No Escape Claws

Chapter 9

We got back to Second Chance just before five. Liz brought everyone up to date on what we’d learned from Judge Halloran while Avery and I closed up.

“Can I show you something?” Avery asked as we put the vacuum cleaner away.

“Sure,” I said.

She led the way out to the workshop. On the far corner of the workbench were two of the small pails she’d been covering with maps. These two, however, had been covered with some kind of festive snowman paper.

I picked one up. She’d done a meticulous job as usual. Avery might forget to wear socks in her boots or to cut the tags off her thrift-store finds but she was exacting at any project she took on for the shop.

“Where did you find the paper?” I asked. I didn’t recognize it.

“It was at the bottom of that box of stuff Charlotte was sorting. You know, all that fabric stuff. Was it okay that I used it?”

I nodded. “Very okay.”

She smiled. “I thought I could do a few more and when it gets closer to Christmas we could fill them with those shiny tree ornaments we didn’t sell last year. If people don’t buy them then, hey, we still have some great decorations for here.”

I set the festive pail back on the workbench. “I like that idea,” I said. “But I’m not sure where those ornaments are.”

“They’re in a blue bin on the top shelf out in the garage. It even says ‘Ornaments’ on the top of the box. And I wasn’t out there making a mess looking for them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” I said. “I’m just impressed that you found them so easily.”

She shrugged. “I asked Mr. P. to ask Mac where they were when he texted him. That’s how I found them.”

“Very resourceful,” I said.

“When’s he coming back?” she asked, turning the pail closest to her so the handles lined up exactly.

“I don’t know.”

She seemed baffled. “Well, what did Mac say when you asked him? I know you talk to him.”

“I didn’t ask him,” I said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at the admission. “Mac has a lot to take care of in Boston.”

“But you told him we miss him, right?” There was a hint of a challenge in her voice.

I let out a breath. “Yes, I’ve told him we miss him.”

“So then you should ask him when he’s coming back so he knows that we want him back.” She didn’t say, “duh,” but it was implied.

“Mac knows we want him back,” I said.

“Okay, whatever.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Rose, Liz and Charlotte were standing by the front window still talking when Avery and I came back into the shop. Rose smiled at the teen. “There are some cookies left in the staff room upstairs. You can take them home with you.”

“Oatmeal raisin?” Avery asked.

Rose shook her head. “Jam-jams.”

Avery smiled. “Thanks,” she said. She cocked her head to one side. “You know, if there’s something you don’t want to say in front of me you could just tell me to leave the room.”

“Fine,” Liz said. “Avery, leave the room.”

“Okay,” she said, heading for the stairs. “But I’m still getting the cookies.” She took the steps two at a time.

I turned to Rose. “Liz told you about our conversation with the judge?”

She nodded. Then she looked up at me. “So what do you think about what he said?”

I brushed a bit of dust off the arm of my shirt. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Did you ever read that article I sent you about the validity of eyewitness testimony?” she asked. I knew from experience that Rose had very strong opinions on the subject.

“I read both of the articles.”

“So you know that the judge’s confidence in his ID doesn’t translate to it being any more accurate?”

“You think he’s wrong,” I said.

“I think we need to find some evidence that either backs him up or that proves he’s mistaken.” I knew that determined set to her chin. Behind Rose both Liz and Charlotte were trying not to smile.

“And how do you think we should do that?” I asked.

Rose reached over and plucked another dust bunny from my shirt. “We’re going to do what we do best.” She smiled sweetly.

“Refresh my memory,” I said, struggling and failing not to smile back at her. “What is it exactly that we do best?”

“We act like nosey little old ladies.” She gestured at Liz and Charlotte.

“Speak for yourself,” Liz muttered.

“Of course not you, dear,” Rose added, patting my hand and ignoring Liz’s comment.

“So what am I then? Window dressing?” I asked.

“Exactly,” she said with a grin. “And you drive.” She caught sight of Avery coming down the stairs. “No, no child, that’s the wrong tin,” she said, hurrying over.

Liz came and put her arm around me. “It appears that you are just another pretty face,” she teased.

