Buy a Whisker (20 page)

“Of course I'm sure,” she said. “She was looking for the Owl & the Pussycat bookstore.”

The bookstore, which was right next door to Lily's Bakery.

Jess must have had the same thought. “What? You think your old roommate snuck into town and killed Lily? Seriously?”

I shook my head. “Seriously. I don't know. Like you said before, I'm not Wonder Woman.”

I was back at the store just after one o'clock. Mac was at the counter, waiting on a customer. Once he was finished, he walked over to me. “I sold those four ladder-back chairs,” he said. “The buyer will be back with his SUV to pick them up.”

“Did you get the full price?” I asked.

He nodded. “The guy didn't even try to dicker.” He gestured to the portfolio I was carrying. “How did the meeting go?”

“It was interesting.”

“I thought we weren't going to use that word anymore,” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.

“It applies in this case,” I said, pulling off my hat. I took Sloane's business card out of the folder and then held out the papers. “I know you had a look at the simplified prospectus, but would you take a look at these financials for me? You can decipher them a lot faster than I can.”

“I'd be happy to. Am I looking for anything in particular?”

I shook my head. “I just want to know if the project really is a good investment.” I looked around. Avery was dusting the musical instruments on the back wall. “Where's Rose?” I said.

Mac pointed in the direction of the storeroom. “Finishing those tablecloths.”

I found Rose at the ironing board in the workroom.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “How was your meeting?”

I almost said “interesting” again. “Informative.”

“In what way?”

“I think you can officially eliminate Jon West from your suspect list,” I said. “I talked to one of the administrative assistants, and she mentioned that she and Jon drove up from meetings in Boston the morning after Lily's death.”

“You and Elvis were right about him,” she said. “He's a very smart cat.”

“What about me?” I said with mock indignation.

She reached up and patted my cheek. “You're smart, too, dear.”

I went up to my office. Elvis was sitting in my
chair. “I'm a person. I sit in the chair,” I said. “You're a cat. You sit on the floor. What part of that do you not understand?”

He tipped his head to one side as though he were pondering the question.

I picked him up, sat down and set him on my lap. He studied my face.

“Sloane lied to me,” I said.

His green eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I know you don't know who she is. The thing is, she lied. Do I call her on it?” He swung his head around to look at the phone on my desk. That was definitely a yes.

I reached for the phone. Sloane must have been at her desk. She answered on the third ring.

“Hi, Sloane. It's Sarah,” I said.

“Hi,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. I felt a pang of guilt, and then I remembered she'd looked me right in the eye and lied to me. “You're a fast reader.”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you lie to me about when you got into town? And don't say you didn't. I know you went to talk to Lily Carter.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Please don't tell me another lie,” I said.

“My job was on the line,” she said after a moment's silence.

“I know Daniel Swift owns controlling interest in the Wellington Group. Did he send you to see Lily?”

“Don't ask me that,” she said, her voice low and guarded.

It was as good as a yes.

“Did you hurt her?” I asked.

“Sarah! I can't believe you'd ask me that.” Her voice rose in indignation.

“Did you?” I repeated.

“No,” she said. “When she realized who I was, she told me to get out. And she told me to tell Mr. Swift that he was wasting his time sending other people to do his dirty work.” Sloane cleared her throat. “I left. I swear she was alive, Sarah.”

Elvis was watching me. “I really hope you're telling the truth,” I said. I didn't have anything else to say. I hung up.

The shop was fairly busy after lunch. That meant I didn't have a lot of time to think about what I was going to do with what I'd learned from Sloane, not to mention whether I should tell the others what I knew about the Wellington Group and Daniel Swift. Midafternoon I got a call that the building permit was ready for Mac's apartment.

Liz walked in about twenty minutes to four.

“Why don't we take the SUV and I'll bring you back for your car?” I said to her. “I have to come back to get Elvis.”

“That's fine,” she said.

“I don't think we'll be that long,” I said to Mac.

He smiled. “Take your time. Rose and Avery are taking the wallpaper off that screen you bought from the pickers, and I'm waiting for the man who bought those chairs to come back and look at a table.”

Elvis was sitting on the cash desk. “Merow,” he said.

“And Elvis will be working the cash desk,” Mac said with a completely straight face.

“Good to know you have everything under control,” I said.

“Did you make an appointment?” I asked Liz as we pulled out of the lot, headed for Daniel Swift's office.

“No, I did not,” she said.

“And that would be because?”

“I didn't want to give him time to come up with a story or say the only time he could see us was three weeks from next Thursday.”

“What if he's not there?” I asked.

She flipped down the passenger-side visor, opened the lighted mirror and checked her lipstick. “He's there,” she said. “Monday through Friday, if he's in town, he's at the office from eight a.m. to four thirty. He takes a half hour for lunch between twelve thirty and one o'clock.”

I glanced over at her, and she met my gaze with the tiniest of shrugs. “I'm old. I ask questions. People tell me things.”

I laughed. “So do we have a game plan?”

