by Sofie Ryan
“What’s Reece’s last name?” I asked.
Avery turned to look at me. “Vega.”
I nodded. The name, Vega, soundly vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.
My cell phone rang in my pocket. I held up a finger. “Hang on a second.” I pulled out the phone. It was Dad.
“I need to take this,” I said. “Excuse me.” I walked over to stand by the front door to the shop.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
“How’s my favorite daughter?” he said. I could hear his smile.
“I’m your only daughter.”
He laughed. “Well, didn’t that work out well for everyone?” He and my mom had gotten married when Liam and I were both in second grade. Dad had always treated me as though I was his biological child. I’d heard someone ask him once if he had any children of his own. He’d given the woman a blank look and said, “But Sarah is my child.”
I hadn’t just gotten a father. I’d also gotten a big brother. There was a month between Liam and me, him being the elder. He could be a pain-in-the-butt, overprotective big brother when I wanted to date someone he thought was a scuzzbag, but he could also be my biggest ally.
“Your mom gave me your message,” Dad said.
“What did you find out?” I asked, leaning both elbows on the counter.
“I prowled around the archives at the paper. They’re online now. I couldn’t find any obituary for a Catherine Cameron. Not with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’ or several other spellings I tried. I went back a year and forward a year.”
“Crap!” I said.
“I did find a death notice for a Catherine Hennessy. It was three years ago and she was survived by her two grandchildren, Jeff and Nicole Hennessy.”
“That’s a weird coincidence,” I said.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence, Sarah,” Dad said. “Are you sure the woman’s last name was Cameron?”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No. But Cameron is the last name the grandchildren are using.”
“This has something to do with what happened to Rose, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Jeff Cameron—or whatever his name really is—bought a pair of candlesticks for his wife. Now no one can find him.”
“Maybe you should start looking for Jeff Hennessy instead.”
“Maybe we should,” I said.
I thanked him for his help and said good-bye. Rose and Charlotte were in deep discussion about something, probably the trip Mr. P. and I had made to the library. We’d discovered a lot of information, but I had no idea how it fit together.
I went out to the sunporch to find Alfred. I explained what Dad had discovered and what Avery had told us about Leesa Cameron and her running partner.
“Interesting,” he said. “I’ll see what I can discover about the Hennessys and about Mr. Vega.”
“Let me know what you find,” I said, heading back outside.
The paint sprayer was being temperamental, and it took me the better part of the next hour to get it working properly. I went inside for a cup of coffee before starting on the chairs. I had just come down the stairs with a mug in my hand when Mr. P. came in from the back.
Rose took one look at him and immediately said, “You found something.” She glanced at me. “Alfred told me what your father discovered.”
Mr. P. had a satisfied smile on his face. “I did,” he said. “Jeff Cameron changed his name. I couldn’t find much about him beyond about three years ago, so I did a little digging into his sister. Nicole Cameron got her RN as Nicole Hennessy. Northeastern Medical Center issues her paychecks in that name. Although she goes by Cameron, she didn’t actually change her name.”
Mr. P. looked at me. “Don’t worry, Sarah,” he said. “I didn’t do anything illegal.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
“Both of the Camerons were raised by their grandmother,” Mr. P. continued. “Their parents were killed in a car accident.”
“That’s awful,” Charlotte said, shaking her head.
“Jeff left New Hampshire when his grandmother died and moved to California. He changed his name from Jeffery Cameron Hennessy to Jeff Cameron—no middle name.”
“Why would he do that?” Rose asked.
“Maybe he was running away from his old life,” Avery offered from across the room. She was still sitting cross-legged on the floor and didn’t even look up from the box she was investigating.
“That’s as good an explanation as any,” I said. “And if he walked away from a life before . . .”
“Maybe he was going to do it again,” Rose finished.
Chapter 12
I went back out to the garage to work on my chairs. I was just getting the paint sprayer adjusted when my cell rang again. This was why I usually left it in my office. I pulled it out to see who was calling.
Glenn McNamara. Glenn owned McNamara’s, a sandwich shop and bakery that was popular with both the locals and tourists. I wasn’t sure why he’d be calling.
“Hi, Sarah, did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked.
“Hi, Glenn,” I said. “No, you didn’t.”
“I need a favor.”
“Sure.”
“You’re supposed to ask what it is first,” he said.
“Oh darn,” I said. “Does that mean I’ve been doing it wrong all this time?”
Glenn laughed. “You’re funny.”
“Seriously,” I said, walking over to the main door to the garage so I could stand in the sunshine. “What do you need?”
“What’s your cat like when it comes to catching mice and other furry things?”
“Good,” I said. “I use him as an advance crew in most of the old places we clear out.”
“Could I borrow him?”
“You have mice down there?”
“Here? Good Lord, no. I have a pest-control company that checks the place regularly. It’s my uncle Clayton’s place where there’s a problem. At least I think there is. Did Mac show you the accordions?”
