Софи Райан - Telling Tails

Elvis bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

“Hey, I missed you yesterday,” I said to Liz. “Where were you?”

“I had Emmerson Foundation business. Did you want something?” No mention of meeting Michelle.

I explained about being out at Clayton McNamara’s place. “I didn’t know that Gram had a connection to the McNamaras.”

“Those two were thick as thieves when they were kids,” Liz said. “Clayton McNamara could have been your grandfather.”

“I don’t know what to say to that,” I said.

She laughed and started for the workroom to collect Avery. “I’ll see you later, toots.”

Elvis and I ended up spending the whole evening with Liz. Charlotte had found a box full of old photos of herself, Liz, Rose and Gram, taken when they were teenagers. She’d organized them by year and left them with Liz to go through, to see which ones Liz wanted copies of.

“Hey, you were a babe,” I teased, holding up a black and white snapshot of Liz in a one-piece swimsuit, standing on a rock by the shore, one hand on her hip, the other behind her head.

“Give me that!” She reached across the table for the photo.

I grinned and shook my head, holding the picture up out of her reach. “No way. I think I’ve found my Christmas card for this year.”

“You are a wicked child,” Liz said, glaring and pointing a finger at me. “I’m going to find one of those droopy diaper photos of you and that’s going to be my Christmas card this year.”

I laughed, thinking that spending the evening with Liz was way more fun than making awkward small talk on a date. Not that that had actually been an option.

Jess and I went prowling around several flea markets on Sunday and came home with the back of the SUV loaded. Elvis spent the day with Rose and Mr. P. and came home smelling like fish cakes.

I headed in early on Monday. Liz was bringing Rose and Alfred later. I wanted to spray the wicker chairs before it got busy, since I’d never actually gotten to it on Friday or Saturday.

I pulled into the lot to find a white extended-cab half-ton backed up to the rear door. Mac was helping two men in white shirts and loosened ties load a huge walnut armoire into the bed of the truck. He shook hands with both of them and they climbed into the cab and pulled out of the lot. I smiled and raised a hand in greeting as they came past me, and they did the same even though I had no idea who either of the men was.

Mac brushed off his hands and walked over to me. “Hi. You’re up early,” he said. He reached over to scratch the top of Elvis’s head.

“You, too,” I said. “You sold that armoire that’s been in the front window for the last month. Or we were just robbed by two very well-dressed criminals.”

“I sold the armoire.” He gestured toward the street. “They were driving by, saw it in the window and then noticed me in the garage and came to ask me about it. I took them inside to have a look and they asked if they could buy it.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d mind me saying yes.”

Elvis squirmed in my arms and I set him down. He headed for the back door. “I don’t mind,” I said. “I was beginning to wonder if we were ever going to sell that thing. It’s a nice piece of furniture but it’s so big.”

“I know. That’s why they wanted it. They just bought a bed-and-breakfast in Camden—Herrier House. Does the name mean anything to you?”

I nodded.

“They’re redoing the entire place and I thought since they’re in the market for more furniture and other things it would be a good idea to accommodate them today. They were on their way to a funeral in Portland—that’s why the ties and starched shirts. They stopped for coffee and ended up driving by because they were trying to get back out to the highway.” He smiled. “Lucky for us.”

“More like lucky for me that you were here,” I said as we started for the back door, where Elvis had positioned himself, staring expectantly as though he could somehow will it to open. “I owe you for this.”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “If I worked anywhere else I wouldn’t be able to arrange my days to get to sail as much as I do. You make that work. I owe you for that.”

“Mac, I rearrange things so Rose and her band of merry angels can chase bad guys. Adjusting the schedule so you can sail is a piece of cake.”

Mac held the back door open for Elvis, who meowed a thank-you and headed inside. “Do you know what’s on their schedule for today?” he asked as we stepped inside.

“Michelle is going to stop by sometime around ten thirty. Mr. P. says he doesn’t want to sneak around behind her back. He wants to share what we know about Jeff Cameron changing his name.”

“Do you think that might convince the police that Rose really did see his body?” Mac asked. I handed him the bag of clean dish towels and he set it up on the workbench.

I exhaled loudly. “Between you and me? No. And Rose isn’t going to stop until she proves that she did.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. “There’s something I need your opinion on.”

“What is it?”

“Glenn told me Saturday that he saw Jeff Cameron driving early Thursday morning.”

One eyebrow went up. “Thursday morning? Is he certain?”

“That’s the thing. He’s certain about the day. He says it was Jeff’s Jeep—that glow-in-the-dark yellow color is pretty distinctive. And he’s positive it was a man driving. Heck, he’s positive it was Jeff driving.”

Mac studied my face. “But you’re not so sure.”

“It was early and he saw the Jeep from a distance.”

Mac put a hand on my shoulder. “What’s really bothering you?”

“If Jeff Cameron is alive, why hasn’t he used a credit or a debit card?”

“Because he’s trying to keep the charade that his wife murdered him going.”

“But why?” I held out both hands. “That’s what I can’t figure out. Why?”

“Would a cup of coffee help?” Mac asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Or maybe you should bring the pot and a straw.”

Mac laughed. “It’ll work out in the end.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” I asked.

He smiled. “Because it always does.”

I managed to get both chairs sprayed and was just cleaning up when I looked up to see Nick getting out of his truck. I waited, one paint-speckled hand on the top of my makeshift spray box, as he walked over to me.

“Hi,” he said. “Michelle asked me to come by to hear what Rose and the others came up with.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Nick shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry for what happened Thursday night. I should have been straight with you.”

I believed him. I could see that he was sorry in the way he was standing, in his voice, in the way his fingers played with his watchband. But what he was sorry about was pretending he agreed with me. He wasn’t sorry for not believing Rose.

“Thank you,” I said.

He opened his mouth to say something else and I caught sight of Rose headed toward us.

She gave him an expectant smile. “Do you have any results yet?”

Nick shook his head and pulled his gaze away from me. “No. I’m sorry it’s taking so long. The lab is busy, but I should have something this afternoon. I promise I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”

“Thank you, dear,” she said. “We missed you Saturday night. Alfred planked a salmon.”

“I know. Mom fed me the leftovers for lunch yesterday.” He smiled at Rose. “I have to give my compliments to the chef. He’s a good cook.”

“Alfred has many talents,” Rose replied.

I made a mental note to ask her later what planking a salmon meant and to stay away from any conversation about Mr. P’s many other talents. I picked up the cut-down cardboard box and set it inside the garage. Then I stood in the doorway for a moment watching Rose and Nick talk. The conversation seemed to be about cooking, although I couldn’t hear every word.