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man dressed all in black—leather jacket, jeans and tee—smiling at me.
    “Kathleen Paulson, what on earth are you doing here?” he said.
    “I work here,” I said, beaming back at him. “Are you part of the theater festival?”
    He nodded. “I’m the artistic director. When Abigail Pierce said the librarian’s name was Kathleen, I had no idea it was going to be you.”
    I hadn’t seen Ben Saroyan in years. He’d directed my parents in several productions and he’d given my mother her first directing job. He looked exactly the same, very tall and thin with a lined, craggy face, dark eyes and short, iron gray hair that seemed to grow straight up from his head.
    “How are Thea and John?” he asked. Ben had a deep, booming voice that seemed a bit at odds with his long, lanky frame.
    “Dad is in rehearsals for
Noises Off
and Mom’s in Los Angeles working on
Wild and Wonderful
.” The soap happened to be one of Maggie’s favorite shows.
    He slid his round wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and laughed. “I seem to remember Thea saying she was never doing a soap again after the last time. How did they change her mind?”
    There were bits of paper stuck to the front of my shirt. I brushed them away with my free hand. “It’s a short-term contract,” I said. “And the executive producer sent her a chocolate cheesecake every day for a week until she said yes.” I laughed at the memory. “Mom was ready to sign by the second day, but she held out for an entire week for all the cheesecake.”
    Ben laughed, the sound bouncing off the library walls. “That sounds like Thea.” He seemed to realize then that he hadn’t introduced the man and woman who had come in with him. “I’m sorry, Kathleen,” he said. “This is Hugh Davis. He’s my other director, and Hannah Walker, who’s one of our actors.” He smiled at me. “Kathleen is Thea and John Paulson’s daughter.”
    Hugh Davis held out his hand. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ben. His brown hair was on the longish side, streaked with white at the temples. And there was some gray in his close-cropped goatee. “I saw your mother years ago in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
,” he said. “She’s very talented.”
    “Thank you.” I shook his hand. I could hear just a hint of a British accent in his voice, which made me wonder if he’d worked or studied in Great Britain. I didn’t recognize his face or his name, but I knew my mother would. She knew everyone in the theater world.
    I did recognize Hannah Walker, though. I’d seen her in a couple of commercials, and I was fairly certain she’d had a role on an episode of
Law & Order
.
    “Hi, Kathleen. It’s nice to meet you,” she said with a smile.
    “You too,” I said. Hannah was somewhere in her twenties, with dark, wavy hair to her shoulders and deep blue eyes. There was something instantly likable about her. Maybe it was the genuine warmth in her smile and the interest in her gaze.
    Ben had one hand in his jacket pocket, jiggling his keys or something. I remembered then that he wasn’t a very patient person.
    “You didn’t come here just to see me, Ben,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
    “Abigail said there’s a gazebo here that we could use for one of the outdoor performances.”
    I nodded. “It’s at the back, overlooking the water.”
    Hugh Davis made a sour face. “The acoustics are going to be deplorable,” he said to Ben.
    I shook my head. “Not necessarily. The river actually curves at this point.” I gestured toward the back of the library. “We’re sheltered from both the wind and the street noise.”
    “Good,” Ben said, as though the issue had been settled.
    Hugh still looked unhappy. “How much space is there? Where are people going to sit? I’m not convinced that this is the best way to showcase our productions.”
    I was starting to be irritated by the man already, and he’d been in the building for only a few minutes. He didn’t seem to know much