by Sofie Ryan
I decided it was a good chance to take a longer, more challenging route than I’d picked the times Nick had gone running with me. He wasn’t a runner, and it had been harder than I’d expected to rein myself in and not leave him behind.
I needed to talk to him. I couldn’t avoid him much longer. Charlotte would notice. Or Rose. I thought about Mac asking me why Nick and I had never gotten together. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told him our timing had been off. But Mac had been right when he’d pointed out that we’d both been back in North Harbor for more than a year and still nothing had happened. And it wasn’t like all three of my fairy godmothers hadn’t been pushing us together.
What was stopping me from pursuing a relationship with Nick? At fifteen that was all I’d wanted. What was different now? We’d made tiny moves toward each other, but they never seemed to go anywhere. Was Nick even interested? He’d come running with me. He’d eaten my cooking. The latter had to mean something.
I had a headache. Why did relationships have to be so much work?
I showered when I got home and pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of baggy cut-off sweatpants. Since my only company was going to be Elvis—at least I was assuming he’d be spending time with me—I decided I might as well be comfortable. This time when I walked out onto the verandah he immediately came across the grass. He followed me back inside and joined me in front of the refrigerator while I tried to decide what to have for supper.
“Spaghetti or salad?” I asked the cat.
He yawned.
“Pizza it is,” I said.
Once we were settled on the sofa with a big slice for me and some of Rose’s treats for him, I called Michelle. “Could you stop by the shop sometime on Monday?” I asked. “The Angels have some information about Jeff Cameron they’d like to share.”
“Have you spoken to Nick?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I was out of the shop this morning. And by the way, did Glenn McNamara call you?”
“He did.” She hesitated for a moment. “You know what the odds are on the reliability of this kind of witness sighting?”
“I know,” I said. I didn’t say “horsefeathers,” but I was thinking it.
“Are you taking on some kind of job for Glenn?”
I popped two black olives in my mouth. It was clear Michelle wanted to change the subject. “Maybe. For his uncle, actually.”
“So are you angling to get paid in blueberry muffins?” she teased.
“Chocolate cupcakes, actually,” I said.
“The ones with the mocha frosting. They are good.”
I waited for her to say that she’d been at McNamara’s today, but she didn’t. Odd.
“How was your day?” I asked, feeling a twinge of guilt for fishing.
“Full of meetings and paperwork. I didn’t even go out for lunch.”
I could have asked her straight out what she’d been doing with Liz, but I decided not to. Maybe Liz had been pushing over what had happened to Rose. Maybe Michelle didn’t want to tell me that she’d had to ask Liz to back off.
“Anyway, Nick should have the results from the blood work on Monday,” she said. “The lab is a bit backed up. That’s why he didn’t get them today.”
It seemed as though Nick hadn’t told her about our argument. I decided I wasn’t going to, either.
“Thanks for telling me,” I said. I held out a piece of bacon to Elvis. At least when I spent the evening with him I could have exactly what I wanted on my pizza.
“I could stop by late morning on Monday,” Michelle offered. “Would sometime around ten thirty be okay?” Once again I suspected she was motivated more by our friendship than by the desire to find out what Rose and her cohorts had come up with.
“That would be great,” I said. “Thank you.”
“See you Monday,” she said.
I ended the call but held on to the phone. I hadn’t been able to figure out why the name Vega had sounded familiar when Avery had told us it was the last name of the man she’d seen with Leesa Cameron. Jess knew a lot of people. Maybe the name would mean something to her. She was probably out on a date, but I decided to call her anyway. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, what are you doing home on a Friday night?” I said.
“A last-minute fix on a wedding dress.” She muttered something I didn’t catch. “Bride and her mother brought it in. I’m not sure which one was crying harder.”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Next Friday night.”
“Ouch!” I said.
“It’s not that bad,” Jess said. “I’ve pretty much got the skirt fixed, and the bride is coming in Monday so I can fit the bodice. What are you doing home on a Friday night?”
“Eating pizza with Elvis. He didn’t feel like going out.”
Jess laughed. “I think he said that last Friday night, too.”
“I have a quick question for you,” I said.
“Shoot.”
“Why does the last name Vega seem familiar to me? Do you know anyone in town who’s a Vega?”
“Michael Vega,” Jess immediately said. “He’s a sports massage therapist. And I’m pretty sure he takes a few clients as a personal trainer. Elin went to him last year after she broke her arm.” Elin was one of her partners in the store.
“That’s it,” I said. I remembered Elin telling me how the massage therapist had helped restore the full range of motion in her arm.
“I thought Nick was going running with you,” Jess teased. “Is the big guy not willing to rub you the right way?”
“I’m hanging up now,” I said.
Jess was laughing. “I’ll see you Sunday,” she said before ending the call.
It was busy from the moment we opened the shop on Saturday. The tourists never seemed to stop coming. I only had time for half a sandwich at lunch. Thankfully, Mr. P. kept us supplied with coffee.
