by Ryan, Sofie
Michelle’s dad had died in prison, less than three months after he’d been sentenced, from a fast-moving form of cancer that no one had known he had.
“Nobody seemed to understand how I felt.” She stopped and swallowed. “Except you. And then I heard what you said about him to Nick.”
And just like that I understood why Michelle had stopped talking to me. Just like that it suddenly all made sense. Why hadn’t I figured it out before?
The night Maddie had given me my dad’s guitar, and two months after Michelle’s father had begun his four-year prison sentence for embezzling from the Sunshine Camp, Nick and I had sat on the rock wall at the back of my grandmother’s yard and I’d told him that Michelle’s father was a horrible person and that it wasn’t fair that he was still here and my father was gone. And then I’d said, “I wish he was the one who was dead!” A couple of minutes later I’d taken it all back, but obviously Michelle hadn’t stayed around long enough to hear that. And a couple of weeks later, her father was dead.
“I don’t understand,” I said rubbing the palm of my right hand with the thumb of my left. “You had chicken pox. You were in bed.”
She ducked her head. “It was your birthday. I wanted to bring you your present. So I waited until everyone was asleep. Then I snuck out.”
The next day Michelle had ended up in the hospital when she’d come down with some kind of secondary infection—probably from wandering around town late at night. I’d been baffled when she didn’t want to see me and when she wouldn’t even look at me during her father’s funeral sixteen days later.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was a thoughtless, self-absorbed teenager.”
She gave me a small smile. “I think that’s part of the job description. And you’d just gotten your father’s guitar. You were missing him.”
“You were my best friend,” I said. “I was supposed to be on your side and I wasn’t.”
A strange look came over her face. “I think someone set him up,” she said. She straightened up and brushed her hair back from her face. “I’ve been trying to figure out who it was.”
“Have you found anything?”
“You’re not going to tell me I’m tilting at windmills?” she asked, running a hand over the railing.
“I’ve been driving a group of senior citizens who think they’re Charlie’s Angels all over town. I’m the last person who’s going to tell you that.” I chose my next words with care. “And I’d like to be a better friend than that.”
Michelle hesitated and then she leaned forward and hugged me. It was clumsy and awkward but it still felt pretty good.
“Could we have dinner some night and catch up?” I asked when she let me go. I was hesitant because it had been a lot of years since the two of us had been friends.
She nodded. “I’d like that.” Her mouth moved as though she was testing out what she was going to say next.
I bent down to pick up Elvis to give her a minute.
“I’ll do what I can to help Maddie,” she said. “I’ll look at every piece of evidence a second time. I give you my word.”
I nodded. “I know that,” I said.
She let out a breath as though a load had been lifted off her shoulders. “I have to get going.” She leaned over and gave Elvis a scratch on the top of his head. He tipped his head to the right, looked up at her and murped. “Good night, Elvis,” she said.
She smiled at me and there was nothing tentative about it this time.
I watched her walk back to her car, and as she drove away I raised a hand in good-bye and she did the same.
Chapter 25
Rose arrived about quarter to nine Monday morning, carrying her red-and-white tote bag, and looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“Did you get it?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
She nodded and set the tote bag at her feet. She lifted out something swaddled in a towel and set it on the counter and began to unwrap it. Elvis, who had been sitting there, reached over with a paw and swatted down one edge of the towel.
“Thank you, Elvis,” Rose said. Underneath two of her best peach-colored towels was a curved, squat gravy boat.
“I hope this is okay,” she said.
“It’s more than okay,” I said. I threw my arms around her shoulders and hugged her. “Thank you.”
“Go call Daisy,” she said. “Let’s see what we can find out.”
I rewrapped the gravy boat and took it up to my office. Then I called Daisy Fenety, crossing my fingers that she’d be interested enough in the china gravy boat that she’d come to the shop.
“It’s on consignment,” I explained. “I can’t promise the owner will take your offer or any offer, for that matter.”
“I could stop by about four thirty this afternoon,” she said. “Would that work for you?”
“It would,” I said.
The day dragged.
About quarter after four I went downstairs. Charlotte had found new shades for the lamps I’d gotten from the motel and Avery had finished scrubbing the chairs. The lamps were on top of a squat wooden bookcase and the chairs were grouped in a semicircle, each with a bright pillow that Jess had made propped against its back.
Charlotte was just ringing up a customer. I waited until she was finished and then walked over to her. I set the china gravy boat on the counter by the cash register. She cleaned her hands with the bottle of sanitizer I kept by the cash register. “Avery and I are going to wait in the sunporch,” she said. “I think Daisy might be more likely to talk to you if we’re not all in the room. Mac will be around in case there are any customers.” She laid a hand on my shoulder for a moment. “Just get her to talk to you if you can.”
“I will,” I said. I felt as though a dozen tap dancers were hoofing it up in my stomach.
Daisy Fenety walked through the door exactly at four thirty. Charlotte had made tea and I had the pot, covered in a quilted cozy on a tray, along with cups and cream and sugar, sitting on a small folding table beside the tub chair.
