The Fast Аnd Тhe Furriest

Chapter 14

“There’s no way that Michelle would tell me what was with Erin’s body,” I said. “Even if she was still on the case.”

“It would be pointless to ask Nicolas,” Charlotte said, setting the cream pitcher on the seat of a folding wooden beach chair. She glanced toward the door to the workshop—and the Angels’ sunporch office.

I knew what she was thinking and I had no doubt Mr. P. could get the information but I also knew I didn’t feel comfortable with the methods he’d likely have to use.

“I’m going to call Josh,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “He may have some way to find out.”

Luckily Josh was in his office and available. I explained Charlotte’s reasoning and what we were looking for.

“Let me see what I can do,” he said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have anything.”

“All we can do now is wait,” I said to Charlotte as I tucked my phone back in my pocket.

“I’ll cross my fingers,” she said.

I shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

Mr. P. showed up at lunchtime. Charlotte and I were sitting by the back door with our sandwiches. Avery was watching the shop and working on a display of perfume bottles. Mr. P. was wearing a straw fedora with a red and navy hatband and a red golf shirt. And he was smiling.

“You’ve had a good morning,” I said.

He nodded. “I have some information about Davis Abbott.” One eyebrow went up. “He wasn’t at that workshop.”

“Not at all?” Charlotte asked.

“Not at all,” Mr. P. said. “It turns out Davis and the workshop organizer are old friends.” A huge smile spread across the old man’s face. “It turns out that William—the man who puts on these workshops—is a poker player.”

Mr. P., with his excellent memory, ability to read people and perfect poker face, was an excellent cardplayer. I’d never actually played with him. I knew better than that.

“We got to talking and eventually I got him to admit he was covering for Davis,” he continued, “so Stephanie wouldn’t know where he was. William seemed to think Davis was ‘stepping out’ on her, as he put it. He said she could be pretty intense sometimes.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

He gave the slightest of shrugs. “I see two possibilities. Either William is right or Davis Abbott may have been plotting to kill Erin Fellowes.” He smiled then. “How was your morning?” he asked.

“Charlotte came up with an idea and I think she may be onto something,” I said. I explained Charlotte’s theory that Erin had brought something to show Mac and how I’d called Josh to see if he could get a list of what had been with Erin’s body.

Mr. P. nodded slowly. “I think you could be right,” he said to Charlotte. “Good work.” Then he looked at me. “I assume you’d like to wait to see if Josh can find out anything before I see what I can do?”

I nodded, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable.

“I think that’s very wise, my dear,” he said. “This is Mac. We need to be like Caesar’s wife.”

“Above reproach,” Charlotte said quietly.

He nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”

Mac stuck his head out the back door then. “Sarah, by any chance do you have more quilts up in your office?” he asked.

“I do,” I said. “There are three that Jess repaired. I was going to get Avery to put them out this afternoon.” I set my coffee cup by my feet. “What do you need more quilts for?” I knew there were two on display in the shop.

“Adam and James are looking for four quilts for the inn,” he said.

Adam and James were big-city transplants who had restored a gorgeous old house in Camden and were running it as an inn. They’d found Second Chance by accident on their way to a funeral in Portland a few weeks previous and had become good customers since then. “They bought the last two quilts that Jess fixed just a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

Mac held up both hands. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “All I can tell you is Adam said there was a goat involved.”

Charlotte and Mr. P. exchanged a look. “Hedley,” they said together.

I turned to Charlotte. “Who?”

“Hedley Forbes,” she said. “He keeps goats.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He makes cheese.”

“From goat’s milk?”

“People with sensitivities to cow’s milk prefer it,” Mr. P. said helpfully.

“I know Hedley has had a problem with them getting out.” Charlotte got to her feet, brushing crumbs off her skirt. “At least that’s what he told Rose.”

“The goats, not the people with milk sensitivities,” Mr. P. added.

“Rose likes goat cheese?” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mac struggling to keep a grin in check. I didn’t dare meet his gaze directly or I’d lose it.

Charlotte shook her head. “No. She said it’s an acquired taste but when Hedley offered her a bite she didn’t think it was polite to refuse, especially since she was looking for information.”

I was lost. Was this how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole? “Information on goats or on cheese?” Mac asked.

“Salt,” Charlotte said, bending down to pick up my empty cup and her own.

“Hedley Forbes uses all-natural sea salt in his cheese,” Alfred continued. “Rosie went to see him to find out where he was buying his salt.”

