I was up in my office about an hour later when Mr. P. knocked on the door. “Nicolas is here,” he said. “He brought something I think you’ll probably want to see.”
I started downstairs with him. “Did you have any luck finding any security footage from the Pearsons’ neighbors?” I asked.
“I guess my best answer would have to be, maybe,” Alfred said. “It turns out their backyard neighbor did have one of those temporary cameras that downloads all its footage to the cloud. At least he thinks it does.” He raised an eyebrow. “He’ll get back to me.”
I’d told Mr. P. and Rose about my conversation with Jia Allison and my belief that she’d had nothing to do with Gina’s death. If the security footage was a dead end our only hope was Nick persuading the medical examiner to change Gina’s cause of death.
Nick was out in the workroom with Rose, using the top of my storage unit casket like a desk. Their heads were bent over something and Michelle was with them.
“Hi,” I said, making my way around the makeshift desk so I could hug her. “I’m glad you’re back. How’s your mom?”
Michelle smiled. “She’s good.” She gestured at Nick and Rose, who I realized were intently studying several photographs. “It seems I missed a few things,” she said.
I gave an elaborate shrug. “Maybe one or two.” I moved around her so I was next to Nick and poked him with my elbow. “What are you looking at?” I asked.
He glanced at Michelle. “Crime scene photos.”
“Should we be looking at these?”
“I’m sorry,” Michelle said. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I said should we—Ow!” Rose had just smacked the back of my head. I turned and glared at her. “Why did you do that?”
“Because your mouth seemed to be stuck on repeat, dear. Sometimes it takes a bit of a tap to fix that. It’s not really that different from when the printer jams.” I caught on then that Michelle really had suddenly gone hard of hearing, at least with respect to the photographs.
“Um, thank you,” I said. I resisted the urge to rub the spot on the back of my head. It seemed Rose and I had different ideas about what constituted a tap.
I leaned over to look at the photos. They were of the Pearson house after the fire, specifically the basement family room. The walls were black with soot and I could make out scorch patterns on the floor. Part of the sofa had been burned to the springs,
After a moment Michelle leaned over as well. “That case never sat right with me,” she said softly.
“I thought maybe you would see something the rest of us missed,” Nick said.
What I saw was Greg Pearson’s Patriots cap, which Gina had confiscated because he wouldn’t take it off in the house. It was a bit singed but other than that it looked fine; there was barely any soot on it. I also saw what I was guessing was his little brother’s teddy bear, and it was covered in soot like the wall behind it. I remembered what Mallory said about the bear.
I studied the two photos and the sensation was like a finger tickling my brain. Who would benefit if Gina Pearson were dead? The pieces began to connect like one domino falling over on another.
I looked at Rose and Nick. I looked across the wooden casket at Mr. P. Finally I turned and looked at Michelle. “I know what happened,” I said. “I know who killed Gina Pearson.”
Chapter 19
I laid out my theory even as I was putting it together in my head. Mr. P. began to nod almost at once. Michelle interrupted me twice with questions, Nick once. I waited for them to point out the holes in my reasoning, but they didn’t.
“So?” I said when I’d finished talking.
“I think you’re right,” Mr. P. said.
I leaned around Nick to look at Rose. “I agree with Alfred, sweet girl,” she said. “Although I wish you were wrong.”
“I can’t disagree,” Nick said, shaking his head.
Finally I turned to Michelle. “I can’t see any flaw in your reasoning,” she said.
“So what happens now?” Nick asked.
I sighed. “I’m going to go tell Charlotte, and then before we do anything else we need to talk to Mallory.”
• • •
Mallory and Greg Pearson arrived at Charlotte’s house about quarter to eight. They’d had supper with Katy Mueller. Charlotte and I met them at the door. “You’re welcome to join us,” I said to Katy. “We’re just going to bring Mallory and Greg up to date on what the Angels have learned.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I think I will.”
We settled in Charlotte’s living room. Mallory and Greg on the sofa with Charlotte, and Rose in the matching chair, Mr. P. sitting on the wide arm next to her. I gave Katy the other chair and took a seat on the footstool.
Charlotte reached over and took one of Mallory’s hands in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said. “There isn’t any easy way to tell you this. Gina didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.”
“My dad didn’t kill her,” Mallory immediately said. Her chin came up. Beside her Greg swallowed hard, his face pale.
“We know that,” Charlotte said. “We believe that Mike took the plea deal to end the investigation and protect someone he loved.”
Katy leaned forward in her chair. “What are you talking about?” she said.
Charlotte leaned sideways. “Greg,” she said. “Tell them.”
Mallory’s eyes widened and she shifted to look at her brother. She looked confused. “I don’t understand. Do you know something?”
He looked away. His mouth twisted and finally he nodded. “I went back to the house that night,” he said.
When I’d seen his hat in the photograph there was almost no soot on it, unlike everything else in the room. It looked like someone had tried to save it. Gina?
“But why?” Mallory asked.
His gaze met his sister’s then. “I wanted to get my hat and because I was sick of what she was doing.” His hands were clenched into tight fists, so tight his knuckles were white, the skin stretched tight over the finger joints. “Austin cried until he fell asleep. Did you forget that?”
Mallory shook her head.
“You know how Dad had talked about us going to stay at Gram’s for a while? Well, I went to ask her to at least let Austin go. He was a little kid, Mal. He should have been having a normal life with a mom who made cookies and read him bedtime stories.”
Tears were slipping down Mallory’s face. My stomach clenched. If I’d been able to figure out any other way to do this I would have.
Greg raked his hand back through his hair. “I was pouring out all her bottles because I pretty much knew all of her hiding places—even some you and Dad didn’t know. She grabbed my hat and pulled it off my head again. She was a freakin’ drunk and all she cared about was me wearing my hat in the house. I was just so pis—so angry I stopped.” He lifted his hands in the air and then just let them fall. “I gave her one of the bottles and I said, ‘Go ahead and drink yourself to death. I don’t care anymore.’” A couple of tears slid down his face and he swiped at them with one hand. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”
Charlotte reached across Mallory and caught one of Greg’s hands. “Your mother didn’t kill herself,” she said firmly. “What happened isn’t your fault.”
My throat was tight but I swallowed the sensation away and turned to Katy. “It isn’t Greg’s fault,” I said. “Is it?”