by Sofie Ryan
We reached the car and Liz opened the driver’s door. I dropped my fingers. Her expression turned serious. “Decide what you want, Sarah,” she said. “And go after it. Before someone else does.” She kissed my forehead and got behind the wheel.
I watched her drive away and thought about her advice. Was going after what he wanted what had gotten Christopher Healy killed?
Chapter 14
When Elvis and I stepped into the hallway the next morning Rose and Mr. P. were waiting for us. I noticed that Mr. P. was wearing a different shirt but the same pants as the day before. And he’d nicked himself shaving as though maybe he’d been using something other than his dependable double-edged safety razor. I thought about Liz saying Rose and Mr. P. had more of a love life than I did. I decided that not only did I not want to talk about my love life—nonexistent or otherwise—I didn’t want to think about anyone else’s, either.
“Charlotte called,” Rose said. “Stella Hall got back last night.”
“You’re going to talk to her,” I said.
“As my mother used to say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“Where and when?” I asked as we walked out to the car.
Mr. P. was leaning forward, talking to Elvis, who seemed to be holding up his end of the conversation.
“Stella volunteers at the library on Wednesday mornings,” Rose said.
Mr. P. looked over at me. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I think I will.”
I hadn’t really done anything on the case so far. In the past I would have seen that as a good thing, but I didn’t feel that way now. The memory of doing chest compressions on Christopher Healy was still fresh in my mind. Maybe I felt just a little guilt because Nick and I hadn’t been able to save him.
* * *
* * *
We got to the library just as it opened. “Give me a minute,” Rose said. “I’ll find out where Stella is.” She headed over to the front desk. There was an easel just to the right of the stairs to the second floor. A large poster was resting on it and Mr. P. and I went over to see what it said.
The poster turned out to be an artist’s rendering of a proposed ice skating oval to be created at the far end of the library parking lot for the coming winter.
“Maybe Rosie and I will come skating,” Mr. P. said. He pointed at the drawing. “They’re going to have a hot chocolate stand.”
“I think I’d like the hot chocolate part better than the actual skating part,” I said.
Mr. P. smiled. “You know the building where the Emmerson Foundation has its offices, the old soap factory?”
I nodded.
“When I was young there was an empty field next door. In the winter the owners of the factory would make a rink for the kids. Elliot and I used to skate there all the time.” His smile told me the memory was a good one.
I tried to picture Mr. P. as a teenager racing across the ice with his friends. “You two were close back then.”
He nodded. “We were. Even though we weren’t in the same class, we spent a lot of time together because of Scouts and football. One of us was always coming up with some potential merit badge to challenge the other to.”
“Like?”
“Elliot decided we should get our archery badges.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You know how to use a bow and arrow?”
“I do.” There was a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Although I wouldn’t advise placing an apple on top of your head to test those skills. I’m a bit rusty.”
“I will keep that in mind,” I said. I glanced over at the desk. Rose was deep in conversation with one of the reference librarians. I turned my attention back to Mr. P. “So what other badges did you get?” I asked.
His mouth pulled to one side as he thought. “Let me see; there were no badges for computer skills back then, as you might guess, but we did receive merit badges in electricity and electronics.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
“We also received our badges for cooking; camping, of course; stamp collecting; woodworking, leather work—I made a small change purse for my mother and a belt for my father. Elliot and I planted a vegetable garden for our gardening badge and then made a meal with what we grew for our cooking badge.”
“I’m beginning to understand where many of your talents come from,” I said.
“I hope I still have a few secrets left,” he replied with a teasing smile.
From the corner of my eye I saw Rose coming toward us. I made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Since we’re standing in a building filled with books, Mr. P., I’ll just say I like to think that you still have many more stories to share.”
Rose joined us then. “Stella is upstairs working on a display in the reference section,” she said.
“The elevator is right over there,” I said, pointing.
Rose looked wordlessly at me over the top of her glasses.
“Or the stairs,” I added hastily. “Stairs are good.” Rose didn’t like even the implication that she needed the elevator instead of the stairs.
We found Stella working on a bulletin board display that listed the various events observed during the month with corresponding book suggestions. Among other things it seemed October was Cookbook Month, National Pizza Month and Family History Month.
Stella smiled when she spotted us. “I figured I’d be seeing you people sooner rather than later,” she said.
I smiled back at her. “Gram said she had tea with you last week.” Stella and my grandmother had been friends since—as Gram explained it—they were captains of opposing Red Rover teams on the playground.
“It’s good to finally have her home,” Stella said. “Married life obviously agrees with her. I told her I might have to go looking for a husband if having one would make me look that much younger too.” She switched her attention to Rose and Mr. P. “But enough of that. You want to know what I can tell you about Robbie.”
“You heard what happened at the reception last week,” Rose said.
“I heard,” Stella said. “Nora Healy’s boy. Well, Nora Casey now. Terrible thing.” She glanced at me. “I also heard you tried to save him.” She nodded approvingly.
