A Whisker Оf Trouble

Chapter 9

Nick and I spent the rest of the meal talking about the new guitars I had in the shop. More customers were coming in specifically just to see what we had and I’d even sold several, sight unseen, via the Web site. I told Nick the story behind my latest estate sale find, a beautiful Gibson guitar packed in a trunk in the hayloft of an old barn. An irate rooster, annoyed at my disturbing his “love nest” had chased me across the yard and into the porch of the old house. I’d actually had to toss the guitar to Mac as I sprinted past him.

“What kind of shape was the guitar in?” Nick asked. “If it’s playable it can’t have been outside that long.”

“I was almost attacked by vengeful poultry and you want to know about the guitar?” I said in mock outrage.

“You’re pretty good at that running thing,” he said, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “The rooster never really stood a chance.”

Nick dropped me off a little after eight. “I’m not on call next week,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe. “Will you be at Thursday night jam?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said.

“Save me a seat,” he said. He leaned over and kissed the top of my head and left.

Elvis wandered out from the bedroom. I bent down and picked him up. “How was your night?” I asked.

He wrinkled his nose at me.

“Liam was at Sam’s with Jess.”

Elvis didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in that piece of information. I sighed. Who was I to judge my brother’s social life when I was sitting at home talking to my cat on a Friday night?

Elvis squirmed in my arms. I set him down and he shook himself and then climbed to the top of his cat tower and looked expectantly at me. When I didn’t immediately move he meowed loudly.

I knew what he wanted. The last couple of times he’d been sitting at the top of the polished wooden tower Mr. P. had made for him, I gave him a few little fish-shaped bits of kibble. Now he seemed to think he should have one every time he climbed to the top.

“You don’t need any fish crackers,” I said firmly. Two treats and he was already conditioned to expect one every time now.

The cat’s response was to hang his head but at the same time manage to tip it to one side so his scar was clearly visible.

“Not going to work,” I said, getting my laptop out of my briefcase and setting it on the counter. Since I was home I could check to see if there were any new Web site orders.

Elvis made a sound like a sigh. He stretched out on the curved platform and put one paw over his nose.

I watched him for a moment while he watched me but pretended not to. After what felt like several minutes but probably wasn’t, I slipped off my stool, went into the kitchen and got him three pieces of the fish-shaped kibble.

Elvis took the paw off his nose. He sat up, sniffed his treat and then leaned over and licked my hand. “Mrrr,” he said.

I leaned over so our faces were inches apart and scratched the top of his head. “I already told you, don’t get used to this. We’re not doing this every night.”

He blinked his green eyes at me and licked his whiskers. Then he licked my nose.

I straightened up and headed back to the computer. I heard a soft “merow” behind me. “Still not doing this every night,” I said without turning around.

I sat down at the counter again and looked at the screen. On a whim I pulled up my favorite search engine and looked for “counterfeit wine.” I was surprised by the number of hits I got.

I spent the next half hour reading, fascinated by what I was learning. Counterfeit wine, like dealings in other types of fraud, was big business. Most of the dealers in those fake vintages had begun business as legitimate wine brokers. I read about one whose own, legitimate collection had sold at auction for close to forty million dollars.

The fact that these were oenophiles with knowledge of the wine-making business and educated palates made it easier for them. They carefully blended inexpensive wines to mimic the color, the taste and the character of some very rare and expensive vintages and decanted them into empty bottles that had once held the real thing, bottles that came from restaurants, wine-tasting events and other less reputable sources. They added counterfeit labels and even had ink stamps made to mark the corks.

It was a remarkably sophisticated con, one that someone like Edison Hall, who knew nothing at all about wine, could easily have fallen prey to. I still didn’t like the way he’d cheated Teresa out of the old moose sign, but I also didn’t like the way he’d been cheated, either.

Ronan Quinn, I learned, had impeccable credentials. He had a degree in chemistry and had worked and studied in France and Italy. He’d been an advocate for more tracking of legitimate wine sales. It had made him popular in some circles and from the half dozen articles I’d looked at, surprisingly unpopular in others. Just like the way I didn’t always want to advertise that my supper was half a container of mint chocolate chip ice cream, wine collectors didn’t always want word to get around that they’d purchased a particular rare bottle.

I straightened up and pulled both hands through my hair. Ronan Quinn’s death had to be connected to Edison Hall’s worthless wine collection. Nothing else made sense.

I was about to go to the store’s Web site when there was a knock at the door. Elvis lifted his head, meowed loudly as if he were calling, “Come in.”

“It’s locked,” I told him, getting up to see who was there.

It was Liam, smiling at me. “Hi,” he said. He brought one hand from behind his back. He’d brought me a hot chocolate from McNamara’s.

I took the cup from him and lifted the cover. It had just the amount of whipped cream that I liked on top. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is this a bribe?” I asked. “I’m going to drink it whether it is or isn’t. I’d just like to know.”

“It’s not a bribe,” he said, shaking his head just a little. He looked over my shoulder. “Are you going to ask me in?”

“Maybe I have someone here with me,” I said.

Liam laughed. “Right. Green eyes, hairy, about this big.” He held up his hands about eighteen inches apart.

Right on cue Elvis meowed. We both laughed.