I fished her keys out of my pocket and handed them to her. She leaned over and kissed my cheek, then started for the back door. “Love you,” she said over her shoulder.

“Love you too, toots,” I said.

Rose, Mr. P. and Avery left with Liz. I gave Charlotte a ride home. Elvis conceded the entire front seat to Charlotte and hopped into the back to sit in the middle of the seat.

“Were the cookies a hit?” Charlotte asked.

“I think so,” I said. The judge seemed touched to get them and the note from Gram. I glanced over at her. “I think he had a bit of a crush on her.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” she said with a smile. “But what did he say that makes you think that?”

“When we were leaving he called me Isabel. He caught himself and said I reminded him of Gram.”

“I can see that,” Charlotte said. “You have Isabel’s smile and her stubborn streak.”

“I’m not stubborn,” I said, maybe a bit more vehemently than was necessary.

A loud meow came from the backseat.

“I’m sorry. There seems to be some dispute about that.”

I looked over at Charlotte again. She was laughing.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Elvis was the picture of innocence on the backseat.

“You’re actually right about the judge,” Charlotte said. “From what I remember he was a little smitten with your grandmother. Of course, once she met your grandfather there was no one else for her, but I suspect for Neill Halloran, Isabel may be the one who got away.”

I pulled onto Charlotte’s street. “It sounds like Gram was a bit of a heartbreaker when she was young. First I find out that Clayton McNamara was romancing her when they were both just six years old and now there’s Judge Halloran. Are there any other romances in Gram’s past that I should know about?”

I turned into Charlotte’s driveway. She smiled at me. “Isabel doesn’t kiss and tell and I don’t tell at all so I think you’re out of luck.” She unfastened her seat belt and reached for her bag. “Have fun tonight and tell Nicolas that if he doesn’t come over this weekend and change the lightbulb in the garage I’m going to drag a kitchen chair out there and do it myself.”

“I have lots of time,” I said, unfastening my seat belt. “I can do that for you right now.”

Charlotte was shaking her head before I finished speaking. “Thank you, but I really want Nick to change that lightbulb. If you do it for me all I’ll get is a working lightbulb, but if Nick does it I’ll get a working lightbulb and three boxes of his junk out of my garage.”

I smiled and refastened my seat belt. “I’ll pass on the message,” I said.

I had just enough time to head home, shower and change. When I got to The Black Bear I found Jess holding court with Liam and Nick. I slid onto the chair they had been saving for me and looked around for a waiter but couldn’t seem to catch one’s attention.

“Do you want food?” Jess asked. She had her hair up and she was wearing a hot pink boat-neck sweater that kept slipping down over one shoulder—which was probably why she’d decided to wear it.

“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t have any supper.”

She looked around, somehow caught a waiter’s eye and raised a finger. The waiter immediately headed toward us.

“How do you do that?” I asked, slumping against the back of my chair.

“I just have a naturally commanding presence,” Jess said with a grin.

More like she had a killer smile and lots of confidence.

I ordered two fish tacos and coleslaw. Then I briefed Liam on the judge’s sunflower window project. “Can you help?” I asked.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “I’ll call Liz in the morning and get some more details.”

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded but his focus had shifted from me to someone he’d spotted across the room. “I see someone I need to talk to,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Nick reached out and swiped a chunk of tomato from my taco.

“I didn’t know you asked Liam to come,” I said. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have had supper.”

“You didn’t have supper,” he pointed out, nicking a bite of fish from my plate.

I smacked his hand. “Apparently neither did you.”

“I invited Liam,” Jess said. “I told you. Remember?”

I looked at her. She had told me that. “I do now.”

“Sarah, do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” I said. The moment the word was out of my mouth I realized how less than enthusiastic I sounded.

One eyebrow went up. “You sure?” Jess asked.

Nick took advantage of what I’m sure he thought was my distracted focus to swipe another chunk of fish from my plate.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. I didn’t sound very convincing even to myself.

“Sarah is afraid you’re sleeping with her brother,” Nick said.

