Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

Don’t laugh, I told myself sternly as I turned to look at him. Up close his hairpiece was even more . . . alarming than it had been at a distance.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

For many years Liz had run the Emmerson Foundation, a charitable organization started by her family, and she was still active on the board of directors.

“Yes,” Rose said, unzipping her jacket. “They have a new offer from the developers for those buildings the foundation holds the mortgages on down on the waterfront and they need to discuss if they’re going to accept it or not.”

“That’s good news,” I said. Over the winter, there had been a development proposal for a section of the downtown waterfront. The deal had fallen apart after the death of Lily Carter, who had lobbied against the plan, but now a new group was floating a similar idea for retail units, a small hotel and some residential space built in an environmentally responsible manner. The first step was to secure all the property they needed.

Mr. P. nodded, which made his “hair” bounce gently on his head. “It is, but it means Liz won’t be available to interview Edison Hall’s neighbors with us.”

“I know Ethan thinks Mr. Quinn’s death is connected somehow to his father’s wine collection, but we can’t afford to get tunnel vision at this point in the investigation,” Rose said.

“I agree,” I said.

She turned to Mr. P. “Alfred, show Sarah your suit.”

“Ah yes,” Mr. P. said, unbuttoning the jacket he was wearing. “Rosie and I are having a bit of a disagreement about my tie. I’d like a second opinion.”

“Um, all right,” I said, wondering what was wrong with the offending piece of clothing.

Alfred’s suit was dark gray with a fine blue check. His shirt was pale blue and the tie they were disagreeing about was a conservative blue stripe.

“What do you think, Sarah?” he said, tipping his head to one side, which made the hair slip a bit to the left as well.

I kept my gaze locked on his face. “I think it’s fine,” I said. I turned to Rose. “What’s wrong with Alfred’s tie?”

“Well,” she sighed softly. “It’s a little . . .” She hesitated.

“The word Rosie is trying not to say is dull,” Mr. P. said.

“I just think Alfred should wear a tie that goes with his personality, something that has a little flare like he does.”

They both looked at me.

Great. How was I going to get out of this without hurting someone’s feelings?

I took a deep breath and hoped for the best. “Rose, I see your point,” I said. “With the tie that Alfred has chosen, we don’t get a hint of the more playful side of his personality.”

She beamed at me.

I held up a hand.

“However.” I made a point of clearly enunciating the word. “You haven’t considered that perhaps today he wants to showcase his serious side.”

Mr. P. gave me a small smile. “Exactly, my dear.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” Rose said, her expression thoughtful.

He reached over and patted her arm. “I’ll go up and make the tea for you.”

“That would be lovely,” she said. She handed him the oversize tote. “The oatmeal cookies are in the blue tin.”

Alfred took the bag and headed for the shop. Once the door had closed behind him, Rose turned to look at me. “I suppose you think that thing on his head looks fine, too?”

“No comment,” I said, doing my best to stifle a smile and pretty much failing.

“When I went to the door to let him in this morning, I was afraid for a moment that I’d had a stroke,” she said. “My next thought was that a bird’s nest had fallen on his head on the walk over.”

A bubble of laughter escaped. “I’m sorry, Rose,” I said. “It’s just that I never thought Alfred was the type of person who felt the need for extra hair.” I struggled to get the urge to keep laughing under control. “It’s not that I think a hairpiece is a bad idea. I just didn’t think being bald bothered him.”

Rose played with the zipper pull on her jacket. “As far as I know, it doesn’t. He’s just gotten this idea that he should look a little younger, for professional reasons.”

I rubbed the space between my eyes, trying to come up with something helpful to say. “Did you point out that in the investigation business being older equates with wisdom and experience?”

Rose’s eyes lit up. “That’s so true. Would you tell Alfred that, please? We already quarreled about his tie. I don’t want him to think I’m criticizing all his choices.”

I blew out a breath. “I’ll tell him,” I said.

She reached up and patted my cheek. “I don’t know what we’d do without you,” she said. She pointed back over her shoulder in the direction of the old sunporch. “I’ll be in the office.”

“I’ll tell Mr. P.,” I said.

Out front Charlotte was showing a customer a china tea set and Mac was lifting an upholstered slipper chair out of the front window.

I walked over to him. “Is Mr. P. upstairs?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

He set the chair down on the floor between us. “He’s making Rose’s tea and another pot of coffee.”

I leaned over and brushed a bit of lint off the back of the chair. “Where did that hair come from?”

Mac gave me a half smile. “I’m not clear on all the details, but late-night TV and a credit card were involved. Be glad he didn’t order something called the Blond Bombshell.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I said.

“Sorry.”

I shook my head. “Somehow Rose roped me into talking to him about it.”

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess he doesn’t want to look old. I don’t want him going out looking foolish instead.”

Mac reached for the vintage teddy bear that had been sitting on the chair when it was in the window and set it back in place. “Did you know they’re planning on walking over to Edison Hall’s neighborhood to talk to people?”

I shook my head. “I knew they were going. I didn’t know they were planning on walking.”

Mac looked at me without speaking.

“No,” I said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m not driving them. I said I wouldn’t try to stop them from being detectives if that’s what they want to do. But . . .” I held up both hands. “But I’m not getting involved. Not this time.”

“Okay,” Mac said.

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you.”

We just stood there for a moment. I gestured in the general direction of the stairs. “So I’m just going to go now,” I said.

“I’ll just put this chair over there,” Mac said.

I found Mr. P. in the small staff room on the second floor. “I made a fresh pot of coffee, Sarah,” he said. “Would you like a cup?”

“Please,” I said. I was stalling. Alfred was a good man, despite his propensity for hacking into other people’s computer systems. He adored Rose. How could I tell him his hairpiece looked like a piece of shag carpeting from the nineteen seventies?

I took the mug he held out to me and added cream and sugar.

“Thank you for getting Rosie on my side over my tie,” he said, reaching for a cup on the shelf over the counter. “Could I trouble you for your opinion on something else?”

“Of course,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. I was all for stalling a little while longer.

His chin came up. “What do you think of my new hair?”

So much for stalling.

“What made you decide to . . . invest in some new hair?” I asked. The lame question made me cringe, but Mr. P. didn’t seem to notice.

“Rosie and Elizabeth and Charlotte put a lot of faith in me when they made me the de facto head of Charlotte’s Angels,” he said. “I don’t want to let them down. I didn’t want anyone to think I’m too old for the job.”