“No. I took what you’d call AP math, Matthew was in the regular class.”
“He did something, didn’t he,” I said. I leaned forward. “What was it? Did he draw all over your desk or swipe your pencils?”
“He ate my lunch.”
I stared at her. “He what?”
“He ate my lunch. It was in my desk. My mother had made me a bacon sandwich and there were two chocolate chip cookies as well. It was first period and he ate the whole thing. When I confronted him he just shrugged and said he was hungry.” Gram smiled at the memory. “I was so angry I hit him with my math textbook and stalked away.”
“What happened then?” I asked.
She looked away for a moment. “According to a couple of girls who were standing nearby he turned to his buddies and said, ‘I’m going to marry that girl!’”
“Those chocolate chip cookies? They’re the ones I make that you like so much,” Rose said. “Your grandmother gave me the recipe.”
“So I guess you could say that Grandpa had good taste,” I teased.
Rose smiled at my grandmother. “Yes, sweet girl, he definitely did.”
Chapter 8
Rose drove in with me in the morning. “Alfred will be in later,” she said as she fastened her seat belt. Then she adjusted her sweater, smiled at Elvis and finally focused her attention on me. “You look like you want to say something. What is it?”
I did up my own seat belt and started the SUV. “Did anything Gram said last night about Judge Halloran change your opinion about Mike Pearson’s guilt?”
“No,” she said without any hesitation. “All we know is that the judge believed he saw Mike. I’m sure he told the police the truth from his perspective. That doesn’t mean he isn’t wrong.” She adjusted the large tote bag she’d set at her feet. “And for the record, I don’t have blinders on. I’m just trying to work with the facts we have at the moment.”
I pulled out of the driveway and from the corner of my eye I saw Rose pull a notebook and a pen from her bag. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m making a suspect list,” she said. “It was remiss of me not to have done so sooner. And yes, I am putting Mike’s name on it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Alfred told me about that car accident Gina had. I think we should add the parents of that young girl she hit.”
I nodded in agreement. I didn’t have children but if someone had hurt Liam or Gram or Mom or any of them I wasn’t sure what I might do in anger.
“Alfred is still checking to make sure Gina didn’t have any other accidents.”
“Rose, do we know anyone who lives in that neighborhood?” I asked. When I said “we,” what I really meant was her and Liz and Charlotte.
The car in front of me slowed down and put its turn signal on. “Mrrr,” Elvis said beside me. The cat was a backseat driver no matter where he was sitting in the SUV. He looked over his shoulder when I backed up and checked traffic in both directions at every stop sign.
“I see it,” I said.
“Are you looking to talk to the Pearsons’ neighbors?” Rose asked.
I shot her a quick glance. “I thought we might get a better sense of what kind of marriage they had. Which might work in my favor or might work in yours.”
“I’ll ask around,” she said.
When we got to Second Chance, Mr. P. was waiting by the back door. If Mac hadn’t been in Boston I’m sure we would have found the two of them having coffee. Ever since we’d made the small apartment for Mac up on the second floor above the shop, I’d gotten used to arriving to the coffeepot being on and Mac waiting with a cup for me. It was a chance to go over the upcoming day and talk about longer-term plans for the shop. Now it was usually me who made the coffee and the conversation was with Elvis. He wasn’t much for long-term planning.
“I thought you were coming in later,” Rose said.
“We could have picked you up.” I set Elvis down and unlocked the back door.
“It’s all right,” Mr. P. said, taking Rose’s bag from her. “Sammy dropped me off.” He held the door open for us and I gestured for Rose to go ahead of me.
“What were you doing with Sam?” Rose asked.
I’d been wondering the same thing. Sam Newman was like another father to me. He’d been my biological father’s best friend. Over the years he’d told me stories and shared photos of my dad, helping to keep him alive. Sam was also the reason I had Elvis. I’d stopped in to see him and discovered him and the cat having breakfast.
“Who’s your friend?” I asked.
“That’s Elvis,” Sam said.
“Why Elvis?”
Sam shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to like the Stones, so naming him Mick was kinda out of the question.”
Mr. P. was smiling. I recognized that expression. He’d learned something. “I have another possible suspect in Gina Pearson’s death. A man named Gavin Pace.”
“What’s the connection?” I asked.
“Gavin Pace and Gina Pearson had an affair.”
“Good heavens,” Rose said. “When did this happen?”
“Sometime after her second trip to rehab.” Mr. P. flipped on the lights. “They worked together before Gina lost her job.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “How does Sam tie in to all of this?”
“It seems that Gavin Pace’s wife, Molly—actually, ex-wife now—had some kind of confrontation with Gina at The Black Bear just a few days before the fire. I went to see Sam to ask him about it.” Mr. P. nudged his glasses up his nose. “And if you’re thinking that Gina was drunk, Sam says she wasn’t. According to Sam, Gina was minding her own business and the other woman accosted her.”
“How did you find out all of this?” I asked as we stepped into the store proper.”
He smiled. “Gina Pearson’s former coworkers are very talkative.”
“I don’t suppose anyone mentioned Molly Pace threatening to kill Gina, did they?” Rose asked.
Alfred shook his head. “No, but she did threaten to kill her husband in front of half a dozen witnesses.”
“Interesting,” Rose said, heading for the stairs. It was pretty clear Molly Pace would be going on her list.
• • •
It turned out to be a busy morning. I sold a 1973 Martin D-18 guitar that I’d bought from Clayton McNamara when we’d cleared out his house. The guitar needed work. There was a pick guard scratch and a small back crack, but I felt that I’d given the buyer a decent deal and made a fair profit for myself. I was just about to head upstairs for a late lunch when a woman came in the front door. She stopped and looked around.
“Hi,” I said. “Could I help you with something?”
She looked to be in her early forties with dark hair worn in a short bob and black framed, nerd chic glasses. “I’m looking for Charlotte Elliot,” the woman said. “Is she here?”
Charlotte was in the workroom sorting through the box of fabric we’d found at the storage unit. She’d already come in once to show me a couple of 1960s vintage aprons, which had made Avery’s eyes light up.
“She is,” I said. “I’ll go get her for you.”
She gave me a tight smile. “Thank you,” she said.
Charlotte was at the workbench. She had two tea towel calendars spread out next to the aprons. “Look at this, Sarah,” she said. “They’re from 1964 and 1967. I had this same one from 1967 in my kitchen when I was first married.”
The linen dish towel featured a large orange, green, and yellow rooster atop the months of the year. I was guessing it had been meant more for kitchen décor than for drying dishes.
“Someone will want that,” I said. Anything that triggered memories of childhood or the early years of marriage was popular with our customers. I gestured over my shoulder. “There’s a woman here to see you.”