“I need to get over to the other building,” Memphis said to Mr. P. when we reached the center aisle between the rows of tables. “I’ll call you later.” He reached over and gave Elvis a scratch under his chin. “Good to see you, Sarah,” he said to me.
Once Memphis was gone Mr. P. looked at me. “You saw Elvis,” he said.
I nodded. “I did.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any doubt Jeffery was telling the truth.”
“For what it’s worth, I would have believed him without confirmation from Elvis,” I said. “It all makes sense and you or Memphis can check his alibi. It would have been stupid to give you a story you could easily show was a lie.”
Mr. P. adjusted his glasses. “I will check to make sure none of what he told us was a fabrication. But like you, I don’t think he had anything to do with the sabotage or with Christine’s death.”
“I’m sorry I hijacked the conversation,” I said. Something had caught Elvis’s attention again and he was hanging halfway over my arm. “I don’t know what came over me. I needed to know if Jeffery had set that fire. I needed to see what his reaction was.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Mr. P. said. “I understand how you feel. And the good news is we can move on to other suspects.”
As we approached our staging space I could see that Debra and Socrates had returned. Tim had stayed to wait for them and he and Debra were arguing. Tim was talking, hands waving through the air. Debra’s arms were crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I could hear how anger was sharpening both of their voices. They stopped talking when they caught sight of us. Color flooded Debra’s face and Tim looked away, his mouth pulled into a thin, tight line. I noticed that Socrates had moved to the back of his cage, his copper eyes firmly fixed on Debra.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Tim and I were having a disagreement and I got a little loud.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “We didn’t mean to intrude.”
Tim turned to face us. “You’re not intruding. I was pushing. It’s my fault.” His gaze shifted to Debra. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.”
“I know you are,” she said, her body rigid. She took a breath, let it out slowly and then looked at Mr. P. and me. “Tim has been trying to convince me to come to Portland and stay for a while. I was planning on making a life in North Harbor and that’s what I want to do.”
“I get that,” Tim said. “But you don’t have anywhere to live and you can’t stay in Rose’s apartment forever. I have a house. It just makes more sense to stay with me until you’ve figured out all the logistics.”
“There’s an apartment in Christine’s building I could have,” Debra said. “The building owner already offered.”
I wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but I knew it wasn’t my place to say so and I didn’t want Debra to feel ganged up on.
“Do you have to make a decision right now?” Mr. P. asked. “Is the building owner waiting for an answer?”
Debra shook her head. “No. She told me to take my time.”
“So why not do that?” Mr. P. said. “Nothing has to be decided right now, so don’t make a decision either way.” He smiled. “As my mother—may she rest in peace—used to say, sit and have a cup of tea with it.”
As usual, Alfred Peterson was the voice of reason. I saw a hint of a smile beginning on Debra’s face and the tension seemed to be slipping off her shoulders. I looked at Tim. All of his focus was on Debra and all at once I realized he had more than a crush on her. His feelings ran a lot deeper. I felt a pang of empathy for him because everything I’d seen and heard her say told me that Debra didn’t feel the same way.
“I like that idea, Alfred,” Debra said to Mr. P. “And if Christine were here, she would be telling us to knock it off.”
Tim nodded and I saw the first glimpse of a smile flit across his face even as the sadness couldn’t seem to leave his eyes.
Mr. P. and I started to gather our things. “Rose should be back in a couple of minutes,” I said. “She’s on a fact-finding mission.”
He smiled. He knew what that meant.
I got Elvis’s carrier bag from under the table and settled him inside. He yawned. “Being a show cat is an exhausting business,” I said. He murped his agreement.
Mr. P. touched my arm and I turned around. “There was something else you wanted to talk to me about.”
I nodded. “Is it all right if we wait until we’re out in the car, where there’s a bit more privacy? And I’d like to wait for Rose as well.”
“Of course,” he said. He pointed over my shoulder. “Here comes Rosie right now.”
“So, did you learn anything useful?” I asked her. She looked pleased about something.
“All information is useful, Sarah,” she said. “I think what you meant to ask is did I learn anything relevant?”
Once a teacher, always a teacher, as Liz liked to say. “I stand corrected,” I said. “Did you learn anything relevant?”
“Perhaps. According to Junie, one of the judges is having an affair with one of the owners.”
“That has to be against the rules.”
