No Escape Claws

Chapter 3

“The first thing I need to do is bring Alfred up to date,” Rose said.

“Where is Mr. P.?” I asked. He could usually be found out in the Angels’ sunporch office working on his laptop.

“He’s at the library,” Rose said, patting her pocket in search of her phone. “He’s doing a workshop on online security for seniors.”

I knew she meant teaching the workshop, not taking it. Alfred Peterson was a little bald man with wire-framed glasses and pants that were generally hiked up to his armpits. He also possessed a keen mind and the computer skills of someone typically a fraction of his age. It was his computer skills and his rather eclectic resume of volunteer activities that had helped him meet all the requirements to be licensed as a private investigator by the state of Maine. For the past several months he’d been mentoring Rose as she worked toward getting her license.

Rose checked her watch. “Alfred should be here in a little more than an hour. Once he gets up to speed we’ll see what we can find out about the fire and about Gina Pearson’s death. Right now, I think we could all use a nice cup of tea.” She smiled at me. “And I’ll get you a fresh cup of coffee,” she said, taking my mug of coffee, which had gone cold. She headed for the stairs.

Charlotte touched my arm. “Speaking of tea, I’m going to go start unpacking it all. And I’ll call Mallory and let her know we’re going to look into her father’s case.” She started for the workroom.

I turned to face Liz. Folding my arms over my midsection, I smiled. “And what are you going to do?” I asked.

She smiled back at me. “I’m going to do what I do best.” She held out one hand in a gesture I’d seen before, and studied her manicured nails, painted a pale lavender. “I really need to get my nails done.”

Her nails looked perfect. They always looked perfect. That wasn’t the point. Not only would Liz be able to pick her niece Elspeth’s brain at Phantasy, she’d also be able to glean whatever gossip was still floating around town about Mike Pearson and his late wife. The salon was better than Google for information gathering.

Liz leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Nice job not picking sides, kiddo,” she said, a knowing gleam in her eyes.

I realized that no matter what Liz had said, in the end she would have gone along with the Angels taking Mike Pearson’s case even if his attorney hadn’t called and made her second-guess her initial no. Family mattered to Liz and as she liked to teasingly remind me, we were all family, whether we liked it or not.

“Love you,” I called to her back as she reached the door, waiting for the reply I knew I’d get and did.

“Yeah, yeah, everybody does,” she said with a wave of her hand and then she was gone.

I turned back around and for the first time remembered that Avery was in the room. She was dusting the shelves of a squat bookshelf I’d painted a delicate shade of blush pink before she restocked it with more of the map-embellished pails. They surrounded her as she knelt on the floor. In one she’d piled children’s wooden ABC blocks. Another of the small buckets held facecloths that had been rolled and tied with ribbon. A third was filled with fizzy lavender-scented bath bombs that Avery herself had made. I realized she had heard everything that had been said from the moment Mallory Peterson walked in the door.

“Well?” I asked.

Avery set down the microfiber cloth she’d been using on the shelf and the stack of bracelets she was wearing slid along her arm. “Well, first of all I agree with Rose,” she said.

That didn’t surprise me. While Avery loved her grandmother, she and Rose were kindred souls in many ways—both up for trying new things like green smoothies and Japanese art movies—and they were very close. Avery’s mother’s last name was also Jackson, which the teen insisted meant she and Rose had some kind of family connection. Avery had even briefly used Jackson as her last name when she’d been fighting with her father.

“It’s just weird that someone in jail would turn down help to get out.” Something on the shelf right in front of her caught her eye. She grabbed the cloth and rubbed vigorously at a spot before she turned her attention back to me. “But before that lawyer guy called Nonna I pretty much was on her side.” She glanced at the stairs. “Don’t tell Rose that.”

“My lips are sealed,” I said.

Avery set the bucket full of blocks on the middle shelf, considered it for a moment and then moved it to the top one. “I might be able to find some stuff out,” she said.

As a general and unspoken rule we tried to keep Avery out of the Angels’ investigations. That didn’t always work.

“What kind of stuff?” I asked warily.

