Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

“Is this because of Nicolas?” Charlotte asked.

I shook my head. “No, it isn’t.”

“Then are you part of our team or not?” Liz asked, holding out a hand.

“Of course Sarah is part of our team,” Mr. P. said with just a hint of recrimination in his voice. “And she’s right. We should share what we’ve learned with the police. We’re both trying to find out who killed Mr. Quinn.”

Liz made a sound a lot like a snort.

Mr. P. chose to ignore her. “I’d also like to show Nicolas and Detective Andrews that we know what we’re doing and we’re not going to disrupt their investigation.”

Charlotte smiled. “Alfred, you’re a very sensible, reasonable man,” she said.

Liz exhaled loudly. “Yes, you are,” she said. “And I like you despite that.” She got to her feet. “I need a cup of tea.” She headed for the door. “I’m going to bring Rose up-to-date.” She caught my hand and gave it a squeeze as she passed me.

“Thank you,” I said to Mr. P. once they were both gone.

“Everything you said was correct,” he said. “And underneath her bluster Elizabeth knows that as well. I think she’s still a little touchy over being a suspect in that whole dreadful business last winter.”

The dreadful business he was referring to was the death of Lily Carter. Liz had never been a serious suspect, but she had been questioned more than once.

“I think that’s probably right,” I said. “And thank you for saying I was part of the team.”

He smiled. “It’s true. You are part of the team, my dear.”

I just nodded. I didn’t know what to say because I realized that good or bad, right or wrong, I was.

Chapter 14

I went back up to my office while Mr. P. made the phone call to Michelle. I was printing out two new orders from the store’s Web site when my cell rang. It was Nick.

“Hi,” he said. “I was just in a meeting with Michelle and she had a call from Alfred Peterson. I sense your hand in that.”

“It wasn’t me,” I said, sitting on the edge of my desk.

“So you know about their theory that Edison Hall met the person who sold him all those worthless bottles of wine at some money-management thing?” The skepticism was obvious in his voice.

“You don’t?” I asked.

“I just don’t think it has any relevance to the investigation.”

“You don’t think Mr. Quinn’s death had anything to do with the whole wine scam?”

“That’s not really my part of the case.”

I reached over and took the two pages I’d just printed out of the printer tray. “It doesn’t mean you don’t have a theory.”

I heard him exhale. “I’m not saying what happened isn’t connected to those worthless bottles of wine. I’m just saying I don’t think the connection is directly related to Edison Hall.”

“So how is it connected, then?”

Nick laughed. “I suppose I may as well tell you,” he said. “It’s not like Alfred won’t ferret this out if he hasn’t already. Ronan Quinn was already involved in a court case over another fake wine scam.”

“That’s not exactly a secret, Nick,” I said. “There was an article about the case in the Boston Globe . It’s how Ethan came to hire him.”

“Quinn had received death threats because of that case as recently as a week before he came to town.”

“The police are looking in that direction.”

“They’re looking in a lot of directions, but yes, that one seems to hold the most promise.”

“I hope it works out,” I said. Could someone have followed the wine expert here to North Harbor just to kill him? It wasn’t any more of a stretch than the angle the Angels were working on.

“Michelle said they released Edison’s house back to the family,” Nick said.

“She did and we’ve already started working out there.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “This has been hard for Ethan. Once his father’s estate is settled, he’ll be able to get on with his life.”

“I promised Stella that we’d work as quickly as we can.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, glad once again to be out of those heels no matter how good they made my legs look.

“I know you gave Stella a deal, Sarah,” Nick said. “Thanks. Any chance you can find something in that old house that’s worth some money?”

I thought about the Marklin train set Elvis and I had found. Even though its ownership was in dispute, maybe there was a way it could still be used to help Ellie Hall. “I’m working on it,” I said.

“I gotta go,” Nick said then. “Are you coming to dinner at Mom’s on Sunday?”

“I am,” I said. “Rose is going to teach me how to make gravy.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well . . . um . . . good luck with that. I’m not much of a gravy man myself.”

“Nice try,” I said. “I’ve seen you in your mother’s kitchen eating gravy out of the roaster with a spoon at Thanksgiving.”

He cleared his throat. “Sarah, we’ve known each other since we were kids and in all that time you’ve never made anything that was edible. Face it. You did not get the cooking gene. You’re the kind of person for whom takeout was invented.”

“Nicolas Elliot, I’m going to make you eat your words,” I promised, feeling a little surge of competitiveness in my gut.

“It’ll have to be better than eating your cooking,” he said before he ended the call, laughing.

I took the orders downstairs. “Avery, would you get these started, please?” I asked the teenager.

“No problem,” she said, taking the pages and heading for the workroom.

Rose was busy straightening up, putting chairs in place around a small table, fluffing the pillows on the seats. “I’m just going out to see how Mac and Liam are doing,” I said. “Avery is out back if you need her.”

“Take your time,” she said, stepping back to survey her handiwork and then tweaking the position of a chair.

Mr. P. was in the sunporch, working on his laptop as usual. “Sarah,” he called as I went past the door.

I backtracked a couple of steps, leaned around the doorframe and looked at him inquiringly.

“I called Detective Andrews,” he said. “She didn’t seem very interested in our information.”

“I know,” I said. “I heard from Nick.” I paused. “I think they’re wrong.”

“Great minds think alike.” Then he smiled. “Of course, Elizabeth would say, fools seldom differ.”

“I like yours better,” I said. I gestured at the computer. “Is that Feast in the Field?”

He nodded. “I thought I would go through as many photos as I could find online this weekend.”

“You don’t even know if Edison Hall was there,” I said.

Mr. P. smoothed the few wisps of gray hair that he had. “He was. Rose called Stella and asked.”

It still seemed like a waste of time to me.

Alfred must have seen some of what I was thinking in my expression. “I am aware that brochure Elvis found smelled like tuna fish, Sarah,” he said. He studied my face for what seemed like a long moment. “I also trust Rosie’s instincts.”

He didn’t need to remind me that Rose’s instincts had probably saved my life the previous winter.

“Could I help?” I asked.

“I have everything under control,” Mr. P. said. “I have another little piece of facial-scanning software that I think will help me.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said. I didn’t ask him where his little piece of software had come from and he didn’t volunteer the information.

Mac and Liam were making great progress on the ceiling of the old garage. They had decided to keep going until all the drywall was up. I told them I’d be back later with pizza.