Claw Enforcement

by Sofie Ryan

  “What a good idea,” Rose said. “You can borrow my foot bath. And Mr. P. gives an excellent foot massage.”

  “The foot bath will be just fine,” I said, heading for the workroom with the teapot before Rose got any more good ideas.

  My brother, with a lot of help from Nick, had renovated the Angels’ office space back in September. The walls were painted a creamy shade of off-white and there was lots of insulation now behind the new drywall. Liam had replaced the drafty windows with new ones that had thermal shades to keep the heat out in the summer and in during the winter. The guys had put down vinyl plank flooring and an electrician had installed a baseboard electric heater for extra warmth during the coldest months.

  Mr. P. had a small desk against the inside wall with a chalkboard on the wall above it and two wall sconces on either side. The long, farm-style table we had always seemed to gather around in the workroom was at the far end of the sunporch, surrounded by a collection of mismatched chairs.

  Alfred was at his desk, head bent over his laptop. “Knock knock,” I said since my hands were full.

  He looked up and smiled. “You brought the tea, my dear,” he said. “Thank you.”

  I set the tray in the middle of the table. Rose had already brought down the cups and the plaid cookie tin.

  I turned around just as Mac poked his head around the doorframe. “I’ll hold down the fort,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the shop.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Would you like a cookie?” Mr. P. asked.

  Mac nodded.

  I handed Mr. P. the plaid tin. He took off the lid and offered it to Mac, who took a cookie and immediately took a bite. “So good!” he said.

  Rose had come out from the shop. “You can have another,” she said with a smile. She reached into the can and handed him two cookies. It occurred to me that I might not be able to keep my promise to Nick.

  Mac thanked Rose and headed for the front. Liz and Charlotte joined us and we all got settled around the table. Rose poured and once we all had a cup of tea she looked at me. “Is Nicolas joining us?” she asked.

  “No,” I said as I added milk and sugar to my cup.

  “Yes,” Nick said from the doorway.

  I looked up, surprised to see him after our earlier conversation. He took the chair beside me and Rose got him a cup of tea.

  Liz raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything.

  Rose looked around the table. “You all know that we have a new case,” she said.

  “But we don’t have a client,” Liz said.

  “Actually we do,” Mr. P. said. “Me.”

  Everyone looked surprised. Even Rose. “Alfred, are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. It was his turn to look around the table. “Christopher Healy was the stepson of my old friend Elliot Casey. His death is suspicious. I want to find answers for Elliot and his wife.”

  Liz rapped on the table with her beautifully manicured fingernails. “Before we get started on what could turn out to be a wild-goose chase are we sure Mr. Healy was murdered?” She looked across the table. “Nicolas?”

  “I can’t answer that,” he said. He held up a hand before she could object. “I don’t know the cause of death yet. The autopsy has been done but the medical examiner hasn’t finished her report.”

  “Did he die of natural causes?” Rose asked.

  Nick’s mouth worked for a moment before any words came out. “It doesn’t look that way.”

  Liz reached for her tea. “That’s good enough for me.”

  “The first thing we need to do is make a list of possible suspects,” Rose said.

  “Robbie Gorham,” Charlotte said. “Since Joe Roswell’s land deal fell through he’s had to lay people off. Robbie always was one to take the easy way out.”

  Rose wrote the name on the blackboard. Underneath she printed Joe Roswell’s name. “He has the most to gain from Christopher Healy’s death.”

  “The bartender,” I said. “Her name is Cassie. I don’t know her last name.”

  “Why do you suspect her, Sarah?” Mr. P. asked.

  Nick was looking at me and he nodded in agreement.

  “My reasoning is pretty flimsy,” I said. “I watched the two of them when Healy first went over to the bar. I can’t put my finger on anything specific, but I got the sense from seeing her talk to him that they knew each other. She wouldn’t serve him a drink and she seemed angry.”

  “Healy had just disrupted the reception,” Nick said. “Maybe she saw her tips going out the window.”

  So he was going to be the voice of reason.

  “I tried to talk to her, last night. She’s working some shifts at The Black Bear. I didn’t get anywhere.”

  “What did you say to her?” Liz asked.

  “I introduced myself and told her I just wanted to make sure she was all right. She said she was and then she walked away.”

  “You did just fine,” Rose said.

  I felt like I was five and had just made a very rudimentary attempt to tie my shoes.

  She put “Cassie” followed by “bartender” on the list.

  “Do you know who owned that piece of land before Healy bought it?” Nick asked. He broke a cookie in half. One of the pieces disappeared in two bites.

  Rose looked at Liz and Charlotte who both shook their heads.

  “All I can tell you is that Liam said the woman was elderly,” I said.

  “I could find out,” Mr. P. said. “Do you think it matters?”

  Nick shrugged. “It might. I’m thinking the lawsuit probably means that the property is in limbo. And the original owner could get dragged in even deeper. My understanding is that Joe Roswell thought he had a deal, a handshake one at least.”

