by Ryan, Sofie
“I have a feeling I’m going to like it,” I said.
She laughed again. “I know you are.” I heard her shift in her seat, probably reaching for a cup of tea.
“So, what do you need to know?” she asked. “I’m assuming that’s why you asked about the paper.”
“Yeah,” I said, picking a clump of black cat hair off my shirt and dropping it onto the floor. Elvis didn’t stir. “It’s a little complicated. Rose and Charlotte and Liz are kind of investigating.”
“You mean the murder?” Mom said.
I sighed. “Yes.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“I know,” I said. “Try convincing them of that. I’m just trying to keep them from getting in too much trouble.”
“What do you need to know?”
I shifted in my seat again and this time Elvis lifted his head and glared at me. I stroked his fur and after a moment he put his head down again.
“Arthur Fenety spent some time in New Hampshire,” I said. “At least one of his wives is there. Anything about Fenety’s background might be useful. And I’ll pass everything on to Josh.”
“I’ll ask your dad when he gets home,” Mom said.
“Tell him thank you,” I said.
“I will,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to work. I love you, pretty girl.”
“Love you, too,” I said.
I ended the call and set the phone next to me on the loveseat. Someone knocked softly on my door.
“Come in,” I called.
Mac stuck his head around the door. “You’re not on the phone,” he said. “That’s good.”
I smiled. “I was, but I was talking to my mom.”
“I brought you a cup of coffee,” he said, coming into the room. He had a cup in each hand.
I took the mug he held out. “Thank you,” I said. “I could use a little kick start of caffeine.”
He leaned against my desk, folding his hands around his own cup.
“Have Charlie’s Angels come up with anything yet?” I asked. I took a long drink from my coffee. It was hot and strong, just the way I liked it.
“Charlie’s Angels?” Mac said, narrowing his gaze at me.
I nodded. “Yeah. Avery kind of gave them the name.”
“New Charlie’s Angels or classic?” he asked.
Elvis sat up and shook himself.
“That’s still up for debate. Although Rose sees herself as Farrah Fawcett.”
“Because?” Mac prompted.
“She has the best hair.”
He laughed. “So that must mean Mr. Peterson is Bosley?”
“He is.”
“And what about you?”
Elvis sniffed the air; then he jumped down and went out into the hallway.
I picked more cat fur off my lap. “I think I’m Charlie.”
He nodded. “I can see that.”
“This isn’t exactly what I envisioned when I hired Rose and Charlotte, you know,” I said.
“I seem to remember you telling me nothing ever happened around here,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Mac, do you ever wish you were back in your old life?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“What? And give up all this?”
“I’m serious,” I said.
He smiled. “So am I.” He set his coffee on the edge of the desk, tenting his fingers over the top of the cup. “I can sail for close to half the year. I get to work with my hands. And, c’mon, it’s never boring around here.”
I laughed.
“I don’t want to wear a suit and a tie. And I don’t want to sell stocks and bonds. I want to sell things I can touch. I don’t want to worry about what the Dow is doing. I’d rather see what Rose or Avery are doing.” He made a face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to give a speech.” He pushed away from the desk and straightened up. “I’d better go see how Avery is doing.”
I held up my mug. “Thank you for the coffee,” I said.
Mac smiled. “Anytime,” he said.
I stretched my legs out in front of me. Then I reached for the phone. I really did need to return those messages.
Charlotte came out of the staff room just as I was about to head back downstairs. “Would you like more coffee?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
We walked downstairs together. “I talked to my mom,” I said. “Dad’s going to use his contacts to see if he can get any information about Arthur Fenety.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I just know his death has to be connected to all the women he scammed. Nothing else makes any sense.”
Mac was standing in the middle of the store, talking to two women. When he caught sight of me he beckoned me over. “Sarah, these women are looking for a rectangular table that folds for storage,” he said.
“The only thing we have is the Big Bird table,” I said, referring to the long canary yellow table that we’d had lunch at the day before. “And that hasn’t been restored yet.”
“Could I see it?” the younger of the two women said. She was dressed casually in jeans, boots and a fisherman-knit sweater. She looked enough like the older woman that I guessed they were mother and daughter.
“Of course,” I said. “It’s in the storage room. Come have a look.”
I took them into the back room and showed them the table. It really did seem to glow even under the bright overhead lights.
“That’s what I want,” the woman in the fisherman-knit sweater said. “Can you refinish it for me?”
I nodded. Behind her Mac held up two fingers, which I knew meant two weeks. “It’ll be about three weeks,” I said, adding an extra week so we’d have some wiggle room. I did a quick calculation in my head and added twenty-five percent to the cost. She didn’t quibble at all when I named the price.
“You have a deal,” I said, thinking maybe I should have added thirty percent instead.
We went out to the front counter and did the paperwork.
“Very nice,” Mac said once they were gone.
