by Sofie Ryan
Charlotte and Liz got back about an hour before closing time. I knew from the expression on their faces that they hadn’t returned with any useful information.
“That was a fool’s errand,” Liz said, setting her purse on one of the chairs in the Angels’ office.
“I don’t think it was,” Charlotte said, unbuttoning her jacket. “I think we’re on the right track at least.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“The woman moved and no one in the building seemed to really know her or know where she went,” she said. “More than one person remembers her talking about the uncertainty of the stock market. She’s the woman we’re looking for.”
“Which doesn’t do us any good, since we didn’t find her,” Liz said.
“But we do know Edison was at that seminar,” Charlotte said. “I talked to Stella,” she added as an aside to me.
I opened my mouth to point out to them that knowing Edison Hall had been at the seminar proved nothing because there was no proof that anything underhanded had happened there, but before I could speak, Mr. P. did.
“I found her,” he said.
“Found who?” Liz asked. She looked over his shoulder at the laptop he was working at.
He looked up at us. “The woman from the seminar. At least based on the description Charlotte got, I think I found her.”
He clicked several keys and video footage appeared on the screen. Thanks to the Angels’ investigations, I’d seen security camera footage enough times to recognize that was what this was.
Mr. P. tapped the screen with one finger. “This is from the day of the seminar.”
“Which was more than eighteen months ago,” I said.
“I’m aware of that, my dear,” he said.
The view was the parking lot at Legacy Place, taken, as far as I could tell, from the building next door, which housed offices for several doctors and dentists. I was going to ask him how he’d gotten the old security footage—how he’d even known it existed—but I thought better of it. Alfred and I had come to an unspoken agreement about this kind of thing. I didn’t ask him how he got his information and he tried to keep his tactics more or less legit.
The image on the screen was of a woman in her early seventies talking to a younger man.
“I think that could be her,” Charlotte said. “She looks like the woman Maribelle’s friend described.” She turned to Liz. “What do you think?”
Liz studied the computer. “It’s her. See her purse?”
Charlotte and I both leaned in for a better look.
“Maribelle’s friend said the woman was carrying a plaid purse—a beige background with white, black and red lines.”
“Alfred, can you zoom in on her bag?” Liz asked.
He clicked a few keys and a close-up of the right side of the woman’s body filled the screen. The image was a little blurry, but the purse did match the description Liz had just given.
“That’s the Haymarket check,” she said, pointing at the screen. “The bag is a Burberry. Let’s just say it’s not cheap. We need to find that man Alfred.”
Mr. P. smiled. “I think I can enlarge his face and run it through a nifty little software program I came across to enhance the image just a little.”
I cleared my throat, but they either didn’t hear me or ignored me. I did it again.
“Sarah, are you trying to bring up a fur ball or did you want to say something?” Liz asked without looking away from the computer.
Charlotte, however, turned to look at me. “What is it?” she asked. Her glasses had slid down her nose and she pushed them up with a finger.
“We have to give this information to Michelle,” I said.
Liz looked at me then, one hand on her hip. I knew that posture. I was in for an argument. “No, we don’t,” she said. “There isn’t any information to give. All we have so far is a third-hand description of a woman who may or may not have been touting alternatives to the stock market at a financial planning seminar that took place well over a year ago.”
Charlotte sighed softly and looked from Liz to me. “I don’t like to take sides, Sarah,” she said, “but Liz is right. We don’t have facts. All we have is guesswork.”
“You don’t think it’s guesswork,” I said. “And neither does Liz.”
“Is this because of Nicolas?” Charlotte asked.
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t.”
“Then are you part of our team or not?” Liz asked, holding out a hand.
“Of course Sarah is part of our team,” Mr. P. said with just a hint of recrimination in his voice. “And she’s right. We should share what we’ve learned with the police. We’re both trying to find out who killed Mr. Quinn.”
Liz made a sound a lot like a snort.
Mr. P. chose to ignore her. “I’d also like to show Nicolas and Detective Andrews that we know what we’re doing and we’re not going to disrupt their investigation.”
Charlotte smiled. “Alfred, you’re a very sensible, reasonable man,” she said.
Liz exhaled loudly. “Yes, you are,” she said. “And I like you despite that.” She got to her feet. “I need a cup of tea.” She headed for the door. “I’m going to bring Rose up-to-date.” She caught my hand and gave it a squeeze as she passed me.
“Thank you,” I said to Mr. P. once they were both gone.
“Everything you said was correct,” he said. “And underneath her bluster Elizabeth knows that as well. I think she’s still a little touchy over being a suspect in that whole dreadful business last winter.”
The dreadful business he was referring to was the death of Lily Carter. Liz had never been a serious suspect, but she had been questioned more than once.
“I think that’s probably right,” I said. “And thank you for saying I was part of the team.”
He smiled. “It’s true. You are part of the team, my dear.”
