by Sofie Ryan
“Hi, Sarah,” he said. “How’re you making out in the house?”
“Pretty good,” I said. “We’re planning a sale in a couple of weeks. There’s a very nice wooden r-o-c-k-i-n-g h-o-r-s-e.” I glanced at Alyssa, whose forehead was knotted in concentration as she tried to bounce one of the balls off her knee.
Paul smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll try to get over and have a look. Alyssa is into p-o-n-i-e-s at the moment.” He glanced over at the empty bungalow across the street and lowered his voice. “Have you heard anything about the investigation? Do the police have any idea who killed that man?”
I followed his gaze for a moment. “Nothing so far,” I said. I realized that I had a photo of Thorne Logan on my phone. “Could you look at a picture?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
I found the image of the wine dealer and held out my phone. “Did you ever see him over at the Hall house?”
Paul studied the photo. “Sorry, Sarah,” he said. “He doesn’t look familiar. Did he have something to do with Mr. Quinn’s death?”
“I’m just fishing,” I said, stuffing my phone back in my pocket. I smiled. “I better get back to the shop. It was good to see you.”
I walked back across the street. It seemed that Thorne Logan or Thornton Logan or whatever he called himself was another dead end for now.
I went right up to my office when I got back to the shop. There were six bottles of wine on Edison Hall’s list that weren’t in the house as far as I could tell. They nagged at me. Had Quinn taken them for evidence? Did his killer have them?
It occurred to me that maybe Ethan knew. “I’m as bad as Rose,” I muttered to Elvis, who was making himself comfortable in the middle of my desk.
When I tried Ethan’s cell phone, the call went straight to voice mail. Then I remembered that Stella had given me Ethan’s home number.
Ellie Hall answered the phone. I could hear little voices singing the ABC song in the background. “Hi, Sarah,” she said. “Ethan’s teaching, that’s why you couldn’t reach him. Could I help you with something?”
“Possibly,” I said. “We’re trying to do a detailed inventory out at the house and I wanted to be sure that none of the bottles in Edison’s collection get misplaced, you know, in case the police do ever need them as evidence in a case.” That was true as far as it went. “You don’t have any at your house, do you?”
“No,” she said. “Ethan left everything at his father’s house so Mr. Quinn could go through the boxes. Everything in the collection is there. And you don’t need to do an inventory. I remember Ethan saying his father had a list inside one of the boxes.”
“Good to know,” I said. “Thank you. We’re hoping to have the estate sale in about two weeks.”
“That would be wonderful,” Ellie said. “Ethan and I appreciate you continuing, under the circumstances. I’m sorry that you had to . . . find Mr. Quinn.” She had a warm, friendly voice, laced now with a touch of apology.
“I’m just happy we can help.”
“I was supposed to be there, first thing that morning,” she said, “to pack those dishes Stella wanted to keep. I keep thinking that I might have walked in on the killer.”
“I’m glad that didn’t happen.”
“I had to have a small procedure done and they had a last-minute cancellation at the clinic. I almost said no, but Ethan insisted that I go.” She hesitated. “I’m guessing Stella told you about our situation, about the surgery I need on my back. I mean, it’s not really a secret.”
“She did,” I said. “I’m sorry that collection turned out to be worthless.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry that Edison was taken advantage of.” She cleared her throat. “He was a prickly man, but I know he cared about Ethan and his grandchildren. What he did, buying all those bottles as an investment, that was for us.”
I thought about the meticulous details kept on every bottle I’d seen in Edison Hall’s kitchen. It didn’t seem fair that things had ended the way they did.
“We’ll do everything we can to make as much money as possible from the estate sale,” I said.
“Thank you, Sarah,” Ellie said. “I, uh, don’t want to be a charity case. I guess I’m like Ethan’s dad in that way.” The little voices in the background were getting louder.
“I understand,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I did.
We said good-bye and I hung up. Elvis had moved off the desk. Now he regarded me from his perch on the love seat.
“This whole thing bites,” I said.
He immediately craned his neck in the direction of my desk drawer.
“No, not those kinds of bites,” I said. Elvis blinked his green eyes at me and began to wash his face.
I looked around the office, hoping somehow I’d find inspiration. My old black leather phone book was on my desk. I’d had it for years, adding and crossing out phone numbers and e-mail addresses as I moved from one radio station to another in my past life, to my life here in North Harbor.
I slid the book closer, across the desk. I still knew a couple of people who worked in radio in this area. Maybe they’d be willing to help. Ellie had just said her situation wasn’t a secret, so I wouldn’t be violating her privacy.
“If I can’t catch the bad guys, maybe I can give the good guys a leg up,” I said to Elvis.
He stopped washing his sleek black fur and turned to look at me, paw paused in midair. The expression on his face seemed to say that he thought my analogy was pretty lame, which it was. I just hoped my efforts wouldn’t be.
