“I will,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to work. I love you, pretty girl.”
“Love you, too,” I said.
I ended the call and set the phone next to me on the loveseat. Someone knocked softly on my door.
“Come in,” I called.
Mac stuck his head around the door. “You’re not on the phone,” he said. “That’s good.”
I smiled. “I was, but I was talking to my mom.”
“I brought you a cup of coffee,” he said, coming into the room. He had a cup in each hand.
I took the mug he held out. “Thank you,” I said. “I could use a little kick start of caffeine.”
He leaned against my desk, folding his hands around his own cup.
“Have Charlie’s Angels come up with anything yet?” I asked. I took a long drink from my coffee. It was hot and strong, just the way I liked it.
“Charlie’s Angels?” Mac said, narrowing his gaze at me.
I nodded. “Yeah. Avery kind of gave them the name.”
“New Charlie’s Angels or classic?” he asked.
Elvis sat up and shook himself.
“That’s still up for debate. Although Rose sees herself as Farrah Fawcett.”
“Because?” Mac prompted.
“She has the best hair.”
He laughed. “So that must mean Mr. Peterson is Bosley?”
“He is.”
“And what about you?”
Elvis sniffed the air; then he jumped down and went out into the hallway.
I picked more cat fur off my lap. “I think I’m Charlie.”
He nodded. “I can see that.”
“This isn’t exactly what I envisioned when I hired Rose and Charlotte, you know,” I said.
“I seem to remember you telling me nothing ever happened around here,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Mac, do you ever wish you were back in your old life?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“What? And give up all this?”
“I’m serious,” I said.
He smiled. “So am I.” He set his coffee on the edge of the desk, tenting his fingers over the top of the cup. “I can sail for close to half the year. I get to work with my hands. And, c’mon, it’s never boring around here.”
I laughed.
“I don’t want to wear a suit and a tie. And I don’t want to sell stocks and bonds. I want to sell things I can touch. I don’t want to worry about what the Dow is doing. I’d rather see what Rose or Avery are doing.” He made a face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to give a speech.” He pushed away from the desk and straightened up. “I’d better go see how Avery is doing.”
I held up my mug. “Thank you for the coffee,” I said.
Mac smiled. “Anytime,” he said.
I stretched my legs out in front of me. Then I reached for the phone. I really did need to return those messages.
Charlotte came out of the staff room just as I was about to head back downstairs. “Would you like more coffee?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
We walked downstairs together. “I talked to my mom,” I said. “Dad’s going to use his contacts to see if he can get any information about Arthur Fenety.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I just know his death has to be connected to all the women he scammed. Nothing else makes any sense.”
Mac was standing in the middle of the store, talking to two women. When he caught sight of me he beckoned me over. “Sarah, these women are looking for a rectangular table that folds for storage,” he said.
“The only thing we have is the Big Bird table,” I said, referring to the long canary yellow table that we’d had lunch at the day before. “And that hasn’t been restored yet.”
“Could I see it?” the younger of the two women said. She was dressed casually in jeans, boots and a fisherman-knit sweater. She looked enough like the older woman that I guessed they were mother and daughter.
“Of course,” I said. “It’s in the storage room. Come have a look.”
I took them into the back room and showed them the table. It really did seem to glow even under the bright overhead lights.
“That’s what I want,” the woman in the fisherman-knit sweater said. “Can you refinish it for me?”
I nodded. Behind her Mac held up two fingers, which I knew meant two weeks. “It’ll be about three weeks,” I said, adding an extra week so we’d have some wiggle room. I did a quick calculation in my head and added twenty-five percent to the cost. She didn’t quibble at all when I named the price.
“You have a deal,” I said, thinking maybe I should have added thirty percent instead.
We went out to the front counter and did the paperwork.
“Very nice,” Mac said once they were gone.
“I didn’t think anyone would want that table. I looked back toward the storeroom door. “It’s a very plain design. Not to mention it glows in the dark right now and most people can’t see beyond that.”
Mac just smiled his Cheshire cat smile at me.
I hadn’t seen any potential in that table but he had. “You can say ‘I told you so,’” I said.
The smile got wider. “No. That would be petty.”
I laughed. “You were right about that table.”
“Always good to have my genius recognized.”
I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Mr. P. standing there with his laptop. He had a pleased look on his face.
“Did you find something?” Rose asked. She’d been dusting a collection of tiny china animals.
“I think I might have,” he said. “I’ve been looking through the archives of the Burlington Free Press.” He carried the computer over and set it on the counter. There was a photo of a man who looked like he was in his late forties on the screen. His head was shaved smooth but he had a neatly trimmed goatee that seemed to be about half graying. He was tall and heavyset, and in the photo he was wearing rimless glasses.
“Who’s that?” Charlotte asked.
“His name is Jim Grant,” Mr. P. said. “His mother is one of Arthur Fenety’s wives. Jim Grant threatened to kill him.” He pushed his own glasses up his nose. “Actually he threatened to drive his truck over Arthur and turn him into roadkill, which I think is pretty much the same thing.”
“Maybe he decided that poison would be a little neater,” Rose said. She smiled at Mr. P. “We should talk to this Jim Grant. How do we get hold of him?”
“That’s going to take a little more digging,” Mr. P. said.
I heard the front door open and I looked over to see if there was more than one customer.
“Maybe it’s not,” I said, slowly.
Jim Grant had just walked into the store
Chapter 14
I looked at Mr. P. and shifted my eyes to the storeroom door. He was very quick on the uptake.
He touched my arm and smiled. “Thank you dear,” he said. “Facebook can be so confusing.” Then he picked up his laptop and headed back—I hoped—to the sunporch.
I smoothed the front of my shirt and met Jim Grant in the middle of the room in front of the tub chair. It was him, I realized, the man in Mr. P.’s photo. It wasn’t wishful thinking on my part or a trick of the light. I gave him a businesslike smile. “Hello,” I said, “Welcome to Second Chance.”
He was wearing khakis and a navy Windbreaker, and since I didn’t see his glasses I was guessing he was also wearing contacts.
“I’m looking for Sarah Grayson,” he said. “Would you be her?”
I nodded. “Yes, I am. How can I help you?”
“My name is Jim Grant.” He offered his hand and I shook it. His left arm was covered with a gauze bandage that disappeared up his sleeve and there was an angry rash on the back of his hand. “Detective Andrews said that Arthur Fenety sold my mother’s tea set to you. Did he sell you anything else?”
Well, now I knew where the tea set had come from. And I’d been right that Arthur’s selling it wasn’t on the up-and-up.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “The tea set was the only thing he brought in and the police have that now.”