She set two other little pails on the middle shelf of the low bookcase. “Just stuff about that family,” she said with an offhand shrug. A little too offhand for me. “I kinda know her brother.”

“Mallory’s brother?”

She glanced over at me. “Yeah. His name’s Greg.”

“What does ‘kinda know’ mean?” I asked, trying not to sound like an adult giving her the third-degree even though that’s exactly what I was doing.

“He goes to my school,” she said. “And he’s in two of my classes. So I know him, but we don’t exactly hang out.”

She seemed to be using a lot of qualifiers.

“Maybe I could talk to him.”

I reached over and straightened the edge of a quilt. “Maybe you could,” I said. “And if you do find out anything—”

“—tell Rose or Mr. P. and don’t do anything stupid,” she finished.

“Exactly,” I said.

Rose came down the stairs then with a fresh cup of coffee for me.

“Thank you,” I said. I looked over at Avery. “I’m just going to make sure everything from the storage unit has been unloaded. Rose and Charlotte will be in the workroom. Yell if you need help.”

“Okay,” she said. Most of her attention was once again focused on the collection of little pails.

Rose followed me out to the workroom. Charlotte had set a cardboard carton on a Mission-style wooden chair that had come from the first storage unit, and was packing it with the boxes of tea. Rose joined her and peeked inside. Then she looked at me, her eyes sparkling. “This is a splendid find, dear,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Although I can’t imagine why anyone would have left all this lovely tea in a storage unit.”

“Do you think it’s possible someone was smuggling tea in from Canada?” Charlotte asked, a twinkle in her dark eyes.

“Maybe,” I said. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

Rose shook her head. “If they did, it’s very disrespectful behavior.”

“So does that mean you don’t want to keep all this tea?” I asked, gesturing at the carton, which was already half full of Red Rose boxes.

“Of course it doesn’t,” she said. “That would be even more disrespectful.”

Charlotte gave her a nudge with one elbow. “Did you see those?” she said, indicating the blankets. “I think they’re the real thing.”

Rose reached over and ran one hand across the cream-colored wool. “I think you’re right.” She looked at me. “These blankets might do very well on the store Web site.”

“All right,” I said. I glanced over at the door. I needed to see how Liam was doing. I hadn’t meant for him to get stuck with all the unloading. “Could you go over them and see what condition they’re in? They’ll need to be cleaned and then Avery can take pictures.”

Since I’d discovered Avery’s artistic side I’d been letting her take more of the photos for items on the Web site. I was convinced it had helped sales, which is one of the reasons I had given her more hours and a small raise.

Rose nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “By the way, the tea is all yours.”

She beamed at me and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “You are a darling girl. Thank you,” she said.

I stepped outside to discover that Mr. P. had arrived earlier than expected. He was standing by the now-empty trailer behind my SUV talking to Liam. He smiled as I joined them. “Hello, Sarah,” he said. “Liam and I were just talking about the plans to winterize the sunporch.”

The Angels had been using my sunporch as a base of operations since they took on their first case a year ago. The problem was that the uninsulated space with its old, drafty windows was too cold to work in during the winter months. Rose had raised the idea of finding office space somewhere else, which had struck me as a very, very bad idea.

I figured that doing some work in the space would actually kill two birds with one stone. It would add to the overall value of the building—not that I was planning on selling it—and I’d still be able to keep an eye on whatever investigation the Angels had going on. When I’d explained my reasoning to Liam he’d immediately agreed to do the work and to see what deals he could find for me on supplies.

The Angels already paid me a monthly rent. I’d objected to the stipend and been firmly informed that if I wouldn’t take the money the Angels would be setting up shop somewhere else. So each month half the money I received went to the Friends of the North Harbor Library and the other half to the Mid-coast Animal Shelter. I felt better about taking the money and I reasoned that since Rose didn’t know what I was doing, she couldn’t argue with me over it.

Instead of paying me more rent for the space once it was essentially winterized, I’d suggested a trade. Mr. P., with his superior computer skills, could do background checks on some of the vintage guitars and the owners of those instruments, which seemed to be showing up at the shop on a semiregular basis. I’d said no to two possible sales because the backstories of the guitars seemed a little sketchy. One of them was a 1966 Martin D-18 with mahogany back and sides and a spruce top. I still regretted letting that one go. So the Angels and I had made a deal and since Liam was in town he’d offered to get started on the sunporch work.

