The Fast Аnd Тhe Furriest

Chapter 17

Just before lunch I drove down to The Black Bear to get the photos Sam had unearthed of my dad. Sam had been my father’s best friend and even though I had Peter, who was my dad in every way, Sam also played a fatherly role in my life. I found him in his office, dollar store reading glasses on the end of his nose while he worked on the staff schedules.

“Hi, kiddo,” he said, coming around the desk to hug me. His shaggy hair was a mix of gray and blond and he was wearing it a bit shorter. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

“I always have time for coffee, especially with you,” I said.

Sam gestured at the sofa. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” As he passed his desk he grabbed an envelope and held it out to me.

“The pictures?” I asked, taking it from him.

He nodded. “They’re from back when we started the band. Back when we were young and foolish.” He smiled and gave his head a little shake. “I’ll just be a minute.”

I sat down on the sofa and opened the envelope. There were half a dozen photos inside, and for me it was like having a time machine. There was my dad, so young—barely in his twenties—and Sam standing beside an old van that was more primer than paint. I studied my father’s face. Gram always said that I had his eyes and smile and I could see that was true in the two pictures where he was holding baby me in his arms.

Sam came back with a couple of coffee mugs. He sat down beside me, leaning sideways to see what photo I was looking at. He rolled his eyes. “That was Gertie,” he said. “The van,” he added in response to my quizzical look. “The muffler made a god-awful rattle and the springs were shot but your dad said that we had to have a way to move our gear other than trying to take it on the bus.” He laughed. “Man, was I ever that young?”

“I think both of you were very cute,” I teased. “Look at that hair.” In the photo both Sam and Dad wore their hair almost to their shoulders, layered and waved back from their faces.

“Don’t make fun of my hair,” Sam warned. “That used to take me a half an hour with a blow-dryer and a can of mousse. I’m probably personally responsible for any hole in the ozone layer.”

We looked through the rest of the photos. Seeing my father so young and happy made me smile and gave me a lump in my throat all at the same time. I had a sense that Sam was feeling the same way.

He looked around the office. “I wonder sometimes what he’d think of this place.”

“I think he’d love it,” I said. “According to Mom and Gram he loved anything that had to do with music.”

Sam nodded, thumb and finger stroking his beard. “That he did. Something special happened when he was performing. The only thing that made him happier was you.” He studied me for a long moment. “He would have been proud of the woman you turned into.”

I felt the prickle of tears and had to blink hard a couple of times. I reached over and picked up the small brass monkey he kept on his desk to distract myself. The monkey, which had both hands over its mouth, had been given to him by my dad, a reminder Sam said, to think before he spoke. I’d always suspected there was a bit more to the story but Sam had never been forthcoming on the subject. The metal warmed in my hands and after a moment I set the monkey back on the desk.

“Some days I wish I could just sit and talk to him for a few minutes,” I said.

Sam nodded. “Me, too, kiddo.”

We talked for a few more minutes and then I looked at my watch. “I should get back to the shop,” I said.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. He indicated the photos. “You can keep those. I made copies.”

I hugged him again.

On the way out through the restaurant I noticed Jackson Montgomery just being seated. “I see someone I need to speak to,” I said.

“And I better get to the kitchen,” Sam said. “I’ll see you next Thursday at the jam if I don’t see you sooner.”

I nodded. “My favorite night of the week.”

I walked over to Jackson’s table. He looked up from his menu and smiled. “Hi, Sarah,” he said. “Are you here for lunch, too?”

I shook my head. “I just came to see Sam.” I gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “He’s the owner.”

Jackson indicated the other chair at the table. “Do you have time to join me?” he asked.

I hesitated. I hadn’t said what time I’d be back and Charlotte had urged me to take my time. “All right,” I said. “Thank you.” I took the chair across from him, setting my purse and the envelope with the photos on the floor at my feet.

“So what’s good here?” Jackson asked, tapping the menu with one finger.

“Everything,” I said, “but I think you’d like the house burger.”

“All right,” he said with a smile. He looked around and a waiter started in our direction. Jackson reminded me of Jess, who could look up no matter what restaurant we were in and have a server immediately at the table.

“Slaw and rings?” the waiter, whose name was Caleb, asked. “Or fries?”

Jackson’s gaze darted to me.

