by Sofie Ryan
I smiled, remembering how I’d asked Sam, “Why Elvis?”
Sam had shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to like the Stones, so naming him Mick was kinda out of the question.”
“How did you go from having breakfast with a cat to owning a cat?” Glenn asked. He held up a hand. “Not that I’m judging.”
“Personally, I think it was a conspiracy,” I said. “The two of them walked me out and the next thing I knew Elvis was in my truck and Sam was giving me a sales pitch on why I needed a cat.”
He laughed. “Well, from my perspective it’s working out well.”
“Mine, too,” I said. “Now I’m not the person who walks around her house talking to herself. I’m the woman who talks to her cat.”
Glenn took a sip of his coffee and then held up a hand. “I forgot to ask you. How’s Rose? I heard she was in the hospital.”
I nodded. “She’s fine. She was out on Windspeare Point. Someone hit her over the head.”
“She was mugged?”
I hesitated. “Not exactly. Someone attacked her, but she wasn’t robbed.”
He squeezed one of his massive hands into a fist. “What the hell happened?”
I let out a breath. “Truth? I don’t know. We’ve been trying to figure it out. Before she was . . . attacked, Rose might have seen a body.”
“Hang on a minute. What do you mean ‘might have seen a body’?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.
“Long story,” I said, tracing the rim of my cup with a finger. “Short version: The person Rose saw might be dead or he might have taken off and left his wife holding the bag.” I took another sip of the coffee. “Do you know a guy named Jeff Cameron? He and his wife are new in town. They’ve been renting a cottage out on the point while they look for a house.”
Glenn nodded. “Yeah. Runner, right? Always wearing running shoes, never stands still.”
That pretty much described the man I’d met. “That’s him.”
“He’s been in for coffee.” A frown formed between his eyebrows. “It was his body Rose saw?”
“Looks like it. Whether he’s alive or dead is another question.”
“What do the police say? You’re friends with Michelle Andrews.”
I brushed my bangs back off my face. “Between us?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“She thinks Rose imagined the whole thing, maybe had a stroke.”
“I bet that went over well,” Glenn said with a wry smile.
“Pretty much how you’d expect,” I said. “She’s healthier than most people half her age, and they checked her over thoroughly at the hospital. I just . . .” I shrugged. “I just don’t think she had a stroke. And I don’t think she imagined what she saw, either.”
“She’s not that kind of person.”
It was good to hear those words from someone who wasn’t so close to the situation.
“I take it no one’s been able to get hold of Cameron.”
I shook my head. “No, but if he did run off with another woman, you can see why he might not want to be reachable.”
“For what it’s worth, I saw him early yesterday morning and there was no woman with him.”
I stared at him. “You saw Jeff Cameron yesterday morning?” Rose had seen what she thought was Jeff’s body Wednesday night. If it was him Glenn had seen, it added credence to the theory that Jeff Cameron had faked his death.
“Uh-huh. I came out here early—I don’t know, maybe five thirty—and I saw him drive by. He’s kind of hard to miss in that bilious yellow Jeep.”
Before I could ask him any more questions I heard another thump followed by a muffled meow from the room behind us. I got to my feet.
Glenn followed suit. “I take it that’s the all-clear signal.”
“It should be,” I said.
Elvis was on the other side of the bedroom door holding something, large, furry and I hoped dead in his mouth. He had a look of satisfaction in his green eyes. He gave a muffled meow of thank-you when I opened the door and he started down the stairs carrying his prize.
“Can you get the back door?” I said to Glenn.
“Oh yeah, sure.” He followed Elvis down the stairs and opened the door to the backyard for him; then he came back up the stairs. I was still standing in the bedroom doorway. “That was not a squirrel,” he said.
“Didn’t exactly look like a field mouse, either.” I raised my eyebrows at him.
He made a face. “I should look around.”
“Good idea,” I said. The quilt on the bed was rumpled, hanging down much longer on one end. I pointed at it. “You might want to wash that.”
“I think we might want to wash everything in here,” he said.
The closet door was partly ajar. I didn’t remember it being like that when we’d let Elvis inside.
“Glenn, try the closet,” I said, pointing in that direction.
“If there’s something else in there, you’re going to rescue me, right?” he said over his shoulder.
There was a feather duster on the nightstand closest to me. I picked it up and held it in front of me like I was a knight holding up a sword about to go into battle. “I’ll save you. Go for it,” I said.
He looked back at me and laughed. Then he opened the closet door. There wasn’t anything inside as far as I could see, except more clothes. Glenn mumbled a swearword. “These are my grandfather’s suits.” He held up the sleeve of a gray wool pin-striped jacket. “Clayton would have to lose about a hundred pounds to fit into these. My grandfather was a beanpole.”
He rummaged around, trying to push the hangers to one side, but there just wasn’t room. I kept my feather duster at the ready, just in case.
“Okay, all right, that’s where it is,” he said.
“Are we talking alive it or dead it?” I asked.
Glenn pulled his head out of the closet.
“Neither,” he said. He pointed to the ceiling. “I found a hole from the attic. I’m going to have to go up there.”
