by Sofie Ryan
“So pets?” Michelle said.
Mr. P. nodded.
“How does he know that?” I asked.
“I’m not certain,” the old man said, “but I believe if anyone would know the difference, it would be Cleveland.”
I thought about some of the places Cleveland had gone picking in and had to agree.
“So you think this was vandalism?” Michelle asked.
“I do,” Mr. P. said. “According to Cleveland, the damage to the vendor’s products looks more like it was done by a person tearing things apart than by a rodent’s teeth. And again, I’m deferring to him on this.”
Michelle nodded her agreement. “Do you want the police involved?”
“Can it be done quietly?” he asked.
“As long as nothing ties this act of alleged vandalism to Christine Eldridge’s death, yes.”
“Memphis is going to review all the security footage from last night,” Mr. P. said. “I’ll have him send you a copy.”
Michelle nodded. “Thank you,” she said.
Rose gestured to the doorway. “I’ll only be a minute,” she said.
While Rose went to get her coat and bag, I walked to the back door with Michelle.
“I’ll be checking in with Nick later today,” she said. She pulled out her phone, checked the screen and put it back in her pocket. “He’s probably already talked to Tom Manning. I take it you don’t mind if I share what Alfred discovered.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not a problem.” I didn’t say that Rose considered Nick part of the team so if Michelle didn’t update him Rose would.
I thought about Charlotte wanting me to find someone for Nick and wondered for a moment if he and Michelle would be a match. As quickly as the thought came, I dismissed it. If things didn’t work out they’d still have to work together.
“Could we have dinner sometime soon?” Michelle asked. “I’m thinking about starting to look for a house and I’d like to pick your brain. I know nothing about home ownership.”
“I love the idea,” I said. “And if you eventually find something you like, I’ll loan you Liam to check it out for you.” My brother was a building contractor and his advice had been invaluable when I’d been looking at my old Victorian.
“Seriously, do you think he would mind?”
I gave her an incredulous look. “Would Liam mind being asked to give his opinion on a house—or anything, for that matter?”
Michelle laughed. “Okay, I get your point. But I really would like your opinion as well.”
I smiled at her. “You may regret saying that, but you can have it.”
Rose came back then, wearing her jacket and carrying her tote bag. It reminded me of Mary Poppins’s carpetbag. I was never really sure what Rose was going to pull out of it.
Michelle and Rose headed across the parking lot to Michelle’s car. I turned to go back into the shop and Mr. P. was standing in the office door. “I just wanted to say you were correct about the fire from the very beginning,” he said. “And you stood your ground. You should be proud of yourself.”
“So what happens now?” I said.
He gave me a small smile. “That’s simple: We catch the culprit.”
Chapter 14
I went upstairs and got another cup of coffee then I came back down to the shop to bring Mac up to date on Michelle’s visit. There were no customers and Charlotte was in the workroom ironing a beautiful cream linen tablecloth that she was convinced would sell if we displayed it properly. I was equally certain it wouldn’t because it needed to be starched and steam-ironed to look its best and most people didn’t have time for that anymore.
“So what happens now?” Mac asked.
“I’m going to take Mr. P. and Elvis over to the show in a little while,” I said. “As for the case, we keep digging. I am glad Michelle is involved now, though. The police have resources the Angels don’t.”
“The Angels have connections the police don’t,” he said. “Don’t discount that.”
“Good point,” I said, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.
Mac inclined his head toward the street. “Go,” he said.
I frowned at him. “Go where?”
“Get Elvis, get Alfred and go over to the show.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
He smiled. “Of course not, but you know you want to find out what’s going on over there and so does Alfred. So do it. I’m here. So is Charlotte. And Avery will be along in a little while. We can handle things here. And look at Elvis. He’s a bundle of nervous energy.”
Elvis was sprawled on his back in the reproduction Eames chair that I had brought in from the garage workshop, his tail hanging over the edge of the seat.
“Okay, I’ll go,” I said. “But only because Elvis is so antsy.”
Mac pressed a hand to his chest. “You just give and give,” he said with mock solemnity.
I laughed and went out to the Angels’ office to see if Mr. P. felt like leaving.
Alfred was ready to go over to the arena complex. I gathered up Elvis and his things and we were quickly on our way. Because we were early, I found a spot to park in the second row of the lot. Mr. P. took one of the bags Rose had packed and I got the other. Rose and Debra weren’t inside yet and I hoped things were going well with Michelle.
“Sarah, I need a small favor,” Mr. P. said, setting the bag he was carrying under the table at our station.
“Of course,” I said. “What is it?”
“Could you stay here with Elvis until Rosie arrives? I’d like to go over to the other building and talk to Cleveland.”
“Of course I can.” I lifted Elvis out of the bag. He yawned and looked around.
“You’re sure?” he said.
I smiled. “Positive. We might walk around and scope out the competition.” As if he’d understood my words, Elvis took a couple of passes at his face with one paw.
Mr. P. left and Elvis and I walked down to the end of our row, looking at the banners that were hung all over the space. “‘Dogs have owners. Cats have staff,’” I read aloud.
