Софи Райан - Telling Tails

“What do you think about Alfred’s theory?” Mac asked.

I blew a stray clump of hair back off my face. “I admit it seems like a bit of a stretch, but on the other hand it also seems like a bit of a coincidence that Rose would show up at the cottage just when Leesa Cameron was moving her husband’s dead body.”

“I had the same thought,” Mac said. “The fact that there hasn’t been any activity on his cards or his phone is unsettling, though.”

I nodded. “I know. I only spoke to Jeff Cameron for a couple of minutes when he was here, and I spent maybe five minutes with Leesa Cameron when Michelle and I went to talk to her last night, but I can’t help feeling there was something wrong in that marriage.” I reached down and picked up the scrub brush I’d used on the chairs. “Which I guess makes sense whether you’re setting your wife up for murder or killing your husband.”

“It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” he said.

I turned the brush over in my hands. “Let’s say for a moment that Mr. P. is wrong. That means Jeff Cameron ended his marriage with a text message. And was cruel enough to send a gift to his wife to mark the occasion, because, let’s face it, those candlesticks had nothing to do with remembering Leesa Cameron’s grandmother on what would have been her birthday. Who ends what was supposed to be a lifetime commitment like that?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes people make a commitment and they mean it when they make it, but after a while they find out they just don’t have what it takes to keep it.”

I set the brush back down on the stool I’d been using as a makeshift table. “As Avery would say, that doesn’t mean that then they get to act like a glass bowl.”

Mac grinned at my use of Avery’s euphemism for the word “asshole.”

“Maybe it would be better if we all waited to get married until we could keep our commitments,” I said.

That made him laugh. “There probably wouldn’t be nearly as many marriages.” He lifted one of the chairs off the drop cloth I’d been using. I moved the other and bent down to pick up one end of the canvas. Mac reached for the other two corners. We had a length of clothesline cord stretched across one end of the old garage and we draped the drop cloth over it to dry.

“Do you believe in marriage, Mac?” I asked. “I mean, in the idea of it?”

“Yes,” he said. He pushed back the sleeves of his chambray shirt. “I see it as a public affirmation of a private commitment.”

“You think we need that.”

He shrugged. “I can only speak for myself, and I know I want it. I want the person I’m with to know that I’m not going anywhere when things go bad, because at some point they will. That’s just life.” He narrowed his dark eyes and studied my face for a moment. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I said. “You’ve been around when things have gone bad around here. I think that means you’re entitled to ask me pretty much anything you want to.”

“Why didn’t you and Nick ever become a couple?”

It wasn’t the question I’d expected. I pulled the elastic free that had been holding my hair in a loose knot to buy a moment of time. “Timing,” I finally said. “The summer we were fifteen I had a crush on Nick and he went to music camp and fell for a flute player, a cellist and a girl who played the bassoon from Nova Scotia. In that order. I came home from college my freshman year at Christmastime madly in love with a poet who wrote long poems with no punctuation or capital letters.”

“You made that last part up,” Mac said with a smile.

I ran a hand through my hair. “You have no idea how much I wish I had. But I didn’t.” I shrugged. “It’s just never been the right time for Nick and me.”

“You’ve both been back here for more than a year now. You’re not seeing anybody, and as far as I can tell, neither is he.”

A piece of a wooden dowel was lying on the floor. I bent down to pick it up. “Everyone wants us to be a couple,” I said. “You’ve probably noticed that. Rose made a point of telling me what great hair Nick has. Charlotte actually worked the fact that he doesn’t snore into a conversation, and they told him that I have good teeth. They’d all be so happy if Nick and I got together.”

Through the open door I heard a vehicle pull into the parking lot.

“Would you?” Mac asked. He glanced outside. “That’s the people Rose sold the bed to on Tuesday. I better go.”

I nodded without speaking and watched him walk across the lot to the middle-aged couple getting out of a red half-ton truck. I thought about Mac’s question and wondered how I would have answered if he’d waited to hear me.

I looked at my watch. I had just enough time to grab Elvis, head home, change and meet Jess for Thursday Night Jam. And Nick, I remembered belatedly.

I was the first to arrive at The Black Bear. I stood just inside the entrance and peeled off my slicker. It had started to rain as Elvis and I were driving home, and I hoped the people who had bought the bed hadn’t had far to go.

Sam waved from across the room and hurried over to wrap me in a hug. “Hi, kiddo,” he said. “I saved you a table.” He was tall and lean, his hair a shaggy salt-and-pepper mix and his beard was clipped close, a concession to the warmer weather. A pair of Dollar Store reading glasses was perched on his head.

Sam Newman not only owned and ran the pub, he’d been my late dad’s best friend. Sam had been making music his whole life, and he’d known my father just about as long. Right after college, before what Sam referred to as the three “M’s”—Mariah (Mom), marriage and the munchkin (me)—my dad and Sam had put together a band called Back Roads. They’d even had a minor hit, “End of Days.” Even though I considered my stepfather, Peter, to be my dad, Sam still took on a kind of fatherly role in my life. I could count on him to be straight with me, and when it came to music and guitars I trusted him more than I did anyone else.

“Thanks,” I said, looking around. There were photos on every wall of the space; Sam with the various bands he’d played in over the years and musicians who had played in the pub, including some celebrities. My favorite was a photo of Sam and my dad that hung behind the bar. They were squinting into the sunshine, grinning, with their arms around each other’s shoulders, and it made me feel good every time I saw it.

The place was already three-quarters full and I knew by the time the band was ready to play there wouldn’t be an empty seat in the house.

“You’re early,” Sam said as he walked me over to a small table with a RESERVED sign on it. “You want supper?”

I nodded. “Please.” My stomach growled loudly for emphasis.

“How about spicy chicken and noodles?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Do you want to wait for Jess?” Sam asked.

I patted my stomach. “No.”

He grinned. “I’ll put your order in.” He turned toward the kitchen and then turned back to me. “I almost forgot. I heard what happened. How’s Rose?”

“She’s fine,” I said. “I’ve been trying to get her to take it easy.”

Sam laughed. “That’s a fool’s errand.”

I laughed as well. “Tell me about it. She either pretends she can’t hear me when I tell her to sit down or she plays the I changed your diapers card.”

“I’ll have to remember that one,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve never changed a diaper in your life.”

He nodded in agreement. “But I have fed you smushed-up peas and I have the photos to prove it. Who knew smushed-up peas could also be used as hair gel?”

“One of these days I’m going to find those pictures,” I warned, shaking a finger at him.