Chapter 17
I was coming back into the house in the morning after carrying out another box of sweaters I’d felted for Jess when the doorknob was literally pulled out of my hand. I stumbled, off balance, into the entryway, almost knocking Rose over.
“Oh, there you are, dear,” she said. She was grinning a Cheshire cat grin, which I had learned was not always a good thing.
“What do you need?” I said, running a hand over my hair. It wasn’t quite raining, but a fine mist had dampened my hair on my dash to and from the SUV. I knew Elvis would grumble when it was time to leave.
“Do you have a rain jacket?” she asked, the almost smug smile turning into a frown.
“Yes,” I said. “Would you like to borrow it?” I knew Rose had a hooded yellow slicker of her own, but maybe she’d left it at the shop.
“Well, now, if I wore your jacket what would you wear?” she said, shaking her head as though I were a child. “Don’t forget your boots,” she added as she headed back to her apartment.
“I won’t,” I called after her. I might have been a grown woman who was perfectly capable or deciding whether or not I need to wear boots, but I was also smart enough to know that my morning routine would go a lot faster if I didn’t have to have a discussion about appropriate footwear with Rose before we even got to the shop.
Five minutes later we were in the SUV, Rose on the passenger side wearing her boots and slicker and Elvis on the backseat looking toward the windshield. He’d already swiped his paw over his face to dry off.
“Why were you looking for me before?” I asked Rose.
“Oh yes,” she said. “I got sidetracked by the weather. I wanted to tell you that I’ve come up with a way to find Mr. Logan.” She fastened her seat belt and gave me that smile again.
“And that way is?” I prompted.
“Are you familiar with the movie The Sting?” Rose asked. “Robert Redford and Paul Newman.”
“I know it,” I said, pulling out on to the street.
“Well, that’s what we’re going to do.”
“You’re going to invite him to play poker on a train?”
“Don’t get saucy,” she said, but she was smiling, so I knew I wasn’t really in trouble. “We’re going to set up a situation that our wine broker
won’t be able to resist.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“Shady Pines has an e-mail newsletter that they send to all the residents.”
I cleared my throat loudly.
“Oh, excuse me,” she said with a slight edge of sarcasm to her voice. “Legacy Place has an e-mail newsletter that they send to all their residents.”
“Which you aren’t anymore.”
“Well, their system doesn’t seem to understand that, which is why I know that there’s going to be another one of those money management seminars for seniors over in Rockport.”
I came to a stop at the corner and took the opportunity to look over at Rose. “When?”
“Today.”
“Today?” I exclaimed. “That doesn’t give you enough time to set up anything.”
“You seriously underestimate me,” she said.
I gave a snort of laughter. “That’s one thing I never do. Tell me your plan.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see her smug smile. “Well, basically it relies on Alfred’s innate sex appeal.”
“I see,” I said, unsure of what else to say. Mr. P. was a darling man, but sexy wasn’t an adjective I’d use to describe him.
“I know someone your age doesn’t see it,” Rose said, “but to a woman of my vintage, Alfred is a chick magnet.”
“I like Alfred,” I said, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the road. “And I’m going to take your word for it on the sex-appeal thing. Tell me the rest of your plan.”
“Alfred will go to the seminar. He’ll talk a bit about his desire to leave something to his son—and what a nice young man he is. That woman who reels in the rubes will end up hooked herself, and that will lead us to Mr. Thorne Logan.”
“And what are you going to do when you find Mr. Logan?” I asked. There was a small murp of dissatisfaction from my furry backseat driver. I flicked on the wipers to clear the mist from the windshield.
“Call Detective Andrews,” Rose said.
I shot a quick look in her direction.
“You didn’t expect I’d say that, did you?” she said tartly.
This time I did laugh. “No, I did not.”
Her expression grew serious. “We’re not stupid. If this man had anything to do with Mr. Quinn’s murder, the police should be involved.”
I reached back with my right hand and gave her arm a squeeze. “You never cease to amaze me, Rose Jackson,” I said.
I pulled in to the parking lot at the store and parked closer to the back door than I usually would in case it was raining later. The lights were on in the workroom, but there was no sign of Mac. I could smell coffee, though, which was a good sign.
“Alfred should be here in about half an hour,” Rose said, stepping out of her boots and pulling a pair of shoes out of her tote bag. “And Liz will be stopping in. We have to decide on the best look for Alfred. I don’t want him to turn it on too much. And he needs to look a little down on his luck.”
“So that’s going to be your approach?” I asked.
Rose patted her hair into place. “Hardworking father looking to leave an inheritance to his deserving son and grandchildren.”
“Alfred can pull that off,” I said. Then I remembered what she’d said in the car about Alfred’s so-called son. “We’ll have set up what a nice young man he is.” “But how exactly are you going to ‘set up’ what a nice young man his imaginary son is?”
With the perverse perfect sense of timing the universe sometimes has, Liam came strolling in carrying a mug of coffee. The ends of his hair were damp, but he hadn’t shaved. He was wearing jeans, a plaid work shirt, work boots and a big gooney grin. He held out both arms and bowed. “Alfred Peterson Junior, at your service.”