“I was just telling Alfred about the windows,” Liam said.

Mr. P. shook his head. “I can’t imagine someone changing windows just because they didn’t like the look of the mullions.”

Liam rolled his eyes the way he’d done when he’d originally told me the story of a former client who had decided to replace the windows in two rooms on the back of his house because he didn’t like the way the small panes of glass “chopped up the view.” The client had told Liam to do whatever he wanted with the almost-new windows that had been replaced. There were just enough of them for the sunporch space and since they were otherwise destined for the landfill I felt good about giving them a second life.

“The guy gets his view and we get windows that don’t let the wind blow through in January,” I said.

“A win-win,” Mr. P. said, nodding approvingly.

Liam gestured in my direction. “I forgot to tell you that since Mac is still in Boston, Nick offered to give me a hand.”

Nick was one of Liam’s closest friends, although technically I’d known Nick longer. I still wasn’t sure exactly what we were to each other. Rose had done everything but lock the two of us in a closet together to try and generate something romantic between the two of us but it hadn’t taken. “That’s nice of him,” I said.

“Yeah, Nick’s a nice guy,” Liam agreed. The gleam in his eyes told me he was trying to get a rise out of me. More than once he’d suggested I “lay a big wet one” on Nick and see where it led.

I turned to Mr. P. deciding my best play here was a change of subject. “Rose said you were doing a workshop at the library. How did it go?”

“Very well,” he said, nudging his glasses up his nose. “They were a surprisingly savvy group. Most seniors are not as gullible as people your age seem to think.”

I smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Rosie sent me a text,” he continued. “It seems we have a new case.”

Liam looked at me, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t say anything.

“We do,” I said.

“Then I should get inside and get briefed,” Mr. P. said. He turned his attention back to Liam. “I’m available to help you and Nicolas with the sunporch. After all, it is going to be our office.”

Liam pulled a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll let you know what the plan is as soon as I talk to Nick.”

Mr. P. nodded, hiked his pants that were almost at his armpits a little higher, and headed for the back door.

I leaned against the side of the trailer. Liam bumped me with his shoulder. “You have a case?”

“No,” I said. “The Angels have a case.”

“Same thing, Sarah,” he said, sizing me up with an amused expression.

I was already shaking my head. “No it’s not. I’m not in the private investigating business. I mostly just drive them places.”

He laughed at the face I was making. “Okay. We’ll go with that. So what’s the case? Is it the girl who came to see Charlotte?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. One of her students. Her father is in prison. It’s possible he shouldn’t be.”

Liam was still grinning. “You know how Nick is going to take this, don’t you?”

“He’s trying to be more flexible about Rose and his mother and . . . everything.”

He laughed again. “I hope you’re right.” He pulled out his phone and checked the time. “I need to go get cleaned up. I have a meeting later.”

I raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Work or personal?”

“None of your business,” he retorted.

“So personal,” I said.

He made a face.

I laid my head on his shoulder. “Thank you for all your help today.”

“No problem,” he said, “but you know that if Mac doesn’t come back soon you’re going to have to hire someone. I’ll help you anytime I can but I’m not going to be here forever.”

“Mac’s coming back.” It was what I said to everyone who broached the idea of me hiring a replacement.

Liam planted a kiss on the top of my head but said nothing.

I pushed away from the side of the trailer and straightened up. “Hey, do me a favor,” I said. “Don’t say anything to Nick about this new case.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “Don’t worry. There’s not a chance I’m going to be the bearer of that news!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked.

He nodded.

He started for his truck and I headed for the garage.

• • •

That evening Elvis and I had supper with Gram and her husband, John. It was the fifth time I’d been invited since they’d gotten home a month earlier. I wasn’t sure if the invitations were coming because Gram had missed me or if she was worried about what I’d come up with for supper if I were left to my own devices.

