A Whisker of Trouble

Chapter 10

I thought Liam had forgotten that he’d said he’d buy me breakfast, but he knocked on my door about twenty-five after seven the next morning. We drove over to McNamara’s and after he and Glenn had talked about the Red Sox we spent the rest of the meal talking about the new harbor-front development proposal. I dropped him back at the house and picked up Elvis and the clothes I was going to wear out to lunch before I headed for the shop.

Michelle pulled in behind me in the store’s lot. Elvis jumped down from the seat and instead of heading for the back door walked over to her. I followed.

Michelle leaned forward and held out her hand to Elvis. “Good morning,” she said.

He sniffed her with curiosity and then rubbed his cheek against her fingers. She began to stroke his fur and he seemed to smile at her.

Michelle looked up at me and smiled. “Hi, Sarah,” she said. “I just came by to let you know we released the Hall house. You’ll probably hear from Stella sometime today.”

My phone buzzed then. “Excuse me a second,” I said, pulling it out of my pocket. It was Stella with the news Michelle had just given me. She wanted us to get back to work as soon as we could.

“I think we might be able to get there this morning,” I said.

“Thank you, Sarah,” she said. “If you find anything that . . . might be worth something . . .”

“I’ll call you first thing,” I promised.

Michelle talked to Elvis while I was talking to Stella. When I ended the call she gave the cat one last scratch on the top of his head and straightened up. He meowed softly at her and started across the parking lot toward the back door.

“That was Stella, as you probably guessed,” I said.

She nodded. “You’re going to start again this morning?”

I slid the strap of my carryall up on my shoulder. “I’m going to try. I promised Stella we’d get the place cleaned out as quickly as we could once you were done.”

She gave me a thoughtful look. “Stella told you about Ellie.”

I sighed softly. “About the operation? Yes, she did.”

“Any chance there’re some valuable antiques in that house?”

I gave her a wry smile. “I don’t think so. Mac and I did a walk-through before we said yes to Stella, and nothing we saw looked like it was worth much. We didn’t see everything, though, so maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“I hope so,” she said. Her expression changed. “If you find any more bottles of wine, will you call me, please?”

“Of course,” I said. I studied her face for a moment. “Michelle, do you think that wine collection had anything to do with Ronan Quinn’s death?”

She shrugged. “Right now everything’s a possibility. And we’re looking into the fraud as a separate case.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. “Whoever took advantage of Edison Hall like that is despicable.”

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her black jacket. “You’d be surprised how many scams there are that target seniors. I don’t mean small potatoes, either. These are sophisticated cons.”

I nodded, remembering what I’d read the night before about faking the bottles of wine and how those fakes had fooled more than one expert.

“I’d like to put together an information session for people,” Michelle said. “Just to go over some of the more popular cons out there. Do you think Rose and Alfred Peterson would be willing to get involved?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. I wasn’t sure exactly what to say next.

Michelle smiled as though she could read my mind. Or maybe it was my face that was giving me away.

“You’re thinking I’m crazy,” she said.

I shifted from one foot to the other. “No,” I said. “Not crazy. Just . . .” I hesitated. “Okay, yes. Crazy. But just a little.”

Michelle smiled. “You know what they’re like, Rose, Nick’s mom, Alfred Peterson. Do you really think they’re going to listen to me telling them about the Big Bad Wolf?”

“No,” I said.

“But they will listen to their friends, people their own age.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m sure Mr. Peterson has come across a scam or two during his travels down the information superhighway.”

I laughed. “I’m guessing Nick told you that Mr. P. is a licensed private investigator now.”

“I already knew,” Michelle said with a smile. “He did tell me that Stella hired them to look into Mr. Quinn’s death.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, glanced at it and put it back again. “Rose called me yesterday and told me about Teresa Reynard seeing Quinn at the house the morning he died. It gives us more of a window around when he was killed.”

“Do you think he was there to meet someone about the wine collection?”

She opened her mouth, but I spoke again before she could. “I know, you can’t answer that.”

“I have to get going, Sarah,” she said. “Be careful and if you find anything at the house call me or even Nick.”

“I will,” I said. I hugged her and headed for the back door. Elvis was waiting, not very patiently. He made a huffy noise as I unlocked the door, stalking through the workroom, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth.

Mac’s feet were sticking out of the storage space under the stairs. Elvis meowed at him and then poked his head in the opening next to him.

