by Ryan, Sofie
“Why would you say that?” Liz asked. Her jaw was tense and it was pretty clear she was running out of patience.
Royce took off his cap, smoothed down the tufts of gray hair that rimmed his head, and put it back on again. “Because Fenety just turned around all of a sudden and knocked that fella into the bushes right there.” He pointed to the spot where the path forked just ahead.
Liz and I exchanged looks. As we came level with the bushes I noticed that the side of the path sloped down at an angle there. It would have been fairly easy to catch someone by surprise and trip them into the bushes.
“Don’t climb down there, girl,” the former mail carrier said, raising a hand in warning.
“Why?” I asked.
“Lotta poison ivy down there.”
Poison ivy. “Bingo!” I said to Liz.
I looked at Royce Collins. “What did Arthur Fenety do after he knocked the man following him to the bushes?”
“He said something—I couldn’t hear what. Then he helped the guy up. They stood there talking for a bit and then Fenety went down that way.” He pointed to the trail through the woods and hiked up his pants. “Other guy headed back to the main entrance.”
Liz took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you, Royce,” she said. “You’ve been a big help.”
“You’re welcome, Elizabeth,” he said. He tipped his cap to her. “If there’s anything else you need to know, feel free to stop by my place anytime.” He gave her a big smile and a wink and continued on down the path.
Liz took my arm. “Was that enough?” she asked. “Because I’m not going to his house to ask him any more questions. You will be on your own.”
I nudged Liz’s shoulder with my own. “You know, his teeth looked very nice and he doesn’t have any hair growing out of his nose. You could do a lot worse.”
She glared at me. “There are sixteen-year-old boys walking around with half their underwear showing and their pants aren’t as droopy as Royce Collins’s are.” She shook her head. “Honestly, what is it with men my age? Their pants are either up under their armpits or hanging so low we can almost see the crack—”
“Liz!” I exclaimed.
“Of dawn,” she finished.
We were back at the SUV and I walked around to get into the driver’s side. “You’re being a little hard on the poor man. His pants weren’t that bad.”
“Oh, really?” Liz said. She pointed across the park. Royce Collins was almost out of sight where the path curved again. His khaki pants slumped on his hips, the seat a good eight inches below his . . . real seat.
I slid behind the wheel. “All he needs is a good woman to teach him a little fashion sense,” I said, grinning at her.
She smiled back at me as she reached for her seat belt. “Would you like to talk about how both Charlotte and Rose think you and Nicolas would make an absolutely adorable couple now that he’s staying in town?”
“No,” I said.
She clicked the seat belt into place. “Let’s just drive.”
“We need to talk to Jim Grant again.”
“No time like the present,” she said.
We drove across town to the Rosemont Inn, where Jim Grant had been staying. The inn was a former sea captain’s home, built in 1822. It was only a couple of blocks from the waterfront.
Jim Grant had gone out for lunch. We found him at McNamara’s, about to start in on a pastrami sandwich.
“Ms. Grayson, hello,” he said, smiling as Liz and I approached the table.
“Hello,” I said, smiling in return. “And please call me Sarah.”
“If you’ll call me Jim,” he said.
“This is my friend, Liz French.”
Liz smiled. “Hello,” she said.
“Jim, do you have a minute?” I asked. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Uh, sure,” he said. “Please sit down.”
I pulled another chair over to the table, and Liz and I sat down.
Jim wiped his fingers on his napkin. I could still see a bit of a bandage peeking out from below his shirt cuff. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“You could explain why you made a point of telling me you got into town Tuesday morning when you actually arrived here on Sunday.”
Jim Grant would have been a lousy poker player. A tiny muscle started to twitch on his left eyelid. He twisted his napkin into a tight ball in his right hand.
I shrugged. “It’s a small place. It’s hard to keep anything secret for very long.”
“I didn’t want you to think I’d done anything to Fenety.”
“Did you?” Liz asked.
His gaze flicked over to her for a moment. “No. I didn’t.”
I pointed at his arm. “You followed Arthur and he caught you.”
His mouth pulled into a thin line. “Twice my age and he got the jump on me. And to top it off I landed in a damn patch of poison ivy. My whole arm came up in welts that itched like a bugger. I’m really allergic to the stuff.”
“Why were you following Arthur?” Liz asked.
Jim pushed his plate back. “I thought maybe he’d lead me to wherever he stashed my mother’s jewelry.” He reached for his coffee. “You probably heard. The police found his safe-deposit box. Most of my mother’s things were in it. As for the money, I don’t care what he said; it’s long gone.”
I leaned forward, putting both hands on the table. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, you don’t care what he said?”
“He told me he’d changed. He said he’d call me in the morning and he’d give me the money he took from my mother.” He looked at me. “Yeah, I didn’t tell you the truth about that, either.”
“What did you do after you talked to Arthur?”
“I went back to the place where I was staying and got in the bathtub with a bunch of oatmeal. It was supposed to help.” He rubbed his hand over his left arm. “I told you, the damn thing itched like a bugger. I spent the afternoon getting drunk and half the night heaving my guts out.”