Finally the pieces were sliding into place. “That’s how she found the place in Marshfield where she and Liz went this morning.” I’d wondered how Rose had found out the name of one of Leila’s suppliers. I’d just assumed it was Mr. P. and his keyboard.

He nodded.

“And you think these are the same goats that somehow damaged Adam and James’s quilts?” I got to my feet.

Charlotte took my plate. “Well, there aren’t a lot of people keeping goats in Camden.”

“Good point,” I said, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

Mr. P. turned to Mac. “How much do you know about Davis Abbott?” he asked.

Mac swiped a hand over his chin. “Not a lot. I think I’ve only spent time with him on maybe three or four occasions and it was always some kind of family thing. About all I can tell you is that he’s well educated. Leila used to call him a perpetual student because he has multiple degrees. She didn’t think he was good for Stevie.” His dark eyes flashed. “I can tell you that Davis and Stevie had an on-again, off-again relationship. They dated for a while in college, broke up, got back together again, broke up and then this last time it seemed to stick.”

“Goodness!” Mr. P. exclaimed. “The young man seems to have trouble making up his mind.”

“Or maybe he thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence,” Charlotte quipped.

“Do you really think he could have been behind Leila’s accident?” Mac asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Mr. P. said.

“But why would he want to hurt Leila? She and Stevie were close. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Both Charlotte and Mr. P. looked at me.

“I can think of a million reasons why,” I said gently.

Mac shook his head. “That damn money.” He made a face. “I tried to convince Marguerite not to set up the trust in the first place. You can imagine how that went over with Leila’s family.”

Charlotte studied him, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. “It’s none of my business—of our business,” she said, “but I’m wondering why you felt that way.”

“Both Leila and Stevie came from affluent families,” Mac said. “They had piano lessons and dance classes and learned to ride. They both got a great education without going into debt. I wanted Marguerite to use the money in some way to make a difference in the world—scholarships, a kids’ club, fund a music program in the schools, but she was insistent that the trust be set up and left to ‘her girls.’” His gaze took in all three of us. “For the record, Leila and I were in agreement on that. She always said she would give the money away when she got it all, but her parents were pressuring her to hang on to her share as a legacy for her own kids someday.” His mouth twisted to one side. “Marguerite’s heart was in the right place but as far as I’m concerned that money has just brought trouble.”

He reached for my chair and then Charlotte’s, folding them both.

“I’m going to give Avery a break,” Charlotte said.

I nodded. She laid a hand on Mac’s arm for a moment as she passed him.

“I’ll be at my desk,” Mr. P. said, following Charlotte.

Mac brushed a bit of dirt off the leg of one of the chairs. “That was preachy, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Maybe just a bit,” I said, holding up my thumb and index finger about half an inch apart.

He smiled. “You were supposed to say that I wasn’t preachy at all, that I’m perfectly justified in hating that damn trust.”

I smiled back at him. “I’m sorry. You weren’t preachy and you’re perfectly justified in hating that damn trust.” I said the words in a flat monotone as though I were reading them from a script.

That made him laugh. Then his expression grew serious again. “I hate this cloud of suspicion hanging over my head,” he said. “This is how it was after Leila’s accident. People looked at me differently.”

“Hey, we’re going to find the truth,” I said. “And get rid of that cloud of suspicion, not that I’m convinced it’s even there.”

He gave his head a shake. “How? The police in Boston said what happened to Leila was an accident but it didn’t convince some people.” His expression was troubled.

“We have a secret weapon,” I said. “We have Rose. She’s a pit bull with sensible shoes and a tote bag full of cookies.” I was trying to lighten the mood, but part of me was serious. The Angels and their unorthodox methods of solving crime had worked in the past and I realized that deep inside I wanted to believe they could solve this case, too.

Mac couldn’t stop a small smile from spreading across his face.

“Don’t give up,” I said.

Avery poked her head out the door then. “Is there anything special you wanted me to do now?” she asked.

I cleared my throat and turned to give her my attention. “Umm, yeah. If you can get those canvas beach chairs cleaned I think they’d sell pretty quickly.”

“I can do that,” she said.

The three of us walked over to the old garage. Mac had already removed the canvas slings from the hardwood frames of the four chairs. The heavy fabric—green, blue and red stripes—was dirty but there were no obvious stains and it was in good shape. They just needed a good cleaning with a scrub brush and some elbow grease.

