Софи Райан - No Escape Claws

She nodded but I wasn’t sure I’d convinced her. “I told you that I was out for a run that night,” she said.

I nodded. “I remember.”

“That night and all the other times I was supposed to be training, I was really just running as far as the lookout and then just sitting there on a bench and crying.” Her mouth twisted to one side. “How dumb is that?”

I put a hand on her arm and this time she didn’t flinch. “It’s not dumb. I can’t even imagine what it was like for you when your daughter was hurt. I think that now it’s okay if you take care of yourself. You don’t need to hold up everyone’s world.”

Jia gave me a small smile. “That’s what it feels like some days. Like I’m holding up the world.”

“Promise me when you get home you’ll talk to your husband?”

It took a moment but then she nodded. “Okay.”

“And I’m going to call you if that’s okay?” I said.

The smile got a tiny bit bigger. “It’s okay.”

We ran the rest of the loop, albeit at a much slower pace.

“That’s my house, right there.” She pointed at a gray saltbox with a fire-engine-red front door. She glanced down at her feet for a moment then looked up at me. “Thanks for listening.”

“Hey, anytime,” I said. “Maybe we could go for a run sometime.”

“I’d like that,” she said. She took a couple of steps toward the house and then stopped, looking back over her shoulder. “You’re going to watch me until I get to the door, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I am. And I am going to call you.” I shrugged. “I spend a lot of time with a bunch of nosy, bossy, opinionated—wonderful—seniors. You met two of them the other day. I’ve picked up some of their behaviors.”

Jia smiled. “I’ll talk to you soon then,” she said. She headed down the sidewalk, stopping to raise one hand before she opened the red door and went inside. I turned then and headed home.

When I got there, Liz was just getting out of her car parked at the curb.

“Hi, what are you doing here?” I said.

“I came to talk to John, to see if there’s anything else he remembers about those projects that never happened.” She eyed my running gear. “Did you talk to the Allison woman?”

“I did,” I said, pulling the elastic out of my hair.

“It’s not her, is it?”

We headed up the walkway. “I don’t think so. She did see Gina the day of the fire. And she’s carrying a lot of guilt because she just walked away from her. I just don’t think she would have admitted that if she’d killed Gina.”

She patted my arm. “Chin up, kiddo,” she said. “We’ll figure this out.”

I held the door and then followed her inside. “Did you call Marie’s son?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Liz said. “He’s overnighting a box of papers and things from his mother’s desk that she’d had in storage.”

“Maybe we’ll find some answers somewhere in those papers,” I said.

“Channing says the key to figuring out who set up Rob Andrews is to figure out who benefitted.”

I opened my mouth but before I could say anything her index finger was in my face. “Think carefully before you speak,” Liz warned.

I gave her my best guileless look. “I was just going to say that I think Channing is right. He’s pretty savvy when it comes to financial issues.”

I unlocked my apartment door. “And hot babes!” I added. I wiggled my eyebrows at her then ducked inside.

“You better hide, missy,” Liz said from the other side.

I leaned against the door, laughing. I wasn’t going to stop teasing her about Channing Caulfield. It was way too much fun. On the other hand I did make sure my door was locked. Liz wasn’t above sneaking in while I slept and pouring a bucket of water over my head.

I kicked off my shoes and headed for the shower. Was Channing right? I wondered. If we could figure out who benefitted would we have the person who set up Michelle’s father?

As I ran the water in the shower it occurred to me that maybe the same reasoning could be applied to Gina Pearson’s death. The only problem was I couldn’t think of anyone who had benefitted from her death.

Chapter 18

Liz called me late Thursday morning. “Could you take an early lunch?” she asked. “FedEx just delivered the box of Marie’s things.”

I looked at my watch. “Give me about twenty minutes,” I said.

I headed downstairs. Rose was at the cash desk just ringing up a customer. I waited until she finished. The customer smiled as she passed me.

“Rose, what did that woman buy?” I asked. “She’s not carrying anything.”

Rose had a self-satisfied smile on her face. “The last bedroom set from Clayton McNamara’s house.”

“But we don’t even have it set up,” I said, looking around the room. The heavy, ornate black walnut bedroom set with a headboard and footboard, a chest of drawers and a mirrored dresser would have taken up a lot of space in the shop and I’d been debating how best to show it off.

“I took her out to the old garage so she could see the pieces. She’s coming back with a truck.”

I grinned at her. “Rose Jackson, is there anything you can’t sell?”

“Lima beans in a casserole,” she said. “And I can’t take credit for selling that bedroom set. The woman came in here looking specifically for something just like it.”

“Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you,” I said.

“I wonder who came up with that saying,” she said, her expression thoughtful. “I can’t actually imagine ever eating a bear, can you?”

I loved the way Rose’s mind worked. “I’d rather eat the lima beans,” I said.

She nodded in agreement.

“I need to go out for a little while,” I said. “Can you handle everything?”

She smiled. “Of course I can, dear. Avery will be here soon and Charlotte is coming after lunch. And if it gets busy Alfred can help. Go.”

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” I said.

The box was sitting on the coffee table in Liz’s living room. She hadn’t even peeled off the tape sealing the top.

“I swear if there are no answers in this box of papers I’m going to hire Alfred to go through every file the foundation has until he finds something,” Liz said.

“Not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” I said.

I picked up the scissors lying on the table next to the box and slit the packing tape. Inside we found a pile of file folders, each one held together with a couple of heavy binder clips. I took the top folder out and handed it to Liz. I took the next one, unfastening the clips.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the pages being turned. Finally I looked up at Liz. “Am I wrong or are these more minutes from those board meetings?”

“You’re not wrong,” she said. “Except I think what we have is the real minutes from those board meetings.” She turned the page she was holding around so I could see it. “Right there,” she said, pointing with one finger. “See that?”

I squinted at the paper and then looked at her. “I don’t see anything. None of those projects are listed.”

Liz nodded. “I know. That’s my point.”

She took the rest of the files out of the box. Something in the fourth one caught her attention. “Sarah, look at this,” she said.

It was a page of notes and numbers in neat, boxy handwriting. Marie Heard’s? I wondered.

“That’s an allocation of money for one of those projects.” I read a little further. “What does viability next to the amount mean?”

“It means the idea was one step before the development stage. In other words, was it a viable project?”