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“You never do,” I said. “Thank you for that.”

I turned and punched in Sam’s number. When he answered, I explained what had happened. “If you can come and get him, I won’t call the police.”

Sam muttered a couple of choice swearwords. “I’m on my way.”

I hung up and walked back over to Vince.

“Sam’s coming to pick you up,” I said. “My options were him or the police. And the only reason I didn’t call the police is because Sam’s been like a dad to me and I know he considers you a friend.”

“Thank you,” Vince said so softly I could barely make out the words.

“I’m not done, Vince,” I said. My arms were folded across my chest, hands clenched. “You have twenty-four hours to tell Detective Andrews that it was you who was harassing Lily. I don’t want her to waste her time in that direction when she doesn’t need to.”

He nodded wordlessly. We waited the rest of the time for Sam in silence.

Sam didn’t say a word to Vince, at least not in front of Mac and me.

“Thank you,” he said to Mac, offering his hand.

“Thanks for coming up here,” Mac replied. They shook hands.

“I’m not going to make any excuses,” Sam said, but he looked over his shoulder to where Vince was standing, shoulders slumped in his sweatshirt, by the back door.

“Good plan,” I said. I could hear the anger in my voice. I hadn’t made any effort to hide it from Sam.

He leaned in and hugged me. “Thank you,” he said softly against my ear. “I know you did this for me.”

After they were gone, Mac and I walked back inside.

Mac studied me, narrowing his eyes. “I can see the wheels turning,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I’m not certain yet,” I said slowly.

“You think Vince really did break in here to steal a couple of guitars?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

“So he came to get that wig. So you wouldn’t figure out he was the one harassing Lily Carter.”

I set the wig back in the box on the workbench. “Maybe. I’m not certain. I need to check on a couple of things.”

* * *

Sam had clearly been expecting I’d show up for breakfast the next morning. He had everything ready for blueberry pancakes, along with a chopped-up sardine for Elvis.

“Sam, what was that fund-raiser you loaned Vince the Rickenbacker for?” I asked.

He came over and poured me another cup of coffee. “Fairy Godmothers. They grant wishes to kids who are seriously ill. Vince and Eric subbed for a couple of guys out of Boston who couldn’t make it for the show.”

He topped up his own cup. “Vince donated his time. All he took was gas money, and not all of that. It’s really hard to believe he was the one pulling those stupid stunts on Lily.”

“When was the concert?” I asked.

I could feel Elvis’s green eyes on me, watching me as though he knew I was gathering information.

“The twenty-first, in Portland,” he said, returning the coffeepot to its burner. “Vince and Eric drove down, crashed with someone Eric knows and drove back the next morning. Why the third degree?”

“The twenty-first? You’re positive? And they stayed all night?”

He slid into the booth on the seat opposite me. “Sarah, what’s going on?”

“It wasn’t Vince.”

“What wasn’t Vince?” he said.

I speared the last bit of my pancake and ate it. “He wasn’t the one who pulled those tricks on Lily. The twenty-first was the night someone egged the front window of the bakery. I know because I was there early the next morning. Vince couldn’t have done it if he was playing in Portland.”

“So why would he say he did, then?”

I nodded as I set down my fork and reached for my cup. “Exactly. Why would he do that?”

“You think you know.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. I finished my coffee and stood up. “I need to check something out. I’ll call you.”

It was bitingly cold, so I’d arranged to pick up Rose. She was waiting outside Legacy Place with Mr. P.

“Hello, sweet girl,” she said. “Alfred is coming with us.”

“Good morning, Mr. P.,” I said as he got in the backseat with Elvis.

He was wearing a striped stocking cap and scarf that Rose had made for him, along with a heavy brown parka and the same kind of heavy, insulated gloves that Aaron Ellison wore when he plowed the parking lot. He reminded me of a ceramic garden gnome.

“Good morning, Sarah,” he said as he fastened his seat belt. “Thank you for picking us up.”

“You’re very welcome,” I said.

“Good morning, Elvis,” Mr. P. said as I pulled away from the curb. I glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see him sneak the cat a tiny fish cracker. I shifted my eyes back to the road.

Avery and Liz were waiting for us in the lot. When I got out of the SUV, Avery climbed out of her grandmother’s car and skidded across the parking lot toward me. She was wearing high-top sneakers instead of boots. “Sarah, can I work on the window today? Please, please, please. You don’t have to pay me. I just want to get it done.”

It made me feel good to see her enthusiasm. “Yes, you can work on the window,” I said.

Mr. P. was carrying Elvis. I saw him exchange a smile with Rose.

“Yay!” Avery said, jumping up and down and almost falling. “I’ll tell Nonna that she can get me at lunchtime.” She made her way back over to the car, arms windmilling, and somehow managed not to fall.

I put my things upstairs in my office, went into the staff room and filled the kettle before I went back down.

“The water’s on,” I said to Rose.

“Would you like coffee, dear?” she asked.

I’d already had two cups at Sam’s. “I think I’ll have tea, please,” I said.

“I’ll bring you a cup,” she said, patting my arm as she passed me.

I went into the storeroom. Avery was at the workbench. “Could you watch the front for a few minutes for me, please?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” she said. She’d left her usual stack of bracelets at home, but she had a new henna tattoo, a flowering vine that wound around her wrist and disappeared up the sleeve of her black T-shirt.

Alfred was already settled at the desk in the Angels’ “office” along the back wall.

“Mr. P., could I take another look at that security video, please?” I asked. “The one from the camera at the bookstore.”

“Of course,” he said.

I waited while he clicked keys, and then he turned the laptop so I could see the screen. I studied the figure carefully, trying to guess how tall the “fake” Jon West was based on the height of the door to the bakery. It wasn’t Vince. It couldn’t be. By my rough calculations the figure was shorter than Vince, who topped out at about six feet.

“Would you like to see it again?” Mr. P. asked.

I nodded, rubbing the bridge of my nose with two fingers. “Please.”

The second time through I was certain. “Thank you,” I said.

“Is there anything I should tell Rosie?” he asked.

I gave him a tight smile. “Not yet.”

He nodded. “All right,” he said. I could see the gleam of curiosity in his eyes.

I headed back to the store. It wasn’t Vince in the security footage, but my suspicion about the person he was covering for was right. The figure in the denim jacket and long wig was Asia Kennedy. I was sure of it. It was Asia who had pulled all those stupid, childish tricks on Lily. What the heck had Vince been thinking, trying to cover for her by stealing that wig?

And then I had an awful thought. Was there more to it? Asia had been harassing Lily. I tried to swallow down the lump at the back of my throat. No. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Asia was just a kid, a teenager. She couldn’t have killed Lily, could she?