“Yes,” Liz said. “We go in and ask him what the Sam Hill is he up to.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she said, closing the mirror and flipping the visor back up. “Daniel Swift is a no-nonsense, cut-to-the-chase and all those other clichés, direct sort of person. So am I.”

My grandmother had essentially said the same thing when I'd called to ask her about the Swift patriarch. “Okay,” I said.

“You'll be Gabrielle to my Xena, Warrior Princess,” Liz said.

“The sidekick?”

She shrugged.

“I'm not even going to ask what you and Avery have been watching,” I said.

She fluttered a hand at me. “Avery has been studying Greek history at school. Xena is Greek history.”

I shot her a look, raising one eyebrow.

“More or less,” she added.

“There's something I need to tell you.”

“I'm listening,” Liz said.

“Daniel Swift
is
the Wellington Group.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liz shake her head. “I guess that shouldn't surprise me,” she said. “Daniel Swift always was a secretive old coot.”

I waited for two cars to go by before I turned left.

“I take it you found this information and not Alfred.”

“I did,” I said. “So far you're the only one I've told.”

“So far I'm the only one you need to tell,” she said.

Swift Holdings was on the top floor of a three-story building, almost at the end of Bayview Street at the far end of the harbor. There was no boardwalk, no businesses catering to tourists, no slips for harbor cruises or kayak rentals.

We took the elevator to the third floor. The business occupied the entire space. The elevator opened to their reception area. The floors looked to be the
original hardwood, and there was an accent wall of what I was guessing was reclaimed barn board. It was impressive in an understated way that whispered old money.

Liz walked over to the reception desk, a curved expanse of wood without a single bit of paper to disturb the shiny surface. She smiled at the young woman on the other side. “Mrs. Emmerson and Ms. Grayson to see Mr. Swift.”

The receptionist gave her a bright smile. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Swift?”

Liz smiled back at her, and I thought her expression looked a lot like a snake about to unhinge its jaw and swallow a small farm animal, whole.

“Mr. Swift and I have known each other longer than you've been alive, my dear,” Liz said. “He'll see us.”

“I'm sorry,” the young receptionist said. “Mr. Swift is extremely busy. I can give you his assistant's phone number, and I'm sure she'll be able to help you with whatever you're collecting for.” She made the mistake of stressing the last two words.

She had spunk. I had to give her that. Unfortunately for her, Liz ate spunk for lunch.

“Oh, dear child,” Liz said. “You clearly don't know who I am.” She leaned over and actually patted the young woman's shoulder. It was a condescending gesture, but I couldn't help thinking about all the times I'd been stymied by a gatekeeper like this at a reception desk. Then she flipped one end of her cashmere scarf over her shoulder and strode
down the hallway just to the right of the reception desk. I hurried behind her.

“Hey! Hey! You can't go back there,” the young woman called after us. She may as well have been calling out the previous night's hockey scores behind us. Liz didn't give the slightest indication she'd heard. She went to the last office door on the left, opened it and sailed inside.

A woman in her mid-fifties was standing beside a long black table that was clearly being used as a desk. I wondered where people who used tables for their desks stashed all their junk. Maybe they didn't have any.

“Hello, Liz,” the woman said. “I didn't realize you had an appointment today.” She was about my height, plus-sized, with short blond curls, simply but elegantly dressed in a blue-and-black block Mondrian-print dress.

Liz smiled. “Hello, Jane,” she said. “I don't have an appointment, but I just need five minutes of his time. It's foundation business.”

The receptionist, who couldn't have been more than five feet tall, literally slid to a stop at the office door. “Mrs. Evans, I'm sorry,” she began.

Jane Evans held up a hand. “It's all right,” she said. “I'll take care of Mrs. Emmerson.”

The younger woman shot Liz a daggers look, nodded and went back down the hallway.

Jane Evans smiled at me. As soon as I'd heard her last name, I'd recognized her. She was Josh Evans's mother.

“Hello, Sarah. How are you? Josh told me he'd seen you.” She took both of my hands in hers.

“It's good to see you, Mrs. Evans,” I said.

“Please call me Jane,” she said. She glanced at Liz. “So Liz has gotten you involved in the foundation?”

“Isabel is out of town,” Liz said. She lied so smoothly. I hoped it was just because there was a grain of truth in everything she was saying.

Jane Evans turned back to me. “How is your grandmother?”

“Wonderful,” I said. “She and John are in New Orleans for the next month and a half, working on a Home for Good project, and she says she's learning a little Cajun cooking.”

“That sounds like your grandmother,” Jane said with a smile. She let go of my hands and turned to Liz. “Give me a minute. I think Daniel can probably see you.”

Liz smiled back. “Thank you, Jane,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

There was a door behind and to the right of Jane Evans's desk. She tapped on it and slipped inside.

“You didn't tell me Jane Evans is Daniel Swift's assistant,” I hissed at Liz.

“What difference does that make?” Liz retorted.

I didn't have the chance to tell her I didn't like lying and I especially didn't like lying to Josh's mother before Jane came back out and beckoned to us.