Cooking had been a difficult skill for me to master. I hadn’t managed to learn anything in the Family Living classes at school, although in my defense after the second fire I was sent to study hall instead. My mom and Gram hadn’t had any success, either. In the end it had been Rose, with some assistance from Charlotte, who had taught me basic cooking skills and was helping to expand my repertoire. I wasn’t sure if it was just because of her skill as a teacher that Rose had succeeded where everyone else had failed. Or if it was because of her patience—or maybe stubbornness was a better word.

The second-floor apartment smelled like garlic, spices and tomatoes. I knew what that meant. “My favorite, beef stew!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms around Gram when she opened the door. Elvis slipped past her legs.

“I thought you’d like it,” she said with a smile.

“You spoil me,” I said.

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s the point of having grandchildren if you don’t spoil them a little?”

Isabel Grayson Scott was maybe an inch or so taller than my five foot six inches, depending on whether she was wearing heels or flats. Strong and solid, she had piercing blue eyes behind red-framed glasses. She wore her wavy white hair cropped short, which showed off her gorgeous high cheekbones. My father had been her only child, which meant that technically I was her only grandchild, but when Mom and Dad had gotten married Gram had welcomed both Peter and Liam. “There’s no such thing as too many people to love,” she’d told me once.

Gram made her way back to the stove and I turned to get a hug from John. John Scott could have been actor Gary Oldman’s older brother. He had the same brown hair, streaked with gray waving back from his face, and the same intriguing gleam in his eyes. There were thirteen years between him and Gram, which had raised some eyebrows when they began seeing each other, but Gram didn’t seem anywhere near her seventy-four years and she didn’t care what other people thought.

The two of them had gone on an extended road trip slash honeymoon, living in a small camper van and working on low-income housing projects up and down the East Coast, including a little time in eastern Canada. I was so glad to have them home.

“How did you make out at the storage unit?” John asked.

I took a seat at the table. The layout of the apartment was similar to the layout of Rose’s at the back. There was plenty of room for a large table in the kitchen.

“You’re not going to believe what we found,” I said.

Gram smiled at me over her shoulder. “Well, since you’re here at my table I’m guessing it wasn’t a map to the Lost Dutchman’s gold mine.”

“Not even close.” Elvis had come back from his prowl around the apartment and now he settled himself at my feet. “We found a casket.”

“Unoccupied, I hope,” John said with a smile.

“Thankfully,” I said. “It was full of boxes of tea, for the most part.”

“Tea?” Gram frowned. “Was it any good?”

“The expiry date on the boxes is months away. Rose made a pot this afternoon. It seemed good to me and she was happy.” Rose had made an actual sigh of contentment after her first sip.

I reached down and settled Elvis on my lap. He craned his neck in the direction of the kitchen so he could watch Gram. Elvis liked her beef stew as well. “It was Red Rose tea. Canadian Red Rose,” I said.

“I’m guessing you gave it all to Rose,” John said. He and Gram had brought Rose two boxes back from their time in Nova Scotia.

I nodded. “I did. We also found several Pendleton blankets—the cream ones with the stripes—that are in excellent shape. Those should sell pretty quickly either in the shop or on the Web site.”

“Charlotte said you discovered some books as well.” Gram lifted the lid of the stew pot and peered inside.

“There’s a copy of A Bear Called Paddington she thinks may be worth something.”

“Depending on the condition of the book and whether it’s a first edition it may be worth quite a lot,” she said. “What year is it?”

“Umm, 1958, I think.”

She nodded. That seemed to have been the right answer.

“Hardcover?” she asked. “With the dust jacket?”

I pictured the book Charlotte had set on my desk. “Yes and yes.”

Gram smiled. “Then you have something that may be worth several thousand dollars.”

“I didn’t know you knew about old books,” I said.

She glanced over her shoulder at me and smiled. “I’ve spent lots of time with your mother over the years. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“Why would someone leave a valuable book in a storage unit?”

John set a plate of rolls on the table. “Why would someone leave a coffin in a storage unit?”

I nodded. “Good point.”

Gram reached for a large spoon on the counter. “The Angels have picked up a new case.” It wasn’t a question.

“You were talking to Charlotte.”

