Liz looked at me and made a circular motion with her index finger. “Twirl.”
I did a slow pirouette for her.
“Perfect,” she said.
“You look lovely,” Charlotte said with a smile.
I stuck out one foot. “Are these shoes too much?” I asked.
Liz gave a snort of laughter. “No, they’re not. Those shoes make a statement.”
“I’m just a little nervous about what they’re saying.”
One perfectly groomed eyebrow went up. “What they’re saying is ‘Look at these legs,’ which is exactly what I want them to say and exactly want I want Channing Caulfield to do. While he’s distracted by you, I can get the answers I’m looking for.”
“That’s rather sexist, Liz,” Charlotte said.
Liz nodded. “Of course. It’s totally sexist. So is Channing Caulfield. That’s why it’s going to work.” She looked at Charlotte. “Don’t shake your head at me, Charlotte Elliot. You know I’m right.” She held her car keys out to me.
Charlotte tried to hide a smile but wasn’t quite successful.
“Mac and Rose will be back in a couple of hours. I’ll be back when Liz is finished dangling me in front of Mr. Caulfield like I’m a fly and he’s a trout.”
Liz laughed and put her arm around my shoulders. “Okay, Sarah,” she said. “Let’s go dangle you in the water and see what we can catch.”
I looked back over my shoulder and waved at Charlotte.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I slid behind the wheel of Liz’s car.
“The Hearthstone Inn.”
“Fancy.”
“It’s all about setting the right atmosphere,” she said, smoothing the skirt of her black suit over her knees.
“And what reason did you give Mr. Caulfield for inviting him to lunch?” I asked as I pulled onto the street.
“We’re both interested in the new development proposal for the harbor front. I’m thinking of investing some of the Emmerson Foundation’s portfolio and you’re thinking of moving your business.”
I shot a quick glance in her direction. “Will he buy that?”
Liz nodded. “Yes. Channing was—is—very good at his job. I’ve talked to him several times about investments over the years. He’s always given me excellent advice.”
I stopped at the corner, waited for traffic to pass and then turned left. “Is Rose right?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road. “Is Mr. Caulfield interested in you?”
“How would I know that?” Liz retorted.
I stifled a smile. “So that would be yes.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Have you perchance been putting up with Mr. Channing’s ongoing interest in you because of his excellent advice?” I asked.
“Perchance?” Liz said, an edge of sarcasm in her voice.
“It’s a perfectly valid word.”
“If you’re Shakespeare.”
I sent another quick glance in her direction. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m not avoiding it. It was such a preposterous question I didn’t see the point in answering it.”
“So that would be another yes.”
There was silence for a moment; then Liz laughed. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Rose, missy,” she said.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road. “Guilty as charged.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liz shift a little in her seat. “When I took over the Emmerson Foundation, do you know how much money was actually going to programs?” she asked.
We were almost at the inn. I slowed down and put on my blinker. “Since you’re asking the question, I’m guessing not enough.”
“Fifty-four percent.”
“Ouch.”
“Expenses were ridiculous, especially our investment costs,” she said. “I hired Channing to rebalance the foundation’s portfolio, and his guidance helped us get through downturns in the market. His expertise was worth every cent we paid him. And by the way, he donated half the money back to the foundation.”
I pulled in to the driveway of the Hearthstone Inn.
“Last year we spent eighty-eight percent of our funds on programming,” Liz continued. “Channing Caulfield had a lot to do with that. And just to be clear, I offered to pay for his time today. He turned me down. I’m sending him a box of his favorite cigars even though I think they smell like burning tires.”
I backed the car into a parking spot and turned to look at Liz. “Have I told you lately that I love you to pieces?”
She gave a dismissive wave with a manicured hand. “Everybody does,” she said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
We were shown to a table near the center of the main dining room at the inn. Silverware gleamed against the crisp white napkins and pale blue tablecloth. Liz had timed our arrival so we’d be at the table when Channing Caulfield arrived.
He was right on time. After I’d agreed to join Liz on this luncheon fishing expedition, I did some online research on Caulfield. He was a self-made man who’d gone to college on scholarship when he was sixteen.
Channing Caulfield was of average height, although he walked with the presence and confidence of a much larger man. He had silver hair—lots of it—combed back from his face, a ready smile and blue eyes that it seemed petty to call beady, although that was the first thought that came to my mind.
Liz got to her feet as he reached the table.
“Liz, it’s good to see you,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful, as always.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said. She turned and smiled at me. “This is Isabel’s granddaughter, Sarah Grayson.”
He inclined his head in my direction. “Please call me Channing,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sarah. How’s your grandmother?”
“She’s well, thank you,” I said.
Liz made small talk while we looked at our menus and ordered. I took advantage of the opportunity to study Caulfield. He was very much a gentleman—smooth, polished and polite. I noticed that he was watching us and everything else that was going on in the restaurant’s dining room.
I had no doubt that this was the man Teresa had seen watching Edison Hall’s house the morning Ronan Quinn died. The hair was right, and so were the eyes and the slight jowls along his jawline. As he smiled pleasantly across the table at me, I had the sudden urge to lean over and ask him directly what he’d been doing that morning. Then I remembered that the whole reason I’d come along was to stop Liz from doing something exactly like that.
Caulfield added cream to the coffee our waiter had brought. I noticed that he didn’t have the soft, smooth hands you’d expect to see with someone who had worked in an office. His were lined with prominent joints. “So you’re interested in the harbor-front development from an investment perspective?” he said, directing his question at Liz.
She nodded, reaching for her tea. “If this proposal comes to pass, those two buildings we own the mortgages on will be sold. I’ve been thinking about putting some of that money back into the development. Seaward Properties is still looking for investors.”
“Have you read their prospectus?” he asked.
“I have,” Liz said. “It looks solid, but I know very little about Jason Cavanaugh himself.”
I let them talk while I watched and listened and marveled at how knowledgeable Liz was. I suspected she could easily have turned the Emmerson Foundation’s finances around without Channing Caulfield’s help.
When our food arrived Caulfield turned to me. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said. “I’ve been ignoring you.”
“No, you haven’t,” I said. “I’ve learned a lot listening to you and Liz talk.” I smiled at the waiter who had just refilled my cup.
“You’re interested in moving your business downtown if the development goes through?”