A Whisker Оf Trouble

Chapter 13

I went upstairs and changed out of my dress and heels, dropping down onto the love seat to rub my aching feet before I put my Keds back on. I had no idea how Liz managed to walk around all day in spike heels.

When I went back downstairs, Avery was at the cash desk with one customer and Rose was showing a bed frame to two others. Mac walked over to me.

“Things look pretty much under control in here,” I said to Mac.

He nodded. “Avery did a good job under the stairs—no more marauding dust bunnies.”

I nodded solemnly. “Those critters can be very sneaky.”

“She updated the list and put a copy on the door and another copy over by the cash.”

I glanced across the room where it looked as though Avery was showing her customer the various bracelets that snaked their way up her left arm. “She’s the only teenager I’ve ever met who actually likes doing that kind of thing.”

Mac passed a hand back over his close-cropped black hair. “What do you think about getting her to do an up-to-date inventory when we finally get the old garage into a workable space?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I said.

“If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going out to get the old chandelier from Doran’s and put it in the workroom.”

“Need any help?” I asked.

“You could come hold the door for me,” Mac said.

I smiled. “Sure.”

We started for the workroom. “Where’s Charlotte?” I asked.

“Talking to someone who was at that financial planning seminar. Someone she used to teach with, I think.”

“Do you think Caulfield is right?” I asked. “You think it’s possible that was where the whole wine thing began for Edison?”

“It’s possible,” he said. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before.” He held up a hand. “Not wine collecting, but other sorts of scams—rare coins, vacation properties in Florida. All the con needs is for one person to take the bait.”

“Why does someone ‘take the bait’?”

He shrugged. “My experience is pretty limited in this kind of thing, but I can tell you it’s usually not greed that motivates. I think, as crazy as it sounds, it’s the same kind of thing as making a wish when you blow out the candles on a birthday cake. It’s hoping for something more.”

“Do you think maybe Edison wanted to leave something more for Ethan?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“Which made him the perfect target for anyone looking to run a con.”

Mac nodded. “Pretty much. And it may not have happened at that financial seminar. The reality is, Edison Hall could have been scammed in a dozen or more ways.” He held the back door and I stepped out into the parking lot. Clouds were rolling in from the water.

“Including Feast in the Field?” I asked. “Rose thinks it’s possible.”

“You did notice that brochure about Feast in the Field smelled like tuna, didn’t you?” he said.

“I did,” I said. “I don’t think it’s important, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder about that money management seminar. According to Mr. Caulfield, Edison would have received an invitation. Maybe Charlotte will come up with something.”

Mac pulled his keys out of his pocket. “So you don’t think Elvis looked at that brochure and thought, Hey, a clue? He is a pretty smart cat.”

I shook my head. “I feel pretty confident that the only thing he was thinking about was lunch.”

We had a wheeled dolly that we used to move anything large or awkward from the old garage to the workroom in the shop. I helped Mac get the brass and glass light fixture settled on it. As he maneuvered the dolly into the workroom, Charlotte came out of the Angels’ office, a look of satisfaction on her face.

“Sarah, is it all right with you if Rose works the rest of my shift?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I talked to three different people who were at that first financial seminar. They all remember a woman who said she lived in Rockport, talking about the unpredictability of the stock market and how much better tangible things were as an investment.”

“Interesting,” I said.

She nodded. “Maribelle Hearndon just called me back. She knows someone who knows someone—you know how those things work—and I have a name and an address for the woman. Liz and I are going to see her.”

“Good luck,” I said.

Mr. P. arrived about twenty minutes after Liz and Charlotte had left.

“Did you walk up the hill?” I asked. “I could have come and picked you up.”

“Oh, thank you, Sarah,” he said, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head. “I’ve walked that hill many times. It doesn’t bother me, but I actually got a ride from your brother.” He inclined his head in the direction of the old garage. “He’s outside talking to Mac.”

I took a couple of steps backward and looked out into the parking lot. Liam was standing beside his half-ton truck deep in conversation with Mac.

“Rose is in the shop,” I said to Mr. P. “And I think there’s tea upstairs.”

