He smiled. “Of course. I don’t mind at all.” He headed for the kitchen.
“Does this mean you’re my muscle?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Let’s do it,” I said. I grabbed one end of the metal headboard and he picked up the other.
“Thanks for giving up your Sunday to do this,” I said as we started for the kitchen. “There have to be a lot of other things you could be doing.”
Avery and Mr. P. were just heading out the door on their way to the elevator with a precarious-looking pile of boxes on the dolly and Alfred draped over them like he was trying to hug the whole stack.
“We’re good,” I heard him say as we cleared the doorway.
Mac smiled at me. “What else could I be doing that would be more . . . interesting than being here?” he said.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
We had the truck and the SUV loaded before ten o’clock. We made an odd little parade on the way over to the house with Liz’s car driven by Avery in the lead, a pile of curtains in the backseat, followed by Charlotte and me in the cube truck and Mac with Rose and Mr. P. in the SUV full of boxes bringing up the rear. Everyone had to have a tour of the apartment, and then we stopped for hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls. Even so, we had everything upstairs by lunchtime.
“How about grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch?” I said when the last box came in.
“Were you going to cook?” Charlotte asked, exchanging a look with Liz. “Because you don’t have to do that. Really.”
“I know I don’t have to,” I said. “But you’ve all worked so hard. You must be hungry.”
“I think it’s a little early for lunch,” Rose said.
“Sarah’s teasing you,” Mr. P. said. “She’s not cooking. I am.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Liz said. “That scrambled tofu stuff was starting to look good.”
“You can buy tofu cheese,” Avery chimed in.
“Fascinating,” Mr. P. said. “How are you at buttering bread?”
Elvis was waiting for us, perched on the top of the cat tower. Everyone exclaimed over the quality of Alfred’s work.
Mr. P. and Avery washed their hands and then I showed them where everything was.
“Everything’s under control,” the old man said to me. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”
“Can I help?” Rose said behind me.
“We’re fine, my dear,” Alfred said. “Why don’t you take a break for a minute?”
I steered Rose over to my rocking chair. “Wasn’t this your grandmother’s?” she asked.
I nodded. “It was in my dad’s nursery when he was a baby.”
She sat down in the wooden chair and leaned back against the pillow Jess had made for me. “I remember sitting in this chair with your father when he was about a year old,” she said. “He was such a beautiful baby. So good-natured.” She reached up and gave my hand a squeeze.
Mr. P. and Avery served grilled-cheese sandwiches toasted golden brown and cut into long fingers for dipping in our tomato-rice soup. Everything was delicious, far better than if I’d tried to cook, which is what I told them.
“We really need to speed up your cooking lessons,” Rose said.
“It’s a losing battle,” I said. “But I’m willing to keep going if you are.”
Charlotte left after lunch. She was making supper for all of us back at her house. I took the truck back to McNamara’s lot and Mac followed to drive me back.
“Thank you for your help,” I said to Mac. “It would have taken a lot longer without you.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “Like I said before, I like Rose.”
“Are you coming to Charlotte’s for supper?”
He shook his head. “I already told Charlotte thank you, but I have plans.”
“I’ll miss you . . . I mean, we’ll miss you,” I said.
Mac smiled. “Another time.” He tucked his scarf a little tighter at the neck of his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said.
By four o’clock Rose’s apartment look pretty good. Mr. P. left with Liz and Avery to get cleaned up. We were all meeting at Charlotte’s at five. I stood in the middle of the kitchen with Rose.
She turned to me, her eyes bright. “I don’t know how to say thank you, sweet girl,” she said.
“Just be happy here,” I said.
She hugged me.
Back in my own apartment I showered while Elvis did a circuit of the backyard. I had no idea what he did on his little tours of the yard—he had a litter box inside—but he insisted on prowling around back there once a day no matter how cold it was.
About a quarter to five I got my canvas tote. “Hop in,” I said to him. “I’ve been instructed to bring you.”
“Bring Elvis with you,” Charlotte had said at lunch. “I have a little something special for him.”
The cat had been sitting on Avery’s lap, but he’d smiled across the table at Charlotte as though he’d understood every word she’d said—and for all I knew maybe he had.
Nick was setting the table when we got to the house.
“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and jeans, and for a moment I could see the teenage boy I’d had a major crush on.
“I stopped in to see Mom and I was invited for supper, provided I earn my keep.”
I reached for a pile of napkins on Charlotte’s sideboard and handed them to him as he worked his way around the table.
“How’s Lily’s case coming?” I asked.
“Our part is almost finished. You know about Vince?” he asked, lowering his voice a little.
“I do.”
Nick shook his head. “Hard to believe.”
“When people get desperate they do things they wouldn’t otherwise even think about.” I handed him the last napkin. “Nick, Vince didn’t kill Lily,” I said.
“I really hope you’re right,” he said.
“He was with Sam and Eric and some other people making music half the night at Eric’s place after the pub closed.”
I saw a flash of relief cross Nick’s face. Vince was in the clear, and as far as I was concerned, so was Asia. Which meant we still didn’t know who had killed Lily.
Chapter 18
Elvis and I didn’t stay late at Charlotte’s. It had been a long day and I was tired. I stretched out on the couch and Elvis watched me from the top of the cat tower. We’d talked about the North Landing development at supper. Actually, everyone else had talked about it and I’d listened and tried to find a connection between it and Lily’s death. Because I was convinced there was one.
For all his computer skills, Mr. P. hadn’t been able to find out who Jon West’s investors were who had enough influence to push the project forward. “There has to be a way to find out,” I said to Elvis.
Mr. P. had explained that if Jon West’s company were a public company, it would have been easy to find out who was backing North Landing, but it was a private company and he hadn’t found any way to access the records that would tell me what I wanted to know.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I’m afraid I’m not Woodward or Bernstein,” he’d said, referring to the Washington Post reporters who had broken the Watergate scandal.
I looked over at Elvis, the realization dawning on me that I still had one more option. One that might just work. “I know what to do,” I said, getting to my feet.
I walked over to him and reached up to scratch the top of his head. “I know what to do,” I stage-whispered.
I sat on a stool at the counter and reached for the phone. My dad answered. “Hi, sweetie,” he said. “I thought you were moving Rose today.”
“All done,” I said. “She has a bunch of unpacking to do, so she’s staying on Charlotte’s couch for a few nights.”
“I’m glad she’s going to be there,” Dad said. “Now you won’t be alone so much.”
I smiled. “I’m not alone, Dad. I have Elvis.” The cat lifted his head at the sound of his name, looked around and went back to washing his face.