Claw Enforcement

by Sofie Ryan

  “So maybe a stroke.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I didn’t want to say that maybe, maybe he’d been poisoned when all it might be was speculation on my part—and Rose’s. I straightened the box closest to me, lining it up with the edge of the bench. “What happens to the lawsuit now?” I asked.

  “I’m guessing this will be the end of it and Joe will be able to buy the land just the way he’d originally planned to do.”

  “Liam, do you have any idea why Healy showed up last night?”

  His expression changed. There was a wary look in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he said.

  “I mean, what was he trying to achieve? Make a scene? Embarrass Joe Roswell? They were already going to court. How did him showing up drunk like that change anything?”

  “Who knows?” Liam shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. “It wasn’t about money, I know that much. Joe offered more than Healy paid for the land, but he wouldn’t take it.”

  “Where is this piece of land, anyway?”

  The question got a smile from Liam. “Remember when we used to go swimming at Gibson’s Point when we were kids?”

  I nodded.

  “Remember that cove with that private beach that we used to sneak off to?”

  I grinned at him and raised an eyebrow. “You mean that you used to ditch me and sneak off to with whichever girl you were dating that week.” I made quotes in the air around the word “dating.”

  He grinned back at me. “That’s what I said. It’s the piece of land overlooking the water.” His phone chimed then. He pulled it out of his pocket, took a quick look at the screen and then stashed it again. “I have to go,” he said. “I’ll try to get back this afternoon with those photos.”

  I nodded. “We’ll get started with these boxes.”

  Liam started for the back door then turned around again. “Hey, Sarah, thanks for doing this. I owe you.”

  I crossed my arms over my midsection and smiled at him. “I know,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes and he was out the door.

  I pulled the nearest box closer to me and started taking out the tin cars inside. I hoped that enough people had had the chance to see the toys that there’d be lots of bids on everything. I didn’t want the hot lunch program to lose out because of what had happened. It struck me that based on what Liam had said, Joe Roswell was likely going to benefit. He might be the only person who would.

  Joe Roswell was probably going to gain from Christopher Healy’s death. I didn’t want to think about what that could mean.

  Chapter 4

  By late morning I had found four wrought-iron candelabra that we could use for a spooky table setting on the mail-sorting table once Mac brought it inside. I’d sorted out all the toys and printed out the previous day’s orders from the website. I had a kink in my neck, my stomach was already growling and I’d realized that I’d forgotten to bring any lunch.

  I went downstairs. Rose had been sorting frames into two piles in between customers. “Can you hold down the fort for a while?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s been quiet this morning.” She held up a wooden picture frame painted black and silver. “What do you think of this?”

  “I like it,” I said.

  “There are three of them. All they need are a little cleaning and I think they’ll be perfect for those photos of the front of the old hotel.”

  I smiled at her. “I hope the photographs bring in some money. I know not everyone had a chance to look at them last night. I was hoping the reception would generate some interest in them and in the toys.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Rose said. “I have some ideas to get people talking.”

  “Do I want to know what these ideas are?” I asked. If Rose said don’t worry, that usually meant I probably should.

  She brushed some bits of paper off the front of her flowered apron. “It’s been my experience that usually you’re happier when you don’t.”

  I thought about that for a minute. “Okay,” I said, backing toward the door. “I have bail money if you need it.”

  “You’re so funny,” she said, giving me an indulgent smile.

  I waved at Mr. P. as I went past the Angels’ office. I found Mac in the old garage, one arm resting on the top of his head, a look of aggravation on his face as he contemplated the mail-sorting table. It had a noticeable list to one side.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, exhaling loudly. “Three of the casters slipped right on to the bottom of the table legs, but I can’t get the fourth one to fit no matter what I do. I measured; it should fit, but it won’t slide into place.”

  I leaned forward and studied the recalcitrant caster. For the moment the leg was balanced on top of it, which is what gave the table its cant to the left. I straightened up and ran my fingers around the corner of the tabletop. Mac watched without saying anything. The metal was smooth under my fingers. I raised my arm in the air, pulled my fingers into a fist and brought the heel of my hand down hard on the corner of the table. The leg popped smoothly into the top of the caster.