I just nodded. I didn’t know what to say because I realized that good or bad, right or wrong, I was.
Chapter 14
I went back up to my office while Mr. P. made the phone call to Michelle. I was printing out two new orders from the store’s Web site when my cell rang. It was Nick.
“Hi,” he said. “I was just in a meeting with Michelle and she had a call from Alfred Peterson. I sense your hand in that.”
“It wasn’t me,” I said, sitting on the edge of my desk.
“So you know about their theory that Edison Hall met the person who sold him all those worthless bottles of wine at some money-management thing?” The skepticism was obvious in his voice.
“You don’t?” I asked.
“I just don’t think it has any relevance to the investigation.”
“You don’t think Mr. Quinn’s death had anything to do with the whole wine scam?”
“That’s not really my part of the case.”
I reached over and took the two pages I’d just printed out of the printer tray. “It doesn’t mean you don’t have a theory.”
I heard him exhale. “I’m not saying what happened isn’t connected to those worthless bottles of wine. I’m just saying I don’t think the connection is directly related to Edison Hall.”
“So how is it connected, then?”
Nick laughed. “I suppose I may as well tell you,” he said. “It’s not like Alfred won’t ferret this out if he hasn’t already. Ronan Quinn was already involved in a court case over another fake wine scam.”
“That’s not exactly a secret, Nick,” I said. “There was an article about the case in the Boston Globe. It’s how Ethan came to hire him.”
“Quinn had received death threats because of that case as recently as a week before he came to town.”
“The police are looking in that direction.”
“They’re looking in a lot of directions, bu
t yes, that one seems to hold the most promise.”
“I hope it works out,” I said. Could someone have followed the wine expert here to North Harbor just to kill him? It wasn’t any more of a stretch than the angle the Angels were working on.
“Michelle said they released Edison’s house back to the family,” Nick said.
“She did and we’ve already started working out there.”
“I’m really glad to hear that,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “This has been hard for Ethan. Once his father’s estate is settled, he’ll be able to get on with his life.”
“I promised Stella that we’d work as quickly as we can.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, glad once again to be out of those heels no matter how good they made my legs look.
“I know you gave Stella a deal, Sarah,” Nick said. “Thanks. Any chance you can find something in that old house that’s worth some money?”
I thought about the Marklin train set Elvis and I had found. Even though its ownership was in dispute, maybe there was a way it could still be used to help Ellie Hall. “I’m working on it,” I said.
“I gotta go,” Nick said then. “Are you coming to dinner at Mom’s on Sunday?”
“I am,” I said. “Rose is going to teach me how to make gravy.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well . . . um . . . good luck with that. I’m not much of a gravy man myself.”
“Nice try,” I said. “I’ve seen you in your mother’s kitchen eating gravy out of the roaster with a spoon at Thanksgiving.”
He cleared his throat. “Sarah, we’ve known each other since we were kids and in all that time you’ve never made anything that was edible. Face it. You did not get the cooking gene. You’re the kind of person for whom takeout was invented.”
“Nicolas Elliot, I’m going to make you eat your words,” I promised, feeling a little surge of competitiveness in my gut.
“It’ll have to be better than eating your cooking,” he said before he ended the call, laughing.
I took the orders downstairs. “Avery, would you get these started, please?” I asked the teenager.
“No problem,” she said, taking the pages and heading for the workroom.
Rose was busy straightening up, putting chairs in place around a small table, fluffing the pillows on the seats. “I’m just going out to see how Mac and Liam are doing,” I said. “Avery is out back if you need her.”
“Take your time,” she said, stepping back to survey her handiwork and then tweaking the position of a chair.
Mr. P. was in the sunporch, working on his laptop as usual. “Sarah,” he called as I went past the door.
I backtracked a couple of steps, leaned around the doorframe and looked at him inquiringly.
“I called Detective Andrews,” he said. “She didn’t seem very interested in our information.”
“I know,” I said. “I heard from Nick.” I paused. “I think they’re wrong.”
“Great minds think alike.” Then he smiled. “Of course, Elizabeth would say, fools seldom differ.”
“I like yours better,” I said. I gestured at the computer. “Is that Feast in the Field?”
He nodded. “I thought I would go through as many photos as I could find online this weekend.”
“You don’t even know if Edison Hall was there,” I said.
Mr. P. smoothed the few wisps of gray hair that he had. “He was. Rose called Stella and asked.”
It still seemed like a waste of time to me.
Alfred must have seen some of what I was thinking in my expression. “I am aware that brochure Elvis found smelled like tuna fish, Sarah,” he said. He studied my face for what seemed like a long moment. “I also trust Rosie’s instincts.”
He didn’t need to remind me that Rose’s instincts had probably saved my life the previous winter.
“Could I help?” I asked.
