Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

Liam was dressed to work in jeans and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled back. “Hi,” he said as I joined them. “I was just telling Mac I’m free for the rest of the day, so we can probably get this whole thing finished if that’s what you want.”

“That works for me, Sarah,” Mac said.

“I’d love to get it finished,” I said. I smiled at Liam. “Thank you, big brother.” Emphasis on “big.”

He grinned. “Oh yeah, when you’re looking to get something from me, then you acknowledge that I’m older and wiser.”

I bumped him with my hip. “I said you were older; I didn’t say you were smarter.”

“I’m smart enough not to let you cook me dinner to pay me back,” he retorted.

“Are you coming to Thursday night jam?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll buy you dinner beforehand.”

“And all the nachos I can eat while Sam and the boys are playing.”

“Deal.”

“I can eat a lot of nachos,” he warned.

“You also do a lot of flirting, which cuts into your eating,” I said with a grin. “I think I can afford it.”

Liam and Mac went to work in the old garage and I went back to the shop. Mr. P. was in the sunporch busy with his computer. Avery and Rose were both with customers and as I stepped into the store Avery beckoned me over.

It turned out to be a busy afternoon. A small caravan of RV campers was working its way up the coast and they’d stopped in North Harbor for a couple of days. One of the RV owners bought two guitars and when I asked him about his camper—which looked like an oversize van to me—he offered to let me have a look inside. It had a tiny galley kitchen, a separate bathroom and a sofa at the back that turned into a queen-size bed.

“There’s a lot more room inside than I expected,” I said to the owner, who said his name was Joe. I was guessing he was in his mid to late fifties.

“Everyone says that,” he said. “It’s not bad on gas and it’s pretty easy to park.” He gestured at the store behind us. “You could travel all over the state with this and bring things back for your store. Or park it in the middle of the woods somewhere and spend the whole day playing guitar.”

“I like that second part,” I said with a laugh.

Joe told me that the group would be heading south again in a couple of months and he’d stop in then to see what musical instruments I had in stock.

I walked back inside to find Rose giving the driver of one of the other RV’s directions to the Black Bear and Avery selling three of the bracelets she was wearing to a woman about my age. Elvis was holding court on the tub chair being fussed over by three more customers. Mr. P. came down the stairs carrying two mugs.

“I just made a fresh pot for Mac and your brother,” he said. “Would you like me to get you a cup when I come back?”

I hesitated and then the phone rang.

“Go answer that,” Mr. P. said. “I’ll bring you coffee in just a minute.” He made his way across the room, smiling at both Rose and Avery as he passed them.

As I went to get the phone, I realized that as much as it might be fun to run off in an RV, I’d miss them all too much to ever do it. Then I got a mental image of taking them all with me, Mr. P. with his pants hiked up to his armpits driving one of the oversize vans, Liz with her heels and perfect manicure behind the wheel of another and me with Elvis riding shotgun leading the way. The thought made me laugh as I picked up the phone.

Charlotte and Liz got back about an hour before closing time. I knew from the expression on their faces that they hadn’t returned with any useful information.

“That was a fool’s errand,” Liz said, setting her purse on one of the chairs in the Angels’ office.

“I don’t think it was,” Charlotte said, unbuttoning her jacket. “I think we’re on the right track at least.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The woman moved and no one in the building seemed to really know her or know where she went,” she said. “More than one person remembers her talking about the uncertainty of the stock market. She’s the woman we’re looking for.”

“Which doesn’t do us any good, since we didn’t find her,” Liz said.

“But we do know Edison was at that seminar,” Charlotte said. “I talked to Stella,” she added as an aside to me.

I opened my mouth to point out to them that knowing Edison Hall had been at the seminar proved nothing because there was no proof that anything underhanded had happened there, but before I could speak, Mr. P. did.

“I found her,” he said.

“Found who?” Liz asked. She looked over his shoulder at the laptop he was working at.

He looked up at us. “The woman from the seminar. At least based on the description Charlotte got, I think I found her.”

He clicked several keys and video footage appeared on the screen. Thanks to the Angels’ investigations, I’d seen security camera footage enough times to recognize that was what this was.

Mr. P. tapped the screen with one finger. “This is from the day of the seminar.”

“Which was more than eighteen months ago,” I said.

“I’m aware of that, my dear,” he said.

The view was the parking lot at Legacy Place, taken, as far as I could tell, from the building next door, which housed offices for several doctors and dentists. I was going to ask him how he’d gotten the old security footage—how he’d even known it existed—but I thought better of it. Alfred and I had come to an unspoken agreement about this kind of thing. I didn’t ask him how he got his information and he tried to keep his tactics more or less legit.

The image on the screen was of a woman in her early seventies talking to a younger man.

“I think that could be her,” Charlotte said. “She looks like the woman Maribelle’s friend described.” She turned to Liz. “What do you think?”

Liz studied the computer. “It’s her. See her purse?”

Charlotte and I both leaned in for a better look.

“Maribelle’s friend said the woman was carrying a plaid purse—a beige background with white, black and red lines.”

“Alfred, can you zoom in on her bag?” Liz asked.

He clicked a few keys and a close-up of the right side of the woman’s body filled the screen. The image was a little blurry, but the purse did match the description Liz had just given.

“That’s the Haymarket check,” she said, pointing at the screen. “The bag is a Burberry. Let’s just say it’s not cheap. We need to find that man Alfred.”

Mr. P. smiled. “I think I can enlarge his face and run it through a nifty little software program I came across to enhance the image just a little.”

I cleared my throat, but they either didn’t hear me or ignored me. I did it again.

“Sarah, are you trying to bring up a fur ball or did you want to say something?” Liz asked without looking away from the computer.

Charlotte, however, turned to look at me. “What is it?” she asked. Her glasses had slid down her nose and she pushed them up with a finger.

“We have to give this information to Michelle,” I said.

Liz looked at me then, one hand on her hip. I knew that posture. I was in for an argument. “No, we don’t,” she said. “There isn’t any information to give. All we have so far is a third-hand description of a woman who may or may not have been touting alternatives to the stock market at a financial planning seminar that took place well over a year ago.”

Charlotte sighed softly and looked from Liz to me. “I don’t like to take sides, Sarah,” she said, “but Liz is right. We don’t have facts. All we have is guesswork.”

“You don’t think it’s guesswork,” I said. “And neither does Liz.”