“Rose asked you for photos from Feast in the Field this past fall? Not the year before?”
“Yes. From this past fall. Not the year before.”
I was confused. The brochure Elvis had found wasn’t from the most recent Feast. I was trying, like Mr. P., to trust Rose’s instincts. I just wasn’t sure where they were taking me.
Liam reached for his jacket. “So this detective thing is legit? Alfred Peterson has a PI license and Rose is working on one?”
“It’s legit.”
“Good for them,” he said with a smile. “I hope this helps them find the guy they’re looking for.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket.
I held up one hand. “Hang on a minute. You hope what helps them find who?”
He looked at me as if I was missing something, which I was. “Alfred has some video of a man from somewhere downtown, talking to some older woman. I think I have a photo of the same guy on my phone. He was working at one of the wine-tasting booths this year. If it is the same guy, Nick and I talked to him. He was there the year before, too, one of those stereotypical sales types. That’s the only reason I remembered him.”
I looked at Mac. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
Could Rose actually be right about Feast in the Field? Could she have found the person who defrauded Edison Hall and had Nick, of all people, actually talked to the man? I had an almost overwhelming urge to laugh. I coughed into my elbow instead. “I’ll tell her,” I said.
“Seven too early to run?” Liam asked.
I shook my head.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said. He raised a hand. “See you, Mac.”
I watched Liam head across the parking lot and rubbed my left shoulder, which had tied itself in knots while Liam was talking.
“Give Rose the message and there’s nothing else you can do tonight,” Mac said.
“I swear I wasn’t going to get involved in this case,” I said, sitting next to Mac on a paint-spattered sawhorse. “Which is what I said last time and the time before that.”
“They’re your family.”
“Yeah, they are,” I said with a smile. “So what’s your excuse?”
“They’re kind of my family, too.” Mac shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve had something like that in my life.”
Mac never talked about family or his past or anything personal. I suspected from a remark he’d once made about commitment that he’d been married at one time.
“Your old life,” I said.
He smoothed a hand over his dark hair. “Something like that.” There was something sad in his expression, in the way he held his mouth.
“You miss it, or at least you miss the people?” The words came out as a question.
“Sometimes I missed the . . . connections,” he said.
Missed. Past tense. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know how I take my coffee. Rose remembers that I don’t like hard-boiled eggs, so she doesn’t put them in her potato salad when she brings it for us.”
Those were the same kinds of things I’d missed when I’d been working away from North Harbor. Now that I was back, it sometimes drove me crazy that Rose and her cohorts knew me so well. Other times it made me feel as if I was truly home, surrounded by people who knew me so well.
“You probably could have picked a little less . . . colorful family,” I said.
Mac laughed. “No way. I like colorful. I don’t want beige and boring.”
I nudged him with my shoulder. “I’m going to remind you that you said that the next time Mr. P. hacks in somewhere he shouldn’t and Michelle and a dozen burly police officers surround this building.”
“Wouldn’t happen,” Mac said. “Mr. P. is not that careless.”
“Have you ever thought about going back to see your old family?” I asked, aware that I was venturing out onto shaky ground.
The smile faded from Mac’s face. “No. I made mistakes. I made decisions that can’t be forgiven.”
“Gram says there’s very little that can’t be forgiven with a little time.” When he didn’t say anything I knew the conversation was over. I straightened up and reached for the broom.
“It looks so good,” I said, standing in the middle of the space and turning in a slow circle after we’d cleaned and put things away.
“I thought I’d start the mudding and taping tomorrow if that’s okay,” Mac said, taking the battery out of his cordless drill.
“It’s okay,” I said, “but are you sure you want to work on your day off?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. The sooner the walls are finished, the sooner we can get organized out here.” He looked toward the front corner of the space.
Mac and I had partially walled off the area. I hoped to teach classes at some point in that space. Lots of light came in through the windows. A weathered barn door we’d salvaged from an old farm on the road to Portland was waiting to be hung from a sliding rail system once the walls were finished.
“Keep track of your hours,” I said. “Sailing season will be starting soon.”
“I will,” he said. “See you Monday.”
Rose and Mr. P. were just coming down the sidewalk arm in arm when I pulled in to the driveway. I waited for them by the steps.
“Liam asked me to tell you that he’ll e-mail you the photos once he charges his phone,” I told the two of them.
“Splendid,” Rose said. “Did he tell you he might have a photo of our suspect? That man we’re looking for was at Feast two years in a row.”
“He did.”
“Maybe I should ask Nicolas if he has any photos on his phone from Feast in the Field.”
I exhaled loudly and looked at Mr. P., who cleared his throat.
Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The two of you sound like a pair of old horses,” she said. “I was joking.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “Although maybe I’ll get a chance to borrow his phone on Sunday.” She started up the steps. Behind her Mr. P. shook his head, ever so slightly.
I followed them inside. “Rose, about Sunday,” I began.
She held up a hand. “If this is about the gravy, you can do it.”
“When we made Jell-O, I burned the boiling water.”
“How could you burn water?” Mr. P. asked, looking a little puzzled.
“She didn’t burn the water,” Rose explained. “She burned the kettle.”
“And I don’t want to burn the gravy,” I said.
“You won’t,” she said. “I promise.”
I hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other.
Rose made a shooing motion with one hand. “Stop fretting. Everything will be fine.”
I smiled at her. “How am I ever going to repay you for taking on the thankless job of teaching me how to cook?” I asked.
“It’s not a thankless job, dear,” she said. “And you don’t need to thank me, although if you do happen to find yourself with Nicolas’s phone—”
“You won’t be conducting any unauthorized searches,” Mr. P. finished.
“I wasn’t suggesting Sarah search Nicolas’s phone,” Rose said, pulling herself up to her full almost five feet, zero inches height. “I was merely going to say that if the opportunity presented itself, she could ask to see his photos. That’s all.”
Mr. P. smiled benignly. “Of course. My apologies.”
“Have a good night,” I said to them, turning to unlock the door.
I was tying my running shoes the next morning when Liam knocked and then poked his head around the door.
“Hi,” I said.
He was wearing gray shorts and a short-sleeve Red Sox T-shirt over a long-sleeve gray one. A gray knit beanie was pulled over his hair.
“You’re going to freeze,” I said, indicating his half-bare legs.
Liam beat on his chest with his fists. “I’m tough,” he said.
“You’re still going to be cold,” I retorted as I straightened up.
“And you’re going to sweat like a pig,” he countered, making a face at my sweatshirt and leggings.
I grinned at him. “I’ve missed you,” I said.