I yanked my plate out of his reach with one hand, made a fist with the other and slugged his shoulder. Hard. “You’re not helping, and stop eating my food!”

“Are you afraid I’m going to break Liam’s heart or something?” Jess asked. She seemed amused by the idea.

I hesitated, exhaling slowly to buy a little time. “No. I’m mostly afraid he’ll break yours.” Liam didn’t seem interested in a serious relationship with anyone.

She laughed. “There’s nothing to worry about, Sarah. Liam and I are just friends.” She gave me a wicked grin. “Actually we’re perpetrating a ruse.”

“A ruse?” I said.

“Oh, this should be good,” Nick chortled. He leaned against the back of his chair. “Do tell.”

Jess rolled her eyes at him before turning her attention to me. “You know how Rose and the others were trying to pair you off with Nick and”—she glanced at him again—“well, pretty much just Nick?”

I nodded.

“Well, now they seem to have switched their efforts to Liam’s love life. So he told them we were going out.”

I pressed my lips together, but the laughter escaped anyway.

“C’mon, it’s not funny,” Jess said. “You know what they’re like.”

Nick was grinning as well.

“I know exactly what they’re like,” I said, shaking with laughter. “And it’s hilarious.”

Nick and I had had Rose and Liz and his mother inquiring and poking in our love lives for years. Liam, on the other hand, had pretty much been exempt from their . . . advice. I couldn’t help being tickled that the tables had been turned.

Liam came back to the table then. “What did I miss?” he said.

“Nick was stealing my food.” It was the first thing that came to mind.

Liam frowned at his friend. “Hey, don’t do that.”

I smiled at him sticking up for me. Meanwhile, he leaned over and grabbed a chunk of fish out of the taco I was holding. “Only I get to swipe Sarah’s food,” he said with a grin.

I made a show of looking around the pub. “Is there anywhere else I can sit?”

Jess grinned and held up a hand. “Okay, guys,” she said. “No more teasing Sarah.”

I jabbed a finger in Nick’s direction. “I almost forgot. If you don’t go and change the lightbulb in your mother’s garage this weekend I’m going to go and do it for her and at the same time I’m going to take the three boxes of your junk that are still in the garage and give them to Cleveland.”

“You can’t do that,” he said, setting down his beer. “That’s all good stuff.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “If it’s such good stuff then why is it all in Charlotte’s garage and not your apartment?”

He made a face. “You are so mean.” I knew he wasn’t really mad. The corners of his mouth were twitching. I also knew he’d get over to his mother’s on Saturday and get those three boxes because he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that I wouldn’t give his stuff to my best trash picker.

“And you stole my food,” I retorted.

The band came out then and there was no more time to talk.

By the time the first set was over my face was flushed and I was pulling at the neck of my T-shirt. It was warm in the bar and I’d spent most of the time dancing. Both Liam and Jess got up to stretch their legs. Once they were out of earshot, Nick turned to me. “How did the visit with Judge Halloran go?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I learned he had a thing for Gram when they were young and he’s convinced he saw Mike Pearson walking away from that burning house.”

Nick made a face. “Okay, I don’t even know what to do with that first part, and as for the rest, well, we pretty much knew that was what he’d say.” He picked up his beer, realized it was empty and set it back down again. “So what do you think?”

“You mean do I think this means Mike Pearson killed his wife?”

He nodded.

I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “The truth is, I’m less sure than I was before.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

“First of all there was a bed for Gina in rehab,” I said. “The judge had pulled some strings and told Mike there would be a place for her in Haven House in the morning. Mike had been trying to make that happen. He was desperate for any kind of help for his wife. Why on earth would he kill Gina now that she was about to finally get that help?”

Nick nodded slowly. “Okay, that makes sense.”

“The other thing is, one of the reasons the judge is so credible is because he knew Mike. He even described the ball cap that Mike was wearing. Apparently he wore it all the time.”

Nick held up a hand. “Hang on,” he said. “Why does that matter?”

