A Whisker of Trouble

Chapter 17

I was coming back into the house in the morning after carrying out another box of sweaters I’d felted for Jess when the doorknob was literally pulled out of my hand. I stumbled, off balance, into the entryway, almost knocking Rose over.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” she said. She was grinning a Cheshire cat grin, which I had learned was not always a good thing.

“What do you need?” I said, running a hand over my hair. It wasn’t quite raining, but a fine mist had dampened my hair on my dash to and from the SUV. I knew Elvis would grumble when it was time to leave.

“Do you have a rain jacket?” she asked, the almost smug smile turning into a frown.

“Yes,” I said. “Would you like to borrow it?” I knew Rose had a hooded yellow slicker of her own, but maybe she’d left it at the shop.

“Well, now, if I wore your jacket what would you wear?” she said, shaking her head as though I were a child. “Don’t forget your boots,” she added as she headed back to her apartment.

“I won’t,” I called after her. I might have been a grown woman who was perfectly capable or deciding whether or not I need to wear boots, but I was also smart enough to know that my morning routine would go a lot faster if I didn’t have to have a discussion about appropriate footwear with Rose before we even got to the shop.

Five minutes later we were in the SUV, Rose on the passenger side wearing her boots and slicker and Elvis on the backseat looking toward the windshield. He’d already swiped his paw over his face to dry off.

“Why were you looking for me before?” I asked Rose.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I got sidetracked by the weather. I wanted to tell you that I’ve come up with a way to find Mr. Logan.” She fastened her seat belt and gave me that smile again.

“And that way is?” I prompted.

“Are you familiar with the movie The Sting?” Rose asked. “Robert Redford and Paul Newman.”

“I know it,” I said, pulling out on to the street.

“Well, that’s what we’re going to do.”

“You’re going to invite him to play poker on a train?”

“Don’t get saucy,” she said, but she was smiling, so I knew I wasn’t really in trouble. “We’re going to set up a situation that our wine broker won’t be able to resist.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Shady Pines has an e-mail newsletter that they send to all the residents.”

I cleared my throat loudly.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said with a slight edge of sarcasm to her voice. “Legacy Place has an e-mail newsletter that they send to all their residents.”

“Which you aren’t anymore.”

“Well, their system doesn’t seem to understand that, which is why I know that there’s going to be another one of those money management seminars for seniors over in Rockport.”

I came to a stop at the corner and took the opportunity to look over at Rose. “When?”

“Today.”

“Today?” I exclaimed. “That doesn’t give you enough time to set up anything.”

“You seriously underestimate me,” she said.

I gave a snort of laughter. “That’s one thing I never do. Tell me your plan.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see her smug smile. “Well, basically it relies on Alfred’s innate sex appeal.”

“I see,” I said, unsure of what else to say. Mr. P. was a darling man, but sexy wasn’t an adjective I’d use to describe him.

“I know someone your age doesn’t see it,” Rose said, “but to a woman of my vintage, Alfred is a chick magnet.”

“I like Alfred,” I said, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the road. “And I’m going to take your word for it on the sex-appeal thing. Tell me the rest of your plan.”

“Alfred will go to the seminar. He’ll talk a bit about his desire to leave something to his son—and what a nice young man he is. That woman who reels in the rubes will end up hooked herself, and that will lead us to Mr. Thorne Logan.”

“And what are you going to do when you find Mr. Logan?” I asked. There was a small murp of dissatisfaction from my furry backseat driver. I flicked on the wipers to clear the mist from the windshield.

“Call Detective Andrews,” Rose said.

I shot a quick look in her direction.

“You didn’t expect I’d say that, did you?” she said tartly.

This time I did laugh. “No, I did not.”

Her expression grew serious. “We’re not stupid. If this man had anything to do with Mr. Quinn’s murder, the police should be involved.”

I reached back with my right hand and gave her arm a squeeze. “You never cease to amaze me, Rose Jackson,” I said.

I pulled in to the parking lot at the store and parked closer to the back door than I usually would in case it was raining later. The lights were on in the workroom, but there was no sign of Mac. I could smell coffee, though, which was a good sign.

“Alfred should be here in about half an hour,” Rose said, stepping out of her boots and pulling a pair of shoes out of her tote bag. “And Liz will be stopping in. We have to decide on the best look for Alfred. I don’t want him to turn it on too much. And he needs to look a little down on his luck.”

