Mr. P. had set his computer bag on the table. He hadn’t unwrapped his sandwich or touched the cup of tea Charlotte had poured for him. I’d noticed that he and Charlotte had exchanged a couple of looks when he wasn’t watching Rose and trying not to be obvious about it.
I cleared my throat and they all turned their attention to me. I held up a hand in the old man’s direction. “Mr. P., you’re up,” I said.
“Thank you, Sarah,” he said. “First of all, Charlotte was able to get in touch with Mr. Cameron’s assistant, Chloe Sanders.”
“She was my student,” Charlotte said. “She agreed to stop by this afternoon.”
“Charlotte and I spent the rest of the morning trying to track down Mr. Cameron,” Mr. P. continued.
“So did you?” Liz asked.
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “No, Elizabeth. We didn’t. There hasn’t been any activity on his credit or debit cards since late yesterday afternoon when he put gas in his vehicle at a station in Rockport. Calls to his cell phone go straight to voice mail.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought Jeff Cameron was at a meeting in Portland. That’s what he told me yesterday.”
Charlotte shook her head. “There was no meeting. It had been rescheduled.”
“He was in town,” Rose said.
“All we can prove for the moment is that his vehicle was here,” Mr. P. continued, his eyes never leaving Rose’s face. “As well as the transaction at the gas station, we also have him on video heading for the highway early in the evening.”
“Do you believe he’s dead?” Rose asked.
I turned to look at her, but like Mr. P. all her attention was focused on one person. Him.
“We have another theory,” Charlotte said slowly.
Alfred nodded. He cleared his throat. “It is . . . more than a little outlandish,” he said.
Mac pushed away from the workbench and moved forward so he was standing between my chair and Mr. P.’s. “What is it, Alfred?” he said.
“Do you think he’s dead?” Rose asked again.
“I think he wanted you to think he’s dead,” Mr. P. said. “But I think he set up his wife to make it look like she killed him and then he ran off with all their money.”
No one said anything for what felt like a stretched moment in time. Then Rose spoke. “You’re saying Jeff Cameron used me. He manipulated me into offering to deliver those candlesticks to his wife so I could be a witness to his alleged death.” She was sitting upright in her chair, her hands folded primly in her lap, but anger flashed in her gray eyes.
Mr. P. nodded. “I’m sorry, Rosie. Yes.”
“He thought I was some feeble, dotty old woman he could use as part of his scheme. If he wasn’t dead, I’d smack him with my purse.”
Liz made a snort of derision. “Clearly the man is a pretty lousy judge of people.”
“Our theory is like a colander at the moment,” Charlotte said, setting her cup on the table. “It has a few holes, mainly the why and the who. Why on earth would the man want to set up his wife like this, and who helped him?”
“He had to have had help,” I said. “Someone to masquerade as his wife and someone else to assault Rose.”
“That may work to our advantage,” Mr. P. said. He gave me a small, sly smile. “Sarah, by any chance are you familiar with what one of our Founding Fathers, Benjamin Franklin, said about secrets?”
I nodded. “Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” The words didn’t leave me with a good feeling.
Chapter 9
That was all it took to wash away Rose’s anger at Charlotte and Mr. P., although I suspected she wouldn’t have stayed angry even without all the work the two of them had done to try to trace Jeff Cameron. Rose and Charlotte had been friends for a long time, and although she didn’t talk about it, I knew her feelings for Mr. P. ran deep, just the way his did for her.
I reached for my coffee and shifted in my chair so I could look at Liz. “And do you have anything you’d like to share with the group?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “Leesa Cameron may”—she held up one finger—“may have been seeing another man.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, apparently she’s some kind of rower.”
I nodded. “I saw a scull in the backyard.”
“Her husband is a runner.” She looked at me and I nodded. “Leesa Cameron had been working out with someone.” She paused. Knowing Liz, it was for effect. “For at least the past two months. And they’d been running.”
“Why wouldn’t she just go running with her husband?” Rose asked.
“You’re sure about the running part?” I said.
“One hundred percent,” Liz said. “Shannon, who did my nails”—she held up her hand like she was royalty—“said Leesa admitted she’d been running, but she said ‘we’: We were running.” Liz reached for the insulated carafe that held the tea. Her eyes flicked in my direction. “Shannon said Leesa Cameron’s feet reminded her of yours.”
Liz had gifted me with a spa pedicure at Phantasy after a road race I’d done in May. It had been a wonderfully pampering experience and I’d been thinking of doing it again.
I made a face at her. “For the record there’s nothing wrong with my feet, but we get your point. Do you know who Leesa was working out with?”
Liz shook her head. “Shannon didn’t know, but I’m going for a massage. I’ll see what I can find out.”
Talk turned to what to do next. The consensus was to dig into Jeff Cameron’s background to try to figure out where he was at the moment and who was helping him.
Rose decided to spend the afternoon in the Angels’ sunporch office with Alfred, while Charlotte worked in the shop with Avery. Mr. P. looked as though a load had been lifted from his shoulders.
“I’m going to do some fact-finding,” Liz said, slipping one arm around my waist and walking me to the stairs.
“The kind of fact-finding that involves scented oil and a massage table?” I teased.
“The kind that I hope will either verify Alfred’s theory or put the kibosh on it.”
“So you think the idea that Jeff Cameron set up his wife is a little too far-fetched,” I said, lowering my voice so Charlotte and Avery didn’t have a chance of overhearing.
Liz scrunched up her nose at me. “Child, I’ve been around long enough that there’s very little that seems too far-fetched to me. But Detective Andrews and Nicolas, they don’t have the same amount of life experience.”
I smiled. “I love you,” I said, knowing what she’d say before she answered.
She leaned over and kissed my cheek, waving one hand dismissively. “Everybody does,” she said. And with that she headed out the door.
Chloe Sanders showed up around two o’clock. I was working out in the garage. Mr. P. came to get me. Charlotte and Rose were in the sunporch waiting with her.
“Sarah, this is Chloe,” Charlotte said. She gave the young woman a warm smile. “Sarah owns Second Chance.”
“Thanks for coming to talk to us, Chloe,” I said.
“Mrs. Elliot told me what happened,” she said. “I’m not sure I can help, but I’ll try.”
Chloe Sanders was tiny—barely five feet tall. Her shoulder-length brown hair had a deep blue streak of color in the front and she had three piercings in her left ear. In contrast, her clothes were conservative—black trousers and a crisp white shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves.
“Do you have any idea where Mr. Cameron is?” Rose asked.
Chloe shook her head. “I got a text from him last night telling me that he was going out of town so I had the rest of the week off.”
“Did he say anything to you yesterday?” I asked.
“I only saw him for a few minutes yesterday morning. He had me researching a list of companies. I was at the library and down at the town hall.”