A Whisker of Trouble

Chapter 14

I went back up to my office while Mr. P. made the phone call to Michelle. I was printing out two new orders from the store’s Web site when my cell rang. It was Nick.

“Hi,” he said. “I was just in a meeting with Michelle and she had a call from Alfred Peterson. I sense your hand in that.”

“It wasn’t me,” I said, sitting on the edge of my desk.

“So you know about their theory that Edison Hall met the person who sold him all those worthless bottles of wine at some money-management thing?” The skepticism was obvious in his voice.

“You don’t?” I asked.

“I just don’t think it has any relevance to the investigation.”

“You don’t think Mr. Quinn’s death had anything to do with the whole wine scam?”

“That’s not really my part of the case.”

I reached over and took the two pages I’d just printed out of the printer tray. “It doesn’t mean you don’t have a theory.”

I heard him exhale. “I’m not saying what happened isn’t connected to those worthless bottles of wine. I’m just saying I don’t think the connection is directly related to Edison Hall.”

“So how is it connected, then?”

Nick laughed. “I suppose I may as well tell you,” he said. “It’s not like Alfred won’t ferret this out if he hasn’t already. Ronan Quinn was already involved in a court case over another fake wine scam.”

“That’s not exactly a secret, Nick,” I said. “There was an article about the case in the Boston Globe. It’s how Ethan came to hire him.”

“Quinn had received death threats because of that case as recently as a week before he came to town.”

“The police are looking in that direction.”

“They’re looking in a lot of directions, but yes, that one seems to hold the most promise.”

“I hope it works out,” I said. Could someone have followed the wine expert here to North Harbor just to kill him? It wasn’t any more of a stretch than the angle the Angels were working on.

“Michelle said they released Edison’s house back to the family,” Nick said.

“She did and we’ve already started working out there.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “This has been hard for Ethan. Once his father’s estate is settled, he’ll be able to get on with his life.”

“I promised Stella that we’d work as quickly as we can.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, glad once again to be out of those heels no matter how good they made my legs look.

“I know you gave Stella a deal, Sarah,” Nick said. “Thanks. Any chance you can find something in that old house that’s worth some money?”

I thought about the Marklin train set Elvis and I had found. Even though its ownership was in dispute, maybe there was a way it could still be used to help Ellie Hall. “I’m working on it,” I said.

“I gotta go,” Nick said then. “Are you coming to dinner at Mom’s on Sunday?”

“I am,” I said. “Rose is going to teach me how to make gravy.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well . . . um . . . good luck with that. I’m not much of a gravy man myself.”

“Nice try,” I said. “I’ve seen you in your mother’s kitchen eating gravy out of the roaster with a spoon at Thanksgiving.”

He cleared his throat. “Sarah, we’ve known each other since we were kids and in all that time you’ve never made anything that was edible. Face it. You did not get the cooking gene. You’re the kind of person for whom takeout was invented.”

“Nicolas Elliot, I’m going to make you eat your words,” I promised, feeling a little surge of competitiveness in my gut.

“It’ll have to be better than eating your cooking,” he said before he ended the call, laughing.

I took the orders downstairs. “Avery, would you get these started, please?” I asked the teenager.

“No problem,” she said, taking the pages and heading for the workroom.

Rose was busy straightening up, putting chairs in place around a small table, fluffing the pillows on the seats. “I’m just going out to see how Mac and Liam are doing,” I said. “Avery is out back if you need her.”

“Take your time,” she said, stepping back to survey her handiwork and then tweaking the position of a chair.

Mr. P. was in the sunporch, working on his laptop as usual. “Sarah,” he called as I went past the door.

I backtracked a couple of steps, leaned around the doorframe and looked at him inquiringly.

“I called Detective Andrews,” he said. “She didn’t seem very interested in our information.”

“I know,” I said. “I heard from Nick.” I paused. “I think they’re wrong.”

“Great minds think alike.” Then he smiled. “Of course, Elizabeth would say, fools seldom differ.”

“I like yours better,” I said. I gestured at the computer. “Is that Feast in the Field?”

He nodded. “I thought I would go through as many photos as I could find online this weekend.”

“You don’t even know if Edison Hall was there,” I said.

Mr. P. smoothed the few wisps of gray hair that he had. “He was. Rose called Stella and asked.”

It still seemed like a waste of time to me.

Alfred must have seen some of what I was thinking in my expression. “I am aware that brochure Elvis found smelled like tuna fish, Sarah,” he said. He studied my face for what seemed like a long moment. “I also trust Rosie’s instincts.”

He didn’t need to remind me that Rose’s instincts had probably saved my life the previous winter.

“Could I help?” I asked.

“I have everything under control,” Mr. P. said. “I have another little piece of facial-scanning software that I think will help me.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said. I didn’t ask him where his little piece of software had come from and he didn’t volunteer the information.

Mac and Liam were making great progress on the ceiling of the old garage. They had decided to keep going until all the drywall was up. I told them I’d be back later with pizza.

Liz arrived at the end of the day to pick up Avery along with Rose and Mr. P.

I gave Charlotte a ride home.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she got out of the SUV. “Bring your apron.”

“I’m not so sure I should be cooking anything,” I said. “What if I ruin the gravy?”

“Then everyone can have ketchup instead.” She waved as she started up her driveway. I watched to make sure she made it inside.

Elvis meowed from the backseat. “No, I’m not hanging over the seat to pick you up just so you can sit up here,” I said. I turned to look at him. “If you want to come up here, you’re going to have to jump.”

He meowed again, just a little louder.

I turned the radio on and sat back in my seat, and a tail smacked the side of my head as Elvis landed on the top of the middle section of the split front seat.

“Hello,” I said.