“Mrrr,” Elvis said.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that one. How about this? ‘In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods. They have not forgotten this.’ Terry Pratchett. Very wise man.”
Elvis bobbed his head as if in agreement.
I spotted another banner, a little farther down. “This one is an old English proverb. ‘In a cat’s eye, all things belong to cats.’” I scratched the top of his head. “Why do all of these sayings seem to apply perfectly to you?”
All I got for a response was an unblinking, green-eyed stare.
At the end of the aisle we turned and started back to our station. I kept on reading the overhead signs. “I like this one,” I said to Elvis. “‘Dogs come when they’re called. Cats take a message and get back to you.’”
We had just made it back to our section when Kimber Watson almost ran into us. Her head was bent over her phone and her cat was in a black and gold carrier slung over her shoulder. She stopped abruptly and blinked at me.
“Are you all right?” I asked. Elvis eyed her, squinting his green eyes as though he was trying to decide if she was friend or foe.
“I know you,” Kimber said, pointing a stubby finger at me. “You were outside the arena with an older woman the other day when security was being so unreasonable.”
I nodded. “That’s right. Has Basil adjusted to the space?”
“He’s been very unsettled. Which wouldn’t have happened if I’d just been able to let him feel the energy of the room in advance.”
I glanced at the carrier bag. Basil didn’t look unsettled. He appeared to be sound asleep.
“I’m sure he’ll do well in the competition,” I said.
Kimber frowned in annoyance. “Well, of course he will. Basil is a professional.” She squinted at Elvis. “This moogy is yours?” she asked.
I had no idea what a moogy was, but the way she said the word didn’t make it sound like a compliment. “Yes,” I said. “This is Elvis.”
She held out her fingers and let him sniff them, then ran her hand over his fur. “He does have a nice coat.” She looked around. “Do you know where Debra Martinez is?”
“She isn’t here yet, but she should be arriving in just a few minutes. Would you like me to give her a message?”
“I wanted to tell her I was sorry about her friend,” Kimber said. “I’ll come back.” She turned to leave.
“Good luck today,” I said.
She looked back over her shoulder at me. “I make my own luck,” she said.
I watched her walk away and wondered what exactly that meant.
Rose and Debra showed up with Socrates just as I was getting Elvis settled in his tent.
Debra was more composed than I expected. She looked at Rose. “Sarah knows?” she asked.
Rose nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish that there hadn’t been a fire at all and I wish . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I want to know who killed Christine and why,” Debra said.
I saw the determination in Rose’s eyes. I knew what she was going to say before she spoke. “I give you my word,” she said to Debra, “we will figure it out.”
* * *
* * *
I was pulling out of the arena parking lot when I realized I never did pack any lunch because Mac and Mr. P. had shown up at my door. I decided to drive over to the sandwich shop.
“Hey, Sarah,” Glenn said. “I’m so sorry about your friend. I liked her. She had a great laugh.”
“You’re right,” I said. “She did.” I cleared my throat. “What’s the sandwich special today?”
“Turkey with cheese and arugula.”
“Okay, I’ll have that and coffee.” I handed over my stainless steel mug. Avery had reminded me more than once that I used too many disposable cups and I was trying to do better.
“How’s Elvis doing in the show?” Glenn asked as he poured my coffee.
“Judging starts today,” I said.
He smiled. “I’ll cross my fingers.” He handed me my mug. “Hey, do you remember the people filming the reality show over the summer?”
I made a bit of a face. “Vividly. I think they messed up traffic all over town.”
“Well, get ready for that to happen again. The producer is back in town.”
“I thought I saw him at the pet expo,” I said. “I guess I was right.”
“Rumor has it he’s teaming up with a couple who know the cat show circuit to do a pilot for a partly scripted reality show about cat show people.”
I took a sip of my coffee. “What does ‘partly scripted’ mean?”
Glenn shrugged. “From what I can tell, it means the reality won’t be very real. Apparently this couple, whoever they are, will play quirky cat lovers and try to get a rise out of other people.” He made air quotes when he said the word “quirky.”
I rested my cup on the counter and folded my hands around it. “I think the whole thing sounds mean.”
“I agree,” Glenn said. “And let’s face it, the treasure hunt idea from the summer didn’t exactly bring out the best in people.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll go check on your sandwich.”
He came back with my lunch and I paid and let him top up my coffee, on the house.
“Tell Elvis I’m rooting for him.”
I laughed. “I will,” I said.
I slid behind the wheel and fastened my seat belt, but I didn’t start the SUV. I thought about what Glenn had just told me, especially the part about the structure of the potential show: a couple pretending to be quirky cat lovers trying to get a rise out of other people. The first thing that had occurred to me was the Lilleys in their ridiculous disguises. Was that why they had shown up at the Searsport show? Was that why Cleveland had seen them shooting video in the parking lot? People could go to some pretty ridiculous extremes to get on TV, I’d learned when the treasure show had been filming. Could it be as simple as the Lilleys being involved in this reality show? I didn’t know, but I was betting Mr. P. could find out.
