by Sofie Ryan
I watched Liam head across the parking lot and rubbed my left shoulder, which had tied itself in knots while Liam was talking.
“Give Rose the message and there’s nothing else you can do tonight,” Mac said.
“I swear I wasn’t going to get involved in this case,” I said, sitting next to Mac on a paint-spattered sawhorse. “Which is what I said last time and the time before that.”
“They’re your family.”
“Yeah, they are,” I said with a smile. “So what’s your excuse?”
“They’re kind of my family, too.” Mac shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve had something like that in my life.”
Mac never talked about family or his past or anything personal. I suspected from a remark he’d once made about commitment that he’d been married at one time.
“Your old life,” I said.
He smoothed a hand over his dark hair. “Something like that.” There was something sad in his expression, in the way he held his mouth.
“You miss it, or at least you miss the people?” The words came out as a question.
“Sometimes I missed the . . . connections,” he said.
Missed. Past tense. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know how I take my coffee. Rose remembers that I don’t like hard-boiled eggs, so she doesn’t put them in her potato salad when she brings it for us.”
Those were the same kinds of things I’d missed when I’d been working away from North Harbor. Now that I was back, it sometimes drove me crazy that Rose and her cohorts knew me so well. Other times it made me feel as if I was truly home, surrounded by people who knew me so well.
“You probably could have picked a little less . . . colorful family,” I said.
Mac laughed. “No way. I like colorful. I don’t want beige and boring.”
I nudged him with my shoulder. “I’m going to remind you that you said that the next time Mr. P. hacks in somewhere he shouldn’t and Michelle and a dozen burly police officers surround this building.”
“Wouldn’t happen,” Mac said. “Mr. P. is not that careless.”
“Have you ever thought about going back to see your old family?” I asked, aware that I was venturing out onto shaky ground.
The smile faded from Mac’s face. “No. I made mistakes. I made decisions that can’t be forgiven.”
“Gram says there’s very little that can’t be forgiven with a little time.” When he didn’t say anything I knew the conversation was over. I straightened up and reached for the broom.
“It looks so good,” I said, standing in the middle of the space and turning in a slow circle after we’d cleaned and put things away.
“I thought I’d start the mudding and taping tomorrow if that’s okay,” Mac said, taking the battery out of his cordless drill.
“It’s okay,” I said, “but are you sure you want to work on your day off?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. The sooner the walls are finished, the sooner we can get organized out here.” He looked toward the front corner of the space.
Mac and I had partially walled off the area. I hoped to teach classes at some point in that space. Lots of light came in through the windows. A weathered barn door we’d salvaged from an old farm on the road to Portland was waiting to be hung from a sliding rail system once the walls were finished.
“Keep track of your hours,” I said. “Sailing season will be starting soon.”
“I will,” he said. “See you Monday.”
Rose and Mr. P. were just coming down the sidewalk arm in arm when I pulled in to the driveway. I waited for them by the steps.
“Liam asked me to tell you that he’ll e-mail you the photos once he charges his phone,” I told the two of them.
“Splendid,” Rose said. “Did he tell you he might have a photo of our suspect? That man we’re looking for was at Feast two years in a row.”
“He did.”
“Maybe I should ask Nicolas if he has any photos on his phone from Feast in the Field.”
I exhaled loudly and looked at Mr. P., who cleared his throat.
Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The two of you sound like a pair of old horses,” she said. “I was joking.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “Although maybe I’ll get a chance to borrow his phone on Sunday.” She started up the steps. Behind her Mr. P. shook his head, ever so slightly.
I followed them inside. “Rose, about Sunday,” I began.
She held up a hand. “If this is about the gravy, you can do it.”
“When we made Jell-O, I burned the boiling water.”
“How could you burn water?” Mr. P. asked, looking a little puzzled.
“She didn’t burn the water,” Rose explained. “She burned the kettle.”
“And I don’t want to burn the gravy,” I said.
“You won’t,” she said. “I promise.”
I hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other.
Rose made a shooing motion with one hand. “Stop fretting. Everything will be fine.”
I smiled at her. “How am I ever going to repay you for taking on the thankless job of teaching me how to cook?” I asked.
“It’s not a thankless job, dear,” she said. “And you don’t need to thank me, although if you do happen to find yourself with Nicolas’s phone—”
“You won’t be conducting any unauthorized searches,” Mr. P. finished.
“I wasn’t suggesting Sarah search Nicolas’s phone,” Rose said, pulling herself up to her full almost five feet, zero inches height. “I was merely going to say that if the opportunity presented itself, she could ask to see his photos. That’s all.”
Mr. P. smiled benignly. “Of course. My apologies.”
“Have a good night,” I said to them, turning to unlock the door.
I was tying my running shoes the next morning when Liam knocked and then poked his head around the door.
“Hi,” I said.
He was wearing gray shorts and a short-sleeve Red Sox T-shirt over a long-sleeve gray one. A gray knit beanie was pulled over his hair.
