Telling Tails

Chapter 10

I woke up the next morning feeling like I hadn’t slept at all, the sheet and a cotton blanket both wrapped in a tangle around one leg. After I’d gotten home from the pub I’d been too wired to watch TV. I’d spent some time searching around online, trying to learn more about Jeff Cameron. I’d remembered his sister saying he’d disappeared once before, after their grandmother died. I called Chloe Sanders, who told me Jeff had mentioned his grandmother only once. She was fairly certain the woman’s name had been Catherine, but that was all she knew. I didn’t have any luck finding an obituary for the woman.

I made coffee, scrambled an egg in the small cast-iron skillet Rose had insisted I needed, and ate it with a dish of stewed rhubarb that had grown in my backyard. Charlotte had been horrified that I’d been pulling out the plants and composting them because I thought they were a weed. Elvis hopped onto my lap to mooch a bite of egg.

My cell phone rang. I slid it across the counter and checked the screen, smiling when I saw who was calling. “Hi, Mom,” I said. I leaned back, shifting Elvis sideways on my legs. He made a grumble of annoyance.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “How are things?”

“Things are fine,” I said. I’d just talked to her and Dad less than a week ago. I had a feeling I knew what had prompted this call. “Have you been talking to Gram?”

I heard her laugh on the other end of the phone. “Guilty as charged. I just wanted to hear it straight from you that Rose was all right.”

Elvis had jumped down to the floor to investigate what I’d put out for his breakfast.

“Rose is all right, Mom, I swear,” I said.

“Isabel said someone hit her over the head with a boat fender?”

“Liz claims the fact that it was Rose’s head is what saved her.”

Mom laughed. “Not that anyone would ever suggest that Liz herself can be a little hardheaded.”

I laughed, too. “Oh no, never.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not you, but maybe Dad. Is he around?”

I heard her take a sip of her tea, iced, I guessed, because of the time of year. “He went out for a run, but I can pass on a message. What do you need?”

My stepfather had been an award-winning newspaper reporter for many years. Now he taught journalism and writing at Keating State College in New Hampshire.

“Would you ask him if he could find out anything about the death of a Catherine Cameron? He’d be looking about three years ago. I don’t know if that’s Catherine with a ‘C’ or a ‘K.’ She would have been about eighty and she had two grandchildren, Jeff—probably Jeffrey—and Nicole. I don’t know where in New Hampshire they lived.”

“Does this have anything to do with what happened to Rose?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Rose was doing a favor for a customer. I’m not sure whether or not he was being straight with her. I’d just like to know a little bit more about his background. Mr. P. has been searching online, but sometimes face-to-face works better.”

“I’ll give your father all the information as soon as he gets home.” I heard a squeak, which told me she was at her desk in her office, which overlooked the backyard.

“Are you working?” I asked. Mom wrote an elementary school series of books that featured a talking gerbil named Einstein.

“Copy edits,” she said. “Where do you stand on serial commas?”

“Umm, for them?” I said uncertainly.

“Well, of course. If only I could convince my copy editor that they’re important. Or your father, for that matter.”

“I have faith in your persuasive skills,” I said.

She laughed again. “I may be able to make the copy editor see the light, but I think your father is a lost cause.” I heard her shift once more in her squeaky desk chair, probably reaching for her tea. “I better get back to work, sweetie,” she said.

“I’m glad you called, Mom,” I said. “Talk to you soon.” I ended the call and set the phone back on the counter as Elvis came across the kitchen floor.

Since he’d finished his own breakfast, he jumped onto the stool next to me and eyed my plate expectantly.

“I already gave you a taste,” I said.

He hung his head, giving me a mournful look while making sure I could see the scar that cut diagonally across his nose. That maneuver always worked on visitors to the store.

I gave him another bite of the egg. Clearly it worked on me, too.

Elvis murped a thank-you, ate the egg and then proceeded to wash his face. I cleaned up the kitchen and was about to go brush my teeth when the cat suddenly swung his head in the direction of the door. He jumped down, crossed the room and looked pointedly at the door before looking back at me.

