Софи Райан - The Fast Аnd Тhe Furriest

I nodded. “Good call.” Avery was over at the cash desk, not even making an effort to pretend she wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

Jackson looked around. “Is Mac here?”

“He still doesn’t want to talk to you,” I said.

Jackson’s mouth twisted to one side. “I screwed up by staying away so long, I get that. I don’t know what else to do except keep trying to talk to him.” He stopped and blew out a breath. “Please just tell Mac I was here.”

I nodded. “I will.”

Once Jackson was gone I went out to the old garage. Mac had the headboard and footboard I’d trash-picked lying on a large tarp spread on the floor along with a set of side rails and slats that had been in the garage when I bought the property.

“I think I can make all these pieces work,” he said.

“Hey, it feels like a victory just to find a use for the old rails,” I said.

“Tell that to Rose and you can probably get a cake to celebrate.”

“You don’t have to pretend that everything is fine,” I said.

He swiped a hand back over his head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather pretend a little than sit around worrying about what’s going to happen next.”

“In that case, sponge cake with berries and whipped cream.”

Mac frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You said I could probably get Rose to make me a cake. I want sponge cake.” I glanced over at the shop. “Except she’d probably turn it into a cooking lesson.” Rose was the only person who’d had any success at teaching me to cook. Everyone else from two middle school teachers to my mom to my brother Liam had given up after multiple kitchen “incidents.” In my defense I don’t think any of the fires were really my fault.

“I don’t mind eating your cooking,” Mac said.

I laughed. “That makes you a member of a very elite—and small—group.”

“Fine with me.”

I glanced out the door again.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Jackson was here again.”

Mac looked down at the floor, then bent down and picked up something. “He’s stubborn. I saw him in the courtroom.” He flipped a small metal washer over the back of his fingers.

“This is totally none of my business but I’ve been hanging out with Rose and the rest of them”—I gestured in the general direction of the shop—“and they’ve been a bad example, so now I’m boundary challenged. Why are you being so rigid when it comes to Jackson? It’s not like you.”

He met my gaze and shrugged. “Jackson and I have been friends since the sixth grade. He always had my back and I like to think that I always had his. But he seemed to find it so easy to believe all the things that Leila’s family accused me of. I can’t—I don’t—trust him.” He shook his head as though he were shaking away some old memories. “Do you think I’m wrong?” he asked. “If you were in my place would you just let it go?”

I laughed. “Mac, how many times have you seen Nick and me argue? Or maybe I should say have the same argument over and over again? You should know by now I’m not exactly good at letting things go.”

“Nick’s still in your life. It looks to me like you’re pretty good at forgiving,” he said.

I scraped at a bit of paint on the floor with the toe of my shoe. “It’s not the same thing. Talk about stubborn? That’s Nick.” I held up both hands like I was holding a basketball. “I could take his head sometimes and—” I shook my hands in the air. “But I do trust him. He’s never given me any reason not to. You said you don’t trust Jackson. That’s enough for me. Do what feels right for you and I’ll run interference.”

“Thanks,” Mac said.

I tipped my head toward the shop. “I better go see what’s going on.”

I stepped inside the back door and automatically glanced into the Angels’ sunporch office. Mr. P. looked up and beckoned me inside. His sport coat was hanging on the back of his chair and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. “I just wanted to show you this,” he said, handing me a photo he’d printed out. “I left the change on your desk.”

I nodded. Mr. P. was scrupulous about paying for the Angels’ use of my printer along with “rent” for the sunporch space. I gave the money to the Friends of the North Harbor Library and the Midcoast Animal Shelter because it made me uncomfortable to make money off them. Trying to argue my way out of the payments had left me with a giant headache and a new wrinkle in the middle of my forehead.

“Hey, that’s Kale,” I said.

Mr. P. frowned. “Excuse me?”

“The guy that was blocking the driveway when the TV people were filming. The one in the Kale Yeah! T-shirt. Why do you have a photo of him?”

His expression changed as if something had just fallen into place for him. He gave me a small smile. “Sarah, your ‘Kale’ is Stephanie Carleton’s partner, Davis Abbott.”

Chapter 13

I stared at Mr. P., eyes wide with shock. I hadn’t seen this coming.

“Interesting turn, don’t you think?” he said.

Rose came in then. “What’s going on?” she asked.

I handed her the photo without comment. She studied it for a moment and then looked at me, a frown creasing her forehead. “What are you doing with a photo of that young man with the deplorable manners?” she asked.

“That young man is Davis Abbott,” Mr. P. said.

“Stevie’s partner,” Rose said.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s involved.” She handed the picture back to Mr. P. “I found him crude and rude. He definitely isn’t a person of good character.” Manners were very important to Rose.

“Exactly what did Davis say to you that morning?” I asked.

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Let’s just say he made a suggestion that is anatomically impossible.”

“The miscreant!” Mr. P. exclaimed, getting to his feet. For a moment I thought he was going to head out to look for Davis Abbott to defend Rose’s honor. Not that she needed anyone to defend it.

She caught his arm. “Don’t worry, Alf. I heard a lot worse when I was teaching. And I put that young man in his place.” She turned her attention to me. “Did you notice that Davis’s truck had one taillight not working and his rearview mirror appeared to have fallen off? Just think how dangerous those things could be.”

I’d seen that guileless look in her gray eyes before. I couldn’t hold back a smile. I knew where the conversation was going. “Did you call the police on Davis Abbott?” I asked.

“Heavens, no,” Rose said, and her surprise at my question seemed genuine. So maybe I didn’t know where the conversation was going. “That would have been petty.” She fluffed her soft, white hair. “However in an interesting coincidence I did happen to see that nice Charles Sullivan later that morning at McNamara’s and when he asked how we were making out with filming on our street I did mention how you and I had arrived to find this very rude driver blocking the lot.”

“That nice Charles Sullivan” was Officer Charles Sullivan from the North Harbor Police Department and one of Rose’s former students.

She glanced at Mr. P. “He was appalled when I confided how Mr. Abbott spoke to me. So when he asked if I could describe the truck I told him about the broken taillight and the missing mirror and the license plate number, which coincidentally I’d happened to write down, because it would be wrong to keep things from an officer of the law.”

I leaned over and kissed Rose on the cheek. “I love the way your mind works,” I said.

“What a lovely thing to say,” she said. She brushed a bit of dust from the front of her apron. “What we need to do now is concentrate on what Stevie’s partner was doing in North Harbor the very day Erin Fellowes was killed.”