Telling Tails

Chapter 8

I was about to go back downstairs to see if I had any messages when my cell phone rang. It was Michelle.

“How’s Rose this morning?” she asked.

“She’s fine,” I said. “I’m guessing Nick told you about the needle mark on her neck.”

“He said he convinced her to let him take a blood sample.”

It was more like she conned him into taking the sample, but I didn’t say that. “I’m hoping we’ll get some results in a couple of days.”

“Good. Maybe that will clear things up.”

I could picture Michelle nodding as though those blood tests would settle everything.

“Sarah, the reason I called is I checked with the Camerons’ financial adviser. Jeff Cameron did empty the account yesterday with some made-up story about needing the money because they had the chance to buy a piece of property they’d been looking at.”

I propped an elbow on my desk. “It doesn’t prove he left town,” I said. “Do you have any idea who this other woman is?”

“If you’re asking did he show up at the bank with her on his arm, no. And I also spoke to his assistant, Chloe Sanders. She has no idea where he is, either.”

It was pretty much what I’d expected. I thanked Michelle for everything she’d done and said good-bye.

I spent the rest of the morning out in our newly converted work space in the old garage cleaning a couple of wicker rocking chairs so I could paint them. I headed inside at about twelve fifteen. Avery had a small drop cloth spread on top of a section of Mac’s workbench. She’d sorted the postcards into three piles.

“Hi, Sarah,” she said when she spotted me. “I went through those postcards like you asked. I have a pile that are nice enough to frame, another pile that you can just sell one by one in the shop—tourists like that kind of stuff—and a few that are torn or have big water blotches on them.”

“Good job,” I said. “You can recycle the ones that are damaged.”

She nodded, twisting the stack of bracelets on her left arm around her wrist. “Sarah, do you think I could maybe try framing some of those nicer postcards?”

Avery was very creative and I’d learned recently a pretty talented artist. I had no idea what she’d come up with, but I was sure she’d create something that would catch customers’ attention. “Sure,” I said. “There are a couple of boxes of frames on the top left shelf.” I pointed to the storage unit along the back wall.

“Awesome,” she said with a grin. “What do you need me to do now?”

“You could help me set up one of the folding tables and gather enough chairs for everyone to have lunch.”

“Sure,” she said, sliding off the stool she’d been sitting on. “Are you going to be talking about what happened to Rose last night?”

“Yes,” I said. There wasn’t any point in trying to keep what was going on from her. Avery had the kind of selective bionic hearing all teenagers had, in my experience. You could tell her something three times, and if she wasn’t interested, she wouldn’t hear a word. On the other hand, when she did want to know what was going on, she could make out a whisper from across the shop.

“I’ll take my lunch and stay in the store, then,” she said. “You’re getting lunch for everyone, right?”

“Mac’s gone to McNamara’s,” I said. “And thank you for offering to cover in the shop.”

Avery’s expression turned serious. “Rose is my family. We have to catch whoever tried to hurt her.”

“We will,” I said with a confidence I didn’t quite feel. “Nick is helping and so is Detective Andrews.”

We had the table ready when Mac came in the back door trailed by Mr. P. and Charlotte. It struck me that this was becoming a habit whenever the Angels had a case. Mr. P. raised a hand in hello and made a beeline for me. “Sarah, how’s Rosie?” he asked.

“She’s all right. I promise,” I said. Charlotte joined us. I brought them up to date on the visit with Nicole Cameron and the possible needle mark on Rose’s neck.

“Nicolas took a blood sample?” Mr. P. asked, frowning a little behind his wire-framed glasses. The few wisps of hair the man had were sticking out all over his head.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “But there was no squabbling with Rose.”

“And Rose agreed without squabbling with Nicolas?” Charlotte asked.

“Let’s just say they each had an agenda, but if we’re lucky we’ll be able to prove that Rose was drugged, which will—I hope—show the police that Rose isn’t some ditsy old lady.”

Mac had given Avery her lunch and she’d gone into the shop. Now Charlotte took the take-out bag from him and began to set out the rest of the food. Rose came into the workroom then, and Liz was with her.

“Hello, pretty girl,” Liz said to me as she reached the table.

I caught her hand. She’d gotten a pink French manicure. “Very pretty yourself,” I said approvingly. I raised an eyebrow. “Was it worth the investment?”

“I think so,” she said.

I walked over to stand next to Mac. “Thanks for getting lunch,” I said. “What do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“I can ask Glenn, you know.”

Mac crossed his arms over his chest. “Won’t work. It’s a guy thing. We stick together.”

“Really?” I said.

He nodded. “Really.”

I’d found Jeff Cameron’s business card on my desk. I pulled it out of my pocket now. “I need a favor,” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “What is it?”

Mac had worked as a financial adviser before coming to North Harbor. I handed him the card. “This is Jeff Cameron’s business card. He works for Helmark Associates. I Googled them. They provide temporary employees for businesses.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“Do you have any contacts from your old life that might have heard of him?”

He swiped a hand across his mouth. “Maybe.”

“Thanks,” I said. “It struck me that if he was—is—having an affair, it’s probably not with someone here in town. I don’t think it would be possible to keep that secret for very long.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.” He tucked the card in his pocket. “What’s going on between Rose and Alfred? It looks like she’s avoiding him.”

