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The younger woman shot Liz a daggers look, nodded and went back down the hallway.

Jane Evans smiled at me. As soon as I’d heard her last name, I’d recognized her. She was Josh Evans’s mother.

“Hello, Sarah. How are you? Josh told me he’d seen you.” She took both of my hands in hers.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Evans,” I said.

“Please call me Jane,” she said. She glanced at Liz. “So Liz has gotten you involved in the foundation?”

“Isabel is out of town,” Liz said. She lied so smoothly. I hoped it was just because there was a grain of truth in everything she was saying.

Jane Evans turned back to me. “How is your grandmother?”

“Wonderful,” I said. “She and John are in New Orleans for the next month and a half, working on a Home for Good project, and she says she’s learning a little Cajun cooking.”

“That sounds like your grandmother,” Jane said with a smile. She let go of my hands and turned to Liz. “Give me a minute. I think Daniel can probably see you.”

Liz smiled back. “Thank you, Jane,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

There was a door behind and to the right of Jane Evans’s desk. She tapped on it and slipped inside.

“You didn’t tell me Jane Evans is Daniel Swift’s assistant,” I hissed at Liz.

“What difference does that make?” Liz retorted.

I didn’t have the chance to tell her I didn’t like lying and I especially didn’t like lying to Josh’s mother before Jane came back out and beckoned to us.

Daniel Swift’s office was an imposing space—designed to be, I was betting. The wall to the left was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I saw legal references and several first editions. The centerpiece of the right wall was a beautiful framed photograph of the North Harbor waterfront taken early in the morning, with the sun sparkling off the water. It was surrounded by several photographs, several of them clearly of Caleb Swift.

Daniel Swift was at his desk, but he stood up and came around to take Liz’s hand in his own. He had a very slight limp, I noticed, but he was still an imposing man. The desk was massive, walnut or black chestnut, I guessed. Behind it a wall of windows looked out over the water. Swift was wearing a gray suit, a crisp white shirt and a muted blue tie. He looked every inch the successful businessman.

“Elizabeth, how are you?” he asked.

“I’m well, Daniel,” she said. “You’ve met Isabel’s granddaughter, Sarah Grayson?”

Swift turned his blue-gray eyes on me. “I have,” he said, offering me his hand. “Nice to see you again, Sarah.”

“You as well,” I replied, shaking his hand. He had large hands and a correspondingly strong handshake.

I saw him exchange a look with Jane Evans. “If you need anything, let me know,” she said, and then she quietly left.

Daniel Swift indicated the two black leather club chairs in front of the desk. “Please sit down,” he said. He walked back around the massive desk and sat in his leather executive chair. “Jane said you wanted to talk to me about the Emmerson Foundation.”

Liz undid her coat and sat down. She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Swift hadn’t offered to take our coats, and I knew we wouldn’t be in the office very long.

“I do,” Liz said. “You know that there’s a conditional offer on the table from the North Landing developer for both of the harbor-front buildings the foundation holds the mortgages on.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said. “Would you like me to look at the paperwork?”

Liz tipped her head to one side and studied him. “No, Daniel,” she said. “I’d like to know why you’ve been keeping the fact that you’re the major investor in the development a secret?”

He didn’t blink; he didn’t flinch; he didn’t twitch. I wouldn’t have wanted to play poker with the man, not that I could imagine a circumstance where that would come up. He seemed to have no tells.

“Swift Holdings invests in a lot of development projects, Elizabeth,” he said. “North Landing is really just a tiny part of our portfolio.”

“Horse pucky,” Liz said. “You invested in that development for a reason, and you kept it secret for a reason.”

“Are you here to play detective, Elizabeth?” Swift asked. He seemed amused by the whole conversation.

“You’re a condescending ass, Daniel,” Liz said. “You think I don’t know that you bankrolled this project as a way to harass Lily Carter?”

There was an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Swift’s right eyelid. Liz had struck a nerve.

“You’re making a fool of yourself, Elizabeth,” he said.

She laughed. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

The lines in his face tightened.

He stood up. “This meeting is over,” he said.

Liz got to her feet as well. Her eyes locked on Daniel Swift’s face. “Technology is a wonderful thing, Daniel,” she said. “When you and I were young, it was easy to sneak out a window or in one for that matter. Now there are security cameras everywhere. Which means a secret visit to the bakery the night Lily died won’t stay a secret forever.”

Swift came out from behind his desk. A smile played around his mouth, but there was no warmth in it, only cold humor. “Do you really think I care about some small-town baker making her little loaves of sourdough bread and hoping we’d all hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’?”

“I don’t think you care about anyone but yourself,” Liz said. She pulled on her gloves very slowly and deliberately. “I’m making it my mission to find out what happened to Lily. And if I find out that you had anything to do with her death, no matter how indirectly, I will break you like a baseball bat making contact with a mailbox.”

“Are you threatening me, Elizabeth?” he asked.

Liz smoothed one glove over her hand. She looked up at Swift. “I’m sorry,” she said. She paused for effect. “I thought I’d made that clear.”

He looked at me for the first time since I’d entered the room. “Elizabeth is clearly suffering from some kind of dementia,” he said. “I think you should take her home and contact her family.”

I wanted to slug the old coot with my purse. But all I said was “Good afternoon, Mr. Swift.” And Liz and I left.

Jane Evans wasn’t at her desk in the outer office, but the pretty blond receptionist was at her place in the foyer.

Liz walked over to her. “You have spunk,” she said. “Which I generally don’t care for. You’re also loyal, which I do like very much.” She gestured over her shoulder. “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty.” She held out a business card. “I’m Elizabeth Emmerson French. I’m chair of the board of the Emmerson Foundation. And by the way, you should know who the movers and shakers are in town if you’re going to do this kind of job. If you’d like to make a career change, call my office.”

The startled young woman took the card. “Uh . . . uh . . . thank you,” she said.

Liz nodded and made her way over to the elevator. I followed.

When the elevator door closed, Liz turned to me. “Dementia, my ass . . . ets,” she said.

I clapped.

Liz narrowed her eyes. “What’s the applause for?”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I said. “Baseball bat making contact with a mailbox? You were fierce. Way to go, Xena.”

She laughed as the elevator doors opened onto the building’s lobby. “Now all we have to do is figure out how the Swifts are tied in to Lily’s death,” she said, “because I’m certain they are.”

I nodded. So was I.

Chapter 22

Liz and I drove back to the shop. Rose was waiting by the back door.