The sun was warm on my bare arms. “He did,” I said. “One of them is a Hohner. It’s worth a bit of money.”
“Good for Mac, then,” Glenn said. “If either one of you is thinking of returning it, please don’t. We’re trying to get things out of that house, not vice versa.”
“So you saw a mouse, or mice, or evidence of them?”
“Not me. My cousin, Beth. She’s petrified of mice. If it’s small and furry, you can pretty much be sure she’ll be up on the table.”
“You think the cat is a better idea than your pest-control people?” I asked.
He laughed. “Definitely. Beth is also the back-to-nature type. She doesn’t want to share the house with any little critters, but she doesn’t like the idea of any kind of chemicals or poison being used, either. And I don’t want to have to keep checking if we set traps.”
I blew out a breath. “Okay,” I said. “The problem is Elvis isn’t going to take whatever he finds by the paw and escort it outside, if you get my meaning.”
“I get it,” Glenn said. “It seems that’s okay. It’s part of the circle of life.”
“Good to know,” I said. “Sure you can borrow Elvis. When do you want to do this?”
“Now, if you have the time. I’m sorry for the rush, but Beth’s only here for another week and there’s still a lot she wants to do. Plus we’re trying to strike while Clayton is agreeable.”
“Got it,” I said. He wasn’t the first person to say something like that about an older relative. The funny thing was, just as often it was the younger people in a family who didn’t want to let things go. “Where does your uncle live?” I asked.
Glenn had loaned me his van when we moved Rose into my place. He’d let the Angels set up a sting in the sandwich sho
p. I was actually glad to be able to do something for him for a change.
Glenn named a street at the far end of town along the coast, hugging the shoreline where it curved down toward Rockport and Camden.
“Elvis and I could meet you there in about half an hour if you can make that work.”
“I can,” he said. “I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
I put everything back in the garage, then went back inside to find Mac. He was at the workbench. I explained where I was going.
“The house is piled,” he warned. “I don’t mean like a hoarder. It’s just that the old man has a lot of stuff.”
I leaned against the workbench. Elvis was sitting near Mac, watching both of us.
“Do you think Glenn and his cousin would be offended if I see anything that would work here in the shop and offer to buy it or bring it here on consignment?”
Mac set down the screwdriver he’d been holding. “Just the opposite. I think they’d both be happy to get some things out of there. I can’t vouch for Clayton, though.”
“C’mon,” I said to Elvis. “Rodent patrol.”
The cat licked his whiskers, jumped down from the workbench and headed for the back door.
Glenn’s truck was parked on the street in front of his uncle’s house when I got there. He was leaning against the front fender, arms folded over his chest. He was tall, with wide shoulders, and he still wore his blond hair in the same brush cut he’d had as a college football player.
I pulled in behind the truck, picked up Elvis and got out.
Glenn smiled at me. “Thanks for doing this, Sarah,” he said. He looked at the cat. “You, too, Elvis.”
Elvis made a low meow of acknowledgment.
We walked up the driveway to the back door of the story-and-a-half house. It was set back from the street on what looked to be a large lot. “This is a really beautiful spot,” I said, looking around.
“It is,” Glenn agreed. “Clayton and his father—my grandfather—built this house. Beth lives in Portland—the other Portland, out west. She’s not interested in it, so I’m hoping that Clayton will eventually sell it to me.”
“I can see why you’d want to live here,” I said. I could hear the ocean in the distance. The soothing sound of the waves hitting the shore seemed to pull the tension out of my body.
Glenn opened the aluminum screen door and knocked on the inside wooden door. Then he opened it and stuck his head inside. “Clayton, are you here?” he called.
“No, I’m here,” a raspy voice behind us said. A large, barrel-chested man came around the side of the house. He was easily as tall as Glenn, with the same broad shoulders and strong arms. But Clayton McNamara must have had fifty pounds on his nephew. He smiled at me and held out his hand. “You’re Isabel’s granddaughter,” he said.
I smiled. His hands were massive and his handshake was strong but not crushing. “I am,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McNamara.”
“Call me Clayton, child,” he said. “‘Mister’ makes me feel old. Now, I am old, but I don’t like to be reminded about it.”
“You know my grandmother?” I said.
He pulled off his Patriots cap and smoothed a hand over his bald head. “Yes, I do. She broke my heart.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I think there’s a story here I’ve never heard.”
“Me neither,” Glenn said.
“It was a long time ago,” Clayton said. “Isabel was my first love. But first love is a fickle thing. I caught her kissing another man.”
It seemed as though Gram had a past I knew nothing about.
Clayton fitted his hat back on his head. “Though to be fair the other man did have two peanut butter cookies in his lunchbox.” He grinned at us. “And we were six.”
I laughed. “You went to school together.”
He nodded. “First through twelfth grade. How is Isabel? I hear she’s been on her honeymoon for most of the last year.”
“She has,” I said. “I just talked to her a couple of days ago. She’ll be home in about a month.”
