Telling Tails

Chapter 12

I went back out to the garage to work on my chairs. I was just getting the paint sprayer adjusted when my cell rang again. This was why I usually left it in my office. I pulled it out to see who was calling.

Glenn McNamara. Glenn owned McNamara’s, a sandwich shop and bakery that was popular with both the locals and tourists. I wasn’t sure why he’d be calling.

“Hi, Sarah, did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked.

“Hi, Glenn,” I said. “No, you didn’t.”

“I need a favor.”

“Sure.”

“You’re supposed to ask what it is first,” he said.

“Oh darn,” I said. “Does that mean I’ve been doing it wrong all this time?”

Glenn laughed. “You’re funny.”

“Seriously,” I said, walking over to the main door to the garage so I could stand in the sunshine. “What do you need?”

“What’s your cat like when it comes to catching mice and other furry things?”

“Good,” I said. “I use him as an advance crew in most of the old places we clear out.”

“Could I borrow him?”

“You have mice down there?”

“Here? Good Lord, no. I have a pest-control company that checks the place regularly. It’s my uncle Clayton’s place where there’s a problem. At least I think there is. Did Mac show you the accordions?”

The sun was warm on my bare arms. “He did,” I said. “One of them is a Hohner. It’s worth a bit of money.”

“Good for Mac, then,” Glenn said. “If either one of you is thinking of returning it, please don’t. We’re trying to get things out of that house, not vice versa.”

“So you saw a mouse, or mice, or evidence of them?”

“Not me. My cousin, Beth. She’s petrified of mice. If it’s small and furry, you can pretty much be sure she’ll be up on the table.”

“You think the cat is a better idea than your pest-control people?” I asked.

He laughed. “Definitely. Beth is also the back-to-nature type. She doesn’t want to share the house with any little critters, but she doesn’t like the idea of any kind of chemicals or poison being used, either. And I don’t want to have to keep checking if we set traps.”

I blew out a breath. “Okay,” I said. “The problem is Elvis isn’t going to take whatever he finds by the paw and escort it outside, if you get my meaning.”

“I get it,” Glenn said. “It seems that’s okay. It’s part of the circle of life.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Sure you can borrow Elvis. When do you want to do this?”

“Now, if you have the time. I’m sorry for the rush, but Beth’s only here for another week and there’s still a lot she wants to do. Plus we’re trying to strike while Clayton is agreeable.”

“Got it,” I said. He wasn’t the first person to say something like that about an older relative. The funny thing was, just as often it was the younger people in a family who didn’t want to let things go. “Where does your uncle live?” I asked.

Glenn had loaned me his van when we moved Rose into my place. He’d let the Angels set up a sting in the sandwich shop. I was actually glad to be able to do something for him for a change.

Glenn named a street at the far end of town along the coast, hugging the shoreline where it curved down toward Rockport and Camden.

“Elvis and I could meet you there in about half an hour if you can make that work.”

“I can,” he said. “I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

I put everything back in the garage, then went back inside to find Mac. He was at the workbench. I explained where I was going.

“The house is piled,” he warned. “I don’t mean like a hoarder. It’s just that the old man has a lot of stuff.”

I leaned against the workbench. Elvis was sitting near Mac, watching both of us.

“Do you think Glenn and his cousin would be offended if I see anything that would work here in the shop and offer to buy it or bring it here on consignment?”

Mac set down the screwdriver he’d been holding. “Just the opposite. I think they’d both be happy to get some things out of there. I can’t vouch for Clayton, though.”

“C’mon,” I said to Elvis. “Rodent patrol.”

The cat licked his whiskers, jumped down from the workbench and headed for the back door.

Glenn’s truck was parked on the street in front of his uncle’s house when I got there. He was leaning against the front fender, arms folded over his chest. He was tall, with wide shoulders, and he still wore his blond hair in the same brush cut he’d had as a college football player.

I pulled in behind the truck, picked up Elvis and got out.

Glenn smiled at me. “Thanks for doing this, Sarah,” he said. He looked at the cat. “You, too, Elvis.”

Elvis made a low meow of acknowledgment.

We walked up the driveway to the back door of the story-and-a-half house. It was set back from the street on what looked to be a large lot. “This is a really beautiful spot,” I said, looking around.

“It is,” Glenn agreed. “Clayton and his father—my grandfather—built this house. Beth lives in Portland—the other Portland, out west. She’s not interested in it, so I’m hoping that Clayton will eventually sell it to me.”

“I can see why you’d want to live here,” I said. I could hear the ocean in the distance. The soothing sound of the waves hitting the shore seemed to pull the tension out of my body.

Glenn opened the aluminum screen door and knocked on the inside wooden door. Then he opened it and stuck his head inside. “Clayton, are you here?” he called.