“So that’s going to be your approach?” I asked.

Rose patted her hair into place. “Hardworking father looking to leave an inheritance to his deserving son and grandchildren.”

“Alfred can pull that off,” I said. Then I remembered what she’d said in the car about Alfred’s so-called son. “We’ll have set up what a nice young man he is.” “But how exactly are you going to ‘set up’ what a nice young man his imaginary son is?”

With the perverse perfect sense of timing the universe sometimes has, Liam came strolling in carrying a mug of coffee. The ends of his hair were damp, but he hadn’t shaved. He was wearing jeans, a plaid work shirt, work boots and a big gooney grin. He held out both arms and bowed. “Alfred Peterson Junior, at your service.”

I turned and looked at Rose. “You’re kidding me, right?”

She shook her head. “No. For this to work we need the patsy to buy into Alfred’s character. We need her to see him with his hardworking son.”

Liam smirked at me and took a sip of his coffee.

“This will not work!” I said emphatically. Rose had been watching too many old movies again.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, baby sister,” Liam said. He was still grinning. He wasn’t taking this seriously enough. I was sure he wasn’t taking it seriously at all.

I folded my arms over my chest. “Liam, you have the acting skills of an iguana.” I looked at Rose. “When he was seventeen he was late getting home from a date and he told Mom and Dad that the road was blocked by an elephant.”

Liam pointed a finger at me. “That story is not as stupid as it sounds. The circus was in town. I could have been held up by an elephant.”

I shook my head, laughing too hard to speak.

Behind us someone tapped on the door. It was Mr. P. engulfed in a black-hooded raincoat. Rose turned to open the door. As she did she nudged me with her elbow. “Don’t worry, Sarah. Liam doesn’t have to say a word. All he has to do is look adorable, and he can do that in spades.”

I sighed and walked over to Liam. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No more than you,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I reached over and took his cup from his hand, turned it around so I could drink from the other side and took a sip. Then I gave it back.

“C’mon, Sarah,” he said, wiping the edge of his mug where I’d drunk with his sleeve. “You’ve been involved in all this private detective stuff from the beginning and don’t say you haven’t, because I’ve been talking to Nick.”

“Nick’s biased,” I muttered.

Liam laughed. “When it comes to you, oh yeah. But that has nothing to do with this.” He gestured toward the door where Rose was peering into the huge duffel bag Mr. P. had brought with him. “They’re like Gram. They’re going to do this no matter what you or anyone else says. At least if I’m part of things I can hopefully keep it all from going south.”

I laughed then.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I thought that. I thought I could keep them out of trouble, on the straight and narrow as Dad would say.” I leaned against him. “It’s not going to happen, big brother.”

Liam wasn’t the least bit bothered by my words. “We’ll see,” he said. “And for the record, that elephant story would have worked if you hadn’t pointed out that the circus was an animal-free circus.”

I kissed his cheek and straightened up. “I’ll be in my office if you need me,” I said.

Elvis had disappeared who knew where. I went upstairs, dumped my things on the love seat and went for a cup of coffee. Based on the morning so far, I was going to need more than one cup.

Mac was in the tiny staff room. He reached for the largest mug on the shelf and handed it to me without saying a word. I poured a cup, added cream and sugar and took a long drink.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile.

“Easy for you to say,” I said.

“You’ve been talking to Liam.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “And Rose. You know what they have planned?”

He nodded.

I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

“I worry about them, Mac,” I said. “This guy, Thorne Logan, he could be a killer. At best he’s most likely a con artist and Rose is trying to outcon him.”

“Which is why it won’t hurt to have your brother lurking in the background,” he said. “I would have volunteered, but compared to Alfred”—he stuck out an arm, the sleeve pushed back to expose the smooth brown skin of his forearm—“I’m a tad toasty.”

“I’m overreacting.”

Mac shook his head. “No. You care about them.”

I brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face. “Rose did say if they find Mr. Logan she’ll call Michelle.”

“You don’t believe her.”

I shrugged. “I want to, but it’s just that Rose could do a much better job of selling an elephant blocking the road than my brother.”

Mac smiled. “I’m just going to pretend that made sense and go open up.”

Liz arrived about nine thirty and she and Rose outfitted Mr. P. in a pair of brown polyester pants with a green-and-brown-plaid shirt.

“Remember, you just want to leave something for your family,” Liz cautioned.

“Alfred knows how to get into character,” Charlotte chided gently.