“It is.” Rose reached for her bag, which she’d stashed under the table. “The judges often know the owners—the cat show circuit is a small world, after all—but judging the cat of someone with whom you have a personal relationship is a no-no.”
“Which judge is it, do you know?” Mr. P. asked. He took the tote bag from her and began packing Elvis’s dishes.
“James Hanratty.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “He was Elvis’s judge in the first round in the Searsport show, wasn’t he? Midfifties, lots of white hair, glasses and a friendly smile. He said Elvis had a certain rakish charm.”
In the bag, Elvis lifted his head and looked around. It seemed he wasn’t too tired to hear a compliment.
Rose nodded. “Yes, that’s Hanratty.” She picked up one of the purple towels next to Elvis’s crate and gave it a shake.
“So which owner is he involved with?”
“Junie didn’t know,” she said. She rolled the towel in a tight cylinder and handed it to Mr. P.
“But you think this might be important,” I said. “Why?”
Rose reached for the other towel. “Maybe this is an innocent relationship. People do fall in love at the most unexpected times.”
I saw Mr. P. smile at her words.
“But sometimes relationships have a little more mercenary component to them. And if someone were willing to canoodle with a judge to affect the outcome of the show then perhaps they’d be willing to resort to vandalism . . . or worse.”
“So we may have a suspect to add to our list,” Mr. P. said.
“Junie is keeping an ear to the ground,” Rose said, handing him the second rolled towel.
“Jeffery Walker is off the list,” I said.
Rose’s eyes darted from me to Alfred. “It seems the two of you were busy while I was with Junie.”
“I’ll give you the details later,” he said.
I looked around to see if there was anything we’d forgotten. There was a paper bag with recycling under the crate. I reached for it, but Mr. P. beat me to it. “I’ll take this, Sarah,” he said. “You have Elvis.”
I smiled. “All right.”
We headed for the entrance. Easily half the competitors, maybe more, had already left. I knew that when the building was empty, Memphis and Cleveland would do another security sweep.
Just before we reached the doors, I noticed Jacqueline Beyer hurrying in our direction and waving one arm. I put a hand on Mr. P.’s shoulder. “I think Jacqueline wants to talk to you,” I said.
We stopped and waited for her to join us. She was wearing skinny black pants, leopard-print shoes and a black blazer over a jewel green blouse. Her hair was up in a bun, a few wisps framing her face.
“I’m glad I caught up with you before you left,” she said. She was a little out of breath. “I’ve been doing damage control all afternoon, but unfortunately news about the two mice has spread.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Mr. P. said.
“The vendor is still upset, of course,” Jacqueline continued. “Although you figuring out a better, more prominent location for their booth did help. I never would have thought of moving the booth with the visitor information closer to the door and getting one of the staff up on their feet to hand out maps and brochures so that Guardian could take that space.”
Guardian Pet Security was the company that had been in the booth where the mice had been discovered.
Jacqueline gave Alfred a tight smile. “You saved the day.” She seemed just a tiny bit jealous of his ability to solve the problem. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Mr. P. do something like that.
“I’m glad I could help.”
Elvis had poked his head out of the top of the open carrier bag and was trying valiantly to get Jacqueline’s attention.
“Stop,” I told him firmly. “You’ll make Jacqueline sneeze.”
Her eyes were already a little red. “I’m sorry, Elvis,” she said. “You’re very handsome, but I’m already late taking my allergy meds.” She self-consciously tugged at the sleeve of her blazer and sniffed a couple of times. “I know I should stay away from the cats, but they’re so cute.”
Elvis meowed his agreement and we all laughed.
“I’ve been trying on social media to defuse the story about the mice. Cleveland assured me they were pets and I’ve been using that, telling the show’s followers on Twitter and Instagram that the pet expo is for more than just cats. They have products no matter if your furry family member is a cat, a dog or a rodent.”
“Very creative,” I said.
“Let’s hope it helps.” She smiled and held up one hand, her middle and index fingers crossed over each other. Her sleeve slipped back and I caught a quick glimpse of hives on her wrist. She really was very allergic. “Cleveland did a check of the entire building and there’s no sign of any other mice or anything else. I think we weathered this pretty well.”
“Thank you for all your hard work,” Mr. P. said.
“It’s my job,” she said. “Have a good evening. You have my number if you need anything.”
We got out to the SUV and I let Elvis out of the bag. He walked across the seat and climbed onto Rose’s lap.
