Софи Райан - Telling Tails

I went out to the sunporch to find Alfred. I explained what Dad had discovered and what Avery had told us about Leesa Cameron and her running partner.

“Interesting,” he said. “I’ll see what I can discover about the Hennessys and about Mr. Vega.”

“Let me know what you find,” I said, heading back outside.

The paint sprayer was being temperamental, and it took me the better part of the next hour to get it working properly. I went inside for a cup of coffee before starting on the chairs. I had just come down the stairs with a mug in my hand when Mr. P. came in from the back.

Rose took one look at him and immediately said, “You found something.” She glanced at me. “Alfred told me what your father discovered.”

Mr. P. had a satisfied smile on his face. “I did,” he said. “Jeff Cameron changed his name. I couldn’t find much about him beyond about three years ago, so I did a little digging into his sister. Nicole Cameron got her RN as Nicole Hennessy. Northeastern Medical Center issues her paychecks in that name. Although she goes by Cameron, she didn’t actually change her name.”

Mr. P. looked at me. “Don’t worry, Sarah,” he said. “I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“I appreciate that,” I said.

“Both of the Camerons were raised by their grandmother,” Mr. P. continued. “Their parents were killed in a car accident.”

“That’s awful,” Charlotte said, shaking her head.

“Jeff left New Hampshire when his grandmother died and moved to California. He changed his name from Jeffery Cameron Hennessy to Jeff Cameron—no middle name.”

“Why would he do that?” Rose asked.

“Maybe he was running away from his old life,” Avery offered from across the room. She was still sitting cross-legged on the floor and didn’t even look up from the box she was investigating.

“That’s as good an explanation as any,” I said. “And if he walked away from a life before . . .”

“Maybe he was going to do it again,” Rose finished.

Chapter 12

I went back out to the garage to work on my chairs. I was just getting the paint sprayer adjusted when my cell rang again. This was why I usually left it in my office. I pulled it out to see who was calling.

Glenn McNamara. Glenn owned McNamara’s, a sandwich shop and bakery that was popular with both the locals and tourists. I wasn’t sure why he’d be calling.

“Hi, Sarah, did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked.

“Hi, Glenn,” I said. “No, you didn’t.”

“I need a favor.”

“Sure.”

“You’re supposed to ask what it is first,” he said.

“Oh darn,” I said. “Does that mean I’ve been doing it wrong all this time?”

Glenn laughed. “You’re funny.”

“Seriously,” I said, walking over to the main door to the garage so I could stand in the sunshine. “What do you need?”

“What’s your cat like when it comes to catching mice and other furry things?”

“Good,” I said. “I use him as an advance crew in most of the old places we clear out.”

“Could I borrow him?”

“You have mice down there?”

“Here? Good Lord, no. I have a pest-control company that checks the place regularly. It’s my uncle Clayton’s place where there’s a problem. At least I think there is. Did Mac show you the accordions?”

The sun was warm on my bare arms. “He did,” I said. “One of them is a Hohner. It’s worth a bit of money.”

“Good for Mac, then,” Glenn said. “If either one of you is thinking of returning it, please don’t. We’re trying to get things out of that house, not vice versa.”

“So you saw a mouse, or mice, or evidence of them?”

“Not me. My cousin, Beth. She’s petrified of mice. If it’s small and furry, you can pretty much be sure she’ll be up on the table.”

“You think the cat is a better idea than your pest-control people?” I asked.

He laughed. “Definitely. Beth is also the back-to-nature type. She doesn’t want to share the house with any little critters, but she doesn’t like the idea of any kind of chemicals or poison being used, either. And I don’t want to have to keep checking if we set traps.”

I blew out a breath. “Okay,” I said. “The problem is Elvis isn’t going to take whatever he finds by the paw and escort it outside, if you get my meaning.”

“I get it,” Glenn said. “It seems that’s okay. It’s part of the circle of life.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Sure you can borrow Elvis. When do you want to do this?”

“Now, if you have the time. I’m sorry for the rush, but Beth’s only here for another week and there’s still a lot she wants to do. Plus we’re trying to strike while Clayton is agreeable.”

“Got it,” I said. He wasn’t the first person to say something like that about an older relative. The funny thing was, just as often it was the younger people in a family who didn’t want to let things go. “Where does your uncle live?” I asked.

Glenn had loaned me his van when we moved Rose into my place. He’d let the Angels set up a sting in the sandwich shop. I was actually glad to be able to do something for him for a change.

Glenn named a street at the far end of town along the coast, hugging the shoreline where it curved down toward Rockport and Camden.

“Elvis and I could meet you there in about half an hour if you can make that work.”

“I can,” he said. “I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

I put everything back in the garage, then went back inside to find Mac. He was at the workbench. I explained where I was going.

“The house is piled,” he warned. “I don’t mean like a hoarder. It’s just that the old man has a lot of stuff.”

I leaned against the workbench. Elvis was sitting near Mac, watching both of us.

“Do you think Glenn and his cousin would be offended if I see anything that would work here in the shop and offer to buy it or bring it here on consignment?”

Mac set down the screwdriver he’d been holding. “Just the opposite. I think they’d both be happy to get some things out of there. I can’t vouch for Clayton, though.”

“C’mon,” I said to Elvis. “Rodent patrol.”

The cat licked his whiskers, jumped down from the workbench and headed for the back door.

Glenn’s truck was parked on the street in front of his uncle’s house when I got there. He was leaning against the front fender, arms folded over his chest. He was tall, with wide shoulders, and he still wore his blond hair in the same brush cut he’d had as a college football player.

I pulled in behind the truck, picked up Elvis and got out.

Glenn smiled at me. “Thanks for doing this, Sarah,” he said. He looked at the cat. “You, too, Elvis.”

Elvis made a low meow of acknowledgment.

We walked up the driveway to the back door of the story-and-a-half house. It was set back from the street on what looked to be a large lot. “This is a really beautiful spot,” I said, looking around.

“It is,” Glenn agreed. “Clayton and his father—my grandfather—built this house. Beth lives in Portland—the other Portland, out west. She’s not interested in it, so I’m hoping that Clayton will eventually sell it to me.”

“I can see why you’d want to live here,” I said. I could hear the ocean in the distance. The soothing sound of the waves hitting the shore seemed to pull the tension out of my body.

Glenn opened the aluminum screen door and knocked on the inside wooden door. Then he opened it and stuck his head inside. “Clayton, are you here?” he called.

“No, I’m here,” a raspy voice behind us said. A large, barrel-chested man came around the side of the house. He was easily as tall as Glenn, with the same broad shoulders and strong arms. But Clayton McNamara must have had fifty pounds on his nephew. He smiled at me and held out his hand. “You’re Isabel’s granddaughter,” he said.