Rose was nothing if not resourceful. She’d rented an old pickup from Cleveland. The trash picker’s unofficial motto was Anything for a Buck, so he’d been happy to help.

The plan was for Liam to drive the old truck and drop Mr. P. off at the seminar, making sure to be seen, if not by the mystery woman, then at least by other people.

“She might not be the only plant,” Rose said.

“Someone’s been watching late-night TV again,” Liz whispered to me.

Rose and Liz would follow in Liz’s car, staying out of sight in case there was anyone at the seminar who recognized them.

Mr. P. was fastening a small pin shaped like a beaver to the collar of his shirt. He twisted it so the beaver was standing on all fours and then turned and clicked several keys on his laptop. An image of the back wall of the porch filled the screen.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s a camera,” Rose said, reaching up to smooth down a couple of wisps of Mr. P.’s hair. “That way Liz and I will be able to see and hear what Alfred can.”

I turned to Mr. P. “Do I want to know where this came from?” I asked, thinking that I’d asked that question a lot in the last six months.

“I Spy With My Little Eye,” he said.

“I don’t think you play that game with cameras,” I said.

“What about that game with the young man with the striped shirt and glasses?” Rose asked.

“That’s not a game,” Liz said. “You mean Where’s Wally?. It’s a book and it’s all illustrations.”

Rose frowned. “Where’s Wally? doesn’t sound right.”

Liz was walking around Liam, making a face, it seemed, at his hair. “I can’t help how it sounds,” she said. “That’s the name of the book.”

We were getting way off track. Before I could try to rein them in, Charlotte clapped her hands. We all automatically turned and looked at her. She could still command a roomful of people.

“You’re both right,” she said, looking from Liz to Rose. “It’s Where’s Waldo? here and Where’s Wally? in Britain.” She turned her head and looked at me. “Sarah, I Spy With My Little Eye is an electronics store in Portland. The camera is perfectly legal.” Finally she fixed her gaze on Liam. “Child, what did you wash your hair with?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Whatever Gram has in her shower.”

“Organic Burst Rosemary Mint shampoo,” I said.

“You smell too good,” Liz said, reaching up to run her fingers through Liam’s hair. “You smell like a girl, not a carpenter.”

“Nobody’s going to smell his head,” Rose said, hands on her hips.

“You don’t know that,” Liz retorted.

I turned to Mr. P. “I’m coming with you. I can run the computer.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

I nodded. “I know.” I tipped my head toward Liam. The three women had surrounded him, debating what was the best way to make him not smell so good. “You’re not going to make me stay here and miss all the fun, are you?”

“Of course not,” he said, a smile playing around his mouth.

Mr. P. gave me a crash course on how to record and monitor the feed from his beaver cam. I had no idea whether what we were doing was completely legal or not, but I decided that was something I could ask Michelle or Nick later.

Liz and Charlotte solved the problem of Nick’s great-smelling hair with something they borrowed from Avery when she showed up at lunchtime. By a quarter to one we were in the workroom pretty much ready to leave.

“Can I come?” Avery asked. She was way more interested in the beaver cam than I liked.

“I need you here,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Mac can’t do everything by himself.”

“Is that just a line because you don’t want me to go because you think I’m a kid?” she asked, crossing her arms defiantly across her chest.

“No,” I said. “It’s because Mac really can’t do everything by himself.”

“Fine,” she said after a moment, “but you owe me a big hot chocolate from McNamara’s.”

“Deal,” I said.

Avery started back to the shop. “With extra whipped cream,” she called over her shoulder.

“Have I been had?” I said to Liz.

There was a gleam of amusement in her eyes. “I think the correct term is ‘well, duh.’”

Liam and Mr. P. left in Cleveland’s pickup. I followed in the SUV with Rose riding shotgun and Liz and Charlotte in the back. The plan was for us to park in a lot across the street from the community center where the money management seminar was being held. The tiny digital camera had a transmit range of about five thousand feet.

“What if this woman doesn’t show up?” Liz asked. “Do we have a plan B?”

“We don’t need a plan B,” Rose said, very confidently, it seemed to me.

“And that would be because?”

“Because she’ll be there,” Charlotte stated calmly.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Liz was frowning at her friends. “What do you two know that I don’t?”

“Good question,” I said. “What do you two know that Liz—and I—don’t?”