I pulled into the Second Chance parking lot just as Avery was coming up the sidewalk. I waited for her and she smiled when she saw my coffee mug.
“If that had a green drink, it would be even better,” she said. I saw a smile pull at the corners of her eyes and mouth and realized she was teasing for the most part.
“Coffee beans are green before they’re roasted,” I said.
She smiled. “You’re funny.”
“How did the parent-teacher meetings go?” I asked.
Avery made a face. “Nonna agreed with my French teacher that I have a bad attitude and now I have extra practice three times a week. She also agreed with me that he has a crappy accent, but she said that his accent and my attitude have nothing to do with each other.” She sent two bracelets spinning around her arm like two tiny hula hoops. “And Mr. Harrison, my gym teacher, has to take a seminar on gender equality in the classroom.” She looked up and grinned. “Nonna rocks!”
I grinned back at her. “She absolutely does.”
“Could I switch and work tomorrow morning instead of tomorrow afternoon?” Avery asked then, abruptly changing the subject.
“If Charlotte will switch with you, yes,” I said.
“I want to go to the cat show to see how Elvis and some of the other cats are doing, and I want Greg to meet Socrates.”
Greg was Avery’s sort-of boyfriend. He was quiet and serious and both Rose and Charlotte were always trying to feed him, which worked out well because he had the typical teenage boy’s bottomless pit of an appetite.
“Elvis will love having a cheering section,” I said.
Avery held open the back door. “I decided I’m going to volunteer with the cats at the animal shelter. I talked to a guy from there the other day. He said they could always use more volunteers.”
“That’s a great idea. You could talk to Jane. She’s been volunteering there for years.”
“Nonna’s Jane?” She frowned. “I didn’t know that.”
Jane Evans was Liz’s assistant and probably the only person on the planet who could get away with telling Liz what to do. “You’ll have to clean cages and empty litter boxes,” I warned.
“I don’t care,” she said. “I thought Elvis was the only cat I liked, but it turns out I like pretty much all of them. I like Elvis better than some people.”
I felt the same way some days myself.
“And I like Socrates, and there’s a Sphynx cat named Fifi, who’s such a sweetie. And I like Nikita, but her owner is kind of cheap.”
She was talking about Jeffery. I gave her a look.
“Well, he is,” she said with a shrug. “His hair-dye job isn’t very good.”
“That doesn’t make him cheap,” I said, stopping next to the workbench. Mac—or maybe Charlotte—had left a large box sitting there. “Maybe it just didn’t turn out.”
“It’s not the only thing. Remember before the show when I was getting a bunch of Elvis stuff for Mr. P?”
I nodded. “I remember.” I lifted a flap on the top of the box and looked inside. There were several large platters wrapped in newsprint. Maybe something a repeat customer had called looking for?
“I saw Nikita’s owner. He was in the store. There’s a coffee shop right next door and he picked up a half-empty bag of chips someone had walked away from when he thought no one was looking.” She frowned. “And who eats chips for breakfast, anyway?”
“People eat cold pizza for breakfas
t. And as for Jeffery Walker, maybe he has money problems.”
Avery gave a snort of derision. “Sarah, he drives a BMW.”
“So maybe he’s a freegan, someone who tries to use up food other people don’t finish. Try not to be so judgy.”
“Fine,” she said. “But I still say scoring chips that someone else left behind is just cheap; it’s not saving the planet.” She disappeared into the shop.
I just stood there. Avery had seen Jeffery Walker with a half-full bag of chips. My first impulse was to think that she was wrong or hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen. Maybe he’d absent-mindedly picked them up because he was thinking about something else. It didn’t mean the man had started the fire that killed Christine; although if he had, it would make sense that he hadn’t bought a bag of chips—a transaction someone might remember.
On the other hand, Christine had believed Jeffery was cheating and they had argued. I remembered what Rose said about the potential for big money for this year’s winners. I knew that money made people do stupid, stupid things.
It was a quiet afternoon broken up by Maud Fitch coming in to buy four chairs and by two cars of friends on their way to a wedding in Nova Scotia. After much discussion, they had bought a beautiful quilt for the bride and groom, laughing about it going on the honeymoon bed. It made me smile to listen to them, especially since one of the women had explained that the happy couple were in their seventies.
“I’m a sucker for a happily-ever-after ending,” Charlotte said, putting one arm around my shoulders.
“Me, too,” I said, leaning against her.
I was getting ready to head over to the arena when Mac came in from the workshop. He’d been working on the teak benches all afternoon, repairing and regluing the joints. “How about dinner a little later?” he asked.
“Does it involve me cooking?” I said. “I will. I just want you to be aware that my success rate is still at about the seventy-five percent mark.” Considering that not that long ago I’d been pretty much incapable of cooking anything—at least without starting a fire of some sort—that was a pretty big accomplishment. And it was only because of Rose’s and Charlotte’s persistence. Still, if I was cooking for someone, I generally felt better if they knew there was a possibility that we could end up with take-out pizza.