“Sarah, are you there?” Mac’s muffled voice asked.

“I’m here,” I said. “What are you looking for?”

“That little box of glass doorknobs.”

“Top shelf on the right at the back out in the garage.”

Elvis pulled his head back and shook himself. A couple of dust bunnies floated to the floor. He batted at one with his paw before stopping to wash one side of his face.

Mac backed out of the slanted storage space and stood up, brushing dust off the front of his long-sleeved blue T-shirt. Another dust bunny, cousin probably to the ones that had been clinging to Elvis’s fur, was on his shoulder. I leaned over and brushed it away. “I think I should get Avery to run the vacuum in there,” I said.

“Good idea,” Mac said. “I think the dust bunnies may be amassing an army so they can try to take over the building.”

“Michelle was here and the police have released the Hall house. Do you think we could get out there today?”

He smoothed a hand over his hair. “I don’t see why not. But don’t you and Liz have that lunch thing with the former bank manager?”

I held up the garment bag that I was carrying. “We do, but not until one o’clock.”

Mac pushed a box back into the storage area with one foot. “Do you want me to call Rose and see if she can come with us?”

“Please,” I said. “Charlotte and Avery should be able to handle things here for the morning. I’m just going to put this stuff in my office.” I started up the stairs.

I thought about Liam’s suggestion to make a move on Mac as I hung up the garment bag. It was a really bad idea. He was more than my employee, he was my right hand and my friend. I wasn’t willing to do anything to mess that up.

“It would make more sense to get involved with Nick,” I said.

Elvis stopped washing his chest and looked at me, green eyes narrowed almost as though he’d understood my words and wanted to know if I was kidding or serious.

“I don’t mean I would,” I said. “If Nick and I were going out, both Charlotte and Gram would be picking out baby names.” The image of Nick holding a baby popped into my mind.

The mental picture was so funny I laughed out loud. I’d actually seen it happen a few weeks previous when Nick and I went to meet Jess at her shop before Thursday night jam. One of the paramedics he’d worked with when he was an EMT was in the shop and somehow, before he knew what was happening, Nick was holding her little girl. The eight-month-old had looked befuddled and Nick had looked terrified, holding her out as if she were a bag of snakes.

My cell phone rang then. It was Jess. Elvis was settled in my desk chair having another bath. The cat had a bit of a fetish about being clean, even for a cat. I dropped onto the love seat.

“Hi,” Jess said. “Are you going to be at the shop all morning? I have a new bootie design I want to show you.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m going out to the Hall house.”

“Drat!” Jess was the only person I’d ever met who could say that and not sound silly.

“Was that all you wanted?” I asked.

There was silence for a moment and then she said, “So it was weird, me having dinner with Liam last night?”

“No . . . Maybe.” I let out a breath. “It’s just that Liam is my brother. And you and I have always talked about the guys we were dating.”

“We were dating?” Jess said. I could hear an edge of laughter in her voice.

“We,” I repeated. “Although mostly you lately.”

Jess did laugh then. “I’m not dating Liam, but would you be okay if I wanted to?”

I couldn’t say no and I realized that I didn’t really want to. “Yes, I would be okay.”

“Then if it happens you’ll be the first to know.”

“Just maybe with a little less detail than usual,” I said.

Jess laughed again. “I promise.”

We said good-bye, and I grabbed my stainless steel travel mug and laced up my work boots. Then I pulled on my old paint-spattered sweatshirt.

“You’re in charge,” I told Elvis.

“Mrrr,” he said without looking up from the knot he was working out of his tail.

Charlotte had arrived when I got downstairs and Avery was bringing out the vacuum cleaner.

“Hey, Sarah, you want me to make a list of what’s under there?” she asked, pointing at the storage space with the end of the vacuum cleaner.

“Yes,” I said. “There’s a list taped to the wall just inside the door on the left, but it’s really out of date.”

Avery smiled. “Okay. I got this.” She looked at my coffee mug. “I could make you a smoothie some morning, you know, for a change.”

Avery was trying to get Liz to eat healthier. Liz, whose blood pressure, blood sugar and cholesterol were amazingly low for a woman her age, was quite happy with the way she’d been eating. “If the good Lord had wanted me to eat tofu, he would have made it less disgusting,” she liked to say.

On the other hand, some of Avery’s stir-fries and drink concoctions looked pretty good.

