The Whole Cat and Caboodle: Second Chance Cat Mystery (15 page)

I nodded. Behind her Mac held up two fingers, which I knew meant two weeks. “It’ll be about three weeks,” I said, adding an extra week so we’d have some wiggle room. I did a quick calculation in my head and added twenty-five percent to the cost. She didn’t quibble at all when I named the price.

“You have a deal,” I said, thinking maybe I should have added thirty percent instead.

We went out to the front counter and did the paperwork.

“Very nice,” Mac said once they were gone.

“I didn’t think anyone would want that table. I looked back toward the storeroom door. “It’s a very plain design. Not to mention it glows in the dark right now and most people can’t see beyond that.”

Mac just smiled his Cheshire cat smile at me.

I hadn’t seen any potential in that table but he had. “You can say ‘I told you so,’” I said.

The smile got wider. “No. That would be petty.”

I laughed. “You were right about that table.”

“Always good to have my genius recognized.”

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Mr. P. standing there with his laptop. He had a pleased look on his face.

“Did you find something?” Rose asked. She’d been dusting a collection of tiny china animals.

“I think I might have,” he said. “I’ve been looking through the archives of the
Burlington Free Press
.” He carried the computer over and set it on the counter. There was a photo of a man who looked like he was in his late forties on the screen. His head was shaved smooth but he had a neatly trimmed goatee that seemed to be about half graying. He was tall and heavyset, and in the photo he was wearing rimless glasses.

“Who’s that?” Charlotte asked.

“His name is Jim Grant,” Mr. P. said. “His mother is one of Arthur Fenety’s wives. Jim Grant threatened to kill him.” He pushed his own glasses up his nose. “Actually he threatened to drive his truck over Arthur and turn him into roadkill, which I think is pretty much the same thing.”

“Maybe he decided that poison would be a little neater,” Rose said. She smiled at Mr. P. “We should talk to this Jim Grant. How do we get hold of him?”

“That’s going to take a little more digging,” Mr. P. said.

I heard the front door open and I looked over to see if there was more than one customer.

“Maybe it’s not,” I said, slowly.

Jim Grant had just walked into the store

I looked at Mr. P. and shifted my eyes to the storeroom door. He was very quick on the uptake.

He touched my arm and smiled. “Thank you dear,” he said. “Facebook can be so confusing.” Then he picked up his laptop and headed back—I hoped—to the sunporch.

I smoothed the front of my shirt and met Jim Grant in the middle of the room in front of the tub chair. It was him, I realized, the man in Mr. P.’s photo. It wasn’t wishful thinking on my part or a trick of the light. I gave him a businesslike smile. “Hello,” I said, “Welcome to Second Chance.”

He was wearing khakis and a navy Windbreaker, and since I didn’t see his glasses I was guessing he was also wearing contacts.

“I’m looking for Sarah Grayson,” he said. “Would you be her?”

I nodded. “Yes, I am. How can I help you?”

“My name is Jim Grant.” He offered his hand and I shook it. His left arm was covered with a gauze bandage that disappeared up his sleeve and there was an angry rash on the back of his hand. “Detective Andrews said that Arthur Fenety sold my mother’s tea set to you. Did he sell you anything else?”

Well, now I knew where the tea set had come from. And I’d been right that Arthur’s selling it wasn’t on the up-and-up.

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “The tea set was the only thing he brought in and the police have that now.”

He shrugged. “That’s what Detective Andrews said, but I wanted to see for myself. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“You haven’t,” I said. “You’re welcome to prowl around the store. Maybe that will put your mind at ease.”

He looked around the open space. “Thank you, but I don’t see anything that looks like hers. You don’t sell jewelry, do you?”

“No, we don’t,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Rose and Charlotte folding a quilt and trying not to be obvious as they eavesdropped. “There is a pawn shop just one street up from the harbor front, though.”

He ran his fingers over his bearded chin. “I’ve already been there.”

“I’m sorry Arthur Fenety took advantage of your mother,” I said, hoping I could somehow get him talking so he’d stay for a few minutes. “Madeline Hamilton is a family friend.”

“The woman they charged.”

I nodded. “She didn’t kill him.”

Jim Grant shrugged. “There are some people who wouldn’t blame her if she had. Fenety left some of those women he scammed penniless.” His face tightened with anger. “He took my mother’s silver and her good jewelry, which was bad enough because those things have memories for her. But she has her house and most of her money. Some of his so-called wives weren’t that lucky.”

Rose was making her way over to us. She was moving slowly, limping. Why hadn’t I noticed that earlier?

“Excuse me for interrupting,” she said, directing her attention to Jim Grant, “but I heard you mention Arthur Fenety’s name. Was he a friend of yours?”

Grant shook his head. “No. Arthur Fenety was certainly not a friend of mine.”