“C’mon in,” I said, moving to one side to let him pass. “Although I want it on the record that it’s Friday night and you’re hanging out with your sister.”

He made a face at me. “Touché.” He pulled off his jacket, tossed it over the arm of the couch and then dropped down onto the sofa. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back.”

Elvis jumped down from the cat tower and padded over. He launched himself up and settled next to Liam. The two had been great buddies from the first time Liam visited after I got Elvis. Liam claimed it was a guy thing. Sometimes I thought he was right.

Liam reached over and began to stroke the cat’s fur. “I was headed down to Sam’s after my meeting and I swear I was going to call you. Then I met Jess and we started talking and I just . . . forgot.”

I looked at Elvis. He was purring, a contented look on his face. As far as he was concerned, Liam was telling the truth. It was good enough for me.

I sat down on the stool again, pulled the top off the hot chocolate and took a sip. It was delicious, as usual. I’d tried more than once to wheedle the secret of his hot chocolate out of Glenn McNamara, but he’d just laugh and say, “If I told you I’d have to kill you or marry you.”

I wiped a smidge of whipped cream from my upper lip.

Liam looked at me and grinned. “So, am I forgiven?”

“I haven’t decided,” I said.

“How about I take you out for breakfast tomorrow?”

Elvis licked his whiskers at the word “breakfast.”

“You’ve always been my favorite brother,” I said.

“I’m your only brother,” he retorted.

“Then things worked out pretty well for you.” I smiled at him over the top of the take-out cup.

Liam slid down a little on the sofa so he was sitting mostly on his tailbone and yawned.

“So, how was your meeting?”

“Not as long as I expected. I think the people on the ground here are going to be pretty easy to work with.”

I leaned back against the counter. “You said you’re going to be evaluating the properties the developers are interested in buying.”

He nodded.

“But I thought everything in those whole two blocks was going to be torn down.”

Elvis had stretched out beside Liam, his front paws on Liam’s lap. Liam was still absently stroking his black fur. “Oh, that’s still the plan,” he said, scratching the golden stubble on his chin with his other hand.

“My job, for the most part, is to see what can be salvaged and reused,” he continued. “That kind of thing adds character to the new buildings, and there are financial benefits as well.”

“Remember me telling you about the chandelier we bought when Doran’s in Portland closed?” I asked, swirling the contents of my cup so the last bit of whipped cream mixed into the cocoa.

Liam nodded. “You were going to sell it to Jon West for the hotel in the old North by West project.”

“Right.” I leaned forward again. The edge of the counter was digging into my back. “The short version of the story is that after the North by West deal fell apart we were going to sell it to a builder who was working on a restaurant in Bangor and that fell through as well.”

“Don’t tell me you sold it to Jason Cavanaugh?” Liam said. Jason Cavanaugh owned Seaward Properties, the developer behind the new harbor-front development proposal.

I nodded. “Mac did, actually. Assuming the sale goes through.”

Elvis rolled over onto his back and Liam shifted his hand and began scratching his furry black chest. The purring got louder.

“So, how’s it working out with Mac living over the shop?”

I drank the last of the hot chocolate and set the cup behind me on the counter.

“It’s working out really well,” I said.

It was Avery who had originally suggested that we renovate the extra space upstairs that we used for storage, into a tiny apartment for Mac. I was putting the rent he was paying into paying down the mortgage my grandmother held on the building a little faster.

Liam gave me a sly smile. “So, anything going on with you two?” he asked.

I made a face. “No. Anything going on with you and Jess?”

He wasn’t at all perturbed at my question. “No,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Liam, Jess is my best friend,” I began.

He held up a hand. “You don’t have to give me the speech,” he said. “We were just having dinner.” He folded his arm behind his head. “Are you going to give Jess the speech about not breaking my heart?”

I shook my head. “I don’t need to. I have no idea how she does it, but she’s managed to stay friendly with everyone she’s gone out with. And no one has said she’d go out with you, anyway.”

Liam looked around. “So, what are you doing here on a Friday night?”

“I live here,” I said.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “You work too much. I saw Rose and her gentleman friend earlier. She has more of a love life than you do and she’s more than twice your age.”

“I know,” I said. “Mr. P. is crazy about her. When she got kicked out of Legacy Place, he wanted her to move in with him. He even proposed.”

“I take it Rose said no?”

“Uh-huh. That’s how she ended up here, although I have to say that’s worked out pretty well, too.”

“It’s probably kept you from starving to death,” Liam said. He gave Elvis one last belly scratch and got to his feet. He came over to me, leaned against the end of the counter and put an arm around my shoulder. As usual he smelled liked baby powder. “Why don’t you lay a big wet one on ol’ Nick? Or if he doesn’t float your boat, on Mac? This all-work-and-no-play stuff has gotta be dull.”

I poked him with my elbow, but all he did was laugh.

“I can’t do that,” I said. “Not that I want to anyway. What if things didn’t work out? Mac works for me and so does Charlotte. How messy could that get?”

“Yeah, blah, blah, blah,” Liam said. He leaned in and kissed my cheek and then headed for the door.

“My life is not dull,” I called after him. Saying that out loud was probably just tempting fate.