Undercover Kitty

by Sofie Ryan

  The twinkle was still there. “You’re right,” he said. “Chasing a bear with a basket of apples does sound dangerous, however my mother always called that scenario a ‘fruitful pursuit.’”

  I groaned at the play on words and the old man smiled. I pushed away from the desk and gestured at the computer. “So go see if you can catch a bear,” I said. “Or at least a basket of apples.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

  Since Alfred Peterson’s best was ten times better than anyone else’s, I knew he’d get to the bottom of what the Lilleys were up to.

  I was dusting our collection of guitars about half an hour later when Christine and Debra walked into the shop. Elvis, who had been helping Mac with a customer, made a beeline for the two women.

  “Hi, Elvis,” Debra said with a smile, bending down to pick him up. The cat murped a hello back at her.

  “Surprise,” Christine said, holding out both hands.

  “A good one,” I said, walking over to join them.

  “I hope it’s okay we stopped in without calling first.”

  I nodded. “Of course it is.”

  Elvis and Debra seemed to be having a conversation. She reached out and gave my arm a quick squeeze.

  Christine looked around the room, the smile on her face getting bigger. “I love your store.” Her eyes lit on the musical instruments. “I didn’t know you sold guitars,” she said.

  “Do you play?” I asked.

  She made a face. “Not very well. I know a few chords and a few songs.”

  “She’s a lot better than she’s letting on,” Debra chimed in.

  “If you’d like to look at what we have, go ahead,” I said. “No pressure. I promise.”

  Christine looked over at the wall again. “I kind of do. But there’s somewhere we have to be in about half an hour. The reason we stopped by is Debra and I were hoping we could lure you and Rose out for lunch.”

  My gaze flicked over to Mac, who was helping a customer looking at the bed he and Charlotte had set up on Saturday. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “I’d love to have lunch,” I said. “I don’t know what Rose’s plans for the day are. She’s out back. Give me a minute and I’ll go get her.”

  Rose was in the Angels’ office talking to Mr. P.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Rose,” I said, poking my head in the open doorway. “Debra and Christine are here. They’ve invited us to lunch.”

  Mr. P. laid a hand on her arm. “Go,” he said. “I have everything under control.”

  Rose looked at me. “What about you, Sarah?”

  I smiled. “Mac can handle things here.”

  She walked back out to the shop with me. Mac’s customer was gone and, based on the satisfied smile on his face, he’d sold the bed. Debra and Elvis were checking out a bookcase and Christine kept shooting little glances over at the guitars.

  “I’m so glad the two of you came in,” Rose said, beaming at her friend.

  “The thanks should go to Christine,” Debra said. “The little house I’ve been renting for years in Rockport has been sold and I have to move on very short notice. Christine has invited me to stay for a while and I said yes. So I’m here to figure out what I should bring and what I should put in storage.”

  “Where is your apartment?” Rose asked Christine.

  She pulled her attention away from the guitars and named a street at the far end of town that ran along the shoreline where it curved down toward Rockport and Camden. She had to live fairly close to Clayton McNamara, I realized. We’d cleared out and sold a lot of furniture and collectibles from his house, part of the efforts of the old man’s daughter and his nephew, Glenn.

  “The big brick building?” Rose asked.

  Christine nodded.

  “The one you like so much at the end of Clayton’s street,” Rose said to me. “With that lovely verandah on two sides and the high windows.”

  “That’s it,” Christine said.

  “I have a thing for old houses,” I said. “I have one myself.”

  “I’ve been there about six months and I really like it,” she said.

  “It’s very kind of you to invite Debra to live with you,” Rose said.

  Christine seemed a bit embarrassed by the praise and brushed away the compliment. “It’s not a big deal. My landlord is a cat person so Socrates will be welcome and I’ll enjoy having the company. Plus this might be the push I’ve needed to clean out my spare room.” She turned to me. “Any chance you’d be interested in a collection of old LPs? It’s mostly ’60s rock.”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  Mac was at the cash desk and I’d seen his head snap up at Christine’s question. We sold old vinyl records about as fast as we got them in. Our customers were split pretty evenly between baby boomers and music lovers under the age of twenty-five.

  “Maybe once the show is over you could come take a look at what I have,” Christine said.

  “Tell me when and I’ll be there,” I said.

  We set a time for a late lunch and agreed to meet at McNamara’s. The sandwich shop and bakery was quiet enough that we’d be able to talk and the food was excellent.

  Liz came in about half an hour later with Charlotte. It turned out that Liz was driving Rose and Mr. P. to the arena complex for a quick meeting with Cleveland and Memphis about security, so Charlotte was covering for Rose.

  “I’ve finished the plan for the backyard,” Charlotte said to me.

  I wanted to make some changes to the landscaping around my house and Charlotte, who seemed to have a magic touch with plants, had offered to help.

  “When can I see it?” I asked.

  “Can you come for supper tomorrow night? Nicolas will be there and I’m making scalloped potatoes.”

