Софи Райан - Telling Tails

We ended up back at Rose’s apartment. I’d called Mac and he’d taken care of closing up the store. Jess had been there picking up the tea towels that she was going to make into pillow covers for me. She drove Charlotte, Mr. P. and Avery over, and when Rose urged her to join us, she’d come in and seamlessly started helping, washing lettuce in the sink and clipping chives from the pot in Rose’s kitchen window.

Rose had coached me through the recipe for rhubarb crumble and it was cooking in her toaster oven. I sat down next to Liz at the table. Elvis was sitting on the chair next to her as though he expected one of the places to be his. Charlotte and Avery had gone to get extra chairs from my apartment.

“I can’t believe that young woman killed herself.” Liz shook her head.

“Maybe once her husband’s body was found she felt the walls were closing in on her,” Mr. P. said.

“I still don’t understand why she killed him in the first place,” Rose said. She kissed the top of Avery’s head. “Will you put out the knives and forks for me, please?” she said.

Avery smiled at her. “Sure.”

Rose went back over to the counter and I got up to peer in at my rhubarb crumble. “It’s going to be fine,” Rose said quietly in my ear.

I wasn’t sure if she meant my dessert or everything associated with Jeff Cameron’s death.

We all squeezed around the table for Rose’s Chinese chicken salad. “I need the recipe for this dressing,” Jess said, gesturing with her fork. “It’s so much better than the one I’m using.”

“The secret is a good balsamic vinegar and a bit of Dijon mustard,” Rose said. “I’ll write it down for you.”

Rose came to help me when I dished out the rhubarb crumble. “Does it look all right to you?” I asked.

“It looks delicious,” she said. “I’m so glad we discovered that patch of rhubarb in the backyard before you dug it all up.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if that birch tree hadn’t come down in the middle of that windstorm,” I said, carrying the first two bowls over to the table. “There was no way I could move it by myself. It was way too heavy. If Cleveland hadn’t come over with his chainsaw to cut the tree up and haul it away, I never would have known I was digging out rhubarb and not some weed that looked like red celery.”

I turned around, and Rose was staring into space, holding up the serving spoon like it was a magic wand. She shook her head and looked at me. “Say that again, please.”

“I never would have known I was digging up rhubarb.”

She shook her head. “No, the part about the tree.”

I frowned at her. “There was no way I could move it by myself?”

She smiled. “Exactly.” She walked over to the table. “How did Leesa Cameron move her husband’s body? We still don’t have an answer to that question. It was found at Johnson’s Reach. It’s the other end of town from the Camerons’ cottage. There’s no way she could have done that by herself. I couldn’t.” She looked at me. “Could you?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“So she was having an affair with Michael Vega and he helped her,” Jess said.

“Convenient, isn’t it?” Rose said.

“What are you suggesting, Rosie?” Mr. P. asked.

“Leesa Cameron killed her husband, and when his body is found she kills herself.” She looked at us all. “All the loose ends are tied up in a neat little bow. Whoever else was involved—whether or not it’s Mr. Vega—just walks away.”

“You think there’s something we missed,” Charlotte said. “Something that will help us find that person.”

Liz sighed loudly.

“Yes,” Rose said, ignoring her friend.

“What?” I asked.

“Why was Chloe Sanders so gung ho about working for Jeff Cameron?”

“She needed a summer job?”

“Why that particular job?” Rose said. “She had a professor who was very much her advocate. Why did she put so much effort into getting Jeff to hire Chloe?” She folded her arms over her chest. “And why did Michael Vega buy an expensive fitness tracker for Leesa Cameron?”

“So we keep digging,” Mr. P. said.

Rose nodded. “We keep digging.”

Chapter 16

The Angels spent most of Tuesday morning checking out Michael Vega. The more they found out, the harder it was for any of us to believe he’d been having an affair with Leesa Cameron. Everyone, it seemed, said the same thing about the man; he was a good guy and a straight arrow.

“I talked to Ann at the library,” Charlotte said when she arrived for her shift, referring to the head librarian at the North Harbor Public Library. “Michael Vega built the new puppet theater in the children’s department. Not only did he volunteer his time on a Saturday; he had the kids helping.”

“He sounds like a nice guy,” I said.

“If you’re talking about Mr. Vega, it seems he’s pretty much perfect,” Liz said. She’d just come in the front door and she walked over to us, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor.

“What did you find out? What did Elspeth say?” Charlotte asked.

“I haven’t talked to her yet,” Liz said. “It occurred to me that maybe Jane Evans might know the man.” She looked at me. “Jess said he was a sports massage therapist. Remember? Jane injured her back last winter when she fell on the sidewalk. I know she went to someone for a massage.”

“I remember,” I said. What I also remembered was how Liz had arranged for a weekly cleaning service at Jane’s house until she could get around.

“Well, small town, small world—it was Michael Vega who worked on her back.”

“What did she say?” Charlotte asked.

“Oh, Jane pretty much thinks he walks on water. Not only did he do wonders for her back, but he’s also a devoted family man. She told me about this romantic dinner he planned and pulled off for his wife’s birthday.” She gave us a wry smile. “He and their four kids took her on a scavenger hunt to all the important places in their life—where they went for their first date, where he proposed, the little chapel where they got married. It ended with a catered picnic up at the park.” Liz rolled her eyes. She wasn’t exactly a romantic.

“That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing a man having an affair would do,” Charlotte said.

“It doesn’t sound like the kind of thing most of the men I know would do,” Liz countered. “He had to have been up to something. No man is that perfect.” She looked over at me. “And don’t tell me I sound like a cynical old woman.”

“I would never do that,” I said, putting a hand to my chest in umbrage.

“Good,” she said.

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’m not stupid enough to ever tell you you’re old.” I could hear Charlotte laughing as I headed for the door.

I went outside to talk to Mac, who was sanding a small metal cabinet. I had a couple of questions about my plan for Clayton McNamara’s house. He agreed with my estimate for the cost of the job and we talked for a few minutes about when we could fit the work into our schedule.

I was back in my office, working on a plan of attack for Clayton’s house, when Nick called.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” he said. He sounded a bit off.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I got the results from Rose’s blood tests. I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you.”

“That’s all right.”

He didn’t say anything.

“What did you find out?”

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “And Rose and, hell, probably Jess, too.”

“Rose didn’t have a stroke.” I didn’t make the words a question because I already knew the answer.

“No. You can say ‘I told you so.’”