Page 19 of The Sweet Life

Brenda hustled Renata out of the office before Sage got to say anything, at least anything to her associate.

Sage sat in her chair, pushing her hair back from her face. “I don’t believe you, Jake. You’re asking for progress reports about Max and me?”

“No, and before you get upset with Renata, she has your best interests at heart. Yours and Max’s.” His lips twitched.

“Max is fine, and I’m growing on him. He only growled at me once today.”

“You still sleeping on the couch?”

She sighed. “Yes, but only because I have a very comfortable couch.” She leaned over to put her purse in the drawer. “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“My guy came through.” His gaze roamed her face. “You were the last person Alice called, Sage.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I checked. I checked the day she went missing.” She’d checked obsessively, even after learning Alice had died.

“It was an audio message. She didn’t get a chance to send it.”

“She was dictating it when she went off the road, wasn’t she? It’s the reason she got distracted.”

“We don’t know that.”

Sage pushed the words past the emotion tightening her throat. “What did she say?”

“I’ll send you the audio file if you’d like, but she saidSage, call me as soon as, and then it cut off. I think she wanted you to call her about some guy she was talking to at the Smoke Shack just before she headed for the farm.”

The Smoke Shack was known for having the best BBQ brisket on Cape Cod. The food truck had been a fixture in Sunshine Bay for the past thirty years. They had a patio and an outdoor bar with live music on the weekends and a great location on the beach. Alice loved it. She used to take Sage and Jake there at least a few times every summer. Usually when they had something to celebrate.

“A guy? What guy?” Sage asked.

“From what I could piece together, there was a guy asking about your family. They said Alice overheard him and approached him. The conversation got heated on Alice’s end, according to the staff. They said she seemed upset.”

“And they didn’t think this is something the police should know?”

“They’d taken a couple of days off to go camping and just got back today. They had no idea Alice had died until they went to work this morning. They were pretty cut up about it.”

“Do you think this guy could have something to do with Alice’s death?”

“Other than upsetting her? No. It was an accident, Sage. Plus he spent the night at the Smoke Shack. Closed the place down, according to the staff. I talked to SBPD an hour ago. They mentioned that your mom, aunt, and grandmother have had issues with obsessive fans in the past. So it’s possible Alice was being protective of your family. The police have his description. They’ll keep an eye out. Might be a good idea for your family to do the same.”

“Okay, I’ll let them know. What did he look like?”

“In his fifties, good shape, about six feet tall, well dressed, and he wore Tex Aviator sunglasses. They didn’t get a hair color. He wore a black ball cap. They also didn’t see what he was driving or which way he went when he left. They were anxious to close down for the night.”

“Did your guy find anything else? A reason why Alice would have gone to the farm instead of going home?”

“No. Nothing. The phone was damaged, and he couldn’t retrieve everything. He’ll keep trying, but he doesn’t hold out much hope.”

“So we’ll never know why she was heading to the farm that night.”

There was a knock on her office door, and one of the mailroom staff entered. “Urgent memo from the foundingpartners,” he said, rolling his eyes. No one understood why they insisted on sending hard copies instead of sending an email.

“Thanks,” she said, accepting the memo. She scanned it. There’d been a cat sighting at the firm, and Forbes, Poole, and Russell were not happy. “Uh, Jake, I have to go.”

Chapter Seven

Sage had managed to keep Max’s existence from the founding partners at Forbes, Poole, and Russell for almost two weeks. It played in her favor that none of the managing partners or their teams ventured farther than their offices on the top floor. But now she sat in the wood-paneled executive suite of Robert Forbes, waiting to face the music.

Robert waved an impatient hand at his personal assistant as she placed cookies on the plate in front of him. “How many times must I tell you, Emilia? The iced cookies are not to touch the plain cookies.”

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