“You probably also know that Christopher Healy was being sued.”
“By Joe Roswell. Over that piece of land out at Gibson’s Point. Robbie claims he has some kind of system that can stabilize that whole embankment, make it safe to build on.”
“Does he?” Mr. P. asked.
Stella laughed. “Depends on who you talk to. If you’re talking to Robbie, well, he’s going to change the construction industry. Other than Joe Roswell—who rumor has it is feeling the pinch—no one’s lining up outside Robbie’s door to give this new system of his a try.”
“You don’t think it will work,” Mr. P. said. He and Rose exchanged a look, which Stella noticed.
“I’m not sayin’ Robbie is trying to con Joe or anyone else. He’s just always been the kind of person who cuts corners and takes the easy way out.” Exactly what Charlotte had said.
“The damnedest thing is, women just can’t seem to resist that boy,” Stella continued. “I’m not giving away any secrets by telling you he has a complicated personal life: an ex-wife, a wife who’s probably going to be an ex-wife pretty soon and a girlfriend.”
“He certainly has been busy,” Rose said.
“And surprisingly, when things fall apart, he manages to stay friends.” She shook her head. “Take Leesa for instance. She’s Robbie’s ex-wife. They were married for about five minutes when they were barely more than teenagers. She’s been in town for the past few weeks. I know she was planning on seeing him. She’s involved with that Seabed 2030 project.”
“The project to map the ocean floor?” Mr. P. said.
“That’
s the one. I had breakfast with her.” Stella held out her right arm. She was wearing a silver charm bracelet. She touched a tiny anchor hanging from it with one finger. “She brought me this and she said she was going to have dinner with Robbie one night. Not a lot of people want to be in the same room with their exes, let alone have dinner with them.”
Rose and Mr. P. seemed to have reached some unspoken agreement that the conversation was over. “Thank you,” Rose said.
“I’m not sure I’ve been much help,” Stella replied, “but you’re welcome.”
I gave her a hug good-bye. “How’s Lily?” I asked. Lily Hall was Stella’s niece by marriage. A spinal injury had put her in a wheelchair and an expensive experimental surgery had gotten her out of it. Stella had stepped in to take care of Lily’s children and Lily herself before and after the operation.
“She’s good,” Stella said. “Better than good. That’s where I was. She’s so much stronger and healthier and the kids are doing great. It’s a new beginning for all of them.”
“Another kind of happy ending,” I said. “Please tell her hello the next time you talk to her.”
Stella nodded. “I will.”
We headed out to the SUV. No one said anything until we had pulled out of the parking lot. Rose was sitting next to me and I saw her give me a sideways glance. “What do you think, Sarah?” she finally said.
“Honestly?” I asked.
She frowned at me. “Of course. Why else would I be asking you?”
“Okay. Right now, with what we know, I don’t think Robb Gorham is our killer.”
“What makes you say that?” Mr. P. asked from the backseat.
I waited for a break in traffic and then turned right. “For one thing, both Charlotte and Stella described him as being the kind of person who takes the easy way out. Poisoning Christopher Healy took work. It took planning. It wasn’t easy. And second, it seems like he goes through life coasting on his charm. I get the feeling that if things don’t work out here he’ll just take his stabilization system somewhere else.”
“I agree.”
I shot a quick glance at Rose.
“So do I,” she said. “It seems that Joe Roswell had a lot more to lose.”
I nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” Mr. P. said. “But I think we need a little more evidence before we eliminate Mr. Gorham entirely. I think we at least have to find out where he was in that window of time when the poisoning took place.”
Beside me I saw Rose nod her head. “As usual, Alfred, you are the voice of reason.”
* * *
* * *
Right before lunch I took the Seagull S6 down to Sam to get it stringed. “This is a nice guitar,” Sam said, running his hands over the smooth wood. “Where did Cleveland find it?”
“In someone’s basement,” I said, taking a seat on the sofa in Sam’s office with the cup of coffee he’d brought me. “Guy hired him to clear everything out and said he could keep anything he wanted.” I explained that Charlotte was thinking of buying the guitar as a Christmas present for Nick.
“Good to know,” Sam said. “I know how he likes the action. I’ll set it up that way.” He put the guitar back in its case and came to sit next to me.
“What do I owe you?” I asked. We’d had this conversation lots of times before and it always ended with Sam refusing payment. He’d restrung several guitars for me and given me his opinion on even more, but he wouldn’t take anything for his efforts. If I pushed he’d remind me we were family.
“Actually, I’m the one who owes you,” he said.
I was confused. “You do? What for?”
“Actually, you and Liz. For Cassie Gibson.”
“Oh, you mean the job,” I said. “Vince told me you knew her dad.”
“We went to school together,” Sam said. “He died about five years ago. Cassie’s a good kid. And she’s not afraid of hard work.”
Cassie had showed up at the Emmerson Foundation as Liz had instructed and Liz had kept her promise, hiring the bartender to work with her assistant, Jane. I took a sip of my coffee. “That was all Liz.”