“No, I’m here,” a raspy voice behind us said. A large, barrel-chested man came around the side of the house. He was easily as tall as Glenn, with the same broad shoulders and strong arms. But Clayton McNamara must have had fifty pounds on his nephew. He smiled at me and held out his hand. “You’re Isabel’s granddaughter,” he said.

I smiled. His hands were massive and his handshake was strong but not crushing. “I am,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McNamara.”

“Call me Clayton, child,” he said. “‘Mister’ makes me feel old. Now, I am old, but I don’t like to be reminded about it.”

“You know my grandmother?” I said.

He pulled off his Patriots cap and smoothed a hand over his bald head. “Yes, I do. She broke my heart.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I think there’s a story here I’ve never heard.”

“Me neither,” Glenn said.

“It was a long time ago,” Clayton said. “Isabel was my first love. But first love is a fickle thing. I caught her kissing another man.”

It seemed as though Gram had a past I knew nothing about.

Clayton fitted his hat back on his head. “Though to be fair the other man did have two peanut butter cookies in his lunchbox.” He grinned at us. “And we were six.”

I laughed. “You went to school together.”

He nodded. “First through twelfth grade. How is Isabel? I hear she’s been on her honeymoon for most of the last year.”

“She has,” I said. “I just talked to her a couple of days ago. She’ll be home in about a month.”

“Next time you talk to her, please give her my best.”

“I will,” I said.

He looked at Elvis and held out a hand. It was bigger than my head. “Hello, puss,” he said. Elvis sniffed his fingers and then looked up at the big man and murped hello.

“How did he get the scar on his nose?” Clayton asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, stroking the top of the cat’s head. “He had it when I got him. There are a couple of more scars that are covered by his fur. The vet said the other guy probably looks worse.”

“He’s a good mouser.” It wasn’t really a question.

I nodded. “He is. He lived down along the harbor front for several weeks before he came to live with me. He wasn’t exactly scrawny.”

Elvis turned and looked at the little house. And then, to everyone’s amusement, he licked his whiskers.

Clayton stroked his long, shaggy beard. He may have had no hair on the top of his head, but he more than made up for it with the beard. “I’m thinking it may be a squirrel that’s in that back bedroom. I did have the window open one day without the screen, but it doesn’t make a lick of difference to Beth. She’s scared witless of anything like that.” He pointed at the house diagonally across the street. “That was the Williams house when Beth was a kid. Dillon Williams had a pet rat.”

Beside me Glenn was nodding wordlessly.

“Beth was five. It bit her.” Clayton held up the little finger on his right hand. “Took the tip right off the end of her finger.”

“Whatever’s in there, Elvis can get it,” I said.

“Let’s get to it, then,” the old man said. He led the way into the house. Mac was right. The place was piled, but it was clean. It was just that there wasn’t a bare surface anywhere. I followed the two men up to the second floor.

There were two bedrooms up there, one tucked under the peak of the roof on each side of the house. Clayton opened the bedroom door on the right. Like the rest of the house, it was piled with furniture. A double bed, a tall chest of drawers, a mirrored dresser, an armoire with double doors, a full-size rocking chair and heaps of women’s clothing filled the room.

I set Elvis down on the floor just inside the door. He immediately began to sniff the air. “Go for it,” I said. He started picking his way across the floor. “We should keep this door closed,” I told Glenn.

“Okay,” he said. “But how are we going to know if he catches anything?”

“We’ll know. Trust me,” I said.

The cat was already heading for the small closet in the far corner like a feline with a purpose. I closed the door.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Clayton asked.

“I should stay close by,” I said, gesturing at the door.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a mug of coffee up these stairs.”

“Then, yes, thank you,” I said.

“How do you take it?”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He turned to Glenn. “You, too?”

Glenn nodded. “Do you need any help?”

“I’ll ask if I do,” Clayton said. “Stay here and keep Sarah company.” He made his way back down the stairs, turning left at the bottom.

“He makes a good cup of coffee,” Glenn offered. “I’ve always been a bit afraid to ask him what he puts in it, though.” He looked around and sighed. “I don’t know how on earth Beth thinks we can get this place organized in a week.”

“I don’t know if it would help, but we take things on consignment at the shop.”

He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “How would you feel about my backing a truck up to the front door, putting about half the stuff in this house inside it and driving it down to your store?”

I shrugged. “Fine with me.”

Glenn laughed. “Be careful. I might just do it.”

I heard a thump behind us. I turned and looked at the door. There were no other sounds. “Not yet,” I said. I turned my attention back to Glenn. “I’m serious,” I said. “If we can help, let me know.” I smiled at him. “I’ll give you the friends-and-family discount.”

“That’s no way to run a business,” he said.

“Yeah, kind of the same as giving away bread.” I raised an eyebrow. Glenn just smiled and shook his head.