  I looked at Mac. He looked at me. Then he started to laugh. “That was luck,” he said, pointing a finger at me.

  I put a hand to my chest and tried to look chagrined. “No, it wasn’t. It was physics. I estimated the tensile strength of the metal and found the best point to apply a downward strike without causing the leg to shear to the side.”

  “Tensile strength,” Mac said.

  I nodded solemnly. “Is there anything else I could do for you?” I asked. “Deadlift a bed frame? Leap a tall building in a single bound?”

  He shook his head, still laughing. “No. I’m good.”

  I pointed over my shoulder. “I’m headed to McNamara’s. You want anything?”

  “Nope,” he said. “Still all good here.”

  I started for my SUV, walking backward across the parking lot so I could still see Mac’s face. “You really should read up about tensile strength,” I said.

  He came and stood in the open garage doorway. “I should,” he said. His eyes never left my face.

  I glanced over my shoulder then shifted my gaze right back to Mac again. I held out both hands. “Physics is kind of my jam.”

  He laughed again. “That’s good to know, in case I have any trouble when I’m reading up on tensile strength.”

  I’d reached the SUV and I pulled the keys out of my pocket. “If you have any problems with anything physics-ish, I’m your woman.”

  “You definitely are,” he said.

  Color flooded my face. I got behind the wheel and started the car. Mac and I had been dancing around each other for the last month, ever since he’d come back from settling his connections in Boston. I knew one of these days one of us was going to have to make a move.

  It was quiet when I got to McNamara’s. Glenn was behind the counter, setting a tray of crackle-top muffins into the glass display case. “Apple cinnamon?” I asked.

  He nodded. “With brown sugar topping.”

  “I’m going to need one of those, for sure,” I said.

  He glanced back at the oversize round clock on the wall behind him then put two fingers to his temple. “And let me guess, a chicken salad sandwich with cheddar and extra tomato.”

  “Your psychic abilities are amazing,” I said with a smile.

  “I’m not done.” Glenn put two fingers back to the side of his face. “And a large coffee.”

  “Am I that predictable?” I asked as I handed over my stainless steel travel mug.

  He smiled. “I like to think of it as consistency.” He relayed my sandwich order to the back and then poured my coffee, handing the cup over the counter to me.

  “I have a question for you,” I said.

  “Yes, that was a picture
of me. Yes, I had hair like Kurt Cobain.”

  I stared at him and I think my mouth hung open a little. “How did you know I was going to ask that?”

  Glenn brushed flour off the front of his apron. “Because Nick was in earlier and told me that you and Rose had been debating whether you’d found my class photo last night. I actually appreciate your insistence that there was no way that I ever had a grunge phase.”

  “Hey, I went through a phase where I wore embroidered jeans and a newsboy cap everywhere and I’m very grateful there is no photographic evidence out there.”

  Glenn laughed.

  I gave him an appraising look as I sipped my coffee. “You know, you could buy that photo and no one would ever have to see it again.”

  “When are you going to start taking bids?” he asked.

  “Sunday, if all goes well. Just check the store’s website.”

  “Don’t worry, I will,” he said. He hesitated for a moment. “Nick told me what happened last night. I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  Glenn grabbed a set of metal tongs and picked up one of the apple muffins. He put it in a small waxed paper bag and set it on the counter. “Healy had been in here a few times. You heard he bought that piece of land down by Gibson’s Point?”

  I nodded. Clayton McNamara lived close to the point. “Liam told me.”

  “So you know Joe Roswell was suing him over that?”

  “I know about the lawsuit, but Liam didn’t really fill in the details. Why was Roswell suing?”

  One of the kitchen staff came out and handed Glenn my sandwich. He put it in a paper bag along with the apple muffin.

  “Joe had been trying to buy that piece of property to develop some kind of a private getaway for affluent city people,” he said.

  “Wait a minute. I thought that whole stretch of shoreline was washing into the bay. That beach was closed years ago.” I handed Glenn the money for my lunch.

  “You’re not wrong,” he said, giving me back my change. “It seemed the land wasn’t stable enough to support any kind of building. But do you know who Robb Gorham is?”

