Софи Райан - The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle

“Peaceful Easy Feeling” by the Eagles was the first song I’d taught myself to play on my dad’s guitar, the one Maddie had rescued for me. I’d played it for Nick. I swallowed a couple of times against the rush of emotion I suddenly felt.

Jess moved over into the empty chair next to me. She leaned against me as Sam and the guys started to play. “Thank you for the chips. They’re so, so good,” she said.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” I said, grateful to have something else to focus on.

“Yes, it does,” she said, reaching for another chip and nodding along with the music.

Nick had picked up the melody and Sam launched into the first verse. He gave Nick an encouraging smile on the chorus and as he slid into the second verse Nick joined in singing harmony. I’d forgotten what a great voice he had. Or maybe, more truthfully, I’d pushed the memory of how much I liked listening to him sing and play out of my mind. Sam came right out of “Peaceful Easy Feeling” right into “Hotel California” and Nick followed along.

“He’s good,” Jess said in my ear.

I just nodded. Not only was I enjoying the music, but I was also enjoying how much fun Nick was having. It was written all over his face.

At the end of the song Sam held out a hand toward Nick and once again the whole place erupted with cheers and applause. Nick stood up, grinning, and took a bow. Jess was whistling and stomping her feet, and I had my hands up over my head, clapping. Nick handed the Rickenbacker to Sam and came back to the table. He dropped into his seat, face flushed.

Jess grinned at him. “That was great,” she said, her eyes dancing.

Nick shook his head and leaned toward us. “I’m just lucky Sam picked something my fingers remembered.”

Sam and the guys were playing the intro to “Pinball Wizard” and the crowd was clapping along. I shook my head. “No. You’re just good,” I said, and then I turned back to the stage.

The music was over too soon. Jess slumped against the back of her chair, one arm folded up over her head. “We have to do this more often,” she said.

“You always say that,” I said.

“And I’m always right,” she countered.

I turned to Nick. “I’m so glad you sat in for a couple of songs.”

“Sam didn’t exactly give me a choice, but me too,” he said.

I got up and stretched. Across the room I caught sight of Michelle, standing near the door. She saw me and lifted a hand. From the expression on her face it was clear she wanted to talk to me. “I’ll be right back,” I said. I worked my way over to Michelle, smiling at more than one person I recognized.

“Hi,” she said when I got close to her.

She was wearing jeans, brown boots with chunky heels and a cropped black jacket over a green sweater. She was a little thinner than I’d first realized.

“Hi,” I said. “They were good, weren’t they?”

She nodded. “Some things don’t change.”

I thought about saying some things do , but decided that would probably be a bad idea.

“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” I said instead.

“Nick told me what his mother and her friends are up to.”

I nodded. “I thought he would.”

“If you have any influence with them at all, please tell them playing detective is a very bad idea.”

“I’ve already tried that,” I said with a sigh. “It didn’t work.”

“Poking around in a murder investigation isn’t something they should be doing,” she said. She touched the pocket of her jacket and I wondered if her phone was vibrating inside.

“I know that,” I said. I sounded defensive when I didn’t really mean to. I was feeling a little guilty about how much poking around I’d been doing, too. “C’mon, Michele. You’ve known all of them for years. You know what they’re like when they get fixated on an idea. And it’s not always a bad thing, by the way. We wouldn’t have the bookmobile or the Botanic Garden or the new playground. Short of locking them up I don’t think you can stop them.”

I was expecting she’d give me an argument. Instead all she said was, “I know.” She hesitated as though she was searching for the right words. “Could you do what you can to keep them out of trouble?”

“I’m trying,” I said. I was trying. It was just that I kept getting sucked into helping. I thought about what my Gram would say about good intentions.

She smiled. “Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate that.”

There was an awkward silence. “I should get back to Jess and Nick,” I said. I don’t really know what made me say what I said next. “Can you join us for a few minutes?”

She looked surprised. Then again, I was surprised that I’d asked. “Umm, thanks, but I have to get back to the station.”

I nodded. “Maybe another time.” I turned to head back to the table.

“I’m glad you’re home, Sarah,” she said.

It felt like she meant it.

“Me too.” I said.

Chapter 18

I had an appointment first thing in the morning to go through the storage area of a local motel to see if there was anything left after their recent renovation work that I might be interested in buying. I left Elvis at the store with Mac and drove up to the highway.

The storage room was like a time capsule from the 1970s. I started making a pile in the hallway of things I wanted, handing them to the young man the owner had sent to help me. I found two lamps; a sleek, curved-edge coffee table; a hanging wicker chair and several boxes of vibrant Fiestaware dishes.

The space was crammed with furniture, mostly bed frames, chests of drawers and boxy-looking chairs. I climbed over a couple of long, low sofas to hand a box of dishes to my helper, whose name was Brent. He had a bandage wrapped around his left hand. “Can you manage that?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, this is fine,” he said, holding up his hand. I gave him the box and scrambled over the sofas. One was piled upside down on the other. I thought I’d seen another lamp but now I couldn’t find it.

“Is there something else I can get for you?” Brent asked. He was maybe twenty years old, with spiked blond hair and strong arms and shoulders.

I had the feeling if I’d said I wanted the faux–Danish modern sofas he would have been able to throw one over each shoulder and carry them out to the SUV.

“I thought I saw another lamp,” I said. “Now I don’t know where it is.”

Brent looked around. He was taller. “Over there,” he said, pointing to the far front corner.

All I could see was a bunch of metal-framed chairs piled haphazardly on top of one another.

“I’ll get it for you.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He flexed his fingers in a crablike motion. “Yeah, I’m fine. This is just poison ivy. It doesn’t hurt. It just itches like crazy.”

He climbed over the chairs like a monkey making his way up a coconut tree, grabbed the lamp, handed it out to me and climbed over the chairs again. I got a better look at the gauze bandage that covered most of the back of his left hand. There was a red, itchy-looking rash on the back of his wrist, as well. I realized I’d seen the same rash just recently. On Jim Grant’s hand. And on Arthur Fenety’s.

“Did you say that was poison ivy?” I asked.

Brent rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. I was in the park a couple of days ago, throwing the Frisbee around with some buddies. Stupid thing went into the bushes and I went after it. I guess there’s some kind of infestation of poison ivy all over the park.” He rubbed the bandage with the palm of his other hand and made a face. “It doesn’t hurt, but damn, is it itchy.”

What had Daisy told Charlotte and me? She’d dropped Arthur off and he’d cut through the park to get to Maddie’s house. Could he have had some kind of confrontation with Jim Grant? Grant had claimed he hadn’t gotten in town until the morning after Arthur Fenety had been killed. Could he have been lying about that?