A Whisker Оf Trouble

Chapter 3

I was coming down the stairs carrying a stack of three cardboard boxes—the top one wobbling precariously—when Stella Hall walked into Second Chance, stopping to wipe her feet on the rubber welcome mat by the front door. It had been more than a week since I found Ronan Quinn’s body. The police and the medical examiner’s office were still investigating, so the house was still off-limits. Both Michelle and Nick were staying tight-lipped.

Stella was a tiny dumpling of a woman, short and solid in a blue slicker and green rubber boots. “Hello, Sarah,” she said.

“Hi, Stella,” I replied, waggling an elbow at her before I stopped, midstep, to lean a shoulder against the teetering boxes trying to steady them. “How are you?”

Rose had spotted me coming down the stairs and was on her way over from the cash desk to rescue me.

“Mad as a wet hen,” Stella said flatly. “I want to hire you.”

“Um . . . you already did that,” I said. The side of my face was against one box, and my voice was a little muffled.

“I know that,” she said. “I was talking to Rose.”

I forgot all about my tipsy load and leaned sideways to look at her.

Rose was at the foot of the stairs. Stella had pushed back the hood of her slicker and her soft white hair was mussed a little. The look on her face was pure determination from the set of her jaw to the gleam in her blue eyes. “I want to hire you, all of you,” she said. “I want you to find out who killed that man, Ronan Quinn.”

The top box of my stack fell and bounced down the steps to land at Rose’s feet, followed by the second one. Luckily they were full of old pairs of jeans and nothing breakable.

I scrambled down the stairs still holding the third box. Rose picked up the one that had landed directly at her feet. The other had come to rest just to the side of the last riser. I set the box I was carrying on top of it and took the one Rose was holding from her.

She smiled at me. “Less haste, more speed, my dear,” she said softly.

I put the third box on top of the other two—in a less unsteady pile than I’d been carrying—and turned to face Stella, pasting what I hoped was a warm, nonjudgmental expression on my face. “The police are investigating Ronan Quinn’s murder,” I said.

“And taking too bloody long at it,” she retorted. “Pardon my language.” She looked from me to Rose. “Ethan said he told you that Edison’s so-called wine collection was nothing more than a bunch of swill.”

I nodded.

“Ethan hired that man to appraise all those bottles of wine. He was killed in my brother’s house. I don’t believe it was a coincidence.” Stella’s voice was edged with anger.

“Neither do I,” Rose said.

“I want you to find out who killed Mr. Quinn. I’m sure it’s the same people who cheated my brother,” Stella said vehemently, two splotches of color appearing on her cheeks. “I want them punished!”

Liz had just come in the front door, stopping to shake her umbrella. She was wearing a trench coat with the collar turned up and a tan fedora.

“Why?” she asked, walking over to join us.

“Hello, Liz,” Stella said. “What do you mean, why?”

“I mean why do you care?” Liz said. “You don’t even know that so-called expert your nephew hired and no offense, but you and Edison weren’t exactly close when he was alive.” She took off her hat and smoothed her blond hair into place. As usual her nails were perfectly manicured, today in a soft shade of coral that matched the coral-and-turquoise scarf at her throat.

Rose’s eyes widened. “Liz!” she hissed.

Stella waved one hand in the air. “It’s okay. It’s a valid question.” She focused her attention on Liz. “You’re right. Edison and I always had a prickly relationship—right back to when we were kids. But he was my blood and no one had the right to take the money he earned with his own two hands.”

“Fair enough,” Liz said.

“Do you want to hear the rest?” Stella asked.

One perfectly groomed eyebrow rose slightly. “If you want to tell us.”

“You may as well know the whole story before you say yes or no,” Stella said. She stood, feet apart, hands shoved in her pockets. “I’m hoping there’s some way to recover at least some of the money my dang fool brother spent on all those worthless bottles for Ethan and Ellie.”

Ellie was Ethan’s wife, a kindergarten teacher and mother to their four small children.

“This stays between us,” Stella continued, her expression grave. “But Ellie needs an operation on her back.”

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked immediately.

Stella gave her head a shake. “I don’t understand all the medical mumbo jumbo, but I can tell you that it’s getting harder for her to walk without falling and if she doesn’t have the surgery, eventually she’ll be in a wheelchair.”

“Don’t they have health insurance?” Liz asked.

