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you at the theater, I know he starts work early and I wanted to talk to him.”
    “What about?”
    “The computer room here at the library. The contractor is behind schedule. I was hoping Oren could get some of the chairs and carrels put together so I could at least get one computer set up and connected.” It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell him my cats had suggested it.
    He scribbled something on his pad.
    “Did Oren show up?” I asked.
    “I’m not sure,” Detective Gordon said. He put down his pen and took one of the muffins from the plate. “Ms. Paulson, you said you met Mr. Easton for the first time yesterday?” He broke the muffin in half and took a bite.
    I nodded. “He came in to the library. There was something wrong with his BlackBerry and he needed Internet access.”
    “But your computer room isn’t set up.”
    “No, it’s not.” I traced the inside of the mug handle with my finger. “But according to the visitors’ guide Mr. Easton had, it was.”
    The detective broke the remaining half of muffin into three pieces and immediately ate one piece. “How did Mr. Easton react?”
    “He wasn’t happy.”
    He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. Not only were his hands large, but he also had long fingers, what my mother would call piano-player fingers.
    “So you didn’t arrange to meet Mr. Easton this morning?”
    I let out a frustrated breath. “No. I didn’t arrange to meet Mr. Easton. I wasn’t having an affair with Mr. Easton. He was older than my father. Before last night I’d never even met the man.” Before he could say anything I held up my hand. “I did order breakfast to be sent to his suite this morning—from Eric’s Place—as an apology. Breakfast for one.” I wondered if it was too late to call Eric and cancel.
    “Do you buy breakfast for everyone who comes in to the library, looking for an Internet connection?”
    I resisted the impulse to point out that I was basically giving him breakfast right now. “Of course I don’t,” I said. I took a sip of coffee. It was cold. I got up and moved behind him to get to the coffeemaker, poured another cup and leaned against the counter. How was I going to explain this?
    He turned to look at me.
    “My, uh, cat had accidentally ended up here at the library yesterday. And . . . he—the cat—jumped on Mr. Easton . . . Mr. Easton’s head.”
    The detective’s lips twitched. “His head?”
    I nodded. He looked at me without saying anything. I felt myself flush.
    He drained his cup and stood up. “Ms. Paulson, do you mind if I look around?”
    I wondered what he thought he’d find. “It’s a public building, Detective,” I said, setting my own mug on the counter. “You don’t need my permission to look around. But it’s all right with me.”
    I smiled to show I was a good sport; then I led him across to my office and stood in the doorway while he poked around. After that, I took him to the main part of the library. He walked through the stacks and around the magazine shelves without saying anything. I showed him the temporary circulation desk and the area where the permanent desk would be.
    “Where is the computer area?” he asked.
    I took him to the back section of the library. The sky was gray and cloudy outside the bank of windows.
    He pointed to the stacks of cartons. “What’s in the boxes?”
    “Computers, monitors, a printer. Would you like me to open one?” I asked.
    He shook his head and bent to look at a couple of shrink-wrapped chairs. “That’s not necessary,” he said. He straightened, looked around and then gestured across the library. “What’s over there?” I had to walk around a couple of shelving units to see where he was pointing. A huge sheet of plastic was draped over one corner of the wall.
    “Oh, that’s where the meeting room will be,” I said. “Right now it’s where the contractor is keeping his tools and things.”
    “Can I see it?”
    “Sure.” I led the way and