by Sofie Ryan
“So, what do you need?” she asked.
I explained about the church pew.
“One cushion would be too long. You need at least two, or maybe three would be better. I need to see it before I can tell you.” We agreed that she’d try to come by the shop late in the afternoon and I said good-bye.
I was just about to go back out front to help Charlotte when Mac came in the back door. He was carrying his coffee cup and walking quickly. “Don’t laugh,” he stage-whispered as he came level with me. There was a touch of urgency in his voice, but a smile played across his face.
Rose and Mr. P. came in the back door behind Mac. Rose was carrying one of her huge bags as usual. I knew there was a good chance that there was a cake or some ginger cookies inside. My attention, however, was totally focused on Mr. P. Now I understood why Mac had warned me not to laugh.
Alfred was wearing a toupee. It was the color of oxblood shoe polish, which meant it wasn’t anywhere close to the color of real hair. And it was curly. What little natural hair Mr. P. still had was gray and straight.
“Oh my,” I said almost under my breath. I couldn’t look at Mac, because I knew if I did I would laugh.
“Good morning, dear,” Rose said, bustling over to us. “I’m just going up to put the kettle on.”
“I’ll do that for you,” Mac said. “I’m on my way upstairs.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said. She seemed a little frazzled this morning. The edge of her collar was caught in the neck of her jacket.
Mac disappeared into the shop.
“Hold still,” I said, reaching over to fix Rose’s jacket.
“Heavens,” she said. “I’m a little addled this morning.”
“What’s going on,” I asked. “Why are you here so early?”
“Elizabeth has an emergency board meeting,” Mr. P. said.
Don’t laugh, I told myself sternly as I turned to look at him. Up close his hairpiece was even more . . . alarming than it had been at a distance.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
For many years Liz had run the Emmerson Foundation, a charitable organization started by her family, and she was still active on the board of directors.
“Yes,” Rose said, unzipping her jacket. “They have a new offer from the developers for those buildings the foundation holds the mortgages on down on the waterfront and they need to discuss if they’re going to accept it or not.”
“That’s good news,” I said. Over the winter, there had been a development proposal for a section of the downtown waterfront. The deal had fallen apart after the death of Lily Carter, who had lobbied against the plan, but now a new group was floating a similar idea for retail units, a small hotel and some residential space built in an environmentally responsible manner. The first step was to secure all the property they needed.
Mr. P. nodded, which made his “hair” bounce gently on his head. “It is, but it means Liz won’t be available to interview Edison Hall’s neighbors with us.”
“I know Ethan thinks Mr. Quinn’s death is connected somehow to his father’s wine collection, but we can’t afford to get tunnel vision at this point in the investigation,” Rose said.
“I agree,” I said.
She turned to Mr. P. “Alfred, show Sarah your suit.”
“Ah yes,” Mr. P. said, unbuttoning the jacket he was wearing. “Rosie and I are having a bit of a disagreement about my tie. I’d like a second opinion.”
“Um, all right,” I said, wondering what was wrong with the offending piece of clothing.
Alfred’s suit was dark gray with a fine blue check. His shirt was pale blue and the tie they were disagreeing about was a conservative blue stripe.
“What do you think, Sarah?” he said, tipping his head to one side, which made the hair slip a bit to the left as well.
I kept my gaze locked on his face. “I think it’s fine,” I said. I turned to Rose. “What’s wrong with Alfred’s tie?”
“Well,” she sighed softly. “It’s a little . . .” She hesitated.
“The word Rosie is trying not to say is dull,” Mr. P. said.
“I just think Alfred should wear a tie that goes with his personality, something that has a little flare like he does.”
They both looked at me.
Great. How was I going to get out of this without hurting someone’s feelings?
I took a deep breath and hoped for the best. “Rose, I see your point,” I said. “With the tie that Alfred has chosen, we don’t get a hint of the more playful side of his personality.”
She beamed at me.
I held up a hand.
“However.” I made a point of clearly enunciating the word. “You haven’t considered that perhaps today he wants to showcase his serious side.”
Mr. P. gave me a small smile. “Exactly, my dear.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” Rose said, her expression thoughtful.
He reached over and patted her arm. “I’ll go up and make the tea for you.”
“That would be lovely,” she said. She handed him the oversize tote. “The oatmeal cookies are in the blue tin.”
Alfred took the bag and headed for the shop. Once the door had closed behind him, Rose turned to look at me. “I suppose you think that thing on his head looks fine, too?”
“No comment,” I said, doing my best to stifle a smile and pretty much failing.
“When I went to the door to let him in this morning, I was afraid for a moment that I’d had a stroke,” she said. “My next thought was that a bird’s nest had fallen on his head on the walk over.”
A bubble of laughter escaped. “I’m sorry, Rose,” I said. “It’s just that I never thought Alfred was the type of person who felt the need for extra hair.” I struggled to get the urge to keep laughing under control. “It’s not that I think a hairpiece is a bad idea. I just didn’t think being bald bothered him.”
