“The twenty-first, in Portland,” he said, returning the coffeepot to its burner. “Vince and Eric drove down, crashed with someone Eric knows and drove back the next morning. Why the third degree?”
“The twenty-first? You’re positive? And they stayed all night?”
He slid into the booth on the seat opposite me. “Sarah, what’s going on?”
“It wasn’t Vince.”
“What wasn’t Vince?” he said.
I speared the last bit of my pancake and ate it. “He wasn’t the one who pulled those tricks on Lily. The twenty-first was the night someone egged the front window of the bakery. I know because I was there early the next morning. Vince couldn’t have done it if he was playing in Portland.”
“So why would he say he did, then?”
I nodded as I set down my fork and reached for my cup. “Exactly. Why would he do that?”
“You think you know.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. I finished my coffee and stood up. “I need to check something out. I’ll call you.”
It was bitingly cold, so I’d arranged to pick up Rose. She was waiting outside Legacy Place with Mr. P.
“Hello, sweet girl,” she said. “Alfred is coming with us.”
“Good morning, Mr. P.,” I said as he got in the backseat with Elvis.
He was wearing a striped stocking cap and scarf that Rose had made for him, along with a heavy brown parka and the same kind of heavy, insulated gloves that Aaron Ellison wore when he plowed the parking lot. He reminded me of a ceramic garden gnome.
“Good morning, Sarah,” he said as he fastened his seat belt. “Thank you for picking us up.”
“You’re very welcome,” I said.
“Good morning, Elvis,” Mr. P. said as I pulled away from the curb. I glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see him sneak the cat a tiny fish cracker. I shifted my eyes back to the road.
Avery and Liz were waiting for us in the lot. When I got out of the SUV, Avery climbed out of her grandmother’s car and skidded across the parking lot toward me. She was wearing high-top sneakers instead of boots. “Sarah, can I work on the window today? Please, please, please. You don’t have to pay me. I just want to get it done.”
It made me feel good to see her enthusiasm. “Yes, you can work on the window,” I said.
Mr. P. was carrying Elvis. I saw him exchange a smile with Rose.
“Yay!” Avery said, jumping up and down and almost falling. “I’ll tell Nonna that she can get me at lunchtime.” She made her way back over to the car, arms windmilling, and somehow managed not to fall.
I put my things upstairs in my office, went into the staff room and filled the kettle before I went back down.
“The water’s on,” I said to Rose.
“Would you like coffee, dear?” she asked.
I’d already had two cups at Sam’s. “I think I’ll have tea, please,” I said.
“I’ll bring you a cup,” she said, patting my arm as she passed me.
I went into the storeroom. Avery was at the workbench. “Could you watch the front for a few minutes for me, please?” I asked.
“Sure thing,” she said. She’d left her usual stack of bracelets at home, but she had a new henna tattoo, a flowering vine that wound around her wrist and disappeared up the sleeve of her black T-shirt.
Alfred was already settled at the desk in the Angels’ “office” along the back wall.
“Mr. P., could I take another look at that security video, please?” I asked. “The one from the camera at the bookstore.”
“Of course,” he said.
I waited while he clicked keys, and then he turned the laptop so I could see the screen. I studied the figure carefully, trying to guess how tall the “fake” Jon West was based on the height of the door to the bakery. It wasn’t Vince. It couldn’t be. By my rough calculations the figure was shorter than Vince, who topped out at about six feet.
“Would you like to see it again?” Mr. P. asked.
I nodded, rubbing the bridge of my nose with two fingers. “Please.”
The second time through I was certain. “Thank you,” I said.
“Is there anything I should tell Rosie?” he asked.
I gave him a tight smile. “Not yet.”
He nodded. “All right,” he said. I could see the gleam of curiosity in his eyes.
I headed back to the store. It wasn’t Vince in the security footage, but my suspicion about the person he was covering for was right. The figure in the denim jacket and long wig was Asia Kennedy. I was sure of it. It was Asia who had pulled all those stupid, childish tricks on Lily. What the heck had Vince been thinking, trying to cover for her by stealing that wig?
And then I had an awful thought. Was there more to it? Asia had been harassing Lily. I tried to swallow down the lump at the back of my throat. No. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Asia was just a kid, a teenager. She couldn’t have killed Lily, could she?
Chapter 16
When Liz came to pick up Avery at noon, she brought Charlotte with her. She also brought food—roast-beef sandwiches from McNamara’s. Since I had spent a big chunk of the morning priming the hutch, I was happy to see I didn’t have to figure out lunch. Avery was still working on the front window. “I’ll watch the store,” she said, “and the rest of you can go sit down and eat.”
Mac and I found a couple of small tables to push together, and then we carried over several chairs. Chairs were never a problem at the shop. It sometimes seemed as though they multiplied in the dark corners of the room.
Once we were all seated with sandwiches and tea—or coffee for Mac and me—Rose turned to Liz. “Tell us about the meeting last night.”
“It was just a lot of empty promises,” Liz said, making a dismissive gesture with one hand.
Charlotte nodded in agreement. “They seemed to have only two answers for any questions they were asked—we’re working on that and that’s something we’re still negotiating.”
“Do you think the project is dead?” Mr. P. asked.
“Yes,” Liz said, pulling the pickle out of her sandwich. “The only thing that’s left to do is order flowers and plan the wake. Jon West was talking about expropriation again. I don’t see how that’s going to happen.”
I didn’t say that maybe she was wrong. “What about you, Charlotte?” I asked instead.
“I’m not as certain as Liz is,” Charlotte said, playing with the teaspoon that was resting on her saucer. “Caroline was there. I talked to her for a minute.”
“I’m guessing Lily left the bakery to her,” I said, fishing an olive round from my sandwich and popping it in my mouth. “Did she say anything that made you think she might be willing to sell? Not that she’d be able to do that for a while.”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. But she didn’t say she’s not willing to sell, either. She is getting a lot of pressure from Jon West. At least that’s what she told me. You know that there are rumors someone with money has invested in the project?”
“I heard,” I said.
“Do you know who this mystery investor is?” Rose asked.
Charlotte picked up her tea. “All I can tell you is that I’ve heard the Wellington Group mentioned, but that could be just a rumor.”
“That’s somewhere to start,” Mr. P. said, glancing at Rose.
Rose leaned over and patted his arm. “Alfred will find something. Don’t worry.”
Mr. P. smiled back at her. He had the look of a love-struck teenager, and I had no doubt he would do whatever it took to justify Rose’s faith in him—which was not necessarily a good thing.
The conversation turned to other possibilities that had been floated over the years for development of the harbor front.
“You know what I don’t understand,” Liz said, shifting sideways in her seat. “What changed for Lily?”
“What do you mean, what changed?” I asked.
“Well, it must be close to five years ago now,” she said. “There was another plan for revitalizing the waterfront. It didn’t get as far as this one has, but I don’t remember Lily having any problem with that idea.”