The cat cocked his head to one side and gave me a look of skepticism. Even he knew I wasn’t very good at that.
Chapter 9
I’d planned to stay and work on the metal cart but by the time we closed up I’d lost my enthusiasm for that idea.
“Let’s go home,” I said to Elvis.
“Mrr,” he agreed, heading for the back door.
As soon as I opened the apartment door Elvis retreated to his cat tower. I changed my clothes and went for a run. I remembered when Nick had come running with me. He was slow and his form was terrible but I’d laughed the entire time we were out. I wondered when I was going to hear from him. We were all working to prove Mac had had nothing to do with Erin Fellowes’s death. My stomach felt unsettled when I thought that maybe Nick was working to do the opposite.
When I got back to the house Liz’s car was parked out front. I stepped inside and she poked her head out of Rose’s apartment. “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes,” she said.
I turned to look at her. “It’s Saturday night. Maybe I have plans.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “You’re hilarious,” she said. She looked down at her watch. “Dinner’s in fourteen minutes.” She closed the door again.
I had a shower, put on a T-shirt dress and flip-flops and went out into the living room to find Elvis waiting by the door. “How do you know we were invited for dinner?” I said. “Were you over here with your kitty ear pressed to the door, listening?”
He put a paw on the door for a moment, then looked at me and meowed loudly. Sometimes I got the feeling the cat was messing with me—and enjoying it.
As always dinner was delicious—chicken with leeks and tomatoes, new baby potatoes and green beans. “How was your manicure?” I asked Liz over a second helping of green beans.
She held out a hand. She had a pretty pink French manicure. “Channing was correct,” she said. “Everything he found out about du Mer is true. Six or seven months before Leila’s accident there were rumblings that the product quality had gone way down. I talked to Elspeth.”
Elspeth was Liz’s niece, her brother’s daughter. She owned Phantasy, a spa and hair salon and a pretty good source of North Harbor gossip.
“She confirmed that the products haven’t been the same since.” Liz reached over and swiped a green bean from my plate.
I made a face. “Then either Leila knew what was going on or . . .”
Rose finished the sentence. “Or her sister was defrauding the company. Given that Mac knew nothing about the problems at du Mer it’s not too much of a stretch to think maybe Leila didn’t, either.”
“You think it was Natalie,” I said, gesturing with my fork.
Liz held out a hand and admired her nails. “‘Blood is thicker than water’ doesn’t always mean a damn thing,” she said.
I was restless and up early the next morning. I made breakfast, checked the store’s Web site and cleaned the bathroom all with Elvis’s supervision. I still had energy to burn. I decided to head over to the shop and work on my table for a while. I grabbed my keys and bag and turned around to find Elvis waiting by the door. “You don’t even know where I’m going,” I said.
“Mrr,” he said. I got the feeling he didn’t care.
The cat was almost always up for going out. He was very social, I’d discovered. He’d quickly made himself at home in the shop, charming customers—even those who weren’t cat people.
I’d had Elvis for over a year now. He’d just appeared one day, down along the harbor front, managing to get fed at several different places, including The Black Bear. Sam and his pickup band, The Hairy Bananas, were doing their Elvis medley when Sam swore he saw the cat sitting just inside the front door of the pub. He claimed Elvis stayed put through the entire set and left only when they started on “Satisfaction.”
No one seemed to know who owned the small black cat. Sam had named him Elvis because he seemed to like the King’s music. On closer inspection he’d discovered a scar that sliced diagonally across the cat’s nose, and a couple of others hidden by his black fur.
Sam had managed to convince me to take the cat and it had been hard to say no once Elvis had climbed in my old truck and settled himself behind a guitar case. I grinned at the memory.
I leaned into the truck to grab him, but he slipped off the seat, onto the floor mat. With the guitar there I couldn’t reach him.
Behind me, I could hear Sam laughing.
I blew my hair out of my face, backed out of the truck and glared at Sam. “Your cat’s in my truck. Do something!”
He folded his arms over his chest. “He’s not my cat. I’m pretty sure he’s your cat now.”
“I don’t want a cat.”
“Tell him that,” Sam said with a shrug.
I stuck my head back through the open driver’s door. “I don’t want a cat,” I said.
Ensconced out of my reach in the little lean-to made by the guitar case Elvis looked up from washing his face—again—and meowed once and went back to it.
I looked down at the cat now. “I think you and Sam were in cahoots,” I said.
Elvis seemed to shrug. It was as close to an admission as I was going to get.
As I came level with the shop I caught sight of a man in the parking lot, leaning against a red SUV. “Is that a customer or is that TV crew coming back to try to hijack our parking?” I said to Elvis. He craned his neck to see out the windshield and made a huffy sound through his nose. Okay, his vote was the TV crew.
I took another look at the man. He was a couple of inches shorter than Mac, which put him at maybe five ten or so, with the same dark skin and cropped dark hair, plus a closely trimmed mustache and goatee. He was wearing a lightweight, gray summer suit and was a little heavier than Mac, with broader shoulders.
I parked by the back door. “Stay here,” I said to Elvis.
His ears twitched but he sat down on the seat again.
I walked over to the mystery man, who had pushed away from the car and straightened up when I’d pulled in. “Hello,” I said. “Can I help you?”
“You’re Sarah Grayson, aren’t you?” he said. He was wearing a white shirt with the gray suit. The top button was undone and he didn’t have a tie.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You have me at a disadvantage. Should I know you?”
He extended his hand. “I’m Jackson Montgomery. Mac and I are friends.” He had gorgeous blue eyes and a ready smile. The gray suit was expensive. Thanks to Liz I could recognize quality when I saw it. But I noted that he was wearing an inexpensive Timex on his left arm.
“I came to see Mac,” he said. “Is he here?”
“I’m sorry, Mac isn’t available,” I said. Just because the man said he was a friend of Mac’s didn’t mean he was. “Would you like me to give him a message?”
“It’s okay, Sarah.” Mac was standing in the garage doorway. He walked over to us.
Jackson Montgomery smiled at Mac. “Man, it’s good to see you. I heard about Erin. I was in trial or I would have been here sooner.”
So he was a lawyer. That explained the expensive suit and the inexpensive watch. Together they said successful but not elitist.
“Why are you here at all?” Mac said. “I’ve been in North Harbor for more than a year and you haven’t made any effort to contact me. Go back to Boston, Jackson.”
“I can help,” Jackson said. His eyes didn’t move from Mac’s face.
“I have a great lawyer and friends I can depend on. I don’t need anything from you.” Mac’s tone was cold, his body tightly controlled. “I have work to do. Excuse me.” He headed across the parking lot.