Софи Райан - The Fast Аnd Тhe Furriest

“So Stevie knew a little more about what Davis was up to than either one of them has been letting on.”

Mr. P. smiled. “I think Stephanie and her young man have a very flexible definition of the truth.”

I studied the image. “Is this Jackson Montgomery’s office?” I asked, squinting at a diploma on the wall behind the office desk.”

“Yes, it is,” Mr. P. said. “He was Marguerite Thompson-Davis’s lawyer.”

I was having dinner with Jackson later. I could ask him more about the trust, if there actually had been any way to break it.

I took another look at Davis Abbott’s selfie. He was sitting on the edge of Jackson’s desk, one hand on a long, brown envelope lying on the polished wood surface, which I guessed held the trust papers. Jackson’s desk was much tidier than mine—a laptop on what would be Jackson’s left, a lamp, a yellow pad of paper, two photos in matte black frames and what seemed to be a couple of paperweights. Something was written on the envelope, I realized. I leaned in for a better look.

My heart began to pound and the sound of rushing water seemed to fill my ears. Something must have shown in my face.

“Sarah, are you all right?” Mr. P. asked.

I pointed to the screen. “You’re uh . . . you’re going to think I’m crazy but I know who killed Erin Fellowes and put Leila McKenzie in a coma,” I said.

Mr. P. studied the computer for a long moment. Then he looked at me.

“Yes?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

We spent the next twenty minutes going back over what we knew, looking for holes in my theory. Everything held together. By the time it was time to close up shop we had a plan.

Rose was folding a crocheted tablecloth when I stepped back into the shop. “I think I may have a sale for this,” she said. “A young woman was looking at it and she asked me for the measurements. I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes back tomorrow.”

“It’s pretty,” I said, moving to grab one end. “But it’s a lot of work to starch and block the thing.”

“My mother used to starch my father’s shirts,” Rose said. “I remember how scandalized her mother was when Mama bought a can of spray starch.” She laughed. “My mother really embraced aerosol cans—spray starch, spray whipped cream, spray cheese. Even hair in a can for my father.”

We folded the lacy tablecloth and Rose put it over the back of a wooden chair. She looked around the room for anything else out of place but between the two of them, she and Avery seemed to have tidied up the space. Avery already had the vacuum going.

“Are you still going to Charlotte’s for dinner?” I asked.

Rose nodded.

“Are you going to be there for a while?”

She reached past me to straighten a place setting on the table behind me.

“As a matter of fact, I am. Charlotte and I are going to go through a box of old photos. Liz is looking for pictures from the summer fair the foundation used to host. I don’t know why she wants them.”

I had a pretty good idea why but that wasn’t my story to tell.

“Don’t you have a date, dear?” Rose asked.

Was dinner with Jackson a date? I’d thought of it more as a fact-finding mission. Of course now I was certain I knew what the facts were so I wasn’t sure what this was. I nodded. “I’m having dinner with Mac’s friend Jackson. But I won’t be that long. I’ll stop by Charlotte’s afterward.”

“Did you and Alfred confirm Natalie’s alibi?” Rose asked as we moved out of Avery’s way. The teen was single-minded with a vacuum cleaner.

“We did. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.”

“All right,” she said. She gave me a teasing smile and winked. “Don’t worry if you get held up.”

Jackson and I had dinner at The Black Bear. He talked a little bit about his and Mac’s college years, but then he steered the conversation to the shop, asking how I’d ended up owning and running a repurpose store. I explained about losing my radio job and ending up at Gram’s to sulk. He laughed when I said sulking got boring pretty quickly.

We didn’t talk about Erin’s murder or the case against Mac and I was just as pleased that we hadn’t. In the back of my mind I was still sorting through what I’d figured out and what came next.

“It’s a beautiful night,” I said after dinner. “How about a walk along the harbor front?” I thought of Rose, telling me not to worry if I got held up.

“Sounds good,” Jackson said. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to end the evening.

The sun was low, and streaks of orange and gold looked like they’d been painted across the sky. There were very few people out enjoying the end of the day. “This really is a beautiful place,” he said. “I can see why you like it here.”

“I admit I do have my moments in January where I sometimes second-guess myself,” I said lightly.

We moved around a couple who had stopped to take a photo of the view across the harbor and a small man with a cane and a straw fedora with a striped hatband bumped into Jackson. Even as I was realizing it was Mr. P., he was excusing himself and moving past us, pretending not to know me. What the heck was he doing prowling around down here? Why wasn’t he on his way over to Charlotte’s to help me explain to everyone else what he and I had figured out?

I needed to get going. I smiled at Jackson. “How long are you staying?” I asked.

“I have to head back to Boston on Monday.” He raised an eyebrow. “Will you have dinner with me again before I go?” Before I could answer he gave me his charming smile. “Or lunch? Or breakfast?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” I said. “I have a lot going on right now.”

“You mean with everything that’s happened with Mac.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“It was good to talk to him,” Jackson said. “It wasn’t a very long conversation, but still . . .” He let the end of the sentence trail off.

I let the silence settle between us. We were almost at the far end of the walkway along the harbor.

“What’s his lawyer like?” Jackson abruptly asked.

“Josh. Josh Evans,” I said. “He’s a good lawyer and a good guy.”

“You know him?”

I turned a bit so I could see his face as we walked. “I’ve known Josh since we were kids.”

“So you trust him?”

I nodded. “I trust him with my life, with Mac’s life.”

Jackson fingered his beard. “I’m sorry. I know how that must have sounded.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. We were just about past the area where the windjammers that took people out on day cruises were anchored. There was no one else around.

“Mac is like my brother,” he said. “I know I haven’t acted like that recently. I care about him. I want him to have the best representation.”

“You cared about Leila, too, didn’t you?” I said. I put my hands in my pockets because suddenly they were trembling.

He nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “Yes, I did. I still do.”

I stopped walking. “So why did you try to kill her?”

Mac stepped out of the shadows then, stopping in front of Jackson. “Yeah, Jackie,” he said. “I’d like to know the same thing.”

Jackson was good, I had to give him that. His gaze went from me to Mac. “Teaming up to ambush me,” he said. “I can’t fault you for that.” He cocked his head to one side and studied me. “Let me guess. You read Sherlock Holmes when you were a kid.”

He’d been charming me only to find out what we knew. It made me squirm to think I’d almost been taken in by that charm.

“You were in love with Leila,” I said, ignoring his comment. I watched Mac from the corner of my eye. He was totally focused on Jackson. “That didn’t change when she picked your best friend.”