“Slaw and rings,” I said. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

“For both of us, please,” he said to our waiter.

Once the young man had collected our menus and headed for the kitchen, Jackson leaned back in his chair. “Mac called me earlier. We didn’t talk very long but it’s a start.”

“It is,” I agreed. I’d hoped that Mac might call his friend after what he’d said earlier about Jackson’s insight into Davis Abbott.

“I offered to take his case again. He turned me down but if you think he needs my help will you call, please, Sarah?” He pulled a business card out of his pocket, took out a pen and scrawled something on the back. “That’s my cell.”

“Mac already has a very good lawyer.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply he didn’t. It’s just that . . .” He made a helpless gesture with one hand. “I’d like to help if I can.”

I took the card and tucked it in my purse.

The waiter returned with a large china mug and the coffeepot. I smiled a thank-you and added cream and sugar to my coffee. “You and Mac have been friends for a long time,” I said.

Jackson nodded. “Since we were kids. Ever see him play baseball?”

“A couple of times in a charity game for the animal shelter.”

“Can he still hit it out to left field?”

“And then some,” I said. “How long has he been making those killer buffalo wings?”

“He still makes those?” Jackson asked.

“As often as we can talk him into it.”

Now it was Jackson’s turn to smile. “He perfected them back when we were in college. You’ve heard of the freshman fifteen?”

I nodded. He was talking about the weight gain a lot of first-year university students experience.

“Mac’s ribs were the main cause of mine. It’s good to know he hasn’t lost his touch.”

Caleb came back with our burgers then, along with more coffee. Jackson took a bite of his burger while I took the top of the bun off mine and added about half of my vinegary coleslaw.

“Oh man, this is good!” Jackson exclaimed, wiping a bit of ketchup from the corner of his mouth.

I’d just taken a bite of my own burger so all I could do was nod.

We’d eaten about half of our meal when Jackson set down his fork and reached for his coffee. “What’s Mac like now?” he asked. “We only talked for a minute but he seemed . . . I don’t know, quieter, guarded.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. If Liz had been sitting next to me she would have said, Tell the truth. So that’s what I did.

“The two of you haven’t spoken in close to two years. It’s going to take time for him to let down his guard with you.”

Jackson sighed. “You’re right.” He made a face. “The stupidest thing I ever did was believe Leila’s parents over Mac. He was—he is—my best friend. I’m ashamed of myself.”

“So why did you?” I asked.

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “If you want to say Mac and I were like brothers—and we were—then you’d have to say Leila was like a sister to me. I thought Mac was crazy to buy that old house and then live in it while trying to do a bunch of the renovations. Ask him. He’ll tell you I told him he was out of his mind.”

He played with his fork, turning it over on the paper place mat. “For the record, I never thought Mac had deliberately tried to hurt Leila. But I did think what happened was his fault. I blamed him for the two of them living in that house in that state and I thought it was asinine for him to think he could go to his office all day and then spend half the night working on the house.” He sighed. “I should have listened to him. I should have remembered that no one—not even Mac—made Leila do something she didn’t want to do. I was a judgmental jerk. In the end it’s as simple as that.”

“Yeah, you were,” I said. “But you’re here now. That counts for something.”

“I hope so,” he said.

“What were Mac and Leila like as a couple?” I asked, reaching for an onion ring.

The smile returned to Jackson’s face. “They were like something out of a romance novel. I used to rag on him because once he met Leila it was like every other woman ceased to exist.” He looked around for Caleb and gestured to his cup when he caught the waiter’s eye. “You’ve probably heard that Leila’s great-aunt played matchmaker.”

“She got them both to come to the same fund-raiser.”

He nodded. “I was there and they literally did lock eyes across the room. No one else had a chance with either of them after that.”

There were sides to Mac I hadn’t realized existed.

Jackson got a faraway look on his face. “I admit at one time I was a little smitten with Leila. I think every man who was friends with her was a little bit in love with her.” He looked away for a moment then his eyes found my face again. “I’m not trying to make excuses for how I treated Mac. I’m trying to explain why . . . why it was possible for me to believe what her parents were saying, that she was better off in their care.”

