Buy a Whisker (19 page)

The Wellington Group office was in a brick building just up the street from the library. I recognized the young man at the reception desk. He'd worked as a waiter at The Black Bear for several summers. “Hello, Ronan,” I said.

He smiled up at me. He was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a gray suit. “Hi, Ms. Grayson,” he said. “Ms. Kellogg will be out to get you in just a moment. May I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you,” I said. I looked around. “How long have you been working here?”

“It's actually an internship,” he said, “and I've been here since January fifth.”

“Well, good luck,” I said.

He smiled again. “Thank you.”

Charmaine Kellogg looked exactly the way I'd envisioned her. She was wearing a black suit with a vibrant pink blouse. Her hair was slicked back in a high ponytail and, like Ronan, she was wearing glasses; hers had dark tortoiseshell frames.

We shook hands. “Ms. Redding is in her office,” she said. She pointed over her head. “I'll take you up.”

The wooden staircase to the second floor couldn't have been original, but the mellow wood fit the tone of the restored space.

“This is a beautiful building,” I said.

She gave me a professional smile. “Mr. West worked on this project.”

I ran my hand over the polished wood of the banister. “I didn't know that.”

She nodded. “Just over two years ago. Everything from the studs out is new. That's when he got the idea for the North Landing project.”

I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around. Ahead there was an open area with chairs and two large multipaned windows that overlooked the harbor. Several of what I assumed were offices opened off the space.

“Jon does beautiful work,” I said.

She gave me that polished smile again. “Thank you. I'll tell him you said that.”

“How long have you been in North Harbor?” I asked.

“Not long,” she said, leading me over to the chairs by the window. “Mr. West and I drove up from Boston together on the twenty-third.”

“This is very different from Boston.”

The professional smile got a little warmer. “I grew up in a small town. I like it here.” She tipped her head to one side. “Were you at The Black Bear last Thursday night, by any chance?”

I grinned at her. “Weren't they terrific?”

“Incredible,” she said. “Do they do that every Thursday night?”

I nodded. “In the off-season, yes.” I gave her an appraising look. “So maybe we'll see you this week?”

“Absolutely.” She gestured at the chair. “Have a seat and I'll let Ms. Redding know you're here.”

“That's all right, Charmaine,” a familiar voice said behind me. “I'm here.”

I turned around to find my freshman-year college roommate standing there smiling at me.

“Hi, Sarah.” Sloane Redding crossed the few feet between us.

“I can't believe it's you,” I said. I hesitated and then hugged her. We broke out of the hug and grinned at each other.

Charmaine Kellogg was still standing beside me, a polite smile on her face.

Sloane turned to her. “Thanks, Charmaine,” she said. “I'll take it from here.”

The younger woman nodded and headed for the stairs.

“You look wonderful.” Sloane gave me a quick appraising look.

“So do you,” I said. Her auburn hair was short, casually tousled in a cut that had probably cost more than a hundred dollars. Her wire-framed glasses had been replaced with nerd-chic black frames. She was wearing a slim brown pencil skirt with a jewel-toned turquoise blouse and heels that brought her up to my height.

“Come back to my office,” she said. She led me down a short jag of the hallway to an office with one exposed-brick wall and another beautiful view of the harbor. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating a pair of armless upholstered chairs in front of a long distressed table that she was using as a desk. I took one chair and she sat down in the other.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “The last time I saw you, you were going to be a teacher. How did you go from that to all this?” I gestured at the room.

She smoothed her skirt over her knees. “Do you remember that semester I did in Mexico?”

I nodded.

“I worked at a school three days a week.” Her mouth twisted to one side for a moment. “I was lousy at it. I knew by the end of the first week that teaching was not going to be my life's work.”

“It was really that bad?” I asked.

She leaned forward and nodded. “My adviser suggested I consider another major.”

“Ouch!”

“Tell me about it,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“So what happened?” I asked. “The last thing I heard, you were taking a semester off and staying in Mexico.”

She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “That's what I did, for a couple of months, until my dad said he wasn't sending me any more money.” She laughed. “He told me I had to get a job. So I came home and found one working the reception
desk at an investment firm. When it was time to come back to school, I knew I wanted to study business.” Her expression changed. “Sarah, I'm sorry.”

“For what?” I said.

“For pretty much disappearing without an explanation. I thought about you a lot. I should have written or called or something. I spent a lot of time sulking.” She shrugged. “I was a brat.”

“I did wonder what happened to you,” I said. “I'm glad that now I know.” I smiled at her.

“And I'm sorry I didn't try to find out whether you were in town. It's not an excuse, but I didn't get here until the twenty-third.”

“It's okay,” I said.

Sloane smiled and leaned back in her chair. “So tell me why you wanted to see me.”

I folded my hands in my lap and started in on the spiel I'd planned as I was driving down. “I have a business here in town—Second Chance—it's a repurpose shop. A couple of my friends are planning on moving into North Landing, assuming it goes ahead, and I wanted to know more. I knew the Wellington Group was one of the investors in the project, and when I saw that you worked for them, I thought maybe I could get the inside track on the project.” So far nothing I'd said wasn't true.

“You know the project has had some problems?” she said.

I was surprised by her bluntness, which must have shown on my face.

“I didn't think there was any point in beating
around the bush with you,” she said. “Unless you've changed a lot.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I remembered you talking about spending your summers here,” Sloane said. “I didn't know you were living here or that you have a business.”

The woman sitting next to me was far more polished and professional than my college friend had been, but I could see the girl I used to know underneath the beautiful clothes and expensive haircut.