“Our mystery woman has shown up at five financial seminars in this area aimed at senior citizens in the last six months,” Charlotte said. “Every time she talked about investing in things you can see and touch and every time she spent most of her time with someone who came to the seminar alone.”

“So she’ll only have to win over one person, not two or three,” I said.

“That’s what we think,” Rose said.

“She’s going to show up,” Charlotte said. “This is exactly the kind of setup she likes—small town, a presentation aimed at seniors who have some money saved but not enough that they’d already have a financial adviser.”

“It’s despicable,” Rose said. I glanced at her. Her mouth was pulled into a tight line.

“It is hard to accept that someone who is a senior citizen would be taking advantage of other people her age,” Charlotte agreed.

Ahead of us Liam put on his blinker and moved over into the exit lane. I did the same.

“Maybe it’s all she has,” Liz said.

Beside me Rose shifted so she could look at her friend in the backseat. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Maybe she’s doing this because she doesn’t have any other choice.”

“There are always choices,” Rose said.

“True,” Liz said. “But there aren’t always good ones.”

Liz could be quick to judge, but the truth was she was probably the softest touch of all of us. No one said anything for a moment. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rose reach her hand over the seat toward Liz. “Elizabeth Emmerson Kiley French, I love you,” she said softly.

“Yeah, yeah, everybody does,” Liz said.

I looked in the rearview mirror and blew Liz a kiss. She never ceased to amaze me.

The community center was easy to find in Rockport. Liam actually found a place to pull in at the curb in front. We retreated to the back row of the parking lot across the street, according to plan.

I set Mr. P.’s laptop on my knees, turned it on and followed the instructions he’d given me. After a few moments we were looking at the dashboard of Cleveland’s old truck. Rose pulled out her cell phone.

Mr. P.’s cell played the first notes of “Ode to Joy” as his ring tone, the sound coming clearly through the computer as I turned up the volume.

“Sarah has everything working,” Rose said.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Mr. P. said.

I gave Rose a thumbs-up.

Everything went smoothly after that. Liam played the role of the good son, walking Alfred inside, standing awkwardly around for a couple of minutes and telling him, within earshot of others, that he didn’t need an inheritance and maybe they should just go home.

For his part Mr. P. was the epitome of a hardworking dad. He patted Liam on the arm and said he’d call if he needed a ride home.

Liam pulled the truck into the parking lot a row ahead of us and sprinted back to the SUV, sliding onto the backseat next to Liz.

“How was I?” he said with a grin.

“You were perfect,” Rose said, beaming. Charlotte nodded.

“Good job,” Liz agreed, giving him a fist bump.

He looked at me. “What do you think, Sarah?”

I smiled at him. “Good job, big brother.”

Mr. P. had chosen an aisle seat and he looked around a couple of times, which gave us a good view of the small meeting room. It was about five minutes before the start of the seminar when Mr. P. said softly, “She’s here. I’m going for a cup of coffee.”

I looked at Rose and the hand folded in her lap gave me a thumbs-up.

Mr. P. was a born actor. He got himself a cup of coffee and managed to knock over the container of plastic stir sticks. It was all the opening our con woman needed.

“Let me help you,” she said. “I don’t know why they can’t just put out some spoons.” Then she gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry—I sound like an old fogey, don’t I?”

“No, you don’t,” Mr. P. said. “Excuse my language, but those plastic thingamajigs aren’t worth a damn. Someone can’t wash a few spoons?”

That was all it took. It shouldn’t have been that simple, but it was. Mr. P. carried his coffee back to his seat, and his new friend, whose name was Leila, took the empty chair next to him.

The presentation was mind-numbingly boring and from my perspective seemed to be geared to five-year-olds, not people with decades of life experience.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Liz exclaimed after the first five minutes. “How stupid do they think the average person over sixty-five is?”

“It is a little . . . insulting, isn’t it?” Charlotte said.

Liam leaned his elbow on the back of my seat. “So why don’t you do something better?” he said to Liz.

“I could,” she said.

“So why don’t you?” he asked. “Seriously, those two guys”—he gestured at the computer screen—“are acting like they have an audience of kindergarteners who get two quarters for an allowance. I know you could do better. Why don’t you put together a program that actually gives seniors some decent advice? Because this one sure as hell doesn’t.”

“You know that Channing Caulfield would help you,” I said.

Liz made a face at me.

“Well, he would,” Rose added.

