Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

That was a pretty big age spread, but all Mr. P. did was nod. “Did you see his face?”

“For a moment as he walked past me,” Teresa said. Her eyes darted from side to side as though she was trying to pull something out of her memory.

Mr. P. looked from Rose to me and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. I took it to mean he wanted us to stay out of the conversation for now.

“What color hair did the man have?” he asked Teresa. At the same time I saw him reach behind himself with one hand and give Avery’s arm a squeeze. She’d been so quiet I forgot that she was still polishing the tea service. She raised her head, looked around and then pulled her earbuds out of her ears.

I had no idea what Alfred was up to, but apparently Avery did. She sat still as a statue for a minute or so, then reached for a pad of paper Mac kept on the bench and pulled a pencil stub out of her pocket. Without saying a word, she bent her head over the paper. It seemed obvious that she was drawing something, but I didn’t know what and with Avery’s body hunched over the pad, I couldn’t tell. Was she trying to draw the man Mr. P. was slowly getting Teresa to describe? If that was what he was up to, it was way too much of a stretch.

I was wrong, of course.

Teresa finished describing the man and Avery looked up from the paper maybe thirty seconds later. She slipped off her stool, walked over to Teresa and held out her work. “Is this the man you saw?” she asked.

“Yes,” Teresa said, looking from Avery to Mr. P. “That’s him.”

Avery turned the notepad around so we could all see it. My first thought was, why hadn’t I known that Avery could draw so well? My second was that the face she’d sketched looked very familiar.

“Rose, why do I know that face?” I asked, scanning my own memory trying to pull out a context for the familiarity.

Mr. P. was also looking at Rose. “It is, isn’t it, Rosie?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

Frowning, Avery tipped her head to one side and studied her own work. After a moment her frown turned into a grin. “Holy crap,” she said. “It’s that guy that keeps hitting on Nonna, isn’t it?”

“What guy that keeps hitting on Liz?” I asked, totally confused.

“Channing Caulfield,” Rose said. “The former manager of the North Harbor Trust Company.”

Chapter 7

Mr. P. took his cell phone out of his pocket. After a moment he nodded at the screen and held out the phone to me so I could see the photo he’d found. “That’s Channing Caulfield,” he said.

Rose leaned over for a look and nodded.

The photo was of a man in his late sixties or early seventies. It looked like the kind of picture businesses take of their senior staff—a head-and-shoulders shot of a smiling man posed in front of a blue-gray background. The resemblance between the photo and Avery’s drawing was strong.

I took the phone from Mr. P. and showed the picture to Teresa. “That’s him,” she said.

“After you got in your van, what did you do?” Rose asked. Elvis had wandered in. He jumped onto the bench and walked down to us, stopping next to Teresa.

“I went home,” she said, reaching out to pet the cat.

Mr. P. put a hand on Rose’s arm. “Which way did you go?”

“I went back down Beech Hill Road. It’s faster.” Elvis was purring, looking at Teresa with a blissful expression on his face as she stroked his fur.

“Where was the man going?” Mr. P. asked.

Teresa gave another shrug. “He wasn’t going anywhere,” she said. “He was standing behind that big maple tree next to the curb, looking at old man Hall’s house.”

Teresa couldn’t really tell us much more. I walked her to the door and thanked her for stopping in. I told her again that I’d do everything I could to get the sign Edison had cheated her out of.

Avery had gone back to polishing the silver teapot. I smiled at her and held out my hand. We fist-bumped and she smiled back at me. “I didn’t know you could draw like that,” I said.

“I haven’t had any lessons or anything like that,” she said. Her eyes darted over to Elvis for a moment. Rose was talking to him and he seemed to be listening intently to every word. “I have some I did of Elvis if you’d like to see them sometime.”

I nodded. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll bring them tomorrow.”

As if he’d somehow known we were talking about him, the cat came walking down the workbench. He nudged Avery’s arm with his head and meowed softly.

Rose joined us. She put an arm around Avery’s shoulders. “That was a marvelous drawing. Thank you,” she said.

The teen’s cheeks flushed with color. “It was easy,” she said. “Teresa was really good at remembering details.”

“And you were really good at turning it into a drawing,” Rose countered. “We wouldn’t have figured out who it was without you.”

“Mrrr,” Elvis said.

Rose nodded at the cat. “Everyone agrees.” She looked at Avery. “I think you deserve a treat for all your hard work. There are cookies in the staff room.”

“Merow!” Elvis said with great enthusiasm. He jumped down to the floor and started for the door.

Rose smiled. “You can get Elvis a treat, too.”

“There’s a bag of those fish crackers he likes in the cupboard over the refrigerator,” I said.

Avery slid off her stool and started after the cat. “Okay,” she said over her shoulder.

Mr. P. was just ending a conversation on his cell phone. “She’s on her way,” he said to Rose.

“Who’s on her way?” I asked.

“Elizabeth,” he said.

I remembered what Avery had said about the retired bank manager. “You’re going to get her to talk to Channing Caulfield,” I said.

Alfred nodded. “One needs to use all the tools in one’s toolbox,” he said sweetly.

I shook my head and smiled at him. “Of course.”

Rose leaned against me as the three of us walked toward the sunporch. “Teresa didn’t have anything to do with what happened to that man,” she said.

I squeezed her arm. “I know.”

She looked up at me and smiled back. “You saw Elvis.”

The jury was still out on whether or not the battle-scarred black cat could actually tell when someone was lying, but there was certainly some evidence to suggest that it was possible. More than once I’d seen him make a disgruntled face when someone was stroking his fur and not telling the truth. Mac thought maybe Elvis could somehow feel a person’s sweaty palms and racing heart when that person was lying. Maybe the sour face was because it didn’t feel very good to him.

“Am I crazy?” I said.

Mr. P. gave me his Mona Lisa smile. “Well, my dear,” he said. “It seems to me that’s a separate question from whether or not Elvis can tell if someone is lying.”

I laughed. “I think I’m just going to quit while I’m ahead.” I gave Rose’s arm one last squeeze.

“I’ll be right out,” she said to me.

Mac and Charlotte were both with customers. I headed for the stairs. Avery was on her way down, a cookie in one hand with—I was pretty certain—a second one wrapped in the napkin peeking out of her shirt pocket. Elvis trailed behind her, licking his whiskers.

“Do you want me to stay in the shop or go back to the silver?” Avery asked.

“Would you stay in the shop just until Rose comes out?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” she said, pushing her bracelets up her arm. “I’ll straighten up those place mats and runners.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Elvis had stopped on the third stair from the bottom. “Are you coming up?” I asked.

He cocked his head to one side and after a moment’s thought turned and walked up with me. I went into the staff room for a cup of coffee and one of Rose’s cookies.