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“Hi, Dad,” I said.

“Hi,” he said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

I sat on the edge of the desk and Elvis made himself comfortable next to the phone. “No. I was just sorting tablecloths with Charlotte. Did you find out something already?”

“I did,” Dad said. “Remember when I said it sounded like there might be a story in this whole North Landing business?”

Elvis rubbed his head against my free hand and I began to stroke his fur. “I remember,” I said. “Are you saying someone is writing an article about the development?”

“Yeah,” he said. “A pretty in-depth one, too.”

“You found out who that investor is, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” He hesitated for a moment. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, remember?”

“I promise,” I said.

“The major investor in North by West is Swift Holdings.”

“You’re certain.”

“Absolutely. On paper the company is being funded by the Wellington Group, but that’s owned one hundred percent by Swift Holdings.”

Swift Holdings. Daniel Swift. Caleb Swift’s grandfather. Everything kept coming back to them.

“I’ve e-mailed you everything I could find about the Wellington Group,” Dad said.

“Thanks,” I said. “I have go.”

“Okay, sweetie. Stay safe. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I hung up and looked at Elvis. “Daniel Swift,” I said.

“Mrr,” he said. It was hard to tell if he was surprised or not.

I walked around the desk, sat down and pulled my laptop closer. Dad had e-mailed me a lot of background information on the Wellington Group, including the history of the company and its organization. I scanned the pages, not really sure what I was looking for. About halfway down the third page on the company’s corporate structure, a name caught my eye.

“No,” I said.

Elvis leaned around the computer as though he were trying to see the screen.

“Sloane Redding,” I said, touching the screen with a finger.

Elvis looked at me. Suddenly his whiskers twitched, and he jumped down from the desk and headed out into the hallway. I was guessing that Charlotte had opened the can of cookies she’d brought with her. Elvis not only had lying radar, he also had cookie radar.

I looked at the computer again. I’d been friends with a Sloane Redding in college. We’d lost touch after she spent a semester in Mexico as part of an exchange program. What were the odds that this Sloane was the same person? I crossed my fingers and pulled up a search engine.

For once, things were going my way. I found a photo from a benefit underwritten by the Wellington Group. Sloane Redding was in a group photo. Her hair was different and her clothing looked to be a lot more expensive, but it was the same person.

Was it really going to be that easy? Mr. P. hadn’t had any luck so far. Could I call Sloane and find out once and for all if the North Landing development had had anything to do with Lily’s death? There was only one way to find out. I scrolled up the screen and found the number for the Wellington Group in Boston.

“I’m sorry. Ms. Redding is in our North Harbor, Maine, office,” the young man who answered the phone told me.

The Wellington Group had an office here in town?

“Could you give me that number, please?” I asked.

“I’d be happy to,” he said. He read off a string of digits to me, and I wrote them down.

I leaned back in the chair and studied the numbers. Was this a wild-goose chase? Was I sticking my nose in where I shouldn’t be? Gram would have said, In for a penny, in for a pound.

I reached for the phone.

“Ms. Redding’s office. Charmaine Kellogg speaking,” the voice on the other end of the phone said when I reached Sloane’s office.

“Good morning,” I said. “Is Ms. Redding in? It’s Sarah Grayson calling about the North Landing project.”

“I’m sorry. Ms. Redding is in a meeting all morning,” Charmaine Kellogg said, her voice all smooth professionalism. “May I help you?”

“Thank you,” I said. “I have a business here in North Harbor. I was hoping to talk to Sloane about what’s going to be available as far as space in the project. We went to college together.” Strictly speaking, that was all true.

“I could give you an appointment to see Ms. Redding next week.”

I couldn’t wait until next week. “I’m sorry,” I said, “the only time I have available is eleven thirty this morning.”

I sounded a little pretentious even though I was telling the truth for the most part. On Tuesday Mac and I were going to look at a house with a garage and a couple of outbuildings just outside of town. The owner was in the hospital with a broken hip and would be coming out to an apartment. His son wanted an estimate for us to take care of emptying the house and readying it for sale.

“Eleven thirty will be fine,” Charmaine Kellogg said. I was already forming an image of the woman as someone sleek and elegant in a beautifully tailored business suit and dark-framed glasses. She’d probably turn out to look nothing like that.

“Do you know how to find our office?” she asked.

“No. I don’t,” I said.

She gave me directions, and I realized that the Wellington Group was in the same building as North by West’s North Harbor office.

Interesting.

I went back downstairs. Charlotte was showing a customer the chair that had been in my office a few days ago. Mac was out back at the workbench.

“Mac, did you remember the other day when Charlotte mentioned the Wellington Group as a possible investor in North Landing?” I asked as I walked up to him.

He put down the sanding block he’d been using. “I remember,” he said. “They invest primarily in real estate on the East Coast.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You think they are involved in the development here?”

“Maybe,” I said. “I have an appointment with Sloane Redding at eleven thirty.”

“I don’t recognize the name,” he said.

I didn’t bother telling him that I did. “You can manage things here?”

He smiled. “Take as much time as you need.”

Since the North by West office was just a few minutes’ walk from Jess’s shop, I called her to see if she’d like to have lunch.

“I’d love to,” she said. “I’m rolling a hem on an overskirt, and by lunchtime I’ll be cross-eyed.”

“I’ll stop for sandwiches,” I said. “See you later.”

Charlotte stuck her head around the storeroom door. “Mac, could you carry out a chair for a customer?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

Since Charlotte was busy, I decided I might as well start the ironing. I’d just plugged the iron in when Rose and Mr. P. came in the back door.

“Hi, Rose,” I said. “I thought you were taking the day off.”

“I was,” she said, “but Alfred and I have learned a little more about Caleb Swift.” She looked at her watch. “Liz should be here in a minute.”

Mr. P. was already getting settled at his desk.

“I’ll just go put the kettle on,” Rose said.

I wondered if they were the only detective agency in the world that seemed to run on tea.

I had time to iron two lace-edged tablecloths before Liz arrived. We all gathered around Alfred, with the exception of Mac, who was waiting on a customer.

“So what did you find out?” Charlotte asked.

Rose and Mr. P. exchanged a look and he spoke first. “Well, it seems that young Mr. Swift wasn’t quite the young man of character he seemed to be on the surface.”

I thought about Elspeth calling Caleb the proverbial, entitled rich kid. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“I talked to three young women he dated. At first they were rather noncommittal, but eventually they opened up.”