“From what I’ve learned about Mike Pearson, he’s not a stupid man. So if he’d just killed his wife and set the fire that ended up destroying his house, why didn’t he make an effort not to be seen as he left? It’s not like he didn’t know the judge might see him. He’d talked to Judge Halloran earlier when the judge was just starting to clear out his driveway.”

“Are you trying to say you think someone was impersonating Mike?” Nick asked. He looked a little skeptical and I didn’t blame him.

I shrugged. “I don’t know but I think we should keep digging and maybe we’ll find out.”

“I think you’re right,” he said.

I looked around the room.

“What are you looking for?” Nick asked.

“Zombies,” I said.

“Zombies?”

I nodded. “Because you and Rose agreeing on everything has to be a sign of something ominous like a zombie apocalypse.”

Nick laughed. Then his expression turned serious. “Can I tell you something but we keep it just between us?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Can you?”

He recognized his mother’s expression and gave me a wry smile. “I’m serious, Sarah. For now this isn’t something I want to share with the rest of your band of merry detectives.”

I hesitated. “Okay. We can keep whatever it is between us. For now.” I stressed the last two words.

“I told you I was going to talk to Claire again.”

I nodded. Had the medical examiner decided to change Gina Pearson’s cause of death?

“She said that if I can find more evidence—something that indicates Gina didn’t try to hang herself or that some other person started the fire, she’ll change the cause of death.”

“That would get the case reopened.”

He nodded. “It would.”

“That could potentially get Mike out of jail,” I said.

“Or put him there for a lot longer,” Nick added. “You can see why I don’t want to get Rose’s hopes up just yet.”

I shifted in my seat. “You’re right. I won’t say anything.” I eyed him for a moment.

He frowned. “What? Do I have food on my face or something?”

“No,” I said. “I was just wondering how you do it every day. How do you not get overwhelmed by all the investigations?”

Nick ran a hand back through his hair. “I try to look strictly at the facts and not emotions.”

I laughed. “And how’s that been working lately?”

He gave me a bit of a shamefaced grin. “Let’s just say it’s a work in progress. What keeps me going is knowing that I speak for the dead. I hear what they say through the evidence and I’m their voice.” He gave me a sideways look and said, “Sounds hokey, I know.”

“It doesn’t sound that way at all,” I said. “I just wish we could figure out what Gina Pearson is trying to say to us.”

Jess and Liam came back to the table then, heads together laughing about something. More plotting for their ruse? I didn’t get a chance to ask because the band was coming back to the stage just then as well. Sam was carrying an extra guitar and he looked in our direction.

Nick shook his head. “No,” he said.

I grinned and poked him with my elbow. Jess was already smiling and pointing at the stage.

“This is an ambush,” Nick said over the clapping and hooting of the crowd. He looked at me.

“I didn’t know Sam had this planned. I swear,” I said, my mouth close to his ear. “I mean, I would have helped if I had known. But I didn’t.” I smiled at him. “Please play. I haven’t heard you play in ages.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You owe me,” he said. “And don’t expect a lot. I’m really rusty.” Then he got up and went to join the band, to even more clapping and cheers.

Nick played three songs with Sam and the boys and if he was rusty it didn’t show. He came back to his seat to even more clapping, hoots and cheering. His face was flushed and he was grinning from ear to ear.

I suddenly remembered what Mallory had said about her stepmother, how much fun Gina had been before she started drinking all the time: She’d put on music and dance with us with that sparkly sort of look in her eyes and her hair swirling all around. I looked at Nick, still smiling as Jess gave his arm a squeeze and all around us people still clapped. If he lost the look that was on his face right now, I wouldn’t give up until it came back. Was it fair to think Mike Pearson had given up on his wife? Maybe Rose was right. Maybe Neill Halloran was mistaken about what he saw. Or maybe he’d been deliberately misled. Either way, I knew I couldn’t quit until I got some answers.

I was in my office with Elvis the next morning, checking Web site orders, when Mr. P. knocked on the half-open door and stuck his head around the door frame. “Am I interrupting, Sarah?” he asked.

“No, you’re not,” I said. “He, on the other hand . . .” I pointed at Elvis, who had just squeezed himself in between me and the laptop keyboard, which made it pretty much impossible for me to type.

