Софи Райан - No Escape Claws

I folded the chair I’d been sitting on and reached for the one Rose had vacated. “Umm, why?”

“Because we need to get Mike Pearson out of jail and the best way to do that is to get the case reopened and then find the person who actually killed his wife.” She moved behind me and patted my arm. “And the police do have some resources that we don’t. We need to get everyone in the boat rowing in the same direction.” She smiled at Nick. He smiled back at both of us.

I knew this whole cooperation, let’s-hold-hands-and-sing-Kumbaya thing wasn’t going to last but it was kind of entertaining. “What would you like me to do?” I asked Rose.

“Talk to Isabel,” she said. “She went to school with Neill Halloran. See what she can tell you about the judge.”

I nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“Find a recipe for jam-jams.”

“Jam-jams?” I said. Mr. P. had folded his chair and I took it from him, taking all three back to where they’d been hanging on the far wall of the workroom.

“Yes. Melly Halloran, the judge’s mother, won a blue ribbon three years running at the state fair for those cookies.” She started for the door as though her words had explained everything.

“Hang on a minute,” I called after her. “I don’t understand what the judge’s mother’s cookies have to do with us figuring out who killed Gina Pearson.”

Rose gave the faintest of sighs and turned back around. “Melly Halloran made prizewinning cookies.”

“I get that,” I said.

Nick drained the last of his coffee and got to his feet. He grabbed his chair and the empty one beside him and looked at me. I pointed to a spot in front of where I’d hung the folding chairs. He nodded.

“So it stands to reason that Neill Halloran likes jam-jams.”

I nodded. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”

“And since he’s a widower it’s probably been a while since he’s had homemade cookies.” She sounded a bit like she was explaining to a three-year-old why it was a bad idea to eat dirt.

“Still with you,” I said, although I wasn’t sure where the conversation was going.

“So if we show up with a plate of jam-jams he’s far more likely to talk to us about why he says he saw Mike Pearson after the fire started when we know he couldn’t have.”

“Got it,” I said.

Mr. P. was already on his way to the sunporch.

Charlotte gestured toward the shop. “I’ll go open up,” she said.

I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Have a good day,” she said to Nick.

He smiled and raised one hand. “You, too, Mom.” He dipped his head as he moved past me. “You have a good day, too, Jam-Jam,” he said with a grin.

Liz was still standing by the table. She walked around the end of it and came over to me. “Could you stop by this evening?” she asked. “I mean, if you don’t have plans.” She gave me a guileless look.

“I don’t,” I said, ignoring that little comment about my dating life—or lack thereof. “What’s up?”

“Michelle will be back soon and there are a couple of things I need to talk to you about before that happens.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Liz glanced at her phone and then tucked it back in her purse. She looked up to see that I was still looking at her. “What?” she said. “Do I have spinach from one of Avery’s drink-this-and-you’ll-live-forever smoothies?” She shuddered.

“No,” I said, linking my arms through hers and starting for the door. “I was just thinking that you’re a good person. You didn’t have to help Michelle try to clear her father’s name.”

“Yes, I did,” Liz said, her expression serious. “When I first found out what Michelle was doing I was convinced she was wrong. Now it’s beginning to look like there’s a good possibility that I was wrong about Rob Andrews’s guilt and I need to know the truth just as much as Michelle does.”

I gave her arm a squeeze before letting go. “We’ll figure it out,” I said.

Liz opened her umbrella and we stepped outside in time to see Nick pulling out of the lot. Liz watched him go with a bemused expression on her face. “I never thought I’d see the day when Nicolas and Rose would be working together,” she said. “Talk about strange bedfellows.”

“I’m kind of afraid it’s not going to last,” I admitted.

Liz gave a snort of derision. “Of course it’s not going to last. The whole thing is going to explode like a bowl of pudding in a microwave.” She shrugged. “So we take our fun where we can get it.” She headed for her car. “See you tonight,” she called over her shoulder.

It turned out to be a busier day than I expected. A bus full of concertgoers on the way to Boston to see James Taylor stopped in. I sold two guitars, all but one of Michelle’s pillows and all of Avery’s map pails. And our collection of old vinyl records was seriously decimated.

Rose had gone home to work on her cookies when Avery arrived for her shift. Mr. P. had stayed behind to do more digging into Gina Pearson so he drove home with Elvis and me.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Gina Pearson was in rehab three times in two years. Between the first and second trips she was in an accident that seriously injured a teenage girl.”

I exhaled loudly. “That’s bad.” I shot Mr. P. a quick glance. “Did she do any jail time?”

He shook his head. “No. She received a suspended sentence, community service and a court-mandated return visit to rehab.”

“Which I’m guessing didn’t work.” I stopped at the corner and looked both ways before turning.

“Sadly, it didn’t,” he said.

“What happened to the teenager she hit?” I asked.

“She’s doing well now. But it hasn’t been easy. Her name is Hannah Allison. She was only fifteen at the time of the accident. According to what Elizabeth learned the doctors thought they might have to amputate part of her leg.”

I grimaced at the thought.

“It seems she’s a big Patriots fan,” Mr. P. continued. “A couple of the players went to see her when she was a patient at Boston’s Children’s Hospital and they stayed in touch. That kept her story in the news.”

“I’m surprised Gina didn’t get any jail time.”

“I think it helped that a former judge spoke on her behalf.”

“Not Judge Halloran?” I shot him a quick look.

He nodded. “One and the same, my dear.”

“So the judge speaks up in Gina’s defense and later is the same person who ties her husband to her death,” I said. “That’s an awfully big coincidence.” I slowed down to let the car in front of me make a left turn. From the corner of my eye I saw a hint of a smile on Mr. P.’s face.

“You know how Rosie feels about coincidences,” he said.

I couldn’t help smiling, too. “The same way she feels about fat-free brownies. She doesn’t care for either one of them.”

I pulled into the driveway. “I need to talk to Gram about the judge as soon as I can,” I said.

“That could be very helpful,” Mr. P. said, reaching for his messenger bag, which was at his feet.

“Maybe we can figure out what really happened to Gina Pearson,” I said as we headed for the door.

“I have no doubt about that,” Alfred said. “You have a lovely evening.” He patted my arm and started for Rose’s apartment.

It wasn’t until I was inside my own place that I realized I’d said “we.” Maybe we can figure out what really happened .

I was part of the investigation no matter what I said, no matter how much I said I didn’t want to be. Like Nick, I was part of the team.

After supper Elvis headed for the bedroom. The cat was a Jeopardy! junkie, another holdover, I surmised, from his previous life. Monday through Friday the cat faithfully watched the game show. Somehow he seemed to know it was just a weekday thing.