Ethan was an associate professor of political science at Camber College.

Stella made a face. “They won’t pay because the surgeon wants to use some new technique—he says it’ll give Ellie the best outcome—and the insurance company calls it experimental.”

“I’m so sorry,” Liz said softly.

“Ellie was good to Edison and Lord knows he could be a cantankerous old coot sometimes. But he would have wanted to help her.” She sighed. “I was hoping there’d be some money from his estate, but it turns out he’d borrowed against the house. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

Out of Stella’s line of sight, Liz rolled her eyes. When I’d agreed to take on the job of clearing out Edison’s house, Charlotte commented that we never would have gotten in the door when the old man was alive. He’d gotten even more prickly and suspicious in the last couple of years.

Liz had countered that she’d seen Edison at the bank, arguing loudly with the manager. “I’d thought about giving him a nudge out the door with the toe of my best red pumps,” she’d said.

The shoes she’d been talking about had a sharply pointed toe that looked as lethal as an ice pick. I’d tried not to grin at her comment while Charlotte shook her head and frowned at Liz over her glasses.

“I said I thought about it,” Liz had said, not the slightest bit contrite. “I didn’t say I did it.”

Stella looked from Rose to Liz now and I could see the determination in the set of her jaw and her squared shoulders. I could also see worry for Ellie etched in the lines on her face. “Ethan and Ellie made a lot of sacrifices the last few years because of Edison. If there is any money to be gotten, they deserve to have it.”

“Of course we’ll help you,” Rose said. She put her arm around Stella’s shoulders. “Come back to the office. I have a little paperwork for you.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “You don’t mind if I take my break now, do you, Sarah?”

“Um, no,” I said, because what else was I going to say? I gave her what I hoped was a supportive or at least positive smile and they started for the sunporch.

Liz took a couple of steps closer to me, leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Thanks, toots,” she said. Then she followed Rose and Stella.

Mac had come from somewhere, probably the garage, based on the bits of dirt and dried leaves on one leg of his jeans. He’d made himself busy by the cash desk, but I knew he’d heard most, if not all, of the conversation. He smiled at me as he crossed the floor of the store. I waited for him to say something, but all he did was pick up two of the three boxes I’d stacked at the bottom of the stairs.

I tipped my head back and stared at the ceiling. There were no answers up there. I looked at Mac, rubbing one temple because it suddenly felt as if the Seven Dwarfs had started mining the left side of my head. “You said this would all work out,” I said to Mac, glaring at him because he had told me that, and because there was no one else to make a cranky face at. “You said they wouldn’t have a client.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I thought you said you were going to stay out of the Angels’ business, anyway.”

I pushed a stray piece of hair off my face. “I was . . . I mean I am.” I sighed. “It’s pretty hard to stay out of what they’re doing when their office is in my sunporch and when I end up driving them everywhere because the state of Maine—very wisely—no longer allows Rose to drive.”

“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” Mac said. He raised a finger before I could ask him what color the sky was in his world. “Between the three of them—Rose, Liz and Charlotte—they know pretty much everyone in town, and more important, they know everyone over the age of sixty-five. Who do you think those people are more likely to talk to? The Dynamic Trio or the police?”

He was right, but I wasn’t quite ready to concede the point. “You’re forgetting that all those little old ladies would just love talking to Nick. He does that boy-next-door thing that they all like.”

Mac laughed. “All they’re going to do is feed him cookies and try to set him up with their granddaughters.”

“Feed who cookies?” a voice said behind us. Nick was standing just inside the front door.

“Horse pucks,” I muttered under my breath. Why did he have to show up now? It seemed as though the confrontation I’d been trying to circumvent between Nick and Rose was going to happen no matter what I did. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“My mother sent you a meat loaf,” he said. “I’m not exactly sure why. She just asked me to drop it by.” For the first time I noticed the vintage harvest gold casserole dish he was holding.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say my last cooking lesson didn’t go so well and leave it at that.”

“Got it,” he said, handing me the Pyrex dish. “So, who are you feeding cookies to?”

Mac put down the boxes he was holding. “He knows, Sarah,” he said.

“I know what?” Nick asked.

He did a pretty good poker face, but as I studied him I realized Mac was right: Nick did know that the Angels had a case.

