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She turned to me, her eyes bright. “I don’t know how to say thank you, sweet girl,” she said.

“Just be happy here,” I said.

She hugged me.

Back in my own apartment I showered while Elvis did a circuit of the backyard. I had no idea what he did on his little tours of the yard—he had a litter box inside—but he insisted on prowling around back there once a day no matter how cold it was.

About a quarter to five I got my canvas tote. “Hop in,” I said to him. “I’ve been instructed to bring you.”

“Bring Elvis with you,” Charlotte had said at lunch. “I have a little something special for him.”

The cat had been sitting on Avery’s lap, but he’d smiled across the table at Charlotte as though he’d understood every word she’d said—and for all I knew maybe he had.

Nick was setting the table when we got to the house.

“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and jeans, and for a moment I could see the teenage boy I’d had a major crush on.

“I stopped in to see Mom and I was invited for supper, provided I earn my keep.”

I reached for a pile of napkins on Charlotte’s sideboard and handed them to him as he worked his way around the table.

“How’s Lily’s case coming?” I asked.

“Our part is almost finished. You know about Vince?” he asked, lowering his voice a little.

“I do.”

Nick shook his head. “Hard to believe.”

“When people get desperate they do things they wouldn’t otherwise even think about.” I handed him the last napkin. “Nick, Vince didn’t kill Lily,” I said.

“I really hope you’re right,” he said.

“He was with Sam and Eric and some other people making music half the night at Eric’s place after the pub closed.”

I saw a flash of relief cross Nick’s face. Vince was in the clear, and as far as I was concerned, so was Asia. Which meant we still didn’t know who had killed Lily.

Chapter 18

Elvis and I didn’t stay late at Charlotte’s. It had been a long day and I was tired. I stretched out on the couch and Elvis watched me from the top of the cat tower. We’d talked about the North Landing development at supper. Actually, everyone else had talked about it and I’d listened and tried to find a connection between it and Lily’s death. Because I was convinced there was one.

For all his computer skills, Mr. P. hadn’t been able to find out who Jon West’s investors were who had enough influence to push the project forward. “There has to be a way to find out,” I said to Elvis.

Mr. P. had explained that if Jon West’s company were a public company, it would have been easy to find out who was backing North Landing, but it was a private company and he hadn’t found any way to access the records that would tell me what I wanted to know.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I’m afraid I’m not Woodward or Bernstein,” he’d said, referring to the Washington Post reporters who had broken the Watergate scandal.

I looked over at Elvis, the realization dawning on me that I still had one more option. One that might just work. “I know what to do,” I said, getting to my feet.

I walked over to him and reached up to scratch the top of his head. “I know what to do,” I stage-whispered.

I sat on a stool at the counter and reached for the phone. My dad answered. “Hi, sweetie,” he said. “I thought you were moving Rose today.”

“All done,” I said. “She has a bunch of unpacking to do, so she’s staying on Charlotte’s couch for a few nights.”

“I’m glad she’s going to be there,” Dad said. “Now you won’t be alone so much.”

I smiled. “I’m not alone, Dad. I have Elvis.” The cat lifted his head at the sound of his name, looked around and went back to washing his face.

“I just mean if there’s any . . . trouble.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I love Rose, but she’s barely five feet tall. What exactly is she going to do if trouble shows up here?”

He laughed, too. “Okay, so she isn’t exactly Amazonian. I’d still rather take on a grizzly bear than I would an angry Rose. I feel better knowing she’ll be there. Humor your father.”

“All right,” I said. I propped an elbow on the counter. “I need a favor.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Remember me telling you about the problems with the North Landing project?”

“I do,” he said.

“Well, now it seems that if Caroline doesn’t sell the bakery to the developer, the town will be able to expropriate the land.”

“I don’t think so,” Dad said slowly. “I don’t think it fits the criteria, from what I know.”

I leaned forward and snagged the edge of the container of cookies Charlotte had sent home with me and pulled it closer. “Word on the street is that Jon West has a silent partner or partners with enough influence to make it happen.”

“And you want to know who that is,” he said.

I fished an oatmeal-butterscotch cookie out of the can and took a bite. “Uh-huh. Both Jess and Liz stand to benefit if North Landing goes forward. I just want to know everything is legit.”

“And you think this secret-investor thing might somehow be tied to Lily Carter’s death.” He paused for a moment. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know.”

I let out a breath. “Okay. Yes. It might—might—have something to do with what happened to Lily.”

“So why aren’t the police doing this?” he said.

I stuffed the rest of the cookie in my mouth and ate it before I answered. “Maybe they are,” I said. “I can’t exactly ask Michelle.”

“Point taken,” Dad said. I could picture him making a face as he mulled over my request. “All right. I have a couple of contacts I can ask. Just based on what you’ve told me, there might be a story in all of this.”

Dad taught journalism now and still regularly wrote longer feature pieces for several magazines, but he’d been a newspaper reporter for many years and that drive to chase a story was in his blood.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Hang on. I haven’t told you my conditions.”

I stuck out my tongue even though he couldn’t see me and reached for another cookie I was pretty sure I was going to need. “Fine. What are your conditions?”

“You know if you keep making that face it’s going to freeze like that,” he said.

“How do you know I’m making a face?” I said.

“I know you, sweetie,” he said with a laugh. “Condition number one: You don’t do anything stupid with anything I manage to find out for you.”

“Agreed.” Rose and the others were more likely to do that, and I wasn’t planning on sharing anything I found out.

“Number two: If you come across anything, anything that might be connected to Lily’s death, you take it to Nicolas or the police.”

After what had happened with the Arthur Fenety case, that was easy to agree to.

“Let me see what I can do,” Dad said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I love you,” I said.

“Love you, too, baby.”

I hung up the phone and turned around to find a pair of green eyes staring up at me. I hopped off the stool and scooped Elvis into my arms. “The game is afoot,” I told him.

* * *

Exactly five minutes after nine on Monday morning the phone rang at the shop. Mac answered it and then came out to the workroom where Charlotte and I were going through the linens I’d washed.

“Sarah, it’s your dad,” he said.

“Why don’t I just start ironing?” Charlotte said.

I smiled at her. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“I think I’ll take this in my office,” I said to Mac.

Elvis followed me up the stairs, jumping up onto my desk as I reached for the phone.