“He was a despicable man,” Rose said.

Jim Grant nodded. “You knew him, then?”

She nodded. “He was seeing my friend, Maddie Hamilton.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rose Jackson.”

“Jim Grant,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it, gently. “I heard your friend was arrested. I’m sorry.”

Rose patted his hand before she let go of it. “A man like that had to have known some very unsavory people. I’m sure the police will find out that it was one of them who killed him.”

Elvis had come down the stairs. He came across the floor and wound around Jim Grant’s legs. “Hello, puss,” he said, reaching down to stroke the top of the cat’s head. I was beginning to think there wasn’t anyone that the cat couldn’t charm. Just like the original Elvis, this one had charisma.

“I wish I’d gotten here a day sooner,” Grant said. “Then it would have been Fenety in a jail cell.”

“He took advantage of your mother,” Rose said. “The man was a heel and a reprobate.”

I looked down at Elvis. Something was annoying him. He had the same pissed-off look he’d gotten when we’d all had lunch together and Maddie had been petting him.

“I admit when I found out what he’d done there was a moment when I thought I could have killed him.” He shook his head. “It’s not a very good thing to admit to, is it?”

Rose reached out and touched his sleeve. “I understand completely. I’ve had a few dark impulses about the man myself.”

“Now that he’s dead I don’t have much hope of getting my mother’s jewelry back.” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “When I got here Tuesday morning and checked into my hotel, the newspaper was on the desk by the phone. I’d been looking for Fenety for months. I admit it felt like some cosmic joke that he was dead just when I’d finally tracked him down.” He straightened up and brushed off his hands. “Thank you, Ms. Grayson,” he said, “for giving the police the tea set. At least we’ll get that back eventually.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t have any of your mother’s jewelry,” I said. I glanced down at Elvis. Whatever the aggravation was, it had passed.

Grant shrugged. “It was probably gone before Fenety even got here.”

He turned to Rose and smiled. “I hope things work out for your friend.”

Rose smiled sweetly back at him. She was playing the slightly befuddled little old lady to the hilt. “I hope you find your mother’s things.” She touched her watch. “I know how I’d feel if someone stole my memories.”

I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t laugh. I knew Rose’s watch had come from a Target store in Portland.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, still looking at her watch. “Look at the time. I need to get home.”

She looked at me for the briefest moment. I knew I was supposed to do or say something. I just had no clue what.

“Umm, if you can wait a few minutes, I’ll drive you,” I said.

Rose shook her head. “No, no, dear. You have work to do. It’s not far. I’ll be fine.” She started to hobble toward the front door.

“Mrs. Jackson, I’m on my way back to my hotel,” Grant said. “Could I drop you somewhere?”

Rose hesitated. “I don’t want to put you out.”

He smiled. “You wouldn’t.”

She hesitated just a moment longer. I was shooting warning glances at her but she was pointedly ignoring them. Then she turned that smile on. “All right. Thank you. I don’t move as fast as I used to.”

He offered his arm and Rose took it.

“Thanks again,” he said to me, and the two of them went out the door.

Charlotte walked over to me. I pulled a hand back through my hair. “What the heck was that?” I said. “Who does Rose think she is? Meryl Streep?”

Charlotte smiled. “She’s detecting. Let her go.”

“That could be Arthur Fenety’s killer.”

“He couldn’t have killed Arthur. You heard what he said. He didn’t get here until Tuesday morning.”

“And of course murderers never lie,” I said. “I shouldn’t have let her go with him.”

“Rosie’s fine.” Mr. P. was standing in the storeroom doorway. He held up his cell phone. “She called my phone. I’m on speed dial. It’s a little muffled but I can hear what they’re saying.” He smiled proudly. “She’s pumping him for information.”

I raked my hand back though my hair again and watched some long strands float down to the floor. “I’m going to be bald,” I said to Charlotte.

She smiled and reached over to brush a strand of hair off my cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll knit you some very nice hats.”

But I did worry until Jim Grant had dropped Rose off at the medical clinic. I held out my hand. “Give me the phone,” I said to Mr. P.

“Sarah wants to talk to you,” he said, and then he handed it over.

“Hello, dear,” she said.

“Promise me you won’t do that again,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Go off with a man you don’t even know, who could be a murderer.”

She laughed. “Don’t be silly. James doesn’t have the grip strength to kill someone. Didn’t you notice what a limp handshake he has?”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through my nose. It didn’t help. “Rose, Arthur Fenety was poisoned, not strangled.”

“Well, I know that,” she said with just a touch of exasperation in her voice. “But that limp handshake shows weakness of character. He’s a bit of a mama’s boy. Not a killer.”

“Okay,” I said, realizing that I wasn’t getting anywhere. “Just don’t take any more rides from people you don’t know. Please.”