I looked at Liz.
“Ask them at the inn,” he said. “They’ll tell you. I didn’t kill Fenety. I wanted to get back everything he took from my mother. I couldn’t do that if he was dead.”
Liz and I left Jim Grant to his lunch and walked back to the SUV.
“We should go back to the Rosemont, just in case he’s still not telling the truth,” Liz said.
I nodded. Even without my feline lie detector I was certain Jim Grant had been honest. And it turned out I was right. The staff at the Rosemont confirmed that Jim Grant had returned to the inn just after noon on Monday, his left arm swollen and covered in welts from the poison ivy. He’d spent a half an hour in an oatmeal bath the housekeeper had gotten ready for him, and then proceeded to get standing-up-falling-down drunk in the lounge.
“I was so sure I was right,” I said to Liz as we stood on the sidewalk outside the inn.
“So, now what?” she said.
I shook my head. I was at a loss. “I don’t know.”
Chapter 24
When we got back to the shop I pulled into my parking spot, shut off the engine and leaned my head back against the headrest. “I’m sorry,” I said to Liz.
“What for?” she asked.
“For being wrong about Jim Grant. For getting everyone’s hopes up that we could prove Maddie is innocent.”
“I thought it was him, too,” she said.
I opened my eyes and looked at her.
“We’ll figure something out.” She reached over to pat my arm. “We always do.”
“We may as well go in,” I said. “I can’t hide out here all day.”
Liz already had her door open. “Well, of course not,” she said. “I don’t think that windshield has a UV coating. All the sun would give you wrinkles.”
She was already starting across the parking lot and she waved a hand at me. “Yeah. Everybody does,” she said.
Rose had gotten back just before we did. Michelle and the prosecutor had agreed to consider Aleida’s statement, but for now the charges against Maddie were still in place.
“It’s better than what I have,” I said. I filled them in on what Liz and I had learned.
“So, if Jim Grant didn’t kill Arthur, who did?” Rose asked, brushing bits of paper off the front of her apron.
“It had to be one of his other wives or someone from their families,” Charlotte said.
“So how do we figure out who?” Liz asked.
I raked both hands through my hair. “For now I guess we just get Mr. P. to keep on digging.”
I headed up to my office to check my messages. After about ten minutes there was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called.
It was Mac. “Rose brought soup back with her. I heated some up for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, moving around the desk to take the oversize mug he’d brought me.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sarah,” he said. “You’ll figure something out. Or maybe the police will.”
“I encouraged them,” I said, leaning back against the desk. “I got involved in their ‘investigation’ and then I let them down.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said. Elvis had wandered in behind him and the cat meowed loudly as if in agreement. “See?” Mac said. “He agrees with me.’
I laughed and stirred the soup with my spoon. “You two aren’t exactly unbiased.”
“And neither are you,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Nobody else would have taken those three seriously. Nobody else would have driven all over town, trying to prove Maddie Hamilton didn’t kill Arthur Fenety.” He smiled. “They love you. They’re not disappointed.”
Right on cue Elvis meowed again. “Thanks, Mac,” I said. I looked down at the cat. “You too.”
I ate the soup Mac had brought me and then I returned some phone calls while Elvis sat in the middle of my desk, washing his face. When I finished I leaned back in my chair.
“I wish we knew a little more about Arthur’s past,” I said to the cat.
He climbed down onto my lap, walked his front paws up my chest and rubbed his face against the side of mine. I reached up to scratch behind his ear and he laid his head against my shoulder.
“I’d like to talk to Daisy again,” I said. “She’s the best source of information we have. She’s the only one we have.”
He murped in agreement. At least that’s what I decided the sound meant.
I gave him one last scratch, set him on the floor and stood up. “So, what am I going to use for an excuse to talk to the woman again?”
Elvis walked across the small space to a stack of boxes packed with an eight-piece set of china that was going to auction in a week. He scrapped at the bottom box with one paw and then looked at me.
China. Daisy Fenety was looking for pieces of that daisy-patterned china. If I could find a piece or two I felt certain she’d come to the shop to see it.
“You’re a genius,” I said. Elvis straightened up and swiped a paw across his face, almost as though he were saying, “Of course I am.”
I went downstairs and out onto the sunporch. Mr. P. was on his laptop, eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying over the keys. Rose was in a chair beside him.
“Mr. P., do you have a moment to look for something for me?” I asked.
“Certainly I do,” he said. “What is it?”
“I’m looking for a piece of china. The pattern is called Daisy May.”
“Isn’t that the china Arthur’s sister collects?” Rose asked.
I nodded. “I want to talk to her again, and I don’t think she’s going to want to help us prove Maddie’s innocence. She thinks Maddie is guilty. I thought if I had a piece of the china maybe I could get her into the shop.”
“It’s a little old-fashioned, you know,” Rose said.
