Buy a Whisker (17 page)

Mac tapped on my door at exactly eight o'clock the next morning. “Hi,” he said when I opened the door. “Are you ready?”

“Do you mean ready to go get the truck or ready to be living in the same building as Rose?”

“Both, I guess,” he said with a smile.

I laughed. “I'm ready to get the truck as soon as I grab my jacket, and I don't think I'm ever going to be completely ready to live with Rose.”

“She's a great cook,” he said. His mouth twitched. “Maybe on Sunday morning Alfred will come out in his bathrobe and bring you a plate of Rose's waffles.”

“Not listening,” I said. I put my fingers in my ears and started humming.

Mac just laughed, and when I looked at Elvis, perched on one of the stools at the counter, it seemed to me that he was laughing, too. I made a face at Mac and took my fingers out of my ears. “Now how am I going to look Mr. P. in the eye when I see him?”

Mac folded one arm over his chest and pressed the other hand over his mouth.

“What?” I said. “You want to say something, so you may as well go ahead and do it.”

“You want to know how you're going to look Alfred in the eye?” he asked. “How about just lean down the way you usually do?”

“You're so not funny,” I said, but I was laughing, which pretty much negated what I'd just said.

We picked up the truck at McNamara's and then I drove over and picked up Charlotte. She was carrying two thermoses and a quilted tote bag. She climbed in the cab of the truck and set the bag carefully on the floor mat before she fastened her seat belt.

“I smell cinnamon,” I said.

“That's because I made cinnamon rolls.”

“You're my favorite person in the entire world,” I said as I pulled away from the curb.

“Funny how you always remember to tell me that when I have cinnamon rolls,” she said with a smile.

“Just a happy coincidence,” I said, working hard to keep a straight face.

Liz and Avery were just arriving as we pulled up in front of Legacy Place.

“I'm here,” Liz said as I joined them on the sidewalk. “And I ate scrambled tofu, which I do
not
intend to ever eat again.”

“It's good for you, Nonna,” Avery said.

“At my age I don't want good for me,” Liz groused. “I just want good.”

“Eating a healthy diet can add years to your life,” Avery retorted, a tad self-righteously.

“It doesn't really add years to your life,” Liz retorted. “It just feels like that because it takes years to chew the darn stuff.”

I laid my head on her shoulder. “Charlotte has cinnamon rolls,” I whispered in her ear.

Liz smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Let's go, people,” she said. “Rose is waiting. Charlotte, let me help you carry something.”

Rose and Mr. P. were waiting in Rose's third-floor apartment. There were boxes in every room labeled in Alfred's angular printing.

“Good morning, everyone,” Rose said when she answered the door. “Alfred was just going to take my bed apart, and that's the last thing to do.”

Mac shot me a look. “I'll go see if he needs any help,” he said.

Glenn had loaned me a small wheeled platform, about four feet by three feet. I rolled it into the kitchen.

“Do you want to start in here?” I asked Rose.

She nodded. “Wherever you think, dear,” she said.

“Okay. Furniture goes in the truck and boxes in the SUV.” I handed Liz the loop of rope that acted as a handle for the makeshift dolly. “Let Avery do the heavy lifting.”

“Rose and I could carry down the towels and the bedding,” Charlotte said. “Shall we use the backseat of the SUV?”

I nodded. “I'm going to see how Mac and Alfred are doing.”

Mac was just taking off the second side rail on Rose's iron bed frame. “I'll help you carry this down,” Mr. P. said.

“I was kind of hoping you'd supervise Avery putting boxes in my SUV,” I said. “I mean, if you don't mind. I don't want her to break anything.”

He smiled. “Of course. I don't mind at all.” He headed for the kitchen.

“Does this mean you're my muscle?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Let's do it,” I said. I grabbed one end of the metal headboard and he picked up the other.

“Thanks for giving up your Sunday to do this,” I said as we started for the kitchen. “There have to be a lot of other things you could be doing.”

Avery and Mr. P. were just heading out the door on their way to the elevator with a precarious-looking pile of boxes on the dolly and Alfred draped over them like he was trying to hug the whole stack.

“We're good,” I heard him say as we cleared the doorway.

Mac smiled at me. “What else could I be doing that would be more . . . interesting than being here?” he said.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

We had the truck and the SUV loaded before ten o'clock. We made an odd little parade on the way over to the house with Liz's car driven by Avery in the lead, a pile of curtains in the backseat, followed
by Charlotte and me in the cube truck and Mac with Rose and Mr. P. in the SUV full of boxes bringing up the rear. Everyone had to have a tour of the apartment, and then we stopped for hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls. Even so, we had everything upstairs by lunchtime.

“How about grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch?” I said when the last box came in.

“Were you going to cook?” Charlotte asked, exchanging a look with Liz. “Because you don't have to do that. Really.”

“I know I don't have to,” I said. “But you've all worked so hard. You must be hungry.”

“I think it's a little early for lunch,” Rose said.

“Sarah's teasing you,” Mr. P. said. “She's not cooking. I am.”

“Thank you, Lord,” Liz said. “That scrambled tofu stuff was starting to look good.”

“You can buy tofu cheese,” Avery chimed in.

“Fascinating,” Mr. P. said. “How are you at buttering bread?”

Elvis was waiting for us, perched on the top of the cat tower. Everyone exclaimed over the quality of Alfred's work.

Mr. P. and Avery washed their hands and then I showed them where everything was.

“Everything's under control,” the old man said to me. “I'll call you if I need anything.”

“Can I help?” Rose said behind me.

“We're fine, my dear,” Alfred said. “Why don't you take a break for a minute?”

I steered Rose over to my rocking chair. “Wasn't this your grandmother's?” she asked.

I nodded. “It was in my dad's nursery when he was a baby.”

She sat down in the wooden chair and leaned back against the pillow Jess had made for me. “I remember sitting in this chair with your father when he was about a year old,” she said. “He was such a beautiful baby. So good-natured.” She reached up and gave my hand a squeeze.

Mr. P. and Avery served grilled-cheese sandwiches toasted golden brown and cut into long fingers for dipping in our tomato-rice soup. Everything was delicious, far better than if I'd tried to cook, which is what I told them.

“We really need to speed up your cooking lessons,” Rose said.

“It's a losing battle,” I said. “But I'm willing to keep going if you are.”

Charlotte left after lunch. She was making supper for all of us back at her house. I took the truck back to McNamara's lot and Mac followed to drive me back.

“Thank you for your help,” I said to Mac. “It would have taken a lot longer without you.”

“I don't mind,” he said. “Like I said before, I like Rose.”

“Are you coming to Charlotte's for supper?”

He shook his head. “I already told Charlotte thank you, but I have plans.”

“I'll miss you . . . I mean, we'll miss you,” I said.

Mac smiled. “Another time.” He tucked his scarf a little tighter at the neck of his coat. “I'll see you tomorrow morning,” he said.

By four o'clock Rose's apartment look pretty good. Mr. P. left with Liz and Avery to get cleaned up. We were all meeting at Charlotte's at five. I stood in the middle of the kitchen with Rose.

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.

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.

“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.”

Rose smiled at him. “Alf has a very nurturing way about him,” she said.

“They all told me the same thing,” Mr. P. said. “Caleb Swift had a very dark, possessive streak. One of the girls told me that Caleb smashed the screen of her laptop because he thought her history professor was flirting with her. Another told me that she was up late studying and discovered Caleb was sitting outside her dorm room in his car.”