A Whisker Оf Trouble

Chapter 11

Liz was standing by the front door talking to Charlotte when I came down the stairs. I was wearing the dress Charlotte had suggested with heels that were probably too high and lipstick that was probably too red.

Liz looked at me and made a circular motion with her index finger. “Twirl.”

I did a slow pirouette for her.

“Perfect,” she said.

“You look lovely,” Charlotte said with a smile.

I stuck out one foot. “Are these shoes too much?” I asked.

Liz gave a snort of laughter. “No, they’re not. Those shoes make a statement.”

“I’m just a little nervous about what they’re saying.”

One perfectly groomed eyebrow went up. “What they’re saying is ‘Look at these legs,’ which is exactly what I want them to say and exactly want I want Channing Caulfield to do. While he’s distracted by you, I can get the answers I’m looking for.”

“That’s rather sexist, Liz,” Charlotte said.

Liz nodded. “Of course. It’s totally sexist. So is Channing Caulfield. That’s why it’s going to work.” She looked at Charlotte. “Don’t shake your head at me, Charlotte Elliot. You know I’m right.” She held her car keys out to me.

Charlotte tried to hide a smile but wasn’t quite successful.

“Mac and Rose will be back in a couple of hours. I’ll be back when Liz is finished dangling me in front of Mr. Caulfield like I’m a fly and he’s a trout.”

Liz laughed and put her arm around my shoulders. “Okay, Sarah,” she said. “Let’s go dangle you in the water and see what we can catch.”

I looked back over my shoulder and waved at Charlotte.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I slid behind the wheel of Liz’s car.

“The Hearthstone Inn.”

“Fancy.”

“It’s all about setting the right atmosphere,” she said, smoothing the skirt of her black suit over her knees.

“And what reason did you give Mr. Caulfield for inviting him to lunch?” I asked as I pulled onto the street.

“We’re both interested in the new development proposal for the harbor front. I’m thinking of investing some of the Emmerson Foundation’s portfolio and you’re thinking of moving your business.”

I shot a quick glance in her direction. “Will he buy that?”

Liz nodded. “Yes. Channing was—is—very good at his job. I’ve talked to him several times about investments over the years. He’s always given me excellent advice.”

I stopped at the corner, waited for traffic to pass and then turned left. “Is Rose right?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road. “Is Mr. Caulfield interested in you?”

“How would I know that?” Liz retorted.

I stifled a smile. “So that would be yes.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Have you perchance been putting up with Mr. Channing’s ongoing interest in you because of his excellent advice?” I asked.

“Perchance?” Liz said, an edge of sarcasm in her voice.

“It’s a perfectly valid word.”

“If you’re Shakespeare.”

I sent another quick glance in her direction. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding it. It was such a preposterous question I didn’t see the point in answering it.”

“So that would be another yes.”

There was silence for a moment; then Liz laughed. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Rose, missy,” she said.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road. “Guilty as charged.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liz shift a little in her seat. “When I took over the Emmerson Foundation, do you know how much money was actually going to programs?” she asked.

We were almost at the inn. I slowed down and put on my blinker. “Since you’re asking the question, I’m guessing not enough.”

“Fifty-four percent.”

“Ouch.”

“Expenses were ridiculous, especially our investment costs,” she said. “I hired Channing to rebalance the foundation’s portfolio, and his guidance helped us get through downturns in the market. His expertise was worth every cent we paid him. And by the way, he donated half the money back to the foundation.”

I pulled in to the driveway of the Hearthstone Inn.

“Last year we spent eighty-eight percent of our funds on programming,” Liz continued. “Channing Caulfield had a lot to do with that. And just to be clear, I offered to pay for his time today. He turned me down. I’m sending him a box of his favorite cigars even though I think they smell like burning tires.”

I backed the car into a parking spot and turned to look at Liz. “Have I told you lately that I love you to pieces?”

She gave a dismissive wave with a manicured hand. “Everybody does,” she said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

We were shown to a table near the center of the main dining room at the inn. Silverware gleamed against the crisp white napkins and pale blue tablecloth. Liz had timed our arrival so we’d be at the table when Channing Caulfield arrived.