“How do you feel about Chinese food?” Liz asked as I locked the front door at the end of the day. She’d arrived a few minutes earlier to pick up Avery.
I blew a stray strand of hair back off my face. “Do you mean authentic Chinese cuisine or the American takeout version?”
Liz narrowed her gaze at me. “I mean Chinese food that you don’t have to cook.”
“Love it,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “It’s the last night of that film thing at the library so it turns out Avery won’t be home for supper and I probably ordered enough food for half a dozen people.”
“Merow!” Elvis interjected from his perch about halfway up the stairs.
Liz waved a hand in the direction of the steps. “Yes, you’re invited, too.”
Elvis bobbed his head in acknowledgement.
“Hey, I missed you yesterday,” I said to Liz. “Where were you?”
“I had Emmerson Foundation business. Did you want something?” No mention of meeting Michelle.
I explained about being out at Clayton McNamara’s place. “I didn’t know that Gram had a connection to the McNamaras.”
“Those two were thick as thieves when they were kids,” Liz said. “Clayton McNamara could have been your grandfather.”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I said.
She laughed and started for the workroom to collect Avery. “I’ll see you later, toots.”
Elvis and I ended up spending the whole evening with Liz. Charlotte had found a box full of old photos of herself, Liz, Rose and Gram, taken when they were teenagers. She’d organized them by year and left them with Liz to go through, to see which ones Liz wanted copies of.
“Hey, you were a babe,” I teased, holding up a black and white snapshot of Liz in a one-piece swimsuit, standing on a rock by the shore, one hand on her hip, the other behind her head.
“Give me that!” She re
ached across the table for the photo.
I grinned and shook my head, holding the picture up out of her reach. “No way. I think I’ve found my Christmas card for this year.”
“You are a wicked child,” Liz said, glaring and pointing a finger at me. “I’m going to find one of those droopy diaper photos of you and that’s going to be my Christmas card this year.”
I laughed, thinking that spending the evening with Liz was way more fun than making awkward small talk on a date. Not that that had actually been an option.
Jess and I went prowling around several flea markets on Sunday and came home with the back of the SUV loaded. Elvis spent the day with Rose and Mr. P. and came home smelling like fish cakes.
I headed in early on Monday. Liz was bringing Rose and Alfred later. I wanted to spray the wicker chairs before it got busy, since I’d never actually gotten to it on Friday or Saturday.
I pulled into the lot to find a white extended-cab half-ton backed up to the rear door. Mac was helping two men in white shirts and loosened ties load a huge walnut armoire into the bed of the truck. He shook hands with both of them and they climbed into the cab and pulled out of the lot. I smiled and raised a hand in greeting as they came past me, and they did the same even though I had no idea who either of the men was.
Mac brushed off his hands and walked over to me. “Hi. You’re up early,” he said. He reached over to scratch the top of Elvis’s head.
“You, too,” I said. “You sold that armoire that’s been in the front window for the last month. Or we were just robbed by two very well-dressed criminals.”
“I sold the armoire.” He gestured toward the street. “They were driving by, saw it in the window and then noticed me in the garage and came to ask me about it. I took them inside to have a look and they asked if they could buy it.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d mind me saying yes.”
Elvis squirmed in my arms and I set him down. He headed for the back door. “I don’t mind,” I said. “I was beginning to wonder if we were ever going to sell that thing. It’s a nice piece of furniture but it’s so big.”
“I know. That’s why they wanted it. They just bought a bed-and-breakfast in Camden—Herrier House. Does the name mean anything to you?”
I nodded.
“They’re redoing the entire place and I thought since they’re in the market for more furniture and other things it would be a good idea to accommodate them today. They were on their way to a funeral in Portland—that’s why the ties and starched shirts. They stopped for coffee and ended up driving by because they were trying to get back out to the highway.” He smiled. “Lucky for us.”
“More like lucky for me that you were here,” I said as we started for the back door, where Elvis had positioned himself, staring expectantly as though he could somehow will it to open. “I owe you for this.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “If I worked anywhere else I wouldn’t be able to arrange my days to get to sail as much as I do. You make that work. I owe you for that.”
“Mac, I rearrange things so Rose and her band of merry angels can chase bad guys. Adjusting the schedule so you can sail is a piece of cake.”
Mac held the back door open for Elvis, who meowed a thank-you and headed inside. “Do you know what’s on their schedule for today?” he asked as we stepped inside.
“Michelle is going to stop by sometime around ten thirty. Mr. P. says he doesn’t want to sneak around behind her back. He wants to share what we know about Jeff Cameron changing his name.”
“Do you think that might convince the police that Rose really did see his body?” Mac asked. I handed him the bag of clean dish towels and he set it up on the workbench.
I exhaled loudly. “Between you and me? No. And Rose isn’t going to stop until she proves that she did.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. “There’s something I need your opinion on.”
“What is it?”
“Glenn told me Saturday that he saw Jeff Cameron driving early Thursday morning.”
One eyebrow went up. “Thursday morning? Is he certain?”
