“Yes,” I said and faced him. Michael wanted to be taken seriously. I couldn’t do that in a romantic way, but I did respect that he knew his job. “She’s as mystified as the rest of us.”
“Then you’ve talked with others?”
Feeling the warmth of the room, I unbuttoned my coat and unwound my scarf. “It’s hard not to. The whole town’s talking.”
“I like that scarf,” he remarked and his sternness eased. “What are they saying?”
If he was fishing for something to pass on to the Feds, I wasn’t taking the bait. The conditions of my parole said nothing about being a snitch. Then again, the defiant part of me liked helping my friend. “They’re saying Grace is a good mother and a hard worker and Chris is a good kid, but that someone needed a scapegoat, so they grabbed him.” The women at the post office hadn’t actually used the word “scapegoat,” but it sounded good. I followed up with a curious, “Do you know anything about the case?” Let him betray the Feds to me.
But he simply asked, “Did anyone else go to her house last night?”
“I don’t know. No one else was there when I was.”
“Did she mention anyone else coming?”
“No. But I didn’t ask.”
“Then you’re her only friend?”
“No. She has lots of friends.” Everyone liked Grace.
“But you were the only one bothering to drive out to her place last night.”
“Maybe there were others.”
“There weren’t. Just you. I’m wondering why.”
I wasn’t. Forget the issue of friendship. Think past. There was a truth here that was as important for me to admit as for Michael to hear. Tucking my hands in my coat pockets, I said, “I’ve been where she is. I know what it’s like to feel alone. Like something’s happening and you can’t control it. Like you’re on display.”
If he was personally moved, he didn’t show it. “Wouldn’t that keep you away?”
“But I feel for her. She’s my friend.”
“How close are you?”
I wanted to say that my friendship with Grace was none of his business, but unfortunately it was. “We work together. So we have that in common. And we both like to shop. She’s into clothes, and I need to know what’s new for my work.”
He wrinkled his nose, clearly doubtful. “What do clothes have to do with makeup?”
“Everything,” I said with enthusiasm, because this was safe ground. “Makeup providers change shades to complement what’s on the runway in a given year. If the stores are big on soft pink, orange blusher is bad, and if the styles are dainty and sweet, heavy eyeliner doesn’t work. I need to see how runways translate into retail. Some of the makeup artists in department stores are good. I pick up tips watching their makeup applications. It’s about staying current.”
“Does Grace help with that?”
“Staying current? Absolutely. She reads fashion magazines.” He was looking stern again. “As addictions go, it’s harmless,” I tried, but his brow furrowed. “Am I in trouble for being her friend?”
His eyes held mine under those lowered brows. He radiated disappointment, like I had seriously let him down. “It may come to that. You know the terms of your probation.”
“Yes.” I kept my voice low. Docile was the way to go. “I’m not supposed to associate with felons.”
“Or suspected felons.”
That wasn’t my take on the document in question. Unfortunately, my take didn’t matter. Michael Shanahan’s did.
“Be careful, Maggie,” he warned as he pushed off from the counter. He rose to his full height. “You’ve made a good turnaround. The Spa likes you. The pottery store likes you. You haven’t ever been late paying your property tax. You don’t park in handicap spaces, and you haven’t been stopped for speeding. So far, you’ve done everything right. I’d hate to see you blow it with this.”
The message, I knew, was that he checked everything I was doing, would continue doing so, and didn’t want me having anything to do with Grace. That put me in a bind.
I was trying to decide what to do about it, when he gave a cocky smile. “So I thought I’d walk around town, maybe do a little snooping, y’know, see who’s hanging out where. I can protect you from the press. Meet me for lunch?”
* * *
Big weddings didn’t book at the Inn for mud season. This time of year, there were no photo ops on the veranda or carriage rides through town, no rehearsal dinners in the pine grove on High Hill or chafing-dish brunches on the town green.