“Then I owe Liz,” he said.
I laughed. “That’s a little scary.”
Sam smiled. “I think her bark is worse than her bite.”
I leaned against the back of the sofa. “I think the two of you are a lot alike.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Sam said.
“I meant it as one,” I said. “You both have huge hearts and you both look out for the people you care about.”
“I could say the same about you, kiddo.” He gave my hand a squeeze then reached for his own coffee cup on the desk. “I take it that since Liz gave Cassie a job she isn’t a suspect in your case.”
I shook my head. “She’s not. I can’t get into details, but she has an alibi.”
“I couldn’t see Cassie killing someone,” Sam said. “She’s a good kid who’s trying to make the best of being dealt a bad hand. I take it you know about her husband.”
“I do.” I propped my elbow on the sofa back and leaned my head on my hand. “This whole case is complicated. The only reason Rose got the Angels involved is because Mr. P. is old friends with Christopher Healy’s stepfather.”
“Elliot Casey,” Sam said. “They seem like an odd pair to be friends.”
“Hang on. You know Elliot?”
He shook his head. “I know about him. Poker.”
Sam played poker semi-regularly with Mr. P. and a group of his cronies. Rose claimed they were a bigger bunch of gossips than any stereotypical group of senior women.
“And?” I prompted.
Sam fingered his beard. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that Elliot Casey’s name has come up a couple of times. Those guys like to talk about the ‘good old days.’”
“Now I’m curious,” I said. “Are you going to tell me that Mr. P. has a secret wild-child past?”
He laughed. “Pretty much just the opposite. Alfred Peterson has always been a straight arrow, for the most part. His friend, on the other hand, cut a wide swath as a young man—always another pretty young woman on his arm buying him things to hear the guys tell it. It looks like maybe Alfred was a good influence on Elliot, kinda like the way your dad was on me.”
“You never told me that about Dad before,” I said.
Sam shrugged. “There are some things I did back when I was a kid that I’m not proud of. I drank too much and I used it as an excuse to treat more than one woman badly. If it hadn’t been for your father, my life might have gone a very different way.”
I didn’t know what to say.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve always tried to live my life so he wouldn’t ever have regretted being my friend. I hope Elliot realizes how lucky he is to have Alfred Peterson as his friend.”
“For what it’s worth, I have always been glad to have you as my friend,” I said.
Sam smiled. “Right back at you, kiddo.”
* * *
* * *
I’d been back at the shop for a couple of hours when Liam arrived. Charlotte and I were out in the workroom behind the shop, looking at the last box of photos. We’d decided to group the school photos by five-year increments and were sorting them into piles with Elvis sitting between us watching and occasionally poking a photograph with a paw. Liam came in the back door and stalked over to us, his coat swinging open.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, his blue-gray eyes cloudy with anger.
“So talk.” I turned to face him.
He glanced at Charlotte. I could see the tension in his shoulders and jawline. “Fine. Why couldn’t you just take my word that Joe is a good guy?”
“Because the person he was suing ended up dead at an event he was hosting,” I
said.
“I told you Joe didn’t have anything to do with Healy’s death.” Elvis picked his way around the stacks of photographs and made his way over to Liam, who automatically began to stroke the cat’s fur. “You’re acting like he’s hiding something. Why can’t you just take my word for it that he’s not involved?”
“Maybe because you’re lying,” Charlotte said in the same tone of voice she might have used to say the sun was shining. “Elvis thinks so and so do I.”
We weren’t exactly sure how he did it, but Elvis could somehow tell when someone was lying. His green eyes would narrow and one ear would turn to the side as his expression soured. Which is exactly how he looked right now. Mac’s theory was that the cat was reading the same sort of physical reactions that a polygraph did, which was as good an explanation as any.
“I’m not sure how Elvis came to that conclusion,” Charlotte continued, “but I noticed you’re rubbing your left eyebrow and you used to do that when you were a little boy trying to pull a fast one.”
Liam dropped both hands to his sides. He sucked in a breath and blew it out again.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
His mouth worked for a minute before he spoke. “Okay, there is something I haven’t told you about Joe, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Healy’s death. I swear. Joe had no reason to kill the guy. From the beginning he’s always believed the judge would rule in his favor and the inn project would be back on.”
I propped one hand on my hip. “So what is this something you haven’t told me?”
“Joe’s a good guy,” Liam said. “He’s been hiring some people who couldn’t get work anywhere else—guys who are homeless or have criminal records—he gives them a chance to support themselves and get some job experience. A lot of these guys he’s been paying under the table, which he shouldn’t do. Some of them are on the books, but he’s sort of had to fudge their background checks.”
“That’s a really bad idea,” I said, making a face.
Liam started petting Elvis again. “I know, I know,” he said. “Joe’s just trying to give these guys a second chance. He said someone did that for his dad and he just wants to pay it forward. It’s the only thing he’s hiding.” He held up his free hand. “See? No eyebrow rubbing.”