Buy a Whisker (22 page)

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. My cell phone hit the floor. I saw a flash of black fur, and Swift pulled his hand back, but he had my phone now. He also had a nasty scratch, courtesy of Elvis.

“Very good,” I whispered to the cat.

“I sincerely hope I didn't catch anything from that . . . animal,” Swift said, pulling a linen handkerchief from his pocket and wrapping it around his left hand, all the while keeping the gun on me.

“I'm more worried about my cat getting something from you,” I said.

He gave me the same smile I'd seen earlier, all ice and arrogance. “You've been spending too much time with Elizabeth.”

I swallowed down the large lump in my throat. “She had you pegged,” I said. “You killed Lily.”

“I slipped when I mentioned what kind of bread she was making, didn't I?” he said.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Why did you kill her?”

“I didn't kill her. She died. It was an accident.”

“Then tell the police that.” I made a move toward the phone on the counter.

He blocked my way, the gun only a few inches from my head. “Don't do that,” he said. “I will shoot you.”

“You can't get away with killing me, too,” I said, faking a confidence I didn't feel. “And you won't get away with killing Lily, either.”

“That's where you're wrong,” he said. His face hardened. He tapped my shoulder with the gun. “Move.”

“Where?” I said.

“Upstairs.”

My keys were on the counter, and he grabbed them as we passed. Why were we going upstairs?

Swift nudged me into the entryway and up the staircase to Gram's second-floor apartment. “Which key is it?” he said.

“Figure it out yourself,” I said.

He pointed the gun at Elvis. “Which key?” he repeated.

The cat glared and hissed as I found the proper key and Daniel Swift unlocked Gram's apartment.

It smelled like her, like lavender-scented talc, and I took a deep breath, finding a bit of comfort in the scent.

Swift forced Elvis and me out onto the second-floor verandah overlooking the backyard.

“Scream and I'll put a bullet directly through that mangy animal's head,” he said.

It was cold on the balcony even with the shelter of the house behind me. I shivered in my sweater and leggings.

“If you're planning on pushing me over the railing, the fall won't kill me,” I said. “I might break something, but I'd still be able to tell the world what you did. Why did you kill Lily, by the way?”

What did they always do in the movies? Keep the bad guy talking until the good guys arrived. “It was because of your grandson, wasn't it? Caleb.” It was work keeping the fear out of my voice, and I couldn't stop shivering. Swift was wearing a gray wool coat with a scarf at the neck, a snap-brim fedora and lined leather driving gloves. He wasn't cold at all.

His mouth twisted. “You know nothing about my grandson.”

“That's not true,” I said. “I know you must love him very much to do everything you've done. You bought a controlling interest in that investment company and then invested in the North Landing project, all to get to Lily.”

“She was beneath him,” Swift said, an ugly expression on his face. “And she was the last person to see him alive. She had to know something.” His voice got rougher. “I'm going to take that building apart board by board. There has to be something, some clue. Why else would she refuse to sell?”

He thought Lily had killed Caleb, I realized.

He took a step toward me. I stood my ground.

“Move,” he said.

I shook my head.

“You think I won't shoot you?”

“I'm not going to help you throw me over that railing,” I said.

“You're not going over the railing.” He was so close I could smell the damp wool of his coat. Elvis growled low in his throat, a sound I'd never heard him make before.

“You're going to have an unfortunate fall down some icy stairs.”

“I fell down more stairs than that when I was eight,” I said. “It won't kill me, and I promise I'll scream so loudly they'll hear me at the police station.”
Keep him taking,
I told myself
, and the good guys will get here.

“Do you really think I didn't plan this out? Alas, you're going to hit your head on the top stair post.”

He aimed the gun at Elvis again. “Move.”

The deck and the steps were slippery. Usually I kept them clear and sanded, but it had been such a busy week I'd let it slide. I gave a tiny hysterical giggle at the play on words. And then one foot went out from under me. I scrambled to get my balance, one hand flailing as I clutched Elvis with the other. Swift grabbed my free arm, forcing it up behind my back. I struggled, but he was bigger and stronger and I couldn't get my footing.

He began to drag me toward the wooden newel post at the top of the stairs that led down to the backyard. He dropped his other arm. The gun was at his side. There was no reason not to scream. But he'd anticipated that. As I took a breath, he slipped the
gun into his pocket and clamped his other gloved hand down hard over my mouth.

The only chance I could see was to go limp, let Elvis get free and then throw myself down the stairs. I was banking on getting to the bottom before he could pull out the gun again and shoot me. Then my left foot found a place where there was a little sand left from the last time I'd put some down. Instead of going limp, I kicked up and out, as hard as I could, aiming for his knee and making a very satisfying connection. At the same time a black paw slashed up and raked the back of Swift's hand.

