,” Chloe said.

Claire smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

Chloe glanced at her watch.

“What time do you need to be back at the theater?” I asked.

“Not until two thirty, for a fitting.” She leaned forward to brush part of a dried leaf off her pants. I noticed she was wearing a pair of gray spike-heeled leather boots. They added a good three inches to her height.

“Chloe, is the festival really going to be ready to open next week?” I asked.

“Absolutely.” She took a sip of her coffee. ““Don’t tell me you believe all that silliness that the festival is jinxed because of Yesterday’s Child ?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just that with the fire and Hugh’s death there’s a lot to come back from.”

“You know the old saying: The show must go on.”

I nodded as Claire served our dessert. “I know. I also know a lot of actors are very superstitious.”

Chloe picked up her spoon. “I’m superstitious about some things, but not about Yesterday’s Child . I was in the very first production. Hugh directed. You probably knew that.” She tried the pudding and smiled across the table at me. “Mmmmm. This is good.”

I reached for my own spoon. “So how did all the rumors start that the play is jinxed?”

“The script is very dark in places. Hugh is . . . was pretty intense as a director. One of the actors quit the first week of rehearsals. Then there was the fire at the theater.” She shrugged. “That was really all it took. After that, the idea that the show was jinxed just took on a life of its own. You know how those things go.”

I nodded. I’d been around enough theaters to know how quickly rumors spread in a closed community like a production in rehearsal.

Chloe licked a bit of chocolate from the back of her spoon. “Every production has issues, but every time there was a problem with Yesterday’s Child , someone would start talking about the jinx.”

She set her spoon down, pushed back her left sleeve and extended her arm. It was etched with a web of fine scars.