He reached over and patted my arm. “Thank you, dear,” he said.

They all did that, I realized—patted my arm, smiled sweetly at me and called me “dear.” For all that I worried about them and tried to keep them from getting in too much trouble, I had the feeling, sometimes, that they were just humoring me.

Liam was dressed to work in jeans and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled back. “Hi,” he said as I joined them. “I was just telling Mac I’m free for the rest of the day, so we can probably get this whole thing finished if that’s what you want.”

“That works for me, Sarah,” Mac said.

“I’d love to get it finished,” I said. I smiled at Liam. “Thank you, big brother.” Emphasis on “big.”

He grinned. “Oh yeah, when you’re looking to get something from me, then you acknowledge that I’m older and wiser.”

I bumped him with my hip. “I said you were older; I didn’t say you were smarter.”

“I’m smart enough not to let you cook me dinner to pay me back,” he retorted.

“Are you coming to Thursday night jam?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll buy you dinner beforehand.”

“And all the nachos I can eat while Sam and the boys are playing.”

“Deal.”

“I can eat a lot of nachos,” he warned.

“You also do a lot of flirting, which cuts into your eating,” I said with a grin. “I think I can afford it.”

Liam and Mac went to work in the old garage and I went back to the shop. Mr. P. was in the sunporch busy with his computer. Avery and Rose were both with customers and as I stepped into the store Avery beckoned me over.

It turned out to be a busy afternoon. A small caravan of RV campers was working its way up the coast and they’d stopped in North Harbor for a couple of days. One of the RV owners bought two guitars and when I asked him about his camper—which looked like an oversize van to me—he offered to let me have a look inside. It had a tiny galley kitchen, a separate bathroom and a sofa at the back that turned into a queen-size bed.

“There’s a lot more room inside than I expected,” I said to the owner, who said his name was Joe. I was guessing he was in his mid to late fifties.

“Everyone says that,” he said. “It’s not bad on gas and it’s pretty easy to park.” He gestured at the store behind us. “You could travel all over the state with this and bring things back for your store. Or park it in the middle of the woods somewhere and spend the whole day playing guitar.”

“I like that second part,” I said with a laugh.

Joe told me that the group would be heading south again in a couple of months and he’d stop in then to see what musical instruments I had in stock.

I walked back inside to find Rose giving the driver of one of the other RV’s directions to the Black Bear and Avery selling three of the bracelets she was wearing to a woman about my age. Elvis was holding court on the tub chair being fussed over by three more customers. Mr. P. came down the stairs carrying two mugs.

“I just made a fresh pot for Mac and your brother,” he said. “Would you like me to get you a cup when I come back?”

I hesitated and then the phone rang.

“Go answer that,” Mr. P. said. “I’ll bring you coffee in just a minute.” He made his way across the room, smiling at both Rose and Avery as he passed them.

As I went to get the phone, I realized that as much as it might be fun to run off in an RV, I’d miss them all too much to ever do it. Then I got a mental image of taking them all with me, Mr. P. with his pants hiked up to his armpits driving one of the oversize vans, Liz with her heels and perfect manicure behind the wheel of another and me with Elvis riding shotgun leading the way. The thought made me laugh as I picked up the phone.

Charlotte and Liz got back about an hour before closing time. I knew from the expression on their faces that they hadn’t returned with any useful information.

“That was a fool’s errand,” Liz said, setting her purse on one of the chairs in the Angels’ office.

“I don’t think it was,” Charlotte said, unbuttoning her jacket. “I think we’re on the right track at least.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The woman moved and no one in the building seemed to really know her or know where she went,” she said. “More than one person remembers her talking about the uncertainty of the stock market. She’s the woman we’re looking for.”

“Which doesn’t do us any good, since we didn’t find her,” Liz said.

“But we do know Edison was at that seminar,” Charlotte said. “I talked to Stella,” she added as an aside to me.

I opened my mouth to point out to them that knowing Edison Hall had been at the seminar proved nothing because there was no proof that anything underhanded had happened there, but before I could speak, Mr. P. did.

“I found her,” he said.

