Софи Райан - The Fast Аnd Тhe Furriest

Stevie pressed a palm to her forehead. “Big Brother is always watching,” she muttered, exhaling loudly. “I didn’t do anything to Leila,” she said, her expression pained. “I would never hurt her.”

“Telling the truth would go a long way toward making that seem credible,” Mr. P. said.

Stevie gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Fine,” she said. She reached for her smartphone. “I thought this might happen. I’m e-mailing you some photos. They’re time-stamped. There’s probably some way to show they haven’t been faked because they haven’t been. I don’t know how to do that kind of stuff.”

It was only seconds before we heard the ping of an arriving message. Mr. P. opened his e-mail. There were four photos attached. They were all of Stevie in a ’50s-style diner. She seemed to be eating some kind of sundae.

“Are those Pop-Tarts in that dish?” Rose asked, leaning closer to the screen to get a better look at the pictures.

Stevie hung her head. “Yes. And three kinds of ice cream plus strawberry sauce and whipped cream.”

“Where on earth were you?” Rose said. She and Mr. P. exchanged another look.

Stevie actually smiled. “This little place that serves the most amazing junk food I’ve ever had.”

“Why did you lie?” Mr. P. said. He frowned at the screen. “It appears that you have a perfectly good alibi. So why pretend to be somewhere you weren’t?”

“You have to understand that Davis and I are this close to signing a deal to see our organic apple butter and pear butter in a major, high-end department store chain.” She held up her right thumb and index finger about half an inch apart. “But part of the deal is our image as an all-organic, healthy-eating couple—not someone who scarfs down Pop-Tarts and whipped cream from a can. I couldn’t take the chance.” She shrugged. “No, I wasn’t at the seminar all evening but I wasn’t killing Leila, either. All I was doing was gumming up my arteries and sending my cholesterol levels through the roof.”

Mr. P. smiled and took off his glasses, pulling a small gray cloth out of his gold shirt to clean them. “As long as these photos check out, I don’t see any reason why we need to share your affection for whipped cream in a can.”

Rose leaned into the frame again. “Although I would like to suggest you try making your own whipped cream with the addition of a pinch of sea salt and tiny bit of vanilla bean paste.”

I pressed my lips together so she wouldn’t see the grin I was working hard to hold back. Rose thought basic cooking skills were as important as being able to read and write, change the oil in a car and curtsy—or bow if you were a man. The latter because you never know when you might meet royalty and one doesn’t want to look like an “uncouth hooligan.”

Mr. P. thanked Stevie for the photos and said he’d be in touch. He signed out of the Skype session and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m guessing you have some kind of software program that can tell whether those pictures have been altered,” I said, pushing away from the table where I’d been leaning during the conversation with Stevie.

He nodded. “I have a couple, but I tend to believe she’s telling us the truth. This time.”

“Why?” I asked.

“That day we went to visit her I noticed that she wiped her hands on her shorts before we shook hands. She’d been eating Cheetos and a bit of the orange powder was still on her fingers.” He smiled.“You might say her story has junk food fingerprints all over it.”

Chapter 10

Rose and I spent the afternoon out at Clayton McNamara’s house finishing the inventory.

“I should have a recommendation for you and Glenn on what to sell and how in about a week,” I told Clayton as we stood in his driveway.

“I appreciate that,” Clayton said. “It’ll be good to get things cleared out so Beth and Glenn don’t have a pile of junk to deal with when I’m gone.” Then he grinned. “Not that I’m planning on taking that final drive anytime soon.”

“I should hope not,” Rose said with a smile.

Clayton pointed a finger at me. “And I don’t want to see any friends and family discount when all this gets added up. I can be a cantankerous old coot when I set my mind to it.”

I gave his arm a squeeze. “And have you forgotten who my grandmother is? You’re not the only one who can dig their heels in.”

Clayton laughed. “Lord help us,” he said.

I told him I’d be in touch soon and Rose and I headed back to the shop.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet, which didn’t surprise me. The weather was beautiful and there weren’t that many summer days left.

“Would you like a ride home?” I asked Rose as I went to lock the front door at the end of the day.

“Thank you, dear, but Alfred and I are going with Liz.” She handed the floor attachment to Avery, who had just pulled out the vacuum cleaner.

“We’re making peach cobbler,” Avery added. “I’ll try to save you some but you know how Nonna is when it comes to dessert.”

“I heard that,” Liz said. She was standing in the doorway to the workroom.

“I know,” Avery said as she plugged the vacuum into the wall outlet. “That’s why I said it.” She gave her grandmother an exaggerated smile and started the vacuum.

I headed for the workroom, pausing to give Liz a kiss on the cheek as I passed her. “She’s going to run the world one of these days,” I said, glancing back in Avery’s direction.

“I know,” Liz said. “I don’t know whether to be proud or terrified.”

Liz had just pulled out of the parking lot about fifteen minutes later when Nick pulled in. I’d been set up, I realized. I headed outside to intercept him.

“Hi,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and giving me a tentative smile. He’d been to court. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back and no tie. His dark suit jacket was draped over the back of the passenger seat. He smelled faintly of spearmint chewing gum and Hugo, the aftershave he’d been wearing since we were teenagers.

I glanced down the street half expecting to see Liz’s car at the curb with Rose watching out the back window, but there was no sign of them. “What pretext did Rose use to get you here?” I said.

“No pretext,” he said. “I called her and asked her to make sure you were alone so we could talk.” He held up both hands. “I conspired with Rose, Sarah. That should tell you how much I want to fix this thing between us.”

Nick looked so earnest standing there that I couldn’t help laughing. “Now you owe her,” I said.

He gave me a wry smile. “Which shows just how important this is to me. Please, tell me what I can do to fix things.”

I wrapped one arm over my head, digging my fingers into my scalp. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to keep arguing with you over the same things.”

“I don’t want that, either.”

“So what now?”

Nick’s mouth worked as though he were trying out what he wanted to say before saying the words out loud. “Just for now, just until the murder of Erin Fellowes is solved, can we set aside our differences?”

“Nick, we’re working at cross-purposes. How can we set things aside?”

He was shaking his head before I finished speaking. “No, we’re not,” he said. “We both want the truth. Give me a chance. Please.”

I tried to let go of my aggravation, consciously loosening my shoulders, which seemed to be hunched up by my ears. He was right. I wanted the truth and I knew Nick well enough to know that he was after the same thing. “There’s something I want to ask you first.”

“Anything,” he said.

“You said you saw Mac with Erin. Did you see Mac as in you saw his face, or did you just see someone with the same color skin?” I knew what I was potentially accusing him of, but I had to know.