Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

“Mrr,” Elvis said, doing the head-tilt thing again because he knew it made him look extra adorable.

I got three kitty crackers from the bag and held my hand out to him. His nose twitched as he sniffed them. He looked past me to the cookie can on the little stretch of counter.

“Like you didn’t already have part of a cookie with Avery,” I said.

He made a huffy noise, grabbed all three crackers in his mouth and stalked out, flicking his tail at me so I knew just how miffed he was.

I was answering Web site e-mail when Mac tapped on my door about half an hour later.

“Your presence is requested in the Angels’ office,” he said.

“I’m guessing Liz is here,” I said as I signed out of the store’s Web mail.

He nodded. “Your guess would be correct.”

“Did Rose and Mr. P. bring you up-to-date?”

“Rose did,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you really think it was the former bank manager Teresa saw?”

I shut off the computer and stood up. “Mr. P. found a photo of the man online.” I stretched my arms out in front of me. “It’s him, Mac. The sketch, Teresa’s description, they match the photo.”

“So what was he doing skulking around Edison Hall’s house before six o’clock in the morning?”

I gave him a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure that’s where Liz comes in.”

Liz was standing in the middle of the porch, arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a jacket the color of butter toffee and her nails were flame orange. “So basically you want to pimp me out,” she was saying.

Mr. P.’s eyes widened.

“No!” Rose exclaimed, shaking her head. “No one is expecting you to . . . do anything.” She looked shocked at the implication. “We just want you to invite him for lunch and see what you can find out.”

I came up behind Liz and wrapped my arms around her. “All they’re looking for is your very considerable charm,” I said.

She turned her head and glared at me. “That giant sucking sound you hear in the room is you, Sarah,” she said.

“You know that Channing Caulfield has always had a soft spot for you,” Rose said. “And don’t tell me you never noticed that. I wasn’t born yesterday. You know you’ll get a lot more out of him a lot faster than either Alfred or me.”

“She’s right,” I said before Liz could say anything. “Remember Royce?” Liz had managed to get information out of the retired mail carrier when the Angels were investigating Arthur Fenety’s murder.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, either,” Liz retorted. “But I’m not so old that I don’t recognize that the three of you are trying to flatter me into going along with this ridiculous scheme of yours.” She paused for a moment. “Luckily for all of you”—she raised a finger and made a loop that included Alfred, Rose and me—“flattery works on me.”

Mr. P. beamed at her. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said.

I pressed my cheek against her face. “Thank you,” I said softly. “I’m sure Channing Caulfield’s pants aren’t nearly as low-hanging as Royce’s were.” The older man’s trousers had sat so low on his hips that I’d been a little afraid that if he sneezed they’d end up at his ankles.

“Oh no, missy,” Liz said in a low voice. “You’re not getting off that easy. You’re coming with me.” She turned her head and gave me a gleeful grin. “Channing Caulfield may like me, but he likes younger women even more.” She raised one eyebrow. “Make sure you wear something that shows some leg. And when I say some, I mean lots.”

I had the sinking feeling that it wasn’t Liz who had just been played, it was me.

Chapter 8

Channing Caulfield might have been retired from the bank, but he was still working, at least part-time, for an investment firm in town. Liz called the office and set up a lunch appointment for the next day.

“You see?” I teased. “There’s no way we’d be able to see him on a Saturday if it wasn’t you he was going to be having lunch with.”

“Us,” Liz said firmly. “And remember what I told you: wear a dress. Short is good. Tight is better.”

I stuck my tongue out at her back as she headed for the door. “I saw that,” she said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “One of these days your face is going to freeze like that.”

Charlotte was at the cash desk. She laughed and walked over to me. “I see you got drafted to have lunch with Liz and Chucky Caulfield.”

I rolled my eyes. “Liz wants me to wear something short and tight.”

Charlotte folded her arms over her aproned front. She narrowed her brown eyes. “Do you still have that blue-gray wrap dress?” she asked.

“Not you, too,” I said.

“Chucky always did like the ladies.” Charlotte smiled. “And you look so pretty in that dress.” She reached over and straightened my collar.

That dress met all of Liz’s requirements. It was short and tight and I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I’d be able to breathe, let alone eat, if I wore it.

“Why do you call Channing Caulfield Chucky?” I asked.

Charlotte smiled. “We were in the same first grade class. In those days Channing was the kind of name that would get you beaten up on the playground. The teacher very wisely called him Chuck. In a classroom full of Bobbys and Tommys, that very quickly became Chucky and it stuck.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure he liked being called Chucky once we got a few years past first grade, but the name stuck.”

I put a hand on the back of my head and stretched my neck. I could use a cup of coffee and one of those peanut butter cookies, assuming there were any left in the staff room. “So don’t let Liz call him Chucky if we want to get any information out of him,” I said.

“Good grief, yes,” Charlotte exclaimed. “If she gets her knickers in a knot over something, she’s apt to do that.”

“I’ll try to keep her in line,” I said. “But I’m not making any promises.”

“I understand, dear,” Charlotte said with a smile. “Liz can be stubborn.”

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “As opposed to you?”

“I’m not stubborn,” she said, nudging her glasses up her nose with one finger. “I’m determined.”

I laughed. “So, what did they call you in first grade?”

“Charlotte,” she said. “Not Lottie. Not Charlie. Charlotte.” A sly smile crept across her face. “I was determined back then, too.”

I had just set the timer on TV so Elvis could watch Jeopardy! when Nick knocked on my door after work. “C’mon in,” I called. It was about a minute before six o’clock. I leaned down and scratched the top of the cat’s head. “You’re so spoiled,” I said to him.

He licked my hand and wrinkled his nose at me.

I went back out into the living room. Nick was standing just inside the front door. “I’m in,” he said.

“I just have to grab my jacket and I’m ready,” I said.

He was holding his phone and he glanced down at it. “Are you waiting for a better offer?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I was hoping I’d hear from Liam. I sent him a text to see what his plans were and if he could maybe join us after all.”

I grabbed my red plaid jacket from the closet. “He’s probably working late.” I picked up my keys and bag from the chair by the door. “I’m leaving,” I called to Elvis.

“Why do you do that?” Nick said with a laugh. “You’re talking to a cat. He doesn’t know what you’re saying.”

I held up one hand. “Wait for it.”

The answering meow came from the direction of the bedroom. The cat had impeccable timing.

I gave Nick a smirk and went out into the hallway. “That doesn’t prove anything,” he said as he followed me out.