The Whole Cat and Caboodle: Second Chance Cat Mystery (17 page)

“I can’t answer that, Sarah,” Nick said.

“All right, that’s a yes.”

“I didn’t say yes,” he countered.

I shrugged. “If it was no you would have been asking for details.”

The waiter showed up then with a large basket of chips, a big bowl of salsa and Nick’s beer. Clearly since I was paying, Jess was getting her money’s worth.

Nick picked up his beer. I used a chip to scoop up a mouthful of salsa. “Did you know one of Fenety’s ex’s was also in town?”

He drank a mouthful of beer before he answered. “Since
I can’t talk about that
seems to mean
yes
to you, I’ll just skip that part and say yes.”

I smiled at him. “I told you I’d keep you in the loop.”

“So I should consider myself looped?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Nick swiped a chip, scooped up some salsa and ate it.

“Don’t even think about double dipping,” I said, pointing to the half a chip he was still holding.

He put his free hand on his chest. “Me?” he asked, the picture of fake innocence.

“Yes, you,” I said. “You used to do that so you could keep the salsa all to yourself.”

“It never stopped you, as I remember.”

I felt my face flood with color. Nick laughed. I ducked my head over my wineglass.

“Are you going to play?” I asked after a minute of awkward silence.

He shook his head. “I didn’t bring a guitar and, anyway, I’m way too rusty. You heard me the other day.”

“You didn’t sound rusty to me,” I said. “And you know Sam has more than one guitar here.”

“That I do,” a voice said behind me.

I turned and smiled up at Sam. “What do you say?” he asked Nick.

“The same thing I said to Sarah.” He held up his left hand. “My fingers are out of practice.”

Sam shrugged. “Best way to get in practice is to play.” He looked at me. “The Rickenbacker is great. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I said. “I’m glad someone’s playing it instead of leaving it in a closet.”

He pulled his fingers through his beard. “Yeah. A good guitar should be played.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eric coming with his bass.

Sam saw him, too. “Almost time to get started,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.” He pushed through the crowd toward his office.

Jess made her way back to the table. “Stay there,” she said to Nick when he went to get up.

She took Nick’s seat and pulled the basket of chips a little closer. “Umm, these are even better than the last batch,” she said after she’d loaded a corn chip with about a third of the bowl of salsa and eaten the entire thing in one bite.

Sam and the rest of the guys made their way back on stage and started with “For Your Love.” They went right into “Eve of Destruction” after that.

“Sometimes our friends join us for a song or two on Thursday nights,” Sam said after the song was over. That got him a cheer from the audience. “One of those friends is here tonight. And it’s been a few years since he’s been up here on stage.”

“He wouldn’t,” Nick said quietly beside me.

I just looked at him without saying anything. Because I knew Sam would.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sam said. “Please give a warm Black Bear welcome to Nick Elliot!”

There were enough people there who knew Nick that the room got loud with people clapping and hooting. Jess whistled again and clapped, hands in the air.

I leaned toward Nick. “Welcome home,” I said.

He got to his feet, raising a hand to acknowledge the applause. Then he made his way to the stage, and I saw him raise an eyebrow at Sam, who simply handed him the Rickenbacker and then gave a nod to Eric. As soon as Eric began the bass line I knew what song they were going to do. So did Nick. He had taken the empty stool next to Sam and he lifted his head from the guitar, looked right at me and flashed a quick smile.

“Peaceful Easy Feeling” by the Eagles was the first song I’d taught myself to play on my dad’s guitar, the one Maddie had rescued for me. I’d played it for Nick. I swallowed a couple of times against the rush of emotion I suddenly felt.

Jess moved over into the empty chair next to me. She leaned against me as Sam and the guys started to play. “Thank you for the chips. They’re so, so good,” she said.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” I said, grateful to have something else to focus on.

“Yes, it does,” she said, reaching for another chip and nodding along with the music.

Nick had picked up the melody and Sam launched into the first verse. He gave Nick an encouraging smile on the chorus and as he slid into the second verse Nick joined in singing harmony. I’d forgotten what a great voice he had. Or maybe, more truthfully, I’d pushed the memory of how much I liked listening to him sing and play out of my mind. Sam came right out of “Peaceful Easy Feeling” right into “Hotel California” and Nick followed along.

“He’s good,” Jess said in my ear.

I just nodded. Not only was I enjoying the music, but I was also enjoying how much fun Nick was having. It was written all over his face.

At the end of the song Sam held out a hand toward Nick and once again the whole place erupted with cheers and applause. Nick stood up, grinning, and took a bow. Jess was whistling and stomping her feet, and I had my hands up over my head, clapping. Nick handed the Rickenbacker to Sam and came back to the table. He dropped into his seat, face flushed.

