Софи Райан - No Escape Claws

“Good, actually.”

“Sarah, do you remember what you said to me when the Angels’ case involved my life, my future? You said, ‘We have a secret weapon. We have Rose. She’s a pit bull with sensible shoes and a tote bag full of cookies . ’ ”

At the time I’d been trying to lighten the mood, but part of me had also been serious. Rose, Mr. P., Liz and Charlotte and their unorthodox methods of solving crime had worked in the past and deep inside I’d wanted to believe they could solve Mac’s case, too.

I could hear a sound on the other end of the phone. “Are you clapping?” I asked.

“Yes, I am,” Mac said. “I believe in you. I believe in Rose. I believe in the Angels. So I’m clapping.”

He was referencing Peter Pan , I realized.

“You clap if you believe in fairies, not angels.”

“Close enough.”

“This is silly,” I said.

“I’ve got all night and a cup of coffee at my elbow.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Mac always did that to me. I held up a hand in a gesture of surrender even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay, okay. I get your point.”

“Good,” he said. “It’ll work out. I mean it.”

I really hoped he was right.

After Mac and I said good night, I called Nick. “Hey, Sarah, what’s up?” he said. I could hear voices, noise in the background.

“I have a question,” I said. “You’ve read pretty much all the reports on Mike Pearson’s case, right?”

“Yeah, I have.”

“If it wasn’t Mike who Judge Halloran saw, where was he? Rose said he told the police he was just driving around. But where? Maybe someone saw him or maybe a security camera picked him up.”

Nick was quiet for a moment then he said, “That’s a good question. Let me see what I can find out tomorrow.”

I thanked him and said good night.

I woke up the next morning feeling a lot more positive. Talking to Mac—even though it was over the phone and not in person—had helped, and I had my fingers crossed that Nick might come up with some piece of information to help prove where Mike had really been the night of the fire.

Rose and Mr. P. had spent their evening looking for a connection with one of the Pearsons’ former neighbors and I knew from the gleam in his eye and the smile on her face that they’d had success.

Rose explained the connection as we drove to work. As far as I could follow things, it seemed to involve someone she’d known at Legacy Place who’d had a failed romance with a bit of a senior lothario, whose son’s former girlfriend had and still did live on the street. There was also something about a tuna casserole and the request for risqué photos, which had led to the throwing of said casserole. Rose had made a clucking sound and said, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

The upshot was they were going to talk to the former girlfriend and see if she’d seen Gavin Pace—or anyone else—in the neighborhood around the time of the fire.

“I talked to Molly Pace,” Mr. P. said.

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“The word she used to describe her ex-husband was ‘useless.’”

“That’s harsh.”

“I agree,” he said. “Although given the circumstances you can see why she might say something like that. Overall, she seems to think he’s a bit of a spoiled mama’s boy who tends to take the easy way out of things.”

“It wasn’t him,” Rose said.

I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You sound pretty certain.”

“I am,” she said.

“How would killing Gina and setting that house on fire be taking the easy way out for Mr. Pace? What did he gain? Nothing. I think this is more about anger, revenge. That’s not Gavin Pace’s MO. I told you: weak chin.”

I nodded. Having met Pace I tended to agree with her but since we didn’t have a lot of suspects I wasn’t ruling him out just yet.

Late morning I headed down to The Black Bear to see Sam. Once again I had a guitar I needed his opinion on.

As I cut through the restaurant I saw Liz having an early lunch with her brother, Wilson. Wilson Emmerson had what Gram would call a lived-in face. There were lines bracketing his mouth and pulling at the corners of his piercing blue eyes, which were topped with bushy white eyebrows. Even when he was smiling he looked a little stern. Now he looked downright angry, gesturing across the table at Liz with his fork. I wondered if they were talking about the “book project.”

Sam was waiting for me in his office. It only took him a moment to tune the guitar. He played a couple of songs, his dollar store reading glasses low on his nose, and I watched his fingers fly over the strings.

Finally he looked up at me. “Very nice,” he said. “Where did it come from? There’s really no wear on the body.”

“An indulgent rock-and-roll grandmother and a grandson who decided he liked the clarinet better. There are no clarinets in rock-and-roll.”

Sam took off his glasses. “‘When I’m 64’ by the Beatles, ‘Dance to the Music,’ Sly and the Family Stone, Van Halen, ‘Big Bad Bill.’”

“Okay, so there aren’t a lot of clarinets in rock-and-roll,” I said.

He smiled. “How much are you going to ask for it?”

The handmade Bourgeois Slope D steel string had a sitka spruce top and sides and a neck and back made from mahogany. The fingerboard and bridge were ebony. And just a few chords showed off its beautiful tone. I told him my price.

“That’s fair,” he said. “I’ll take it.”

“Are you serious?” I said.

He ran a hand over the top of the guitar. “Absolutely, kiddo. I’ve always wanted one of these guitars. And I’m not getting any younger.”

I smiled, wondering if I could sneak in a 15 percent discount because it was Sam.

“And don’t even think of trying to give me some kind of friends and family discount,” he said as though he’d read my mind.

I tried to make a case for one as a way of thanking him for all the guitars he’d looked at for me since I’d opened Second Chance but Sam wasn’t having any of it. He could rival Rose for stubbornness. In the end I gave in and took his check after getting him to promise he’d play the guitar at the next jam.

When I came out of Sam’s office Liz was alone. She caught sight of me and waved me over to her table.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

I inclined my head in the direction of Sam’s office. “I brought a guitar over for Sam’s opinion.”

Liz looked at my empty hands. “And?”

“And he bought it.”

“Good for him,” she said. “Did you get him to let you give him the friends and family deal?”

“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s as stubborn as Rose.”

“Or my brother,” Liz said darkly.

“I saw Wilson with you when I came in. It looked like the two of you were having a disagreement.”

“I was trying to find out more about those projects mentioned in those old minutes but I can’t get him to take any of this seriously. He thinks our book idea is a vanity project and he’s not taking it seriously.” A waiter started in our direction and she waved him away with one hand.

“What if you told him the truth?” I said.

Liz was shaking her head before I got the words out. “I already told you. No. Too many people know what’s going on as it is.”

“We can’t keep everything secret forever.”

“We can for now,” she said. She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “The problem is Wilson thinks he’s the crown prince because that’s how our mother treated him, like the sun rose and set on his lily-white backside.” She looked at me. “We’ll just have to do this without his help.”