“That’s probably how whatever that was that Elvis caught got in here.”
Glenn ran his hands back over his hair. “There’s no way Beth and I can get this place straightened out in a week.” He blew out a long breath. “Were you serious about what you said before? That you could sell some of this stuff at Second Chance?”
I struck a Statue of Liberty–style pose with the feather duster. “Don’t I look serious?” I asked.
That made him laugh. I set the duster back on the night table. “We can do pretty much whatever will work for you. You can bring things to the shop and we’ll get them ready and sell them for you. We can come out here and pick things up. We can even take over the cleanup. Talk to your cousin. And talk to Clayton. Then let me know what you need.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I owe you.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You let your business be used for a sting, for heaven’s sake. I still owe you.”
“Hey, that was the most excitement I’d had on a Tuesday afternoon in years.”
“You need to get out more,” I said.
He laughed. Then his expression grew serious. “I mean it, Sarah, I appreciate this.”
Glenn went downstairs and came back with a box of steel wool. He jammed about half the package into the hole in the closet ceiling. “That’s going to have to do for now. I’ll come back tonight and do something a bit more permanent.”
We found Elvis out on the back stoop with Clayton McNamara. The cat was licking his whiskers. He smelled like fish.
“I hope you don’t mind, Sarah,” Clayton said. “I gave him a couple of sardines.”
Elvis looked at me, seemingly daring me to say that had been a bad idea.
“I don’t mind,” I said, picking up the cat. “I t
hink he earned them.
Glenn looked around. “Where is the—?”
“Evidence?” his uncle said dryly. “Don’t worry. I took care of that.”
“There’s a hole in the ceiling of the closet in that room,” Glenn said. “I stuck some steel wool in there for now, but I’ll be back after supper to fix it properly.”
“I appreciate that,” Clayton said. He turned to me. “And it was very good to meet you and Elvis.”
I smiled at him. “It was nice to meet you, too.”
Glenn and I walked back to our vehicles.
“Glenn, are you sure it was yesterday morning that you saw Jeff Cameron?” I asked as we stood next to my SUV.
“I’m positive,” he said. “Beth got here on Wednesday, and since Clayton gets up at the crack of dawn, I said I’d come out for breakfast and see what we could work out for a plan of attack.” He pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket. “Like I said, I recognized the Jeep, and it was definitely a man driving. I’m pretty sure it was Cameron.” He narrowed his blue eyes. “Is it important?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. It wouldn’t hurt to mention it to Michelle.”
Glenn shrugged. “Sure.”
I unlocked the door of the SUV and set Elvis on the seat.
“If you’re not in a hurry, why don’t you follow me back to the shop?” Glenn said. “After all this, you at least have to let me give you half a dozen of those chocolate cupcakes with the mocha frosting you like.”
“There’s no way I’m going to say no to your cupcakes,” I said.
I slid behind the wheel. Elvis had settled himself in his usual spot on the passenger side. He looked at me and yawned. “Tiring work,” I said.
“Mrr,” he said in agreement.
“You did a good job,” I told him as we started for the sandwich shop. “What do you say? If Glenn ends up hiring us to clear some of the things out of that house, are you willing to go back for another safari?”
He looked up at me and licked his whiskers. I took that as a yes.
Chapter 13
There was very little traffic on the way to the sandwich shop. I’d already decided I was going to get another big cup of coffee to go along with my cupcakes. As usual Elvis was watching the road intently. We both saw the moving van blocking the street at the same time, which was, unfortunately a little too late to take a different direction.
I looked in the rearview mirror. There were three cars behind me. “It’s just backing up,” I told the cat. “It shouldn’t take long.”
There was just enough space in the alley for the truck to back up. I watched how skillfully the driver used his mirrors as he inched his way back. Glenn had taken a different route, and up ahead I saw him pulling into his parking lot. And then I caught sight of Liz. She was standing on the sidewalk in front of McNamara’s with . . . Michelle? As I watched, Liz gave her a hug. Michelle crossed the street and Liz got in her car, which was parked right in front of the shop.
“What were they doing?” I said to Elvis.
He gave me a blank look.
“Please tell me Liz isn’t trying to get information out of Michelle.”
The cat almost seemed to shrug. I tipped my head back and looked at the roof of the car. There were no answers up there, either.
Glenn sent me back to my own shop with a large cup of coffee and six of his chocolate mocha cupcakes—which became five very quickly.
I was in my office changing my shoes when Rose poked her head around the door. “Sarah, do you have a minute?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “What is it?”
“Did you know Cleveland has a younger sister?”
“Our Cleveland?” I asked. I’d been buying from the trash picker since Second Chance opened.
She nodded. “Actually he has three younger sisters and four younger brothers, all half-siblings. Cleveland’s father was not the poster child for monogamy.”
“Duly noted,” I said. “Why is Cleveland’s sister important?”
“Because she goes to Cahill College.” Rose gave me a knowing smile. “I won’t bore you with all the details about Logan’s friends—that’s Cleveland’s sister’s name, Logan. Lovely young woman, by the way.”