“I didn’t think anyone would want that table. I looked back toward the storeroom door. “It’s a very plain design. Not to mention it glows in the dark right now and most people can’t see beyond that.”
Mac just smiled his Cheshire cat smile at me.
I hadn’t seen any potential in that table but he had. “You can say ‘I told you so,’” I said.
The smile got wider. “No. That would be petty.”
I laughed. “You were right about that table.”
“Always good to have my genius recognized.”
I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Mr. P. standing there with his laptop. He had a pleased look on his face.
“Did you find something?” Rose asked. She’d been dusting a collection of tiny china animals.
“I think I might have,” he said. “I’ve been looking through the archives of the Burlington Free Press.” He carried the computer over and set it on the counter. There was a photo of a man who looked like he was in his late forties on the screen. His head was shaved smooth but he had a neatly trimmed goatee that seemed to be about half graying. He was tall and heavyset, and in the photo he was wearing rimless glasses.
“Who’s that?” Charlotte asked.
“His name is Jim Grant,” Mr. P. said. “His mother is one of Arthur Fenety’s wives. Jim Grant threatened to kill him.” He pushed his own glasses up his nose. “Actually he threatened to drive his truck over Arthur and turn him into roadkill, which I think is pretty much the same thing.”
“Maybe he decided that poison would be a little neater,” Rose said. She smiled at Mr. P. “We should talk to this Jim Grant. How do we get hold of him?”
“That’s going to take a little more diggin
g,” Mr. P. said.
I heard the front door open and I looked over to see if there was more than one customer.
“Maybe it’s not,” I said, slowly.
Jim Grant had just walked into the store
Chapter 14
I looked at Mr. P. and shifted my eyes to the storeroom door. He was very quick on the uptake.
He touched my arm and smiled. “Thank you dear,” he said. “Facebook can be so confusing.” Then he picked up his laptop and headed back—I hoped—to the sunporch.
I smoothed the front of my shirt and met Jim Grant in the middle of the room in front of the tub chair. It was him, I realized, the man in Mr. P.’s photo. It wasn’t wishful thinking on my part or a trick of the light. I gave him a businesslike smile. “Hello,” I said, “Welcome to Second Chance.”
He was wearing khakis and a navy Windbreaker, and since I didn’t see his glasses I was guessing he was also wearing contacts.
“I’m looking for Sarah Grayson,” he said. “Would you be her?”
I nodded. “Yes, I am. How can I help you?”
“My name is Jim Grant.” He offered his hand and I shook it. His left arm was covered with a gauze bandage that disappeared up his sleeve and there was an angry rash on the back of his hand. “Detective Andrews said that Arthur Fenety sold my mother’s tea set to you. Did he sell you anything else?”
Well, now I knew where the tea set had come from. And I’d been right that Arthur’s selling it wasn’t on the up-and-up.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “The tea set was the only thing he brought in and the police have that now.”
He shrugged. “That’s what Detective Andrews said, but I wanted to see for myself. I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“You haven’t,” I said. “You’re welcome to prowl around the store. Maybe that will put your mind at ease.”
He looked around the open space. “Thank you, but I don’t see anything that looks like hers. You don’t sell jewelry, do you?”
“No, we don’t,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Rose and Charlotte folding a quilt and trying not to be obvious as they eavesdropped. “There is a pawn shop just one street up from the harbor front, though.”
He ran his fingers over his bearded chin. “I’ve already been there.”
“I’m sorry Arthur Fenety took advantage of your mother,” I said, hoping I could somehow get him talking so he’d stay for a few minutes. “Madeline Hamilton is a family friend.”
“The woman they charged.”
I nodded. “She didn’t kill him.”
Jim Grant shrugged. “There are some people who wouldn’t blame her if she had. Fenety left some of those women he scammed penniless.” His face tightened with anger. “He took my mother’s silver and her good jewelry, which was bad enough because those things have memories for her. But she has her house and most of her money. Some of his so-called wives weren’t that lucky.”
Rose was making her way over to us. She was moving slowly, limping. Why hadn’t I noticed that earlier?
“Excuse me for interrupting,” she said, directing her attention to Jim Grant, “but I heard you mention Arthur Fenety’s name. Was he a friend of yours?”
Grant shook his head. “No. Arthur Fenety was certainly not a friend of mine.”
“He was a despicable man,” Rose said.
Jim Grant nodded. “You knew him, then?”
She nodded. “He was seeing my friend, Maddie Hamilton.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rose Jackson.”
“Jim Grant,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it, gently. “I heard your friend was arrested. I’m sorry.”
Rose patted his hand before she let go of it. “A man like that had to have known some very unsavory people. I’m sure the police will find out that it was one of them who killed him.”
Elvis had come down the stairs. He came across the floor and wound around Jim Grant’s legs. “Hello, puss,” he said, reaching down to stroke the top of the cat’s head. I was beginning to think there wasn’t anyone that the cat couldn’t charm. Just like the original Elvis, this one had charisma.
