by Sofie Ryan
“Rose was examined by a doctor at the hospital. And they ran some tests. She didn’t have a stroke, Nick.” I struggled to keep my voice down.
“Oh, c’mon,” he said. “Do you really think Rose saw Leesa Cameron dragging her husband’s body across their kitchen floor? Or are you going with Cameron and some mysterious girlfriend staging some kind of elaborate setup?”
I swallowed down the sour taste at the back of my throat. “I’m going with taking Rose at her word until I see some real evidence that tells me something else happened.”
“Well, I’m not willing to let something bad happen that I could have prevented.”
Jess touched my arm. “Please let me take this one,” she said. She didn’t wait for my answer. She fixed Nick with her blue eyes. “First of all, you’ve taken one too many hockey pucks to the head if you think misleading or pretending or whatever you want to call it with Sarah is a good idea. And second, who exactly appointed you the guardian of all the rest of us, the all-knowing, all-seeing oracle who knows what’s best?”
Nick kept his eyes on me. “Stay out of this, Jess,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you.”
She gave a snort of laughter and moved her chair back a couple of inches. “I’m moving out of the way because I figure there’s a good chance you’re going to get hit with lightning for being such a hypocrite.” She glanced at me. “You should move out of the way, too, Sarah.”
Anger flashed across Nick’s face. Jess didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re right about one thing. This”—she made a motion in the air with one hand—“doesn’t really have anything to do with me. Just the way Rose’s health has nothing to do with you. She’s a grown adult perfectly capable of making her own decisions, even if no one else likes them.”
Nick opened his mouth and closed it again. Jess was on a roll and wasn’t about to stop until she was done.
“You keep doing this,” she said. She made a fist with her left hand and moved it up and down in a chopping motion. “Beating your head against the wall when all you have to do is walk around. You think you know better, better than Rose, better than your own mother, because they’re old. And maybe you do. I don’t know. The thing is, even if you do, you don’t get to choose because it’s not your life. We don’t want to hear it. We want to screw up our own lives our own way.” She took a breath and let it out; then she looked at me. “Can I get a ride home?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
She smiled. “Thanks.” Then she scouted the room, found Tina and pointed at the empty beer bottle on the table, holding up a finger.
Nick leaned toward me, resting one hand on the back of my chair. “Sarah, I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you, but I can’t apologize for caring about Rose.” The marimba ring tone of his phone interrupted before I could answer him. He stood up, took a step away from the table and pulled the phone from his pocket.
Tina came then and delivered Jess’s beer. “Could I get you anything else?” she asked.
“Another order of chips and salsa,” Jess said. She glanced at me. “This one’s on me.”
Nick ended his call and came back to the table. From the corner of my eye I saw Sam and the rest of the band making their way back to the stage. Around us people began to clap and cheer.
Nick leaned over my chair. “I have to go,” he said. “But this isn’t over.”
I watched him walk away. I knew it wasn’t over. I just wasn’t so sure we had even gotten started.
Chapter 10
I woke up the next morning feeling like I hadn’t slept at all, the sheet and a cotton blanket both wrapped in a tangle around one leg. After I’d gotten home from the pub I’d been too wired to watch TV. I’d spent some time searching around online, trying to learn more about Jeff Cameron. I’d remembered his sister saying he’d disappeared once before, after their grandmother died. I called Chloe Sanders, who told me Jeff had mentioned his grandmother only once. She was fairly certain the woman’s name had been Catherine, but that was all she knew. I didn’t have any luck finding an obituary for the woman.
I made coffee, scrambled an egg in the small cast-iron skillet Rose had insisted I needed, and ate it with a dish of stewed rhubarb that had grown in my backyard. Charlotte had been horrified that I’d been pulling out the plants and composting them because I thought they were a weed. Elvis hopped onto my lap to mooch a bite of egg.
My cell phone rang. I slid it across the counter and checked the screen, smiling when I saw who was calling. “Hi, Mom,” I said. I leaned back, shifting Elvis sideways on my legs. He made a grumble of annoyance.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “How are things?”
“Things are fine,” I said. I’d just talked to her and Dad less than a week ago. I had a feeling I knew what had prompted this call. “Have you been talking to Gram?”
I heard her laugh on the other end of the phone. “Guilty as charged. I just wanted to hear it straight from you that Rose was all right.”
Elvis had jumped down to the floor to investigate what I’d put out for his breakfast.
“Rose is all right, Mom, I swear,” I said.
“Isabel said someone hit her over the head with a boat fender?”
“Liz claims the fact that it was Rose’s head is what saved her.”
Mom laughed. “Not that anyone would ever suggest that Liz herself can be a little hardheaded.”
I laughed, too. “Oh no, never.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Not you, but maybe Dad. Is he around?”
I heard her take a sip of her tea, iced, I guessed, because of the time of year. “He went out for a run, but I can pass on a message. What do you need?”
My stepfather had been an award-winning newspaper reporter for many years. Now he taught journalism and writing at Keating State College in New Hampshire.