“Is this the reason you didn’t come to the library?”
“I was waiting for one of them to call me back.”
“And?” I nudged.
“And it seems that Chloe Sanders was what we would have called a teacher’s pet in my day, although that’s not the expression Logan used.”
I had a pretty good idea what expression Cleveland’s sister had used. “Dr. Durand,” I said.
She nodded. “It appears that Chloe was an excellent student. She even did a couple of projects for extra credit.” Rose twisted the thin gold wedding ring she still wore around her finger. “Unfortunately that kind of thing doesn’t always make you very popular with your fellow students.”
“What does this have to do with Jeff Cameron?”
“It seems that when he was giving that lecture at Cahill, he said he was planning on hiring an assistant for the summer. Two of Logan’s friends said that Chloe really wanted that job. She called it her big chance.”
I rubbed the side of my neck. “Big chance for what?”
“I’m still working on that,” Rose said. “I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “Before you go, Glenn told me something that may or may not be important.”
Rose raised an eyebrow. “What did he say?”
“That he saw Jeff Cameron early Thursday morning.”
She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “More evidence that he faked his death.”
“You know what Nick and Michelle will say,” I said.
“That people mistake identities of people in cars and mix up dates all the time and this kind of information is very unreliable. As my mother used to say, ‘Horsefeathers!’” She reached over, plucked a dust ball out of my hair, patted my cheek and left.
It was a busy afternoon. It seemed as if every tourist passing by North Harbor decided to visit the store. No one had specifically asked me if I’d call Michelle so we could update her on what Mr. P. had learned about Jeff Cameron. By the end of the day they just all seemed to decide that that’s what would happen.
Rose and Mr. P. were having dinner with Charlotte. “Why don’t you join us?” Charlotte said.
“Thank you,” I said. “But I want to go for a run. Next time, though.”
Mac was crewing for someone who’d lost one of his regulars when the man had eloped to Las Vegas. I’d sent him off an hour earlier.
“Is your grandmother picking you up?” I asked Avery.
She shook her head. “Nonna’s having dinner with Mr. Caulfield.”
I did a double take. “Channing Caulfield?”
“Yeah. The money guy. Nonna said he wore her down.” She had her backpack and the accordion in a brown paper shopping bag.
“Do you need a ride?”
She hiked the backpack up onto one shoulder. “Nope. I’m going to the library. This is totally the best day of the anime festival—Mr. Dough and the Egg Princess, Mei and the Kitten Bus and two films from the Dragon Ball series.”
“Have fun,” I said.
Elvis was waiting for me at the back door. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” I said. He climbed into the front seat of the SUV and I set a bag of tea towels on the floor of the passenger-side seat. The cat eyed the brown paper bag, whiskers twitching. Then he looked at me.
“Yes, the cupcakes are in there,” I said.
He licked his whiskers.
“Cupcakes are people food.”
His green eyes went to slits, making his skepticism very clear.
“What should w
e have for supper?” I asked once I’d backed the SUV into the driveway at home and gotten out.
Elvis eyed the paper shopping bag still on the floor at his feet.
“Cupcakes are not supper,” I said.
“Merow,” he said, and I could have sworn I could detect sarcasm in his tone. Did cats even understand sarcasm? I wondered.
“Yes, I know we’ve had cupcakes for supper before, but I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”
He tilted his head to one side and regarded me unblinkingly. I was pretty sure this cat, at least, got sarcasm.
I leaned across the seat to grab the bag of tea towels. I was going to wash and iron them and Jess was going to make pillow covers out of them for me. Elvis walked along the seat and jumped down to the driveway. I backed out of the car. “Hey, where are you going?” I said.
“Murp,” he said, and then he disappeared around the side of the house. Translation: backyard.
Friday night and even my cat seemed to have plans. I thought about my brother, Liam, teasing me about my lack of a love life or a social life. He’d been back and forth for the last several months, consulting on a development project for part of the harbor front that after too many delays and roadblocks would finally be getting under way at the end of August.
“I’d say you live like a little old lady, but Rose is a little old lady and she gets out way more than you do,” he’d said the last time he’d been in town, as he sprawled on my sofa eating a bowl of chocolate pudding cake that Rose had dropped off on her way to meet Mr. P.
Since I didn’t have a comeback, I’d stuck my tongue out at him. That had made him laugh, and then he suggested I could stick that tongue in Nick’s mouth and maybe that would spice up my life. I’d thrown a pillow at him.
Nick. Even Liam thought we should get together, although his idea of getting together didn’t seem to involve me in a lacy white dress and Nick in a suit the way Charlotte, Rose and Liz’s did.
I changed into my running gear and went out onto the back verandah to see where Elvis was. He was sitting on a small wrought-iron bench next to the raised flower bed that Rose and Mr. P. had planted with sunflowers.
I held the door open. “Are you coming in?” I asked. He ignored me, looking in the direction of my neighbor, Tom Harris’s yard. I may as well have been talking to the sunflowers. “I’m going running,” I said. “We can eat when I get back.” I felt a little foolish explaining myself to a cat.
