She shrugged. “If dogs can be trained to sniff out bombs or drugs, why couldn’t Elvis be able to tell if someone is lying? He’s a pretty smart cat.”
Elvis lifted his head, looked at Jess and meowed, as if in acknowledgment. She smiled at him. “Okay, so you think this guy set up Maddie. How are you going to prove it?”
I slumped against the back of the couch. “I haven’t exactly figured that part out yet,” I said.
Chapter 22
I didn’t call Charlotte or any of the others to tell them about my new theory or what Nick had told me. There wasn’t anything I could do tonight as far as Jim Grant went, and I didn’t want to upset everyone with what Nick had said. Maybe he’d be wrong.
I picked up Charlotte in the morning. She smiled when she got in the SUV and I felt a pang of guilt knowing I was going to shoot down her happy mood.
“I talked to Nicolas last night,” she said as she set her bag at her feet and fastened her seat belt.
“What did he say?” I asked carefully.
“I told him what we’d found out and he said he’d do whatever he could to persuade Detective Andrews and the prosecutor to drop the charges against Maddie.”
It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.
“You’re surprised,” she said.
I smiled, which was easy because Charlotte was happy. “Only a little bit,” I admitted, keeping my eyes on the road. “But I shouldn’t be, because Nick loves you and he’s a good guy.”
“Yes, he is,” Charlotte said, nodding slowly. “I hope he finds a woman who appreciates him.” I could feel her eyes on me.
“Are you trying to play matchmaker?” I asked.
“No, dear, I’m just making conversation,” she said.
I decided it was time to change the topic of the conversation. “Charlotte, do you remember when Jim Grant came in?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her nod. “Did you notice that he made a point of telling us that he didn’t get into town until Tuesday morning?”
“I hadn’t,” she said slowly. “But now that you mention it, yes, he did make sure we all heard that.”
I glanced over at her again.
“Sarah, do you think he killed Arthur?”
“I think it’s possible,” I hedged.
“So how are we going to prove it?”
“I have an idea,” I said slowly. “I don’t know if it’ll work.” The idea that had seemed brilliant at two a.m. felt a lot shakier over coffee with Elvis at six thirty.
“You haven’t let us down yet,” Charlotte said, pulling down the sleeve of her jacket. “Tell me your idea.”
“Poisoning Arthur at Maddie’s house was a crime of opportunity. No one knew he was going to be there because Maddie didn’t invite him until that morning.”
“So how did Jim Grant know?” Charlotte asked.
“I think he was following Arthur. Maybe he was hoping Arthur would lead him to the missing money and jewelry. Mr. P. said that Royce Collins saw Arthur in the park on the way to Maddie’s house.”
“Maybe he saw someone following Arthur.”
“Exactly.” I put on my blinker and turned into the small parking lot beside the store.
“We need to go talk to Royce,” Charlotte said.
“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. I backed into my parking spot and Charlotte and I got out of the SUV.
“Sarah, if it was Jim Grant, where did he get a bottle of that pesticide?” she asked as we walked toward the back door.
“I’m hoping Mr. P.’s going to be able to tell me that,” I said.
My favorite hacker arrived about five minutes after we’d opened the store. I knew from the smile on his face that he’d hit pay dirt.
“You were right, my dear,” he said. “Jim Grant’s uncle—his mother’s brother—had a landscaping business. Jim worked for him during the summers.”
“So, we have motive and means,” I said. “All we need is opportunity.”
“Royce delivers flyers on Saturdays,” Mr. P. said. “You can meet him at the park at eleven thirty.”
I hesitated. Then I decided, Why not? I threw my arms around the little old man and hugged him. “Thank you,” I said.
His brown eyes sparkled. “It’s my pleasure to serve, Sarah,” he said. “I’m going to see if I can prove young Mr. Grant was, in fact, here in North Harbor before he said he was.”
He took his nylon briefcase and headed for the sunporch.
Mac walked over to me and dipped his head in the direction of the back of the shop. “New developments?” he asked.
I filled him in on Aleida Scott and my eureka moment about Jim Grant. Elvis was watching Charlotte dust the guitars. It looked as though she was talking to him.
“Do you think it’s possible that Elvis can tell when someone is lying?” I said to Mac.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not? A lie-detector test measures changes in respiration, heart rate, blood pressure and how much someone sweats. Maybe Elvis is reacting to the same things.”
I glanced over at Elvis and Charlotte. “So you’re saying he’s a feline lie detector?”
“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Mac said.
“Did you just quote Shakespeare?” I said.
Mac gave me an enigmatic smile not unlike the cat’s. “I hope you find what you need.” He gestured toward the stairs. “The delivery guy from Lily’s brought something for you a few minutes ago.”
I frowned. “I didn’t order anything. What is it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I called Liz and explained what was going on. She said she could meet me at the park. I crossed my fingers we’d get the answers we were looking for.
Upstairs in my office, a small cardboard box sat on my desk. I opened the lid and laughed when I saw what was inside—a muffin with a tiny flag stuck in the middle. On the front of the flag were the words I’m sorry. Nick. I broke the muffin in half and took a bite. It was bran with fat raisins and a taste of cinnamon. Okay, so it wasn’t chocolate, but it was still a pretty sweet apology.
I was standing by the stone steps that led down to the duck pond just before eleven thirty when Liz came up the sidewalk. She was wearing a burnt orange sweater with gray pants and gray suede heels I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk in.
“Hello, sweetie,” she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. She looked at the gold watch on her wrist. “Royce should be along in a minute. What’s the plan?”
“I don’t really have one,” I said, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. “We know Royce saw Arthur Fenety the morning he was killed. What we need to know is, did he see Jim Grant?”
“I thought he didn’t come to town until after Arthur was dead,” she said.
I tucked my keys in my jacket pocket. “Technically he didn’t,” I said. “He checked into the Rosemont Inn just before lunch on Tuesday, but before that he spent two nights in a motel out on the highway.” How Mr. P. had gotten that information was another thing I didn’t want to know.
“Do you have a picture of the man?” Liz asked.
I nodded and held out my phone. “Mr. Peterson found one online and I downloaded it to my phone.”
“You know, if Rose doesn’t give the man some encouragement soon, I may have to make a move on him,” she said, studying the picture. “He’s smart and most of his teeth are original. All I’d need to do would be to get him out of those pants.”
I looked wide-eyed at her. “Excuse me?” I said.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, waving a hand at me. “I just meant get him into some pants that aren’t way up here.” She stuck her thumbs into her armpits.
“He is a little fashion challenged,” I said. “But I love the way he looks at Rose.”
Liz smiled. “Yes, even an old cynic like me can appreciate that.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “I don’t think you’re quite as much of a cynic as you pretend to be.”