I showed Avery what I wanted her to do and she listened intently the way she always did when one of us gave her a task. I may have hired her because of Liz, but I’d kept her because she worked hard without complaining and she had a quirky way of looking at things, which was often good for the store.

Liz and Rose got back about an hour later. I’d just sold a ’60s vintage record cabinet to a young woman looking for a unique birthday gift for her mother, and Charlotte and I were debating what to bring in from the workroom when they walked in. I could tell by the expressions on both their faces that they had some information. Rose was beaming and Liz had a smug gleam in her eyes.

Before I could ask what happened Liz held up a hand. “I need a cup of tea before anything else. I’m as dry as a covered bridge.”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Charlotte said.

“Thank you,” Liz said. She turned to look at Rose. “I know what you’re thinking. They can wait five more minutes to hear about our morning.”

“Actually what I was thinking is that I’m glad you mentioned having tea,” Rose countered. “I’m a little dry myself.”

Liz gave her a sweet and slightly fake smile. “You’re welcome, then,” she said.

Mac came in trailed by Avery, who stopped to hug both Liz and Rose before moving to straighten up a selection of old books without being asked.

I went out to the workroom to set out some chairs. Mr. P. came out of his office to help. He took one end of a vintage chrome kitchen table and helped me move it closer to the workbench. “Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” he replied with a smile. He tipped his head to one side and with his few tufts of gray hair sticking up from his head he reminded me of an inquisitive bird. “You know, it’s occurred to me that we need a more permanent place for team meetings.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I said, surveying our collection of chairs for ones I knew wouldn’t collapse the second someone sat down.

“We could fit a table in the sunporch, you know.”

“It’s too cold in there in the winter.” I reached for two wooden chairs I knew were in good shape.

“That is a problem,” Mr. P. agreed. He put a hand on the back of one of the chrome chairs that went with the table and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. I nodded and he picked up the chair and the matching one beside it and carried them to the table.

“That’s why I’ve been thinking about renovating the space,” I said. I grabbed a couple of folding wooden chairs that were leaning against the back wall. That made enough seating for all of us.

A frown creased Mr. P.’s forehead. “What were you thinking about doing?”

“Nothing fancy,” I said. “Some new windows and some insulation in the walls.”

He nodded as he took one of the chairs from me and unfolded it. “That would certainly make that space usable all the time.”

It suddenly occurred to me that he probably thought the Angels were going to lose their office. “I mean more usable for you,” I said. “And Rose and the Angels in general.”

The frown faded. “Are you certain you want to spend money on a space you’re not using?” he asked.

I nodded, pressing on the seat of the folding chair to make sure it was open all the way. “Before you set up your office, that was just wasted space. We didn’t even us it for storage. And Liam will do the work so that will keep the costs down.”

“We’ll have to talk about an increase in our rent.”

A few months earlier when Rose and the rest of her crew had decided that they were going to pay me rent for the sunporch, I’d explained it was otherwise unused space and I didn’t need rent. Rose had countered that the subject wasn’t up for discussion. If I wouldn’t take their money they’d just have to look for office space somewhere else. I knew that was a very bad idea. So I’d given in.

I’d known that Mr. P. would bring up the rent issue as soon as he found out that I wanted to do some work in the sunporch so this time I was ready.

“I was hoping you might be amenable to bartering your services instead,” I said, adjusting the chairs so they were spaced more or less evenly around the table.

Mr. P. nudged his glasses up his nose. “What are you proposing?”

“Instead of raising the rent you do some background checks for me.”

“Background checks? Are you thinking about hiring more staff?”

I shook my head. “We’re starting to gain a bit of a reputation—a good one—for quality vintage guitars.”

He nodded. “Both you and Sam know your musical instruments.”

I smiled. I’d learned a lot about guitars from Sam Newman. He joked that he’s forgotten more than he knows, but experience had taught me that wasn’t true at all. “I’ve been approached a couple of times by people who have instruments to sell. In one case the guy just gave off a squirrelly vibe and I turned him down flat. But in the other instance, I kind of wish I’d taken the deal. But as Rose would say, I didn’t know the seller from Adam.”

A smile spread across Mr. P.’s face as the old man began to nod. “You’re looking for someone to vet the instruments and the people selling them.”

“Exactly.” And I was. This wasn’t a make-work project, not really. It was a deal that would benefit both of us.

“We’d have to agree on either an hourly or a per-instrument rate and how many hours you’d want to allow for our work.”

