Софи Райан - Buy А Whisker

“You’re probably right,” I said, pulling my paint can a little closer. I was doing the edging and Mac the roller work.

I realized that I hadn’t told Mac about the cat tower. “Hey, I didn’t tell you what Mr. P. did last night.”

“Do I want to know?” Mac said. One eyebrow went up and he grinned.

“You probably do,” I said. “He made a cat tower for Elvis to thank me for letting Rose have this apartment. I’ll show it to you when we’re done. It’s more like a piece of sculpture.”

“I didn’t know Mr. P. knew anything about woodworking,” Mac said, putting his roller back in the tray for more paint.

I moved along the floor a little farther. “Maybe you should try picking his brain,” I said. “He knows how to use a steam box. Didn’t you say that’s how you bend wood when you’re making a boat?”

Mac nodded. “I will. Thanks for the suggestion.” He worked his way down the wall. “He really is crazy about Rose.”

“Did you know he was married? He told me he and his wife were together for fifty-two years.” I used the edge of my T-shirt to wipe a dab of paint off the trim because I couldn’t find the rag I’d been using.

“I knew Alfred had been married,” Mac said, putting more paint on his roller, “but not for that long.” He tipped his head to one side and studied the stretch of wall he’d just painted. “It’s funny. When we get married, we’re making a commitment that’s forever. If it’s a good marriage, forever isn’t long enough.”

“And if it’s not a good marriage?”

“Then it just feels like forever.”

“That sounds like experience talking,” I said. I kept my eyes on the edge of the wall above the baseboard.

After a moment Mac said, “It is.”

“Which kind of forever did you have?” I asked. I continued to work my way along the tape line above the trim, wondering if he’d answer the question or evade it.

“Both, I guess,” Mac said after another silence. “At different times it was both.”

Mac had been married. It was the first bit of personal information he’d shared in the time I’d known him. Somehow I knew not to ask anything else right now.

* * *

I did a little more work on the hutch first thing in the morning at the shop. Cleveland showed up with two boxes of trash-picked old Dick and Jane readers. Charlotte poked through both cartons and her eyes lit up. She looked up at me and nodded.

Cleveland and I dickered over price for a few minutes. In the end he got a little more than I wanted to pay but not as much as he’d asked for. As my grandmother would have put it, we were both a little happy and both a little had.

“These are wonderful,” Charlotte said. “They’re in excellent shape. They didn’t spend a lot of time in a classroom.” She beamed at me and pushed her glasses up her nose.

“Would you go through the boxes and catalog them for me,” I asked. Charlotte loved books. I knew she was the right person for the job. She’d handle the books with care and make meticulous notes on each volume.

“I’d love to,” she said.

“I’ll carry the boxes inside for you,” Mac offered.

“Could you watch things here for about an hour?” I asked when he came back to the workroom. I’d told Michelle I’d talk to Liz, and I hadn’t done that yet. I didn’t want to put it off any longer.

“Sure,” he said. “Charlotte and I can handle things here. Take your time.”

I drove down to McNamara’s and bought a couple of lemon tarts. Then I pulled out my cell phone and called Liz. “I have two of Glenn’s lemon tarts,” I said when she answered. “I’m willing to share if you’re willing to make coffee.”

“The lemon-cream-cheese filling or lemon meringue?” she immediately asked.

“Do you care?”

Her warm laugh came through the phone. “I’ll go turn the coffeepot on.”

Liz and I sat at the round wooden table in her huge kitchen. I could see why Avery liked to cook there. The space was a cook’s dream with stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Liz asked after she’d had a bite of her lemon tart.

“Why do you think I want to talk to you?” I said, adding cream to my coffee.

“You brought a bribe, and it’s the middle of the morning.” She gave me a fake smile across the table.

“All right. I did come to talk to you.”

“About?”

“You called Lily the night she died, the night she confronted us on the sidewalk in front of the bakery,” I said.

“What if I did?” Liz asked. She leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other.

“You didn’t tell the police.”

She drew in a breath, held it for a moment and then let it out slowly. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you who told you that?” she said.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“It was either Nicolas or Michelle Andrews.”

“It doesn’t matter who told me,” I said, watching her across the polished wooden table. “What matters is that it was a dumb thing to do. You withheld information from the police, Liz.”

She shrugged. “Which they could find if they did their job—which they did. No harm done.”

I glared at her. “Yes harm done. It’s a bad idea to keep things from the police, especially when they’re investigating a murder in which you’re a suspect!”

Liz tapped a pale pink nail on the edge of her cup. “I didn’t tell the police because I knew it would make them suspicious, which they were when they found out, which just proves my point.” She picked up her cup and took a drink, watching me over the rim.

“How did you convince Josh it was a good idea to keep that information from the police?” I asked. I was fairly certain I knew the answer.

Liz glanced over toward the windows above the sink. She looked a little sheepish.

“Liz,” I said, an edge of warning in my voice.

Her gaze came back to me. “All right. I didn’t exactly tell him. I didn’t want him to have to lie.”

I pulled a hand back through my hair and sighed.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “I protect the people I care about. You know that, Sarah.”

There was a knock on the back door then. It opened and Elspeth Emmerson, Liz’s niece, stepped into the kitchen.

“Hi, Sarah,” she said when she caught sight of me.

“Hi,” I said.

“Am I interrupting something?”

I shook my head. The conversation with Liz was going nowhere.

“No,” Liz said. “We’re just having coffee. Come sit down and I’ll get you a cup.”

Elspeth joined us at the table. She was in her late twenties, and she reminded me a lot of her aunt. She had the same big heart and probably didn’t own a pair of sensible shoes. She was wearing skinny black pants tucked into black stiletto ankle boots, and her long blond curls fell below her shoulders.

Liz made a move to get up.

I laid a hand on her arm. “I’ve got it,” I said.

I got a cup and saucer from the cupboard and poured Elspeth a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” she said as I set it in front of her. She set a manila envelope on the table. “Dad asked me to give these to you,” she said to Liz.

Liz slid the envelope across the table, glanced at it, and left it next to her plate. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“How’s business?” Elspeth asked me as she added sugar to her coffee.

“Down from summer and fall,” I said, “but the skiers have helped.”

“Us too,” she said, taking a sip from her cup. Elspeth ran a successful spa and salon, Phantasy, which drew tourists to town for the relaxation and pampering they offered. “Last week a tour guide called. There was some problem with the grooming equipment where they were skiing, so they brought twenty-four people over for spa manicures. And Glenn McNamara supplied lunch.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “That was something Lily used to do for us.” She stared into her cup for a moment. “Her death was a horrible thing.”