  “I like both of them,” I said with a grin. “I’ll be there.” Nick was one of my oldest friends. Rose, Liz and especially Charlotte had hoped for a romance between the two of us, but in the end our relationship was more like that of siblings.

  “I could have dropped off Rose and Alfred,” I said to Liz.

  “Why should you have all the fun?” she said. Liz and Rose had been friends forever. They might needle each other from time to time, but their loyalty to each other ran bone deep.

  Elizabeth Emerson Kiley French had been married twice and widowed twice. She could be very charming unless you made the mistake of getting on her bad side or keeping her from something she’d set her mind on, and then she became a formidable enemy. She was smart, beautiful and not afraid to say exactly what she was thinking. More than one woman after meeting Liz had said, “I want to grow up to be her,” including me. The majority of men, even those a lot younger than she was, tended to lose their ability to think straight in her presence.

  “I have to get my jacket,” Rose said, heading for the stairs. She looked over her shoulder at me. “I’ll meet you at McNamara’s if that’s all right.”

  “Okay,” I said. I turned back to Liz, wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

  “And what do you want?” she asked, turning her head to eye me suspiciously.

  “What makes you think I want something?” I asked, trying to sound innocent. “Can’t I just give you a hug because I’m happy to see you?”

  “You can,” she countered, “but you’re not.” She poked me in the ribs with her elbow. “Spit it out, snookie. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Could you ask Elspeth what she knows about Chloe Hartman?” Elspeth was Liz’s niece and owned a successful spa in town. I had a feeling Chloe’s perfect nails might have been done there.

  She frowned. “The new client?”

  I nodded.

  “And what makes you think Elspeth would know anything about the woman?”

  I explained about notici
ng Chloe Hartman’s professional-looking manicure when I was introduced to her. “There aren’t a lot of places to get one that good in this area.”

  Liz nodded. “What are you looking for?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever Elspeth can share will help.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. She waved her hand in a shooing motion. “Now, go hang all over someone else. I have places to go and people to see.”

  I could see a smile tugging at her eyes and mouth and I knew she didn’t really want to get rid of me. “Thank you,” I whispered as I stepped back.

  Rose and Alfred left with Liz. Charlotte came downstairs wearing her favorite blue apron. “What do you need me to do first?” she asked.

  “There are two lace tablecloths up in my office that need to be packed for mailing,” I said. “But you don’t have to do that right now.”

  Charlotte nodded and I realized her attention had gone elsewhere. She was looking at a round table that had been in the shop for several weeks. There were several pieces from our collection of vases on the tabletop. Avery had added bare branches she’d found behind the garage workshop and in her grandmother’s backyard, interspersed with stems of tiny yellow artificial flowers.

  “Sarah, would you mind if I changed the display on that table?” Charlotte asked. She walked over to it and eyed it thoughtfully, arms folded over her chest. “Thanksgiving isn’t that far away and I think maybe it would draw a little more interest if we set it up with that theme.”

  The table had been in the shop for weeks and had generated no attention. “Go ahead,” I said. “And if you’d like to use them, Rose cleaned all of that enamel-handled cutlery that I got from Cleveland.” I gestured over my shoulder. “It’s on the shelf right beside the chairs in the workroom.”

  “I only vaguely remember what it looks like,” Charlotte said. “I’m going to go take a quick look if that’s okay.”

  I looked around the store. It was empty except for the two of us and Mac over at the cash desk. “Go ahead,” I said with a smile. “I think I can handle this.”

  Charlotte went out to the workroom trailed by Elvis, who apparently wanted to look at the knives and forks as well. I walked over to join Mac, who seemed to be making a list of some kind.

  “You sold the bed, didn’t you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “And two of the quilts that were used to dress it. The woman who bought it is coming back with a half-ton, but I’m not sure the bed will fit so I was writing down the instructions for reassembling it.” He gestured across the room. “What do you want to put in its place once it’s gone?”

  I looked over at where the bed was sitting. It occupied a large area of floor space. “What about bringing in that big china cabinet that came from the Winston house?” Since we’d started cleaning out houses and apartments for people who were downsizing we’d gotten some nice pieces of furniture in the shop. Many of those customers were seniors and sadly their children weren’t interested in their parents’ things.

  Mac shook his head. “The doors still aren’t closing properly. I think it needs new hinges.”

  He ran a hand over his hair. “This is going to sound a little . . . out there, but what if we brought in that wringer washer?”

  I squinted at him in surprise. I hadn’t expected him to suggest that. “The washer that Jess and I found on the side of the road? The washer that Jess had insisted ‘needed to be rescued’? I thought we were just going to sell it for scrap or let Cleveland take it.”

  “We can still do that,” Mac said. “I think it might sell. Avery cleaned it inside and out, the hoses are in good shape, and it works. Why not take a shot?”

  He had a point. People loved items that reminded them of when they were kids. Things like 1970s vintage lava lamps, for example, were snatched up as quickly as we put them in the store. And a mid-1960s collection of troll dolls had started a bidding war on our website. We’d sold a pink electric stove from the ’50s at an auction for twice what my research had suggested it would bring. Why not give the washer a shot?