He gave me a look of annoyance, jumped down and moved over to settle himself on the passenger side, craning his neck to look out the windshield. It didn’t matter where he was sitting: The cat was a backseat driver.

I took Elvis home and then collected the pizza I’d ordered before I’d left the shop. The guys had just finished hanging the last sheet of drywall.

Mac brushed dust off the front of his T-shirt. “Thank you,” he said to Liam. “I owe you for this.”

Liam wiped his hands on the front of his pants. “You don’t owe me a thing.” One long arm snaked out and caught me around the shoulders. “You, on the other hand, owe me big-time.”

I reached over and flicked his forehead with my thumb and forefinger. “Really?” I said. “I still have that video of you in the onesie Mom bought you at Christmas, wearing Dad’s hat with the flaps while the two of you sing a rousing chorus of ‘Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.’”

Mac’s lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. Liam let go of me and put one hand over his heart. “We’re family,” he said with mock sincerity. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

I laughed and hugged him.

We ate the pizza and talked more about Liam’s role in the proposed downtown development. Because the previous North by West proposal had fallen apart, it seemed as though the harbor-front revitalization had been the only topic of conversation for close to a year now.

“Do you think this is really going to happen this time?” I asked Liam.

He pulled a long string of mozzarella from his slice and ate it. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “I looked at the financials and the numbers are good.” He nudged me with his elbow. “So I’ll probably be around a lot more, at least for a while.”

I smiled back at him. I liked having Liam around, and not just because he could cook. “You should come running with me,” I said.

“How about tomorrow morning?”

I nodded. “That works for me.”

Half a slice of pizza was on his plate. Liam rolled it up and put the entire thing in his mouth. After he swallowed he stretched and stood up. “I really need to get going,” he said.

“Thanks for the help,” Mac said.

“Not a problem,” Liam said. “Anytime.”

They shook hands and surveyed their handiwork.

When Liam turned to me I wrapped him in another hug. “Thanks,” I said. “I really do owe you.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll collect.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket, looked at the screen and put it back. “If you see Rose, will you tell her I’ll look for those photos and e-mail them to her later tonight?”

“What photos?” I asked as he leaned forward and brushed dust and bits of paper out of his hair.

“From that wine – and food-tasting thing last fall,” he said.

“Feast in the Field?”

He nodded. “That’s it. She asked if I had any pictures. I was pretty sure I did. I just need to charge my phone and I can send them to her. I forgot to plug it in last night.”

“Rose asked you for photos from Feast in the Field this past fall? Not the year before?”

“Yes. From this past fall. Not the year before.”

I was confused. The brochure Elvis had found wasn’t from the most recent Feast. I was trying, like Mr. P., to trust Rose’s instincts. I just wasn’t sure where they were taking me.

Liam reached for his jacket. “So this detective thing is legit? Alfred Peterson has a PI license and Rose is working on one?”

“It’s legit.”

“Good for them,” he said with a smile. “I hope this helps them find the guy they’re looking for.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket.

I held up one hand. “Hang on a minute. You hope what helps them find who?”

He looked at me as if I was missing something, which I was. “Alfred has some video of a man from somewhere downtown, talking to some older woman. I think I have a photo of the same guy on my phone. He was working at one of the wine-tasting booths this year. If it is the same guy, Nick and I talked to him. He was there the year before, too, one of those stereotypical sales types. That’s the only reason I remembered him.”

I looked at Mac. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Could Rose actually be right about Feast in the Field? Could she have found the person who defrauded Edison Hall and had Nick, of all people, actually talked to the man? I had an almost overwhelming urge to laugh. I coughed into my elbow instead. “I’ll tell her,” I said.

“Seven too early to run?” Liam asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said. He raised a hand. “See you, Mac.”

I watched Liam head across the parking lot and rubbed my left shoulder, which had tied itself in knots while Liam was talking.

“Give Rose the message and there’s nothing else you can do tonight,” Mac said.

“I swear I wasn’t going to get involved in this case,” I said, sitting next to Mac on a paint-spattered sawhorse. “Which is what I said last time and the time before that.”

“They’re your family.”

“Yeah, they are,” I said with a smile. “So what’s your excuse?”

“They’re kind of my family, too.” Mac shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve had something like that in my life.”

Mac never talked about family or his past or anything personal. I suspected from a remark he’d once made about commitment that he’d been married at one time.

“Your old life,” I said.

He smoothed a hand over his dark hair. “Something like that.” There was something sad in his expression, in the way he held his mouth.

“You miss it, or at least you miss the people?” The words came out as a question.

“Sometimes I missed the . . . connections,” he said.

Missed. Past tense. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know how I take my coffee. Rose remembers that I don’t like hard-boiled eggs, so she doesn’t put them in her potato salad when she brings it for us.”

Those were the same kinds of things I’d missed when I’d been working away from North Harbor. Now that I was back, it sometimes drove me crazy that Rose and her cohorts knew me so well. Other times it made me feel as if I was truly home, surrounded by people who knew me so well.

“You probably could have picked a little less . . . colorful family,” I said.

Mac laughed. “No way. I like colorful. I don’t want beige and boring.”

I nudged him with my shoulder. “I’m going to remind you that you said that the next time Mr. P. hacks in somewhere he shouldn’t and Michelle and a dozen burly police officers surround this building.”

“Wouldn’t happen,” Mac said. “Mr. P. is not that careless.”

“Have you ever thought about going back to see your old family?” I asked, aware that I was venturing out onto shaky ground.

The smile faded from Mac’s face. “No. I made mistakes. I made decisions that can’t be forgiven.”

“Gram says there’s very little that can’t be forgiven with a little time.” When he didn’t say anything I knew the conversation was over. I straightened up and reached for the broom.

“It looks so good,” I said, standing in the middle of the space and turning in a slow circle after we’d cleaned and put things away.