He was right on time. After I’d agreed to join Liz on this luncheon fishing expedition, I did some online research on Caulfield. He was a self-made man who’d gone to college on scholarship when he was sixteen.

Channing Caulfield was of average height, although he walked with the presence and confidence of a much larger man. He had silver hair—lots of it—combed back from his face, a ready smile and blue eyes that it seemed petty to call beady, although that was the first thought that came to my mind.

Liz got to her feet as he reached the table.

“Liz, it’s good to see you,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful, as always.”

“Thank you for coming,” she said. She turned and smiled at me. “This is Isabel’s granddaughter, Sarah Grayson.”

He inclined his head in my direction. “Please call me Channing,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sarah. How’s your grandmother?”

“She’s well, thank you,” I said.

Liz made small talk while we looked at our menus and ordered. I took advantage of the opportunity to study Caulfield. He was very much a gentleman—smooth, polished and polite. I noticed that he was watching us and everything else that was going on in the restaurant’s dining room.

I had no doubt that this was the man Teresa had seen watching Edison Hall’s house the morning Ronan Quinn died. The hair was right, and so were the eyes and the slight jowls along his jawline. As he smiled pleasantly across the table at me, I had the sudden urge to lean over and ask him directly what he’d been doing that morning. Then I remembered that the whole reason I’d come along was to stop Liz from doing something exactly like that.

Caulfield added cream to the coffee our waiter had brought. I noticed that he didn’t have the soft, smooth hands you’d expect to see with someone who had worked in an office. His were lined with prominent joints. “So you’re interested in the harbor-front development from an investment perspective?” he said, directing his question at Liz.

She nodded, reaching for her tea. “If this proposal comes to pass, those two buildings we own the mortgages on will be sold. I’ve been thinking about putting some of that money back into the development. Seaward Properties is still looking for investors.”

“Have you read their prospectus?” he asked.

“I have,” Liz said. “It looks solid, but I know very little about Jason Cavanaugh himself.”

I let them talk while I watched and listened and marveled at how knowledgeable Liz was. I suspected she could easily have turned the Emmerson Foundation’s finances around without Channing Caulfield’s help.

When our food arrived Caulfield turned to me. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said. “I’ve been ignoring you.”

“No, you haven’t,” I said. “I’ve learned a lot listening to you and Liz talk.” I smiled at the waiter who had just refilled my cup.

“You’re interested in moving your business downtown if the development goes through?”

“I’ve heard the pitch and I have the proposal.”

He narrowed his blue eyes. “What’s making you hesitate?”

“The cost. And parking. We get a fair amount of business from tour buses. They can pull off the highway and reach our current location easily. And right now I have a pretty big parking lot.”

Caulfield unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. “Right now you’re a destination shop. If you move your business you’ll be one of many businesses in the same area competing for customers.”

I smiled and nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liz doing the same. He was sharp. “Yes,” I said. “I’m not convinced the increased volume of people walking by our door will offset the increased competition for dollars in the same area.”

“What’s your weekly customer volume during the tourist season?” he asked.

I glanced at Liz, who nodded. I gave Caulfield the number. He frowned, holding up one hand as he did some kind of mental math.

My fish cakes were only half gone before he determined that moving Second Chance didn’t make sense. It was the same conclusion I’d come to when I originally considered the idea, back when North by West was behind the harbor-front development idea, but it was nice to have confirmation of my calculations.

“You’re going to be clearing out Edison Hall’s property, aren’t you?” Caulfield asked, raising a finger in the direction of our waiter, who seemed to appear at the table with a full cream pitcher almost by magic.

“We started this morning,” I said, putting a little more spicy salsa on my plate. It was so good I could have just eaten it with a spoon directly from the little glass bowl, but Mom and Gram had taught me better manners than that. And I wasn’t sure that Liz wouldn’t smack me with her own fork if I tried it.