“You’re going to freeze,” I said, indicating his half-bare legs.
Liam beat on his chest with his fists. “I’m tough,” he said.
“You’re still going to be cold,” I retorted as I straightened up.
“And you’re going to sweat like a pig,” he countered, making a face at my sweatshirt and leggings.
I grinned at him. “I’ve missed you,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.” He grinned back at me.
We headed southwest, running a route I often used that was slightly uphill, enough to give us both a challenge, I hoped.
“So, who do you run with when I’m not in town?” Liam asked. Even though he was taller we’d been running together since we were teenagers and we easily fell into a comfortable pace.
“No one,” I said.
“Mac doesn’t run?”
I glanced at him but didn’t see anything other than genuine curiosity on his face.
“He does some kind of Israeli self-defense workout,” I said.
“Krav Maga?”
I nodded and pushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I tried to get Nick to come running with me.”
Liam gave a snort of laughter. “I know how that went,” he said. “When we went to hockey camp, man, did he hate the running drills! He was always the last person to finish, so he always ended up with extra sprints to do.” He grinned at the memory.
I’d forgotten about Liam going to hockey camp. “So you know Ethan Hall?” I said.
“Yeah, I know Ethan,” he said. “Mom told me about the body you found. That’s the case that Rose and the rest of them are working on, isn’t it?”
“It is.” We crossed the street s
tarting a long, slow climb uphill.
“So Ethan’s father got scammed?” Liam asked.
“Uh-huh. I’m guessing he thought it was a sure thing. The bottles of wine he bought were supposed to improve with age and increase in value.”
“Except they were swill.”
I nodded. “Basically.” I pushed a little harder, trying to keep the pace and not slow down.
“So this guy that Rose and Alfred are trying to find is mixed up in this fake wine thing?” There was a fine sheen of sweat on Liam’s forehead. I wasn’t the only one feeling the hill, it seemed.
“Maybe,” I said. “It’s a giant long shot.”
We crossed another cross street and the incline got steeper.
“I remember the guy said he was some kind of wine dealer or broker,” Liam said. “He gave us his card. Now I wish I’d kept it.”
“Did you find his face in any of your photos?” I wondered how this so-called wine dealer was connected to the woman from the financial seminar. I was sure the Angels probably had a theory.
He shrugged. “Just profile, not full-on. I did send them to Rose.” He shot me a look. “You think I should ask Nick if he wants them?”
I laughed. “It’s probably a waste of time. Neither Nick nor the police seem to think the Angels are onto something.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
After our run Liam went up to Gram’s apartment to shower and I changed into an old pair of jeans and a paint-spattered hoodie, collected Elvis and went to work in the backyard. Elvis prowled around while I picked up branches and other debris.
Liam had offered to drive Mr. P. over to Charlotte’s for supper so Rose and I could leave early for my gravy-making lesson. After Elvis and I finished in the yard for the day, I showered and changed.
Rose was waiting for me in the hallway. “This is not a good idea,” I said.
She smiled. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“You know I can’t cook,” I reminded her as I unlocked the SUV. “Unless you call scrambled eggs cooking.”
“As a matter of fact, I do call that cooking,” Rose said as she climbed in. “And I think you’ve created a self-fulfilling prophecy. For the next week I want you to look in the mirror every morning and say, ‘I am a good cook.’”
“Like that’s going to work.” I laughed. Then I saw the expression on her face and realized she wasn’t joking.
“Every morning,” she repeated firmly.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, slipping the key in the ignition.
“Are you just saying that to humor me?” she asked.
I looked over at her. “Not anymore, I’m not,” I said.
Rose just laughed.
Nick’s SUV was in Charlotte’s driveway while Liz’s car was parked in front of the little yellow house. The kitchen smelled like turkey and fresh bread, but there was no sign of Charlotte.
Rose set her carryall on one of the kitchen chairs. I took her coat while she started unloading her bag. Liz was putting napkins around the dining room table.
“Hi,” I said. “Where is everyone?”
Liz inclined her head in the general direction of the stairs and the rest of the house. “The spare room. In a moment of what may be temporary insanity, Charlotte is testing paint colors on the walls.”
“I didn’t know Nick was finished in there.” Charlotte had had a water leak in her extra bedroom and Nick had been slowly doing the repairs—given his schedule and the fact that he still did some paramedic shifts, it had been very slowly.
Liz frowned at the napkin in her hand, shook it out and carefully refolded it. “He laid the carpet last weekend. Avery is going to help Charlotte paint as soon as they settle on a color.” She set the napkin in place and looked at me then. “Charlotte got some of those little sample pots and Avery painted swatches on the wall. Nicolas is in there giving his opinion.”
“So, why aren’t you in there giving your opinion?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
“I already gave mine,” she said, “and it was suggested that I might be happier setting the table.”
“And your opinion was?”