“You’ve seen the china?” I said.
“Heavens, yes,” she said. “My next-door neighbor has a china cabinet full of it. And she never uses it.”
The lightbulb went on for both of us at the same time.
“Do you think she’d loan you a couple of pieces?” I asked.
“The woman has a wicked sweet tooth,” she said. “For a cake she’d probably loan me a kidney.”
“A cup and saucer or a gravy boat will be just fine,” I said. “Tell me what you want from the grocery store and I’ll get it. Butter, chocolate, baking . . . stuff. Give me a list.”
Rose reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I have all the baking stuff I need. I think I’ll make my devil’s food cake with whipped chocolate frosting. Don’t worry. I’ll have a cup and saucer or a gravy boat for Monday morning.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe I can find out something from Daisy that will at least point us in the right direction.”
“Alfred is looking into all of Arthur’s wives that we know about,” Rose said. “I’m not giving up, Sarah.”
“Neither am I,” I said.
She held up her hand, palm facing out, and I realized she wanted to high-five me. So I did. I figured why not? Maybe it would bring me some good luck. We could use it.
It was a busy day. The fall foliage was at its peak and we had tourists in and out all day. By five o’clock my feet hurt, but I remembered to stop at the grocery store. I carried two canvas shopping bags into the house, trailed by Elvis.
“We have coffee, bacon, chocolate and Fancy Feast,” I told the cat, who had waited patiently in the back of the SUV while I shopped. “I think that covers the major food groups: sugar, salt, fat, caffeine and cat.”
He licked his whiskers and then went over and sat beside his bowl.
“You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” I said. I put the groceries away, fed Elvis and made myself a scrambled egg and tomato sandwich. I jazzed it up a little with a dill pickle and some black olives. It was a nice night, so I took my supper out on the small verandah. I sat in my favorite wicker chair and put my feet up on the railing. Elvis prowled around sniffing things, probably checking to see if there had been any squirrels in his territory.
It was a quiet Saturday night. Not that Saturday nights ever got rowdy in my neighborhood, or anywhere else in town. I’d finished my sandwich and was trying to decide if I wanted the brownie I’d bought badly enough to get up and get it, when a dark blue car pulled in at the curb. It took a moment for me to remember where I’d seen it before and by then the driver was getting out. It was Michelle. I dropped my feet and stood up. “Hi,” I said as she walked across the grass.
“Hi, Sarah,” she said. She stopped at the top of the steps and leaned against the railing post.
“Is everything all right?” I asked. I was very aware that she was a police officer—even though she was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, which suggested she was off duty—and we weren’t exactly friends anymore.
She smiled, although it looked a little tentative to me. “I wanted to tell you that the charges haven’t been dropped against Maddie but we are expanding the investigation.”
I nodded. “Thank you. It wasn’t what I was hoping for, but it’s something.”
She looked around. “I like your house. You’ve done a lot of work on it.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Liam and Gram,” I said.
“How is Liam?” she asked, tucking her hands into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.
I smiled. “He’s good. He’s at a solar-energy conference in Montreal right now.” My brother designed solar houses. His specialty was small houses that used passive solar technology.
Elvis c
ame up the steps, stopped in front of Michelle and studied her for a moment. Then he meowed softly, his way of saying, “I remember you.”
She bent down to pet him. “He looks like he’s probably used up at least one of his nine lives,” she said.
I nodded. “Sometimes I wonder what the other guy looks like.”
Michelle straightened up. Elvis looked around as if he were confused about why anyone would want to stop stroking his fur or scratching behind his right ear.
“I didn’t come here to tell you about the investigation,” she said. “At least not just about that.”
“So why did you come?” I asked. Elvis came to sit beside me, leaning against my leg.
She took a deep breath. “I came to say I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “Arresting Maddie is part of doing your job.”
She tucked her auburn hair behind one ear. “That’s not what I came to apologize for. I came to tell you I’m sorry for cutting you out of my life.”
It was the last thing I was expecting her to say. For a moment I just looked at her. Then I found my voice. “What did I do?” I asked. “One day you were my friend and the next day you wouldn’t speak to me. I didn’t understand then and I don’t understand now.”
“Do you remember that summer?” She looked down at her feet. “My father went to jail.”
I tried to swallow down the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat but it wouldn’t go. I remembered that summer like it had just happened. It was the summer I’d gotten my dad’s guitar from Maddie and lost my best friend. Michelle had been a summer kid, just like I was, coming to spend two months with her grandparents, long dead now. Then her dad had gotten a job as director for the Sunshine Camp. The camp, for kids with seriously ill parents, had been bought by the Emmerson Foundation, the charitable organization started by Liz’s grandparents. Rob Andrews had had the job less than a year when a routine audit showed there was money missing.
“I remember,” I finally managed to say.
She looked past me, over my shoulder into the darkness, or maybe into the past. I wasn’t sure. “I kept thinking I was going to wake up and it would just be a bad dream,” she said, her gaze coming back to my face.