Mr. P. put a hand on my shoulder. I turned in my seat to look at him. “Don’t worry, Sarah,” he said. “Rosie has a plan.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that’s exactly what was making me worry.
Mr. P. shared his oversized umbrella and we dashed to the back door. I held Elvis inside my coat so he stayed dry. Rose had already gone up to put the kettle on because this detective agency ran on tea.
We gathered around a long table that I’d been putting off refinishing because I couldn’t decide what to do with it. It occurred to me that what I should do was give it a couple of coats of paint and save it for the Angels’ office when it was done. We seemed to have at least one “strategy meeting” in every case they took on. Finally everyone had a cup of tea and Charlotte had sliced the coffee cake that Rose had brought in her bag.
Rose looked around the table. “Are we all on the same page?” she asked. Her gaze stopped at me.
“I talked to Nick last night, if that’s what you mean,” I said.
“He told you what the arson investigator told him?”
I nodded.
She broke a slice of the coffee cake in half but didn’t take a bite from either piece. “So the first thing we need to do is figure out who might have wanted to kill Gina Pearson.”
“How about Mike Pearson?” I said.
Rose shook her head. “Mike Pearson didn’t murder his wife.”
I wrapped my hands around my teacup. They were suddenly cold. “You don’t know that, unless there’s something you haven’t shared with the rest of us.”
Charlotte leaned toward me across the table. “Sarah, is there something you’re not sharing with the rest of us? Why do you think Mike is the killer?”
“I don’t necessarily think he is,” I said, “but are you ready if he turns out to be?” This time I was looking around the table at all of them.
“You’re thinking about Mallory and her brothers,” Charlotte said.
I nodded. “She came to you to help get her father out of prison. Are you prepared to maybe keep him there for the rest of his life?”
“That’s not going to happen,” Rose said. It was impossible to miss the certainty in her voice. “If Mike Pearson wanted his wife dead, all he had to do was let her drink herself to death. He didn’t need to strangle her.”
“He was—he is—a good father,” Charlotte added. “When Mallory was my student he didn’t miss a single event—not a parent-teacher night, not an awards assembly, not a school play.” She twisted the plain gold wedding ring she still wore around her ring finger. “I talked to several teachers who have had Mallory’s younger brothers as students. He was the same way with both of them. Does that sound like a man who would murder his wife and set his house on fire?”
It didn’t, however I knew that murder wasn’t always logical. People did things in the heat of the moment. Charlotte was still looking at me. They all were. I remembered what Nick had said about his mother’s insight into people. Could I go forward on the premise that Mike Pearson had not killed his wife, because I was part of this investigation? I could protest all I wanted, but I’d get pulled in. I always did. I wasn’t as sure about Mike as Rose and Charlotte were but I did trust both their instincts. I could at least give the man the benefit of the doubt. For now.
“Okay,” I said.
Liz leaned sideways so she was in my line of sight and waved two fingers at me. “Wait just a minute, missy. Don’t you want to know what Alfred and I think?”
“Are your opinions any different from Rose’s and Charlotte’s?” I asked, reaching for a slice of coffee cake. I could smell cinnamon and brown sugar.
Mr. P. shook his head. “I’m in agreement with both of them,” he said.
I popped a bite of the cake in my mouth and raised one eyebrow at Liz.
“I agree with the others, but it’s nice to be asked,” she said.
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said, stifling a smile.
“I think for now we should keep what we’ve learned about Gina’s death from Mallory,” Charlotte said.
Rose nodded. So did Mr. P.
“Well, of course,” Liz said, picking up her cup.
“I agree,” I said.
“So do I,” a voice said from the far end of the workroom. I turned around. Nick was standing there. He was wearing jeans and his hands were in the pockets of a navy windbreaker. The shoulders of the jacket were damp and so was his hair.
Rose got to her feet. “What exactly is it you think you’re agreeing to, Nicolas?” she asked. She wasn’t at all intimidated by Nick, and he didn’t look intimidated by her, either. Although he really should have been.
“You’re going to try to find out who killed Gina Pearson and set that house on fire,” he said.
“Does that mean you think she was murdered?” Charlotte said.
Nick nodded. “I do, Mom. And I think I can help.”
He looked at Rose and she looked back at him. I felt like I was watching a pair of gunfighters—the grizzled veteran and the wise-guy kid with something to prove. In this case the grizzled veteran wouldn’t shoot the kid’s gun out of his hand if he messed up, but there was a possibility that she’d whack him with a loaded tote bag.
“All right then,” Rose said. She looked across the table at Mr. P. “Alfred, would you please make coffee?”
“Of course,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Nicolas, would you like a piece of coffee cake?” she asked, turning her attention back to Nick.
“I would,” he said. “But is this it? Don’t you do a group cheer or an all-for-one thing with your hands stacked up on one another’s?”
I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or partly serious.
“No, we most certainly do not,” Liz said, looking at Nick over the top of her glasses to press the point home.
“We could,” Rose said. “If it would make Nicolas feel included.”
I had gotten up and was getting a chair for Nick. I was careful not to look in his direction, afraid that I’d start to laugh.
“We could, but since we’re not a hormone-addled boys’ hockey team, we’re not.” Liz set her cup down on the saucer with a clink as if to make the point that the discussion was settled. “Sarah’s getting him a chair. Alfred is making him coffee. He’s included Rose. Move on.”
“Fine,” Rose said, a tiny edge of petulance in her voice.
I set the chair at the table. “Having fun?” I whispered as I passed in front of Nick.
We spent the next few minutes deciding what we were going to do next. Mr. P. offered to see what he could dig up on Gina Pearson’s previous trips to rehab.
“I have some connections at the hospital,” Liz offered. I knew the Emmerson Foundation had been a generous donor to the Northeastern Medical Center. “I could ask a few questions.” In other words, she’d use her considerable charm, and the Emmerson last name, to get answers that otherwise would be a lot harder to find.
Charlotte offered to see if she could pick up any hints about Mike and Gina’s relationship from their younger children’s teachers.
Nick took a second slice of coffee cake. “I’m going to talk to Claire again to see if I can get her to amend Gina Pearson’s official cause of death.” I knew very little about the state medical examiner, but Nick seemed to like her. Maybe he could get her to reconsider Gina Pearson’s cause of death.
“That would be a big help,” Rose said. “Especially if we want Detective Andrews to reopen the case.” She was moving around the table gathering plates and cups.
“We want Michelle to reopen the case?” I asked as I got to my feet.
Rose turned to look at me. “Well, yes, dear. Of course we do.”