Rose played with the zipper pull on her jacket. “As far as I know, it doesn’t. He’s just gotten this idea that he should look a little younger, for professional reasons.”
I rubbed the space between my eyes, trying to come up with something helpful to say. “Did you point out that in the investigation business being older equates with wisdom and experience?”
Rose’s eyes lit up. “That’s so true. Would you tell Alfred that, please? We already quarreled about his tie. I don’t want him to think I’m criticizing all his choices.”
I blew out a breath. “I’ll tell him,” I said.
She reached up and patted my cheek. “I don’t know what we’d do without you,” she said. She pointed back over her shoulder in the direction of the old sunporch. “I’ll be in the office.”
“I’ll tell Mr. P.,” I said.
Out front Charlotte was showing a customer a china tea set and Mac was lifting an upholstered slipper chair out of the front window.
I walked over to him. “Is Mr. P. upstairs?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
He set the chair down on the floor between us. “He’s making Rose’s tea and another pot of coffee.”
I leaned over and brushed a bit of lint off the back of the chair. “Where did that hair come from?”
Mac gave me a half smile. “I’m not clear on all the details, but late-night TV and a credit card were involved. Be glad he didn’t order something called the Blond Bombshell.”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” I said.
“Sorry.”
I shook my head. “Somehow Rose roped me into talking to him about it.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess he doesn’t want to look old. I don’t want him going out looking foolish instead.”
Mac reached for the vintage teddy bear that had been sitting on the chair when it was in the
window and set it back in place. “Did you know they’re planning on walking over to Edison Hall’s neighborhood to talk to people?”
I shook my head. “I knew they were going. I didn’t know they were planning on walking.”
Mac looked at me without speaking.
“No,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I’m not driving them. I said I wouldn’t try to stop them from being detectives if that’s what they want to do. But . . .” I held up both hands. “But I’m not getting involved. Not this time.”
“Okay,” Mac said.
“I’m serious.”
“I believe you.”
We just stood there for a moment. I gestured in the general direction of the stairs. “So I’m just going to go now,” I said.
“I’ll just put this chair over there,” Mac said.
I found Mr. P. in the small staff room on the second floor. “I made a fresh pot of coffee, Sarah,” he said. “Would you like a cup?”
“Please,” I said. I was stalling. Alfred was a good man, despite his propensity for hacking into other people’s computer systems. He adored Rose. How could I tell him his hairpiece looked like a piece of shag carpeting from the nineteen seventies?
I took the mug he held out to me and added cream and sugar.
“Thank you for getting Rosie on my side over my tie,” he said, reaching for a cup on the shelf over the counter. “Could I trouble you for your opinion on something else?”
“Of course,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. I was all for stalling a little while longer.
His chin came up. “What do you think of my new hair?”
So much for stalling.
“What made you decide to . . . invest in some new hair?” I asked. The lame question made me cringe, but Mr. P. didn’t seem to notice.
“Rosie and Elizabeth and Charlotte put a lot of faith in me when they made me the de facto head of Charlotte’s Angels,” he said. “I don’t want to let them down. I didn’t want anyone to think I’m too old for the job.”
I smiled at him. “You’re not too old. You know your way around a computer better than Avery does and you can find things that no one else can find.” I held up one finger. “And I don’t really want to know how you do that.”
He smiled back at me and a touch of color flushed his cheeks.
“I also think you’re forgetting that in this case, being older, looking older suggests maturity, wisdom, experience.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but I could see that he was turning over my words in his mind.
I wrapped both hands around my cup. There was one more thing I wanted to say. “Rose and Liz and Charlotte all knew how old you were when they asked you to be the face of their agency. I’ve known them a long time and they have pretty good judgment.”
Mr. P. raised a hand to his toupee and then dropped it. “I wouldn’t want Rosie to think I was questioning her judgment,” he said. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then he lifted his hand again and grabbed the hairpiece to pull it off.
Except it didn’t come off. He pulled harder, but the only thing that achieved was to show that the toupee had the stretching ability of a piece of Silly Putty.
“Sarah, I think I need a little help,” he said.
In the end it took the two of us and some nail polish remover to unstick Alfred’s new hair from his head. The “handy gripper pads” left red marks on his scalp, but I put a little antibiotic cream on them and arranged his own hair so it more or less covered everything.
“You look nice, very professional,” I said. “Make sure you take a look at yourself in that cheval mirror Mac just brought in from the workroom.”
“I will, my dear,” he said. “Thank you.” He patted my hand and then he picked up Rose’s tea and went downstairs.
I went into my office. Elvis was sitting in my desk chair as though it belonged to him. “Up,” I said, making a move along gesture with one finger.
The cat didn’t so much as twitch a whisker.
“This is my office,” I said.
Elvis looked all around the room and then his green eyes came back to me. It seemed, at least in his kitty mind, that there was some dispute as to whose office it was.