“Found who?” Liz asked. She looked over his shoulder at the laptop he was working at.

He looked up at us. “The woman from the seminar. At least based on the description Charlotte got, I think I found her.”

He clicked several keys and video footage appeared on the screen. Thanks to the Angels’ investigations, I’d seen security camera footage enough times to recognize that was what this was.

Mr. P. tapped the screen with one finger. “This is from the day of the seminar.”

“Which was more than eighteen months ago,” I said.

“I’m aware of that, my dear,” he said.

The view was the parking lot at Legacy Place, taken, as far as I could tell, from the building next door, which housed offices for several doctors and dentists. I was going to ask him how he’d gotten the old security footage—how he’d even known it existed—but I thought better of it. Alfred and I had come to an unspoken agreement about this kind of thing. I didn’t ask him how he got his information and he tried to keep his tactics more or less legit.

The image on the screen was of a woman in her early seventies talking to a younger man.

“I think that could be her,” Charlotte said. “She looks like the woman Maribelle’s friend described.” She turned to Liz. “What do you think?”

Liz studied the computer. “It’s her. See her purse?”

Charlotte and I both leaned in for a better look.

“Maribelle’s friend said the woman was carrying a plaid purse—a beige background with white, black and red lines.”

“Alfred, can you zoom in on her bag?” Liz asked.

He clicked a few keys and a close-up of the right side of the woman’s body filled the screen. The image was a little blurry, but the purse did match the description Liz had just given.

“That’s the Haymarket check,” she said, pointing at the screen. “The bag is a Burberry. Let’s just say it’s not cheap. We need to find that man Alfred.”

Mr. P. smiled. “I think I can enlarge his face and run it through a nifty little software program I came across to enhance the image just a little.”

I cleared my throat, but they either didn’t hear me or ignored me. I did it again.

“Sarah, are you trying to bring up a fur ball or did you want to say something?” Liz asked without looking away from the computer.

Charlotte, however, turned to look at me. “What is it?” she asked. Her glasses had slid down her nose and she pushed them up with a finger.

“We have to give this information to Michelle,” I said.

Liz looked at me then, one hand on her hip. I knew that posture. I was in for an argument. “No, we don’t,” she said. “There isn’t any information to give. All we have so far is a third-hand description of a woman who may or may not have been touting alternatives to the stock market at a financial planning seminar that took place well over a year ago.”

Charlotte sighed softly and looked from Liz to me. “I don’t like to take sides, Sarah,” she said, “but Liz is right. We don’t have facts. All we have is guesswork.”

“You don’t think it’s guesswork,” I said. “And neither does Liz.”

“Is this because of Nicolas?” Charlotte asked.

I shook my head. “No, it isn’t.”

“Then are you part of our team or not?” Liz asked, holding out a hand.

“Of course Sarah is part of our team,” Mr. P. said with just a hint of recrimination in his voice. “And she’s right. We should share what we’ve learned with the police. We’re both trying to find out who killed Mr. Quinn.”

Liz made a sound a lot like a snort.

Mr. P. chose to ignore her. “I’d also like to show Nicolas and Detective Andrews that we know what we’re doing and we’re not going to disrupt their investigation.”

Charlotte smiled. “Alfred, you’re a very sensible, reasonable man,” she said.

Liz exhaled loudly. “Yes, you are,” she said. “And I like you despite that.” She got to her feet. “I need a cup of tea.” She headed for the door. “I’m going to bring Rose up-to-date.” She caught my hand and gave it a squeeze as she passed me.

“Thank you,” I said to Mr. P. once they were both gone.

“Everything you said was correct,” he said. “And underneath her bluster Elizabeth knows that as well. I think she’s still a little touchy over being a suspect in that whole dreadful business last winter.”

The dreadful business he was referring to was the death of Lily Carter. Liz had never been a serious suspect, but she had been questioned more than once.

“I think that’s probably right,” I said. “And thank you for saying I was part of the team.”

He smiled. “It’s true. You are part of the team, my dear.”

I just nodded. I didn’t know what to say because I realized that good or bad, right or wrong, I was.