“I wish I’d gotten here a day sooner,” Grant said. “Then it would have been Fenety in a jail cell.”
“He took advantage of your mother,” Rose said. “The man was a heel and a reprobate.”
I looked down at Elvis. Something was annoying him. He had the same pissed-off look he’d gotten when we’d all had lunch together and Maddie had been petting him.
“I admit when I found out what he’d done there was a moment when I thought I could have killed him.” He shook his head. “It’s not a very good thing to admit to, is it?”
Rose reached out and touched his sleeve. “I understand completely. I’ve had a few dark impulses about the man myself.”
“Now that he’s dead I don’t have much hope of getting my mother’s jewelry back.” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “When I got here Tuesday morning and checked into my hotel, the newspaper was on the desk by the phone. I’d been looking for Fenety for months. I admit it felt like some cosmic joke that he was dead just when I’d finally tracked him down.” He straightened up and brushed off his hands. “Thank you, Ms. Grayson,” he said, “for giving the police the tea set. At least we’ll get that back eventually.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t have any of your mother’s jewelry,” I said. I glanced down at Elvis. Whatever the aggravation was, it had passed.
Grant shrugged. “It was probably gone before Fenety even got here.”
He turned to Rose and smiled. “I hope things work out for your friend.”
Rose smiled sweetly back at him. She was playing the slightly befuddled little old lady to the hilt. “I hope you find your mother’s things.” She touched her watch. “I know how I’d feel if someone stole my memories.”
I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t laugh. I knew Rose’s watch had come from a Target store in Portland.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said, still looking at her watch. “Look at the time. I need to get home.”
She looked at me for the briefest moment. I knew I was supposed to do or say something. I just had no clue what.
“Umm, if you can wait a few minutes, I’ll drive you,” I said.
Rose shook her head. “No, no, dear. You have work to do. It’s not far. I’ll be fine.” She started to hobble toward the front door.
“Mrs. Jackson, I’m on my way back to my hotel,” Grant said. “Could I drop you somewhere?”
Rose hesitated. “I don’t want to put you out.”
He smiled. “You wouldn’t.”
She hesitated just a moment longer. I was shooting warning glances at her but she was pointedly ignoring them. Then she turned that smile on. “All right. Thank you. I don’t move as fast as I used to.”
He offered his arm and Rose took it.
“Thanks again,” he said to me, and the two of them went out the door.
Charlotte walked over to me. I pulled a hand back through my hair. “What the heck was that?” I said. “Who does Rose think she is? Meryl Streep?”
Charlotte smiled. “She’s detecting. Let her go.”
“That could be Arthur Fenety’s killer.”
“He couldn’t have killed Arthur. You heard what he said. He didn’t get here until Tuesday morning.”
“And of course murderers never lie,” I said. “I shouldn’t have let her go with him.”
“Rosie’s fine.” Mr. P. was standing in the storeroom doorway. He held up his cell phone. “She called my phone. I’m on speed dial. It’s a little muffled but I can hear what they’re saying.” He smiled proudly. “She’s pumping him for information.”
I raked my hand back though my hair again and watched some long strands float down to the floor. “I’m going to be bald,” I said to Charlot
te.
She smiled and reached over to brush a strand of hair off my cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll knit you some very nice hats.”
But I did worry until Jim Grant had dropped Rose off at the medical clinic. I held out my hand. “Give me the phone,” I said to Mr. P.
“Sarah wants to talk to you,” he said, and then he handed it over.
“Hello, dear,” she said.
“Promise me you won’t do that again,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Go off with a man you don’t even know, who could be a murderer.”
She laughed. “Don’t be silly. James doesn’t have the grip strength to kill someone. Didn’t you notice what a limp handshake he has?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through my nose. It didn’t help. “Rose, Arthur Fenety was poisoned, not strangled.”
“Well, I know that,” she said with just a touch of exasperation in her voice. “But that limp handshake shows weakness of character. He’s a bit of a mama’s boy. Not a killer.”
“Okay,” I said, realizing that I wasn’t getting anywhere. “Just don’t take any more rides from people you don’t know. Please.”
“All right, dear. If it will make you feel better.” She was humoring me but that was okay. “Oh, and Charlotte’s taking the rest of my shift.”
“I noticed,” I said.
“Tell her she doesn’t need to cook. I’m bringing dinner.”
“I will,” I said. I handed the phone back to Mr. P. and relayed the message to Charlotte. When I turned back around he was tucking the phone in his pocket. “Good job finding Jim Grant’s picture,” I said. “And cooking up that phone business with Rose.”
He smiled. “Thank you.” He turned to head back to the sunporch. “Oh, and I found that woman.”
“What woman?” I said.
He stopped and turned back around. “The woman you saw at Sam’s.”
“One of Arthur’s wives?” Charlotte asked.
“Her name is Grace MacIntyre. And she was a girlfriend. Not a wife.”