It wasn’t common knowledge, but I knew that Glenn had been the first to step up when the elementary school had begun their hot-lunch program. My grandmother had been one of the organizers. Glenn had offered to supply rolls for the program one day a week, and when Lily’s Bakery had closed he’d also stepped in to fill the gap.

Clayton came back with a big mug of coffee for each of us. Glenn was right. His uncle made a good cup of coffee. “I’ll be out at the woodpile if you need me,” the old man said.

Glenn took his coffee and sat down on the top stair, leaning his back against the wall. I sat down next to him. He took a sip of his coffee and glanced over at the closed bedroom door.

“Don’t worry. Elvis will catch whatever critter is in there,” I said.

“How did you end up with the cat?” Glenn asked. “You said he was wandering around the harbor front before you got him.”

“Sam,” I said, wrapping both hands around my mug. “The band was doing their Elvis Presley medley and he noticed there was a black cat just inside the front door. He swore the cat stayed there for the entire set.”

“Good taste,” Glenn said.

“The next morning Sam was out in the alley putting a bunch of cardboard boxes in the recycling bin, and there’s the same cat. Sam named him Elvis and fed him breakfast.” I took another sip of my coffee. “No one seemed to know who Elvis belonged to. He showed up at the pub every few days and Sam fed him, but no one ever came looking for him. I took a guitar down one morning to get Sam’s opinion. Elvis was there having breakfast.”

I smiled, remembering how I’d asked Sam, “Why Elvis?”

Sam had shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to like the Stones, so naming him Mick was kinda out of the question.”

“How did you go from having breakfast with a cat to owning a cat?” Glenn asked. He held up a hand. “Not that I’m judging.”

“Personally, I think it was a conspiracy,” I said. “The two of them walked me out and the next thing I knew Elvis was in my truck and Sam was giving me a sales pitch on why I needed a cat.”

He laughed. “Well, from my perspective it’s working out well.”

“Mine, too,” I said. “Now I’m not the person who walks around her house talking to herself. I’m the woman who talks to her cat.”

Glenn took a sip of his coffee and then held up a hand. “I forgot to ask you. How’s Rose? I heard she was in the hospital.”

I nodded. “She’s fine. She was out on Windspeare Point. Someone hit her over the head.”

“She was mugged?”

I hesitated. “Not exactly. Someone attacked her, but she wasn’t robbed.”

He squeezed one of his massive hands into a fist. “What the hell happened?”

I let out a breath. “Truth? I don’t know. We’ve been trying to figure it out. Before she was . . . attacked, Rose might have seen a body.”

“Hang on a minute. What do you mean ‘might have seen a body’?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

“Long story,” I said, tracing the rim of my cup with a finger. “Short version: The person Rose saw might be dead or he might have taken off and left his wife holding the bag.” I took another sip of the coffee. “Do you know a guy named Jeff Cameron? He and his wife are new in town. They’ve been renting a cottage out on the point while they look for a house.”

Glenn nodded. “Yeah. Runner, right? Always wearing running shoes, never stands still.”

That pretty much described the man I’d met. “That’s him.”

“He’s been in for coffee.” A frown formed between his eyebrows. “It was his body Rose saw?”

“Looks like it. Whether he’s alive or dead is another question.”

“What do the police say? You’re friends with Michelle Andrews.”

I brushed my bangs back off my face. “Between us?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“She thinks Rose imagined the whole thing, maybe had a stroke.”

“I bet that went over well,” Glenn said with a wry smile.

“Pretty much how you’d expect,” I said. “She’s healthier than most people half her age, and they checked her over thoroughly at the hospital. I just . . .” I shrugged. “I just don’t think she had a stroke. And I don’t think she imagined what she saw, either.”

“She’s not that kind of person.”

It was good to hear those words from someone who wasn’t so close to the situation.

“I take it no one’s been able to get hold of Cameron.”

I shook my head. “No, but if he did run off with another woman, you can see why he might not want to be reachable.”

“For what it’s worth, I saw him early yesterday morning and there was no woman with him.”

I stared at him. “You saw Jeff Cameron yesterday morning?” Rose had seen what she thought was Jeff’s body Wednesday night. If it was him Glenn had seen, it added credence to the theory that Jeff Cameron had faked his death.

“Uh-huh. I came out here early—I don’t know, maybe five thirty—and I saw him drive by. He’s kind of hard to miss in that bilious yellow Jeep.”

Before I could ask him any more questions I heard another thump followed by a muffled meow from the room behind us. I got to my feet.

Glenn followed suit. “I take it that’s the all-clear signal.”

“It should be,” I said.

Elvis was on the other side of the bedroom door holding something, large, furry and I hoped dead in his mouth. He had a look of satisfaction in his green eyes. He gave a muffled meow of thank-you when I opened the door and he started down the stairs carrying his prize.

“Can you get the back door?” I said to Glenn.