“That dandelion wine is something you drink in the bandstand behind the library with a college boy who is way too old for you, not something you paint on the wall of your spare room.” There was a challenge in her gaze that I for one wasn’t going to argue with.
“Duly noted,” I said.
I hung the coats in the living room closet and went in search of Charlotte and the others. I found Charlotte standing in the middle of her spare room, arms crossed over her aproned front. Nick and Avery were just in front of the end wall, looking at five different patches of paint color on the otherwise white wall.
Charlotte smiled when she saw me. I went to stand beside her, draping my arm around her shoulder. “How’s the decision-making process going?” I asked.
“We’re down to three choices,” she said, “and I’m starting to think that I should have just gone with off-white.” She turned her head to look at me. “And don’t you dare tell Liz I said that.”
I mimed zipping my lips shut.
Nick turned around and smiled at me. “Hey, Sarah,” he said. He gestured at the wall. “Want to weigh in?”
“Go ahead,” Charlotte said.
I joined Nick and Avery in front of the wall.
“The two that have tape across them are out of the running,” Avery said.
I looked at the three remaining colors. “Not that one,” I said, pointing to a deep green grass shade. “It’s too dark. The room will seem smaller.” I leaned in toward the two other shades.
Nick moved closer to me and I caught the scent of his aftershave, which usually made me feel fifteen again. “Take your time,” he said.
“Hey! No fair,” Avery said sharply.
“What do you mean, no fair?” I said.
She crossed her arms and glared at Nick. “He’s trying to be all sexy so you’ll agree with him.”
“I am not,” Nick retorted, but the touch of color that tinged his cheeks gave him away. Avery was right.
I turned to her. “Doesn’t matter,” I said, laughing. “Nick’s ‘all sexy’ doesn’t work on me.”
Avery made a triumphant face at him.
Nick swiped a hand over his mouth and said, “The hell it doesn’t,” so softly only I heard the words.
I shot him a stink eye and went back to studying the wall. The choices were a medium gray and a very pale butter yellow. “That one,” I said, touching the patch of yellow paint.
“Yes!” Avery crowed, doing a fist pump in the air. She turned to Charlotte. “Sarah likes dandelion wine, too.”
Charlotte’s gaze shifted to me.
“I really do like the color,” I said. “It’s warm. It’s light. It’ll make the room seem bigger.”
“Then dandelion wine it is,” she said with a smile.
“I could help you with the painting,” Avery offered. “I mean if you want some help.”
“I’d love the help,” Charlotte said. “Thank you.”
Avery smiled. “I have to tell Nonna what color we picked.”
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” Charlotte smiled at me over Avery’s head.
“Fine,” Nick said, staring up at the ceiling, an aggrieved tone in his voice. “Ignore my home decor advice.”
“We’re pretty much going to, dear,” his mother said. She beckoned to Avery. “I need to check the turkey.”
Nick turned to me. “You were supposed to back me up,” he said. “Didn’t you see me signaling you?” He waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Oh, that was a signal,” I said. “I thought you were having some kind of face spasm. I didn’t realize you were being all sexy
.”
He laughed. “Well, next time you’ll know.”
We headed back to the living room. “How’s your investigation going?” I asked.
“I’m getting close to wrapping things up,” he said. “How’s the Angels’ investigation going?”
“They have a couple of ideas that might actually go somewhere.”
He shook his head. “You mean a guy they think was at Feast in the Field and a woman with a plaid purse who attended a money-management seminar?”
I nodded. “It’s not as far-fetched as it sounds.”
“I told you that the police are already pursuing a lead,” he said.
“Liam thinks the two of you might have talked to the guy,” I said, ignoring his implication that Alfred and the ladies were on the wrong track.
Nick sat on the arm of Charlotte’s sofa. “I know. He told me he sent Rose and Alfred some photos off his phone.” He cocked his head to one side. “Are you going to ask to see the photos on my phone?” he teased.
“I thought maybe I could be all sexy and you’d show them to me without me having to ask.”
Nick laughed. “Now I’m wishing I actually had pictures from Feast in the Field.”
“You don’t?” I said. I knew it was a long shot that Rose’s latest suspect was actually the person who had sold Edison Hall all those fake bottles, but I’d been hoping nonetheless. That was what happened when the Angels pulled me into one of their cases. They also pulled me into their particular way of looking at things.
Nick shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t have any photos on my phone. I’m kind of a dinosaur. I like a camera.” He reached out and caught my hand. “Does this mean I don’t get to see what your ‘all sexy’ is?”
I felt my face begin to get red.
Rose stuck her head around the dining room doorway then. “There you are, dear,” she said. “Charlotte’s taking the turkey out. We need to get started on the gravy.”
“I, uh, have to go,” I said, motioning in Rose’s direction. Nick let go of my hand and I started across the room, almost tripping over the coffee table. I could feel Nick’s eyes on me.
“Did I interrupt something?” Rose asked, looking up at me.