“It’s not a bad idea, you know,” Charlotte said. “You’ve been looking for a way to get Jane Evans to come work for the foundation. This might be it. She used to work for the bank.”

“I’ll think about it,” Liz said. We all looked at her. “I promise,” she added.

I held up a hand. “I think Mr. P. is getting the pitch,” I said. I nudged up the volume.

“If it makes me old-fashioned, then fine, I’m old-fashioned,” Leila was saying, “but if I’m going to invest in something, I want it to be something I can see and touch.”

“My father used to say, ‘Invest in land, boy. They aren’t making any more of it,’” Mr. P. said.

“He was right,” Leila agreed.

Mr. P. sighed. “I don’t have that kind of money. I just, I just want to be able to leave something for my boy. He’s got an ex-wife who pretty much took him to the cleaners a couple of years ago.”

Liam put a hand to his heart and tried to look wounded. I rolled my eyes.

In short order Leila had confided in Mr. P. about the money she’d made with her “tiny” wine collection and offered to introduce him to the wine broker she dealt with.

“Yes!” I said, softly, doing a little fist pump in the air.

“Does he have references?” Alfred asked.

“Of course,” she said, “and I can promise you I checked Mr. Logan out very carefully. You can’t be too careful with your money.”

Now came the tricky part. Mr. P. had to find a way to get the meeting to take place in North Harbor, instead of Rockport. The Angels had agreed to bring the police in on their meeting, which meant it had to happen in Michelle’s jurisdiction.

“I don’t want my son to know,” Mr. P. said. “He keeps telling me I don’t need to leave him anything, but I want to. Maybe next time your broker friend is in North Harbor, he could give me a call.” He tapped his chest with one hand. “I got a bum ticker, so I can’t drive anymore.” Then he got to his feet and held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Leila.”

I held my breath, wondering if she would let him walk away.

She didn’t. As luck would have it, Mr. Logan was going to be in North Harbor the next day—big surprise—and Leila could set up a meeting with him. Mr. P. hesitated, all according to script, so he wouldn’t seem too eager and then agreed to meet Leila and Thorne Logan at McNamara’s.

“It was lucky for me, meeting you,” Mr. P. said.

Leila smiled. “Sometimes things work out the way they’re supposed to.”

“Yes, they do,” Rose said softly beside me.

I didn’t get to see Mr. P. face-to-face until we got back to the shop. “You were terrific,” I said to him as he climbed out of the old truck.

He smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I was onstage many years ago. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.”

“I suspect you have many talents I don’t know about,” I teased.

“Indeed I do,” he said with a wink. Then he headed over to Rose and the others.

Liam came around the back of the rust-pocked pickup. “You walked right into that one,” he said with a laugh, putting an arm around me.

I shook my head. “Yeah, I guess I did.” I looked up at him. “You were good, too.”

“Thank you,” he said. “It was probably because there were no elephants in this story.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I’m heading over to the apartment. I don’t know what this stuff is that Liz got from her granddaughter, but it smells like bear grease.”

I laughed. “Admit it. You like smelling all flowery.”

He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Let’s just say it makes me very popular with the ladies.”

I held up both hands. “I don’t want to hear about your love life, especially if it involves Jess.”

Liam started swaying from side to side, pulling me with him. “I haven’t said a word about Jess,” he teased. “I haven’t, for example, told you that she’s a good kisser . . . or a bad one.”

I put both hands over my ears and began to hum. Loudly.

Liam just laughed. He pulled one hand away from my head. “I’m gone,” he said. “If ‘Dad’ needs me for anything, let me know.” With that he headed for his truck.

I walked over to the others. “Where’s Liam going?” Rose asked. “I have a coffee cake in the staff room.”

“He had some things he needed to do. He asked me to tell you that he’s available if you need him again.”

“Your brother is a very nice young man,” Mr. P. said.

I nodded. “Yeah, I got lucky.”

We went inside.

“How did it go?” Mac asked.

“Good,” I said. “I learned that both my brother and Mr. P. are very good at pretending to be someone else.” I looked around. “How were things here?”

“One customer,” Mac said, swiping a hand over the back of his neck. “He bought that old fiddle.”

“Good,” I said. “I’d about given up on selling the thing.”

“And the trestle table and six chairs,” he said with a grin.

I blinked at him. “You’re kidding me?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not. The table sold itself, but it was Avery who sold him on the six chairs.”