“Oh yeah, sure.” He followed Elvis down the stairs and opened the door to the backyard for him; then he came back up the stairs. I was still standing in the bedroom doorway. “That was not a squirrel,” he said.

“Didn’t exactly look like a field mouse, either.” I raised my eyebrows at him.

He made a face. “I should look around.”

“Good idea,” I said. The quilt on the bed was rumpled, hanging down much longer on one end. I pointed at it. “You might want to wash that.”

“I think we might want to wash everything in here,” he said.

The closet door was partly ajar. I didn’t remember it being like that when we’d let Elvis inside.

“Glenn, try the closet,” I said, pointing in that direction.

“If there’s something else in there, you’re going to rescue me, right?” he said over his shoulder.

There was a feather duster on the nightstand closest to me. I picked it up and held it in front of me like I was a knight holding up a sword about to go into battle. “I’ll save you. Go for it,” I said.

He looked back at me and laughed. Then he opened the closet door. There wasn’t anything inside as far as I could see, except more clothes. Glenn mumbled a swearword. “These are my grandfather’s suits.” He held up the sleeve of a gray wool pin-striped jacket. “Clayton would have to lose about a hundred pounds to fit into these. My grandfather was a beanpole.”

He rummaged around, trying to push the hangers to one side, but there just wasn’t room. I kept my feather duster at the ready, just in case.

“Okay, all right, that’s where it is,” he said.

“Are we talking alive it or dead it?” I asked.

Glenn pulled his head out of the closet.

“Neither,” he said. He pointed to the ceiling. “I found a hole from the attic. I’m going to have to go up there.”

“That’s probably how whatever that was that Elvis caught got in here.”

Glenn ran his hands back over his hair. “There’s no way Beth and I can get this place straightened out in a week.” He blew out a long breath. “Were you serious about what you said before? That you could sell some of this stuff at Second Chance?”

I struck a Statue of Liberty–style pose with the feather duster. “Don’t I look serious?” I asked.

That made him laugh. I set the duster back on the night table. “We can do pretty much whatever will work for you. You can bring things to the shop and we’ll get them ready and sell them for you. We can come out here and pick things up. We can even take over the cleanup. Talk to your cousin. And talk to Clayton. Then let me know what you need.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I owe you.”

“No, you don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You let your business be used for a sting, for heaven’s sake. I still owe you.”

“Hey, that was the most excitement I’d had on a Tuesday afternoon in years.”

“You need to get out more,” I said.

He laughed. Then his expression grew serious. “I mean it, Sarah, I appreciate this.”

Glenn went downstairs and came back with a box of steel wool. He jammed about half the package into the hole in the closet ceiling. “That’s going to have to do for now. I’ll come back tonight and do something a bit more permanent.”

We found Elvis out on the back stoop with Clayton McNamara. The cat was licking his whiskers. He smelled like fish.

“I hope you don’t mind, Sarah,” Clayton said. “I gave him a couple of sardines.”

Elvis looked at me, seemingly daring me to say that had been a bad idea.

“I don’t mind,” I said, picking up the cat. “I think he earned them.

Glenn looked around. “Where is the—?”

“Evidence?” his uncle said dryly. “Don’t worry. I took care of that.”

“There’s a hole in the ceiling of the closet in that room,” Glenn said. “I stuck some steel wool in there for now, but I’ll be back after supper to fix it properly.”

“I appreciate that,” Clayton said. He turned to me. “And it was very good to meet you and Elvis.”

I smiled at him. “It was nice to meet you, too.”

Glenn and I walked back to our vehicles.

“Glenn, are you sure it was yesterday morning that you saw Jeff Cameron?” I asked as we stood next to my SUV.

“I’m positive,” he said. “Beth got here on Wednesday, and since Clayton gets up at the crack of dawn, I said I’d come out for breakfast and see what we could work out for a plan of attack.” He pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket. “Like I said, I recognized the Jeep, and it was definitely a man driving. I’m pretty sure it was Cameron.” He narrowed his blue eyes. “Is it important?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. It wouldn’t hurt to mention it to Michelle.”

Glenn shrugged. “Sure.”

I unlocked the door of the SUV and set Elvis on the seat.

“If you’re not in a hurry, why don’t you follow me back to the shop?” Glenn said. “After all this, you at least have to let me give you half a dozen of those chocolate cupcakes with the mocha frosting you like.”

“There’s no way I’m going to say no to your cupcakes,” I said.

I slid behind the wheel. Elvis had settled himself in his usual spot on the passenger side. He looked at me and yawned. “Tiring work,” I said.

“Mrr,” he said in agreement.

“You did a good job,” I told him as we started for the sandwich shop. “What do you say? If Glenn ends up hiring us to clear some of the things out of that house, are you willing to go back for another safari?”

He looked up at me and licked his whiskers. I took that as a yes.