Daniel Swift's office was an imposing space—designed to be, I was betting. The wall to the left was
floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I saw legal references and several first editions. The centerpiece of the right wall was a beautiful framed photograph of the North Harbor waterfront taken early in the morning, with the sun sparkling off the water. It was surrounded by several photographs, several of them clearly of Caleb Swift.

Daniel Swift was at his desk, but he stood up and came around to take Liz's hand in his own. He had a very slight limp, I noticed, but he was still an imposing man. The desk was massive, walnut or black chestnut, I guessed. Behind it a wall of windows looked out over the water. Swift was wearing a gray suit, a crisp white shirt and a muted blue tie. He looked every inch the successful businessman.

“Elizabeth, how are you?” he asked.

“I'm well, Daniel,” she said. “You've met Isabel's granddaughter, Sarah Grayson?”

Swift turned his blue-gray eyes on me. “I have,” he said, offering me his hand. “Nice to see you again, Sarah.”

“You as well,” I replied, shaking his hand. He had large hands and a correspondingly strong handshake.

I saw him exchange a look with Jane Evans. “If you need anything, let me know,” she said, and then she quietly left.

Daniel Swift indicated the two black leather club chairs in front of the desk. “Please sit down,” he said. He walked back around the massive desk and sat in his leather executive chair. “Jane said you
wanted to talk to me about the Emmerson Foundation.”

Liz undid her coat and sat down. She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Swift hadn't offered to take our coats, and I knew we wouldn't be in the office very long.

“I do,” Liz said. “You know that there's a conditional offer on the table from the North Landing developer for both of the harbor-front buildings the foundation holds the mortgages on.”

“I'm aware of that,” he said. “Would you like me to look at the paperwork?”

Liz tipped her head to one side and studied him. “No, Daniel,” she said. “I'd like to know why you've been keeping the fact that you're the major investor in the development a secret?”

He didn't blink; he didn't flinch; he didn't twitch. I wouldn't have wanted to play poker with the man, not that I could imagine a circumstance where that would come up. He seemed to have no tells.

“Swift Holdings invests in a lot of development projects, Elizabeth,” he said. “North Landing is really just a tiny part of our portfolio.”

“Horse pucky,” Liz said. “You invested in that development for a reason, and you kept it secret for a reason.”

“Are you here to play detective, Elizabeth?” Swift asked. He seemed amused by the whole conversation.

“You're a condescending ass, Daniel,” Liz said.
“You think I don't know that you bankrolled this project as a way to harass Lily Carter?”

There was an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Swift's right eyelid. Liz had struck a nerve.

“You're making a fool of yourself, Elizabeth,” he said.

She laughed. “It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.”

The lines in his face tightened.

He stood up. “This meeting is over,” he said.

Liz got to her feet as well. Her eyes locked on Daniel Swift's face. “Technology is a wonderful thing, Daniel,” she said. “When you and I were young, it was easy to sneak out a window or in one for that matter. Now there are security cameras everywhere. Which means a secret visit to the bakery the night Lily died won't stay a secret forever.”

Swift came out from behind his desk. A smile played around his mouth, but there was no warmth in it, only cold humor. “Do you really think I care about some small-town baker making her little loaves of sourdough bread and hoping we'd all hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya'?”

“I don't think you care about anyone but yourself,” Liz said. She pulled on her gloves very slowly and deliberately. “I'm making it my mission to find out what happened to Lily. And if I find out that you had anything to do with her death, no matter how indirectly, I will break you like a baseball bat making contact with a mailbox.”

“Are you threatening me, Elizabeth?” he asked.

Liz smoothed one glove over her hand. She looked up at Swift. “I'm sorry,” she said. She paused for effect. “I thought I'd made that clear.”

He looked at me for the first time since I'd entered the room. “Elizabeth is clearly suffering from some kind of dementia,” he said. “I think you should take her home and contact her family.”

I wanted to slug the old coot with my purse. But all I said was “Good afternoon, Mr. Swift.” And Liz and I left.

Jane Evans wasn't at her desk in the outer office, but the pretty blond receptionist was at her place in the foyer.

Liz walked over to her. “You have spunk,” she said. “Which I generally don't care for. You're also loyal, which I do like very much.” She gestured over her shoulder. “He doesn't deserve your loyalty.” She held out a business card. “I'm Elizabeth Emmerson French. I'm chair of the board of the Emmerson Foundation. And by the way, you should know who the movers and shakers are in town if you're going to do this kind of job. If you'd like to make a career change, call my office.”

The startled young woman took the card. “Uh . . . uh . . . thank you,” she said.

Liz nodded and made her way over to the elevator. I followed.

When the elevator door closed, Liz turned to me. “Dementia, my ass . . . ets,” she said.

I clapped.

Liz narrowed her eyes. “What's the applause for?”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I said. “Baseball bat making contact with a mailbox? You were fierce. Way to go, Xena.”

She laughed as the elevator doors opened onto the building's lobby. “Now all we have to do is figure out how the Swifts are tied in to Lily's death,” she said, “because I'm certain they are.”