  He must have talked to Liam about the case I realized. That made sense given that Liam was staying with Nick.

  “Courts have been known to uphold verbal agreements in this type of circumstance,” he continued. “If the previous owner felt that she’d been misled by Healy and that Joe Roswell was going to come after her next, well, people have been killed for lesser reasons.”

  “Nick, the woman is old,” I said.

  He reached for another cookie. “Okay, so maybe a son or daughter.”

  Rose nodded and wrote “original landowner/family” on her list. “We have somewhere to start.”

  “I’ll find out the name of the woman who owned that piece of property and see what I can dig up on Mr. Roswell’s lawsuit,” Mr. P. said.

  Rose looked across the table at Liz. “You know Mr. Roswell, don’t you?” she asked.

  “From the Chamber of Commerce among other things,” Liz said. “I’ll ask around about him.”

  “I’m guessing you’d like me to see what I can find out about Robbie Gorham,” Charlotte said.

  “I would,” Rose said. “And I’ll talk to Stella Hall as well since they’re family.” She put a hand on Mr. P.’s shoulder. “Let’s get started.”

  Charlotte leaned sideways to speak to Liz. Mr. P. reached up and gave Rose’s hand a squeeze. Then he got to his feet and made his way over to his desk while Rose joined Nick and me.

  She put a hand on his arm. “I don’t expect you to tell tales out of school, but will you at least be able to share when you find out how that young man died?”

  He nodded. “That I can do.”

  “Did you have a cookie?” she asked.

  “He had three,” I said.

  Rose gave me the look that had struck fear into the heart of more than one middle-schooler when she was still teaching. “Did someone ask you to keep track, Sarah?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said ducking my head contritely.

  There were two cookies left in the open can. Rose reached over and put the top back on. Then she
handed the container to Nick. “One for you and one for Liam,” she said.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Rose,” he said. He looked at me. “See you later, Sarah.” The smile he gave me as he went out the door was decidedly smug.

  “I didn’t get a cookie,” I said. “I didn’t even get a crumb of a cookie.”

  Rose reached up and patted my cheek. “Don’t sulk. It will give you wrinkles.”

  Charlotte had gone back out front. Liz waved her fingers at us and headed for the parking lot. I gathered the teapot and the milk and sugar onto the tray. Rose brought the teapot.

  “Do you have a minute?” she asked when we reached the staff room.

  “For you, always,” I said.

  “Avery and I have come up with an idea to promote some interest in those old photographs. We thought we’d post a new picture every few days from our school days on the store’s website and encourage people to look through the old photos to find themselves from their school days.”

  “And then buy the pictures so no one else sees them.”

  Rose’s face turned a little pink. “Or as a reminder of a happy memory.”

  “By the way, what do you mean by ‘our’?” I asked as I rinsed out the teapot.

  “Charlotte, Liz, Alfred, me, you.”

  “I look horrible in every single one of my high school photos and in the ones from middle school.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I’ve seen all of those pictures and there’s nothing wrong with them. But if it will make you feel better, my mother cut my bangs until I was in the tenth grade and I’m willing to put up one of my photos.”

  “All right, I’ll do it,” I said. “Just try to find one where my eyes aren’t half closed.” I turned the teapot upside down in the dish rack to drain. “You know, Liam tried to cut my hair when we were about eight. I yelled for Mom and she stopped him. He gave Barbie a Mohawk in retaliation.”

  Rose smiled. “That boy always did have a creative side.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Mac was just coming in the front door when we came back downstairs. “I sold the rocking chair that came from Clayton McNamara’s place,” he said. “What would you like me to put in its place?”

  I thought for a moment. “How about the oak one with the slat back? I think it says cozy nights by the fire.”

  Mac nodded. “I’ll get it.” He set the coffee cup he’d been holding on top of the bookcase.

  I turned to Charlotte. “There was a big patchwork pillow in the ones Jess dropped off the other day.”

  “You mean the one she made from that old quilt that was beyond repair,” she said. “I was thinking the same thing. I’ll go get it. I know where it is.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Charlotte headed for the storeroom, holding the door open for Mac, who was bringing the rocking chair.

  “What do you think?” I asked Rose. “By the window or at an angle next to the bookcase?”

  “Next to the bookcase,” she said at once. “There’s more room.”

  I realized she was right. If the rocking chair was next to the bookcase there was enough space for customers to sit down and try it. I knew that once a customer had sat on a chair or played a few chords on a guitar they were a lot more likely to buy them.

  Mac set the chair in place. Charlotte added the cushion.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “I’m going out to the office to try Stella Hall,” Rose said.

  “Before you go, would you like me to try talking to the bartender again?” I asked. “Maybe if I caught her when it’s not so busy she’d be more likely to talk to me.”

  Rose smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I think she’d be more receptive to Mac’s questions and charms.”

  Mac had picked up his coffee cup. He almost choked on her words. “Me?” he said. “You want me to question someone?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. This was not a good time to laugh.

