No Escape Claws

Chapter 13

Mac called about eight thirty that evening. I told him about the visit with Gavin Pace and the conversation with Mallory. “I’ve gotten sucked into this way more than any other case the Angels have taken on,” I said.

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he said.

“We’re not any closer to figuring out what happened the night of the fire. What if we can’t? What if Mike Pearson spends the next four and a half years in jail?” I slumped in the corner of the sofa. “The problem is we’re trying to prove a negative.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Judge Halloran says he saw Mike walking away from the burning house. How do we prove the judge is wrong?”

“Where was he?”

“The judge? On his front steps, as far as I know.”

“No, not him,” Mac said. “Where exactly was Mike Pearson? If he wasn’t at the fire, where was he? He had to be somewhere. Wherever that is, maybe someone saw him.”

I blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before now.” I pictured Mac smiling.

“You would have gotten there eventually.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think we’ve all gotten a little too invested in this case. It started out that we were just looking for a way to get Mike out of jail and then suddenly we were investigating a murder that no one else is willing to say was a murder. No wonder we can’t seem to find any answers.”

“Hey, you’re on the team with Rose Jackson and Alfred Peterson,” Mac said. “They might know what the word ‘can’t’ means, but most of the time they just ignore it.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I wish you’d been here to see Rose with the electrician Liam sent.”

“Let me guess: He told her she couldn’t have something the way she wanted it done—”

“Wall sconces,” I said.

“And Rose just kept going like the poor guy hadn’t said anything.”

“With just a pinch of befuddled little old lady thrown in.”

He laughed. “So how do the wall sconces look?” he asked.

“Good, actually.”

“Sarah, do you remember what you said to me when the Angels’ case involved my life, my future? You said, ‘We have a secret weapon. We have Rose. She’s a pit bull with sensible shoes and a tote bag full of cookies.’”

At the time I’d been trying to lighten the mood, but part of me had also been serious. Rose, Mr. P., Liz and Charlotte and their unorthodox methods of solving crime had worked in the past and deep inside I’d wanted to believe they could solve Mac’s case, too.

I could hear a sound on the other end of the phone. “Are you clapping?” I asked.

“Yes, I am,” Mac said. “I believe in you. I believe in Rose. I believe in the Angels. So I’m clapping.”

He was referencing Peter Pan, I realized.

“You clap if you believe in fairies, not angels.”

“Close enough.”

“This is silly,” I said.

“I’ve got all night and a cup of coffee at my elbow.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Mac always did that to me. I held up a hand in a gesture of surrender even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay, okay. I get your point.”

“Good,” he said. “It’ll work out. I mean it.”

I really hoped he was right.

After Mac and I said good night, I called Nick. “Hey, Sarah, what’s up?” he said. I could hear voices, noise in the background.

“I have a question,” I said. “You’ve read pretty much all the reports on Mike Pearson’s case, right?”

“Yeah, I have.”

“If it wasn’t Mike who Judge Halloran saw, where was he? Rose said he told the police he was just driving around. But where? Maybe someone saw him or maybe a security camera picked him up.”

Nick was quiet for a moment then he said, “That’s a good question. Let me see what I can find out tomorrow.”

I thanked him and said good night.

I woke up the next morning feeling a lot more positive. Talking to Mac—even though it was over the phone and not in person—had helped, and I had my fingers crossed that Nick might come up with some piece of information to help prove where Mike had really been the night of the fire.

Rose and Mr. P. had spent their evening looking for a connection with one of the Pearsons’ former neighbors and I knew from the gleam in his eye and the smile on her face that they’d had success.

Rose explained the connection as we drove to work. As far as I could follow things, it seemed to involve someone she’d known at Legacy Place who’d had a failed romance with a bit of a senior lothario, whose son’s former girlfriend had and still did live on the street. There was also something about a tuna casserole and the request for risqué photos, which had led to the throwing of said casserole. Rose had made a clucking sound and said, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

The upshot was they were going to talk to the former girlfriend and see if she’d seen Gavin Pace—or anyone else—in the neighborhood around the time of the fire.

“I talked to Molly Pace,” Mr. P. said.

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“The word she used to describe her ex-husband was ‘useless.’”

“That’s harsh.”

“I agree,” he said. “Although given the circumstances you can see why she might say something like that. Overall, she seems to think he’s a bit of a spoiled mama’s boy who tends to take the easy way out of things.”

“It wasn’t him,” Rose said.

I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You sound pretty certain.”

“I am,” she said.