“That’s the thing. He’s certain about the day. He says it was Jeff’s Jeep—that glow-in-the-dark yellow color is pretty distinctive. And he’s positive it was a man driving. Heck, he’s positive it was Jeff driving.”
Mac studied my face. “But you’re not so sure.”
“It was early and he saw the Jeep from a distance.”
Mac put a hand on my shoulder. “What’s really bothering you?”
“If Jeff Cameron is alive, why hasn’t he used a credit or a debit card?”
“Because he’s trying to keep the charade that his wife murdered him going.”
“But why?” I held out both hands. “That’s what I can’t figure out. Why?”
“Would a cup of coffee help?” Mac asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Or maybe you should bring the pot and a straw.”
Mac laughed. “It’ll work out in the end.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” I asked.
He smiled. “Because it always does.”
I managed to get both chairs sprayed and was just cleaning up when I looked up to see Nick getting out of his truck. I waited, one paint-speckled hand on the top of my makeshift spray box, as he walked over to me.
“Hi,” he said. “Michelle asked me to come by to hear what Rose and the others came up with.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Nick shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry for what happened Thursday night. I should have been straight with you.”
I believed him. I could see that he was sorry in the way he was standing, in his voice, in the way his fingers played with his watchband. But what he was sorry about was pretending he agreed with me. He wasn’t sorry for not believing Rose.
“Thank you,” I said.
He opened his mouth to say something else and I caught sight of Rose headed toward us.
She gave him an expectant smile. “Do you have any results yet?”
Nick shook his head and pulled his gaze away from me. “No. I’m sorry it’s taking so long. The lab is busy, but I should have something this afternoon. I promise I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said. “We missed you Saturday night. Alfred planked a salmon.”
“I know. Mom fed me the leftovers for lunch yesterday.” He smiled at Rose. “I have to give my compliments to the chef. He’s a good cook.”
“Alfred has many talents,” Rose replied.
I made a mental note to ask her later what planking a salmon meant and to stay away from any conversation about Mr. P’s many other talents. I picked up the cut-down cardboard box and set it inside the garage. Then I stood in the doorway for a moment watching Rose and Nick talk. The conversation seemed to be about cooking, although I couldn’t hear every word.
I reminded myself that Nick loved Rose. She was family to him just as much as she was to me. He was loyal and protective and funny and kind and a lot more. And there was something wrong if I always had to be reminding myself of that, I thought as I joined them again.
Michelle arrived then, pulling her car in next to Nick’s truck. She walked over to us. “How are you feeling?” she said to Rose.
“I’m fine. Thank you,” Rose said. She patted her white hair. “I guess I am as hardheaded as I’ve been told I am.”
“Well, this is one of those times I’m glad about that,” Michelle said. “I hope it’s all right that I asked Nick to join us.”
“Of course it is,” Rose said. “We’re always happy to have Nick around, aren’t we, Sarah?”
Nick swiped a hand over his mouth to hide a smile.
“Always,” I agreed, “especially when he brings muffins from McNamara’s.” I smiled sweetly up at Nick
, hoping he’d get my reference to a past disagreement we’d had when he’d apologized with one of Glenn’s muffins.
“So you’re suggesting I should stop in at McNamara’s the next time I’m headed here?” he teased.
“You’re so thoughtful,” Rose said. “We all like Glenn’s blueberry muffins, but this time of year the rhubarb streusel muffins are hard to say no to.” She smiled at him.
Michelle had a hard time not smiling as well. “Is Mr. Peterson inside?” she asked.
I nodded and we started across the lot to the back door. Mr. P. got to his feet as we stepped into the sunporch. “Hello, Detective Andrews,” he said, offering his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m interested in what you’ve learned,” Michelle said, dipping her head in the direction of his laptop.
Mr. P. smiled up at Nick. “Hello, Nicolas,” he said. “Are you joining us?”
Michelle immediately spoke up. “I asked him to. I hope it’s all right.”
“Of course,” Mr. P. said. He quickly explained what the Angels had learned about Jeff Cameron, how he’d changed his name and walked away from his life after his grandmother died. How no one had seen him with any other woman in North Harbor.
“His name was Hennessy?” Michelle said. She seemed to be taking what he’d told her and Nick seriously.
Mr. P. nodded. “Two ‘s’s,’ two ‘n’s,’” he said.
“Do you have a theory as to where Jeff Cameron is right now?” she asked.
“We have two,” he said. “One is that he’s dead. The other is that he set up his wife to make it look like he’s dead, although we don’t have any idea why.”
Nick’s and Michelle’s cell phones both rang then. “Excuse me,” she said, pulling hers from the pocket of her cotton sweater and turning around so her back was to us. Nick had already stepped out of the room to answer his.
The conversation was brief. Michelle’s face was expressionless when she faced us again. “Well, Mr. Peterson, I’m sorry to tell you that one of your theories is wrong. Jeff Cameron definitely didn’t fake his death.”