“Sarah has something to share about the Lilleys,” Mr. P. said from the backseat.
I slid behind the wheel, turning sideways so I could see him and Rose. “I think this might be important, but I’m not sure.”
“What is it?” Rose asked.
“Do you remember what Junie said to you about the disguises Suzanne and Paul Lilley were wearing?”
Elvis had settled happily on Rose’s lap, his head on one paw. “She thought they were way too obvious.”
I nodded. “That’s right. And do you remember when we walked around the pet expo the other day and we saw the producer from last summer?”
A frown creased her forehead. “Are you trying to say those two things are connected?” she asked.
“I think they might be.” I explained what I had learned from Glenn.
“You’re thinking the Lilleys could be involved in this reality show idea,” Mr. P. said.
I brushed my hair back behind one ear and rested my hand on the steering wheel. “I am, but I don’t have any idea how to find out for sure.”
“Well I don’t see the Lilleys themselves being very forthcoming. I can see what rumors are circulating online.”
“There might be something on one of those entertainment blogs,” I said.
Rose had been sitting silently staring off into space, one hand absently stroking Elvis’s fur. She suddenly smiled. “Of course.”
I glanced at Mr. P., who looked as confused as I felt. “Of course what?” I asked.
“Peter,” she said as though that should make sense to me.
It didn’t.
“Dad?”
“Yes. Your father has to have some kind of connection somewhere that can help us, either from his newspaper days or through his students.”
I nodded. “That’s actually a good idea.”
“Well I do have my moments,” Rose said with a smile.
“I’ll wait to see what Peter comes up with before I start looking online,” Mr. P. said. “There’s no point in duplicating our efforts.”
I turned around in my seat and fastened my seat belt. “I’ll call Dad after supper.”
I started the car and pulled out of the parking spot.
“What are your plans for the evening?” Rose asked.
“I’m going to a concert with Jess,” I said. Elvis was sitting up now on Rose’s lap, green eyes fixed on the windshield. “It’s a group of British percussionists called Bangers and Smash. I have no idea what they’re going to be like, other than loud.” I sent a quick sideways glance Rose’s way. “And before you ask, Mac is going to a hockey game—University of Maine Black Bears—in Bangor with Glenn and a couple of guys he sails with. Do you and Mr. P. have plans?”
“We’re going out for dinner,” Mr. P. said.
Rose smiled. “I’m looking forward to it. We’re going to that little café with the dessert crepes.”
“What about Debra?” I asked.
“She’s joining Junie and some other people from the show for supper. I told her Socrates could have the full run of the apartment. He had a challenging day.”
I smiled at the way Rose talked about the cat like he was a person, the way she talked about and to Elvis.
We said good night at the door. Once we were inside our own apartment, I picked up Elvis and gave him a big hug. “I’m proud of you,” I said, acutely aware that I was talking to him like he was a person, too. “And I want you to have fun tomorrow, but if you happen to win, that would be okay, too.” I kissed his head and set him on the floor. If anyone other than the cat show people had heard me they’d think I was nuts. I was starting to like the cat show people.
Elvis and I had supper—cat food with an extra treat for him and Mac’s leftovers for me. I sent him a text to say how good it was.
I’m getting spoiled.
My phone buzzed less than a minute later.
Good. My plan to dazzle you with my cooking is working.
I laughed out loud.
Consider me dazzled. Have fun.
He sent a happy face back.
I decided I had time to call Dad before I left to get Jess. Gram answered the phone.
“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said. “What’s going on?”
I tucked my legs up underneath me and leaned against the back of the sofa. “Rose convinced me to put Elvis in a cat show. It’s for a case and he’s in second place at the moment.”
“He is an exceptional cat,” Gram said. “I’m not the slightest bit surprised. I want all the details when I get home.”
“I miss you,” I said, suddenly realizing how true that was. John and Gram had gone on a very extended honeymoon after they got married and now that they were back in North Harbor, I’d gotten used to having her close by.
“I miss you too, sweet girl.”
One of the things I loved the most about my grandmother was her huge heart. When Mom fell in love with Peter Kennelly and married him, Gram welcomed both him and Liam into her family. She was as much Liam’s grandmother as she was mine and since Liam had no living biological grandparents Gram was especially important to him. She was the only one who had enough patience to teach both of us to drive, which probably explained why we both had a bit of a lead foot.
“What have you and John been doing?”