Jess grinned at him. “That was great,” she said, her eyes dancing.

Nick shook his head and leaned toward us. “I’m just lucky Sam picked something my fingers remembered.”

Sam and the guys were playing the intro to “Pinball Wizard” and the crowd was clapping along. I shook my head. “No. You’re just good,” I said, and then I turned back to the stage.

The music was over too soon. Jess slumped against the back of her chair, one arm folded up over her head. “We have to do this more often,” she said.

“You always say that,” I said.

“And I’m always right,” she countered.

I turned to Nick. “I’m so glad you sat in for a couple of songs.”

“Sam didn’t exactly give me a choice, but me too,” he said.

I got up and stretched. Across the room I caught sight of Michelle, standing near the door. She saw me and lifted a hand. From the expression on her face it was clear she wanted to talk to me. “I’ll be right back,” I said. I worked my way over to Michelle, smiling at more than one person I recognized.

“Hi,” she said when I got close to her.

She was wearing jeans, brown boots with chunky heels and a cropped black jacket over a green sweater. She was a little thinner than I’d first realized.

“Hi,” I said. “They were good, weren’t they?”

She nodded. “Some things don’t change.”

I thought about saying
some things do
, but decided that would probably be a bad idea.

“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” I said instead.

“Nick told me what his mother and her friends are up to.”

I nodded. “I thought he would.”

“If you have any influence with them at all, please tell them playing detective is a very bad idea.”

“I’ve already tried that,” I said with a sigh. “It didn’t work.”

“Poking around in a murder investigation isn’t something they should be doing,” she said. She touched the pocket of her jacket and I wondered if her phone was vibrating inside.

“I know that,” I said. I sounded defensive when I didn’t really mean to. I was feeling a little guilty about how much poking around I’d been doing, too. “C’mon, Michele. You’ve known all of them for years. You know what they’re like when they get fixated on an idea. And it’s not always a bad thing, by the way. We wouldn’t have the bookmobile or the Botanic Garden or the new playground. Short of locking them up I don’t think you can stop them.”

I was expecting she’d give me an argument. Instead all she said was, “I know.” She hesitated as though she was searching for the right words. “Could you do what you can to keep them out of trouble?”

“I’m trying,” I said. I
was
trying. It was just that I kept getting sucked into helping. I thought about what my Gram would say about good intentions.

She smiled. “Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate that.”

There was an awkward silence. “I should get back to Jess and Nick,” I said. I don’t really know what made me say what I said next. “Can you join us for a few minutes?”

She looked surprised. Then again, I was surprised that I’d asked. “Umm, thanks, but I have to get back to the station.”

I nodded. “Maybe another time.” I turned to head back to the table.

“I’m glad you’re home, Sarah,” she said.

It felt like she meant it.

“Me too.” I said.

I had an appointment first thing in the morning to go through the storage area of a local motel to see if there was anything left after their recent renovation work that I might be interested in buying. I left Elvis at the store with Mac and drove up to the highway.

The storage room was like a time capsule from the 1970s. I started making a pile in the hallway of things I wanted, handing them to the young man the owner had sent to help me. I found two lamps; a sleek, curved-edge coffee table; a hanging wicker chair and several boxes of vibrant Fiestaware dishes.

The space was crammed with furniture, mostly bed frames, chests of drawers and boxy-looking chairs. I climbed over a couple of long, low sofas to hand a box of dishes to my helper, whose name was Brent. He had a bandage wrapped around his left hand. “Can you manage that?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, this is fine,” he said, holding up his hand. I gave him the box and scrambled over the sofas. One was piled upside down on the other. I thought I’d seen another lamp but now I couldn’t find it.

“Is there something else I can get for you?” Brent asked. He was maybe twenty years old, with spiked blond hair and strong arms and shoulders.

I had the feeling if I’d said I wanted the faux–Danish modern sofas he would have been able to throw one over each shoulder and carry them out to the SUV.

“I thought I saw another lamp,” I said. “Now I don’t know where it is.”

Brent looked around. He was taller. “Over there,” he said, pointing to the far front corner.

All I could see was a bunch of metal-framed chairs piled haphazardly on top of one another.

“I’ll get it for you.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He flexed his fingers in a crablike motion. “Yeah, I’m fine. This is just poison ivy. It doesn’t hurt. It just itches like crazy.”