I sighed. “Seriously, Nick?” I said. “You really think you’re going to come over here and convince Rose and Liz to stay out of your investigation?” I knew that he cared about all of them, not just his mother, but going caveman wasn’t going to get them to go back to having bake sales to buy books for the library.

“They have no business getting involved.”

I glanced at Mac, whose expression gave away nothing about what he was thinking.

“They don’t think so,” I said, struggling to keep the frustration that was tightening in my chest out of my voice. “How many times now have you had this conversation with them? Give it up.” I was aware of the irony of me defending the Angels taking on a new case when it was actually the last thing I wanted them to do.

“This is the last time,” Nick said, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

I looked at Mac again and held out the dish of meat loaf. “Would you put this in the fridge for me?”

He set the boxes down again and took the container from me. “Sure,” he said. He looked from me to Nick. “Yell if you need reinforcements.” Then he turned and headed up the steps.

“Let’s go,” I said to Nick. “Rose and Liz are in their office. If Stella is still with them, can you at least wait until she’s gone before you pounce?”

“I’m not going to pounce,” he said, with just a touch of indignation in his voice.

“You’re not going to win, either,” I retorted as we got to the workroom door. “I don’t want them involved in anything dangerous any more than you do, but they’re adults, and as they like to point out, they changed both our diapers.”

Avery was just coming in the back door of the building. “Is it lunchtime already?” I asked.

The teenager shook her head and the dangling earrings she was wearing made a tinkling sound. “Nah, it’s only eleven o’clock.”

“So what are you doing here so early?”

“Water pipe burst,” she said. “There’s about a foot of water in the gym and the halls.” She grinned. “We got evacuated. I figured I might as well come and work.” The grin disappeared. “That was okay, right?”

I nodded. “Right now you can watch the cash for me. After that I have a project for you.”

The smile came back, a bit more tentative than before. “I kinda have a project I’d like to ask you about, too.”

I held up one hand. “I’ll be about five minutes.”

“No problem,” she said, moving past us.

Rose and Liz were in the sunporch, which was the Angels’ base of operations at least during the warmer months of the year. During the winter they had moved into a corner of the workroom. Stella Hall had left, but Alfred Peterson was at his computer sitting in the office chair that Rose had trash-picked and Mac had repaired.

“Hello, Nicolas,” Rose said. There was just an edge of challenge in her voice. She clearly knew why Nick was at the shop. On the other hand, she hadn’t come out swinging the way she had in the past.

Something was up and as usual I was the last one to know.

“Hi,” Nick said, with a nod that took in Liz and Mr. P.

“What can we do for you?” Rose asked.

“Stella Hall is hiring you to look into Mr. Quinn’s death.” He said the words as a statement of fact, not as a question.

“Yes, she is,” Rose said. She wasn’t so much smiling as looking smug, rather like Elvis after he’d just eaten a particularly tasty bite of chicken. As I had the thought I noticed the cat was sitting on a chair next to Mr. P., seemingly settled in to watch whatever was going to happen, almost as if he, too, knew what was coming.

“Then what I’d like you to do is tell her you can’t investigate,” Nick said.

“Why on earth would we do that?” Liz asked. She and Rose exchanged a look and as Rose turned back to Nick, I saw a quick smile pass between her and Mr. P. It really did seem that everyone knew what was up except me.

“I’m sorry,” Nick said. “Your agency is out of business.”

“No, it isn’t,” Rose replied. “We just got new business cards.” She took a couple of steps over to the table they were using as a desk, picked up a small cardboard rectangle and handed it to him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “but you’re not a licensed private investigator. The state has rules.”

For a moment I didn’t know what to do with my hands because I was pretty sure I couldn’t follow my first impulse for what to do with them, which was to slug him in the arm.

Rose moved closer to Nick and I took a step closer to both of them in case she decided to slug him, but all she did was pat his arm and give him a smile of pure condescension. “I know that, dear,” she said. “But I don’t own the agency. Neither does your mother. Alfred does. And he is a licensed private investigator.”

Rose turned to Mr. P. and beamed and he beamed right back at her.

Nick’s mouth gaped like a goldfish that had jumped too high and had suddenly found itself outside the fishbowl.

Liz caught my eye over the top of Rose’s head and winked at me.

“I’m over twenty-one and I’m an American citizen,” Mr. P. said, squaring his shoulders with just a bit of pride. “I have no criminal record and I passed the exam with flying colors.”

“Alfred has an excellent memory,” Rose added.