I waited, half expecting to hear a knock, half expecting it would be Nick. There was no knock. Elvis sat down and continued to stare at the door. Feeling a little foolish, I walked over and checked the peephole. No one was there.

“Your radar is off,” I said, bending down to give his head a scratch as I went past. He made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat.

I finished getting ready, grabbed my bag and my keys and discovered Elvis was still sitting in front of the door. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that,” I said.

I stepped into the hallway and there was Mr. P. in a blue golf shirt and a Red Sox ball cap, his messenger bag over one shoulder. Elvis looked up at me, and the look on his face plainly said I told you so.

“Hello, Sarah,” Mr. P. said. He smiled down at the cat. “Hello, Elvis.”

I smiled back. “Good morning.”

Rose came out of her apartment then, carrying not one but two tote bags. Mr. P. hurried over to take one of them from her. “You’re here,” she said, beaming at him. She turned to me. “Sarah dear, I told Alfred he could drive over to the Clarks’ with us.” She held up a paper bag. “I have Casey’s dog biscuits.”

Mr. P. pushed his glasses up his nose. “Are you sure it’s all right, my dear?” he asked. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

“You’re welcome to drive with us anytime,” I said, setting down my own bag long enough to lock the door. “And you aren’t taking advantage. I enjoy your company.”

“So do I,” Rose said.

Elvis meowed loudly.

“It’s unanimous,” I said with a grin.

We started out to the SUV with Elvis leading the way.

“You know the cat tower you built is still his favorite place,” I said to Mr. P. “I think the only thing that could make it better was if it were in front of the TV so he could sit at the top and watch Jeopardy!”

One of the cat’s little quirks was watching the game show every weeknight. He had some kind of internal clock that told him just when the show was beginning. My best guess was that he’d watched the show with his previous owner. I had no idea what the cat’s life had been like before he’d turned up along the harbor front more than a year ago now.

Elvis looked back over his shoulder, meowed and bobbed his head as though in agreement about his affection for his tower.

“I’m glad you like it, Elvis,” Mr. P. said.

I opened the back driver’s-side door and the cat jumped onto the backseat. Rose climbed in beside him. Mr. P. took the front passenger seat.

“We don’t have to pick up Avery,” Rose said as she fastened her seatbelt. “She’s gone to a very early movie, part of that film festival the library is putting on.” She smiled. “I’m glad she’s making some friends her own age.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“What’s the plan for the day?” I asked once we were headed for Windspeare Point.

“I’m going to do a little more digging into Mr. Cameron’s background. His work history so far seems to be very spotty,” Mr. P. said.

“Charlotte is going to an aquacize class at the gym and Liz is having a massage,” Rose added from the backseat.

We were at a stop sign so I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “And what are you going to do?” I asked.

“I’m going to charm tourists into spending a lot of money,” she said with a completely straight face.

“I have no doubt about that,” I said.

“I didn’t tell you—it turns out that Maddie Hamilton lives two houses away from Chloe Sanders’ parents. Charlotte is going to talk to her, too.”

I had a soft spot for Maddie. She was the reason I had my father’s guitar. She’d found it at an estate sale, had it restrung and given it to me on my fifteenth birthday.

Rose had called Ashley Clark, and she and Casey were waiting on the front step of their little cottage. Rose fished one of the dog biscuits she and Avery had made out of the paper bag. The dog sniffed it and then took it from Rose’s hand. The look he gave her was pure adoration.

When we got back in the SUV, Elvis had positioned himself on the far side of the backseat. He was looking out the passenger window at the street, ignoring the rest of us. It was pretty clear he was sulking.

Rose took another small bag from one of her totes and set it on the seat. I caught the distinctive smell of sardines. So did the cat. He turned to look at Rose, whiskers twitching. “Did you think I forgot about you?” she asked.

He walked across the seat and poked the bag with a paw.

“Is it all right if I give him one?” Rose asked.