“Would you ask him if he could find out anything about the death of a Catherine Cameron? He’d be looking about three years ago. I don’t know if that’s Catherine with a ‘C’ or a ‘K.’ She would have been about eighty and she had two grandchildren, Jeff—probably Jeffrey—and Nicole. I don’t know where in New Hampshire they lived.”
“Does this have anything to do with what happened to Rose?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “Rose was doing a favor for a customer. I’m not sure whether or not he was being straight with her. I’d just like to know a little bit more about his background. Mr. P. has been searching online, but sometimes face-to-face works better.”
“I’ll give your father all the information as soon as he gets home.” I heard a squeak, which told me she was at her desk in her office, which overlooked the backyard.
“Are you working?” I asked. Mom wrote an elementary school series of books that featured a talking gerbil named Einstein.
“Copy edits,” she said. “Where do you stand on serial commas?”
“Umm, for them?” I said uncertainly.
“Well, of course. If only I could convince my copy editor that they’re important. Or your father, for that matter.”
“I have faith in your persuasive skills,” I said.
She laughed again. “I may be able to make the copy editor see the light, but I think your father is a lost cause.” I heard her shift once more in her squeaky desk chair, probably reaching for her tea. “I better get back to work, sweetie,” she said.
“I’m glad you called, Mom,” I said. “Talk to you soon.” I ended the call and set the phone back on the counter as Elvis came across the kitchen floor.
Since he’d finished his own breakfast, he jumped onto the stool next to me and eyed my plate expectantly.
“I already gave you a taste,” I said.
He hung his head, giving me a mournful look while making sure I could see the scar that cut diagonally across his nose. That man
euver always worked on visitors to the store.
I gave him another bite of the egg. Clearly it worked on me, too.
Elvis murped a thank-you, ate the egg and then proceeded to wash his face. I cleaned up the kitchen and was about to go brush my teeth when the cat suddenly swung his head in the direction of the door. He jumped down, crossed the room and looked pointedly at the door before looking back at me.
I waited, half expecting to hear a knock, half expecting it would be Nick. There was no knock. Elvis sat down and continued to stare at the door. Feeling a little foolish, I walked over and checked the peephole. No one was there.
“Your radar is off,” I said, bending down to give his head a scratch as I went past. He made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat.
I finished getting ready, grabbed my bag and my keys and discovered Elvis was still sitting in front of the door. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that,” I said.
I stepped into the hallway and there was Mr. P. in a blue golf shirt and a Red Sox ball cap, his messenger bag over one shoulder. Elvis looked up at me, and the look on his face plainly said I told you so.
“Hello, Sarah,” Mr. P. said. He smiled down at the cat. “Hello, Elvis.”
I smiled back. “Good morning.”
Rose came out of her apartment then, carrying not one but two tote bags. Mr. P. hurried over to take one of them from her. “You’re here,” she said, beaming at him. She turned to me. “Sarah dear, I told Alfred he could drive over to the Clarks’ with us.” She held up a paper bag. “I have Casey’s dog biscuits.”
Mr. P. pushed his glasses up his nose. “Are you sure it’s all right, my dear?” he asked. “I don’t want to take advantage.”
“You’re welcome to drive with us anytime,” I said, setting down my own bag long enough to lock the door. “And you aren’t taking advantage. I enjoy your company.”
“So do I,” Rose said.
Elvis meowed loudly.
“It’s unanimous,” I said with a grin.
We started out to the SUV with Elvis leading the way.
“You know the cat tower you built is still his favorite place,” I said to Mr. P. “I think the only thing that could make it better was if it were in front of the TV so he could sit at the top and watch Jeopardy!”
One of the cat’s little quirks was watching the game show every weeknight. He had some kind of internal clock that told him just when the show was beginning. My best guess was that he’d watched the show with his previous owner. I had no idea what the cat’s life had been like before he’d turned up along the harbor front more than a year ago now.
Elvis looked back over his shoulder, meowed and bobbed his head as though in agreement about his affection for his tower.
“I’m glad you like it, Elvis,” Mr. P. said.
I opened the back driver’s-side door and the cat jumped onto the backseat. Rose climbed in beside him. Mr. P. took the front passenger seat.
“We don’t have to pick up Avery,” Rose said as she fastened her seatbelt. “She’s gone to a very early movie, part of that film festival the library is putting on.” She smiled. “I’m glad she’s making some friends her own age.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“What’s the plan for the day?” I asked once we were headed for Windspeare Point.
“I’m going to do a little more digging into Mr. Cameron’s background. His work history so far seems to be very spotty,” Mr. P. said.
“Charlotte is going to an aquacize class at the gym and Liz is having a massage,” Rose added from the backseat.
We were at a stop sign so I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “And what are you going to do?” I asked.
“I’m going to charm tourists into spending a lot of money,” she said with a completely straight face.
“I have no doubt about that,” I said.
