No Escape Claws

Chapter 2

I held up both hands and shook my head. “Oh no,” I said. “I’m not getting in the middle of any debate between you and Liz because no matter what I say someone is going to be mad at me.”

Rose reached up and patted my cheek. “I could never be mad at you, sweet girl,” she said.

“Sucking up is not going to work,” I told her firmly.

She smoothed the front of her flowered apron, seemingly unperturbed that her attempt to win me over hadn’t worked. “Cookies would have worked,” she said.

“Well, you don’t have any cookies unless you’ve hidden a couple in your pocket,” Liz retorted. “And Sarah is far too smart to fall for any of your flattery.”

I looked at Charlotte, who was fighting a losing battle not to grin at the two of them. “Roll up your pant legs,” I said to her. “It’s too late to save your shoes.”

“Save her shoes from what?” Rose asked, looking at the floor.

“From all the bull you two are spreading around,” I said.

I saw the corners of Charlotte’s mouth twitch but she managed to keep her grin in check.

Rose caught one of my hands with her own two. “Sarah, we have to help that child after all she and her brothers have been through. The fact that Mike Pearson isn’t talking about what happened means he’s protecting his children. He shouldn’t be punished for that.”

“Or it means he’s guilty as charged,” Liz interjected.

“Why are you such a Negative Nelly,” Rose said, hands on her hips.

“And why do you have to be Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm?” Liz flicked a bit of lint off the sleeve of her yellow sweater.

It wasn’t the first time Rose and Liz disagreed about something and I was certain it was far from the last time. Somehow the fact that they didn’t always see eye to eye hadn’t hurt their friendship at all.

“Seeing the glass as half-full isn’t a bad thing, you know.” Rose was getting wound up now, color rising in her cheeks.

“There is no glass in this case,” Liz said firmly. “Just a man who got tired of being married to a drunk.”

Charlotte leaned her head against mine. “I didn’t really think it through when I asked you all to stay, did I?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Nope,” I said.

“And you’re going to remind me of this later, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Liz and Rose were still arguing, although the conversation seemed to have taken a detour onto the subject of breakfast smoothies, of all things. Liz loathed smoothies unless they were made with ice cream and chocolate sauce, which as Rose liked to point out, were actually the ingredients for a chocolate milk shake. Whenever Rose and Liz got into a debate over something, the discussion tended to swerve off into the conversational ditch.

Rose was just about to say something else when Liz’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse, frowned at the screen and then held up one perfectly manicured hand. “I have to take this,” she said. She looked at all of us. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“You agree with me, don’t you, Sarah?” Rose asked after Liz had stepped away.

I shook my head. “I love you, but I’m not getting sucked into the middle of this.”

Rose turned to Charlotte. “I know you agree with me.”

“I’m not sure how I feel,” Charlotte said. “And more important, I’m not sure what we can do. How can we get Mallory’s father out of prison?”

“We can prove he’s not guilty,” Rose immediately said. “Do I need to remind either one of you about how unreliable the testimony of eyewitnesses can be?” She had strong opinions on the subject. And a list of references on her phone that backed them up.

Charlotte shook her head. “No, you don’t. It’s just that I remember the fire that killed Gina Pearson and I remember Mike Pearson being charged.” She exhaled slowly. “The witness who saw Mike is Neill Halloran. Judge Neill Halloran. Do you really think we can discredit him?”

Halloran was a distinguished name in North Harbor. The town had been settled in the late 1760s by Alexander Swift. The Hallorans had been in North Harbor almost as long as the Swifts. Charlotte was right. The police had an unimpeachable witness in Judge Halloran.

Liz rejoined us then. I couldn’t get a sense of what she was thinking. The teasing glint in her eyes that she’d had when she and Rose had been arguing was gone. There was no indication anymore that she was close to giving a bemused snort of exasperation at something Rose said.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“That call was from Michael Pearson’s lawyer,” she said. “He had a message from his client.”

Rose and I exchanged a look. She seemed as confused as I was.

“He knows what Mallory is trying to do,” Charlotte said.

Liz tucked the phone back in her bag. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that. The message was that he deserves to be in prison and he’s specifically asking us not to take the case.”

“I know it was a long time ago,” I said. “But what do you remember about him from that summer he worked for the foundation?”

Liz straightened one sleeve of her sweater, a way to buy a little time, I was guessing, as she thought about my question. “It was a long time ago,” she said. “Michael actually worked mostly on camp business.”

The Emmerson Foundation ran a summer camp for kids who wouldn’t otherwise get to go. The Sunshine Camp had been one of the foundation’s first projects and I knew Liz was very proud of it.

“Not with Michelle’s father?” Growing up, Michelle Andrews—who was now a detective with the North Harbor police department—had been my summertime best friend. Each June we’d just resumed our friendship where we’d left off at the end of the previous summer like all the months between hadn’t happened.

When we were fifteen, Michelle’s father, Rob Andrews, had been arrested for embezzling funds from the Sunshine Camp and my thoughtless, childish comments about him had destroyed our relationship. We’d only recently reconnected in the last year.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Liz said in answer to my question. “Michael wasn’t a counselor. He worked here in town, in the office.”

Liz shrugged. “Mostly what I remember is a young man who worked hard. Everyone liked him. Elspeth could tell you a lot more than I can. They got to be friends that summer.”

Elspeth was Liz’s niece. She ran Phantasy, a very successful salon and spa here in town.

“Just friends?” I asked.

“As far as I know,” she said, “but Elspeth has always been very closemouthed about that kind of thing, so who knows. One thing I can tell you is that she’s always refused to believe that Michael left his wife to die in that fire.”

“This just proves we have to take the case,” Rose said. She focused all her attention on Liz. “You know that Mallory’s father sending you this message doesn’t make sense. If he’s really guilty, what does he have to worry about? We won’t be able to get him released from prison. And if he isn’t guilty, why doesn’t he want our help, anyone’s help?”

Liz looked thoughtful, lines pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“What if that child is right?” Rose continued. “What if Mike Pearson pled guilty because he feels guilty over not being able to stop his wife from drinking, over not being able to save her?” She held up both hands. “It’s so obvious.” She looked at all three of us and then she stretched out her arm in front of her, palm down.

“I’m not doing this,” Liz said. “This is not the Patriots’ locker room.” I knew that stubborn set to her shoulders.

I also knew the equally stubborn stance Rose had taken up. She continued to look at Liz, but she didn’t say anything more.

The silence stretched between them, probably not nearly as long as it seemed. Then Liz made an exasperated motion with her hand like she was shooing away a bug. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. She reached out and put her hand on top of Rose’s hand.

Rose smiled and then looked at Charlotte.

“I don’t want to get Mallory’s hopes up over nothing,” Charlotte said. She sighed softly and added her hand to the pile.

I knew what was coming.

“We can’t do this without you, dear,” Rose nudged.

I glanced across at the cash desk and imagined Mac leaning against it smiling at me. He would have told me to have faith in the Angels’ rather unorthodox way of doing things. Then he would have laughed when I insisted I wouldn’t get sucked into this case.

I extended my arm and put my hand on top of the others. “I’m not going to jump up and yell ‘go team,’” I warned. “We’re not the Patriots’ offensive line.”

“Well, of course we’re not,” Rose said as though even the thought was ridiculous. “Although that Rob Gronkowski is a lovely, exuberant boy.” She smiled. “We’re not a football team. We’re the Angels.”

Heaven help us, I thought.