I picked him up, claimed the chair and set him on my lap. He made an elaborate show of getting comfortable.
“Rose and Mr. P. are going to talk to Edison Hall’s neighbors,” I told the cat, leaning back in my seat.
He didn’t really seem interested. Instead he butted my hand with his head, cat for “scratch behind my ears.” I began to stroke his fur and after a moment Elvis began to purr.
“I don’t really have time to drive them,” I said.
“Mrrr,” Elvis said. That might have meant “sure you do,” or it might have meant “don’t stop.”
“You know Rose has some arthritis in her hip and Mr. P.’s knees aren’t good.”
He didn’t say anything other than to keep on purring.
I’d meant it when I said I didn’t want to be involved in another one of the Angels’ cases. Two was more than enough, thank you very much.
But.
“If I don’t drive them I’ll be worrying about them the entire time they’re gone.”
Elvis leaned into my hand and looked up at me, green eyes blissfully narrowed almost to two slits. I folded my free arm behind my head and stared up at the sloped ceiling over my head.
“On the other hand, if I take them it’s a slippery slope down to getting pulled into their investigation. It’s like sitting at the top of the Poseidon’s Plunge slide at Splashtown water park. I’m going to end up barefoot and rump over teakettle, trying not to upchuck, asking myself what the heck I was thinking in the first place.”
“Mrrr,” Elvis said.
I picked him up, got to my feet and set him back in the chair. He shook his black furry head and made a face at me. I kissed the top of his head, just above the bridge of his nose. “I have things to do,” I said. “Guard the office.”
Rose and Mr. P. were in the sunporch office, their heads bent over the laptop. I knocked on the doorframe. They both looked up at me.
“Hi,” I said. I hesitated. “I need a favor.”
“Of course, my dear,” Mr. P. said.
“What do you need?” Rose asked.
My head examined, was what I wanted to say. “I’d like to come with you,” I said.
Rose looked at Alfred and then she got to her feet. “Why?” she asked, a challenge evident in her eyes. “Do you think Alfred and I aren’t capable of talking to witnesses?”
“I think you’re capable of talking to anyone about anything. I’d like to come because I think I owe it to Stella. We said we’d help her and I want to do that.”
As I said the words I realized they were true. I liked the way Stella stepped up, first by hiring us to clear out her brother’s house and make things easier on Ethan and his wife. And how she was still trying to help them, trying to somehow salvage some money from Edison’s estate so Ellie could have the surgery she needed. It was the kind of thing my grandmother would do—had done more than once.
“She reminds me of Gram,” I said.
Rose smiled then. “Yes, she does.” She looked at Alfred.
He nodded.
“Of course you can come with us,” she said.
I glanced at my watch. “Does half an hour work for you?”
“That would be lovely,” Rose said.
Mac was at the workbench, searching through a container of metal wall hooks.
“I called Jess,” I said, leaning against the bench. “She has some ideas for cushions for the bishop’s pew. She’ll probably be here sometime this afternoon.”
Mac shook the Mason jar, made a face and then upended it onto the pain
ted wooden surface.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Those two brass hooks with the lion’s face.”
I looked up at the row of glass canning jars on the long shelf behind the workbench. “Try that one,” I said. “Four from the end.”
Mac reached for the container I’d indicated and unscrewed the lid. The two hooks he’d been looking for were on top. “Thanks,” he said. “How do you do that?”
I put my fingers up to my temples. “It’s my superpower.”
“I thought your superpower was the ability to spot a decent piece of furniture under nine coats of old paint.”
“That, too,” I said with a grin. “Superpowers don’t just come one to a customer.”
Mac laughed. He put the lids back on both jars. “Are you leaving soon?” he asked as he leaned over and set them back on the shelf.
“What do you mean?” I said, feeling my face begin to get warm.
“Are you and Rose and Alfred leaving soon?”
I scuffed one foot against a small divot in the floor. “How did you know?” I shot him a sideways glance.
“You care about them,” he said, dipping his head in the direction of the sunporch. “And you like Stella Hall. You gave her a good deal on clearing out the house.”
“Gram asked me to help, if I could. She and Stella go way back.”
“I saw your face the first time she came in here to talk about the job. You would have given her a deal whether Isabel was friends with her or not.”
I sighed. “It’s not much of a way to run a business, is it?” I said.
Mac picked up the two hooks and gave me a thoughtful smile. “I think it’s a good way to run a life,” he said. He turned and headed for the back door.
Mac and Charlotte were arranging different versions of our current chair collection around a long trestle table for a customer when I came downstairs with my coat and purse about twenty-five minutes later. I raised a hand in good-bye. Charlotte smiled and mouthed, Good luck.
Rose and Mr. P. were waiting by the back door. In his long jacket over his gray suit, he looked almost distinguished. Rose looked equally polished in a blue coat over a black skirt and jacket.
“What’s the plan?” I asked as we walked across the parking lot to the SUV.