I nodded without speaking. I was even more curious about Leila. What had she been like to inspire the kind of feelings both Mac and Jackson still clearly had for her? And what had it been like to be her sister, to be the dirty little secret to a perfect sibling? We really didn’t know anything about Leila’s sister, Natalie. Was I just grasping at straws now? Or could she be our killer? Was Leila’s accident nothing more than a case of sibling rivalry? Was that what Erin Fellowes had discovered? Was that what had changed her mind about Mac?

Questions. More and more questions and again, no answers.

“Give Mac some time,” I said.

“I’m trying,” Jackson said. “It just drives me a little crazy that I could be helping him and he won’t let me.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “I’m a bit of a control freak in case that isn’t obvious.”

“I never would have guessed,” I said solemnly.

He laughed and snared an onion ring. “These are really good.”

“I told you, everything is good here.”

He nodded. “I can see why Mac decided to stay in town.” His gaze stayed on my face for just a bit longer than was appropriate.

“There is something you could do that might help,” I said, pushing the last bit of my coleslaw onto the last bite of my burger.

“Name it,” Jackson immediately said.

“Tell me about Natalie Welland.”

He frowned. “Wait a minute. You don’t think she killed Erin, do you? Why would Natalie want her sister’s best friend dead?”

I set my fork down. “I’m not saying she did. I just . . . I don’t know anything about her.”

Jackson let out a breath. “Well, it was hard for her at first, seventeen years old and walking into a family she didn’t know, but Leila was happy to have a sister after being an only child and in time they really did become sisters.” He reached for his coffee again. “I thought she was trying too hard sometimes—Leila, I mean—but she seemed determined to let Natalie know they were family. I’ve thought more than once that Leila only started du Mer so they could work together.” His mouth twisted to one side. “I just don’t see how Natalie could have had anything to do with Erin’s death. There was just no reason.”

I glanced at my watch. I’d been gone long enough. I needed to get back to the shop. I looked around for Caleb. “If you’re thinking about paying for lunch I’d like to remind you that I invited you, which means you’re my guest.” Jackson smiled. “You already know how persistent I can be.”

“Thank you,” I said as I got to my feet.

He stood up as well. “I enjoyed this. If you don’t have any plans, would you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?”

I hesitated.

“Am I overstepping?” he asked. “Are you seeing someone?”

Was I seeing someone? Lord knows I had three would-be fairy godmothers who kept trying to push me in that direction. “It’s not that,” I said. “I have to go out of town tomorrow morning and I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.”

He gave me that dazzling smile again. “How about you call me when you get back and if you’ve already had dinner we can at least have dessert. I’ve talked way too much about my life. I’d like to learn more about yours.”

He was charming and easy to look at. And there were more questions I wanted to ask him. I nodded. “All right.”

It was a quiet afternoon at the shop. I got a coat of primer on my table and Mac and I debated whether we wanted to drive to Rockport a week from this upcoming one to prowl a neighborhood-wide yard sale. Based on last year’s success we decided it was worth the time and gas.

When I went back inside I found Charlotte had come and set up the ironing board by the workbench.

She smiled as I came level with her. “How about coming for supper tonight?” she said.

I hesitated. Was this another attempt to get Nick and me together?

“Nicolas isn’t going to be there,” she said as though I’d somehow transmitted my thoughts.

I didn’t want her to think I was still fighting with Nick. “I just don’t want to talk about the case with—”

She put a hand on my arm. “I understand,” she said. “It’s all right.”

“I would like to come,” I said. “I just need to take Elvis home first.”

As if he knew we were talking about him, the subject of our conversation came walking across the top of the workbench. He tilted his head to one side, doing his cute thing, and Charlotte reached over to pet him.

“Bring him along.”

Elvis started to purr and looked in my direction, almost seeming to smile.

“Thank you,” I said. “We both accept your invitation.”

Charlotte smiled and went back to ironing the lace curtains she wanted to add to the front window display.

I gave Elvis a scratch behind his ear, leaning in close to his furry face. “You’re such a suck-up,” I said.

He licked my chin, his way of saying “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Charlotte had also invited Mac to dinner but he was going sailing so he took a rain check. Charlotte, Elvis and I drove over to her little yellow house after work. I’d spent a lot of time in that house growing up and I knew my way around it and the entire tree-lined court as well as I had my grandmother’s house.