“Okay,” I said.

She looked around uncertainly. “Really?”

I nodded. “Yeah, really.”

A smile stretched across her face. “Cool.”

Mac was at the cash desk. “We can pick Rose up in fifteen minutes if that works for you.”

“It does,” I said. “By the time we get what we need and drive down to get her, it’ll be fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll start loading boxes,” he said.

I walked over to Charlotte. “Good morning, sweetie,” she said. She was wearing a bright blue apron over her skirt and sweater. Nick had her eyes and her smile.

I put my arm around her shoulder. “Avery is going to clean under the stairs and do inventory. Could you freshen up the front window?”

“Of course,” she said. “And Liz asked me to remind you about lunch.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I said. “My dress is upstairs.” I raised an eyebrow. “And let me guess—she also told you to tell me to show some leg.”

“Let’s just say among other things, and leave it at that,” Charlotte said, giving me a hug.

I laughed.

“I’d love to tell you she’s wrong about Channing Caulfield,” she began.

“But she’s not,” I finished.

The always pragmatic Charlotte shook her head. “No, she’s not. And he didn’t get where he is because he’s a softie.”

“Liz will eat him for lunch,” I said.

Charlotte smiled again. “My money’s on her.”

I patted the pocket of my jeans. “Phone’s on and I’ll be back in time to change,” I said.

Rose was standing at the bottom of the driveway when I pulled up to the house, carrying one of her big totes as usual. She climbed into the backseat. “Good morning, dear. Good morning, Mac,” she said. She smiled at Elvis, who was sniffing the bag she’d set next to him on the seat. “Good morning, Elvis,” she added.

I smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Good morning, Rose,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she said as she fastened her seat belt. “I know how important this is to Stella.”

Mac turned in his seat. “Hi, Rose,” he said. He looked at me. “So, are we still going to work the same way?”

I nodded as I pulled away from the curb. “Uh-huh. We’ll start in the kitchen and work out to the front of the house. Remember, Stella wants the dishes.”

He nodded.

“And those colored Pyrex bowls,” Rose added.

Mac and Rose talked about our plan of attack as we drove out to the house. Elvis watched them both as though he were actually following the conversation.

As I pulled in to the driveway I glanced over at Paul Duvall’s house on the other side of the street. There was no sign of him or his daughter.

“Want to check things out before we start lugging in boxes?” Mac asked.

“I do,” I said.

We all got out of the SUV. Rose carried Elvis. I unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house. Rose set Elvis down in the entryway. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose at me.

I could smell bleach. Stella had told me on the phone she’d wiped up the kitchen floor. It was better than the scent of blood and death that had been here before.

I hesitated for a minute, remembering Ronan Quinn’s body crumpled on the floor. Mac gave my shoulder a squeeze and eased past me as if he could read my mind. He stepped into the living room and looked around. “We’re taking that bookcase, aren’t we?” he asked, pointing at a tall, glass-fronted set of shelves to the left of the big window overlooking the street. It was piled with stacks of old newspapers and issues of National Geographic.

“Yes,” I said, walking over to join him. “Along with the sideboard and the hutch.” I pointed to the heavy wooden pieces against the end wall. “And a friend of Mr. P. wants to buy all those Geographics.”

“You’re kidding?” Mac said.

Elvis had started for the kitchen with Rose. She turned to look at Mac. “Oh no,” she said. “Elwood and his brother, Jake, have a little side business selling old books and magazines. They’ll take every one of those Geographics and keep your eyes peeled for any copies of The Saturday Evening Post. Elwood will take those, too.”

“Elwood and Jake?” Mac whispered. “The Blues Brothers? She’s messing with me, isn’t she?”

I grinned at him. “It’s Rose, Mac. There’s no way to know for sure.”

We followed Rose and Elvis out to the small kitchen. The smell of bleach was stronger. Elvis walked around gingerly sniffing the boxes piled by the windows where a table and chairs should have been. “That’s the wine,” I said. “It stays where it is.”

“Got it,” Mac said. He and Rose were already walking around looking in the cupboards. Rose would pack the dishes Stella wanted to keep while Mac did an inventory of everything else on his iPad so we’d know what we had when it came time to have the in-house estate sale I was planning.

“I’m going to do a walk-around,” I said.