I turned and looked at Rose. “You’re kidding me, right?”
She shook her head. “No. For this to work we need the patsy to buy into Alfred’s character. We need her to see him with his hardworking son.”
Liam smirked at me and took a sip of his coffee.
“This will not work!” I said emphatically. Rose had been watching too many old movies again.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, baby sister,” Liam said. He was still grinning. He wasn’t taking this seriously enough. I was sure he wasn’t taking it seriously at all.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Liam, you have the acting skills of an iguana.” I looked at Rose. “When he was seventeen he was late getting home from a date and he told Mom and Dad that the road was blocked by an elephant.”
Liam pointed a finger at me. “That story is not as stupid as it sounds. The circus was in town. I could have been held up by an elephant.”
I shook my head, laughing too hard to speak.
Behind us someone tapped on the door. It was Mr. P. engulfed in a black-hooded raincoat. Rose turned to open the door. As she did she nudged me with her elbow. “Don’t worry, Sarah. Liam doesn’t have to say a word. All he has to do is look adorable, and he can do that in spades.”
I sighed and walked over to Liam. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No more than you,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. I reached over and took his cup from his hand, turned it around so I could drink from the other side and took a sip. Then I gave it back.
“C’mon, Sarah,” he said, wiping the edge of his mug where I’d drunk with his sleeve. “You’ve been involved in all this private detective stuff from the beginning and don’t say you haven’t, because I’ve been talking to Nick.”
“Nick’s biased,” I muttered.
Liam laughed. “When it comes to you, oh yeah. But that has nothing to do with this.” He gestured toward the door where Rose was peering into the huge duffel bag Mr. P. had brought with him. “They’re like Gram. They’re going to do this no matter what you or anyone else says. At least if I’m part of things I can hopefully keep it all from going south.”
I laughed then.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I thought that. I thought I could keep them out of trouble, on the straight and narrow as Dad would say.” I leaned against him. “It’s not going to happen, big brother.”
Liam wasn’t the least bit bothered by my words. “We’ll see,” he said. “And for the record, that elephant story would have worked if you hadn’t pointed out that the circus was an animal-free circus.”
I kissed his cheek and straightened up. “I’ll be in my office if you need me,” I said.
Elvis had disappeared who knew where. I went upstairs, dumped my things on the love seat and went for a cup of coffee. Based on the morning so far, I was going to need more than one cup.
Mac was in the tiny staff room. He reached for the largest mug on the shelf and handed it to me without saying a word. I poured a cup, added cream and sugar and took a long drink.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile.
“Easy for you to say,” I said.
“You’ve been talking to Liam.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “And Rose. You know what they have planned?”
He nodded.
I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.
“I worry about them, Mac,” I said. “This guy, Thorne Logan, he could be a killer. At best he’s most likely a con artist and Rose is trying to outcon him.”
“Which is why it won’t hurt to have your brother lurking in the background,” he said. “I would have volunteered, but compared to Alfred”—he stuck out an arm, the sleeve pushed back to expose the smooth brown skin of his forearm—“I’m a tad toasty.”
“I’m overreacting.”
Mac shook his head. “No. You care about them.”
I brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face. “Rose did say if they find
Mr. Logan she’ll call Michelle.”
“You don’t believe her.”
I shrugged. “I want to, but it’s just that Rose could do a much better job of selling an elephant blocking the road than my brother.”
Mac smiled. “I’m just going to pretend that made sense and go open up.”
Liz arrived about nine thirty and she and Rose outfitted Mr. P. in a pair of brown polyester pants with a green-and-brown-plaid shirt.
“Remember, you just want to leave something for your family,” Liz cautioned.
“Alfred knows how to get into character,” Charlotte chided gently.
Rose was nothing if not resourceful. She’d rented an old pickup from Cleveland. The trash picker’s unofficial motto was Anything for a Buck, so he’d been happy to help.
The plan was for Liam to drive the old truck and drop Mr. P. off at the seminar, making sure to be seen, if not by the mystery woman, then at least by other people.
“She might not be the only plant,” Rose said.
“Someone’s been watching late-night TV again,” Liz whispered to me.
Rose and Liz would follow in Liz’s car, staying out of sight in case there was anyone at the seminar who recognized them.
Mr. P. was fastening a small pin shaped like a beaver to the collar of his shirt. He twisted it so the beaver was standing on all fours and then turned and clicked several keys on his laptop. An image of the back wall of the porch filled the screen.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s a camera,” Rose said, reaching up to smooth down a couple of wisps of Mr. P.’s hair. “That way Liz and I will be able to see and hear what Alfred can.”
I turned to Mr. P. “Do I want to know where this came from?” I asked, thinking that I’d asked that question a lot in the last six months.
“I Spy With My Little Eye,” he said.
“I don’t think you play that game with cameras,” I said.
“What about that game with the young man with the striped shirt and glasses?” Rose asked.