The cat blinked his green eyes at me. I made a shooing motion with one hand. “Go downstairs and help Rose in the shop,” I said. To my amusement he took a couple of swipes at his face with one paw, then jumped down from the desk, and moved behind Mr. P. out into the hallway.

I shook my head. “Sometimes I think he knows every word I’m saying to him, but he ignores it all just to mess with me.”

Mr. P. smiled. “Cats are very intelligent animals,” he said. “I’m sure you remember that they were worshipped in ancient Egypt.”

I laughed. “That might explain why Elvis acts like royalty.”

“It may indeed,” he agreed.

“So what’s up?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

“The high school has a cross-country race after school today.”

I felt a little confused and it probably showed on my face. “I didn’t realize you followed high school sports,” I said.

He smoothed down the few wisps of his hair with one hand. “Well, the women’s hockey team does look like it’s going to be very competitive this year, but the reason I mentioned the cross-country race is that Hannah Allison is competing.”

It took a moment but then I made the connection. “Hannah Allison is the teen Gina Pearson hit with her car.”

Mr. P. nodded. “Yes. It would be a good opportunity to talk to her parents. I have it on reliable authority that both of them will be there.”

“Then so will we,” I said.

Liam and Nick showed up at lunchtime. Liam stuck his head around the workroom door just as I was putting a guitar back on the wall. “Hi,” he said. “Nick has the afternoon off so we’re going to start in the sunporch if that’s okay with you.”

“It’s fine with me,” I said. “Just make sure it’s all right with Mr. P.”

No surprise, it was all right with Mr. P. I helped the three of them move what little furniture there was in the sunporch out into the workroom. We made a space for Alfred’s makeshift desk near the workbench so he could plug in his computer.

“How can I help?” he asked Liam once Nick had moved his desk chair.

Liam fished a piece of paper from his pocket. “These are the Web sites for a couple of salvage places. They have their inventory online. What I need is enough trim to go around the windows and enough baseboard to finish the walls under the windows.” He looked at me. “I know you don’t care if the trim matches the rest of the place but I do.”

I held up both hands. “That’s fine with me.”

Liam pointed to the bottom of the paper. “That’s how many feet I need of both, and you know what both the trim and the baseboard look like.”

Mr. P. nodded. “I’ll get right on it.” He nudged his glasses up his nose. “I have some sources of my own as well.” Then he disappeared into the workroom.

Liam looked at me. “He has sources?”

“Yes, he does,” I said with a smile, “and you probably don’t want to know about them.”

I spent the first part of the afternoon in the garage work space removing moldings and plaster medallions that had been added to a beautiful Shaker-style armoire, which had also been painted a bilious shade of pea soup green. It had been meticulously put together with thick shelves and a shiplap back. I had no idea why anyone had wanted to paint it and then add so much decoration. For me the beauty of the piece was in its simple lines and beautiful wood.

Liam had taken a look inside and said he thought the wood was cypress. I had decided to refinish the piece as a Christmas gift for Gram and John. Gram had mentioned that she could use more storage space in the apartment.

Around three thirty I put everything away, brushed my hair and my teeth and put on a little lip gloss. Then I went in search of Rose and Mr. P. I found the latter standing in the middle of the sunporch, which no longer had drywall on two sides but did have a new window facing the street. Rose and Nick were standing by the back door, their heads bent over what looked like a small notebook. Nick had bits of drywall dust in his hair.

“Are you ready, Rose?” I said. She and Nick stepped apart—somewhat guiltily, it seemed to me.

“I just need to get my sweater,” Rose said. She didn’t make any effort to do that, though.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

Nick looked at Rose. Rose looked at Nick. I noticed that neither of them was looking at me. I cocked my head inquiringly to one side. Nick looked like he was about to say something but Rose kicked his leg with her foot. He jumped, made a bit of a grunt and then tried to turn it into a cough to cover.

Rose gave me a totally insincere smile. “Dear, you know how sometimes you decide it might be better if you didn’t know exactly how Alfred acquired a certain piece of information?”