Mac waved at me over his shoulder. I walked back out to the living room. Along with the pieces of furniture, there were a couple of framed paintings that I was taking back to the shop to sell on commission for Stella. I hoped to get more money for them by putting them on our Web site.

Elvis wandered out from the kitchen. “Let’s go take a look in the bedrooms,” I said.

We went down the tiny hallway. The master bedroom was the starkest room in the house with just a double bed and two dressers. Someone—Stella probably—had long since taken Edison Hall’s clothes. The room had an air of sadness about it. I’d noticed a couple of blankets folded at the end of the living room sofa the first time I was in the house. I suspected Edison Hall had been sleeping there and not in this room.

The next bedroom was almost as large as the master and it was jammed full of stuff. If there was logic or a pattern to what was stored there, I couldn’t see it. At least most of the stuff was in boxes. The downside was that none of them were marked. I looked in the top of one of them. It held six cans of Spam and a large jug of water. Supplies in case of a natural disaster? I wondered. I carried the box out into the living room so I could go through it to see if the food had expired.

I stepped back into the room in time to see Elvis jump onto the seat of a low rocking chair, balance and leap from there to some boxes.

“Hey! Where are you going?” I said.

He meowed at me and started making his way across the stacked cartons. I reached for him, but he was already more than an arm’s length away. He turned and looked over his shoulder at me and then jumped down, out of sight, onto a lower pile of boxes. To the right there looked to be just enough space to squeeze around the piles and get the cat.

The boxes had a musty smell about them and the room was full of dust. I sneezed as I lifted a garbage bag out of my way and dust motes rose in the air. “I hope you’re not back there with anything that has fur and a long tail,” I muttered.

Eventually I worked my way to the back wall of the room. Elvis was sitting on the window ledge. I had dust in my nose, on my shirt and—I was pretty sure—in my hair. There didn’t seem to be a speck of it on Elvis’s sleek black fur. In fact, he almost looked smug. On the windowsill next to him sat what looked to me to be an old model train engine. I picked it up while the cat watched me.

The steam cylinder was painted a dark brown with the word ROCKET stenciled on the side in gold letters. A black stack of a smaller diameter rose maybe four inches above it. The only model train items I recognized were Lionel, and I knew this wasn’t.

“Let’s go ask Mac about this,” I said to Elvis.

His response was to launch himself onto the nearest stack of boxes. The flaps were folded down, not taped shut, and Elvis pawed at one edge.

“Leave that alone,” I said sharply.

He completely ignored me, scratching at the edge of cardboard again.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll look, but if anything in there is alive I’m tossing you inside and closing the lid.”

“Mrrr,” he said, and it almost seemed as if he shrugged.

I set the train engine back on the window ledge and gingerly opened the box. As soon as I’d pulled the flaps apart, Elvis was poking his nose inside.

“Let me see,” I said. I couldn’t hear any noises that suggested anything had set up home in the carton.

Inside the box I found four more train cars. They looked to be the right size and vintage to go with the steam engine.

“Nice work,” I said to Elvis. He blinked his green eyes at me, then began making his way toward the door.

I picked up the engine again and squeezed through the maze of boxes and bags. I left the box with the other train cars behind. I knew I couldn’t squeeze through the narrow space if I was carrying it.

Elvis was already headed to the kitchen, so I followed him. Rose was humming softly while she wrapped a china cereal bowl in newspaper and Mac was standing in front of the large pantry cupboard typing on his iPad.

“Mac, do you know anything about model trains?” I asked, holding up the engine Elvis and I had found.

“Not really,” he said. “Is it Lionel?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s old, whatever it is. I think it might be a replica of some kind of steam engine.” I showed him the word ROCKET lettered on the side of the cylinder.

Rose tucked the paper wrapped bowl into a box at her feet and joined us. “Alfred knows a little about model trains,” she said. “Would you like me to call him?” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and held it up.

Mac looked at me and shrugged.

“Why not?” I said.

Mac took the engine from me, turning it over carefully in his hands. “It looks old, but it’s in decent shape. Where did you find it?”

“That little bedroom, the one that’s piled with stuff.”

Elvis meowed loudly and jumped up onto the only kitchen chair that didn’t have a box on it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “it was actually Elvis who found it. And there’s a box with several cars that I think probably go with it.”

Rose was nodding at her phone. She ended the call and rejoined us. “Alfred thinks it may be a Marklin engine,” she said. “Could we take a photo and send it to him?”