“I didn’t tell you—it turns out that Maddie Hamilton lives two houses away from Chloe Sanders’ parents. Charlotte is going to talk to her, too.”
I had a soft spot for Maddie. She was the reason I had my father’s guitar. She’d found it at an estate sale, had it restrung and given it to me on my fifteenth birthday.
Rose had called Ashley Clark, and she and Casey were waiting on the front step of their little cottage. Rose fished one of the dog biscuits she and Avery had made out of the paper bag. The dog sniffed it and then took it from Rose’s hand. The look he gave her was pure adoration.
When we got back in the SUV, Elvis had positioned himself on the far side of the backseat. He was looking out the passenger window at the street, ignoring the rest of us. It was pretty clear he was sulking.
Rose took another small bag from one of her totes and set it on the seat. I caught the distinctive smell of sardines. So did the cat. He turned to look at Rose, whiskers twitching. “Did you think I forgot about you?” she asked.
He walked across the seat and poked the bag with a paw.
“Is it all right if I give him one?” Rose asked.
“Yes, go ahead,” I said.
She took out a star-shaped cracker and set it on the seat. The smell of sardines grew stronger. Elvis sniffed the treat and must have liked what he smelled because his green eyes all but closed in bliss. I made a note to use my own nose next time I was offered a plate of Rose’s star-shaped cookies.
When we got to the shop, Avery was set up on an old table outside, painting picture frames. Mac was inside.
“I talked to a couple of people about Helmark Associates,” he said.
I could tell from the expression on his face that he hadn’t come up with anything useful. “No luck?” I said.
He shook his head. “Helmark was formed when People Plus and JobCore merged about a year and a half ago. That’s when Jeff Cameron started working there, along with quite a few other people. JobCore offered a buyout, which a lot of their staff took advantage of. People Plus did the same kind of thing with an early retirement package. The new company hired a lot of people in a short time.”
I made a face. “It was worth a shot. Thanks.”
“I did learn one thing,” Mac said, “although I’m not sure how it will help. Jeff Cameron had only been at his previous job about a year. Before that he had a gap in his résumé, which he explained by saying he was traveling around Europe working at different jobs for a few weeks or a few months. Apparently he didn’t have any references or contact information from any of them. Helmark was short staffed and that really didn’t make a difference to them.”
I frowned. I wasn’t sure how the information would help, either. “It’s something for Mr. P. to look into,” I said. I smiled. “Thanks for trying.”
“Anytime,” he said. He gestured at a large cardboard box on the cash counter. “How do you feel about accordions?”
“They worked for Lawrence Welk and Weird Al Yankovic,” I said. “Why?”
“I helped Glenn move a sofa for his uncle last night. The old man offered me a couple of accordions that Glenn said have been in the house since Adam was a cowboy. Now I’m starting to think I should have taken the bottle of homemade beer instead.”
I made a face. “Accordions are tricky. There’s not a very big resale market and there’s a lot of junk out there.”
“I knew I should have gone with the beer,” Mac said. He smiled, which told me he really didn’t mean it.
I set my things down on the cash desk. “Hang on a minute,” I said. “Let me take a look. The big thing with old accordions is whether they can still be played.”
I pulled the smaller of the two instruments out of the box. It was made of red plastic and I knew at once it was a child’s toy. “You might get a dollar for this at a yard sale,” I said.
Avery was just coming through the shop, probably headed for the second-floor staff room to see what Rose had brought to eat in he
r overstuffed tote bags. “Can I have it?” she asked. She fished three quarters out of the pocket of her jeans and held them out to Mac. “I don’t have a dollar.”
“You can have it,” he said. “But you don’t have to pay me.”
Avery took the accordion from me and held the quarters out to Mac. “Nonna will have a cow if she thinks I’m taking advantage.”
“All right, then,” Mac said taking the money from her hand.
Avery beamed with happiness, clutched the plastic accordion to her chest and took the stairs two at a time.
Mac walked over to me.
“What is she going to do with that?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” he said.
“I like that she isn’t worrying so much about what other people think.”
“You can thank Rose for that,” Mac said. “And you deserve some credit, too.” He gave me a nudge with his elbow.
“You know, I’m glad it’s worked out, Avery moving here with Liz.” I looked up at the ceiling, half expecting to hear the sound of the toy instrument coming through from upstairs.
“Liz is going to have a cow when Avery takes that thing home, you know.”
I held up both hands. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who sold it to her.”
Mac shook his head and laughed. Then he gestured at the box. “What are we going to do with that one?”
“Hang on a second,” I said. “At least let me take a look.” I lifted the second accordion out of the box. It was black, a bit larger than the one Avery had just disappeared upstairs with. I slipped my hands through the straps and squeezed. It was still playable, and to my uneducated ear the sound was fine.
I turned the instrument around to check the name, although I had a feeling what I was going to see. HOHNER STUDENT IVM it said on the front of the accordion. “We should be able to get a few dollars for this one,” I said.
“Well, that’s good,” Mac said. “How much are you thinking?”
