No Escape Claws

Chapter 6

“What about Mike Pearson?” I asked.

“What about him?” Liz said.

“Is it possible he might know anything?”

Liz shrugged. “I doubt it. He was just a summer student for one year.”

I shifted in my chair, pulling one leg up underneath me. “What was he like back then?”

She eyed me across the table. “Are you asking what he was like as an employee or are you asking if I saw any indication that someday he’d walk away from a burning house with his wife’s body inside?” One eyebrow went up. “I know you’re not one hundred percent convinced that Michael had nothing to do with his wife’s death, Sarah.”

“I know that you and Rose and Charlotte believe in him,” I said, “and I trust your judgment.” She opened her mouth to say something and I held up my hand. “I’d still feel better with some kind of evidence. There are three kids who’ve already lost the only mother they knew. I don’t want to see them lose their dad, too.”

“It won’t happen,” Liz said. Her expression turned thoughtful. “To answer your question, I remember Michael as being young, keen and interested in everything. It didn’t matter what job he was given, he never gave anything less than his best. He always did a bit more than he was asked but it wasn’t in a just-trying-to-get-ahead kind of way. If you want to know more about Michael you should talk to Elspeth. They spent a fair amount of time together that summer.”

“I might do that,” I said. There was one tiny bit of tart left on my plate. I ate it. “So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” I asked.

Liz made a show of looking around the kitchen. “And which elephant would that be?”

“John,” I said.

The lines around her mouth tightened. John Scott had been the youngest member of the board of the Emmerson Foundation during Rob Andrew’s tenure at the Sunshine Camp. Back then he’d also been Bill Kiley’s grad student. The late William Kiley had been a very well-respected history professor and Liz’s first husband.

“C’mon, Liz. John and Gram are settled and we need to tell John what’s going on. You know he’s trustworthy and he’s way more likely to remember things from those board meetings than anyone else is.”

“I have talked to him a couple of times under the pretext of working on the so-called history of the foundation, but all I’ve really gotten is just general reminiscences. And I hate to put him in the middle of something.”

“There isn’t anything to put him in the middle of,” I said. Liz’s expression was troubled. “Or is there something you aren’t telling me?”

For a moment she didn’t say anything, then she sighed softly. “I need you to give me your word you won’t tell anyone, not John, not Isabel and for now, not Michelle.”

I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach but I nodded. “I promise.” I knew if I didn’t, Liz wouldn’t tell me anything.

“I think there’s money missing from the foundation itself. Going back years.”

“How many years?”

She rubbed the space between her eyebrows with two fingers. “Maybe as far back as Rob Andrews’s time.”

Now my stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. John Scott, just like his mentor, Bill Kiley, had been a history professor, but John’s area of expertise was American business, specifically the private financial system and its management. His undergrad degree was in business, not history. That was why Liz had wanted him to join the board of the Emmerson Foundation in the first place.

“I’ve known John for a long time. He’s not a thief. He’s a man of integrity. In fact, I’ll stake my own integrity on that. I don’t want to open a can of worms and dump the mess in his lap.”

It was a metaphor that sounded more like it should have come from Rose, but I knew what she meant.

“Do you think this could be connected to Michelle’s father?” I asked.

“Seems like too much of a coincidence not to be,” Liz said.

I thought back to my earlier conversation about co-incidences with Mr. P. “More proof that Rob was framed then.”

Liz nodded. “I think it’s a possibility. I may as well tell you that Channing has found a good forensic accountant who is going over years of the books. It’s going to take time but I hope that will get us some answers.” She narrowed her gaze at me. “And don’t go getting ideas, missy. This is business only.”

Channing Caulfield, who on occasion Charlotte would refer to by his childhood name of Chucky, just to tease Liz, had carried a torch for Liz for a long time and he’d helped with foundation business for years. The former bank manager still did some consulting for an investment firm and had also helped out on a couple of the Angels’ recent cases. Liz insisted she had no romantic interest whatsoever in the man but I suspected she liked him a little more than she was admitting. Since she’d been butting into my love life for years I got a kick out of teasing her about Channing. As I’d pointed out to her, lots of women would consider him a catch. He had lots of hair and, as far as I could tell, all of his original teeth.

“So let’s just keep this possible missing money between us—you, me and Channing—for now,” I said. “The whole idea of a book about the foundation is a good cover. We can do more digging.”

Liz nodded. “There were five other people on the board. Talmadge Dixon is dead but the others are around and more or less in their right minds. And I should get in touch with Marie.”

“Who’s Marie?” I asked.

“Marie Heard. She was Wilson’s assistant for years. She took notes at all the meetings and I’m pretty sure she helped Rob with camp business on occasion. Marie started at the foundation when my grandfather was still there—straight out of secretarial school, as they called it back then. She probably knew better than anyone how things worked.”

“We should talk to her.” I pulled out my phone to see if I could find a number for the woman.

Liz got to her feet and carried her plate and cup over to the sink. “Marie retired and moved to Arizona. I asked Wilson, but he lost touch with her. I have no idea how to track her down.”

“I do,” I said. “Ask Mr. P. to look for her under the guise of wanting to interview her for the book project.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “And I’m going to tell people that you’re helping me with this whole thing.” She made a face. “I hate lying but for now I need to.”

I got up and took my own dishes over to the counter. “By the time we’re done we’re probably going to have a lot of stories and information about the Emmerson Foundation. I think you should consider a book.” I smiled at her. “Then, technically, none of what we’ve been saying actually would be a lie.”

“I like the way you think,” Liz said, giving me a big smile in return.

I wasn’t 100 percent sure I should be flattered by her vote of confidence.