“Your mother and I have been haunting old bookstores, and Peter’s teaching John how to make a mortise and tenon joint. They’re building a little table.”
“How’s that going?” Dad was a good carpenter but not so good at breaking down how he did things. John, on the other hand, was the kind of person who liked an ordered list of steps before he started a project.
“The table has four legs and everyone has their fingers so far.”
I laughed. “Is Dad around?” I asked. “I need to talk to him.”
“He is,” Gram said. “I love you and I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you, too,” I said.
“How’s my favorite daughter?” The sound of Dad’s voice made me smile, the way it always did.
“I’m your only daughter,” I said.
“Isn’t that great the way things worked out?” he said. “I talked to your brother about half an hour ago.” I wondered if my dad was in the kitchen, elbows propped on the counter.
“How’s the trade show going?”
“It sounded like Liam was learning a lot.”
I checked the time. I needed to get to the point. “Dad, I need a favor.”
“Sure,” he said. “What is it?”
I explained what I’d learned from Glenn and that I wanted to know more. “Do you have any contacts through your writing or your teaching who could help?”
“My Dad Spidey Sense says this has something to do with one of the Angels’ cases.”
“There’s no such thing as Dad Spidey Sense.”
He laughed. “See? My Dad Spidey Sense told me you would say that.”
I’m sure he knew I was making a face. “Okay,” I said. “Can your Spidey Sense think of any way to help?”
His voice became serious then. “I have a former student who works for one of the networks. He’s involved in developing reality programming. There’s a good chance he’d know what’s going on. I can give him a call. Is there anything specific you want to know?”
One foot had gone to sleep. I stuck out my leg and gave it a shake. “The main thing I’m trying to find out is whether Suzanne and Paul Lilley are connected to the project.”
“Y or E-Y?” he asked.
“E-Y,” I said, “and two Ls.”
“What kind of case have Rose and the others taken on now?”
“It involves some vandalism at a cat show. I don’t want to see any cats get hurt.” I wasn’t saying anything about Christine’s death. Technically it was a separate case. “Elvis has become a show cat, at least temporarily.”
Dad laughed. “Good for Elvis. How’s he doing?”
“He’s holding steady in second place. Final judging is tomorrow.”
“I’m crossing everything.”
“I’m sure Elvis will appreciate that,” I said.
“I’ll make some calls first thing in the morning and see what I can find out.”
I suddenly realized how happy I’d be to see them at Thanksgiving. “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I have to go. Give Mom a hug from me.”
“I will,” he said. “I love you, sweetiebug.”
“Love you, too. Good night.”
I ended the call and set my phone on the coffee table. “Dad says he’s crossing everything for you,” I said to Elvis. His response was to wave one paw in the air.
I’d texted Jess before I left and she was waiting at the curb when I pulled up. She fastened her seat belt, flipped her hair over one shoulder and grinned at me. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“This is going to be so much loud,” I said.
She made a face. “What are you, eighty?” Before I could answer she waved a hand in the air. “No, wait; it can’t be an age thing since Alfred Peterson is almost eighty and he was the one who told me about this group.”
“Mr. P. suggested this concert?” I said.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jess nod. “He did. He’s a fascinating little man. He knows a ton about music.”
“I know a ton about music,” I said. I realized I sounded a little defensive, but I had worked in radio for several years.
“You know a ton about old rock and roll. Alfred knows about a lot of different musical genres and he says this concert is going to be great.” She adjusted the multicolored scarf at her neck. “So how did the furball do today?”
The subject had been changed. “He’s sitting very comfortably in second place. His main competition is a cute little calico cat that Rose insists is wearing mascara on her whiskers.”
“Is that actually a thing?” Jess asked. “I wouldn’t think it would be good for the cat.”
“Me neither,” I said. “But I can tell you that some show people are very competitive.”
I started looking for somewhere to park. Jess was doing the same thing. “Up there,” she suddenly said, pointing to the corner. “Someone just pulled out.”
We snagged the parking spot before anyone else did and then started down the sidewalk to the theater. “Jess, remember when that reality show was being filmed over the summer?”
“I do,” she said. “A couple of those people are in town, you know.”
I nodded. “Rose and I saw one of the producers at the pet expo.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets, wishing I’d remembered to bring my gloves.
“Probably the same guy I saw outside Sam’s a couple of days ago.”
“Was he by himself?” I asked.
Jess shook her head. “No. Well, he might have been, but he was talking to a woman when I saw him.”
