“That sounds exhausting, but also very cool when you don’t have too much thrown at you. I bet that’s a really useful ability for a musician.”
“Yes and no. It allows me to catch all the imperfections in my playing, which has made me better, but it’s also frustrating when I fall short of the ideal. When I play with the orchestra, I don’t have to block my ability. Something about everyone coming together to create one beautiful piece keeps me from overloading.” I could probably release my senses here. I let go, bracing myself for a barrage of sensation, but the stillness of the room calmed me.
“This is one of my favorite places,” Neto said, his quiet voice stretching into all the empty space around us. I love it during the chaos of the game, and afterward—when everything is still but a bit of the energy of the night lingers behind.”
“Do you stay here often after the rest of the team leaves?”
“This might sound crazy, but this is one of my favorite places to write music.”
“That doesn’t sound crazy at all. I bet the acoustics in here are amazing.”
I heard footsteps approaching the building, and a moment later a knock sounded at the back door. Neto opened it to reveal a middle-aged man with a wide smile and two huge bags full of styrofoam boxes.
“How many people do you plan on feeding?” Neto laughed.
I poked his chest. “You told me you were starved.”
The delivery man raised his eyebrows. “This is the family meal. It feeds eight people.”
I couldn’t contain my giggle. Neto tried and failed to keep his expression serious. “I’m an amateur athlete who left it all out on the ice tonight and needs a serious recovery meal. This is perfect.”
The delivery man turned to leave.
“Excuse me,” I said, stopping him.
He turned back to me, hands on his hips. “Do you need more food?” He winked to show he was kidding.
I laughed. “We might. But if you don’t mind my asking, did you make any deliveries Monday afternoon?”
“Of course. I work six days a week, saving up for my daughter’s college.” He pulled up a picture on his phone of a pretty teenage girl with curtain bangs and a wide smile.
“She must make you very proud.”
“She does.”
“A colleague of mine ordered food on Monday, it would have been delivered to de Bourgh Hall. Were you the one to deliver it?”
“Yes, I remember her. Short blonde hair, snotty attitude.”
“Yep, that’s Cecelia. Do you know what time you delivered it?”
He checked his phone. “I delivered the meal at 1:24, we chatted for a few minutes, and I left there around 1:30.”
That was right during the window of when Paolo had been murdered. “Did you see anyone else while you were there?”
“Just the man who opened the door.”
I tried to keep my posture loose and casual as I asked, “What did he look like?”
“He was tall and blonde.”
Walter. He hadn’t mentioned answering the door when I’d asked him where he’d been.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your meals. All eight of them.”
We laughed and Neto shut the door behind him.
