I waited for two cars to go by before I turned left.
“I take it you found this information and not Alfred.”
“I did,” I said. “So far you’re the only one I’ve told.”
“So far I’m the only one you need to tell,” she said.
Swift Holdings was on the top floor of a three-story building, almost at the end of Bayview Street at the far end of the harbor. There was no boardwalk, no businesses catering to tourists, no slips for harbor cruises or kayak rentals.
We took the elevator to the third floor. The business occupied the entire space. The elevator opened to their reception area. The floors looked to be the original hardwood, and there was an accent wall of what I was guessing was reclaimed barn board. It was impressive in an understated way that whispered old money.
Liz walked over to the reception desk, a curved expanse of wood without a single bit of paper to disturb the shiny surface. She smiled at the young woman on the other side. “Mrs. Emmerson and Ms. Grayson to see Mr. Swift.”
The receptionist gave her a bright smile. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Swift?”
Liz smiled back at her, and I thought her expression looked a lot like a snake about to unhinge its jaw and swallow a small farm animal, whole.
“Mr. Swift and I have known each other longer than you’ve been alive, my dear,” Liz said. “He’ll see us.”
“I’m sorry,” the young receptionist said. “Mr. Swift is extremely busy. I can give you his assistant’s phone number, and I’m sure she’ll be able to help you with whatever you’re collecting for.” She made the mistake of stressing the last two words.
She had spunk. I had to give her that. Unfortunately for her, Liz ate spunk for lunch.
“Oh, dear child,” Liz said. “You clearly don’t know who I am.” She leaned over and actually patted the young woman’s shoulder. It was a condescending gesture, but I couldn’t help thinking about all the times I’d been stymied by a gatekeeper like this at a reception desk. Then she flipped one end of her cashmere scarf over her shoulder and strode down the hallway just to the right of the reception desk. I hurried behind her.
“Hey! Hey! You can’t go back there,” the young woman called after us. She may as well have been calling out the previous night’s hockey scores behind us. Liz didn’t give the slightest indication she’d heard. She went to the last office door on the left, opened it and sailed inside.
A woman in her mid-fifties was standing beside a long black table that was clearly being used as a desk. I wondered where people who used tables for their desks stashed all their junk. Maybe they didn’t have any.
“Hello, Liz,” the woman said. “I didn’t realize you had an appointment today.” She was about my height, plus-sized, with short blond curls, simply but elegantly dressed in a blue-and-black block Mondrian-print dress.
Liz smiled. “Hello, Jane,” she said. “I don’t have an appointment, but I just need five minutes of his time. It’s foundation business.”
The receptionist, who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, literally slid to a stop at the office door. “Mrs. Evans, I’m sorry,” she began.
Jane Evans held up a hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll take care of Mrs. Emmerson.”
The younger woman shot Liz a daggers look, nodded and went back down the hallway.
Jane Evans smiled at me. As soon as I’d heard her last name, I’d recognized her. She was Josh Evans’s mother.
“Hello, Sarah. How are you? Josh told me he’d seen you.” She took both of my hands in hers.
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Evans,” I said.
“Please call me Jane,” she said. She glanced at Liz. “So Liz has gotten you involved in the foundation?”
“Isabel is out of town,” Liz said. She lied so smoothly. I hoped it was just because there was a grain of truth in everything she was saying.
Jane Evans turned back to me. “How is your grandmother?”
“Wonderful,” I said. “She and John are in New Orleans for the next month and a half, working on a Home for Good project, and she says she’s learning a little Cajun cooking.”
“That sounds like your grandmother,” Jane said with a smile. She let go of my hands and turned to Liz. “Give me a minute. I think Daniel can probably see you.”
Liz smiled back. “Thank you, Jane,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
There was a door behind and to the right of Jane Evans’s desk. She tapped on it and slipped inside.
“You didn’t tell me Jane Evans is Daniel Swift’s assistant,” I hissed at Liz.
“What difference does that make?” Liz retorted.
I didn’t have the chance to tell her I didn’t like lying and I especially didn’t like lying to Josh’s mother before Jane came back out and beckoned to us.
Daniel Swift’s office was an imposing space—designed to be, I was betting. The wall to the left was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I saw legal references and several first editions. The centerpiece of the right wall was a beautiful framed photograph of the North Harbor waterfront taken early in the morning, with the sun sparkling off the water. It was surrounded by several photographs, several of them clearly of Caleb Swift.
Daniel Swift was at his desk, but he stood up and came around to take Liz’s hand in his own. He had a very slight limp, I noticed, but he was still an imposing man. The desk was massive, walnut or black chestnut, I guessed. Behind it a wall of windows looked out over the water. Swift was wearing a gray suit, a crisp white shirt and a muted blue tie. He looked every inch the successful businessman.
“Elizabeth, how are you?” he asked.
“I’m well, Daniel,” she said. “You’ve met Isabel’s granddaughter, Sarah Grayson?”
Swift turned his blue-gray eyes on me. “I have,” he said, offering me his hand. “Nice to see you again, Sarah.”
“You as well,” I replied, shaking his hand. He had large hands and a correspondingly strong handshake.
I saw him exchange a look with Jane Evans. “If you need anything, let me know,” she said, and then she quietly left.
Daniel Swift indicated the two black leather club chairs in front of the desk. “Please sit down,” he said. He walked back around the massive desk and sat in his leather executive chair. “Jane said you wanted to talk to me about the Emmerson Foundation.”
Liz undid her coat and sat down. She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Swift hadn’t offered to take our coats, and I knew we wouldn’t be in the office very long.
“I do,” Liz said. “You know that there’s a conditional offer on the table from the North Landing developer for both of the harbor-front buildings the foundation holds the mortgages on.”
“I’m aware of that,” he said. “Would you like me to look at the paperwork?”
Liz tipped her head to one side and studied him. “No, Daniel,” she said. “I’d like to know why you’ve been keeping the fact that you’re the major investor in the development a secret?”
He didn’t blink; he didn’t flinch; he didn’t twitch. I wouldn’t have wanted to play poker with the man, not that I could imagine a circumstance where that would come up. He seemed to have no tells.
“Swift Holdings invests in a lot of development projects, Elizabeth,” he said. “North Landing is really just a tiny part of our portfolio.”
“Horse pucky,” Liz said. “You invested in that development for a reason, and you kept it secret for a reason.”
“Are you here to play detective, Elizabeth?” Swift asked. He seemed amused by the whole conversation.
“You’re a condescending ass, Daniel,” Liz said. “You think I don’t know that you bankrolled this project as a way to harass Lily Carter?”
There was an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Swift’s right eyelid. Liz had struck a nerve.
“You’re making a fool of yourself, Elizabeth,” he said.