  “All you have to do is talk to the woman. Steer the conversation around to the night of the reception. See if you can find out what she and Christopher Healy talked about,” Rose said. “Just be yourself. I would have asked Nicolas, but I didn’t want it to turn into an actual interrogation.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can find out,” Mac said.

  Rose clasped her hands together. “Splendid!” she said.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Talk to Liam. We need to know more about the land deal and the inn.”

  “I can do that,” I said.

  Mac went back out to the old garage. Rose headed to the Angels’ office. I checked my phone and discovered that I’d missed a call from Gram. Since there were no customers in the store I stood by the front door and looked out over the street as I called her back instead of going up to my office.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she said. “I was just calling to see if you’re free for supper tonight. I decided if I wanted to get us all together I was going to have to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. I talked to your brother and his plans for tonight have fallen through so he’s available and I’m fully prepared to guilt you into coming as well.”

  Since my father had been Gram’s only child, technically I was her only grandchild, but Gram didn’t get caught up in biology. When Mom and Dad had gotten married Gram had embraced Liam as another grandchild. “There’s no such thing as too many people to love,” she’d told me more than once.

  I laughed. “You don’t have to guilt me. I don’t have any plans and I’d love to come to dinner.”

  “We’re having chicken stew. Bring Elvis. And before you say it, yes I know he’s a cat and not a person. Bring him anyway.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Is there anything else I can bring?”

  “Having you and Liam here together is more than enough.”

  She told me to come upstairs as soon as I got home, and we said good-bye.

  I tucked the phone back in my pocket. Tonight would be the perfect time to get information from Liam.

  I went up to my office to change into an old shirt and pair of jeans so I could go out and do some work on the fireplace mantel I was stripping. Elvis was stretched out on his back on the dark gray button-tufted settee.

  “Shouldn’t you be downstairs, charming customers?” I asked.

  The cat’s response was a huge yawn, which showed off his very sharp teeth.

  “Yes, I’m aware that it’s very tiring work.” I leaned down and gave him a scratch under his chin. He started to purr.

  When I straightened I noticed a small plate was sitting on my desk, a bowl turned upside down on top of it like a lid.

  “Where did that come from?” I said.

  Elvis sat up and craned his neck for a better view. “Mrrr,” he said. Cat for I don’t know.

  I lifted up the dish. There were two oatmeal cookies on the plate.

  Rose.

  I sat down next to the cat. “We have to figure out what happened to Christopher Healy,” I told him. “Not just for Mr. P., for Rose, too. I didn’t believe her when she said Healy had been murdered. I should have.”

  Elvis reached over and put a paw on my hand. He was in.

  Chapter 9

  Just after lunch, I was on my hands and knees, head stuck in the under-the-stairs storage space, looking for two blue cornflower CorningWare teapots when I heard Mr. P. clear his throat behind me. I reached one arm back, holding up a finger to let him know I needed a minute. I stretched out my other arm and snagged the box I was looking for. Pulling it along with me, I crawled backward out of the space and got to my feet.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Sarah,” he said.

  “You didn’t,” I said. I shook my head and a dust bunny floated to the floor. “I was just trying to find a co
uple of teapots. Charlotte has a customer who was looking for these particular ones.” I gave the box a nudge with the toe of my shoe. “What’s up?”

  Mr. P. smiled. I knew that particular smile. He’d discovered something. “I’ve located young Mr. Healy’s former girlfriend,” he said. “Her name is Annika Nilsson.” He looked at his watch. “We’re going to talk via Skype in about fifteen minutes. I’m wondering if you’d like to sit in.”

  “I would,” I said. “What are you hoping to find out?”

  He smoothed one hand over his few wisps of gray hair. “Nothing specific. I’m actually hoping to get a better sense of what he was like as a person. At the moment Christopher Healy is a bit of a cipher.”

  I nodded. “I’ll give the teapots to Charlotte and wash my hands and I’ll be right there.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Annika Nilsson was tiny, with delicate features, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, and blue eyes behind red-framed glasses. “I’m not really sure what I can tell you about Chris,” she said, pushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

  I was sitting to Mr. P.’s left, out of the range of his computer’s camera, although I could easily see Annika on the screen.

  “We just wanted to get a sense of who he was as a person,” Mr. P. said. “Anything you can tell me will help.”

  “He was smart.” She smiled. “We met in grad school. Chris was the smartest person in every class. I loved to listen to him talk. When he was into something it just consumed him.”

  “He didn’t finish his degree.”

  She shook her head. “You know that his father died?”

  Mr. P. nodded. “Yes.”

  “I think Chris only started working on the degree because of his father. He loved books and storytelling, but I never got the sense that he really cared about doing research, writing papers, actually being an English professor.” I could see a large whiteboard behind her and I wondered if she was at the university. As he was setting up the call Mr. P. had mentioned that Annika was finishing her PhD in English.

  Mr. P. made a note on the pad beside him. “What was Christopher into?” he asked.