He let go of me, swearing. Then, to my surprise, his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the deck like a bag of water. Because the blade of my big yellow snow shovel had just made contact with the back of his head.

The other end of the shovel was in Rose's hands.

She was breathing hard, but there was a smirk of satisfaction on her face. “Are you all right, dear?” she said.

The police arrived what seemed like moments later. Daniel Swift was conscious by then. I think if he'd tried to move, Rose would have brained him again. One paramedic tended to the bump on the back of his head while another checked my shoulder.

Rose sat at my grandmother's dining room table and gave her statement to Michelle. When she'd said that she and Charlotte had had plans, what she hadn't said was that their plans were to follow Daniel Swift. They'd trailed him to a brick building down the street. Formerly factory housing for the chocolate factory workers, it now held several professional offices. Charlotte had stayed with the car in the lot, and Rose had gone inside to see where Swift had been going.

“That was dangerous,” Michelle said sternly.

Rose shook her head. “Nobody notices an old woman. We're about as close to invisible as it gets.”

In a cosmic stroke of good luck or good timing, Rose had seen Swift pull on a gray fedora, turn up
the collar of his coat and start down the street. When she realized he was heading to my house, she'd tried to call me and discovered she'd left her phone in Charlotte's car.

Her expression grew serious. “I'm sorry, my dear,” she said. “I should have paid more attention.” She reached across the table for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “If anything had happened to you . . .”

“Nothing happened to me,” I said. “Because of you. Where did you learn to swing a shovel like that?”

“I played baseball when I was a girl.
Baseball
, not softball,” she stressed. She smiled and patted her hair. Not a single one was out of place after all her exertion. “If Daniel Swift's head had been a baseball, that would have been a home run.”

Behind her I saw Charlotte shake her head.

We ended up downstairs in my apartment. When I came back from changing into dry clothes, Mr. P. had shown up and was in the kitchen making coffee and tea. Rose and Charlotte were at the table along with Jess. Charlotte had called her. Elvis was on Jess's lap.

“Where do you keep your cookies?” Mr. P. asked.

“I don't exactly have any cookies,” I said a little sheepishly.

“Crackers?” he asked hopefully. “Or muffins?”

I felt my cheeks getting red.

“Give it up, Mr. P.,” Jess said from her seat at the table. “The only edible things you're going to find in that kitchen are sardines and cat kibble, and I don't fancy having either one of them with my coffee.”

“Merow!” Elvis exclaimed.

“No one's going to eat your sardines,” I said.

He looked pointedly around the room just to make sure we all knew they were paws off.

“Liz is on the way,” Charlotte said. “She's stopping at McNamara's.”

Rose got up, came around the table and put her arms around me. “As soon as that bandage is off your hand”—she gestured to the gauze the paramedic had put on the scrape on the side of my left hand—“we'll start your cooking lessons again.”

“Have I told you I love you?” I asked.

She stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “Only about half a dozen times in the last hour.”

“Is that all?” I said.

She laughed. “I'm so glad you're all right.”

I peeked into the kitchen to see how Mr. P. was doing. He seemed to be figuring things out. Charlotte came up behind me and put an arm around my shoulders.

“Is it crazy that I feel a little sorry for Daniel Swift?” I said.

“No,” she said. “It just shows that you have a good heart.”

“All he had was his grandson,” I said. “I have all of you.” I suddenly had a lump in my throat again. I looked over at the table, where Rose was telling Jess how she'd gotten the shovel and crept up the stairs.

“We're very glad we have you,” Charlotte said.

There was a knock at the door.

“I'll get it, my dear,” Mr. P. said.

It was Nick. He was carrying a brown paper shopping bag.

“Come join the party,” Jess said, waving at him from the table.

“I just wanted to see for myself that Sarah is okay,” Nick said.

“I'm fine,” I said, hobbling over to the door.

He frowned when he noticed how gingerly I was moving my shoulder.

“It's just a little road rash,” I said.

“I thought you were out of the detective business,” he said, lowering his voice.

I shrugged. “So did I.”

Nick handed me the shopping bag. “This is for you. Open it later.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It's no big deal. Just . . . just look at it later.” He shook his head. “I can't believe Daniel Swift killed Lily. And tried to kill you.”

“He thought she knew what happened to his grandson.”

“Do you think she did?”

I rubbed my shoulder. It still ached where Swift had wrenched it up behind my back. “I don't know,” I said. “I guess we'll never know now.”

Nick smiled. “Did Rose really clobber Swift with a snow shovel?”

“She has a swing like Ted Williams.”