“I thought I’d start the mudding and taping tomorrow if that’s okay,” Mac said, taking the battery out of his cordless drill.

“It’s okay,” I said, “but are you sure you want to work on your day off?”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. The sooner the walls are finished, the sooner we can get organized out here.” He looked toward the front corner of the space.

Mac and I had partially walled off the area. I hoped to teach classes at some point in that space. Lots of light came in through the windows. A weathered barn door we’d salvaged from an old farm on the road to Portland was waiting to be hung from a sliding rail system once the walls were finished.

“Keep track of your hours,” I said. “Sailing season will be starting soon.”

“I will,” he said. “See you Monday.”

Rose and Mr. P. were just coming down the sidewalk arm in arm when I pulled in to the driveway. I waited for them by the steps.

“Liam asked me to tell you that he’ll e-mail you the photos once he charges his phone,” I told the two of them.

“Splendid,” Rose said. “Did he tell you he might have a photo of our suspect? That man we’re looking for was at Feast two years in a row.”

“He did.”

“Maybe I should ask Nicolas if he has any photos on his phone from Feast in the Field.”

I exhaled loudly and looked at Mr. P., who cleared his throat.

Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The two of you sound like a pair of old horses,” she said. “I was joking.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “Although maybe I’ll get a chance to borrow his phone on Sunday.” She started up the steps. Behind her Mr. P. shook his head, ever so slightly.

I followed them inside. “Rose, about Sunday,” I began.

She held up a hand. “If this is about the gravy, you can do it.”

“When we made Jell-O, I burned the boiling water.”

“How could you burn water?” Mr. P. asked, looking a little puzzled.

“She didn’t burn the water,” Rose explained. “She burned the kettle.”

“And I don’t want to burn the gravy,” I said.

“You won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

I hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other.

Rose made a shooing motion with one hand. “Stop fretting. Everything will be fine.”

I smiled at her. “How am I ever going to repay you for taking on the thankless job of teaching me how to cook?” I asked.

“It’s not a thankless job, dear,” she said. “And you don’t need to thank me, although if you do happen to find yourself with Nicolas’s phone—”

“You won’t be conducting any unauthorized searches,” Mr. P. finished.

“I wasn’t suggesting Sarah search Nicolas’s phone,” Rose said, pulling herself up to her full almost five feet, zero inches height. “I was merely going to say that if the opportunity presented itself, she could ask to see his photos. That’s all.”

Mr. P. smiled benignly. “Of course. My apologies.”

“Have a good night,” I said to them, turning to unlock the door.

I was tying my running shoes the next morning when Liam knocked and then poked his head around the door.

“Hi,” I said.

He was wearing gray shorts and a short-sleeve Red Sox T-shirt over a long-sleeve gray one. A gray knit beanie was pulled over his hair.

“You’re going to freeze,” I said, indicating his half-bare legs.

Liam beat on his chest with his fists. “I’m tough,” he said.

“You’re still going to be cold,” I retorted as I straightened up.

“And you’re going to sweat like a pig,” he countered, making a face at my sweatshirt and leggings.

I grinned at him. “I’ve missed you,” I said.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.” He grinned back at me.

We headed southwest, running a route I often used that was slightly uphill, enough to give us both a challenge, I hoped.

“So, who do you run with when I’m not in town?” Liam asked. Even though he was taller we’d been running together since we were teenagers and we easily fell into a comfortable pace.

“No one,” I said.

“Mac doesn’t run?”

I glanced at him but didn’t see anything other than genuine curiosity on his face.

“He does some kind of Israeli self-defense workout,” I said.

“Krav Maga?”

I nodded and pushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I tried to get Nick to come running with me.”

Liam gave a snort of laughter. “I know how that went,” he said. “When we went to hockey camp, man, did he hate the running drills! He was always the last person to finish, so he always ended up with extra sprints to do.” He grinned at the memory.

I’d forgotten about Liam going to hockey camp. “So you know Ethan Hall?” I said.

“Yeah, I know Ethan,” he said. “Mom told me about the body you found. That’s the case that Rose and the rest of them are working on, isn’t it?”

“It is.” We crossed the street starting a long, slow climb uphill.

“So Ethan’s father got scammed?” Liam asked.

“Uh-huh. I’m guessing he thought it was a sure thing. The bottles of wine he bought were supposed to improve with age and increase in value.”

“Except they were swill.”

I nodded. “Basically.” I pushed a little harder, trying to keep the pace and not slow down.

“So this guy that Rose and Alfred are trying to find is mixed up in this fake wine thing?” There was a fine sheen of sweat on Liam’s forehead. I wasn’t the only one feeling the hill, it seemed.

“Maybe,” I said. “It’s a giant long shot.”

We crossed another cross street and the incline got steeper.

“I remember the guy said he was some kind of wine dealer or broker,” Liam said. “He gave us his card. Now I wish I’d kept it.”

“Did you find his face in any of your photos?” I wondered how this so-called wine dealer was connected to the woman from the financial seminar. I was sure the Angels probably had a theory.

He shrugged. “Just profile, not full-on. I did send them to Rose.” He shot me a look. “You think I should ask Nick if he wants them?”

I laughed. “It’s probably a waste of time. Neither Nick nor the police seem to think the Angels are onto something.”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

After our run Liam went up to Gram’s apartment to shower and I changed into an old pair of jeans and a paint-spattered hoodie, collected Elvis and went to work in the backyard. Elvis prowled around while I picked up branches and other debris.

Liam had offered to drive Mr. P. over to Charlotte’s for supper so Rose and I could leave early for my gravy-making lesson. After Elvis and I finished in the yard for the day, I showered and changed.

Rose was waiting for me in the hallway. “This is not a good idea,” I said.