I set the little table in the kitchen as Charlotte put water on to boil for our spaghetti. She pulled out lettuce, an English cucumber, a couple of radishes and some tiny red tomatoes. I washed the lettuce as Charlotte chopped the vegetables for the salad. While we worked I told her that I’d shared her idea for offering classes at Legacy Place with Mr. P. and Mac.

“They liked the idea,” I said. I reached for one of the tiny tomatoes in the colander and popped it into my mouth. They were sweet and delicious from ripening in the August sunshine in Charlotte’s backyard.

“I have the rental agent’s business card,” she said. “That’s probably who you’d want to talk to.”

“Are you thinking about selling this house?” I immediately asked.

“Of course not,” she said, putting a hand over the strainer as I tried to swipe another tomato. “I have a business card for Coleridge’s Funeral Home as well. It doesn’t mean I’m planning to avail myself of their services anytime soon. I just like to be prepared.”

Something caught her eye on the stove behind us and she turned to check the spaghetti pot. I took advantage of her momentary distraction to pop a tomato in my mouth. I did my best to look innocent when Charlotte eyed me, a hint of suspicion in her gaze but in the end I gave myself away when I couldn’t figure out how to talk around a mouthful of tomato.

We were just starting to eat when the back door opened and Nick stepped into the kitchen.

Charlotte immediately turned to me. “I didn’t know he was coming,” she said.

Nick caught sight of me as she spoke and the smile faded from his face. “I can go,” he said.

I shook my head. “That’s silly. This is your mother’s house. You shouldn’t have to leave.”

“Well, I don’t want to make you leave,” he said, fingering the dark stubble on his chin.

I twirled my fork in my spaghetti and managed to spear a tiny meatball along with the pasta. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, putting the whole thing in my mouth and making a mental note that the next thing Rose and Charlotte were teaching me to make was Charlotte’s spaghetti sauce.

I took my time chewing my food. Having a little fun at Nick’s expense was probably going to come back to bite me. I finally looked at him. “We’ve disagreed in the past and we’ll disagree again. I’m certain of that.”

Nick laughed. “I can’t argue with that logic,” he said.

“Have you eaten?” Charlotte asked.

“You don’t have to feed me, Mom,” he said.

“So it’s just a coincidence you stopped in at suppertime?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Color flooded Nick’s cheeks. He dropped his gaze for a moment. “Busted,” he said. “Please feed me.” He reminded me of a mischievous little boy.

Charlotte got to her feet.

I stood up as well. “Sit,” I said, waving her back to her chair. “Your supper’s getting cold.” I got a pot from one of the bottom kitchen cupboards.

“So is yours,” she said.

I handed Nick the pot and sat back down.

Nick laughed. “Sarah’s right,” he said. “She’s not subtle, but she’s right. I can make spaghetti.” He put water in the pot and set it on the stove, then he brought a place mat and utensils to the table.

I slid over to make room for him.

Once he’d set his place he sat down, folded his hands on his place mat and turned to look at me. “Have you found out who killed Erin Fellowes yet?”

“Nicolas!” Charlotte exclaimed.

He leaned toward me. “It’s okay. She didn’t use my middle name. I’m not really in any trouble.” His dark eyes danced with humor.

I wanted to be mad at him, but I couldn’t help but be charmed, at least a little.

I shook my head. “No,” I said, “but we do have a couple of leads.”

“You went to see Stevie Carleton.”

I wasn’t surprised he knew. I was certain he was keeping fairly close tabs on what the Angels were doing. “We did,” I said, wiping a bit of sauce from my chin.

“You know it wasn’t her.” He said the words as a statement of fact, not a question.

“What makes you so sure?” I asked.

Nick glanced over at the pot of water on the stove. “She must have told you about the flat tire she had the day Erin Fellowes was killed. By the time it was fixed it was too late in the day for her to have made it here. Even if she drives like you do.”

“I take it Michelle verified that?” I said.

Nick nodded. “I take it Alfred did the same,” he said.

I nodded.

Charlotte picked up her plate and got to her feet. “Decaf?” she asked.

“That sounds good,” I said. “You sit. I’ll make it.”

Nick put a hand on my arm. “No, I’ll get it,” he said. He got to his feet. “Let me make the coffee, Mom,” he said. “I’m trying to show Sarah that I have more than my boyish good looks to offer.”

