Софи Райан - The Fast Аnd Тhe Furriest

“The goats, not the people with milk sensitivities,” Mr. P. added.

“Rose likes goat cheese?” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mac struggling to keep a grin in check. I didn’t dare meet his gaze directly or I’d lose it.

Charlotte shook her head. “No. She said it’s an acquired taste but when Hedley offered her a bite she didn’t think it was polite to refuse, especially since she was looking for information.”

I was lost. Was this how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole? “Information on goats or on cheese?” Mac asked.

“Salt,” Charlotte said, bending down to pick up my empty cup and her own.

“Hedley Forbes uses all-natural sea salt in his cheese,” Alfred continued. “Rosie went to see him to find out where he was buying his salt.”

Finally the pieces were sliding into place. “That’s how she found the place in Marshfield where she and Liz went this morning.” I’d wondered how Rose had found out the name of one of Leila’s suppliers. I’d just assumed it was Mr. P. and his keyboard.

He nodded.

“And you think these are the same goats that somehow damaged Adam and James’s quilts?” I got to my feet.

Charlotte took my plate. “Well, there aren’t a lot of people keeping goats in Camden.”

“Good point,” I said, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

Mr. P. turned to Mac. “How much do you know about Davis Abbott?” he asked.

Mac swiped a hand over his chin. “Not a lot. I think I’ve only spent time with him on maybe three or four occasions and it was always some kind of family thing. About all I can tell you is that he’s well educated. Leila used to call him a perpetual student because he has multiple degrees. She didn’t think he was good for Stevie.” His dark eyes flashed. “I can tell you that Davis and Stevie had an on-again, off-again relationship. They dated for a while in college, broke up, got back together again, broke up and then this last time it seemed to stick.”

“Goodness!” Mr. P. exclaimed. “The young man seems to have trouble making up his mind.”

“Or maybe he thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence,” Charlotte quipped.

“Do you really think he could have been behind Leila’s accident?” Mac asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Mr. P. said.

“But why would he want to hurt Leila? She and Stevie were close. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Both Charlotte and Mr. P. looked at me.

“I can think of a million reasons why,” I said gently.

Mac shook his head. “That damn money.” He made a face. “I tried to convince Marguerite not to set up the trust in the first place. You can imagine how that went over with Leila’s family.”

Charlotte studied him, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. “It’s none of my business—of our business,” she said, “but I’m wondering why you felt that way.”

“Both Leila and Stevie came from affluent families,” Mac said. “They had piano lessons and dance classes and learned to ride. They both got a great education without going into debt. I wanted Marguerite to use the money in some way to make a difference in the world—scholarships, a kids’ club, fund a music program in the schools, but she was insistent that the trust be set up and left to ‘her girls.’” His gaze took in all three of us. “For the record, Leila and I were in agreement on that. She always said she would give the money away when she got it all, but her parents were pressuring her to hang on to her share as a legacy for her own kids someday.” His mouth twisted to one side. “Marguerite’s heart was in the right place but as far as I’m concerned that money has just brought trouble.”

He reached for my chair and then Charlotte’s, folding them both.

“I’m going to give Avery a break,” Charlotte said.

I nodded. She laid a hand on Mac’s arm for a moment as she passed him.

“I’ll be at my desk,” Mr. P. said, following Charlotte.

Mac brushed a bit of dirt off the leg of one of the chairs. “That was preachy, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Maybe just a bit,” I said, holding up my thumb and index finger about half an inch apart.

He smiled. “You were supposed to say that I wasn’t preachy at all, that I’m perfectly justified in hating that damn trust.”

I smiled back at him. “I’m sorry. You weren’t preachy and you’re perfectly justified in hating that damn trust.” I said the words in a flat monotone as though I were reading them from a script.

That made him laugh. Then his expression grew serious again. “I hate this cloud of suspicion hanging over my head,” he said. “This is how it was after Leila’s accident. People looked at me differently.”

“Hey, we’re going to find the truth,” I said. “And get rid of that cloud of suspicion, not that I’m convinced it’s even there.”

He gave his head a shake. “How? The police in Boston said what happened to Leila was an accident but it didn’t convince some people.” His expression was troubled.

“We have a secret weapon,” I said. “We have Rose. She’s a pit bull with sensible shoes and a tote bag full of cookies.” I was trying to lighten the mood, but part of me was serious. The Angels and their unorthodox methods of solving crime had worked in the past and I realized that deep inside I wanted to believe they could solve this case, too.

Mac couldn’t stop a small smile from spreading across his face.

“Don’t give up,” I said.

Avery poked her head out the door then. “Is there anything special you wanted me to do now?” she asked.

I cleared my throat and turned to give her my attention. “Umm, yeah. If you can get those canvas beach chairs cleaned I think they’d sell pretty quickly.”

“I can do that,” she said.

The three of us walked over to the old garage. Mac had already removed the canvas slings from the hardwood frames of the four chairs. The heavy fabric—green, blue and red stripes—was dirty but there were no obvious stains and it was in good shape. They just needed a good cleaning with a scrub brush and some elbow grease.

I showed Avery what I wanted her to do and she listened intently the way she always did when one of us gave her a task. I may have hired her because of Liz, but I’d kept her because she worked hard without complaining and she had a quirky way of looking at things, which was often good for the store.

Liz and Rose got back about an hour later. I’d just sold a ’60s vintage record cabinet to a young woman looking for a unique birthday gift for her mother, and Charlotte and I were debating what to bring in from the workroom when they walked in. I could tell by the expressions on both their faces that they had some information. Rose was beaming and Liz had a smug gleam in her eyes.

Before I could ask what happened Liz held up a hand. “I need a cup of tea before anything else. I’m as dry as a covered bridge.”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Charlotte said.

“Thank you,” Liz said. She turned to look at Rose. “I know what you’re thinking. They can wait five more minutes to hear about our morning.”

“Actually what I was thinking is that I’m glad you mentioned having tea,” Rose countered. “I’m a little dry myself.”

Liz gave her a sweet and slightly fake smile. “You’re welcome, then,” she said.

Mac came in trailed by Avery, who stopped to hug both Liz and Rose before moving to straighten up a selection of old books without being asked.

I went out to the workroom to set out some chairs. Mr. P. came out of his office to help. He took one end of a vintage chrome kitchen table and helped me move it closer to the workbench. “Thank you,” I said.