He climbed over the chairs like a monkey making his way up a coconut tree, grabbed the lamp, handed it out to me and climbed over the chairs again. I got a better look at the gauze bandage that covered most of the back of his left hand. There was a red, itchy-looking rash on the back of his wrist, as well. I realized I’d seen the same rash just recently. On Jim Grant’s hand. And on Arthur Fenety’s.

“Did you say that was poison ivy?” I asked.

Brent rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. I was in the park a couple of days ago, throwing the Frisbee around with some buddies. Stupid thing went into the bushes and I went after it. I guess there’s some kind of infestation of poison ivy all over the park.” He rubbed the bandage with the palm of his other hand and made a face. “It doesn’t hurt, but damn, is it itchy.”

What had Daisy told Charlotte and me? She’d dropped Arthur off and he’d cut through the park to get to Maddie’s house. Could he have had some kind of confrontation with Jim Grant? Grant had claimed he hadn’t gotten in town until the morning after Arthur Fenety had been killed. Could he have been lying about that?

Brent was talking to me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I zoned out. What did you say?”

“Do you want me to start carrying this stuff out?”

“That would be a big help, thanks,” I said.

With Brent’s help I managed to get everything loaded into the SUV. Then we walked back to the office and I paid for the pieces I’d bought. With a little work I was confident that everything I’d bought would sell.

Mac helped me unload when I got to the store.

“Sam called,” he said. “We’re going to get two buses of leaf peepers in about twenty minutes.”

“Is Charlotte here?” I asked.

He nodded. “And Rose and Mr. Peterson are on the sunporch.”

I headed inside and stuck my head around the sun-porch doorway. “Good morning,” I said. Mr. P. was on his laptop and Rose was sitting beside him.

“Good morning, dear,” she said.

Mr. P. looked up and smiled. “Hello, Sarah,” he said.

“Are you having any luck with the information Rose got out of Jim Grant?” I asked.

Mr. P. nodded. “Now that I know his mother’s full name I did a records search. She was married to Arthur Fenety, not that it was legal, of course.” He glanced down at a notepad on the table next to the computer. “Margaret Grant had a small yarn and fabric shop. It went out of business a couple of months after Arthur left town.”

“Do you think he took money from the business?”

Rose nodded. “I hate to call someone a liar, but yes, I do.”

“So why did Jim Grant lie to us?” I said.

“His mother losing her business is a lot better motive for murder than just losing a tea set,” Mr. P. said.

“Rose, did you notice that bandage on his arm and that rash on the back of his hand?” I asked.

“I did,” she said. “He told me it was an allergic reaction to furniture stripper he’d been using.” She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think that’s true?”

“I’m not sure.” I looked at Mr. P. “Could you check something out for me?”

“Of course I could,” he said. “What is it?”

“I heard there’s a problem with an infestation of poison ivy in the park. Could you find out if that’s true?”

He nodded. “I can do that.”

“Sarah, do you think the rash on Jim Grant’s arm was poison ivy?” Rose asked.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Charlotte said that Daisy told you she dropped Arthur off by the park and he walked to Maddie’s house. Do you think Jim Grant might have met him in the park?”

I twisted my watch around my arm. I wasn’t sure if I should tell Rose about the possible rash I’d seen on Arthur Fenety’s arm. I didn’t want to lie to her, but it just seemed that I was getting pulled deeper into their investigation every day.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s possible.” I hesitated.

“Dear, is there something you’re not telling us?”

“Yes,” I said. “There was a mark on Arthur’s wrist. I noticed it when I checked for . . . his pulse. I just glanced at it and I thought it was some kind of scrape.”

“You think it was poison ivy?” Her blue eyes widened. “Do you think Jim Grant could have been waiting for Arthur in the park? Maybe he followed Arthur to Maddie’s house and poisoned him there.”

Mr. P. looked up from the keyboard. “You’re right,” he said to me. “The park is dealing with an infestation of poison ivy. It’s in all the flower beds and along the sides of a lot of the pathways.”

“Thanks,” I said. I looked at Rose. “We don’t know for sure that Jim Grant was even in the park, let alone that he saw Arthur. He said he didn’t get here until Tuesday morning.”

“And if James did follow Arthur, where did he get the poison and how did he get it into Arthur’s coffee cup?” Mr. P. asked. He looked at Rose. “We can’t jump to conclusions.”

She nodded. “All right.”

Mr. P. looked at me. “I’ll see if James Grant had any connection to a source of napthathion.”

Rose looked at her watch. “Liz should be on her way to Phantasy right now. Maybe she’ll find out something that will help Maddie.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” I said.

The two busloads of leaf peepers kept us busy until lunchtime.

Rose came in, looking dejected, to relieve Charlotte.

“You talked to Liz,” I asked.