“Sarah, the Wellington Group has a lot of money already invested in this development idea and the potential to make a lot more if it's as successful as we believe it can be. We have a responsibility to our investors to make this work, and I can promise you North Landing is back on track.”

“Because Lily Carter is dead?” I asked.

Sloane was clearly prepared for my question. She didn't so much as blink. “What happened to her is very sad, but it has nothing to do with the development. Yes, it would have been easier if she'd been willing to sell the bakery to us. We were willing to compensate her very well.”

She tipped her head to one side and studied me. “You run your own business, so you know that there's nothing personal in a business decision. Yes, the Wellington Group stands to make money if North Landing is successful, but so does North Harbor, and since the project clearly benefits the town, sometimes compromise has to be made.”

“You mean the town was going to expropriate
Lily's land,” I said, trying to sum up her two long sentences into one.

“That was one of the options talked about,” Sloane said.

“I thought that was something that couldn't be done in this case.”

She gave me a professional smile that had no real warmth in it. I was reminded that the fact that we had once been friends didn't mean we still had a connection. “We have a lot of resources and staff with experience in this kind of thing.”

It was as close as she was going to come to admitting somehow they were using influence behind the scenes.

Sloane turned and picked up a cardboard accordion file from the desk behind us. “Take this with you, Sarah,” she said. “It has all the details about the North Landing project—specs, financials, projected ROI. If you think it's a good deal, then I hope you'll think about moving your business downtown, but if you don't, I'm still happy I got to see you.”

She stood up, and I realized the meeting was over. I got to my feet as well.

“Could we maybe have lunch sometime?” she asked. “Not for me to give you the hard sell, just to catch up.”

I nodded. “I'd like that.”

We walked out together. “If you have any questions, please call me,” she said. She indicated the cardboard folder. “My card's inside with my direct line on it.”

“I do have one question,” I said. “Who exactly is the Wellington Group? Who are your investors?”

Again I got the cool, professional smile. “I'm sorry,” Sloane said. “The Wellington Group is a private corporation. I can't give you that information, but I can promise you that you'd be in good hands with us.”

I wasn't going to get any information from her, I realized. It had been a fishing expedition and I hadn't caught anything. But it wasn't like I hadn't already gotten what I needed from my dad.

“I'm glad I got to see you,” I said with a smile. “We do have a lot of things to catch up on. Do you still like country music?”

Sloane put a hand over her heart. “I've seen my man Ronnie Dunn six times in concert.”

I grinned. “So I don't have to ask if you're still a fan.”

“I am,” she said as we started down the steps. “Do you still play?”

“Not as much as I should.”

She gave me a sly grin. “So if I make it to one of those Thursday-night jam sessions I've been hearing about, will I hear you?”

I shook my head, laughing. “I wouldn't count on that,” I said.

Sloane walked me to the front door and we exchanged another hug. “I'll call you when I've had a chance to read all of this,” I said, holding up the folder of information.

“I'll look at my calendar and we'll have lunch soon. I promise,” she said.

It was a little early, but I drove over to McNamara's, got a couple of roast-beef sandwiches and headed back to Jess's shop. I was halfway down the street when I saw Jess hurrying down the sidewalk. She waved at me and we met in front of the store.

“Hey, am I late?” she said, pushing back her hood. “I had to go deliver a dress to a customer.”

“No, I'm early.” I held up the takeout bag. “Roast beef with pickles and extra mustard.”

“You are my favorite person in the entire world,” Jess said.

“Right,” I said as I followed her inside. “As long as the sandwich lasts, I am.”

Jess said hello to Elin and then we moved into her sewing room. “What's that?” she asked, pointing at the folder Sloane had given me as she took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.

“The prospectus for North Landing.”

“I have one of those,” Jess said. “Why do you?”

“Long story,” I said. “Let's eat first.”

Jess got coffee for us both and we sat on opposite sides of her desk. I set the folder on the floor by my chair.

“So dish,” Jess said, after she eaten about half her sandwich. “Why do you have a North Landing prospectus?”

I took a sip of coffee before I answered. “Let me see if I can give you the short version,” I said. “I had
a meeting with Sloane Redding from the Wellington Group, which is an investor in the North Landing project. I was hoping—” I sighed and shook my head. “I don't know what I was hoping, actually. Maybe that I could find out something that would prove who killed Lily.”

Jess frowned. “Wait a sec. Is this the same Sloane Redding who was your roommate before me?”

My mouth was full, so I just nodded.

“So did you pump her for information?”

I wiped a dab of mustard from the side of my mouth. “I tried,” I said. “I didn't get anywhere.”

Jess shrugged. “All I've got is my coffeemaker broke and I stabbed myself about ten times working on that rolled hem, so you win for most interesting morning,” she said.

As we finished eating, I told Jess about the meeting.

“Sarah, I know you want to see the person who killed Lily pay for what they did, but it's not your job. That job belongs to the police and Nick.” She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at me. “You're trying to be Wonder Woman without the boots and the lasso.”

I laughed, and coffee almost went up my nose. Jess had a way of cutting right to the point of things.

“I never met Sloane,” Jess said. “What is she like?”

“When we were in college, she was fun. And smart. I was sorry we lost touch.”

She pulled a pickle out of her sandwich and popped it in her mouth. “What's she like now?”

“Very polished and elegant. Expensive clothes and gorgeous red hair in one of those casual haircuts that probably cost a fortune to get to look that way.”

Jess frowned. “Wait a sec. I think I met her. Buddy Holly black-frame glasses?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “When did you meet her?”

“If it was her, I gave her directions about a week and a half ago. It was the night Lily died, as a matter of fact.”

I stared at her. “The night Lily was killed. Are you sure? Sloane told me she got here on the twenty-third.”