She smiled. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“You know I can’t cook,” I reminded her as I unlocked the SUV. “Unless you call scrambled eggs cooking.”

“As a matter of fact, I do call that cooking,” Rose said as she climbed in. “And I think you’ve created a self-fulfilling prophecy. For the next week I want you to look in the mirror every morning and say, ‘I am a good cook.’”

“Like that’s going to work.” I laughed. Then I saw the expression on her face and realized she wasn’t joking.

“Every morning,” she repeated firmly.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, slipping the key in the ignition.

“Are you just saying that to humor me?” she asked.

I looked over at her. “Not anymore, I’m not,” I said.

Rose just laughed.

Nick’s SUV was in Charlotte’s driveway while Liz’s car was parked in front of the little yellow house. The kitchen smelled like turkey and fresh bread, but there was no sign of Charlotte.

Rose set her carryall on one of the kitchen chairs. I took her coat while she started unloading her bag. Liz was putting napkins around the dining room table.

“Hi,” I said. “Where is everyone?”

Liz inclined her head in the general direction of the stairs and the rest of the house. “The spare room. In a moment of what may be temporary insanity, Charlotte is testing paint colors on the walls.”

“I didn’t know Nick was finished in there.” Charlotte had had a water leak in her extra bedroom and Nick had been slowly doing the repairs—given his schedule and the fact that he still did some paramedic shifts, it had been very slowly.

Liz frowned at the napkin in her hand, shook it out and carefully refolded it. “He laid the carpet last weekend. Avery is going to help Charlotte paint as soon as they settle on a color.” She set the napkin in place and looked at me then. “Charlotte got some of those little sample pots and Avery painted swatches on the wall. Nicolas is in there giving his opinion.”

“So, why aren’t you in there giving your opinion?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

“I already gave mine,” she said, “and it was suggested that I might be happier setting the table.”

“And your opinion was?”

“That dandelion wine is something you drink in the bandstand behind the library with a college boy who is way too old for you, not something you paint on the wall of your spare room.” There was a challenge in her gaze that I for one wasn’t going to argue with.

“Duly noted,” I said.

I hung the coats in the living room closet and went in search of Charlotte and the others. I found Charlotte standing in the middle of her spare room, arms crossed over her aproned front. Nick and Avery were just in front of the end wall, looking at five different patches of paint color on the otherwise white wall.

Charlotte smiled when she saw me. I went to stand beside her, draping my arm around her shoulder. “How’s the decision-making process going?” I asked.

“We’re down to three choices,” she said, “and I’m starting to think that I should have just gone with off-white.” She turned her head to look at me. “And don’t you dare tell Liz I said that.”

I mimed zipping my lips shut.

Nick turned around and smiled at me. “Hey, Sarah,” he said. He gestured at the wall. “Want to weigh in?”

“Go ahead,” Charlotte said.

I joined Nick and Avery in front of the wall.

“The two that have tape across them are out of the running,” Avery said.

I looked at the three remaining colors. “Not that one,” I said, pointing to a deep green grass shade. “It’s too dark. The room will seem smaller.” I leaned in toward the two other shades.

Nick moved closer to me and I caught the scent of his aftershave, which usually made me feel fifteen again. “Take your time,” he said.

“Hey! No fair,” Avery said sharply.

“What do you mean, no fair?” I said.

She crossed her arms and glared at Nick. “He’s trying to be all sexy so you’ll agree with him.”

“I am not,” Nick retorted, but the touch of color that tinged his cheeks gave him away. Avery was right.

I turned to her. “Doesn’t matter,” I said, laughing. “Nick’s ‘all sexy’ doesn’t work on me.”

Avery made a triumphant face at him.

Nick swiped a hand over his mouth and said, “The hell it doesn’t,” so softly only I heard the words.

I shot him a stink eye and went back to studying the wall. The choices were a medium gray and a very pale butter yellow. “That one,” I said, touching the patch of yellow paint.

“Yes!” Avery crowed, doing a fist pump in the air. She turned to Charlotte. “Sarah likes dandelion wine, too.”

Charlotte’s gaze shifted to me.

“I really do like the color,” I said. “It’s warm. It’s light. It’ll make the room seem bigger.”

“Then dandelion wine it is,” she said with a smile.

“I could help you with the painting,” Avery offered. “I mean if you want some help.”

“I’d love the help,” Charlotte said. “Thank you.”

Avery smiled. “I have to tell Nonna what color we picked.”

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” Charlotte smiled at me over Avery’s head.

“Fine,” Nick said, staring up at the ceiling, an aggrieved tone in his voice. “Ignore my home decor advice.”

“We’re pretty much going to, dear,” his mother said. She beckoned to Avery. “I need to check the turkey.”

Nick turned to me. “You were supposed to back me up,” he said. “Didn’t you see me signaling you?” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

“Oh, that was a signal,” I said. “I thought you were having some kind of face spasm. I didn’t realize you were being all sexy.”

He laughed. “Well, next time you’ll know.”

We headed back to the living room. “How’s your investigation going?” I asked.

“I’m getting close to wrapping things up,” he said. “How’s the Angels’ investigation going?”

“They have a couple of ideas that might actually go somewhere.”

He shook his head. “You mean a guy they think was at Feast in the Field and a woman with a plaid purse who attended a money-management seminar?”

I nodded. “It’s not as far-fetched as it sounds.”

“I told you that the police are already pursuing a lead,” he said.

“Liam thinks the two of you might have talked to the guy,” I said, ignoring his implication that Alfred and the ladies were on the wrong track.

Nick sat on the arm of Charlotte’s sofa. “I know. He told me he sent Rose and Alfred some photos off his phone.” He cocked his head to one side. “Are you going to ask to see the photos on my phone?” he teased.

“I thought maybe I could be all sexy and you’d show them to me without me having to ask.”