I looked over at the teenager, who was clearly getting all the details of our afternoon from the others. She held up a hand and high-fived Mr. P. “I think I should give her a raise.”

Mac nodded. “I agree. She’s really been working hard.”

“I have to make a couple of calls,” I said. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” I smiled at him. “There’s going to be cake.”

“I like it when you all go on a quest,” Mac said. “We always have cake.”

I laughed and started for the stairs.

After some discussion Mr. P. had asked me if I would call Michelle, once we located Thorne Logan. I wasn’t sure she’d be interested in talking to the man, but I’d promised both her and Nick that I’d keep them up-to-date, so I’d said yes.

I’d expected I’d have to leave a message, but she answered on the fourth ring.

“Hi,” I said. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Well.” I wasn’t sure how to start. “I’m, uh, I guess you could say I’m acting as the spokesperson for the Angels.”

“All right,” she said. It seemed to me that I could hear just a little amusement in her voice.

I explained what had happened, leaving out some of the details like Liam masquerading as Mr. P.’s son. “So Mr. P. has a meeting with this broker, tomorrow afternoon at Glenn McNamara’s.”

Michelle laughed and I felt my heart sink. She wasn’t taking this seriously. Then to my surprise she said, “They’re good.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “Excuse me?” I said.

“I’ve been looking for Mr. Logan for the past couple of days. He’s a difficult man to track down. How did they find him?”

The knot in my stomach unclenched and I leaned back in my chair. “Old-fashioned, senior word of mouth. It’s faster than the information superhighway.”

“I’m assuming you’ll be there tomorrow afternoon,” Michelle said.

“I will,” I said. “Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee.”

“Coffee’s on me,” she said. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to convince the rest of them to stay home, is there?”

It was my turn to laugh. “Only if you intend to use handcuffs.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” She exhaled softly. “Please, use whatever influence you have with them. No grandstanding, no theatrics.”

“I’m not sure how much influence I have,” I said. “They all changed my diapers and they’re not afraid to point that out, but I’ll do what I can.”

We set up a time to meet at Glenn’s and I hung up.

“I’m going to close up early,” I said to Mac at lunchtime the next day.

“Then maybe I’ll come with you, if that’s okay,” he said.

“Please.”

I’d been awake half the night, having second, third and fourth thoughts about this whole enterprise. Mr. P. could be walking into a meeting with two murderers. They could be armed. Backed into a corner, they could take hostages.

“Rose is as wired as a five-year-old on Christmas Eve,” I said. “I caught her looking up how to make a citizen’s arrest when Mr. P. was upstairs changing.” I slid a hand back over my hair. “And short of duct-taping her to a chair, there’s no way she’s going to stay out of this. I promised Michelle I’d try to rein them in, but I think they’re more likely to listen to reason if the voice of reason is yours, not mine.”

“They’ve been pretty restrained so far,” Mac pointed out.

I nodded. “I know, that’s what worries me. We’re due for something a little over-the-top.”

We were all in our places by quarter after four. Liz and Charlotte at one table, Mac and Rose at another and Michelle and I at a third. Michelle also had an officer in the kitchen and another working behind the counter with Glenn. Plus, ex–football player Glenn was, by himself, perfectly capable of popping your head off like the cap off a soda bottle.

Michelle propped her elbows on the table and bent her head over her coffee. “See the car diagonally across the street?” she asked. “I think that’s them. The woman is using the last name Flaherty.”

I pulled a hand back through my hair and looked out the front window of the sandwich shop. There was a silver Lexus parked on the street and I could see Leila in the passenger seat. “It is,” I said. “I recognize the woman who’s working with him.”

Mr. P. was on his way up the sidewalk. He was wired again, this time just for sound with a tiny police-issue microphone attached under the edge of his sweater vest. He came inside, smiled at us all and sat at a table in the corner to the left of the door. Glenn took him a cup of coffee.

Michelle looked around. “We got lucky,” she said. “This place could have been filled with people.”

“That’s why Mr. P. decided on this time of day,” I said, picking up my cup and setting it down again. Across the street Leila got out of the passenger side of the Lexus.

“They’re on the move,” I said softly to Michelle.

She in turn looked over at Mr. P. and nodded.

Leila and Thorne Logan stepped into the sandwich shop. I noticed that she was carrying the Burberry purse. She looked around. At his table Mr. P. stood up. “Hello, Leila,” I heard him say.