“Yes, go ahead,” I said.

She took out a star-shaped cracker and set it on the seat. The smell of sardines grew stronger. Elvis sniffed the treat and must have liked what he smelled because his green eyes all but closed in bliss. I made a note to use my own nose next time I was offered a plate of Rose’s star-shaped cookies.

When we got to the shop, Avery was set up on an old table outside, painting picture frames. Mac was inside.

“I talked to a couple of people about Helmark Associates,” he said.

I could tell from the expression on his face that he hadn’t come up with anything useful. “No luck?” I said.

He shook his head. “Helmark was formed when People Plus and JobCore merged about a year and a half ago. That’s when Jeff Cameron started working there, along with quite a few other people. JobCore offered a buyout, which a lot of their staff took advantage of. People Plus did the same kind of thing with an early retirement package. The new company hired a lot of people in a short time.”

I made a face. “It was worth a shot. Thanks.”

“I did learn one thing,” Mac said, “although I’m not sure how it will help. Jeff Cameron had only been at his previous job about a year. Before that he had a gap in his résumé, which he explained by saying he was traveling around Europe working at different jobs for a few weeks or a few months. Apparently he didn’t have any references or contact information from any of them. Helmark was short staffed and that really didn’t make a difference to them.”

I frowned. I wasn’t sure how the information would help, either. “It’s something for Mr. P. to look into,” I said. I smiled. “Thanks for trying.”

“Anytime,” he said. He gestured at a large cardboard box on the cash counter. “How do you feel about accordions?”

“They worked for Lawrence Welk and Weird Al Yankovic,” I said. “Why?”

“I helped Glenn move a sofa for his uncle last night. The old man offered me a couple of accordions that Glenn said have been in the house since Adam was a cowboy. Now I’m starting to think I should have taken the bottle of homemade beer instead.”

I made a face. “Accordions are tricky. There’s not a very big resale market and there’s a lot of junk out there.”

“I knew I should have gone with the beer,” Mac said. He smiled, which told me he really didn’t mean it.

I set my things down on the cash desk. “Hang on a minute,” I said. “Let me take a look. The big thing with old accordions is whether they can still be played.”

I pulled the smaller of the two instruments out of the box. It was made of red plastic and I knew at once it was a child’s toy. “You might get a dollar for this at a yard sale,” I said.

Avery was just coming through the shop, probably headed for the second-floor staff room to see what Rose had brought to eat in her overstuffed tote bags. “Can I have it?” she asked. She fished three quarters out of the pocket of her jeans and held them out to Mac. “I don’t have a dollar.”

“You can have it,” he said. “But you don’t have to pay me.”

Avery took the accordion from me and held the quarters out to Mac. “Nonna will have a cow if she thinks I’m taking advantage.”

“All right, then,” Mac said taking the money from her hand.

Avery beamed with happiness, clutched the plastic accordion to her chest and took the stairs two at a time.

Mac walked over to me.

“What is she going to do with that?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“I like that she isn’t worrying so much about what other people think.”

“You can thank Rose for that,” Mac said. “And you deserve some credit, too.” He gave me a nudge with his elbow.

“You know, I’m glad it’s worked out, Avery moving here with Liz.” I looked up at the ceiling, half expecting to hear the sound of the toy instrument coming through from upstairs.

“Liz is going to have a cow when Avery takes that thing home, you know.”

I held up both hands. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who sold it to her.”

Mac shook his head and laughed. Then he gestured at the box. “What are we going to do with that one?”

“Hang on a second,” I said. “At least let me take a look.” I lifted the second accordion out of the box. It was black, a bit larger than the one Avery had just disappeared upstairs with. I slipped my hands through the straps and squeezed. It was still playable, and to my uneducated ear the sound was fine.

I turned the instrument around to check the name, although I had a feeling what I was going to see. HOHNER STUDENT IVM it said on the front of the accordion. “We should be able to get a few dollars for this one,” I said.

“Well, that’s good,” Mac said. “How much are you thinking?”

