Free The Cornerstone by Anne C. Petty Page A

but that wasn’t happening. She collected up her things, went to the back of the theater, and stood around by the double doors, waiting for Addie. There was that business of a promised tarot card reading and the building’s so-called resident haunt she wanted to ask about. She also wanted to compliment Addie on her interpretation of Lechery, which was both campy and chilling, probably exactly what the great Marlowe’d had in mind. Being one of the Sins looked like it would be a fun part—you got all dressed up in an outrageous costume and only had one or two lines to learn. Claire had dallied with the notion of trying out for one of those parts, but was so certain she’d screw up the dozen or so words allotted to her, in the end she’d backed out of the audition. Still, it was fun to watch Addie vamp it up. She wondered if there was a subtle difference in meaning in Marlowe’s use of the term Lechery, as opposed to Lust, the name moderns applied to that particular Sin. She’d have to ask Morris. Of anybody in the cast, he’d be the one most likely to know.
    She’d also noticed Tom seemed a little stiff moving through some of the more active scenes. Maybe she ought to question him about it, although admittedly if she hadn’t seen him on the ground yesterday, she’d never have guessed he’d been in a traffic accident. She supposed the bike was in the shop and wondered how he’d gotten to rehearsal.
    Addie was coming up the aisle with Tom in tow. He seemed to be moving okay from what she could see, but as they drew closer she could tell he was favoring his left side.
    “…and I think this play is just the most exciting thing I’ve been involved in for ages—” Addie was gushing. Which she did better than anyone Claire knew. Tom had a pinched look around the eyes that Claire instantly recognized.
    “You should have come with us to the hospital and at least gotten a pain prescription,” she said, reaching out for his injured arm almost without thinking. He flinched away.
    “It’s just bruised.”
    Addie looked from one to the other. “What are you guys talking about?”
    Claire bit her tongue. Maybe it wasn’t her place to tell anyone about the accident since Tom hadn’t shared that little piece of excitement with the cast.
    “Dropped my bike in traffic yesterday,” he said. “Claire came to my rescue.” He gave her the briefest of smiles.
    “Wow.” Addie was bugeyed. “You’re really lucky you weren’t killed!”
    There was an awkward silence in which the strangest expression passed over Tom’s face. Like that illusion onstage tonight…Claire was sure she’d seen it, but when she blinked it was gone.
    “So,” Morris said, coming up behind her. “Who’s up for a drink in honor of the brilliant Mummers’ acting society?”
    Addie grinned and raised her hand. “Me!”
    He looked at Tom, who shrugged. “Why not?”
    “And the lovely Miss Porter?” Morris cocked his head and rocked back on his heels, hands in the pockets of his wool blazer.
    “Well…” There she was again, caught between duty and guilty pleasure. She felt like Faustus tempted by the Seven Deadlies, only this time there were just three of them. As far as she knew, she was the only one who lived at home with a parent and had a compelling reason not to stay out late. Addie was divorced from some guy in Boston, where they’d been patrons of the arts and attended a lot of galas and parties for ballet and drama until he’d cheated on her with a very young ballerina. Morris was a bachelor, but as to whether he had a significant other, who knew? And Tom? She had no idea what his story was, but he’d become more interesting with each rehearsal.
    Addie looped her arm through Claire’s. “She’s in. Who’s driving and where are we headed?”
    “I’ve got a rental car…might as well use it,” Tom offered.
    “Driver picks the place,” said Morris.
    Tom wrestled the keys out of his jeans pocket. “I know a good biker