Софи Райан - No Escape Claws

I changed, took off my makeup and pulled my hair back in a loose knot. Elvis stretched, did a quick walk-through of the apartment and washed his face. We were ready at the same time.

Gram was just coming down the stairs as I was locking my door. “Perfect timing,” I said.

She smiled. “The key to a happy life.” She was carrying a small cookie tin and a book.

“John told me what you and Liz are doing,” she said. “I’m proud of both of you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But we really haven’t done anything yet.”

“It was horrible for Rob Andrews’s family when he went to prison. Nothing will change that but if you could clear his name maybe that would help a little.”

I thought about Michelle and her unwavering belief in her dad’s innocence. “I hope so,” I said.

When we got to Charlotte’s house we found her in the living room with Mallory Pearson.

“Mallory brought me a journal Gina started keeping while she was in rehab,” Charlotte said after she’d introduced the teen to Gram. She indicated a small leather-covered book on the coffee table. The cover was singed.

“We found it after the fire,” Mallory said. “I thought it might help. It was probably a stupid idea.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Gram said. “That journal will give Charlotte some insight into how your mother thought. That can be very helpful.”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, it can.”

“I tried to read it but I couldn’t. She wrote about how things were going to get better but they didn’t. Not really.” She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands.

Elvis jumped up onto the sofa beside her. I moved to get him down, but Charlotte shook her head. The cat nudged Mallory’s hand and she began to stroke his fur.

“It was a lot worse for my brothers,” she said. “The only happy day we had in the year before the fire was one day in the fall when Dad took us to a Patriots game in Foxboro.” A smile pulled at her mouth. “She didn’t drink. Not that whole day. She bought Austin this stuffed bear in a Patriots jersey he slept with every night. Greg got a Patriots hat that he never took off. Gina was always ragging on him for wearing it in the house.” She looked away from us. “He hasn’t worn the hat since . . . and Austin stopped sleeping with the bear because it was in the house at the time of the fire and he kept saying it smelled funny even though Katy washed it three times.”

I thought about what Rose and I had talked about earlier. “Mallory, how were things between you and your stepmother?”

She shrugged. “Not good.”

Elvis had settled himself on her lap.

“We were fighting all the time. Mostly about her drinking, but about other things, too, like school and my clothes and what time I got home.”

She went very still then except for the hand stroking Elvis’s fur. “You don’t think I had something to do with what happened, do you? I swear I would never have burned down our house.”

I couldn’t help it. I glanced at the cat. He was blissfully settled in her lap. Mallory Pearson was telling the truth.

I had no explanation for it, but Elvis could tell when someone was lying if they happened to be petting him at the same time. His ears would flatten and he’d look at the person with half-lidded eyes, pupils narrowed, the picture of skepticism. Mac seemed to think the cat could sense the same kind of physiological changes that a polygraph measured. I had no idea whether he was right. I’d just seen Elvis do it enough times to know it wasn’t a coincidence.

“No, no,” I said. “None of us think you had anything to do with what happened. It’s just the more we learn about Gina the better chance we have of figuring out what really happened.”

It was a pretty lame explanation but luckily she didn’t question it.

Mallory looked at Charlotte once more. “Please don’t give up. You have to prove that it wasn’t Dad’s fault. I’m okay, but . . . but Greg and Austin need him.”

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through to a photo Mr. P. had found online of Gavin Pace. “Mallory, do you remember seeing this man anywhere in your neighborhood any time before the fire?” I asked, holding out the phone to her.

She studied the image. “He looks familiar, but I don’t remember seeing him anywhere in our neighborhood. Who is he? Do you think he’s the person Mr. Halloran saw?”

Charlotte put a hand on her arm. “He’s just someone who worked with Gina. We’re trying to track down her friends.”

Mallory picked at the hem of her Hey Violet T-shirt. “She pretty much didn’t have any friends left at the end. Except Katy. They’d been friends forever.” She looked at Charlotte. “Have you talked to her? Do you want me to call her or something?”

“We’ve already talked to her,” Charlotte said.

“She asked you to stop trying to help my dad.” The words weren’t a question.

Charlotte looked at me.

“I think Katy really cares about you and your brothers,” I said.

Mallory sighed. “I know she does. She stuck by . . . Gina when all her other friends walked away. And she even said if my grandmother really does want to move back to Washington we could move in with her.”

I waited for the “but” I knew was coming.

“But Katy tries to act like she’s our mother sometimes and there’s no way she could ever be that. Greg and I are having lunch with her on Thursday and she’ll probably start bugging us about this. She keeps saying we need to heal.” She put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “We can’t heal without Dad.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Charlotte said.

I nodded. I wished I knew how we were going to do that.

Chapter 13

Mac called about eight thirty that evening. I told him about the visit with Gavin Pace and the conversation with Mallory. “I’ve gotten sucked into this way more than any other case the Angels have taken on,” I said.

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he said.

“We’re not any closer to figuring out what happened the night of the fire. What if we can’t? What if Mike Pearson spends the next four and a half years in jail?” I slumped in the corner of the sofa. “The problem is we’re trying to prove a negative.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Judge Halloran says he saw Mike walking away from the burning house. How do we prove the judge is wrong?”

“Where was he?”

“The judge? On his front steps, as far as I know.”

“No, not him,” Mac said. “Where exactly was Mike Pearson? If he wasn’t at the fire, where was he? He had to be somewhere. Wherever that is, maybe someone saw him.”

I blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before now.” I pictured Mac smiling.

“You would have gotten there eventually.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think we’ve all gotten a little too invested in this case. It started out that we were just looking for a way to get Mike out of jail and then suddenly we were investigating a murder that no one else is willing to say was a murder. No wonder we can’t seem to find any answers.”

“Hey, you’re on the team with Rose Jackson and Alfred Peterson,” Mac said. “They might know what the word ‘can’t’ means, but most of the time they just ignore it.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I wish you’d been here to see Rose with the electrician Liam sent.”

“Let me guess: He told her she couldn’t have something the way she wanted it done—”

“Wall sconces,” I said.

“And Rose just kept going like the poor guy hadn’t said anything.”

“With just a pinch of befuddled little old lady thrown in.”

He laughed. “So how do the wall sconces look?” he asked.