I shrugged. “Four, maybe five . . . hundred dollars.”

His mouth actually fell open a little. “You’re not serious?”

“Yes, I am,” I said, grinning at him. “I know about this much about accordions.” I held up my thumb and index finger about half an inch apart. “But I know that Hohner is a quality instrument and this particular accordion is in very good shape. I’ll see what Sam thinks, but this is better than a growler of Clayton McNamara’s beer.”

Rose came downstairs then, carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed one to me and the other to Mac. “There’s rhubarb cinnamon coffee cake in the staff room,” she said. Then she smiled up at Mac. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said slowly, frowning in confusion.

She patted his arm. “Liz is going to kill you when she finds out you sold that accordion to Avery,” she said. She turned to me. “I’m just going to put out those quilts you washed,” she said. “We should get two bus tours today.”

I nodded and managed not to laugh until she’d gone into the workroom. Then I bumped Mac with my hip. “I’m going to miss you, too,” I said, grabbing my things and heading for the stairs.

I knew it was wrong to compare two people with very different personalities, but I couldn’t help noticing how easy everything was with Mac. I couldn’t help wishing it was that way with Nick.

Half an hour later I’d just finished printing out the orders that had come in via our Web site when Mr. P. knocked on my door. “Sarah, do you have a minute?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, gesturing at the love seat across from my desk. “Have a seat.”

Mr. P. sat down and I leaned forward, propping my elbow on the arm of my chair. “What’s up?”

“I discovered some interesting information about Jeff Cameron’s young assistant, Chloe Sanders.”

“Interesting how?”

“This job was just for the summer.”

I nodded. “Chloe’s a student at Cahill College.”

One eyebrow went up. “That’s the interesting part, my dear. She isn’t.”

I frowned at him. “What do you mean she isn’t?”

“I mean she didn’t take any classes last semester.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Did she fail the previous term or did she drop out?”

“As far as I can determine, she took a one-term deferment at the very last minute. She said it was for personal reasons.”

“Do I want to know how you know that?” I asked.

Mr. P. smiled. “I don’t think that you do,” he said. “What I find interesting is that she left that information off her résumé and off the job application she filled out for Helmark online.”

“She wouldn’t be the first person who fudged a résumé,” I offered.

He nodded. “True. But it’s more than that. Jeff Cameron was a guest lecturer in the Global Studies Department back in March. The lecture was only for students and faculty.”

“Chloe was at the lecture.”

“She was. It piqued my curiosity, so I did a little digging.”

I could tell from the beginnings of a smile on his face that his digging had unearthed something.

“So what did you dig up?” I asked.

“Two weeks after he was at Cahill, Jeff Cameron was at a business roundtable at the University of New Hampshire. There were photographs on the university’s Web site.”

It was obvious where he was going. “Chloe was in the audience.”

Mr. P. nodded. “The tickets were sixty-five dollars. I don’t like to generalize, but how many young women would spend that amount of money to attend a talk on outsourcing?”

“Not a lot.” I pulled my hands back through my hair. “Do you think she was having an affair with Jeff?” I remembered what Leesa Cameron had said about Jeff calling his assistant a Roomba. Would he have been having an affair with someone he saw as the equivalent of a vacuum cleaner? I was starting to dislike the man even more.

My office door moved then and Elvis padded into the room. He jumped onto the love seat next to Mr. P., who smiled at the cat and reached over to stroke his fur. “I don’t know,” he said. “According to Rosie, the young woman didn’t seem that upset at the idea that her boss had run off with another woman.”

He was right. Chloe Sanders had seemed a bit concerned, but she had showed none of the emotion that Leesa Cameron had displayed.

“I’d like to know more about why Chloe took a semester off and why she left that information off her résumé. She used her faculty adviser as a reference on that résumé.”

I linked my hands behind my head. “You’re thinking a road trip to Cahill College?” I asked.

Mr. P. smiled. “I’m thinking a road trip to the library, my dear.” He glanced at his watch. “In about half an hour.”