“Hello, Sarah,” Daisy said. She was elegant, dressed in a caramel-colored sweater over a robin’s-egg blue shirt and chocolate brown trousers.
“Hello,” I said, walking across the floor to meet her. “That’s the gravy boat.” I pointed to the piece of china sitting next to the cash register. Her eyes lit up. We walked over to the counter.
“May I?” she asked.
I nodded. “Of course.”
She picked up the gravy boat and turned it over in her hands, examining it from every angle.
“As you can see it’s in excellent condition,” I said.
“The daisy centers have faded somewhat,” she pointed out.
“Which is typical for china of this vintage,” I countered.
“You know something about this pattern,” she said, her eyes meeting mine.
“I try to learn about the things I sell.” I’d spent an hour online Sunday afternoon researching the china.
Daisy set the gravy boat down on the counter. “How much are you asking for it?” she said.
I gave her my best professional smile. “As I told you on the phone this is a consignment piece.” I named a price that I knew from my research was about fifty percent more than the piece of china was worth.
“Is there any flexibility?” she asked.
I nodded. “I think a little. Would you like to make an offer?”
The price she named was a good twenty percent less than the average selling price of a piece of the vintage pattern.
“I think the owner is asking way too much,” she said, reaching out to trace the curve of the gravy boat’s handle with one finger. “People tend to put a dollar value on sentimentality.”
“Yes, they do,” I said. I pointed at the teapot. “I was going to have a cup of tea. Why don’t y
ou join me?”
“Thank you,” she said.
I poured a cup for each of us. Daisy took the tub chair and I carried over one of the hotel chairs with its bright-banded cushion.
“How did you first get interested in the Daisy May china?” I asked.
“My mother had a tea set in that pattern,” Daisy said. “She used to call it my china because of the daisies. She left it to me when she died. And I started collecting. Arthur used to tease me about it. I was a tomboy. The china was the only girly thing I was interested in. Never dolls or frilly dresses.”
“You must miss him very much,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I know that you want to believe Madeline’s innocent.”
“I do,” I said. “It’s hard to believe she’d hurt anyone.”
Elvis wandered in from the storage room and came over to us. He sat down in front of Daisy and looked up at her.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “You poor thing. What happened to you?”
Elvis hammed it up for all he was worth, dropping his head and giving her a sorrowful look.
“This is Elvis,” I said. “I don’t know how he got the scar. The vet thinks he was in a fight with a much bigger animal.”
He jumped up beside Daisy on the tub chair.
“Get down,” I said.
Daisy smiled. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.” She reached over to pet his fur. I was wondering how I could get the conversation back to her brother when she looked at me and said, “It seems clear to me that Madeline must have had some kind of mental breakdown. I can’t help feeling I should have been there. I could have done something.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said, taking another sip of my tea.
She looked at me, still stroking Elvis’s fur. “Are you familiar with the proverb ‘For want of a nail the shoe was lost’?”
I nodded.
“If it weren’t for my cracked tooth, Arthur would be alive.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Elvis, sitting so well behaved next to Daisy on the tub chair, with that look on his face.
I could suddenly hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears, and at the same time tiny pieces began to fall into place. I took a sip of my tea, hoping nothing showed on my face. “I cracked a tooth once biting down on a pit in a date square,” I said. “I remember it was really painful.”
Daisy nodded and put a hand to her cheek. “So was mine. Arthur insisted I call the dentist and take the car.”
The cat’s expression hadn’t changed. I needed to keep her talking. “How far away did you have to park?” I asked. “I had an appointment in the building the next day and I had to park on the street almost two blocks away because they were working on the parking lot.” It was a lie, but at least I wasn’t petting the cat, so hopefully Daisy couldn’t tell.
“It certainly was poorly planned, wasn’t it?’ she said. “Doing that work on a Monday morning. I found a parking spot in the Legacy Place lot next door.” A look flashed across her face like she’d just bitten into an apple and discovered half a worm.
“Did something happen to your car while it was parked there?” I asked.
She shook her head and stopped petting Elvis long enough to pick up her cup and drink a little of her tea. He gave her his most adorable gaze and she started stroking his fur again. “I had a bit of a distasteful experience but it’s not important.”
I shot a quick look at the cat. Nothing on his face suggested she was lying. I tried not to focus on the fact that I was relying on a cat to tell if Daisy Fenety was lying.
“I don’t want to pry,” I began a little hesitantly. “But my grandmother is thinking about taking an apartment in that building. If there’s a problem”—I held up a hand—“I don’t want her to live there.”
Daisy’s lips were pressed together in a thin, tight line. “I think you’d be wise to encourage your grandmother to look for somewhere else to live.” She leaned toward me. “I saw a naked man walk by the windows.”
I put a hand to my chest. “That’s awful,” I said. “Thank you for telling me. I don’t want Gram to live in a place like that. Did you call the police?”