“What did she look like?”
She frowned at me. “Why are you asking?”
“Can you just tell me without me answering that question?” I said.
She eyed me for a moment before the frown was replaced with a smile. “All right,” she said. “The woman was probably in her forties. Very fashionable. She was wearing a fitted black wool jacket, sort of punk-looking with some leather and metal details. She had to be at least six feet tall, plus the boots she was wearing gave her three or four more inches, and she had the kind of perfect posture that dancers always seem to have. Does that help?”
Jess had just described Chloe Hartman. Why had she been talking to that reality show producer?
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Thank you for not pushing. I owe you.”
She looped her arm through mine as we joined the crowd heading toward the door of the theater. “I know,” she said. “I like it when people owe me.”
The concert was fantastic and we came out of the theater buzzing with energy. “How can they make so much incredible music with just garbage cans, brooms and a few wooden poles?” I said.
“I have no idea,” Jess said, “but it’s going to change how I look at garbage day from now on!”
I was too energized to sleep when I got home, so I surfed around until I found one of my favorite movies on TV and I curled up on the sofa with Elvis and some popcorn. We were about twenty minutes into the movie when I got a text from Nick.
You up?
I’m watching The Goodbye Gurl. Rats! I mean Girl.
I counted to four. My phone rang. “Hi,” I said. “Tell me you’re not still working.”
“I was, but I’m home now.”
“What’s up?”
“I talked to Michelle and to Tom Manning.” He let out a breath. “I jumped to a conclusion about the way the fire started and I’m sorry.”
I picked up the remote and muted the sound on the TV. “I appreciate the apology. And as Mr. P. would say, I’ve had a burr under my saddle about the fire. I’ve been pushing hard because I liked Christine. So we both haven’t been at our best.”
“Thanks,” he said. I heard him yawn.
“May I say something?” I asked.
“If I say no, will that stop you?”
“It won’t.”
“Go ahead then.”
I sat up a little straighter, which got me a glare from Elvis. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but you work way too much and you have no personal life.”
“Oh c’mon,” Nick said. “I’m not that bad.” I could hear doors opening and closing, which told me he was in his kitchen looking for something to eat.
“How many paramedic shifts have you taken in the last month?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to look at the calendar.” He was hedging.
“And as for your personal life, when was the last time you did something fun?”
“I was at the jam on Thursday with you and Jess, so ha.” He sounded more than a little self-righteous.
“Besides that,” I said, “and ha back at you.”
“Oh c’mon, Sarah, I’m busy.” I heard the crinkle of a popcorn bag being opened.
I laughed. “And you just made my point. All you do is work, and you’re eating popcorn for supper.”
“Not that long ago all you did was work, and I know you’ve had popcorn for supper more than once.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said. “And it’s not a good way to live. You need someone in your life, Nick.”
He groaned. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to join forces with Rose and my mother and play matchmaker.”
“I just might have to.” I reached for my own popcorn and discovered I’d eaten it all. How had that happened? When had that happened?
“I’m changing the subject,” Nick said. “Do the Angels have any leads on who started the fire?”
“Not really. No one seems to know of any enemies Christine might have had.” I sighed. “I know it’s an overused word, but she was a nice person.”
“From what Michelle said, no one had a motive to hurt the woman. Her classmates liked her. Her former students and colleagues liked her. She even stayed close to her late husband’s family.”
I stretched both arms over my head, which seemed to annoy Elvis. He jumped down and headed for the bedroom. “I know I’m the one who’s probably jumping to conclusions now, but I can’t shake the feeling Christine’s death is connected to the show.”
“Gut feeling or something else?” he asked.
“Both,” I said. I explained what Christine had said about the vandalism at the shows being personal. “I didn’t think any more about her words at the time and now I can’t stop thinking about them. And you don’t have to tell me that I sound like Rose, because I know I do.”
Nick cleared his throat. “If you tell Rose I said this I will egg your house, but her gut feelings often turn out to be right. So don’t dismiss your own. And you know what I’m going to say next, don’t you?”
I laughed. “Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Yes. And call me or Michelle if you or your . . . tribe come up with anything.”
“I will,” I said.
We said good night and I put the phone on the couch beside me. I laced my fingers behind my head and leaned back against the cushions. A new thought was rolling around in my head.
If Christine was right and the vandalism at the shows wasn’t about the shows themselves, then what was it about?