Mac cleared a space on the counter. He set the engine down and Rose snapped a picture of it. It might have been another minute after she sent it to Mr. P. that her phone rang.

“What do you think?” Rose asked. She listened for a moment. “Oh, that would be lovely.” She looked at me and held out the phone. “Alfred would like to speak to you.”

I took it from her. “Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning, Sarah,” Mr. P. replied. “Rose said you found some additional train cars. Could you describe them to me?”

I shared what I remembered from my brief look inside the box.

“Splendid,” Mr. P. exclaimed.

“Does that mean you know what this engine is?” I asked.

“I believe I do,” he said, and I could hear an edge of excitement in his voice. “I think what you have is a Marklin S Rocket, which is a replica of Stephenson’s Rocket, one of the most advanced steam locomotives of the early eighteen hundreds. It wasn’t a big seller in its day for Marklin. A complete set with all the cars would be a very rare find. It sounds as though that’s what you have.”

I looked at the tin engine. “Does rare equal valuable?”

“Indeed it does, at least in this case. The last set, minus one car, sold for more than twenty-five thousand dollars about eighteen months ago.”

“So this set could be worth more than that?” I said.

“To a collector, yes,” he said. “And I should caution you that I’m no expert on this kind of thing. You need to get the train evaluated by someone who knows model trains.”

“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my dear,” he said.

I handed the phone back to Rose.

“You’re smiling,” Mac said.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the rounded edge of the counter. “If Mr. P. is right, that engine and the train cars I saw in the box could be worth twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Wow.”

I smiled even wider at him. “Exactly.”

By noon Rose and I had packed all the dishes that were going to Stella, and Mac had finished the kitchen inventory.

“I’ll check with Stella about getting these boxes moved before the estate sale,” I said to Mac, indicating the cartons of wine. “Unless they turn out to be evidence.”

“What do you mean, evidence?” he said.

“Michelle told me that the police are looking into the fraud with the wine,” I said quietly.

“As part of this investigation or as something separate?”

“Both,” Rose said, looking up from the box she was taping shut.

“How do you know that?” I said, rubbing a knot out of the back of my neck with one hand.

Rose looked at me unblinkingly. It was disconcertingly like the look Elvis often gave me.

I shook my head. “This falls into the category of things I’d probably be happier not knowing, doesn’t it?”

Rose just smiled.

“Do you know how Edison Hall got interested in collecting wine in the first place?” Mac asked. “Did Stella say anything about it?”

“Not to me,” I said. I looked inquiringly at Rose.

She shook her head. “She didn’t say anything to me, either.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “That might be useful information to have,” he said.

Rose nodded slowly. “Yes, it might,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “Sarah dear, don’t you need to get back and get ready for your lunch date?”

I straightened up. “Yes, I do. Are you two coming back here after lunch? I don’t need the SUV.”

“I brought lunch for the two of us,” Rose said, smiling at Mac and tipping her head in the direction of her tote bag sitting on the one bare space on the counter. “We could just stay here and you could come back for us.”

Mac shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“Why don’t you drive me down to the shop?” I said to him. “Then when you’re ready, you and Rose can leave. I have no idea how long this lunch of Liz’s is going to take.”

“Do you mind staying here by yourself?” he said to Rose. “It won’t take me very long to drive Sarah back to the shop.”

Elvis meowed loudly and it seemed to me, just a bit indignantly.

“As Elvis just pointed out, I won’t be by myself,” Rose said with a smile. “Go ahead. I’ll start packing up those National Geographic magazines while you’re gone.”

Rose seemed to have an unlimited amount of energy. She could work someone half her age under the table.

“There are a couple of plastic bins in the living room,” Mac said. “You can use those, but don’t lift them. I’ll move them when I get back.”

“All right,” she said in the tone of someone who was just humoring him. She patted my arm as she passed me. “Don’t let Liz get off-topic, dear,” she said. “You know how she can be.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, pulling down my shirtsleeves. “But I’m not promising anything, because I do know how she can be.”

“I’m just going to grab the toolbox,” Mac said as we pulled in to the lot at the store. “I think I’m going to have to take the hutch and the sideboard apart.”

“Put in a couple more hours and call it a day. I’ll be back . . . when I’m back.”

“All right,” he said. Then he smiled. “Good luck with Liz.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think finding that model train was a good omen.”

Of course I was wrong.