Софи Келли: Final Catcall

“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.”

I put on my turn signal and pulled into the driveway. “And those would be?”

Mom put a hand to her mouth and yawned. “What your brother euphemistically refers to as ‘big teeth.’” She shook her head. “The man was such a stereotype. He was canoodling with the wardrobe assistant and she’s all of twenty. Very . . . toothy.”

“Canoodling?” I said as we walked around the side of the house.

“I was trying not to be crass, sweetie,” she said, reaching over to pat my cheek. “Would you rather I say he was—”

“Never mind,” I interrupted, holding up both hands.

“What can I get you?” I asked as we stepped into the kitchen, where Owen and Hercules were waiting. “Another cup of tea?”

She nodded. “That would be wonderful. I want to take a look at both scripts before I go to bed.” She smiled down at the cats. “Hello, you two. What a nice welcome to come home to.”

“The big chair in the living room has the best light,” I said. “I’ll bring your tea in when it’s ready.”

Mom took her overflowing tote bag into the living room, trailed by her furry fan club.

I put the water on to boil and fished my cell phone out of my bag. Marcus answered on the third ring. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said.

“Hi, Marcus,” I said. Why did I smile whenever I heard his voice? “Is Hannah there?”

“She just walked in the door. Do you want to talk to her?”

I slid the container of tea bags across the counter. “Would it be okay if I came over for a few minutes?”

“You figured something out,” he said.

“I think so.”

“We’ll be here.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

When the tea was ready I took a cup in to Mom, along with two of the brownies I’d taken out of the freezer earlier. She was in the wing chair, feet tucked underneath her, with her glasses on her lap. Owen and Hercules were curled up on the floor beside the footstool.

“Umm, how did you know I needed some chocolate?” she said when she saw the brownies.

“I know you,” I said.

Two furry heads swung around at the word “chocolate.”

I wiped my hands on my jeans. “I need to go out for a little while,” I said. “Could I get you anything else before I go?”

Mom shook her head. “Are you going to see Detective Gordon?”

“Yes,” I said. “But not for anything . . . romantic.”

She leaned forward and set her glasses on the footstool. “Katydid, do you know why I married your father?”

“Which time?” I said dryly.

She laughed. “Okay. I deserved that.” She shifted in the chair. “The first time we were married he drove me crazy. I didn’t see how I could ever live with him for the rest of my life. I was sure I wasn’t going to make it to Tuesday. But when we were apart I hated it. I didn’t want a man I could live with. I wanted someone I couldn’t live without.”

She looked at me for a long moment and then she reached for her glasses again. “I appreciate you not rolling your eyes,” she said.

I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” I said. “I’ll see you later.” I thought about her words all the way to Marcus’s house. It wasn’t as simple as she made it out to be.

If I went back to Boston with Andrew, things would be easy—no complications, no turmoil. It was tempting. Marcus and I couldn’t seem to get a relationship started, let alone keep it going. But if Andrew was a man I could live with, did that mean Marcus was the man I couldn’t live without?

Marcus was sitting on his back steps, elbows propped on his long legs.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” He gestured at the back door. “Hannah’s inside.”

“Did you tell her I was coming?”

He nodded. “You know who killed Hugh Davis, don’t you?”

“I think so. I know who and I think I know why. And I can’t prove any of it.”

He looked up at me. I could see the stubble on his chin in the light from the kitchen window. He looked tired. “You figured out how Hannah is tied up in this.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

“I did.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “I can just . . . I can just go.”

“No.” He exhaled slowly. “Somebody killed the man. I know it’s not my case, but I can’t do nothing and take the chance that maybe that somebody is going to walk away.” He stood up and brushed off his jeans. “C’mon in.”

Hannah was in the living room, curled up in one corner of the sofa with a script. She was wearing gray sweatpants and a red hoodie. Her bare toes were tucked down between two sofa cushions.

“Hi,” she said. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

Marcus sat on the arm of the chair and I took the chair.