I nodded.

“This may be a similar circumstance.”

“I’ll see you in the car in five minutes,” I said.

We got to the park where the cross-country meet was being held just a few minutes before four o’clock. It was the kind of September afternoon the coast of Maine is known for: streaky clouds overhead, just a hint of a breeze coming in from the water and on the trees all around us the leaves were starting to change. I took a deep breath of the fresh air. It was good to be outside for a change. Rockwell Park had close to eight miles of trails, many of them through old-growth forest with trees that were close to four hundred years old. There was a waterfowl pond and outdoor rink in the wintertime. I made a mental note to come for a run in the park sometimes soon.

“How exactly are we going to find Hannah Allison’s parents?” I asked, looking around. There were more people than I’d expected. Most of them were parents, I was guessing. “I don’t even know their names.”

“Ben Allison and Jia Kent-Allison,” Mr. P. said. “Don’t worry. I know what they look like.”

The cross-country course had been marked off with stakes and yellow tape. We walked in the general direction that most of the people seemed to have gathered as Mr. P. scanned the spectators. No one paid any attention to us and I realized that we probably looked like the mom and grandparents of one of the kids. Finally Mr. P. put a hand on my arm. “Over there, Sarah,” he said, inclining his head in the direction of a man and woman standing by themselves where the trail curved up the hill.

I took a minute to study them. Ben Allison looked to be in his early forties, average height and build, in jeans and a red and black hoodie. Everything about him was unremarkable except for his hair. It was on the longish side, thick and wavy, a mix of dark and silver. It was the kind of hair that belonged in a shampoo commercial.

Jia Kent-Allison was five eight or so with a lean build that made me suspect she was a runner herself. She was of Asian ancestry and she wore her dark hair in a cropped pixie that showed off her cheekbones and long neck. She was dressed in leggings and a gray zippered running jacket. Her arms were folded over her chest and there was a frown of concentration on her face as she watched the runners on the course.

We stood a little way away from the Allisons and waited until their daughter ran by. Hannah Allison was easy to spot with a similar runner’s build to her mother and her dad’s thick hair in a high ponytail. She ran at a steady pace, grinning at her parents as she passed them. I had no idea how good her time was, but I noticed that she had an excellent stride. Ben and Jia clapped and called out encouragingly as Hannah disappeared on the wooded part of the course.

Mr. P. and Rose exchanged a look. Then Mr. P. nodded and they started over to the Allisons. I tagged along behind them wondering what his approach was going to be.

It turned out Mr. P. had decided on a direct one. “Mr. and Mrs. Allison,” he said. “My name is Alfred Peterson. I’m a private investigator.” He showed them his license from the state. “These are my associates, Mrs. Jackson and Ms. Grayson.”

“What do you want with us?” Ben asked. He seemed wary, shoulders squared, hands stuffed in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions about your daughter’s accident,” Mr. P. said.

“Why?” Jia Allison asked, a challenge in her dark eyes. She looked familiar. I had the feeling I’d seen her in a couple of 10K races that I’d done recently.

“Gina Pearson’s name has come up in an investigation,” he said. “We’re looking into her background.” Alfred Peterson may have been a balding little man who wore his pants a bit too high, but his quiet confidence and intelligence won people over.

“She’s dead,” Jia said bluntly.

Mr. P. nodded. “Yes, we’re aware of that. But we still need to learn more about her.”

“She damn near killed my daughter driving drunk,” Ben said. There were deep lines around his eyes and mouth. “Running was Hannah’s life and for a while, after her leg was injured in that accident, they weren’t sure if she was going to be able to walk again, let alone run.”

Jia looked at me. “You run,” she said. “I do the hills loop a lot. I’ve seen you running it a few times.”

I nodded. “Yes I do that one on occasion.”

“Then you know what it was like for my daughter not to be able to run.”

Two young women running in tandem passed us and I felt a sudden urge to join them, to feel my muscles working, feet pounding against the ground, lungs pulling in air. “I can guess,” I said.