“All right, dear. If it will make you feel better.” She was humoring me but that was okay. “Oh, and Charlotte’s taking the rest of my shift.”

“I noticed,” I said.

“Tell her she doesn’t need to cook. I’m bringing dinner.”

“I will,” I said. I handed the phone back to Mr. P. and relayed the message to Charlotte. When I turned back around he was tucking the phone in his pocket. “Good job finding Jim Grant’s picture,” I said. “And cooking up that phone business with Rose.”

He smiled. “Thank you.” He turned to head back to the sunporch. “Oh, and I found that woman.”

“What woman?” I said.

He stopped and turned back around. “The woman you saw at Sam’s.”

“One of Arthur’s wives?” Charlotte asked.

“Her name is Grace MacIntyre. And she was a girlfriend. Not a wife.”

Charlotte looked at me. “We should talk to her before she leaves town.”

Mr. P. made a face. “I’m afraid you’re too late,” he said. He looked at his watch. “She checked out of her hotel about fifteen minutes ago. She’s on her way to the airport.”

“We have to go to the airport,” Charlotte said immediately. “We have to talk to her before she leaves town.” She looked around. “Where’s Liz?”

“I’m right here,” Liz said. She was coming down the stairs. “I was making tea.” She looked at me. “By the way, you’re almost out of tea bags.”

I was probably out of my mind, too, given what I was just about to do.

“Forget about the tea,” Charlotte said.

Liz narrowed her eyes at us. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to the airport.”

“The airport?” Liz looked even more confused. “Why?”

“Because it’s what Charlie’s Angels would do,” I said.

“I’ll turn off the kettle,” Liz said, heading for the stairs.

“Would you bring my purse down, please?” Charlotte called after her.

Liz nodded and lifted a hand to show she’d heard.

“I’ll go tell Mac where we’re going,” I said. I found him outside, carrying a box full of old bottles over to the planting table by the back door, where Avery was set up with potting soil, moss and some small plants.

“What’s up?” he said, setting the box on the end of the table.

I exhaled loudly. “Rose drove off with a possible murderer who she’s certain couldn’t be one because he has a floppy handshake. She’s fine, by the way.”

“Okay,” Mac said slowly.

“Charlotte and Liz and I are going to the airport to try to catch one of Arthur Fenety’s girlfriends before she leaves town.” I shook my head. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

Mac smiled. “You’re kindhearted and loyal and a good friend.” He held up his thumb and index finger about a quarter of an inch apart. “And maybe just a little bit crazy.”

I laughed. “How did I get myself into this, Mac?”

“They’re family,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Seriously, how would I manage without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

I ran up to my office and grabbed my purse. When I came back down, I found Charlotte and Liz waiting by my SUV, along with Mr. P. and Elvis.

“I’m coming,” Mr. P. said. “I don’t mean to be sexist, but you three need some muscle.”

He was completely serious. I didn’t dare look at Liz because I knew I’d laugh. Mr. P. wasn’t exactly the bodyguard type. On the other hand, he’d already surprised me with his computer skills so maybe I shouldn’t judge.

I looked down at Elvis. “Why do you need to come?” The cat looked at Mr. P., then back at me.

“He’s part of my security team,” Mr. P. said. I gave the two of them a once-over—Mr. P. with his trousers up under his armpits and the cat with the scar slicing across his nose. They were the most unlikely security team I’d ever seen. And I didn’t have time to get into a long discussion about it. “Get in,” I said.

Liz rode shotgun. Charlotte, Mr. P. and Elvis climbed in the back with Elvis in the middle.

The Knox County Airport is about twenty minutes outside North Harbor. I looked at my watch when we hit the highway; if we were lucky, we might catch Grace MacIntyre before she went through security. I didn’t speed, but I kept it right at the limit all the way to the airport turnoff.

The universe or someone was smiling on us because we found a parking spot. We piled out and I pointed a finger at Elvis. “Guard the truck,” I said.

He gave an answering meow and sat up a little straighter.

We couldn’t exactly run for the terminal buildings. Liz was wearing heels and I wasn’t sure about making Mr. P. move that fast, so we more or less speed-walked from the parking area.

“Which way?” I asked once we stepped inside. Mr. P. did a quick survey and pointed. “That way. She’s probably in the security line.” He spoke with such assurance that I decided to head in that direction, mentally crossing my fingers that he was right.

When Jess and I had seen Grace MacIntyre she’d been wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, so I scanned the terminal for someone with the same dyed red hair as I’d noticed peeking out from under her cap. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And then I spotted her—or a person I hoped was her—in the middle of a line snaking toward the security check.

“I think I see her,” I said.

“Where?” Charlotte asked at my elbow.

I pointed. “The redhead behind the woman in the green jacket. I think that might be her.”

