Jackson exhaled loudly and pulled a hand down over the back of his head. He swore softly just under his breath. I stood silently watching him. He glanced at me. “Mac’s angry,” he said.
I folded my arms across my body. “What he said was true,” I said. “Are you really surprised? Mac has been here for over a year but this is the first time I’ve seen you.”
He looked away for a moment then faced me again. “You’re right. I should have come sooner—a lot sooner—but I’m not leaving town now that I’m here.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sarah.”
I watched him drive away, then I collected Elvis from the car and went inside. Mac was at the workbench. “He’s gone,” I said, setting the cat down.
Mac didn’t look up. “He’ll be back. Jackson doesn’t take no for an answer the first time he hears it—or the second or third time.” He set down the screwdriver he’d been holding and finally faced me. “I’m sorry for just walking away. I didn’t want to say something I’d be sorry for later.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You should know that he said he’s not going anywhere.”
Mac gave me a half smile. “That doesn’t surprise me. Jackson has a bullheaded streak I always half admired. Now I’m seeing the other side of it.” He gave his head an abrupt shake as though he were trying to get rid of the feelings the conversation had stirred up. “You’re up early,” he said.
“You know what they say; the early bird gets the worm.”
He made a face. “No worms, but how about coffee?”
“Even better,” I said.
“I haven’t made any coffee here but I have a pot in my place,” he said. “I should warn you, it’s strong.”
I shot him a look.
He laughed. “Right. I forgot who I was talking to.”
Elvis followed us into the shop. We started for the stairs. He went to nose around a collection of baskets Charlotte had arranged by the front door.
“When I was a kid I’d sneak tastes of my grandmother’s coffee,” I said. “I think I was about twenty years old before I figured out that not everyone made it as strong as she did.”
Mac’s apartment was on the second floor overlooking the old garage. This past winter the building where he’d rented an apartment had been sold. We’d ended up renovating part of the second-floor space and now he had a small apartment with its own private entrance at the back and I worried a lot less about security for the store. Not to mention that most mornings the coffee was on when I arrived. It seemed to be working out well for both of us.
“Have a seat, I’ll get the coffee,” Mac said, gesturing at the round, wooden table by the window. We’d found the table in an old barn. It had been painted a bilious shade of olive green. Mac and I had removed all the old finish, Avery had helped with the sanding, and a rich walnut stain had brought out the wood’s natural beauty.
I ran my hand over the gleaming wood surface. The table was one of my favorite projects. Mac and I worked well together.
He set a mug in front of me and took the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Did Jackson say anything to you?”
“No,” I said. “Just that he needed to talk to you.” I picked up my cup and took a sip. As promised it was strong and hot, just the way I liked it. “I take it you and Jackson used to be close.”
He nodded. “We were. Jackson was like Jess is to you.”
I couldn’t imagine not being in contact with Jess for more than a year. Even when I’d been working in other parts of the country we’d always stayed in touch. “What happened?”
He looked past me for a moment then his gaze came back to my face. “Hypothetical question?”
“Okay,” I said, folding my hands around my mug.
“What would happen, what would Jess do, if someone suggested that you’d tried to kill someone?”
“You know Jess. She’d be all over the person. You know how loyal she is. I could rob a bank and Jess would say, ‘Well, what did they expect, keeping all that money in it?’” As I said the words I knew where the conversation was going.
“I would have said the same thing about Jackson,” Mac said, slowly turning his cup in circles. “And I would have been wrong.”
“He sided with Leila’s parents.”
“He did more than that. He helped them when they sued to take over Leila’s care. How am I supposed to forget that?” He sighed. “Erin, I get. She and Leila had been friends since they were kids. But Jackson?”
“Maybe he’s sorry. Maybe that’s why he’s here now—to try to make up for that,” I said. I held up both hands. “I’m not taking his side. I’m not taking anyone’s side other than yours. I’m just playing devil’s advocate. You know I haven’t always been the best friend to Michelle. I know what it’s like to screw up and not be able to fix it.”
Michelle Andrews and I had been fast friends until the summer we were fifteen, the same summer her father had been sent to prison for embezzling money from the summer camp run by the Emmerson Foundation, the charitable trust set up by Liz’s grandparents. Michelle had suddenly stopped speaking to me and I’d spent years not knowing why. It wasn’t until the Angels had gotten involved in the murder of Arthur Fenety that I’d learned that Michelle had overheard me talking to Nick the night of my birthday. She’d been sick with chicken pox but she’d snuck out of bed to bring me my present and she’d heard me tell Nick that it wasn’t fair that her dad was still here and my father was gone. “I wish he was the one who was dead!” I’d blurted. A minute later I’d taken it all back, but she hadn’t stayed around long enough to hear that. And then a couple of weeks later, her father was dead.
“It’s not the same thing,” Mac said. “You said something stupid because you were a teenager. And you never stopped trying to fix things. Don’t compare yourself with him.” His dark eyes flashed with a spark of anger. “You’re nothing like Jackson.” His expression softened a little. “Jackson is nothing like Jackson—he’s not the friend I thought I had.”
He picked up his mug, took a drink and set it back on the table again. “Tell me what your day looks like,” he said. It was a clear signal that the conversation about Jackson Montgomery was over. “It’s Sunday. Don’t spend all of it working.”
“I’m not,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’m meeting Jess later. What about you?”
“I’ll be out on the water,” he said.
“Have fun.”
He nodded. For a moment I thought he was going to say something but the moment passed.
I decided to head out to the old garage to work on my table project for a while. I’d been at it for about an hour when Dad called.
“What did I take you from, my girl?”
“I’m trying paint samples on a table.”
“Green,” he immediately said.
“You don’t even know what colors I’m trying.”
“Did I ever tell you one of my ancestors was a gypsy fortune-teller?” Dad asked. “I have some psychic ability.”
Grinning, I walked out of the garage work space into the sunshine. “I thought one of your ancestors was a French pickpocket.”
“What? I can’t have more than one ancestor?” I could hear the laughter in his voice.
I laughed as well. “So I take it you’ve found some information about Mac’s wife,” I said.
“I did,” he said, his tone turning serious. “But there really wasn’t anything to find. There’s no scandal around Leila’s family other than the birth of her half sister, Natalie—she was the product of a brief affair Leila’s father had and she was a secret until she was a teenager. I did learn that it seems for at least a short period of time Leila and her father were estranged, but from the beginning she insisted that people treat Natalie with respect.”