“I think it’s possible that someone set Mike up, wore the same ball cap as he did and made sure to be seen by Judge Halloran.”
“I thought that might be what was in your mind when you asked what he looked like,” she said. “The problem is, young Mr. Pace was sleeping it off in a jail cell, Ben Allison was with his daughter and a dozen other witnesses and Molly Pace wasn’t even in town.”
I blew out a breath.
“You have someone in mind,” Liz said. “Don’t you?”
“Ben Allison has an alibi. His wife doesn’t.”
I glanced at Liz again.
She was nodding her head. “It makes sense. Gina Pearson almost killed that child.”
“Jia Allison keeps all her anger in here,” I said, tapping the middle of my chest with a loose fist. “When it gets out I think she could be capable of anything.”
“So what are you going to do?” Liz asked.
I pulled to the curb in front of McNamara’s. “For now I’m going to see if I can float the possibility to Judge Halloran that the person he saw wasn’t Mike Pearson. After that I need to talk to Jia Allison.”
Glenn was at the counter when we stepped inside the little bakery and sandwich shop. “Perfect timing,” he said with a smile. “I have two lemon tarts left.”
“I actually came for coffee,” I said. “Large, please.”
Liz put a hand on my arm. “Let’s not be hasty,” she said. “Glenn will think we don’t like his lemon tarts. Do you want to hurt his feelings?”
“Yeah,” Glenn said. “Do you want to hurt my feelings?”
“Fine,” I said. “One large coffee and two lemon tarts.” I looked at Liz. “Would you like anything?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Glenn nestled the two tarts in a small cardboard box. “Sarah, I keep meaning to say thank you for taking on Clayton’s place. It’s a hell of a lot more livable since you cleared it out and sold all that stuff.”
“Clayton was easy to work with,” I said. “We have a few more things left on consignment—a lamp, a couple of chairs and some dishes. They should sell once the leaf peepers show up.”
Glenn smiled. “Most of those dishes belonged to Mary.”
“Clayton’s wife,” Liz said.
He nodded. “Beth took a few pieces for sentimental reasons, but it’s just not her taste. I’m glad things will at least be with people who appreciate them.”
Beth was Glenn’s cousin, Clayton’s only daughter. She didn’t live in North Harbor.
“She had a good eye for things,” I said.
“Mary could set a table so it looked like something from a magazine,” Glenn said. “And cook a meal to match.” He shook his head. “It was so cruel. When her mind went, the first thing she forgot how to do was cook. She’d get out all the ingredients for a cake and not know what to do with them.”
“She had dementia?”
He nodded. “I’d go to see her and she’d call me Clayton. That was one of the first things we noticed. She kept mixing people up.” He handed me my coffee. I paid for it and the lemon tarts and we left.
We got back in the SUV and I set my coffee in the cup holder after taking a long drink. I looked at Liz. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
She nodded. “I am.” She looked sad.
“So what do we do?”
“What we set out to do. Get some answers.”
I thought about something else Gram had said at dinner: You can’t get the right answers if you don’t ask the right questions.
Chapter 17
I didn’t really have a plan for what I was going to do when I got to the judge’s office. Luckily he had been as good as his word as far as helping with the nonexistent book project. His receptionist smiled at us. “Hello, Mrs. French, Ms. Grayson,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.” She was wearing a crisp white blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves. The fuchsia streak was still in her hair.
“Hello, Chelsea,” Liz said. “Would the judge have a few minutes for us?”
Liz knew the young woman’s name. That didn’t surprise me.
“Let me check with Mr. Davis,” Chelsea said.
She reached for the phone, had a brief conversation and then hung up. “He’ll be right out,” she said.
It was no more than a minute before Henry Davis came into the reception area. “It’s good to see you both again,” he said.
“I’m sorry we didn’t call first,” I said.
“You caught us on a quiet day,” he said with a smile. “How can I help you?”
He knows, I thought. I was willing to bet every visitor, not just us, saw Henry Davis first. He was more than an assistant. He was a protector.
“I don’t know if you remember, but that last time we were here the conversation turned to a man named Mike Pearson,” I said.
Henry stiffened. It was almost imperceptible but I was watching for a reaction and I saw it. “I remember.”
“The judge is certain he saw Mike the night the Pearson house burned down.”
“The judge’s word is beyond reproach.”
“No one is questioning Neill’s word,” Liz said.
I looked down at my hands. I felt as though I was shaking but they were steady. The sensation was all on the inside. “He also called me Isabel,” I said.
Henry had recovered his equanimity. “It seems you resemble your grandmother.”
“A little. I do,” I said. “But that’s not why the judge got my name wrong, is it?”
He didn’t say anything.
“An innocent man doesn’t deserve to be in jail, Mr. Davis.”
“Mr. Pearson took a plea deal,” Henry said.
“Because the police had a witness whose integrity no one would question,” Liz said.
Just then Judge Halloran came down the hallway. He was in his shirtsleeves, carrying a yellow legal pad, his reading glasses sliding down his nose. “Chelsea, did I—” he began, then he caught sight of us. “Elizabeth, I didn’t realize you were here.” He joined us.
“Hello, Neill,” Liz said. “You remember Sarah Grayson.”
“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s good to see you again, Sarah.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” I said. He had such a kind face. I suddenly had a lump in my throat.
He smiled at us. “Why are we standing out here? Come back to my office.”
We followed the judge down the hall and I tried to tell myself I was wrong. So he’d called me by Gram’s name. I’d gotten people’s names mixed up before. And he started the barbecue in December. Lots of people liked to grill all year ’round.
Henry Davis was in front of me. He held himself stiffly, his shoulders rigid. He didn’t want this conversation to continue. I knew I wasn’t wrong.
We stepped into the judge’s office. “Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing at the two chairs in front of his desk where we’d sat during our last visit. He turned to me and smiled. “Now, Isabel, what can I do for you?”
I swallowed down that lump in my throat. “The last time we were here we talked about Mike Pearson.”
He nodded. “I remember.”
“You told us that you’re certain you saw him after the Pearsons’ house was on fire.”
“That’s right. I also saw him earlier in the day while I was shoveling my driveway.”
Henry Davis took a couple of steps closer so he was in my line of sight. “Ms. Grayson, I don’t mean to be rude, but Judge Halloran is a very busy man.”
The judge looked at his assistant. “I’m not too busy for an old friend, Henry.”
I felt the prickle of sudden tears, but I blinked them away. “What’s my name?” I asked.
Henry sucked in a sharp breath.