“Put together some ideas for me and we can talk about all that,” I said. Charlotte was coming in carrying a tray with the teapot and cups. Mac was behind her with the milk and the sugar bowl. Mr. P. nodded his agreement and I went to take the tray from Charlotte.

Once everyone but Mac had a seat and a cup of tea—or in the case of Mac and me (bless Charlotte) a cup of coffee, I looked at Liz, turning one hand palm up to the ceiling in a “voilà” motion.

She in turn looked at Rose. “Go ahead,” she said, taking another sip of her tea and nodding approvingly at Charlotte.

“There really isn’t any nice way to say this,” Rose began. Her gray eyes found Mac, leaning back against the workbench with his coffee, the way he invariably did when we had one of these gatherings. “We found evidence that Leila’s sister has been, well, running a scam is the best way to describe it.”

“What do you mean ‘running a scam’?” Mac asked. To everyone else I’m sure it seemed that he hadn’t been affected by Rose’s words. He continued to lean against the waist-high bench with one elbow propped on the wooden surface, coffee cup in the other hand. But I knew him well enough to see the tension just under the surface.

“She was substituting cheap ingredients for the pure, organic and more expensive ones Leila chose.”

Mac gave his head a shake.

“I’m sorry,” Rose said. “But we’re sure about this. I saw the invoices.”

“How?” I asked. I tried not to sound suspicious but I realized I probably did. The two of them had been known to stretch the rules from time to time.

Liz shot me a look that told me she knew what I was thinking. “How do you think?” she said, flipping a hand in the air. “Just because we’re not your age anymore doesn’t mean we still don’t have a few tools left in our toolboxes. And men have always been susceptible to a little charm.” She looked from Mr. P. to Mac. “No matter how old or young they are.”

At the same time Rose smiled and fluffed her hair. I got a mental image of Rose charming the owner of the salt works. The poor man probably had no idea what had hit him.

“She replaced the seaweed as well,” Liz said.

“Did you charm that information out of someone?” I asked.

“I can be charming,” she said. “But direct works, too.”

Rose gave her friend an indulgent smile. “Liz found out where Natalie has been buying her cut-rate ingredients.”

Liz shrugged. “Never underestimate a pissed-off man with a willing ear to listen to him.”

Rose still had what I thought of as Elvis-just-ate-a can-of-sardines smile on her face.

Charlotte picked up the teapot and poured Rose more tea. “Thank you,” Rose said.

Charlotte smiled at her friend.

“There’s something else you haven’t told us,” I said.

Rose added a little milk and a bit of sugar to her cup before she answered. “Natalie will be in Maine on Saturday to visit one of her cut-rate suppliers.”

Mac and I exchanged a look. “That’s an incredible coincidence,” I said.

Rose’s expression was suddenly all innocence. I wasn’t fooled. “The supplier has some new product for Natalie to look at—a onetime, short-term deal,” she said.

Liz on the other hand looked smug.

“What did you do?” Charlotte said. She was looking at Liz, not Rose.

“The squeaky wheel gets the grease so I might have greased some wheels.” Liz reached for the teapot.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Charlotte said.

Liz just shrugged.

“We’ll be there Saturday to talk to Natalie,” Rose said.

“I’m driving,” I said firmly.

“Fine with me,” Liz said over the rim of her cup.

Rose turned to Mr. P. to ask what she’d missed while she and Liz were gone.

Charlotte shook her head at Liz. “Liz French, I don’t know whether to hug you or smack you with a rolled-up newspaper.”

“Hug,” Mac said. Setting his coffee mug on the top of the workbench he did just that.

Liz reached up and pressed her hand to his cheek for a moment. Charlotte smiled and gave her friend’s shoulder a squeeze. Then she turned to Mac. “Could you help me move that sideboard in the window, please?” She looked at me. “Sarah, I think it would work better if it was in the center not off to one side.” She glanced at me.

I nodded. “Go ahead.”

Rose and Mr. P. were already on their way to their sunporch office. Liz had gotten to her feet. “So what do you have to say, Miss Sarah?” she asked.

“All this information you and Rose got—were any laws broken?”

She gave me a look. “Honestly, I don’t think you trust either one of us to be out by ourselves.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” I said.

She wrinkled her nose at me. “Define ‘broken,’” she finally said.

I shook my head even as I was leaning over to kiss her cheek. “That’s what I thought.”