Charlotte looked at me. “This whole helpful act isn’t actually working, is it?”

I held out my hand, palm down, and waggled it from side to side. “It’s iffy,” I said, “but he is cute trying, so why don’t we let him keep going?”

Nick made coffee for us, cooked his spaghetti and warmed up some sauce and even got his mother and me each a slice of her apple coffee cake. We continued to talk about the case.

“You know about the fraud investigation into du Mer.” Again, a statement of fact.

“Mac doesn’t think Leila knew about the substitution of the cheap ingredients,” I said. I didn’t see the harm in sharing that small piece of information.

“I think he’s probably right,” Nick said, managing to spear two tiny meatballs with his fork.

I gestured at him with my coffee cup. “No, no, no. This is where you’re supposed to disagree.”

He threw up his hands in mock dismay. “Crap! I forgot my lines.”

“I like it when the two of you get along,” Charlotte said as she got up to refill her cup.

Once her back was turned I leaned over and socked Nick on the arm.

“Ow!” he mouthed.

“What have you done with the real Nick?” I wrinkled my nose at him.

He smiled. “It’s not a big deal. I reviewed the details of Leila McKenzie’s accident and for what it’s worth I don’t think Mac had anything to do with it.”

“It’s worth a lot,” I said quietly. I noticed he didn’t say anything about believing that Mac wasn’t hiding anything. “What about Stevie’s partner?”

Nick got to his feet, picking up his own plate and collecting my empty cake plate as well.

“Davis Abbott? He was in Canada.”

I stood up as well and took Charlotte’s plate out of her hand. “We have this,” I said. “Sit.”

“I can do a few dishes,” she protested.

“So can Nick and I,” I said. “Gram always said it builds character.”

Charlotte smiled then. “Well, you two certainly are characters.”

She sat back down and I looked over at Elvis, who was watching Nick just in case there were any meatballs that had been missed. The cat looked in my direction. “Keep an eye on Charlotte,” I said. To my surprise he came right across the floor and launched himself onto her lap, where he quickly settled, his green eyes locked on her face.

I reached over to stroke his fur. “Good job,” I said.

Nick was already running water in the sink for the pots. “Wanna do them all this way?” he asked.

I nodded. “Davis Abbott wasn’t in Nova Scotia,” I told him as I scraped the plates. “At least not when Erin Fellowes was killed.”

Nick frowned, suds forming around his wrists. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said. I told him what Mr. P. had discovered.

“Will you get him to call me in the morning, please?”

“I will,” I said. I grabbed a couple of forks and a spoon from the table and dropped them into the sink. “Do you know anything about Natalie Welland?”

“Leila’s sister?” Nick asked. He hunched a shoulder.

I nodded. He was hedging.

He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything, just exhaled softly.

I waited, drying a bowl and setting it beside me on the clean countertop.

Finally Nick spoke. “All I can say is that she hasn’t been that forthcoming.” And that’s all he did say.

Nick and I finished the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Charlotte said, wrapping me in a hug. “When I invited you for supper I didn’t intend for you to have to work for it.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “You make the best meatballs in the world.” At my feet Elvis gave an enthusiastic meow and licked his whiskers just in case there was any doubt about his love for meatballs.

“Rose and I will teach you how to make them,” Charlotte said. “They’re easy.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said with a smile. I turned to Nick. “It was good to see you.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he offered. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his mother.

My SUV was in Charlotte’s driveway. Nick had parked at the curb. I fished my keys out, unlocked the driver’s door and set Elvis on the seat. Then I turned to face Nick, who was standing just a bit closer than personal boundary space would dictate.

“Are you coming to the jam next week?” I asked. “You missed half the fun last night.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” I said. “C’mon. We have fun and I don’t want to be on the outs with you over a case, even this case.”

“Are you sure Jess won’t pour a bowl of salsa over my head?”

“I’m making no promises. But I am pretty sure the acid in the tomatoes would be good for your scalp.” I grinned at him.

“I’ll chance it, then,” he said. He hesitated and then gave me a hug.

I slid in behind the wheel and started the car. Nick raised a hand in good-bye as I backed out of the driveway. We headed down the street and Elvis looked back over his shoulder, making a muttering sound low in his throat.

“I know,” I said. “He drives me crazy, too.”