Софи Райан - No Escape Claws

“Probably because you and Mac are usually the ones who put things away so you know where it all is.”

She was right. The garage work space was more Mac’s domain than mine, and more than once in the last month I’d found myself out there searching for something he would have been able to put his hands on in less than a minute.

“So it’s really okay for Greg to stop by?” Avery said.

I looked at her, more than a little confused. “Like I said, it’s fine.”

She was looking at me as if I was as dense as a bag of sand. Then I got it. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Your friend Greg? Do you mean Greg Pearson?”

Avery nodded. “Yeah. Took you long enough.” She pushed the bin across the floor to me.

“Are you two really working on a project?” I asked. I gestured at the small stepladder she’d been using and she went back to put it away.

“Yes,” she said over her shoulder.

“How did that happen?”

“I knocked my stuff off my desk.”

She seemed to think that was enough of an explanation.

“And?” I prompted.

“And by the time I’d picked everything up most of my friends had found partners. So I ended up with Greg.” She shrugged. “Easy-peasy.”

I had to swallow down a smile because she suddenly reminded me so much of Rose.

“And you know what the cool thing is?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

She hung the ladder on its hook and walked back over to me. “I like working with him. He’s smart and he has good ideas and he doesn’t dump all the work on me.”

I did smile then. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“He should be here about four thirty or so. He doesn’t drive so he has to wait for his grandmother to bring him.”

“A teenage guy who doesn’t drive? That’s an anomaly.” Avery drove Liz’s car every chance she got.

I grabbed one end of the bin and Avery picked up the other. It was heavy.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I think he was doing driving lessons when his mom . . . died. I figured maybe they couldn’t afford them anymore and he was too embarrassed to say.”

Mr. P. had already learned that the insurance company had refused to pay out on both the Pearsons’ fire insurance and Gina’s life insurance policy. Maybe if we could prove that someone had murdered her that would change.

Greg Pearson showed up just a couple of minutes after four thirty. He gave me a shy smile when Avery introduced me as her boss, but he looked me in the eye and thanked me for letting them look through the maps. Someone had taught him good manners.

He was tall and lanky in that way that teenage boys often are. He had the same brown eyes as his sister and the same guarded look in them. His hair was dark instead of blond, but he looked very much like Mallory, which meant they both took after their father. He wore khakis, a blue and red flannel shirt over a gray T-shirt and black Chuck Taylor’s.

“Did I get here too early?” Greg said to Avery.

“No,” I said. I smiled at Avery. “You can go take a look at those maps right now. I can help Charlotte.”

“Okay,” Avery said. “If you need me, yell or something.”

I’d made a point of staying away from the sunporch ever since Liam and Nick came back from lunch—my resolve made easier by the blue plastic tarp they’d hung over the door. But now I wanted to see how much work they’d gotten done and I wanted to tackle Nick about his conversation with Rose the day before.

I poked my head around the side of the tarp. “Can I come in?” I asked.

“As long as you don’t mind the mess,” Liam said. A pair of safety goggles was pushed up on the top of his head and a dust mask hung below his chin. All four windows facing the parking lot had been replaced and he was screwing what looked to be the last piece of drywall to the studs.

“What do you think?” Nick asked. He was still wearing his safety glasses and there were bits of wood and drywall dust in his sandy hair. He’d pushed his own mask down off his face, too.

“I think it looks terrific,” I said with a grin. “I can’t believe you got so much done in just one day.”

Liam grinned back. “It made a big difference having John here to help when we were taking out the old windows. And Nick’s an okay assistant.”

Nick held out one hand and waggled his fingers from side to side. “Your brother’s an okay boss,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s good to know that the two of you have been striving for okay-ness.”

Liam set the drill on the floor and straightened up. Nick reached for the broom that was leaning in the far corner of the room and began sweeping up the debris and dust on the floor. Liam picked his way over to me and draped one arm over my shoulder. “The plan for tomorrow is to pull down all the remaining drywall, insulate behind it and put up new stuff. I know an electrician who’s coming to add a couple of outlets and install the lights. After that, it’s just a matter of taping, mudding, sanding, trim and paint.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

Liam shook his head. “Once the drywall is up, the worst is over, as far as I’m concerned. He frowned. “Is Alfred around? I need to find out when the trim is getting dropped off.”

“He was helping Charlotte change the filter in the vacuum,” I said.

“I’m just going to go talk to him,” Liam said. “I’ll be right back.” He pushed the tarp aside and disappeared into the workroom.

Nick had just about swept his way over to me. “Thank you for helping Liam with all of this,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he said, looking around for something to pick up all the bits he’d collected.

There was a rectangle of brown cardboard—it looked like the top flap from a box—leaning against the wall where normally Mr. P.’s desk sat. I grabbed it. I knew it was Liam’s version of a dustpan. I’d also seen him use the newspaper and the top of an egg carton for the task, much to Mom’s annoyance.

“Here,” I said to Nick, holding the cardboard so he could sweep everything onto it. The cardboard made a pretty good dustpan. I dumped everything into a black garbage bag without spilling anything back on the floor.

“Seriously,” I said, turning back to Nick. “I appreciate this. I owe you.”

He grinned and nodded. “I know.”

I folded my arms over my chest and eyed him. “Am I going to regret that?”

“There’s a pretty good chance of that,” he said, still grinning.

I bent down and picked up a drywall screw from the floor. Liam and I hadn’t talked about floor covering, I realized.

“I need to ask you something,” I said to Nick.

He was eyeing the back wall, lips silently moving, probably doing more drywall calculations in his head. “About the room or about the case?”

“The case.” That got me all of his attention.

“Problem?”

I shrugged. “That depends. What were you showing Rose yesterday?”

“I thought everyone agreed that was something you didn’t want to know.”

“Rose said that and in the moment I agreed, but now I’m not so sure I should have.”

His mouth twisted to one side, but he didn’t say anything.

“C’mon, Nick,” I said. “I thought we were on the same team.”

He let out a breath. “We are.” Another momentary silence. “Fine. I uh . . . I know the officer who investigated that car accident Gina Pearson had. It was in Rockport. He let me take a quick look at his report. I can’t show it to anyone else.”

There was a “but” coming. I waited.

“But he let me have a look at his rough notes. He has stacks of those six-by-nine memo pads, in boxes in his basement, every one with a black cover. New case, new notepad. I showed the notes to Rose. I thought maybe there might be someone—a coach, a teacher, another parent—who might be a viable suspect.”