Nick pulled a hand across his mouth. “It’s not possible,” he said. “You don’t have any experience in law enforcement.”

“Chapter eighty-nine of the Maine Revised Statutes, section 8105, 7-A, experience, paragraph D,” Mr. P. recited. “A person is qualified to be a licensed private investigator who possesses a minimum of six years of preparation consisting of a combination of: work experience, including at least two years in a non-clerical occupation related to law or the criminal justice system; and educational experience, including at least: an associate degree acquired at an accredited junior college, college, university or technical college in police administration, security management, investigation, law, criminal justice or computer forensics or other similar course of study.”

“I told you he has an excellent memory,” Rose said.

I wondered how long it had taken Mr. P. to commit that legalese to memory.

A flush was creeping up Nick’s face from his neck.

I’d been annoyed that he’d shown up planning to ambush Rose, but now I felt bad that he’d been the one ambushed instead. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have been happening if Nick would just stop trying to make Rose and the others do what he wanted.

“I have a four-year bachelor’s degree in computer science with a specialty in computer forensics,” Mr. P. continued. He gave a sly smile. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

I could see Liz smirking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I refused to look in her direction because I knew if I did I was toast.

“And I’ve been working with the Legal Aid free clinic for the last three years, doing research and computer work,” he finished.

Nick’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“And I’m Alfred’s investigative assistant,” Rose said. “In another sixteen weeks I’ll have all my training hours completed.” Her gray eyes met Nick’s and there was a clear challenge in them.

Behind her Liz waved a hand. “I’m their executive assistant. Think of me as Della Street.”

I figured it wasn’t a good time to point out that Della Street had been secretary to Perry Mason, a lawyer, not a private investigator.

“So it’s lovely of you to be concerned about us,” Rose said. “But we’re just fine.”

Her hand had been on Nick’s arm the entire time. Now she gave it a squeeze and let go. “Is there anything else you need, dear?” she asked.

“No. There isn’t,” he said, his words as tight as the muscles in his jaw.

Rose leaned around him and looked at me. “I’ll be right out, Sarah.”

“Take your time,” I said. “Avery’s here. There was some kind of water main break and the school flooded. They sent them home early.”

“Please tell me that my granddaughter had nothing to do with that water main break,” Liz said dryly.

“She didn’t.” I was pretty sure she hadn’t.

I caught the back of Nick’s jacket and gave it a tug. He turned and shot me a dark look.

“Rose, would you start on those parcels when you’re ready?” I asked.

“Absolutely, dear,” she said. She was being very gracious in her victory.

Nick followed me out. He didn’t say a word as we walked through the workroom. It was as if there were a black storm cloud over his head. As we stepped into the shop, I bumped him with my hip. “As Jess would say, pony up, little buckaroo.”

He glared at me. “Did you know?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Alfred Peterson is a licensed investigator. How the hell did that happen? You know he’s worse than some teenage hacker.”

“No, he’s not,” I said. “Mr. P.’s not stealing people’s identities or unleashing a virus that shuts down everyone’s computers.”

He made a face at me.

And I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “They beat you,” I said. “Liz, Rose and Alfred. And your mother. Three old ladies and a little old man who wears his pants up under his armpits beat you fair and square.”

“Crap!” he muttered.

I gave him a push. “Go to work. Go to Sam’s and have lunch.”

“This is going to complicate your life just as much as it does mine,” he warned, fishing his keys out of his jacket. The hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you for your concern,” I said. “Go.”

He went.

Mac had been on the phone. He hung up and walked over to me. “I’m guessing Rose looks better than Nick does,” he said.

“She set him up,” I said. “Short version?”

“Please.”

“Nick tried to shut them down because they’re not licensed by the state. However, it turns out Mr. P. has in fact become a licensed private investigator and is acting as Rose’s supervisor, so everything is legal and aboveboard.”

Mac grinned. “They planned this, didn’t they?”

“For months, probably. Mr. P. even had the relevant section of the law memorized and he quoted it to Nick.” I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh, remembering the look on Nick’s face as the older man had rattled off sections and paragraphs.

A customer checking out a sideboard along one end wall of the shop looked around for assistance.

Mac caught the woman’s eye and nodded. Then he leaned in toward me. “Keep that positive attitude, Sarah,” he said. “Because we’re now sharing space with an honest-to-goodness detective agency.”