“He’s going to get rid of that bottle.”
“If you get arrested for trespassing, no one is going to believe you,” I pointed out. “They’re going to dismiss you as a crazy old man. Please just stay off Angie’s property until I can figure out what to do.”
Tom’s mouth moved but he stayed silent.
“Please,” I begged.
Finally the old man nodded.
I made my way back to my own house. Mr. P.—Alfred Peterson, Rose’s gentleman friend—was at the front door wearing Rose’s flowered apron over his brown trousers and long-sleeved navy golf shirt.
“I was coming to get you and I saw the police car go by,” he said, smoothing down the few tufts of gray hair he had left with one hand. “Is everything all right?”
I sighed. “For now.”
He patted my arm. “Rosie told me what’s been going on. Young Mr. Bates doesn’t sound like a stellar member of society.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s because he isn’t.”
“Come have supper,” Mr. P. urged. “I made shepherd’s pie.”
“Is that what smells so good?” I asked. Elvis had already disappeared into Rose’s apartment.
“Not to be immodest, but it is one of my best recipes,” Mr. P. said with a smile.
I followed him into the apartment.
Rose was setting the table. Elvis was sitting in the doorway to the living room washing his face. “Is Tom all right?” she asked.
I nodded. Rose gestured at a chair and I took a seat while Mr. P. bustled around getting me a cup of tea. Everything Rose and her cronies did was done with copious cups of tea. I brought the two of them up to date on the police officer’s visit.
“We have to do something.” Rose set the salt and pepper shakers on the table with a bang.
“Angie should be home in a day or two,” I said.
“I’m not convinced that’s going to make any difference.” I knew that determined glint in Rose’s gaze meant trouble.
Mr. P. set a cup of tea on the table in front of me. “Thank you,” I said.
He smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear.”
I took a sip from the cup and then turned my attention to Mr. P. “You said Rose has told you what’s been going on. What do you think?”
“I think that blood is thicker than water, Sarah,” he said. “Angelica Bates is a very nice person, but that young man is family, and if she has to take sides, I think that’s the one she’ll take. Wouldn’t you?”
I glanced at Rose over by the sink. She and Alfred and the rest of their merry band were family as far as I was concerned, and when push came to shove, I always took their side.
“We’ll come up with something,” Mr. P. said, his voice warm and reassuring. “We always do.”
Rose had moved to peek into the oven. “Alf, I think this is ready,” she said. She reached for the oven mitts. One of them slipped off the counter and skidded across the floor.
Before I could get up, Elvis had moved across the floor and picked up the quilted mitt in his mouth. He made his way over to Rose.
“Thank you, Elvis,” she said, bending down to take the oven mitt from him. Then she looked at Mr. P. and smiled.
I turned to him as well, narrowing my gaze. “Did you have anything to do with that?” I asked.
“Elvis is a very smart cat,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Merow,” the subject of the conversation added.
“You taught him to pick things up,” I said.
Mr. P. nodded. “It took very little effort on my part. He’s extremely intelligent.”
I looked over at the cat, who looked rather pleased with himself, it seemed to me.
“Being a cat, he only does it when he feels like it, of course.”
“Of course,” I echoed.
Mr. P. got to his feet. “Are we ready to eat, Rosie?” he said.
Rose had been staring at the cat, a pensive expression on her face. She started and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wool-gathering. Yes, we’re ready to eat.”
Mr. P.’s shepherd’s pie, made with a sweet potato topping and a spicy ground beef base, was delicious. As much as I enjoyed the company, I couldn’t help yawning as I sat with a cup of tea and a dish of Rose’s leftover bread pudding.
She came up behind me and put her arms around my neck. “Go home, darling girl,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll just load the dishwasher before I go,” I said.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Mr. P. said. He got to his feet and hiked the waistband of his pants up a little higher than it already was. “That’s my job.”
I knew better than to argue. Rose sent me home with a dish of fruit salad and another of the pudding. I was putting the food in the fridge when my phone rang. It was Nick.
“Hi,” he said when I answered. “I’m just checking in to see how your wrist feels.”
“Let me guess,” I said, dropping onto the couch. “You talked to your mom and she thought I looked tired.”
Nick laughed. “Busted.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Between your mother, Liz and Rose, it’s not like I’m doing anything.”
“Good,” he said. “I think Mom still has that hammock in her garage. When I get back, I’m going to hang it in your backyard and you can go out there and just do nothing.”
“Because I’m so good at that,” I teased.
“Does Tom Harris still have that little dog?” Nick asked. “She could pull a wagon and bring you coffee and muffins from McNamara’s.”
I thought about the small corgi seizing on Tom’s lawn.
The silence went on a bit too long. “Did I say something wrong?” Nick said.
“No.” I leaned against the sofa pillows. “It’s just that Matilda—that’s the dog’s name—had a seizure a couple of days ago. She ingested some kind of insecticide.”
He exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry. People don’t seem to remember how dangerous that stuff can be.”
“No, they don’t,” I agreed. “But the good news is Matilda is okay.”
There wasn’t anything Nick could do. I had to figure out some way to deal with Jason Bates myself. Right now, I just wanted to think about something else.
“So how’s the class going?”
“Good, “Nick said. “We’ve done a couple of mock crime scenes. I got to play a guy with an ax stuck in his head.”
“Are there photos?” I asked. “Because it’s not too early to plan my Christmas card.”
“Very funny,” he said dryly.
We talked for a few more minutes and then said good night.
Leftover bread pudding and coffee would make a fine breakfast, I decided the next morning. The sun was shining, and I pulled on a T-shirt and leggings and took my mug and bowl out onto the veranda.
Jason was out bright and early working on the fence. It struck me that he was trying to goad Tom into doing something.
And just after ten thirty, it worked.
Tom came out of the house and made his way over to the younger man, putting himself between Jason and the hole he was digging in the strip of lawn. I took a deep breath and began to make my way to them. If the police were called again, Tom could end up being arrested.
“I know you took it,” I heard Tom say.
“Why the hell would I want some old watch?” Jason asked, wiping a dirty hand on the front of his jeans.
“You want it for the same reason you’re here pretending to care about Angie,” Tom retorted. “Money. You think I don’t know it was you? You were too lazy to take off your shoes so you tracked dirt and sawdust into my kitchen.”
“What’s going on?” I asked as I reached the two men.
“He took my watch,” Tom said. “My father’s railway watch. I went to the store this morning, and I guess I forgot to lock the back door. When I got back, I noticed some dirt and bits of sawdust on the kitchen floor. The watch was in my dresser upstairs. It was gone.” He turned back to Jason. “Give it back to me, or I’ll make you wish you had.”
“You’re crazy, old man,” Jason said.