Софи Райан: The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle

“Maybe he saw someone following Arthur.”

“Exactly.” I put on my blinker and turned into the small parking lot beside the store.

“We need to go talk to Royce,” Charlotte said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. I backed into my parking spot and Charlotte and I got out of the SUV.

“Sarah, if it was Jim Grant, where did he get a bottle of that pesticide?” she asked as we walked toward the back door.

“I’m hoping Mr. P.’s going to be able to tell me that,” I said.

My favorite hacker arrived about five minutes after we’d opened the store. I knew from the smile on his face that he’d hit pay dirt.

“You were right, my dear,” he said. “Jim Grant’s uncle—his mother’s brother—had a landscaping business. Jim worked for him during the summers.”

“So, we have motive and means,” I said. “All we need is opportunity.”

“Royce delivers flyers on Saturdays,” Mr. P. said. “You can meet him at the park at eleven thirty.”

I hesitated. Then I decided, Why not? I threw my arms around the little old man and hugged him. “Thank you,” I said.

His brown eyes sparkled. “It’s my pleasure to serve, Sarah,” he said. “I’m going to see if I can prove young Mr. Grant was, in fact, here in North Harbor before he said he was.”

He took his nylon briefcase and headed for the sunporch.

Mac walked over to me and dipped his head in the direction of the back of the shop. “New developments?” he asked.

I filled him in on Aleida Scott and my eureka moment about Jim Grant. Elvis was watching Charlotte dust the guitars. It looked as though she was talking to him.

“Do you think it’s possible that Elvis can tell when someone is lying?” I said to Mac.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not? A lie-detector test measures changes in respiration, heart rate, blood pressure and how much someone sweats. Maybe Elvis is reacting to the same things.”

I glanced over at Elvis and Charlotte. “So you’re saying he’s a feline lie detector?”

“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Mac said.

“Did you just quote Shakespeare?” I said.

Mac gave me an enigmatic smile not unlike the cat’s. “I hope you find what you need.” He gestured toward the stairs. “The delivery guy from Lily’s brought something for you a few minutes ago.”

I frowned. “I didn’t order anything. What is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

I called Liz and explained what was going on. She said she could meet me at the park. I crossed my fingers we’d get the answers we were looking for.

Upstairs in my office, a small cardboard box sat on my desk. I opened the lid and laughed when I saw what was inside—a muffin with a tiny flag stuck in the middle. On the front of the flag were the words I’m sorry. Nick . I broke the muffin in half and took a bite. It was bran with fat raisins and a taste of cinnamon. Okay, so it wasn’t chocolate, but it was still a pretty sweet apology.

I was standing by the stone steps that led down to the duck pond just before eleven thirty when Liz came up the sidewalk. She was wearing a burnt orange sweater with gray pants and gray suede heels I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk in.

“Hello, sweetie,” she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. She looked at the gold watch on her wrist. “Royce should be along in a minute. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t really have one,” I said, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. “We know Royce saw Arthur Fenety the morning he was killed. What we need to know is, did he see Jim Grant?”

“I thought he didn’t come to town until after Arthur was dead,” she said.

I tucked my keys in my jacket pocket. “Technically he didn’t,” I said. “He checked into the Rosemont Inn just before lunch on Tuesday, but before that he spent two nights in a motel out on the highway.” How Mr. P. had gotten that information was another thing I didn’t want to know.

“Do you have a picture of the man?” Liz asked.

I nodded and held out my phone. “Mr. Peterson found one online and I downloaded it to my phone.”

“You know, if Rose doesn’t give the man some encouragement soon, I may have to make a move on him,” she said, studying the picture. “He’s smart and most of his teeth are original. All I’d need to do would be to get him out of those pants.”

I looked wide-eyed at her. “Excuse me?” I said.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, waving a hand at me. “I just meant get him into some pants that aren’t way up here.” She stuck her thumbs into her armpits.

“He is a little fashion challenged,” I said. “But I love the way he looks at Rose.”

Liz smiled. “Yes, even an old cynic like me can appreciate that.”

I put my arm around her shoulder. “I don’t think you’re quite as much of a cynic as you pretend to be.”

Royce Collins was coming up the sidewalk. He was a small man with intense blue eyes under his dark blue newsboy hat, and a bushy mustache. “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind walking and talking. I have a schedule to keep.” He shifted the large canvas bag half-full of advertising circulars that was slung over his shoulder.

Liz cleared her throat. “Well, then, we’ll get right to the point.” She fell into step beside Royce and I walked beside her. “You saw Arthur Fenety the morning he was killed?”

Royce nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“What time?”

“Eleven thirty.”

We turned right on the path.

“Did you see anyone else?”

He shrugged. “There were other people around. It was a beautiful day.”

Liz held out her left hand. I knew she wanted the phone. I handed it to her and she showed Royce the photo.

“Did you see this man?”

Royce looked at the picture without missing a step. “I saw him.”

Liz shot me a look. “Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain,” he said. “I wouldn’t say I’d seen him if I hadn’t.”

Liz gave the phone back to me and I tucked it in my purse. “Do you remember what he was doing?” she asked.

Royce shot her a look of annoyance. “Of course I remember.”

Liz blew a breath out between her teeth. She tightened her hand on the strap of her pumpkin-colored purse and for a moment I thought she was going to swing it at him. “And what was that?” she asked, making a hurry-up motion with her free hand.

“He was following that Fenety guy.”

Chapter 23

“That man I just showed you a picture of was following Arthur Fenety the day he was killed?” Liz said.

Royce looked at her, two frown lines forming between his eyes. “I just said that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she said. “Did you say it to the police?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Why?” I asked.

He leaned behind Liz to look at me. “They didn’t ask,” he said with a shrug.

I had a little bubble of excitement in my chest. “How far did the man follow Mr. Fenety?” I asked. It struck me that the key to getting answers out of the older man was all in how the question was worded.

He pointed down the path. “Right until the path goes off through the trees just up there.”

“Did Arthur know he was being followed?” Liz asked.

He nodded. “Oh, I’d say he did.”

A soccer ball came bouncing over the grass toward us and I kicked it back to the bunch of preschoolers who were playing with it just beyond the raised flower beds. A chorus of little voices yelled, “Thank you!”

“Why would you say that?” Liz asked. Her jaw was tense and it was pretty clear she was running out of patience.