She gave me a cool, gracious smile and touched her free hand to the side of her head. “Some people when they get old go a little . . . funny. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble just because they’re old.”
“You’re kinder than I am,” I said, hoping my face looked appropriately judgmental.
Daisy looked at the delicate gold watch on her arm. “I have an appointment,” she said. “I need to get going.” She got to her feet and smiled at me. “Thank you for calling me about the gravy boat. And thank you for the tea.”
My heart was pounding so loudly it seemed to me that she should have been able to hear it. “You’re very welcome,” I said. “I’ll speak to the owner of the china tonight and give him your offer.”
“I’ll talk to you soon, then,” she said.
I walked her to the door and stood there until I saw her car drive away. Elvis wandered over and rubbed against my leg. I bent down and picked him up. He looked at me with his wide green eyes and meowed once. “Good job,” I said. “There’ll be a little something extra in your bowl tonight.”
That got me another, way more enthusiastic meow.
I turned around to see Avery peeking around the side of the storage room door. “Is she gone?” she hissed in a stage whisper.
I nodded and set Elvis down. “She’s gone.”
“The coast is clear,” she called over her shoulder. She bounded over to me, followed a lot more sedately by Charlotte and Mac.
“Did you find out anything that could help Maddie?” Charlotte asked.
“I did,” I said. “I know who killed Arthur Fenety.”
Three pair of eyes stared at me.
“Who?” Charlotte asked.
“Yeah, who?” Avery echoed.
Mac just looked at me, frowning slightly, and I could see him make the connection.
I let out a breath. “Daisy,” I said.
Chapter 26
“No sh— No!” Avery said.
Charlotte stared at me, stunned. “Daisy?” she said.
Only Mac seemed to have all the pieces put together. “I heard most of your conversation,” he said. “She saw Mr. P., didn’t she?”
I nodded.
“But the timeline’s wrong.”
“It is,” I said.
Charlotte looked confused. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“Daisy saw Mr. Peterson when he walked down the hall in his—”
“Naked glory,” Avery finished. “I told you someone would see him.” She had a very self-satisfied grin on her face.
Mac shot her a look and she wiped the smile off her face.
“If Daisy’s appointment was when she said it was, she would have been finished and long gone when Alfred did his little walk of shame,” I said.
“But I thought Alfred checked on that appointment time?” Charlotte said.
“He did,” I said. And I was really hoping he’d done it more or less legally. “But he checked the computerized appointment schedule. It’s possible there’s a daily paper schedule that they use in the office and it has cancellations and any other changes.”
“I’ll call Rose,” Charlotte said. “Maybe she and Alfred can find out.”
“Good idea,” I said.
Charlotte headed over to the counter.
“I’ll close up,” Mac said.
I nodded. “Thanks. There’s something I need to do.”
“What?” Avery asked.
“Let’s just say Mr. P. isn’t the only person who knows how to use Google,” I said.
In the end it took a lot less time than I’d expected. When Mac tapped on my door I
was leaning back in my chair, looking at the computer screen, with Elvis sitting on the desk, craning his neck sideways so he could see, too.
“Any luck?” Mac asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“What did you find?”
“Arthur Fenety Senior—actually he was Edward Arthur Fenety—was a groundskeeper at a cemetery. He would have likely used pesticides. Years ago most people did. Daisy could have known about the napthathion. If Liz could find out that a lot of people still have it in their sheds and garages, so could Daisy.”
“Are you going to call the police?” Mac asked.
“I don’t really have a lot of proof,” I said with a sigh. “Mr. P.’s backside isn’t really evidence.”
Mac smiled. “No, it isn’t.” He studied my face. “So, what are you going to do?”
“Gram says you catch more flies with honey than you do with brown sugar.”
“You’re going to sweeten the pot,” he said with a smile.
I smiled back at him. “More like the gravy boat.”
• • •
Daisy Fenety arrived at the shop at twenty minutes after eight. I should have worn a track in the floor, I’d walked back and forth so many times after I hung up the phone.
“I can’t believe you got an answer so quickly,” she said to me as I let her in.
“Well, between you and me, money is a little tight for my customer.”
The china gravy boat was nestled in a box of paper shavings. Daisy smiled when she caught sight of it and walked over to the counter.
“I really do have to thank you, Sarah,” she said as she picked up the box. “The gravy boat is a very difficult piece to find.”
“You’re very welcome,” I said. I reached under the counter for the fake bill of sale I’d prepared.
“I’m actually a tiny bit sorry that I’m going to have to shoot you,” she said.
I turned around to see a small silver gun pointed at my chest.
“Take it easy, Daisy. You’ve been under a lot of stress in the past week,” I said, slowly taking a step backward. “Put the gun down and we’ll talk.” It sounded lame even to my ears. Could I run to the storage room before she could shoot me? I got a crazy mental picture of myself bobbing and zigzagging my way to the double doors. Panic was making me stupid. I took a shaky deep breath and let it out.