Nick laughed. “Now I’m wishing I actually had pictures from Feast in the Field.”

“You don’t?” I said. I knew it was a long shot that Rose’s latest suspect was actually the person who had sold Edison Hall all those fake bottles, but I’d been hoping nonetheless. That was what happened when the Angels pulled me into one of their cases. They also pulled me into their particular way of looking at things.

Nick shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t have any photos on my phone. I’m kind of a dinosaur. I like a camera.” He reached out and caught my hand. “Does this mean I don’t get to see what your ‘all sexy’ is?”

I felt my face begin to get red.

Rose stuck her head around the dining room doorway then. “There you are, dear,” she said. “Charlotte’s taking the turkey out. We need to get started on the gravy.”

“I, uh, have to go,” I said, motioning in Rose’s direction. Nick let go of my hand and I started across the room, almost tripping over the coffee table. I could feel Nick’s eyes on me.

“Did I interrupt something?” Rose asked, looking up at me.

“No,” I said. “Let’s go make gravy.”

Everyone other than Nick seemed to be in the kitchen. Liam and Mr. P. had just walked in. The turkey was on a large platter, tented with foil. The roast pan was straddling one of the stove burners. Rose had a whisk, an odd-looking measuring cup, and a Mason jar of something on the counter next to the stove. I remembered Charlotte’s remark about ketchup and fervently hoped she had some in her refrigerator.

Rose clapped her hands. “Everybody out,” she said. “Sarah doesn’t need an audience while she’s cooking.” She looked toward Mr. P. and made a move-along gesture with her hand.

He started for the dining room. “Rosie’s right,” he said. “Let’s give them some space to work.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Charlotte said as she passed me.

Mr. P. held the door open and once everyone else was out of the room, he smiled at me. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “You have a good teacher.” He looked at Rose. “I’ll keep them in the living room.”

She beamed at him. “Thank you, Alfred,” she said.

He disappeared into the next room and Rose turned to me.

“Sarah darling, you know I love you like you were my own,” she said solemnly, taking my hands in her own.

“I love you, too,” I said, wondering where this was going.

She looked over her shoulder seemingly to make certain no one was spying on us and then took a step closer to me. “I’m going to share with you the secret of my perfect gravy, but you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone. Ever.” She looked back over her shoulder again.

I would have laughed except she was so deadly serious. “I swear,” I promised, crossing my heart with one finger for good measure and hoping the secret wasn’t something like fried turkey livers or brains or something.

Rose took a deep breath and pulled two red packets out of the pocket of her apron.

“A mix?” I said.

“Shhhhh!” she hissed, putting her index finger to her mouth.

“I thought you could cook everything,” I whispered.

“Well, surprise. I can’t make gravy from scratch. Or pineapple upside-down cake.”

I frowned. “Wait a minute. I’ve eaten your pineapple upside-down cake.”

“You’ve eaten a pineapple upside-down cake,” she said. “And we really don’t have time to talk about that right now.”

“Okay,” I said. “What do I do?”

Rose walked me through the instructions on the back of the mix packet and in five minutes actual turkey gravy was simmering in the roaster. She handed me a spoon and I took a taste.

“It’s good,” I said in surprise.

“Of course it’s good,” she said. “The company would have gone out of business by now if it wasn’t.”

Charlotte poked her head around the door then. “How’s it going?” she asked.

I smiled at her. “Good. Really good.”

She came up behind me and leaned over my shoulder to look into the pan. “It smells wonderful,” she said.

“It tastes wonderful, too,” Rose said, handing Charlotte a spoon so she could take a taste.

“Um, that is delicious,” Charlotte exclaimed. Behind her Rose tucked the empty gravy mix packages in the pocket of her apron. Charlotte straightened up and smiled at me. “I knew you could do it,” she said. “Now, could you help me dish out the food?”

I smiled back at her. “What would you like me to do?”

“Put some hot water in the gravy boat to warm it and then put those rolls on the table.” She pointed to the counter behind me. Then she reached for the turkey platter, glancing over at Rose at the same time. “You did get Sarah to make two packages of gravy, didn’t you?” she asked.

Rose’s expression didn’t change, but her shoulders went rigid and the hand in her pocket froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, a tad stiffly.

Charlotte moved the bird to the counter, pulled off the foil that had been loosely covering it and finally looked at her friend full-on. “Rose, you haven’t made gravy completely from scratch since the seventies. Do you have one empty gravy mix in your pocket or two?”

Rose slowly withdrew her hand from her apron pocket. She was still holding the two empty packets.

“Good,” Charlotte said, leaning back to regard the golden brown turkey for a moment. “That should be enough.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Sarah, are you warming the gravy boat?”

“I’m on it,” I said.

“How long have you known?” Rose asked, somewhat indignantly, one hand on her hip.

“How long have you been buying those packages?” Charlotte countered.

“A while,” Rose hedged.

“Nineteen seventy-three,” Charlotte said, picking up the knife. She seemed to have planned her attack on the turkey.

Rose’s lips moved as she did the math. “What gave me away?” she asked, indignation replaced with genuine curiosity.

“No offense, but before 1973 your gravy tasted like burned shoes.”

“How do you know what burned shoes taste like?” Rose asked, slipping on a pair of oven mitts.

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “You ate my mother’s cooking. You know the answer to that,” she said. “And the potatoes are in the green casserole dish.”

Rose nodded as if it all made sense. “Are you going to tell?” she asked.

“Nothing to tell,” Charlotte said.

They both looked at me. I held up the hand that wasn’t holding the gravy boat. “Hey, I just made gravy that people can actually eat. The how doesn’t matter. It could have been leprechauns.”

“I think that’s cookies, dear,” Rose said helpfully.