Charlotte came over to us. “Come sit down, Sarah,” she said. “You were supposed to stay off that ankle.”

“Would you get Nick a cup of coffee?” I said. I looked at him. “Do you have time for one?”

“I'd love one.”

Mr. P. had heard the conversation. “I'll get it,” he said. “Nicolas, how do you take it?”

Jess got to her feet. “Sit,” she said, putting both hands on my shoulder and steering me to her chair.

I sat, gratefully, because my ankle did hurt. I set the shopping bag at my feet. Jess pulled over the footstool. “Put your foot on that,” she said. “I'll get you a cup of coffee. And I'm spending the night, by the way. And Rose is cooking breakfast in the morning, because I'm not eating sardines.”

There was a meow at her feet. She bent down and lifted Elvis into her arms. “You are my hero, Mr. King of Rock and Roll,” she said. She scratched under his chin and he started to purr. She kissed the top of his head and set him on the footstool next to my foot. “Watch her,” she said, pointing at me.

Elvis immediately turned and stared at me.

Jess laughed and went into the kitchen to get my coffee. There was another knock at the door.

“I'll get that,” Charlotte said before I could move.

It was Liz with Avery and Mac in tow and probably half the food Glenn McNamara had had.

“Are you all right, child?” Liz said. I could see the concern in her eyes.

“I'm fine, thanks to Rose,” I said. Rose had gotten to her feet and was looking in the two large paper shopping bags Mac was carrying.

“You really clocked the old dude with a shovel?” Avery asked.

“I wouldn't quite put it that way, dear,” Rose said, “but essentially, yes.”

“Hot damn!” Avery said, high-fiving Rose.

Liz shot her a look. “Sorry, Nonna,” she said, ducking her head.

“Take those bags from Mac and put them in the kitchen, please,” Liz said, making a shooing motion with one hand.

Mac handed her the bags and then put an arm around Rose's shoulders. “I'm so proud of you,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Thank you,” she said.

Liz looked at Mac. “Have a seat,” she said. “Talk to Sarah. I'll get you a cup of coffee as soon as I find out if there is any.”

“There is,” I said. “Mr. P. made it.”

Mac pulled off his gloves and dropped into the chair opposite me. Everyone else was crammed into my tiny kitchen.

“Are you really all right?” he asked.

“I am,” I said. I held up my hand. “The bandage is twice the size of the scrape, and I only twisted my ankle.”

“I'm glad,” he said. He hesitated. “If you need anything, later on or tonight, call me? Please?”

I nodded, suddenly feeling . . . awkward.

We all managed to squeeze around the table with our coffee and tea. Liz had brought rolls and Glenn's chicken corn chowder and probably every cookie in
the place. Charlotte and Mr. P. served us all while Rose told her story again, with Elvis adding commentary from his perch on the footstool. Nick managed to eat a bowl of chowder and two peanut-butter cookies before his phone rang.

“I've gotta go,” he said. He came around the table, leaned down and kissed Rose on the cheek. “Promise me from now on you'll let someone else do the shoveling,” he said.

She laughed, reached up and patted his cheek.

“If you or Jess need anything, I'm as close as the phone,” Nick said to me. He reached out with one hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

The gesture felt oddly intimate. I had to swallow before I could speak. “Thanks,” I said.

Charlotte walked Nick to the door. When she opened it, Caroline Carter was standing there.

“Is this a bad time?” she asked uncertainly.

“Of course not,” Charlotte said.

“I'm on my way out,” Nick said. “I'll call you later,” he said to his mother.

I struggled to my feet. “Caroline, come in, please,” I said.

“Detective Andrews called me,” she said, her fingers playing with the fringe of the long, rust-colored scarf she was wearing. “I just wanted to see if you and Rose were all right.”

“We're fine,” I said. “Please sit down.”

She took Nick's empty chair. Mr. P. quietly got up and headed for the kitchen. In a moment he was
back with a cup of tea for Caroline. I mouthed a “Thank you” at him.

“You're hurt,” Caroline said to me.

“A twisted ankle and some skin off the back of my hand,” I said. “It's nothing.”

“Did you really go after Daniel with a shovel?” she said to Rose.

Rose nodded.

Caroline smiled. “Good for you.” She shook her head. “I can't believe he killed Lily.”

“I'm not making excuses for the man,” I said carefully. “But I think his grandson's disappearance broke something in him. He thought Lily knew what happened to Caleb, and he got fixated on that.”

Caroline pressed her lips together and looked at the ceiling for a moment. I saw her swallow a couple of times, and it was clear she was fighting back tears. And in the split second before she spoke, all the pieces fell into place for me.

“She did know what happened to Caleb,” Caroline said. “I killed him.”