“I’m guessing you gave it all to Rose,” John said. He and Gram had brought Rose two boxes back from their time in Nova Scotia.
I nodded. “I did. We also found several Pendleton blankets—the cream ones with the stripes—that are in excellent shape. Those should sell pretty quickly either in the shop or on the Web site.”
“Charlotte said you discovered some books as well.” Gram lifted the lid of the stew pot and peered inside.
“There’s a copy of A Bear Called Paddington she thinks may be worth something.”
“Depending on the condition of the book and whether it’s a first edition it may be worth quite a lot,” she said. “What year is it?”
“Umm, 1958, I think.”
She nodded. That seemed to have been the right answer.
“Hardcover?” she asked. “With the dust jacket?”
I pictured the book Charlotte had set on my desk. “Yes and yes.”
Gram smiled. “Then you have something that may be worth several thousand dollars.”
“I didn’t know you knew about old books,” I said.
She glanced over her shoulder at me and smiled. “I’ve spent lots of time with your mother over the years. I’ve picked up a few things.”
“Why would someone leave a valuable book in a storage unit?”
John set a plate of rolls on the table. “Why would someone leave a coffin in a storage unit?”
I nodded. “Good point.”
Gram reached for a large spoon on the counter. “The Angels have picked up a new case.” It wasn’t a question.
“You were talking to Charlotte.”
Gram gave the stew a stir, set the lid on the pot again and came back over to the table. She smiled at Elvis before turning her attention back to me. “Gina Pearson’s last name was Knox before she married Michael Pearson. There have been Knoxes in this area almost as far back as there have been Swifts—although in the case of the Knoxes they’ve always been working for the Swifts, not with them. Charlotte wondered if I knew anything about the family.”
“Do you?”
Gram sighed softly. “Just that there have been alcoholics in that family all the way back through the family tree.”
I stroked Elvis’s fur. He continued to watch Gram as though he were following the conversation. And who’s to say he wasn’t?
“I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” she continued, “but Gina’s mother was what they used to call a mean drunk—angry and hostile when she was drinking, unhappy when she wasn’t and an overwhelmed mother of six pretty much all the time.”
“Gina had genetics and more working against her,” I said. I felt a twinge of guilt. I’d been judging the woman without knowing much about her.
Gram nodded. John caught her hand and gave it a squeeze and she smiled at him. “Moira—that was Gina’s mother—lost her own mother when she was twelve and she didn’t really have any role models on how to parent. I’m not making excuses for Gina, mind you. She had more than one chance at rehab, but I do think she deserved some understanding and compassion. And that seemed to be pretty scarce when she was alive.”
Gram shared a little more about Gina Pearson’s family history as we ate. I found myself feeling a lot more compassionate toward the woman. I’d never found North Harbor to be judgmental, but I had a feeling Gina had had a different experience. I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I’d always been to have my mom and Gram as well as Liz, Rose and Charlotte to support me and to be good role models.
Before I headed back downstairs with a container of stew and another of chocolate thumbprint cookies I hugged both John and my grandmother. “I’m so glad you’re home,” I said.
John and Gram exchanged a smile. “We are, too,” she said.
• • •
Mr. P. drove in with Rose and me the next morning. He seemed just a little distracted. Elvis settled himself on the backseat, where he eyed Mr. P. with some curiosity as though the cat, like me, wanted to know if he’d found out anything new. Elvis was up to date on everything related to the case. I talked to him about things. Maybe it was a little weird, but it was way less strange than walking around the apartment talking to myself, I reasoned.
I was fairly certain Mr. P. didn’t have anything to share. If he had, he would have been quick to tell me what he knew. And it turned out I was right.
We were about halfway to the shop when Rose asked about my evening. I told her about having dinner with Gram and John and shared what I’d learned about Gina’s family.
“I wish Rosie and I had something to tell you,” Mr. P. said behind me. “So far I’ve found very little to add to what we already know about the fire and Gina Pearson’s death. She was home alone. She’d gone on a binge and Mallory’s father had taken all three kids to a friend’s home. Michael Pearson told the police he hadn’t gone back to the house.”
“Do you know where he claimed he was?” I asked.
Beside me on the passenger side Rose was already nodding. “He said he just drove around trying to decide what to do. The situation wasn’t working for the children. He discovered his phone was dead and by the time he realized and plugged it in the house was on fire.”
I flipped on my turn signal. “Obviously the police thought he was lying.”
“Judge Neill Halloran had been the Pearsons’ neighbor for the five years they’d lived in the house,” Mr. P. said. “The judge saw Michael Pearson at the house the night of the fire, and he saw him walking away. He was certain he’d seen Mike turn and look back at the burning house.”
“Not an easy witness to discredit,” I said.
Rose nodded. “There was no question about his integrity. Neill Halloran was known for his fair and ethical behavior on the bench. He’s the last person who would lie or misrepresent the facts.”
Were we wrong, I wondered. Was Liz’s initial reaction about this case the right one?
I slowed down to let the car in front of me make a left turn and glanced at Rose.
“Oh we’re not giving up,” she said, as though she’d just read my thoughts. “There’s something we’re not seeing.” She put a hand on her chest. “I can feel it.”
I turned my attention back to the road.
“Do you think I’m silly?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t.” Rose had great instincts. I’d learned to trust them.
“There has to be something we’re missing.”
“How are we going to find it?” I asked. I looked over at Rose again as I pulled into the store’s parking lot.
Her expression turned thoughtful. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she said.
Chapter 4
It was a busy morning at the shop. There was a customer waiting when we opened, a tourist heading back to New Hampshire looking for a rocking chair she’d seen the day before. It took some maneuvering, but Mr. P. and I managed to get it securely into the back of her SUV, wedged between two suitcases, several shopping bags and an oversized inflatable—and fully inflated—lobster.
“You have very good spatial acuity, my dear,” Mr. P. said, as the woman pulled out of the parking lot.
“I guess I do,” I agreed, brushing off the front of my jeans. They had sand and bits of dried grass stuck to the denim from when I’d crawled into the back of the customer’s car. “I think it comes from all the forts I used to make with Josh when we were kids.” Josh was Josh Evans, another summer friend from my childhood and more recently the Angels’ lawyer on a couple of occasions.
Mid-morning, Jess dropped in with some pillows she’d made from fabric I’d found in the first storage unit. She was probably my closest friend. Jess had grown up in North Harbor, but we hadn’t really known each other, probably because I was a summer kid. We’d gotten close when I put an ad on the music department bulletin board at the University of Maine looking for a roommate. Jess was studying art history and was rarely in the buildings that made up the School of Performing Arts so she insisted it was fate that had brought us together. I think it was the fact that Jess had a crush on a tall, bearded music major that was responsible for her seeing my ad that day. She had been the only person to call because it turned out she’d taken the ad down after she saw it to stop anyone from getting in touch with me before she could.