“Hello, Harold,” she replied. “I’d like you to meet Thornton Logan.”

The two men shook hands and they all sat down.

“I like your hair like that,” Michelle said.

For a moment I looked blankly at her, and then I remembered we were supposed to be having a conversation. “I’ve been thinking about shaving my head. What do you think?” It was the first thing that popped into my mind. I was not good at this, I realized.

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

I wasn’t sure if she was serious with her question or if it was just part of making conversation.

“I’m thinking of training for a marathon,” I said. “It would just be easier, you know, showering so much.”

“Well, you could have some kind of design cut into the stubble,” Michelle offered with just a hint of a smile. Now I knew she wasn’t serious.

The officer working with Glenn approached the table. Both Logan and Leila ordered coffee.

The door to the little shop opened and Avery walked in. My breath caught in my chest. I should have known she had agreed far too easily to being left out.

“What is she doing here?” Michelle asked, her voice low.

“I can get her out,” I said. I started to get to my feet.

Michelle caught my arm. “Sit,” she said. “I don’t want to do anything to draw their attention.” She tipped her head, ever so slightly, in the direction of Mr. P.’s table.

Liz was shooting daggers in her granddaughter’s direction.

Avery ignored the look. “Hi, Gram,” she said, walking over to the table. “Sorry I’m late.”

Michelle caught Liz’s eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. It looked to me as though Liz nodded in return, but I couldn’t be sure. She got up and headed to the counter, motioning at Avery to take her seat. That put Avery closer to the kitchen with the wall behind her.

I had to swallow hard to get the lump in my throat to go down. Why had I agreed to this? It had to be the stupidest thing I’d ever done.

Michelle squeezed my arm. “Breathe,” she whispered.

I took a deep breath and then another. Panicking wasn’t going to do me any good. These people were my family and I would protect them with my life if it came to that. I was really hoping it wouldn’t.

Michelle and I talked about hair and running for the next few minutes. Avery bought a cinnamon roll. Liz and Charlotte seemed to be making a grocery list and from what little I could hear of Mac and Rose’s conversation, she was asking questions about his love life. I sent him a smile of sympathy when he looked my way. Finally the officer turned counterperson came over to the table with the coffeepot. It was the agreed-upon signal for Michelle to make her move.

“We’re good,” he said almost under his breath to her.

She looked across the table at me. “Everyone stays out of the way,” she said.

I nodded, hoping I wouldn’t have to dramatically fling myself in front of anyone or take Rose down with a running tackle.

Michelle got up and moved toward Mr. P.’s table in one quick, smooth move. She stopped by Thorne Logan’s chair, the officer positioning himself closer to Mr. P., effectively shielding him from the others.

“Hello, Mr. Logan,” Michelle said. She flashed her badge. “I’m Detective Andrews. Could I talk to you for a minute?”

“I’m sorry, Detective,” Logan said, smoothly confident. “As you can see, I’m in the middle of something. Perhaps another time.”

A flash of uncertainty passed across Leila’s face.

Michelle smiled. I’d seen that smile before. It did not mean good things were going to happen. “Mr. Logan, please stand up,” she said.

He gave a sigh of annoyance. “Look, I know I have a couple of parking tickets that I should have paid.” He held up both hands and gave her his best approximation of a boyish smile. It was pretty good. “I plead guilty to having a lead foot and I promise I’ll come by the station and pay them as soon as I’m done here.”

I wasn’t sure his charm would have worked on anyone, but it definitely didn’t work on Michelle.

“Get up, please,” she repeated, and when he didn’t she nodded to the officer beside her.

“Stand up, sir,” the young officer said, helping Logan to his feet. Michelle explained why he was being arrested while the handcuffs were snapped into place.

While all the focus was on Thorne Logan, Leila had started to back toward the door. I noticed she wasn’t at the table and turned to see Mac block her way. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to go around him.

He stepped in front of her again. “I think the police officer over there with your friend would like to talk to you,” he said.

Michelle walked over to them. “I need you to come down to the station with me, Mrs. Flaherty,” she said.

Leila pressed her lips together and glowered at Michelle. “You’re dumb as a stump,” she hissed as Thorne Logan passed her being led out the door.

“Stop talking, Mother,” he said through gritted teeth.

Michelle raised her eyebrows at me as she passed me.

“That was so cool!” Avery said, bouncing up from her seat as soon as the door closed.

“And you are so grounded,” Liz said matter-of-factly. “Two weeks.”

