I took a sip of my coffee. “For some people either one of those things would be enough to want to get revenge. The question is whether Gavin Pace is one of those people.”
“Liz and Rose are going to talk to him right before lunch,” Charlotte said. “Why don’t you go with them and find out?”
There were plenty of other things I could have been doing on a Monday morning. None of them stopped me from saying yes.
It was about a fifteen-minute drive from North Harbor to the business in Rockport where Gavin Pace now worked.
“We have an appointment at eleven fifteen,” Liz said when she walked in at ten thirty. She dangled her car keys in front of me. “You can drive. Watch your lead foot.”
I grabbed the keys and took a giant step backward.
She frowned at me. “What on earth are you doing? Have you suddenly taken up the tango?”
“No,” I said. “It’s just that I was afraid that you commenting about my lead foot might nudge the universe to remind you that I’m not the only person around here who sees speed limits as suggestions, not firm rules.” I patted my hair. It was pulled back in a smooth knot held by two elastics, probably two dozen bobby pins and a lot of gel. “I didn’t want any lightning bolts to singe my hair.”
“You’re hilarious,” Liz said. “You could also be replaced with an Uber and one of those robot things that vacuums.”
I was already on my way to the workroom. I didn’t even try to hide my laughter.
“So what pretense did you use to get an appointment with Mr. Pace?” I asked Liz once we were on the highway.
“I did not use a pretense,” she said somewhat indignantly.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What completely legitimate reason did you use to make an appointment with Gavin Pace?” I sent a quick sideways glance her way.
She adjusted the sleeve of her orange sherbet–colored shirt. “I simply told him that I was interested in more information about possibly sending out a flyer next spring about the Sunshine Camp.”
“You deceived that young man,” Rose said from the backseat. It didn’t seem like a good idea to point out that she had been known to leave out a few details on occasion.
“I did nothing of the sort,” Liz retorted.
“When has the camp ever needed to advertise? In fifty-plus years has there ever been a year you didn’t have a waiting list?”
Okay. I could see that we were already starting to veer off track.
“It never hurts to have information. Times are changing. You don’t know that we won’t want to advertise in the future.”
“I don’t like lying to people,” Rose said stubbornly.
I knew if I looked in the rearview mirror I’d see that determined jut to her chin. “None of us do, Rose,” I said. “But I doubt Mr. Pace would have agreed to see us if he knew we wanted to talk to him about Gina Pearson. And technically Liz isn’t lying. She didn’t say she was going to send out flyers, just that she wanted information about doing it.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Rose spoke. “Sarah’s right. I’m sorry.”
Liz waved away her words. “It doesn’t matter. However, for the record, I do have a plan and it does involve telling Pace the truth.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a self-satisfied smile on her face. It didn’t give me a good feeling.
We arrived about five minutes early for our meeting. I found a place to park in the lot behind the small office building where Metromedia was located. I didn’t ask Liz what her plan was; I figured there was a pretty good chance she wouldn’t tell me anyway.
Gavin Pace kept us waiting a good ten minutes and didn’t apologize for it when he finally came to collect us. If Liz had really come looking to advertise in one of his flyer bundles, he would have already blown the sale. But the man’s biggest mistake was not taking the time to look her up online, which was why when the receptionist gestured in our direction he walked over and held out his hand to me.
“Mrs. French, it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he said in an overly hearty tone.
It was completely inappropriate, but a bubble of laughter filled my chest. Before I could say anything, Liz stepped between us. “I’m Elizabeth French,” she said icily. “This is Sarah Grayson and Rose Jackson.”
“My bad,” he said with a boyish laugh and a head tilt that had probably been getting him out of trouble since he was six.
I put a hand to my mouth and turned the laugh that escaped into a cough. Given the look that Rose shot my way it might not have been that convincing.
Gavin Pace led us back to his office. It was small, which wouldn’t have mattered so much if it hadn’t been so cluttered. There were papers all over his desk and a couple of boxes stacked on one of the two visitors’ chairs. Gavin moved the two boxes to the floor. Liz and Rose sat down, in Liz’s case after carefully brushing off the seat, to make a point, I was sure, although I thought it was most likely wasted on Mr. Pace. I stood.
“Sorry, I don’t have another chair,” he said to me with a smile and an offhand shrug.
Gavin Pace was a good-looking man. He was tall with thick blond hair and great teeth, assets he seemed very much aware of. His dark blue suit was of good quality, and his tie was silk. He didn’t stand by his desk so much as pose for a moment before he sat down. He brushed a hand back through his hair—not out of frustration or because it was in his eyes, but because I suspected he wanted to draw attention to it. As he’d moved past me I noticed he smelled like a mix of mouthwash and breath mints. I told myself not to read too much into that.
“So you’re interested in putting a flyer in our North Harbor/Camden/Rockport bundle?” he said to Liz. He looked over the top of his desk, then pulled open his bottom desk drawer, fished around for a moment and pulled out a pen. His hands were soft, I noticed, no calluses, or scrapes. His nails were neatly trimmed and looked like they’d been buffed.
“Actually Mr. Pace, I’m more interested in talking about Gina Pearson,” Liz said. She leaned back in her chair and gave him a polite smile. It seemed the unvarnished truth was her plan.
For a moment he didn’t say a word. “I’m sorry. I uh . . . I don’t know what you mean,” he said finally. Given that he looked like he’d just seen a ghost, it seemed likely he probably did know what Liz meant.
“Gina Pearson,” Liz said. “The woman you had an affair with.”
The muscles along his jawline tightened. “I don’t discuss my personal life with clients,” he said stiffly. He set the pen down on the desk and got to his feet.
Liz stayed seated, crossing one leg over the other as though she was prepared to sit there all day. “I’m not your client,” she said, her tone conversational as if they were simply chatting about the weather. “However, I am the chairman of the board of the Emmerson Foundation and former chairperson of the Midcoast Chamber of Commerce. I know every business owner in a fifty-mile radius of this office.”
Pace understood what she was getting at. He sat down on the corner of the desk, pushing a pile of paper out of the way. A file folder toppled to the floor. He ignored it. “Gina Pearson is dead.”
“I know that,” Liz said. “What I don’t know is what the relationship was like between the two of you.”
He shrugged. “You said it yourself. We had an affair. I’m not proud of it.”
Liz didn’t say anything. I’d seen her do that before.
After a moment he made a face. “Look, we were both drunks then. There’s no other word for it. The affair destroyed my marriage. I left my job because I needed a new start. We weren’t in love. There was no relationship.”
“You must have been very angry at Gina,” I said. “Her marriage did survive and she didn’t have to leave her job the way you did.”