We were about to go way off on a tangent. I smiled at her. “Either way, your secret’s safe with me.”

Dinner was delicious as usual. It was fun to watch both Nick and Liam take a tentative taste of the gravy and then try to hide their surprise that it was edible. After we’d eaten I caught Nick’s eye across the table and tipped my head, ever so slightly, in the direction of the kitchen.

He nodded, set his napkin next to his plate and then pushed back his chair. “Mom, that was delicious. Thank you,” he said. He grinned at me. “And, Sarah, good job with the gravy.”

I ducked my head and smiled.

Nick swept his finger from Charlotte to Liz to Rose and Mr. P. “Now go sit.”

Charlotte was already getting to her feet. “Don’t be silly,” she said.

Nick looked at Liam. “Please escort my mother to the living room.”

Liam jumped up, grinning. He moved around the table and offered his arm to Charlotte with a bow.

Charlotte took it and turned to look at Nick. “Yeah, I know I’m stubborn,” he said with that charming little boy smile. “I’ve heard it’s hereditary.”

“It is,” Avery chimed it. “I get it from Nonna even though she says she’s not stubborn at all.”

“I’m not,” Liz said, setting her napkin next to her plate. “I’m determined.”

“Yes, you are, Elizabeth,” Mr. P. said warmly. Then he got to his feet and smiled across the table at Nick. “Could I help, Nicolas?” he asked, effectively ending the stubbornness discussion.

“Yes,” Nick said. “You can tell Avery if you’d like another cup of coffee.”

Mr. P. tipped his head to one side. He reminded me of a balding woodchuck or a groundhog with high-water pants. “I think I would like another. Thank you,” he said.

“I’ll get it,” Avery said. She looked at her grandmother. “More tea, right?”

“Please,” Liz said.

“I’ll get some for Charlotte and Rose, too,” Avery said to no one in particular.

I cleared the table while Nick put the food away in the kitchen. Then I started on the pots and knives that I knew Charlotte always washed by hand while Avery and Liam loaded the dishwasher.

“Thanks, guys,” Nick said when the kitchen was almost back to rights. Liam and Avery headed for the living room, each with a slice of pie—his second and her third.

“Want a cup?” Nick asked, holding up the coffeepot as I wiped the counter by the sink.

“Um, yeah,” I said.

He poured, added cream and sugar and handed the mug to me.

I leaned against the counter and took a sip.

“You know, if we stay in here very long, my mother and her cohorts are going to get ideas,” Nick said.

“They already have ideas,” I said. “Rose pointed out that you have lots of hair and there are no bald men on either side of your family.”

Nick laughed. “That’s a bald-faced fabrication, pardon the pun. My grandfather McPhee had hair, but it spent the week in a box and only came out Sunday for church.” He tipped his head and pointed at his own head. “This hair is man-made, but it’s made by this man.” He tapped his chest with two fingers.

“Good to know,” I said.

He leaned against the counter beside me. “Apparently one of your selling points is that you have very few cavities.”

I laughed. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “What can I say? Good dental hygiene is important to my mother.”

“We should go see what they’re doing,” I said.

“Talking about us or talking about their case would be my guess,” Nick said, pushing away from the counter.

They were talking about the case. Mr. P. was sitting on Charlotte’s sofa with Rose on one side, Liam on the other, and Avery hanging over the back. They were all looking at his laptop. Liz was in the big overstuffed chair, one elbow propped on the padded arm. Charlotte was sitting opposite in a brown leather club chair, writing in an old-style steno notebook I hadn’t known they made anymore.

I took my coffee and went to sit on the footstool in front of Liz. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a list of people who were at Feast in the Field who may have taken photos,” Rose said. She looked at Liz. “Celeste?”

Charlotte looked up from her notepad.

Liz shook her head. “No. She doesn’t have a cell phone and the last camera she would have used was an Instamatic.”

Nick had walked around the sofa to stand next to Avery. I saw him look over Mr. P.’s shoulder at the laptop balanced on his knees. Then something in his body language changed. He stiffened, then leaned in slightly.

I watched out of the corner of my eye. Something had clearly caught his attention on the computer screen. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He swiped his free hand over the back of his neck, came around the end of the sofa and sat on the arm next to Liam. “What’s happening with the development?” I heard him ask. “Have you started looking at those old warehouses?”

Liam shifted in his seat and I leaned forward to see what was on the screen before Mr. P. moved to another photo. The image was of a fair-haired man, arms caught animatedly in the air, in front of one of the booths. There had to be a dozen people around him, but he was the only one facing the camera. I was betting it was him Nick had recognized.

By the time Mr. P. had gone through all the pictures, Charlotte had written down twenty-one names of people who might have taken photos at Feast in the Field. Rose and Mr. P. were hoping for a better shot of the mystery man.

Liz and Avery left at the same time I did. I’d hoped to get a chance to talk to Nick and maybe find out what had caught his attention on that computer screen, but he was talking to Liam and since I was giving Rose and Mr. P. a ride, I couldn’t really stall.

When I got home I found Elvis sprawled on his back on the top of his cat tower. After I’d stowed the leftovers Charlotte had sent me home with in the refrigerator, I went over to him. He eyed me upside down and I scratched the black fur under his chin. He sighed and began to purr. For a moment I wished all it would take was a scratch under my chin to make me relax.

I was sitting on the couch about an hour later going through a pile of old home-reno magazines when there was a knock on the door. “That’s Liam,” I said to Elvis, who had been stretched out across my legs. I moved him to the floor and went to let my brother in.

Except it wasn’t Liam. It was Nick.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” I said, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

He stepped inside. “I can’t stay for long.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

He put a hand in his pocket and held out a business card. “Here,” he said. “This is the man Rose and Alfred are looking for.”

I took the cardboard rectangle from him. “You recognized him. In the photos.”