Gram gave the stew a stir, set the lid on the pot again and came back over to the table. She smiled at Elvis before turning her attention back to me. “Gina Pearson’s last name was Knox before she married Michael Pearson. There have been Knoxes in this area almost as far back as there have been Swifts—although in the case of the Knoxes they’ve always been working for the Swifts, not with them. Charlotte wondered if I knew anything about the family.”

“Do you?”

Gram sighed softly. “Just that there have been alcoholics in that family all the way back through the family tree.”

I stroked Elvis’s fur. He continued to watch Gram as though he were following the conversation. And who’s to say he wasn’t?

“I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” she continued, “but Gina’s mother was what they used to call a mean drunk—angry and hostile when she was drinking, unhappy when she wasn’t and an overwhelmed mother of six pretty much all the time.”

“Gina had genetics and more working against her,” I said. I felt a twinge of guilt. I’d been judging the woman without knowing much about her.

Gram nodded. John caught her hand and gave it a squeeze and she smiled at him. “Moira—that was Gina’s mother—lost her own mother when she was twelve and she didn’t really have any role models on how to parent. I’m not making excuses for Gina, mind you. She had more than one chance at rehab, but I do think she deserved some understanding and compassion. And that seemed to be pretty scarce when she was alive.”

Gram shared a little more about Gina Pearson’s family history as we ate. I found myself feeling a lot more compassionate toward the woman. I’d never found North Harbor to be judgmental, but I had a feeling Gina had had a different experience. I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I’d always been to have my mom and Gram as well as Liz, Rose and Charlotte to support me and to be good role models.

Before I headed back downstairs with a container of stew and another of chocolate thumbprint cookies I hugged both John and my grandmother. “I’m so glad you’re home,” I said.

John and Gram exchanged a smile. “We are, too,” she said.

• • •

Mr. P. drove in with Rose and me the next morning. He seemed just a little distracted. Elvis settled himself on the backseat, where he eyed Mr. P. with some curiosity as though the cat, like me, wanted to know if he’d found out anything new. Elvis was up to date on everything related to the case. I talked to him about things. Maybe it was a little weird, but it was way less strange than walking around the apartment talking to myself, I reasoned.

I was fairly certain Mr. P. didn’t have anything to share. If he had, he would have been quick to tell me what he knew. And it turned out I was right.

We were about halfway to the shop when Rose asked about my evening. I told her about having dinner with Gram and John and shared what I’d learned about Gina’s family.

“I wish Rosie and I had something to tell you,” Mr. P. said behind me. “So far I’ve found very little to add to what we already know about the fire and Gina Pearson’s death. She was home alone. She’d gone on a binge and Mallory’s father had taken all three kids to a friend’s home. Michael Pearson told the police he hadn’t gone back to the house.”

“Do you know where he claimed he was?” I asked.

Beside me on the passenger side Rose was already nodding. “He said he just drove around trying to decide what to do. The situation wasn’t working for the children. He discovered his phone was dead and by the time he realized and plugged it in the house was on fire.”

I flipped on my turn signal. “Obviously the police thought he was lying.”

“Judge Neill Halloran had been the Pearsons’ neighbor for the five years they’d lived in the house,” Mr. P. said. “The judge saw Michael Pearson at the house the night of the fire, and he saw him walking away. He was certain he’d seen Mike turn and look back at the burning house.”

“Not an easy witness to discredit,” I said.

Rose nodded. “There was no question about his integrity. Neill Halloran was known for his fair and ethical behavior on the bench. He’s the last person who would lie or misrepresent the facts.”

Were we wrong, I wondered. Was Liz’s initial reaction about this case the right one?

I slowed down to let the car in front of me make a left turn and glanced at Rose.

“Oh we’re not giving up,” she said, as though she’d just read my thoughts. “There’s something we’re not seeing.” She put a hand on her chest. “I can feel it.”

I turned my attention back to the road.

“Do you think I’m silly?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t.” Rose had great instincts. I’d learned to trust them.

“There has to be something we’re missing.”

“How are we going to find it?” I asked. I looked over at Rose again as I pulled into the store’s parking lot.

Her expression turned thoughtful. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she said.