“Gina Pearson did that to my child,” Jia said. She’d folded her arms across her chest with her fingers tucked into her armpits and she shifted her weight restlessly from one foot to the other as though she might suddenly turn and sprint away.

“This is probably going to sound cruel,” Ben interrupted, “but as far as I’m concerned Gina Pearson could have drunk herself to death for all I cared, but she had no right to get into a car and drive.” He pulled one hand out of his pocket and raked it back through his hair. “Her husband is partly to blame as well.”

“Why do you say that?” Rose asked. As usual, her genuine curiosity got an answer.

“Mike Pearson was an enabler,” Ben said. “He made excuses for his wife. He got her second and third and fourth chances.” His voice was getting louder and rougher and his anger was apparent in every gesture he made, both hands moving, punctuating his words. “Gina Pearson’s drinking never really cost her any of the things that mattered to her so she never hit bottom. And since she never hit bottom, she never had any incentive to climb back up. That’s on him.” He swiped a hand over his mouth and walked away from us.

His wife’s eyes followed him but she didn’t. Jia Allison looked at us. “Gina Pearson died in a fire that she started because, once again, she was drinking. Because she learned nothing from what she did to our daughter. Neither Ben nor I wanted her to die like that.” She looked past us, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Any man’s death diminishes me,” she said softly.

“Because I am involved in mankind,” Rose finished in a gentle voice. “John Donne.”

Jia nodded. She dropped her arms to her sides. “Gina is dead because her drinking finally caught up with her the night she set her house on fire. And if you’re thinking that somehow my husband confronted her and drove her to get drunk that night, sorry. As usual she got that way by herself, but for the record Ben was with Hannah the night of Gina’s death, exercising in the pool at the Y. I was on a training run for the winter half marathon—in other words, I have no alibi.”

It was apparent from the closed expression on her face that the conversation was over.

“Thank you for your time,” Mr. P. said.

Jia nodded and walked off to join her husband.

We headed back to the SUV. “You’ll check Ben Allison’s alibi?” I asked Mr. P.

“I’ll get to it as soon as we get back,” he said.

“He’s very angry.”

“But his wife is the more likely candidate to have done something,” Rose said.

I leaned around Mr. P. to look at her. “Are you saying that because she’s a mother?”

Rose shook her head. “No. I’m saying that because her husband’s anger is so easy to see. Look how it spilled over when he spoke to us. His wife on the other hand, all of her anger is inside.” She patted her chest with the palm of her hand. “Her feelings go very deep.”

“Deep enough to have killed Gina?” I asked. I was afraid I might know the answer. I’d seen Jia’s right hand flexing and then clenching into a fist at her side.

Rose looked troubled. “Maybe,” she said.

There wasn’t anything else to say. We headed back to the shop.

That evening, about eight thirty, there was a knock on my door. Elvis and I had just settled in for an exciting Friday night of TV and nachos. It was Mr. P. with his laptop.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your Friday night,” he said.

I smiled at his words. My Friday night was a plate of cheesy tortilla chips, a cat and a TV remote.

“No problem,” I said. “Come in.”

“I confirmed Ben Allison’s alibi.” He was wearing a pair of yellow fuzzy slippers. It wasn’t the first time. I decided I didn’t want to know why.

From the corner of my eye I could see Elvis eying the nachos. “Don’t even think about it, furball,” I said.

Mr. P. smiled. “Could you look at some numbers for me?” he asked, setting the computer on the counter.

I checked the columns of numbers on the screen and realized that what I was looking at were times and standings from the winter marathon that had been held just weeks after Gina’s death. I found Jia Kent-Allison in the left-hand column of names. I compared her previous and subsequent times with her time in that marathon.

“She didn’t do very well,” I said, shaking my head. “In fact, her time was awful.”

“I came to the same conclusion,” Mr. P. said, “but I wanted to see if you agreed.”

I shook my head. “It’s possible she had some kind of an injury.”

He nodded.

“It’s also possible she just didn’t put in the miles?”

Mr. P. looked thoughtful. “Well, if that’s the case, what was Jia doing when she should have been training?”

I had a bad feeling I might have an answer.