“If you come across a train layout, would you call me?” he asked.

“You mean a model train?” I said. I knew that he did, but I was stalling. He had to be talking about the steam engine and cars Elvis and I had found just a few hours ago. Interesting coincidence.

“What would Edison Hall have been doing with a toy train?” Liz asked. Under the table her hand squeezed my knee, her way of telling me, Don’t say anything!

I put my hand on top of hers to let her know I’d gotten her message.

“Model train, Liz, not a child’s toy,” Caulfield said.

“There’s a difference?” Liz said, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, there is,” I said, gently squeezing her hand. I wasn’t going to give anything away, but I wasn’t going to let this chance to ask questions slip by. “Model railroading is a very popular hobby. People collect engines and cars, build layouts with track and scenery and run their trains.”

“So you think Edison Hall was into model railroading?” There was an edge of skepticism in Liz’s voice.

Aside from the Marklin engine and cars, there didn’t seem to be anything in the house to suggest the old man had been a hobbyist. There was no track, no layouts. I wondered if the pieces were part of another collection. Along with the stacks of National Geographic magazines in the house, there were dozens of blue glass electrical insulators in the garage and what looked to be maybe half a dozen weather vanes in the backyard. I suspected that Edison Hall was a man with the collector gene.

“I know he was into model railroading,” Caulfield said, setting down his fork. “Years ago we were in a train club together.”

“You’re joking,” Liz said.

He gave her his smooth smile. “No, I’m not. My father worked for the Maine Central Railroad. And Edison was a railroad man himself.” He turned back to me. “I don’t know if you know very much about model trains, Sarah.”

“I recognize Lionel,” I said. “That’s about it.”

“I’m looking for a steam engine and several cars made by a German company named Marklin.”

It was too big a coincidence. Caulfield must have realized we’d find the model train cars pretty quickly. I suspected that was why he’d said yes to Liz’s lunch invitation so easily and not just for the chance to charm her.

“I’m sure Ethan would be willing to sell you whatever you’re interested in from Edison’s collection, that’s assuming we find one.” I didn’t like to lie, but since we hadn’t found a collection yet, I told myself I wasn’t. For the most part.

I speared the last bite of fish cake, dipped it in the salsa and ate it.

Then Caulfield said, “The model train I’m looking for is mine.”

“So, what was Edison doing with a toy train belonging to you?” Liz asked. Our waiter appeared at her side then with a fresh pot of tea. I had no idea how he knew she needed a refill. I hadn’t seen her so much as lift a finger—or an eyebrow.

Caulfield smiled, shifted sideways in his chair and crossed one gray-suited leg over the other. “Years ago I bought a steam engine and several cars from another member of the train club—Duncan Merriman. Edison also bought some pieces from him.” He glanced toward the front window for a moment. “Merriman was in the early stages of dementia.”

“He sold the same train to both of you,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes. It was part of a club layout. When I went to get it I discovered that Edison had beaten me to it.”

“But you had a receipt.” The steam rose from the china teapot as Liz poured more tea.

Channing Caulfield laughed and ducked his head. “The fact that you’re asking me that question tells me you know I didn’t.”

Liz raised her eyebrows over her cup but didn’t say anything.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Edison asked me the same question Liz just did. When I couldn’t show him a receipt, he gave me some nonsense about possession being nine-tenths of the law.”

“The Hatfields and McCoys,” Liz murmured.

“We’d been . . .” He paused, searching for the right word. “. . . discussing the issue for years. Last year Edison told me he wanted to make a layout for his grandchildren. He offered me a bottle of wine from his collection. I agreed. It seemed as though things were settled satisfactorily.”

“Then you found out that Edison’s entire wine collection was worthless,” I said.

“Including the bottle he’d given me.” Caulfield gave me a wry smile. “It was all just by chance really. I was in McNamara’s and I recognized Quinn from the article in the Boston Globe. We started talking. He told me he was looking into another case of fraud, here in town. He didn’t say who, but after he left Glenn McNamara said Quinn had been hired to appraise Edison Hall’s wine collection. I put two and two together.”