I explained about Michelle suggesting Rose had had a small stroke and how both Charlotte and Mr. P. had wanted her to go to the doctor to prove her wrong. “She was . . . offended. She stalked out of her apartment into mine. I sent the two of them home. The good thing was once I had Rose at my place it wasn’t that hard to convince her to spend the night. I’d been afraid I was going to have to sneak around the back of the house and climb through the window so I could watch her sleep.”

Mac shook his head. “That would explain why I found Mr. P. waiting by the back door at quarter to eight this morning.”

“He’s crazy about her,” I said. “And I know she feels the same way about him.”

A slow smile spread across Mac’s face. “And would you have predicted that would happen the day the two of you”—he cleared his throat—“encountered each other at Legacy Place? You’re kind of responsible for the two of them getting together.”

I laughed, putting a hand to my mouth. “Given that—as Gram would say—Mr. P. was naked as a jaybird, no.”

I’d been doing a workshop at Legacy Place as a favor to my grandmother. I’d walked into the room we were using and, thanks to a miscommunication, discovered a naked Alfred Peterson, posing in the middle of the room.

“It wasn’t his best look,” I said to Mac.

I remembered walking across the floor to Alfred, keeping my eyes locked on the old man’s blue ones, silently repeating, Please don’t let me see anything that isn’t G-rated.

When I’d asked what he was doing, Mr. P. had replied, “I’m posing, my dear.”

Based on the position he’d assumed, I’d been fairly certain he was trying to approximate the Farnese Atlas, a marble sculpture of Atlas, partly down on one knee, with the world on his shoulders. In Mr. P.’s case it had been a red-and-white-striped beach ball with the logo of a beer company on his shoulders.

It turned out that he was posing for an art class, filing in for Sam, of all people. There had been some kind of mix-up. The class, it turned out, was drawing hands, not bodies.

I looked at Mac. I was shaking with laughter at the memory, my lips pressed tightly together. Luckily, Charlotte had been with me and had walked in and sent Mr. P. off to the washroom with an admonition to put his clothes on before—as she put it—the mystery was gone.

Mac glanced over at Alfred, who was talking to Charlotte, although his attention kept shifting to Rose. “The beginning of a pretty good friendship,” he said.

I nodded. “Hard to believe, but yes, it was.”

We settled at the table. Rose took the chair to my right and Liz sat beside her. Mr. P. and Charlotte were on my left and Mac leaned against the workbench with his sandwich and coffee, the way he often did when we had these kinds of meals. I glanced at him and he gave me a small smile of encouragement.

Mr. P. had set his computer bag on the table. He hadn’t unwrapped his sandwich or touched the cup of tea Charlotte had poured for him. I’d noticed that he and Charlotte had exchanged a couple of looks when he wasn’t watching Rose and trying not to be obvious about it.

I cleared my throat and they all turned their attention to me. I held up a hand in the old man’s direction. “Mr. P., you’re up,” I said.

“Thank you, Sarah,” he said. “First of all, Charlotte was able to get in touch with Mr. Cameron’s assistant, Chloe Sanders.”

“She was my student,” Charlotte said. “She agreed to stop by this afternoon.”

“Charlotte and I spent the rest of the morning trying to track down Mr. Cameron,” Mr. P. continued.

“So did you?” Liz asked.

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “No, Elizabeth. We didn’t. There hasn’t been any activity on his credit or debit cards since late yesterday afternoon when he put gas in his vehicle at a station in Rockport. Calls to his cell phone go straight to voice mail.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought Jeff Cameron was at a meeting in Portland. That’s what he told me yesterday.”

Charlotte shook her head. “There was no meeting. It had been rescheduled.”

“He was in town,” Rose said.

“All we can prove for the moment is that his vehicle was here,” Mr. P. continued, his eyes never leaving Rose’s face. “As well as the transaction at the gas station, we also have him on video heading for the highway early in the evening.”

“Do you believe he’s dead?” Rose asked.

I turned to look at her, but like Mr. P. all her attention was focused on one person. Him.

“We have another theory,” Charlotte said slowly.

Alfred nodded. He cleared his throat. “It is . . . more than a little outlandish,” he said.

Mac pushed away from the workbench and moved forward so he was standing between my chair and Mr. P.’s. “What is it, Alfred?” he said.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Rose asked again.

“I think he wanted you to think he’s dead,” Mr. P. said. “But I think he set up his wife to make it look like she killed him and then he ran off with all their money.”

No one said anything for what felt like a stretched moment in time. Then Rose spoke. “You’re saying Jeff Cameron used me. He manipulated me into offering to deliver those candlesticks to his wife so I could be a witness to his alleged death.” She was sitting upright in her chair, her hands folded primly in her lap, but anger flashed in her gray eyes.

Mr. P. nodded. “I’m sorry, Rosie. Yes.”

“He thought I was some feeble, dotty old woman he could use as part of his scheme. If he wasn’t dead, I’d smack him with my purse.”

Liz made a snort of derision. “Clearly the man is a pretty lousy judge of people.”

“Our theory is like a colander at the moment,” Charlotte said, setting her cup on the table. “It has a few holes, mainly the why and the who. Why on earth would the man want to set up his wife like this, and who helped him?”

“He had to have had help,” I said. “Someone to masquerade as his wife and someone else to assault Rose.”

“That may work to our advantage,” Mr. P. said. He gave me a small, sly smile. “Sarah, by any chance are you familiar with what one of our Founding Fathers, Benjamin Franklin, said about secrets?”

I nodded. “Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” The words didn’t leave me with a good feeling.