“I have everything under control,” Mr. P. said. “I have another little piece of facial-scanning software that I think will help me.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said. I didn’t ask him where his little piece of software had come from and he didn’t volunteer the information.
Mac and Liam were making great progress on the ceiling of the old garage. They had decided to keep going until all the drywall was up. I told them I’d be back later with pizza.
Liz arrived at the end of the day to pick up Avery along with Rose and Mr. P.
I gave Charlotte a ride home.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she got out of the SUV. “Bring your apron.”
“I’m not so sure I should be cooking anything,” I said. “What if I ruin the gravy?”
“Then everyone can have ketchup instead.” She waved as she started up her driveway. I watched to make sure she made it inside.
Elvis meowed from the backseat. “No, I’m not hanging over the seat to pick you up just so you can sit up here,” I said. I turned to look at him. “If you want to come up here, you’re going to have to jump.”
He meowed again, just a little louder.
I turned the radio on and sat back in my seat, and a tail smacked the side of my head as Elvis landed on the top of the middle section of the split front seat.
“Hello,” I said.
He gave me a look of annoyance, jumped down and moved over to settle himself on the passenger side, craning his neck to look out the windshield. It didn’t matter where he was sitting: The cat was a backseat driver.
I took Elvis home and then collected the pizza I’d ordered before I’d left the shop. The guys had just finished hanging the last sheet of drywall.
Mac brushed dust off the front of his T-shirt. “Thank you,” he said to Liam. “I owe you for this.”
Liam wiped his hands on the front of his pants. “You don’t owe me a thing.” One long arm snaked out and caught me around the shoulders. “You, on the other hand, owe me big-time.”
I reached over and flicked his forehead with my thumb and forefinger. “Really?” I said. “I still have that video of you in the onesie Mom bought you at Christmas, wearing Dad’s hat with the flaps while the two of you sing a rousing chorus of ‘Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.’”
Mac’s lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. Liam let go of me and put one hand over his heart. “We’re family,” he said with mock sincerity. “You don’t owe me a thing.”
I laughed and hugged him.
We ate the pizza and talked more about Liam’s role in the proposed downtown development. Because the previous North by West proposal had fallen apart, it seemed as though the harbor-front revitalization had been the only topic of conversation for close to a year now.
“Do you think this is really going to happen this time?” I asked Liam.
He pulled a long string of mozzarella from his slice and ate it. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “I looked at the financials and the numbers are good.” He nudged me with his elbow. “So I’ll probably be around a lot more, at least for a while.”
I smiled back at him. I liked having Liam around, and not just because he could cook. “You should come running with me,” I said.
“How about tomorrow morning?”
I nodded. “That works for me.”
Half a slice of pizza was on his plate. Liam rolled it up and put the entire thing in his mouth. After he swallowed he stretched and stood up. “I really need to get going,” he said.
“Thanks for the help,” Mac said.
“Not a problem,” Liam said. “Anytime.”
They shook hands and surveyed their handiwork.
When Liam turned to me I wrapped him in another hug. “Thanks,” I said. “I really do owe you.”
He grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll collect.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket, looked at the screen and put it b
ack. “If you see Rose, will you tell her I’ll look for those photos and e-mail them to her later tonight?”
“What photos?” I asked as he leaned forward and brushed dust and bits of paper out of his hair.
“From that wine – and food-tasting thing last fall,” he said.
“Feast in the Field?”
He nodded. “That’s it. She asked if I had any pictures. I was pretty sure I did. I just need to charge my phone and I can send them to her. I forgot to plug it in last night.”
“Rose asked you for photos from Feast in the Field this past fall? Not the year before?”
“Yes. From this past fall. Not the year before.”
I was confused. The brochure Elvis had found wasn’t from the most recent Feast. I was trying, like Mr. P., to trust Rose’s instincts. I just wasn’t sure where they were taking me.
Liam reached for his jacket. “So this detective thing is legit? Alfred Peterson has a PI license and Rose is working on one?”
“It’s legit.”
“Good for them,” he said with a smile. “I hope this helps them find the guy they’re looking for.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket.
I held up one hand. “Hang on a minute. You hope what helps them find who?”
He looked at me as if I was missing something, which I was. “Alfred has some video of a man from somewhere downtown, talking to some older woman. I think I have a photo of the same guy on my phone. He was working at one of the wine-tasting booths this year. If it is the same guy, Nick and I talked to him. He was there the year before, too, one of those stereotypical sales types. That’s the only reason I remembered him.”
I looked at Mac. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
Could Rose actually be right about Feast in the Field? Could she have found the person who defrauded Edison Hall and had Nick, of all people, actually talked to the man? I had an almost overwhelming urge to laugh. I coughed into my elbow instead. “I’ll tell her,” I said.
“Seven too early to run?” Liam asked.
I shook my head.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said. He raised a hand. “See you, Mac.”