He studied me, dark eyes serious. “You knew.”

I nodded. “I know your tells, remember? That’s how I kept gas in Gram’s truck the summer I learned to drive.”

Nick gave me a sheepish grin. “I remember.”

“Thank you for this,” I said, turning the card over in my fingers. It was made from heavy, cream-colored card stock with a streamlined font—Century Gothic, I thought—in black. I remembered Liam saying the wine dealer had been handing out business cards.

“This doesn’t mean I think they’re right,” he cautioned.

“Doesn’t mean you think they’re wrong, either.”

“I didn’t say that, Sarah,” he said. He shook his head and gave me a wry smile. “Look, when I saw that photo I remembered the guy. There wasn’t anything shifty about him. He was personable and well-spoken.”

“But,” I finished.

“Just between us?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded.

“I noticed that he was just a little faster handing those out to anyone who looked to be a senior. At the time I chalked it up to him just targeting people who seemed more likely to have money.”

“Or maybe he was targeting people who’d be a little more open to his pitch.” I looked at the card again. “Thorne Logan,” I said. “You think that’s a real name?”

Nick shrugged. “It could be. I had a chemistry class with a girl named Peaches.” He looked at his watch. “Do me a favor? Try to rein them in if they do find the guy.”

I laughed. “Right. Because I’ve done such a good job in the past.”

He rolled his eyes. “They listen to you more than they listen to me.”

“I’ll do what I can,” I promised.

“Thanks,” he said. One eyebrow went up and the corners of his lips twitched. “Nice shirt.”

I put a hand on my chest and looked down at my tee. It was a Power Rangers shirt. Nick had bought it to replace the similar one I’d had as a kid that he’d wiped his nose on—an act he claimed was one of social commentary but that I thought was just him being a boy.

“I never asked, where on earth did you find it?”

“EBay. I’ve been watching for a Samurai Pizza Cats shirt for Liam’s birthday.”

I laughed. “He’ll kill me for telling you about that, but it would be worth it.”

“I’ll warn you if I find it,” Nick said. He looked at his watch again. “I’ve gotta go. Will I see you Thursday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.

I locked the door behind him and went back to the sofa, where Elvis was waiting. I sat down beside him and he craned his neck over my arm to look at the business card. The only thing on it was Thorne Logan’s name and a phone number. Any connection between him and the fake wine was spiderweb thin at best. And what about the woman with the plaid purse? Were they connected? Was she involved at all? The only thing we had to go on was Rose’s gut feeling.

The cat cocked his head to one side and gave me a quizzical look.

“I’m not really sure what this means, either,” I said to him.

Mac and Rose went out to work on the Hall house Monday morning. Charlotte and I stayed at the shop. I was expecting Cleveland, the other picker I bought from regularly, to stop by with his haul from the weekend.

I spent a chunk of my time outside working on an old metal cabinet that Jess and I had found in the ditch along an old woods road. I could still see the look on Mac’s face when I’d asked him to help me lift it out of the back of the SUV.

“Let me get this straight,” he’d said. “You found this in a ditch?”

“People dump their garbage out on a couple of those woods roads because they don’t want to pay the fee at the landfill,” I’d said, pulling on a pair of canvas work gloves before grabbing one side of the cabinet. “It’s disgusting.”

“So you decided to bring it here? How exactly did you get this . . . thing from the ditch to your car?”

“Jess and I carried it.”

Jess had actually been the one who climbed down into the mud and heaved the metal cabinet up onto the trail.

Mac had tried to swallow down a grin and pretty much failed. “I don’t know, Sarah,” he’d said. “I think you may have jumped the shark this time.”

“O ye of little faith,” I’d said as he’d help me carry the cabinet into the old garage. Now, standing on a tarp, scraping who knew how many years of blistered, peeling paint off the old metal, I wondered if he was right. Not that I was willing to admit defeat yet.

Cleveland showed up midmorning. I bought a couple of paintings, three potato baskets and an armless upholstered chair that looked as though it had been used as a cat scratching post.

Avery and Mr. P. showed up at lunchtime. Avery’s progressive school only had morning classes, so she worked most afternoons for me. Liz grumbled that there was no way she was learning anything only attending classes in the morning, but from what I’d seen of Avery’s homework, they seemed to be using the time well. I had no idea what exactly had happened at home or at her previous school, but being in North Harbor had been good for the teen. And living with Liz, for all they squabbled about kale smoothies and Avery’s driving, had been good for both of them. I sent her out to the garage to work on a set of old kitchen cabinets I wanted to eventually use for storage out there.

After lunch of a turkey sandwich made with Charlotte’s leftovers, I went out to the porch. Mr. P. was at his computer.

“Hello, Sarah,” he said. “How was your morning?”

“I started working on that old cabinet,” I said.

He smiled. “I’m sure it will be lovely when you’re done.”

I smiled back at him. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m confident that I will be.”

I held out the business card. “I think this is the man you’re looking for,” I said. I’d thought about giving the card to Charlotte and decided against it. I didn’t know why Nick hadn’t just given it to his mother and I didn’t want to cause a problem between them. “I tried the number, but all I got was a very robotic leave-a-number message.”

“Thank you,” Mr. P. said.

He didn’t seem surprised, I realized.

“It occurs to me that it might be better if I didn’t ask you how you came to get this card,” he added.

I wasn’t the only one who could read Nick’s tells, I realized.

“You’re a very observant man,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

The old man adjusted his glasses and smiled at me again. “Over the years I’ve discovered that being observant has its advantages.”

“Yes, it does,” I agreed. I looked over at his computer. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said.

I spent the next half hour returning phone calls in my office. I came downstairs to see how Avery was doing packing parcels just as Ethan Hall came into the shop. I’d called Stella and told her about finding the train and about Channing Caulfield’s claim on the rare model cars. She’d told me she’d talk to Ethan and promised one of them would get back to me.