  “Okay,” I said. “And given how fast that theatrical trunk sold, I’d also like to bring in one of those blue steamer trunks that we found at that yard sale in Lincolnville back in September.”

  “And maybe the set of suitcases—the blue ones. There were a few marks on the outside that Rose cleaned up and they’ve been aired out—not that they really had a musty smell to begin with.”

  “That’ll work,” I said. A while back I’d bought the contents of a couple of storage units. The suitcases had been in one of them. So had a wooden casket. The casket was out in the garage workshop. I was still trying to figure out what to do with it.

  The woman came back with the truck and we loaded the bed. As Mac had predicted, the frame had to be taken apart. The woman looked over the list of instructions for reassembling it that he’d written out and seemed confident that she could put it back together again. While Charlotte vacuumed the floor where the bed had been sitting, Mac and I went into the workshop.

  The washing machine, which he estimated was from the 1960s, was on casters so I hadn’t thought it would be hard to wheel across the parking lot. However, what I’d forgotten was that the lot sloped down to the street, which meant that was the direction the washer wanted to go. I had visions of it getting away and rolling downtown until it ended up in the harbor, but Mac and I managed to get the machine to the back door without it going rogue.

  “How did you and Jess manage to get this thing loaded and unloaded in the first place?” Mac asked as we rolled through the workroom and into the shop.

  With the back of my hand, I pushed a strand of hair that had come loose from my ponytail away from my face. “A very inventive—if I say so myself—improvised ramp, a lot of complaining, some bad language and the fact that Jess is freakishly strong. How does she get such strong arms from sewing?” I asked.

  I remembered how pleased with ourselves Jess and I had been when the washer was secured in the back of Mac’s truck—which we had borrowed for the morning—and we were on our way back to North Harbor. We were a couple of miles down the road before it occurred to both of us that we’d have to get the darn thing off the truck, too.

  Once the washer was in place we went back for the trunk and the suitcases. “Would you like me to dress everything?” Charlotte asked. “I could pile a heap of pillows inside the trunk and maybe drape one of those plaid throws over the lid.”

  I nodded. “Please.”

  Mac and I went back out to the workroom so he could get the box of dishes Charlotte wanted to use on the small table. He handed the box down to me and I set it on the workbench. I checked my watch. I still had a few minutes before I had to leave for McNamara’s. Mac joined me, brushing dust off the front of his jeans.

  “Are we still on for the jam on Thursday?” I asked.

  Thursday night jam at The Black Bear pub was a tradition in North Harbor. Jess and I tried to never miss a week. Owner Sam Newman and his house band, The Hairy Bananas, played classic rock and anyone and everyone was welcome to sit in. Mac had only been to a Thursday night at the pub once, as far as I knew. Every time we tried to make it happen a second time something would mess up our plans.

  “Absolutely,” he said, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. “Nothing is going to screw it up this time.”

  I took a step back in mock horror and held my index fingers up in the shape of a cross. “Don’t say that,” I warned. “You’ll jinx us.”

  Mac laughed. “I don’t believe in jinxes.”

  “Says the man who wears the same unwashed jersey all through the hockey playoffs.”

  “Like I explained, that’s a process,” he said. “A process is different from a superstition.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “How?”

  “A process plugs you into the energy of the
universe. It’s science.”

  I laughed and patted his arm. “You just keep telling yourself that,” I said.

  Chapter 7

  I was the first to arrive at McNamara’s.

  “Hey, Sarah,” Glenn said. Glenn McNamara was tall with broad shoulders and strong arms and still wore his blonde hair in the brush cut he’d had as a college football player. “What can I get for you?” He grinned. “The cinnamon rolls are still warm.”

  “I’m meeting Rose and a couple of friends,” I said. “So for now, just a table, please, and that should not be construed as a hard no as far as the cinnamon rolls are concerned.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. He showed me to a table in the corner. “Coffee while you wait?”

  I laughed. “Do you have to ask?”

  “I hear you have a prize-winning cat,” Glenn said when he brought my coffee in a big stoneware mug to the table.

  I laughed. “I know Elvis is just a cat, but I swear all that attention—not to mention Rose and Alfred spoiling him all weekend—has gone to his head. I came out of the bedroom this morning to find His Majesty sitting on one of the stools at the counter and when I put his food on the floor he complained long and loud.”

  Elvis had still been miffed at me when it was time to drive to work and he’d spent the ride muttering on the passenger seat next to me instead of doing his usual backseat driving.

  I took a sip of my coffee. It was hot and strong and delicious.

  “What about the case?” Glenn asked. “Were there any problems?”

  He knew about the Angels’ latest investigation, I remembered, because he’d suggested Cleveland and Memphis in the first place.

  “None,” I said. “And I’m hoping the show here is the same.”

  Glenn held up one of his huge hands with the index and middle fingers crossed over each other and went to help a man who had just come in the front door.

  Rose arrived less than five minutes later. Debra and Christine showed up before Rose had a chance to take off her jacket.