Liz tipped her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t suppose you happened to use that bottle to kill Ethan Hall’s wine expert, did you?” she asked.

“Liz,” I groaned.

The former bank manager didn’t seem the slightest bit ruffled. “No,” he said. “What would that have accomplished?”

Liz had crossed her own legs and one high-heeled foot bobbed up and down. “I don’t know,” she said. “And I’m not saying you did kill the man, I’m just asking if you did.” She smiled at him, and I could see why Channing Caulfield, and men half his age for that matter, was captivated by her. She’d just accused Caulfield of killing someone and he wasn’t at all offended. Of course she was showing a lot of leg at the moment—and she had great legs—and that was capturing at least some of his attention.

“I didn’t kill Mr. Quinn,” Caulfield said. “I’d never even met the man. On the contrary, I was hoping he’d be able to figure out who had defrauded Edison. Rumor had it that’s why he was still in town. My attorney has advised me that it would be possible to file a civil suit if there wasn’t enough evidence for criminal charges.”

“So, what were you doing lurking around Edison’s house the morning Mr. Quinn was killed?” Liz said.

I turned to glare at her.

“Don’t give me that look, Sarah,” she said. “I’m planning on having a slice of Aggie’s maple custard pie in a few minutes and I’m not planning on continuing this discussion while I’m eating it.”

I looked at the former bank manager. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Liz and Stella Hall are friends, which I’m hoping explains her bluntness.” I sent another frown in Liz’s direction. She didn’t look the slightest bit repentant.

He leaned over and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “It’s all right, Sarah,” he said. “I’ve known Liz for a long time. This isn’t the first time she’s been so . . . forthright about something.” He looked over at Liz. “I heard that Sarah and her staff were going to be clearing out Edison’s house. Since the wine Edison gave me turned out to be worthless, as far as I’m concerned our agreement is void. I was hoping I could find my train.”

Caulfield had been trying to do the same thing as Teresa had: take back what he believed belonged to him.

“What happened?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing. When I got to the house Quinn was standing by the back door. I waited for a couple of minutes to see if he’d leave. When he didn’t, I realized I was on a fool’s errand and left myself.”

I picked up my cup mostly so I’d have something to do with my hands. First Teresa and now Channing Caulfield, not to mention Paul Duvall sneaking a cup of coffee behind his wife’s back; clearly none of these people had ever watched Wile E. Coyote cartoons or they’d know all that sneaking around wasn’t going to end well.

Liz waved our waiter over and ordered dessert. Caulfield and I both passed. “I see someone I need to speak to,” Liz said, getting to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Caulfield stood up as well.

“Sit down,” Liz said, waving a hand at him.

Caulfield watched her walk across the restaurant to a table by the front window before he resumed his seat. I recognized the person Liz had gone to speak to, Jane Evans, lawyer Josh Evans’s mother.

I exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry Liz was so blunt,” I said.

Caulfield pulled his eyes away from Liz and focused his attention on me. “She’s a complex woman,” he said. “I’ve wanted to get to know her better for years.” He set his napkin next to his plate. “What do you say, Sarah? Would you put in a good word for me?”

I laughed, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. “Did you not notice how much influence I don’t have with her?” I asked. There really wasn’t anything wrong with Channing Caulfield, I decided. He was just a little too slick. I had the urge to tell him to stop trying so hard, at least with Liz.

“Have you really been considering moving your business?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes. I came to the conclusion it wasn’t a good idea, financially speaking, but it was good to have you confirm my choice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

I leaned back in my chair. “I’m sorry you ended up with a worthless bottle of wine. For what it’s worth, the police are investigating the fraud.”

“From what I’ve been able to find out, they aren’t going to get very far without Mr. Quinn. This type of fraud was his area of expertise.”

“Maybe they’ll be able to figure out how Edison Hall was scammed in the first place. That could lead them to whoever faked the bottles.”

A look I couldn’t read flashed across his face. “I may have an idea how that happened,” Caulfield said slowly. “In fact, it may in part be my fault.”

I leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table. “I . . . don’t understand.” Was he confessing to some kind of fraud? I needed Liz.

Caulfield looked down at his coffee cup for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet mine. “About a year and a half ago I was asked to be part of a seminar on money management for seniors that was being sponsored by Legacy Place. I had a lot on my plate at the time and I turned down the invitation. They ended up bringing in someone from out of town.”

“And you think Edison was at that seminar?”

“I think it’s possible. I don’t know how they got our names, but everyone from the train club got an invitation, probably because we’re all over sixty-five.”

“And you think this out-of-town person was the one who defrauded Edison Hall?”

Caulfield wore a heavy gold signet ring on his right hand and he twisted it around his finger now. “No. But I think there may have been a plant in the audience.”

I was sure my confusion was written all over my face.

“Several people told me that there was a woman at the seminar, not anyone from North Harbor, who was talking about how she preferred to invest in something tangible instead of stocks and bonds.”

“You think she was connected to the scam in some way.”

He gave a slight shrug. “It’s occurred to me that it’s possible.”

Liz was on her way back to the table and I could see our waiter coming as well with her dessert.

“None of what happened is your fault,” I said. “But I do think you should share this information with the police.” I cocked my head to one side and smiled up at him, hoping I was convincing.

“I could be wrong,” he said.

“But you could be right,” I replied.

“Fine. I’ll talk to them.” He smiled at me.

Liz returned to the table just as the waiter reached us with her dessert. We talked in general terms about the plans for the harbor front while she ate her pie and I learned a lot about the project that I hadn’t known before. Caulfield pushed back the cuff off his pale blue shirt and checked his watch as Liz set her fork down.

“Liz, it’s been a pleasure, even with the murder accusation,” he said, getting to his feet. He turned to smile at me. “And, Sarah, I enjoyed meeting you. If I can help you with anything else, please call me.”

“I will. Thank you,” I said.

He leaned over and kissed Liz on the cheek. “If you decide to invest in the development, call me before you sign anything,” he said.

“Thank you for joining us,” she said.

He smiled and headed for the exit.

Liz looked around for our waiter. When she caught his eye she nodded. He nodded in return. The two of them seemed to have some kind of code.

“I do a fair amount of Emmerson Foundation business here,” Liz said by way of explanation when she caught me watching her. Once she’d paid for our meal, we walked out to the car. Liz fastened her seat belt and turned to look at me with a self-satisfied smile. “We make a good team,” she said.

I fastened my own seat belt and stuck the key in the ignition. “You could have been a little more diplomatic,” I said.

“What did you find out?” she asked.

“Why do you think I found out anything?”

She held up a finger. “Number one, I saw your heads together, so I know he told you something.” She held up a second finger. “Number two, I did a damn fine job of setting up your rapport.”

I turned to look at her. “Excuse me?” I said. “What do you mean, you set up our rapport?”

She smoothed a hand over her blond hair. “I was rude. You were appalled. You and Channing bonded. He confided in you. Stop stalling and tell me what he said.”

I pointed my index finger at her, stabbing the air with it. “You did that on purpose.”

She looked surprised. “Of course I did,” she said. “You mean you’re just figuring that out?”

“You could have told me what you were going to do,” I muttered as I pulled out of the parking lot.

“I’m sorry about that,” Liz said. “But I think it worked out better this way. So, what did he tell you?”

I repeated Channing Caulfield’s story about the money management seminar.

“He could be onto something,” Liz said.

“I had the same thought,” I said. I stopped at the corner and used the opportunity to look in her direction.

She gave me a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “We’re a good team,” she said.

I shifted my gaze back to the road. “Do not try to tell me that we’re Xena and Gabrielle again,” I said sternly.

Liz laughed. “Fine, but I think you like the detective business.”

“No, I don’t,” I said, keeping my eyes straight ahead.

Liz laughed again and it occurred to me that no matter how hard I tried to stay out of the detecting business, it somehow kept pulling me back in.