“Hi, Sarah, do you have a minute?” Ethan asked.

“Of course,” I said, walking over to him. It was like standing next to Nick. Even in heels I felt short.

“Aunt Stella told me about the model train,” he said. There was a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, blond, like his short hair. “Do you think Caulfield has a claim on it?”

“Possibly,” I said. “There’s that bottle of wine that changed hands because of it.”

Ethan blew out a breath. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“I have an idea,” I said.

“I hope he doesn’t expect me to pay for that bottle of wine,” he said. “I’m sorry he got conned, but so did my dad.”

“Don’t worry about the wine,” I said. “Stella told me about Ellie needing surgery on her back.”

His blue eyes clouded over. “Then she probably also told you that the surgery is considered experimental.”

I nodded. “I think Channing Caulfield might be persuaded to relinquish his claim on the model train so it can be sold with the proceeds going into a fund for Ellie’s surgery.” I raised an eyebrow. “He gets to look good.”

“And we get the money,” Ethan finished. “I might be able to convince Ellie to go for that. She has some very strong opinions on anything she sees as being a handout.”

“We need to do a little more research into the value of the layout,” I said. I raised a cautionary hand. “And it’s not going to cover the cost of the surgery by a long shot.”

“But it will help me.” Ethan smiled. “Thank you, Sarah. The stress from all this has been eating me alive.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I wish it were more.”

He wiped a hand over his mouth. “You and me both.”

Mr. P. came in from the sunporch then and walked over to us. He was carrying a sheet of paper in one hand. “Excuse me, Sarah,” he said. “Would you mind if I made a copy of this?” He held up the page, which was a photo of Thorne Logan that he’d probably printed at home.

“Go ahead,” I said.

He patted his pockets and I knew he was looking for a quarter. Charlotte, who kept the Angels’ books, insisted that they pay for copying and printing. Arguing the point had done me no good. They’d also started paying me rent for the sunporch. When I’d tried to argue against that, Rose tartly informed me that if I didn’t take the money they’d rent office space somewhere else. I couldn’t see how that would be a good idea, so I’d relented. Every month half the money went to the Friends of the North Harbor Library and the other half to the Mid-coast Animal Shelter. It made me feel better about taking the money in the first place and since they didn’t know they couldn’t argue with me over it.

Mr. P. found the twenty-five cents and held it out to me. The photo slipped from his grasp. Ethan reached out and caught it before it could hit the floor. He glanced at the picture and frowned. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Do you know this man?”

“Do you?” Mr. P. asked.

Ethan nodded. “He contacted me a couple of weeks ago. He wanted to buy a bottle from my father’s wine collection.”

“Just one bottle?” Mr. P. said. Like me, he’d noticed that Ethan had said “a bottle.”

Ethan glanced at the photo once more and handed the piece of paper back to Alfred. “Yes.”

Mr. P. and I exchanged a look. “Why did he want a bottle of wine that isn’t worth anything?” I asked.

Ethan swiped a hand across his mouth again. “Because he thought maybe it was.”

Mr. P. and I stared at him.

Ethan shrugged. “I mean he was wrong. Ronan talked to some other contact he had and whoever it was agreed that the bottle was a fake.” He exhaled loudly. “Just like all the other bottles in the old man’s collection. I don’t know why he did that to me.” It was impossible to miss the edge of bitterness in his voice. Then he shook his head and gave us a wry smile. “I don’t know how people can sleep at night, taking advantage of someone who’s old.”

Mr. P. tipped his head back and regarded Ethan thoughtfully, it seemed to me. “There’s an old saying,” he said quietly. “What goes around comes around.”

“Well, excuse me for hoping you’re right,” Ethan said.

Mr. P. nodded and started up the stairs. Elvis was on his way down. The old man stopped for a moment to stroke the top of the cat’s head. Elvis made a soft murp and came purposefully down the rest of the steps. He eyed Ethan through narrowed green eyes, walked around us in a wide curve and headed for the workroom.

“Ethan, do you have Mr. Logan’s contact information?” I asked. I’d tried the number on the business card Nick had given me. All I’d gotten was voice mail.

He made a face. “I’m going to sound like the stereotypical absentminded professor, but I don’t. He contacted me. After I told Ronan about the phone call, he took care of it after that.” He smiled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “The police are looking into the fake wine angle as far as Mr. Quinn’s death is concerned.”

“Well, I can tell you that Logan is a reputable dealer. At least that’s what Quinn said.”

The phone rang over at the cash desk and I saw Charlotte head over to answer it.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Ethan said. “Will you let me know what Caulfield says about the train set?”

I nodded. “I will.”

“And would it be a problem if the wine collection stays where it is for now?” he asked. “I moved everything into the kitchen so Quinn could go through the bottles.”

I smiled. “We can work around them for now, but it would be nice to have the space for the sale weekend.”

He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll talk to Detective Andrews. If the collection is evidence of . . . something, maybe she’ll want to take all of it to the police station. Otherwise I’ll just have to find a way to dispose of it.” He sighed softly.

“Thanks,” I said.

Ethan headed out and Elvis came back from wherever he’d gone. He rubbed against my leg and I bent down and picked him up and went upstairs to my office. Mr. P. was just turning off the printer/copier.

I picked up the original photo that he’d just copied and studied it. Elvis poked his head around to have a look as well.

“We’re not wrong,” Alfred said.

“No, I don’t think you are,” I said slowly.

Elvis meowed his agreement. “It’s unanimous,” I said. “Ethan said Ronan Quinn told him your suspect is a reputable wine broker.”

Mr. P. hiked his pants up a little higher under his armpits. “Reputable is as reputable does,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me.