“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t come!” Avery scowled like a petulant child. “You just said this was no place for me.”

“Three weeks,” Liz said. “Want to try for four?”

“That’s not fair,” Avery whined.

I put a hand on her shoulder and swung her around to face me. “Avery, you scared the crap out of your grandmother,” I said.

She started to argue, but I cut her off. “You scared your grandmother. You scared Rose and Charlotte and Mr. P. and Mac.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. I could feel my hands shaking. “You scared me. And you know better.” I kept my gaze locked on her face.

After a moment her lower lip began to tremble. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice raspy with emotion.

“We all love you,” I said. “So you can’t just do whatever you feel like doing, because if something hurts you, all of us are hurt, too.”

She swallowed again. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. Then she turned around to face Liz. “I’m sorry, Nonna,” she said.

Liz wrapped her arms around her granddaughter and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, child,” she said.

“I love you, too, Nonna,” Avery said.

“You’re still grounded.”

Avery nodded, her head still on Liz’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know.”

I felt the tension drain from my body. Mac appeared at my side. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

“So Leila is that young man’s mother,” Mr. P. said.

“You were right about that,” I said, smiling at him.

Liz had handed Avery off to Rose, who was cupping the teenager’s face with her hands as she talked to her. Liz came over to me and bumped me with her hip. “Remember what I said about that woman when we were in the car?” she asked me.

I nodded. “I remember.”

“I take it all back.”

Glenn McNamara was at the counter. I caught his eye. “A refill on everything, please, Glenn,” I said. “And thank you for letting us stage this episode of Law and Disorder in here.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, reaching for the coffeepot. “I gotta say, though, it’s going to make Tuesday afternoons from now on feel pretty tame.”

I didn’t hear from Michelle until after Jeopardy! was over. Elvis had just come out of the bedroom and jumped on my lap when my cell rang. I looked over at the screen. “It’s Michelle,” I said to him.

“Merow,” he said, looking from me to the phone. Translation: Hurry up and answer.

Rose was right. Thorne Logan and his mother had sold Edison Hall all those fake bottles of wine. “They were falling over themselves, each of them trying to put the blame on the other,” Michelle said. “That’s a screwed-up family.”

But Thorne Logan wasn’t our killer. “He has an alibi, Sarah,” Michelle said. “When Ronan Quinn was killed, Mr. Logan and his mother were up in Bangor trying to scam another senior citizen in a crowded Dunkin’ Donuts with at least a dozen witnesses.”

“Son of a horse,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?” Michelle said.

“Nothing,” I said. “Thank you for this.”

“I owe you,” she said. “There are four other police departments in this part of the state alone who want to talk to Mr. Logan and his mother.”

“I’m glad something came out of all this.”

“We’re not done,” Michelle said. “We will find out who killed Ronan Quinn. We’re not even close to being done with this case.”

I said good night and ended the call. “I should go tell Rose what’s going on,” I said to Elvis. “Want to come with me?”

The cat put a paw up over his face, almost as though he were trying to tell me it was a conversation he didn’t want to be part of.

Mr. P. answered the door when I knocked. He was wearing a pair of blue knitted slippers and one of Rose’s flowered aprons and holding a dish towel. “Hello, Sarah,” he said. He studied my face for a moment. “You’re not bringing good news, are you?”

I shook my head.

“Sarah dear, come in,” Rose called.

I stepped into the kitchen. She took one look at my face, closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

“Rosie, where are you going,” a clearly bewildered Mr. P. asked.

Rose had already disappeared, headed I was guessing for the bedroom. In a moment I heard the door close.

Baffled, Mr. P. looked at me. “Is she all right?”

I nodded. “She just went into the bedroom to swear because she didn’t want to do it in front of me.”

“Well, then,” he said. “Would you like a piece of pie? It’s lemon meringue.”

“It could only help,” I said. “Thank you.”

Mr. P. got a slice of pie for both of us and we were at the kitchen table with it when Rose came back. She joined us at the table. I told them what Michelle had told me.

“Well, at least those terrible people won’t be taking advantage of anyone else,” he said.

Rose had a look of grim determination on her face. “Tomorrow we’ll start at the beginning again. And we’ll find out who killed Mr. Quinn.”

“Absolutely,” Mr. P. said, smiling at her.

I speared another bite of pie. It was delicious. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. I just had no clue what that something was.