"Mrs. Kostelnik? This is Libby Haskins. I'm—June Mercer was my grandma. I'm Carol's daughter. Carrie's."
There was a pause, and then a sound like a hand clapped over a mouth. "Oh, honey," she said. "Oh, honey, of course. Is everything all right? Is your mother all right?"
"She's okay. I mean—I think so. I'm calling about Oliver."
"Oliver! How's that old gentleman doing? Is he eating? He wouldn't eat for me, you know, the first two days. I had to put a little bit of tuna on his Friskies, he's spoiled rotten—"
"He's eating," I said. "He's okay. Mrs. Kostelnik, he does something every night. I wanted to ask you about it. He gets up on Grandma's piano and he presses one key. The same one. Every night just before midnight."
The silence on the other end was so long that I thought the line had gone dead. I could hear, faintly, a radio playing somewhere in her house. Bing Crosby. Then I heard her let out a breath.
"The E-flat," she said.
My skin went cold all over, as if someone had opened a window behind me.
"Yes," I said. "How did you know?"
"Oh, honey." I heard her sit down; a chair creaked. "Oh, that poor animal. Of course he does. Of course. He did it with her, you see. Every night. For eleven years he sat on that piano with her."
"Did what?"