“How would killing Gina and setting that house on fire be taking the easy way out for Mr. Pace? What did he gain? Nothing. I think this is more about anger, revenge. That’s not Gavin Pace’s MO. I told you: weak chin.”

I nodded. Having met Pace I tended to agree with her but since we didn’t have a lot of suspects I wasn’t ruling him out just yet.

Late morning I headed down to The Black Bear to see Sam. Once again I had a guitar I needed his opinion on.

As I cut through the restaurant I saw Liz having an early lunch with her brother, Wilson. Wilson Emmerson had what Gram would call a lived-in face. There were lines bracketing his mouth and pulling at the corners of his piercing blue eyes, which were topped with bushy white eyebrows. Even when he was smiling he looked a little stern. Now he looked downright angry, gesturing across the table at Liz with his fork. I wondered if they were talking about the “book project.”

Sam was waiting for me in his office. It only took him a moment to tune the guitar. He played a couple of songs, his dollar store reading glasses low on his nose, and I watched his fingers fly over the strings.

Finally he looked up at me. “Very nice,” he said. “Where did it come from? There’s really no wear on the body.”

“An indulgent rock-and-roll grandmother and a grandson who decided he liked the clarinet better. There are no clarinets in rock-and-roll.”

Sam took off his glasses. “‘When I’m 64’ by the Beatles, ‘Dance to the Music,’ Sly and the Family Stone, Van Halen, ‘Big Bad Bill.’”

“Okay, so there aren’t a lot of clarinets in rock-and-roll,” I said.

He smiled. “How much are you going to ask for it?”

The handmade Bourgeois Slope D steel string had a sitka spruce top and sides and a neck and back made from mahogany. The fingerboard and bridge were ebony. And just a few chords showed off its beautiful tone. I told him my price.

“That’s fair,” he said. “I’ll take it.”

“Are you serious?” I said.

He ran a hand over the top of the guitar. “Absolutely, kiddo. I’ve always wanted one of these guitars. And I’m not getting any younger.”

I smiled, wondering if I could sneak in a 15 percent discount because it was Sam.

“And don’t even think of trying to give me some kind of friends and family discount,” he said as though he’d read my mind.

I tried to make a case for one as a way of thanking him for all the guitars he’d looked at for me since I’d opened Second Chance but Sam wasn’t having any of it. He could rival Rose for stubbornness. In the end I gave in and took his check after getting him to promise he’d play the guitar at the next jam.

When I came out of Sam’s office Liz was alone. She caught sight of me and waved me over to her table.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

I inclined my head in the direction of Sam’s office. “I brought a guitar over for Sam’s opinion.”

Liz looked at my empty hands. “And?”

“And he bought it.”

“Good for him,” she said. “Did you get him to let you give him the friends and family deal?”

“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s as stubborn as Rose.”

“Or my brother,” Liz said darkly.

“I saw Wilson with you when I came in. It looked like the two of you were having a disagreement.”

“I was trying to find out more about those projects mentioned in those old minutes but I can’t get him to take any of this seriously. He thinks our book idea is a vanity project and he’s not taking it seriously.” A waiter started in our direction and she waved him away with one hand.

“What if you told him the truth?” I said.

Liz was shaking her head before I got the words out. “I already told you. No. Too many people know what’s going on as it is.”

“We can’t keep everything secret forever.”

“We can for now,” she said. She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “The problem is Wilson thinks he’s the crown prince because that’s how our mother treated him, like the sun rose and set on his lily-white backside.” She looked at me. “We’ll just have to do this without his help.”

Since we already were I didn’t see how anything had changed. “Works for me,” I said.

Gram called midafternoon to invite me to supper. Actually to invite Elvis and me to supper.

“I’d love to,” I said. I hadn’t bought groceries and my cupboards were looking like Old Mother Hubbard’s.

Gram had made potato scallop—one of my favorites—along with ham and a big salad. About halfway through the meal I caught Gram and John exchanging a look. I set my fork down.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “You two remind me of Elvis right before he tries to stick his face in the popcorn bowl.”

“I’ve started going through that box of papers you brought me,” John said.

“You found something,” I said.

“That’s the thing,” he said, putting his own fork down. “I’m not sure if it is something.”

“Was it some kind of accounting irregularity?”

John shook his head. “No. It was something I noticed in the minutes from the board meetings.” He looked at Gram.

“Tell her,” she said.

“I read through the minutes from several different meetings and there are notations about several projects I don’t remember.”