“Next time you talk to her, please give her my best.”
“I will,” I said.
He looked at Elvis and held out a hand. It was bigger than my head. “Hello, puss,” he said. Elvis sniffed his fingers and then looked up at the big man and murped hello.
“How did he get the scar on his nose?” Clayton asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, stroking the top of the cat’s head. “He had it when I got him. There are a couple of more scars that are covered by his fur. The vet said the other guy probably looks worse.”
“He’s a good mouser.” It wasn’t really a question.
I nodded. “He is. He lived down along the harbor front for several weeks before he came to live with me. He wasn’t exactly scrawny.”
Elvis turned and looked at the little house. And then, to everyone’s amusement, he licked his whiskers.
Clayton stroked his long, shaggy beard. He may have had no hair on the top of his head, but he more than made up for it with the beard. “I’m thinking it may be a squirrel that’s in that back bedroom. I did have the window open one day without the screen, but it doesn’t make a lick of difference to Beth. She’s scared witless of anything like that.” He pointed at the house diagonally across the street. “That was the Williams house when Beth was a kid. Dillon Williams had a pet rat.”
Beside me Glenn was nodding wordlessly.
“Beth was five. It bit her.” Clayton held up the little finger on his right hand. “Took the tip right off the end of her finger.”
“Whatever’s in there, Elvis can get it,” I said.
“Let’s get to it, then,” the old man said. He led the way into the house. Mac was right. The place was piled, but it was clean. It was just that there wasn’t a bare surface anywhere. I followed the two men up to the second floor.
There were two bedrooms up there, one tucked under the peak of the roof on each side of the house. Clayton opened the bedroom door on the right. Like the rest of the house, it was piled with furniture. A double bed, a tall chest of drawers, a mirrored dresser, an armoire with double doors, a full-size rocking chair and heaps of women’s clothing filled the room.
I set Elvis down on the floor just inside the door. He immediately began to sniff the air. “Go for it,” I said. He started picking his way across the floor. “We should keep this door closed,” I told Glenn.
“Okay,” he said. “But how are we going to know if he catches anything?”
“We’ll know. Trust me,” I said.
The cat was already heading for the small closet in the far corner like a feline with a purpose. I closed the door.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Clayton asked.
“I should stay close by,” I said, gesturing at the door.
“Not a problem,” he said. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a mug of coffee up these stairs.”
“Then, yes, thank you,” I said.
“How do you take it?”
“Cream and sugar, please.”
He turned to Glenn. “You, too?”
Glenn nodded. “Do you need any help?”
“I’ll ask if I do,” Clayton said. “Stay here and keep Sarah company.” He made his way back down the stairs, turning left at the bottom.
“He makes a good cup of coffee,” Glenn offered. “I’ve always been a bit afraid to ask him what he puts in it, though.” He looked around and sighed. “I don’t know how on earth Beth thinks we can get this place organized in a week.”
“I don’t know if it would help, but we take things on consignment at the shop.”
He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “How would you feel about my backing a truck up to the front door, putting about half the stuff in th
is house inside it and driving it down to your store?”
I shrugged. “Fine with me.”
Glenn laughed. “Be careful. I might just do it.”
I heard a thump behind us. I turned and looked at the door. There were no other sounds. “Not yet,” I said. I turned my attention back to Glenn. “I’m serious,” I said. “If we can help, let me know.” I smiled at him. “I’ll give you the friends-and-family discount.”
“That’s no way to run a business,” he said.
“Yeah, kind of the same as giving away bread.” I raised an eyebrow. Glenn just smiled and shook his head.
It wasn’t common knowledge, but I knew that Glenn had been the first to step up when the elementary school had begun their hot-lunch program. My grandmother had been one of the organizers. Glenn had offered to supply rolls for the program one day a week, and when Lily’s Bakery had closed he’d also stepped in to fill the gap.
Clayton came back with a big mug of coffee for each of us. Glenn was right. His uncle made a good cup of coffee. “I’ll be out at the woodpile if you need me,” the old man said.
Glenn took his coffee and sat down on the top stair, leaning his back against the wall. I sat down next to him. He took a sip of his coffee and glanced over at the closed bedroom door.
“Don’t worry. Elvis will catch whatever critter is in there,” I said.
“How did you end up with the cat?” Glenn asked. “You said he was wandering around the harbor front before you got him.”
“Sam,” I said, wrapping both hands around my mug. “The band was doing their Elvis Presley medley and he noticed there was a black cat just inside the front door. He swore the cat stayed there for the entire set.”
“Good taste,” Glenn said.
“The next morning Sam was out in the alley putting a bunch of cardboard boxes in the recycling bin, and there’s the same cat. Sam named him Elvis and fed him breakfast.” I took another sip of my coffee. “No one seemed to know who Elvis belonged to. He showed up at the pub every few days and Sam fed him, but no one ever came looking for him. I took a guitar down one morning to get Sam’s opinion. Elvis was there having breakfast.”
