I swiped a hand over my neck. “From Dr. Durand.”
Rose nodded.
“I can’t figure out how she’s tied up in all of this,” I said.
“She does seem to be involved somehow, doesn’t she?” Rose said.
“So you think what?” I asked. “That Jeff promised to give Chloe a recommendation and then reneged on that promise so she killed him or helped Leesa do it?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Chloe Sanders is a very competitive young woman.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. She was on the debate team Charlotte coached.”
“And Charlotte admitted that Chloe wasn’t always a good loser.”
I rubbed my neck again. This case was becoming a giant pain in the neck. “It’s a long way from being a poor loser to killing someone,” I said.
Rose shrugged. “Not nearly as long as you might think.” She bent down to pick up a lag bolt that was lying on the floor.
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
“Ardith Cramer.” Rose straightened up and handed the large screw to me. I set it on the bench.
“Who’s Ardith Cramer?”
“She was one of my best students. It turns out that she works in the registrar’s office at Cahill College. Wasn’t that convenient?”
“Very,” I said. Between the three of them—Rose, Charlotte and Liz—it seemed they knew everyone in town. I knew from experience, it was not always a good thing. “We need to talk to Chloe again.”
“Already in the works,” Rose said. She reached over and patted my cheek. “Try to keep up, dear.”
At the end of the day I sent everyone home and stayed behind to wipe up the footprint-covered floor.
“Can I help?” Mac asked.
I shook my head. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.” I looked at the floor. “It looks like we were giving tango lessons and put the footprints all over the floor for people to follow.”
Mac squinted at the wide wooden boards. “It looks more like moonwalking than the tango.”
“Does that mean you know how to tango?” I asked.
He smiled. “I might.” He took the broom from my hands. “I’ll sweep; you mop. It’ll be faster.”
We started at the far end of the store by the cash desk. I let Mac get a head start. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you,” he said. “What did Sam say about the accordion?”
“He agrees with me—we should be able to get four or five hundred dollars for it.”
Mac grinned. “I really am glad I didn’t take the growler of beer.”
“Me, too,” I said. I told him about Glenn’s beer bread.
“Is that the same as making lemonade out of lemons?” he teased.
“Very funny,” I said, “although I think you’re right.”
“Did you get the message I left on your desk?” Mac asked. “Nick called again.”
I dunked the sponge mop in the bucket of hot water and oil soap, used the handle to squeeze out the excess and starting mopping along the baseboard. “I got it. Thanks,” I said. “I called him back but I just got his voice mail. It’s probably just about Thursday night. He’s been meeting Jess and me at the jam.”
“Are things okay with you two?” Mac looked up from his sweeping.
“Yes,” I said. “Maybe.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Rose isn’t going to stop until she gets answers that satisfy her. Which means she’s probably going to bang heads with Nick again.”
“You think she’s right?”
I scrubbed at a stubborn splotch of dirt on the floor. “Between you and me, yeah, I do. It’s all just too neat, like a present tied up with a bow. Real life isn’t like that. It’s messy. You can’t put all the pieces in a box and close the lid, to stretch the metaphor.”
Mac lifted a chair to sweep underneath it. “So what’s next?”
“Rose and Mr. P. are going to talk to Michael Vega tomorrow.” I shook my head. “And I didn’t tell you. When I was down at the pub Sam told me he saw Jeff Cameron arguing with a man a couple of days before Rose was attacked.”
“Let me guess,” Mac said. “It was Vega.”
“The description matches him, which probably means it was him.” I dunked the mop again. “You know what really bothers me?” I said. “Why did Leesa Cameron go along with Nicole giving her an alibi?”
“Because otherwise she didn’t have one?”
I shook my head. “No. I mean what made her think Nicole wouldn’t back out and tell the truth at some point? Jeff was Nicole’s brother. I’m surprised Leesa didn’t realize the alibi would eventually fall apart. No matter how mad I got at Liam, my first loyalty would always be to him because he’s my brother.”
“Not all siblings are like the two of you.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
For a moment Mac didn’t speak; then he said, “I have a brother. We’re not like you and Liam.”
“I guess I’m lucky.”
“So is Liam,” he said. He made it to the stairs and leaned the broom against the railing. “I’m just going to get the dustpan. I think it’s in the staff room.” He headed up the steps two at a time.
So Mac had a brother. I thought about his apartment upstairs that didn’t have a single photograph of anyone. As far as I knew, no one had visited in the more than eighteen months he’d been in town. What had happened in Mac’s previous life? Maybe that was the real mystery.
Chapter 17
“Did you call Michael Vega?” I asked Rose as we walked out to the SUV Wednesday morning.
She shook her head and opened the door for Elvis, who meowed a thank-you and jumped onto the seat. “I think we should have the element of surprise on our side.”
“What if he’s not home?”
“He doesn’t go in to work until twelve thirty on Wednesdays,” she said. “I checked.” She looked rather pleased with herself. “This is not my first rodeo, Sarah.”
“I can see that, Little Buckaroo,” I said.
Mr. P. was just coming along the sidewalk as we pulled into the parking lot. We waited by the car until he joined us.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling at both of us and at Elvis. “Isn’t this a beautiful day?”
“Yes, it is,” Rose agreed, taking the arm he offered her.
“We could have picked you up,” I said.
Mr. P. glanced back over his shoulder at me. “Thank you, my dear, but I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy this blue sky and sunshine if you’d done that.”
I unlocked the back door. Elvis headed purposefully through the workroom, followed by Rose. Mr. P. went into the sunporch. I looked at my watch. “Will about an hour from now work for you to go see Michael Vega?” I asked.
He set his messenger bag on the table they used as a desk. “Yes, it will,” he said. He patted down the few wisps of hair that he had. “I appreciate you driving us.” He hesitated. “I do have a driver’s license.”
“I thought you probably did,” I said.
“I gave up my car a few years ago because it spent more time in its parking spot than it did on the road. I’ve thought about buying another one, but I don’t want to end up becoming one of those old fools who doesn’t know when it’s time to stop driving.”
I smiled at him. “Somehow I don’t see that happening,” I said. “But I’m happy to take you and Rose anywhere you need to go.”
Mr. P. smiled back at me. “Thank you,” he said, “for the taxi service and the vote of confidence.
I found Mac on his hands and knees with his head and shoulders in the storage space under the stairs. “Sarah, is that you?” he said, his voice partly muffled by his head being in the small closet.
“It’s me. What are you looking for?”
“That box of vintage Pyrex casserole dishes, the red and yellow ones.”
I closed my eyes and pictured the inside of the storage space. We had a list on the back of the door of what was inside, but not where it was. “Try to the right under what would be about the second step,” I said.