“Go,” Liz said. “This is as fast as I move in these shoes.”

Charlotte and I hurried across the tile floor as the line moved forward.

“What are you going to say to her?” Charlotte asked.

I kept my eyes on what I sincerely hoped was the back of Grace MacIntyre’s head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t exactly start out by saying, ‘Hello. Did you by any chance kill Arthur Fenety?’”

We were almost level with the woman by then. She glanced in our direction and I recognized her face. It
was
the woman Jess and I had seen at Sam’s. Before I could say anything Charlotte took a step in from of me and touched her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Grace MacIntyre?”

“Yes,” she said frowning a little at us.

“My name is Charlotte Elliot,” Charlotte said. “And this is my friend, Sarah Grayson. Could we talk to you about Arthur Fenety?”

Grace pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor for a moment. When she met Charlotte’s eyes again all she said was, “He’s dead.”

“I know,” Charlotte said. “We’re trying to find out who killed him.”

“A woman named Madeline Hamilton.”

I shook my head. “No, she didn’t.”

Grace shrugged. “She was arrested.”

“The police are wrong,” Charlotte said firmly.

“You think I killed him?” Grace asked.

“No,” I said. “But how did you locate him here? From what I understand there were a lot of people looking for Arthur Fenety.”

She laughed, but there really wasn’t any humor in the sound. “I hired a private detective.”

“When you found him, why didn’t you just call the police?” Charlotte asked.

“It wasn’t because I was planning on killing him.”

“Arthur was a very charming man,” Charlotte said.

I hadn’t been expecting her to say that but I figured she had to have a plan, so I kept my mouth shut and my expression neutral.

“Yes, he was,” Grace said and a smile flitted across her face. “He was a bit of a scoundrel, but he had his good points.” She was carrying a leather tote bag and she shifted it from one hand to the other as the line moved forward again. We were running out of time. She shrugged. “There’s no harm in telling you, I guess. I didn’t come here to get back at Arthur. I came to get him back.”

Charlotte actually looked sympathetic. I was trying just not to look surprised.

“I have more than enough money,” Grace said. “What I don’t have is anyone to share my life with.”

“I understand,” Charlotte said, nodding slowly. I glanced over at Liz and Mr. P., who were standing a few steps away. “Did you see Arthur?” she asked. We were only half a dozen people away from the security check.

“The morning he . . . died.” Grace looked away for a moment and then her gaze came back to Charlotte’s face. “He turned me down. He said the money didn’t matter; he was in love for real this time. He kissed me on the cheek and wish me well.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said.

Grace nodded. “Me too. Maybe if he’d given us another chance he’s still be alive.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “My mother always said it’s just as easy to love a rich man as it is a poor one. I think it’s the same for a rich woman. But Arthur didn’t see it that way.” She cleared her throat. “And since I’m confessing my weaknesses to you I may as well tell you that I spent the rest of the day with my private detective going over all the information on Arthur that he had.”

I’d wondered how the newspaper had dug up so much on Arthur Fenety so fast. “You sent it all to the paper,” I said.

She nodded. “I did. My mother also said revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“In my experience, revenge is a dish best not served at all,” Charlotte said softly.

Grace turned and pointed to a man several people back in the line behind her. “The man in the brown leather jacket, he’s the detective I hired. You can ask him where I was on Monday.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I hope things work out for you friend,” she said. The line moved again and she was at security.

Grace MacIntyre’s detective, Malcolm Kent, had a strong handshake, deep blue eyes, and iron gray hair in a brush cut. I introduced Charlotte and myself and explained who we were.

“Mrs. MacIntyre just sent me a text,” he said. “What would you like to know?”

“She was with you on Monday?” I asked.

He nodded. “She was. From about eleven thirty until close to three o’clock at the Fairgate Hotel. We ordered room service, if that helps.”

“It does,” I said.

“Mrs. MacIntrye asked me to give you a copy of everything I learned about Arthur Fenety. If you give me your e-mail address I’ll send it to you.”

I gave Malcolm Kent the store’s e-mail, thanked him and Charlotte and I walked over to Liz and Mr. P.

“Any luck?” Liz asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “She has an alibi.”

We headed back out to the parking lot. “There has to be an easier way to do this,” I said, fishing the keys to the SUV out of my pocket. “There has to be some way to find out which one of the women in Arthur Fenety’s life wanted him dead.”

“Wasn’t that pretty much all of them?” Liz said dryly.

Charlotte shook her head. “No. Grace MacIntyre actually wanted him back.”

Liz rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you think the woman who knew him best would know that?” Mr. P. said.

We all looked at him.

“Who would that be?” I asked.

Mr. P. looked at the three of us, a slightly baffled expression on his face. “His sister, Daisy. Has anyone gone and talked to her?”