My pulse quickened. “What do you mean by ‘projects you don’t remember’?”

“Those meetings were a long time ago and if you’d asked me what we talked about in any particular one I wouldn’t have been able to tell you, but as I read through the minutes they nudged my memory.”

I nodded.

“For example, at one of the board meetings we talked about a new roof for the dining hall at the Sunshine Camp. Reading that on the agenda reminded me about how heated the discussion got about whether we should use asphalt shingles or invest in a metal roof.”

“But I’m guessing not for those projects you don’t remember.”

“Exactly.”

I tucked my hair back behind one ear. “Do you remember the names of those projects?” I asked.

Gram got up, went over to the counter and came back with a piece of paper. She handed it to me. There were six names on it. They were the same projects that weeks ago Liz and I had discovered had never been implemented or even documented anywhere other than those minutes.

I knew this had to be important. I just wasn’t sure how.

I looked up at John. “Have you given these names to Liz yet?”

“I was going to call her tonight.”

I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. “These projects that you don’t remember. They have to mean something,” I said.

“I could see myself forgetting one or maybe two,” John said. “But not six.” He smiled at Gram, who had reached over to give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Has Liz considered having a full audit done, at least of the camp’s books?” Gram asked.

“Channing Caulfield found a forensic accountant,” I said. “It’s already being done.”

“That might be where the answers are,” John said.

Gram picked up her fork. “What’s going on with Liz and Channing?”

I was glad for the change of subject. “She says nothing, but I’m not so sure. They’ve had dinner several times—all ‘business,’ according to Liz. Of course that hasn’t stopped me from needling her about him.” I grinned across the table at Gram.

She smiled back at me. “I think they’d make a very nice couple.”

“Not everyone wants to be part of a couple,” John said. “If that’s the case, no amount of matchmaking is going to work.”

I almost choked on a bite of scallop. I reached for my water and Gram patted my back.

“What did I say?” John asked, a frown creasing his forehead.

I took another drink of water. “You and Gram wouldn’t be married if it wasn’t for Rose and Liz playing matchmaker, Mr. Single and Happy. And Charlotte . . . and maybe me.”

“Sarah Grayson, what on earth are you talking about?” Gram said.

It occurred to me that I’d said too much.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

I held up both hands. “It’s just that we all thought you two were perfect for each other. You talked to John for maybe five minutes that day in the library and then he was all you talked about for the next week.”

He smiled at her over his glasses. “Is that true, Isabel?”

Gram’s cheeks were pink. “You weren’t all I talked about.”

“Yes, you were,” I said. I pointed a finger at John. “And you pestered Liz with questions about Gram.”

Gram looked down at her plate and smiled, her blushing more pronounced.

John looked at her with so much love my chest ached. “I couldn’t help it,” he said. “I’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow.”

“Actually I think it was a history textbook.”

Gram narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?” she said.

I grinned. “Not a chance.”

John leaned over and kissed Gram’s cheek. “So what exactly did you do?”

I picked up my knife and fork. “Didn’t you ever question how you both ended up at Sam’s for lunch on the same day?”

“No,” Gram said. “Charlotte asked me to have lunch with her and Rose because she was worried about Rose’s decision to move into Legacy Place.”

“She was worried about that,” I said. “And it turns out for good reason, but that was just a ruse to get you there.”

“And I’m guessing you really weren’t that interested in the history of the MaineWorks Alliance?” John said.

“I was interested,” I said. “I joined after we had lunch that day, but I was really just doing what Liz had told me to do.”

Gram was smiling and shaking her head. “That’s why Rose made such a point about finding the perfect table. She wanted to make sure John saw us.”

“That was the plan.”

“I saw you,” he said. “The moment you came in the door I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You were wearing that same little gray hat with the feather that you’d been wearing at the library.

They exchanged that look again.

I picked up my plate and got to my feet.

“What are you doing?” Gram said.

“I’m thinking I should just take my supper and go home and leave you two lovebirds alone.”

“Sit,” she said. There was still a touch of color in her cheeks. “Let’s talk about your love life instead of ours.”

Elvis meowed loudly from the floor at my feet. “It’ll be a short conversation,” I said.

“Nothing happening between you and Nick?”

I shook my head. “He’s more like my brother than anything romantic.”

“What about Mac?” John said.

“I don’t know when he’s coming back. I don’t even know if he’s coming back.”

“Have you asked him?” Gram said.

“No.”

She got up from the table and patted my shoulder as she moved behind me. “You can’t get the right answers if you don’t ask the right questions.”