“I did.” She shook out her apron and pulled the neck strap over her head. “There are at least half a dozen people in Maddie and Charlotte’s neighborhood that have that pesticide in their garage or garden shed.”

“Didn’t anybody pay attention to the ban?”

Rose tied her apron at her waist. “It doesn’t look that way,” she said. “The police are going to say Maddie had lots of opportunity to get the poison that killed Arthur.”

I leaned over and gave her a quick hug. “Maybe Alfred will come up with something.”

“I’m not giving up,” she said with a frown.

I smiled. “I didn’t think you would.”

Rose went to straighten a collection of old tin camp kettles. Mac was on the phone. I decided to go take another look at my morning’s treasures before lunch. As I went past the sunporch door Mr. P. beckoned to me. “I might have found something,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Do you remember what time Maddie said Arthur arrived?”

I thought for a moment. “Between quarter after and twelve thirty.”

“And you said his sister dropped him off at the park?”

I nodded. “She said it was such a nice day he wanted to walk.”

Mr. P. hiked his pants a little higher. Not that they were too low to begin with. “Sarah, how long do you think it would have taken him to walk to Maddie’s house?”

I shrugged and tried to picture the trail that ran through the woods and out to the sidewalk on the other side. “No more than ten minutes.”

“Which means his sister would have dropped him off sometime after noon.”

I nodded. “That sounds right.”

“Daisy Fenety was in the dentist’s chair at eleven forty-five.”

I frowned at him. “Do I want to know how you know that?”

He smiled. “I doubt that you do.”

“So, Daisy would have dropped him off around eleven thirty or so?”

Mr. P. nodded. “I think so.”

I rolled my shoulders forward to work out a kink. “Where was he for that extra time?”

Mr. P. nodded. “Exactly. I asked Royce Collins if he saw Arthur. He delivers flyers in that area Mondays and Fridays. He did.”

Royce had been the mail carrier in Charlotte’s neighborhood as far back as I could remember. I had no idea how old Royce was, but Gram always said you could set your watch by him.

“Did he say what time he saw Arthur?” I asked.

“Royce figures it was about eleven thirty.”

“Then it was,” I said. “That means there’s at least a half an hour unaccounted for.”

Mr. P. nodded. “Exactly.”

I left Mr. P. to see if he could figure out what had happened in the missing time and hoped he wouldn’t break any laws doing it.

I spent a chunk of the afternoon updating the store’s inventory list. Avery and I washed and dried all the dishes I’d brought from the motel, and Rose arranged some of the pieces on a long, low seventies-style buffet that Mac helped me set up in the window.

“Do you have any plans for dinner?” Rose asked.

I remembered then that I hadn’t gotten to the grocery store. Again.

“No,” I said.

“We’re going to McNamara’s for clam chowder and cheese biscuits. Why don’t you join us?”

“That sounds good,” I said. “Yes.” After the middle of September I’d decided not to keep the store open on Friday nights. There wasn’t enough business. “I have to take Elvis home first. What time should I meet you?”

“Six thirty,” she said.

I pulled the elastic out of my hair. “I’ll see you there,” I said.

Rose and Avery decided to walk to Liz’s and set out together. Mac wanted to put another coat of varnish on the top of the table. I was carrying a box of old sheet music to the car when Nick pulled into the lot.

He smiled when he caught sight of me.

“Hi,” he said, walking over to me and taking the box out of my hands.

“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to give you a heads-up that the police found a safe-deposit box belonging to Arthur Fenety. In Rockport.”

I exhaled loudly and shook my head. “Was there anything of Maddie’s in the box?” I asked.

“I can’t answer that, Sarah,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you about the safe-deposit box as it is, but I figured news would get around town pretty quickly, anyway.”

It was as close to a yes as I was going to get.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Thanks,” I said.

He smiled. “You’re welcome. I had fun last night.”

“It’s been a long time since you were up on that stage.”

He shifted—self-consciously it seemed to me—from one foot to the other. “It felt good.”

I smiled. “It sounded good, too.”

His smile got wider. “I’m going to pretend you’re not just trying to flatter me.”

“I wasn’t.”

Nick pulled his keys out of the pocket of his Windbreaker. “I’ll let you get back to work,” he said. “Tell Jess next time the chips are on me.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. I couldn’t exactly tell him he was the reason they’d actually been on me last night.

Nick headed for his SUV and I walked over to Mac. Behind him I could see Elvis prowling around the shed.

Mac was wiping down the top of the table. “Was Nick looking for his mother?” he asked.

I shook my head. “The police found Arthur Fenety’s safe-deposit box.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I have a feeling it might be bad.”