“For?” I prompted.

“A half hour talk on the changing face of the European Community by Dr. Isabella Durand, assistant professor of government and Chloe Sanders’ faculty adviser.”

We agreed to leave for the library in ten minutes. When I got downstairs I expected to find Rose waiting with Mr. P., but he was alone. “Where’s Rose?” I asked.

Mr. P. gestured in the direction of the Angels’ office. “She said she has other irons in the fire. It’s just going to be the two of us.”

I frowned, looking past him to the door to the back of the building. “What do you mean ‘other irons in the fire’?”

He shook his head. “Those were her exact words. Other than that I don’t know.” He followed my gaze. “Sarah, you do realize that we have exactly”—he looked down at his watch—“twenty-one minutes to get to the library?”

And Rose wasn’t going to tell anyone what she was up to until she was good and ready. Mr. P. didn’t say the last part, but it was implied.

I made a face. “We should go,” I said.

* * *

Far more people in North Harbor were interested in the changing face of the European Community than I expected, although the strawberry shortcake they were serving after the talk may have had a little to do with the good turnout. Isabella Durand was much younger that I had expected. She couldn’t have been more than a year or so out of graduate school. She was tall and curvy, with a mass of curly blond hair and dark eyes behind her gray-frame glasses. She was wearing a chambray sundress and black lace-up gladiator sandals that showed off her runner’s calves. She was also an excellent speaker, advancing her argument that a European economic and political union made the case for a similar construct in our part of the world.

Mr. P. and I waited until the crowd had thinned before we approached Isabella Durand. Mr. P. offered his hand. “Dr. Durand, I enjoyed your talk very much, although we disagree on the influence of a resurgent Russia.”

Resurgent Russia? Mr. P. never ceased to amaze me.

The professor smiled. “You’re not the first person to challenge my reasoning in that area.”

“And I’m certain I’d enjoy hearing more about your logic, but I’d like to talk to you about one of your former students, Chloe Sanders.” He extended one of his business cards.

Isabella Durand’s expression changed even before she read the card. Her body stiffened and the smile on her face tightened. “Is Chloe in some kind of trouble?” she asked.

“She’s been working for a man named Jeff Cameron,” Mr. P. said. “He’s been out of touch with his family.”

“You mean he’s missing.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “You can’t believe Chloe had anything to do with that?”

Mr. P. cocked his head to one side. He reminded me of a curious bird, eyeing a worm. “Dr. Durand, why did Chloe attend a lecture by Mr. Cameron which was supposed to be for students and faculty when she was taking a semester off?”

For a moment the professor didn’t say anything. Her mouth moved and then she seemed to swallow whatever response she’d been about to make. She exhaled softly. “Mr. Peterson, the reason Chloe took last term off is between her and the university. You obviously don’t have Chloe’s permission to have that information or she’d be here right now.”

Mr. P. didn’t say anything. He’d told me once that people didn’t like silences and if you left one, the other person would often step in to fill it.

“But it’s not a big secret,” the professor continued. “Chloe was a little overwhelmed with the amount of work global studies requires. She needed a bit of a break; that’s all. As for Mr. Cameron’s lecture, Chloe had written an excellent paper on outsourcing—his lecture topic—for my class the previous term. I thought coming to the talk might encourage her to return to classes in the fall. That’s it.”

She looked around before giving us a polite smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are other people I need to talk to.” She started for the table under the window, where there was coffee and some of what looked to be Glenn McNamara’s cinnamon-raisin muffins.

Mr. P. turned to me. “I’m ready to leave if you are,” he said.

We started for the door. “Do you think she was telling you the truth?” I asked.

“Not for a moment.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “What about you, my dear?”

I thought about all the evasive behaviors I’d seen from Dr. Durand: how she’d stiffened, hesitated, swallowed down her words. The professor was definitely keeping something from us. “Me, neither,” I said.

He reached over and patted my arm. “Now all we have to do is find out why.”