Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

The smile faded from Mac’s face. “No. I made mistakes. I made decisions that can’t be forgiven.”

“Gram says there’s very little that can’t be forgiven with a little time.” When he didn’t say anything I knew the conversation was over. I straightened up and reached for the broom.

“It looks so good,” I said, standing in the middle of the space and turning in a slow circle after we’d cleaned and put things away.

“I thought I’d start the mudding and taping tomorrow if that’s okay,” Mac said, taking the battery out of his cordless drill.

“It’s okay,” I said, “but are you sure you want to work on your day off?”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. The sooner the walls are finished, the sooner we can get organized out here.” He looked toward the front corner of the space.

Mac and I had partially walled off the area. I hoped to teach classes at some point in that space. Lots of light came in through the windows. A weathered barn door we’d salvaged from an old farm on the road to Portland was waiting to be hung from a sliding rail system once the walls were finished.

“Keep track of your hours,” I said. “Sailing season will be starting soon.”

“I will,” he said. “See you Monday.”

Rose and Mr. P. were just coming down the sidewalk arm in arm when I pulled in to the driveway. I waited for them by the steps.

“Liam asked me to tell you that he’ll e-mail you the photos once he charges his phone,” I told the two of them.

“Splendid,” Rose said. “Did he tell you he might have a photo of our suspect? That man we’re looking for was at Feast two years in a row.”

“He did.”

“Maybe I should ask Nicolas if he has any photos on his phone from Feast in the Field.”

I exhaled loudly and looked at Mr. P., who cleared his throat.

Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The two of you sound like a pair of old horses,” she said. “I was joking.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “Although maybe I’ll get a chance to borrow his phone on Sunday.” She started up the steps. Behind her Mr. P. shook his head, ever so slightly.

I followed them inside. “Rose, about Sunday,” I began.

She held up a hand. “If this is about the gravy, you can do it.”

“When we made Jell-O, I burned the boiling water.”

“How could you burn water?” Mr. P. asked, looking a little puzzled.

“She didn’t burn the water,” Rose explained. “She burned the kettle.”

“And I don’t want to burn the gravy,” I said.

“You won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

I hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other.

Rose made a shooing motion with one hand. “Stop fretting. Everything will be fine.”

I smiled at her. “How am I ever going to repay you for taking on the thankless job of teaching me how to cook?” I asked.

“It’s not a thankless job, dear,” she said. “And you don’t need to thank me, although if you do happen to find yourself with Nicolas’s phone—”

“You won’t be conducting any unauthorized searches,” Mr. P. finished.

“I wasn’t suggesting Sarah search Nicolas’s phone,” Rose said, pulling herself up to her full almost five feet, zero inches height. “I was merely going to say that if the opportunity presented itself, she could ask to see his photos. That’s all.”

Mr. P. smiled benignly. “Of course. My apologies.”

“Have a good night,” I said to them, turning to unlock the door.

I was tying my running shoes the next morning when Liam knocked and then poked his head around the door.

“Hi,” I said.

He was wearing gray shorts and a short-sleeve Red Sox T-shirt over a long-sleeve gray one. A gray knit beanie was pulled over his hair.

“You’re going to freeze,” I said, indicating his half-bare legs.

Liam beat on his chest with his fists. “I’m tough,” he said.

“You’re still going to be cold,” I retorted as I straightened up.

“And you’re going to sweat like a pig,” he countered, making a face at my sweatshirt and leggings.

I grinned at him. “I’ve missed you,” I said.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.” He grinned back at me.

We headed southwest, running a route I often used that was slightly uphill, enough to give us both a challenge, I hoped.

“So, who do you run with when I’m not in town?” Liam asked. Even though he was taller we’d been running together since we were teenagers and we easily fell into a comfortable pace.

“No one,” I said.

“Mac doesn’t run?”

I glanced at him but didn’t see anything other than genuine curiosity on his face.

“He does some kind of Israeli self-defense workout,” I said.

“Krav Maga?”

I nodded and pushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I tried to get Nick to come running with me.”

Liam gave a snort of laughter. “I know how that went,” he said. “When we went to hockey camp, man, did he hate the running drills! He was always the last person to finish, so he always ended up with extra sprints to do.” He grinned at the memory.

I’d forgotten about Liam going to hockey camp. “So you know Ethan Hall?” I said.

“Yeah, I know Ethan,” he said. “Mom told me about the body you found. That’s the case that Rose and the rest of them are working on, isn’t it?”

“It is.” We crossed the street starting a long, slow climb uphill.

“So Ethan’s father got scammed?” Liam asked.

“Uh-huh. I’m guessing he thought it was a sure thing. The bottles of wine he bought were supposed to improve with age and increase in value.”

“Except they were swill.”

I nodded. “Basically.” I pushed a little harder, trying to keep the pace and not slow down.

“So this guy that Rose and Alfred are trying to find is mixed up in this fake wine thing?” There was a fine sheen of sweat on Liam’s forehead. I wasn’t the only one feeling the hill, it seemed.

“Maybe,” I said. “It’s a giant long shot.”

We crossed another cross street and the incline got steeper.

“I remember the guy said he was some kind of wine dealer or broker,” Liam said. “He gave us his card. Now I wish I’d kept it.”

“Did you find his face in any of your photos?” I wondered how this so-called wine dealer was connected to the woman from the financial seminar. I was sure the Angels probably had a theory.

He shrugged. “Just profile, not full-on. I did send them to Rose.” He shot me a look. “You think I should ask Nick if he wants them?”

I laughed. “It’s probably a waste of time. Neither Nick nor the police seem to think the Angels are onto something.”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

After our run Liam went up to Gram’s apartment to shower and I changed into an old pair of jeans and a paint-spattered hoodie, collected Elvis and went to work in the backyard. Elvis prowled around while I picked up branches and other debris.

Liam had offered to drive Mr. P. over to Charlotte’s for supper so Rose and I could leave early for my gravy-making lesson. After Elvis and I finished in the yard for the day, I showered and changed.

Rose was waiting for me in the hallway. “This is not a good idea,” I said.

She smiled. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“You know I can’t cook,” I reminded her as I unlocked the SUV. “Unless you call scrambled eggs cooking.”

“As a matter of fact, I do call that cooking,” Rose said as she climbed in. “And I think you’ve created a self-fulfilling prophecy. For the next week I want you to look in the mirror every morning and say, ‘I am a good cook.’”

“Like that’s going to work.” I laughed. Then I saw the expression on her face and realized she wasn’t joking.