Nick stayed for another half hour. We talked about the shop, about his job, about what it was like to share living space with Liam. We both agreed my brother used his abnormally long monkey arms to stick things in out-of-the-way places just to be annoying.
Finally Nick stretched and said, “I should get going.”
“Thanks for the popcorn,” I said.
He grinned. “Thanks for the half a pound of butter I put on it.”
I followed him to the door. “Will I see you at the jam Thursday night?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “We’re friends, Sarah. We’re family and we always will be.” He gave me a hug, kissed the top of my head and left.
I straightened the sofa cushions, rinsed the two root beer bottles and put them in the recycling, and dumped the few unpopped kernels of popcorn into the trash. I thought about my neighbor, Tom, once telling Rose and me that when he was a boy those leftover kernels were called “old maids.”
“Such a terrible way to have referred to anyone,” he’d said. Then he’d smiled. “My dear mother once chastised my very stern and formidable grandfather for using the term when referring to his sister—who, for the record, had no interest in any husband or any man, for that matter. ‘Then what would you call a woman of a certain age who had no husband?’ he’d asked. ‘Lucky,’ my mother retorted.”
“I think I would have liked your mother,” Rose had said.
Tom had smiled at her. “I suspect the two of you would have been as thick as thieves,” he’d said in his warm Scottish burr.
“Is that what I am?” I asked Elvis. “An old maid?”
The cat seemed to actually think about my words and then to my amusement vigorously shook his head. I leaned down and picked him up. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, kissing the top of his furry black head. Somewhere in his previous life Elvis had learned the art of listening, cocking his head to one side, focusing his green eyes on the speaker’s face and making encouraging little murping sounds to keep the conversation going. Maybe that was why I tended to talk to him like he was a person.
He leaned over now and licked my chin and I set him on the floor again.
By the time I’d gotten the coffeemaker ready for the morning and turned off the light, Elvis had disappeared. That probably meant he was in the bedroom starting his nighttime routine, which mostly involved an elaborate face-washing followed by the two of us pretending he wasn’t going to sleep on the chair by the window.
Twenty minutes later Elvis was settled in his chair watching some kind of car chase on TV while I searched for the mate to the one slipper I’d found by the bed. “Did you take my slipper?” I asked the cat.
He gave me a blank look. That didn’t mean he hadn’t had anything to do with my missing slipper. Just that he was really good at not looking guilty.
The phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and smiled. It was Mac. “Hi,” I said, dropping onto the bed and tucking my feet underneath me so I was sitting cross-legged. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I was stuck in a meeting.”
“Where are you? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is good. I’m in Montana. I had an unexpected offer on a small piece of property that Leila and I own—owned. We bought it on impulse on our honeymoon. It’s really the last big thing I need to take care of as far as the estate goes. The agent thought it would take a while to sell so the offer was a surprise.”
Montana. I pictured snowcapped mountains and endless blue sky. “Did you think about keeping it?” I glanced over at the closet and noticed the toe of my missing slipper sticking out under the edge of the door.
“No. It was past time to sell. I have different dreams now.” He cleared his throat. “I probably could have handled all the paperwork from Boston but it just seemed faster to fly out and deal with it all in person.”
The sleeve of my flannel pajamas had fallen down over my hand and I pushed it back up my arm. “When are you coming back?” I asked. “I mean back to Boston.”
“In the morning.” He yawned. “Sorry. Changing time zones has gotten to me.”
Elvis glanced over at me and yawned as well. Was I putting people—and cats—to sleep?
“Tell me about the Angels’ new case,” Mac said.
“How did you know they have a case?”
“I had a text from Alfred.”
That shouldn’t have surprised me. The two men had gotten to be friends, despite the fact that Mr. P. was old enough to be Mac’s father. And they had a lot more in common than would seem apparent at first glance. They were both smart, resourceful, kindhearted and deeply loyal.
I gave him the short version of what was going on—including Nick’s role.
“So let me get this straight: Nick and Rose are working together?”
“Yes they are,” I said. “See what happens when you leave us for so long?”
There was a silence that went on a bit too long and then Mac asked, “What’s next?”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “I don’t know. If Gina Pearson’s death wasn’t an accident . . .”
“You’re thinking it’s possible her husband could have killed her.”
I sighed. “I’m just afraid we might end up making things a lot worse for Mallory and her brothers.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Mac said. “You always do and if you need to talk you can call me. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”
I stifled a yawn of my own. “You might regret saying that.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon.”
We said good-bye and it wasn’t until after I’d set my phone on the night table that I realized once again he hadn’t said anything about when he was coming back to North Harbor.
• • •
I got up early and went for a run. Elvis watched me, one eye open, the other half closed as I pulled on a hoodie and tied my running shoes. There were dark clouds overhead and I hoped that wasn’t some kind of omen for the day.
Elvis was sitting on a stool at the counter when I got back. He gave me an expectant look that I knew meant he was looking for breakfast—his own and a taste of mine if he could manage to mooch it.
I showered and got dressed. Then I made breakfast, Greek yogurt, berries and one of Rose’s apple raisin muffins for me, Tasty Tenders for Elvis.
I decided to leave early for the shop. Rose wasn’t working until after lunch so I could head out whenever Elvis was ready and he’d been very pointedly sitting by the door for a good five minutes. When I stepped outside my door I discovered Rose and Mr. P. waiting in the hall. Rose had one of her massive tote bags, which I hoped held cookies or a coffee cake, and Mr. P.’s messenger bag was over his shoulder.
“Good morning, dear,” she said. “May Alfred and I ride with you?”
“Merow,” Elvis said as he headed for the front door. It seemed to be okay with him.
“Of course you can,” I said. “Did you and Charlotte trade shifts?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. She didn’t elaborate further.
“Let me take that bag for you,” Mr. P. said. Along with my purse and my briefcase I was carrying a bag of vintage pot holders, which I’d brought home to wash and iron.
“Thank you,” I said, handing over the brown paper shopping bag. I locked my door and we headed out to the SUV. As usual Rose took the front passenger seat and Elvis joined Mr. P. in the back without complaint. As we drove Rose told me about the film she and Alfred had gone to see at the library the night before, some kind of epic fantasy in French, with subtitles.
It was raining by the time we got to the shop. Liz’s car was in the lot and I saw Charlotte in the passenger seat. I looked at Rose. “What’s going on?” I asked.
She looked surprised. “It’s a strategy meeting. Thanks to Nicolas now we know we have a murder to solve.” She held out one hand and I dropped my keys into it. Then she opened the passenger door, popped open the very large, flowered umbrella she’d pulled from her bag and started for the back door. I saw Liz and Charlotte follow her.