Софи Райан - Telling Tails

“Umm, for them?” I said uncertainly.

“Well, of course. If only I could convince my copy editor that they’re important. Or your father, for that matter.”

“I have faith in your persuasive skills,” I said.

She laughed again. “I may be able to make the copy editor see the light, but I think your father is a lost cause.” I heard her shift once more in her squeaky desk chair, probably reaching for her tea. “I better get back to work, sweetie,” she said.

“I’m glad you called, Mom,” I said. “Talk to you soon.” I ended the call and set the phone back on the counter as Elvis came across the kitchen floor.

Since he’d finished his own breakfast, he jumped onto the stool next to me and eyed my plate expectantly.

“I already gave you a taste,” I said.

He hung his head, giving me a mournful look while making sure I could see the scar that cut diagonally across his nose. That maneuver always worked on visitors to the store.

I gave him another bite of the egg. Clearly it worked on me, too.

Elvis murped a thank-you, ate the egg and then proceeded to wash his face. I cleaned up the kitchen and was about to go brush my teeth when the cat suddenly swung his head in the direction of the door. He jumped down, crossed the room and looked pointedly at the door before looking back at me.

I waited, half expecting to hear a knock, half expecting it would be Nick. There was no knock. Elvis sat down and continued to stare at the door. Feeling a little foolish, I walked over and checked the peephole. No one was there.

“Your radar is off,” I said, bending down to give his head a scratch as I went past. He made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat.

I finished getting ready, grabbed my bag and my keys and discovered Elvis was still sitting in front of the door. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that,” I said.

I stepped into the hallway and there was Mr. P. in a blue golf shirt and a Red Sox ball cap, his messenger bag over one shoulder. Elvis looked up at me, and the look on his face plainly said I told you so .

“Hello, Sarah,” Mr. P. said. He smiled down at the cat. “Hello, Elvis.”

I smiled back. “Good morning.”

Rose came out of her apartment then, carrying not one but two tote bags. Mr. P. hurried over to take one of them from her. “You’re here,” she said, beaming at him. She turned to me. “Sarah dear, I told Alfred he could drive over to the Clarks’ with us.” She held up a paper bag. “I have Casey’s dog biscuits.”

Mr. P. pushed his glasses up his nose. “Are you sure it’s all right, my dear?” he asked. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

“You’re welcome to drive with us anytime,” I said, setting down my own bag long enough to lock the door. “And you aren’t taking advantage. I enjoy your company.”

“So do I,” Rose said.

Elvis meowed loudly.

“It’s unanimous,” I said with a grin.

We started out to the SUV with Elvis leading the way.

“You know the cat tower you built is still his favorite place,” I said to Mr. P. “I think the only thing that could make it better was if it were in front of the TV so he could sit at the top and watch Jeopardy! ”

One of the cat’s little quirks was watching the game show every weeknight. He had some kind of internal clock that told him just when the show was beginning. My best guess was that he’d watched the show with his previous owner. I had no idea what the cat’s life had been like before he’d turned up along the harbor front more than a year ago now.

Elvis looked back over his shoulder, meowed and bobbed his head as though in agreement about his affection for his tower.

“I’m glad you like it, Elvis,” Mr. P. said.

I opened the back driver’s-side door and the cat jumped onto the backseat. Rose climbed in beside him. Mr. P. took the front passenger seat.

“We don’t have to pick up Avery,” Rose said as she fastened her seatbelt. “She’s gone to a very early movie, part of that film festival the library is putting on.” She smiled. “I’m glad she’s making some friends her own age.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“What’s the plan for the day?” I asked once we were headed for Windspeare Point.

“I’m going to do a little more digging into Mr. Cameron’s background. His work history so far seems to be very spotty,” Mr. P. said.

“Charlotte is going to an aquacize class at the gym and Liz is having a massage,” Rose added from the backseat.

We were at a stop sign so I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “And what are you going to do?” I asked.

“I’m going to charm tourists into spending a lot of money,” she said with a completely straight face.

“I have no doubt about that,” I said.

“I didn’t tell you—it turns out that Maddie Hamilton lives two houses away from Chloe Sanders’ parents. Charlotte is going to talk to her, too.”

I had a soft spot for Maddie. She was the reason I had my father’s guitar. She’d found it at an estate sale, had it restrung and given it to me on my fifteenth birthday.

Rose had called Ashley Clark, and she and Casey were waiting on the front step of their little cottage. Rose fished one of the dog biscuits she and Avery had made out of the paper bag. The dog sniffed it and then took it from Rose’s hand. The look he gave her was pure adoration.

When we got back in the SUV, Elvis had positioned himself on the far side of the backseat. He was looking out the passenger window at the street, ignoring the rest of us. It was pretty clear he was sulking.

Rose took another small bag from one of her totes and set it on the seat. I caught the distinctive smell of sardines. So did the cat. He turned to look at Rose, whiskers twitching. “Did you think I forgot about you?” she asked.

He walked across the seat and poked the bag with a paw.

“Is it all right if I give him one?” Rose asked.

“Yes, go ahead,” I said.

She took out a star-shaped cracker and set it on the seat. The smell of sardines grew stronger. Elvis sniffed the treat and must have liked what he smelled because his green eyes all but closed in bliss. I made a note to use my own nose next time I was offered a plate of Rose’s star-shaped cookies.

When we got to the shop, Avery was set up on an old table outside, painting picture frames. Mac was inside.

“I talked to a couple of people about Helmark Associates,” he said.

I could tell from the expression on his face that he hadn’t come up with anything useful. “No luck?” I said.

He shook his head. “Helmark was formed when People Plus and JobCore merged about a year and a half ago. That’s when Jeff Cameron started working there, along with quite a few other people. JobCore offered a buyout, which a lot of their staff took advantage of. People Plus did the same kind of thing with an early retirement package. The new company hired a lot of people in a short time.”

I made a face. “It was worth a shot. Thanks.”

“I did learn one thing,” Mac said, “although I’m not sure how it will help. Jeff Cameron had only been at his previous job about a year. Before that he had a gap in his résumé, which he explained by saying he was traveling around Europe working at different jobs for a few weeks or a few months. Apparently he didn’t have any references or contact information from any of them. Helmark was short staffed and that really didn’t make a difference to them.”

I frowned. I wasn’t sure how the information would help, either. “It’s something for Mr. P. to look into,” I said. I smiled. “Thanks for trying.”

“Anytime,” he said. He gestured at a large cardboard box on the cash counter. “How do you feel about accordions?”