  I nodded, wondering how the building contractor was connected to the story.

  “It seems that he’s developed some type of system they use in parts of Asia to build support into terrain like that. It’s a new type of geo-textile fabric with fibers that penetrate the soil, like the roots of native grasses, and hold it in place.”

  “Do you think it could work?” I asked. I knew soil erosion was a big problem in several areas along the coastline.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” Glenn said. “The supposed advantage of this fabric is that it’s made from soy pulp left over from the tofu-making process, if you can believe it. No chemicals seeping into the ground or the water. And the important thing is that Joe is convinced it would work.”

  I was having a bit of trouble seeing how a fabric made out of what were essentially tofu leftovers could shore up an unstable piece of ground. On the other hand, silk fiber was stronger than steel and had been used in early bullet-resistant vests. Maybe soy fiber was just as durable. “So where did the lawsuit come from?”

  “Healy swept in and bought the land out from under Joe. He said he was going to turn it into a nature preserve. Joe filed a lawsuit claiming he had a purchase agreement in principal, which Healy knew.” Glenn shrugged. “You know what they say about verbal agreements. They’re not worth the paper they’re not written on.”

  I picked up the bag with my lunch. “What about the original owner of the property? How does he or she connect to the lawsuit?”

  “She. Elderly woman well into her nineties. There’s some indication she really wasn’t clear on who she was selling to.”

  I made a face. “Messy.”

  “Maybe a little less so now that Healy is dead,” Glenn said.

  The door behind me opened and three women came in. I thanked Glenn for the food and left. I thought about what he’d said: That Christopher Healy’s death had made life a little less messy for both Joe Roswell and Robb Gorham. I hoped that neither one of them had done anything to nudge things in that direction.

  Chapter 5

  When I got back to the shop Charlotte had arrived for her shift. Nick’s mom was a former school principal. It was from her that he got his stubborn streak and his kind heart. She wrapped me in a hug. “I heard that you and Nicolas tried to save that man last night.”

  “I just wish we’d succeeded,” I said.

  “You tried,” she said as she tied her apron. “That will matter to his family.”

  At four thirty I drove Mr. P. and Rose over to Legacy Place so Mr. P. could visit his old friend. Mac had finished cleaning the old table from the post office and we’d carried it into the shop. Avery had set the table with a plain white tablecloth and heavy white china plates and bowls that had been in the store for at least six months. She used plum-colored napkins and crystal goblets at each place. Down the center of the table she’d arranged small white pumpkins around a mismatched collection of silver candlesticks holding plum-colored tapers that coordinated with the napkins. Scattered around them were bright orange seed pods from a Chinese lantern plant. The effect was fall-like without being too traditional.

  “That’s beautiful, Avery,” I said. “You have a wonderful eye for color. Orange and plum don’t sound like they would work together, but they do.”

  “Thanks,” she said, brushing her hair back behind one ear. “I’m going to start working on the photos of those old toys. Do you care if I get a little creative with them?”

  I shook my head. “I trust you,” I said.

  More often than not Avery was the one who came up with the idea for the front window display. She had decorated the shop’s window for Halloween with her version of a romantic dinner, which included a cozy round table set for two with a stark white tablecloth, black and pewter placemats, pewter plates and black glass wine goblets. The centerpiece was made with branches she’d spray-painted black and festooned with black crystals, along with white feathers and tiny black and white butterflies all arranged in two flower vases she had spray-painted black. The romantic couple holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes were two full-size skeletons—plastic, not real. And because it was Avery, they both looked very dashing in black silk top hats.

  I parked the SUV in one of the visitor spots in the parking lot at Legacy Place. The brick building was the former Gardner Chocolate factory—“A little bite of bliss in a little gold box.” Back in the early 1990s, the company had built a state-of-the-art manufacturing facility just on the outskirts of North Harbor. In the following twenty years the old building had had a number of incarnations. About four years ago the Gardners had turned the space into an apartment complex for senior citizens. At one time Rose had lived at Legacy Place, which she still referred to as “Shady Pines.”

  Mr. P. had spoken to his old friend on the phone so Elliot was expecting us. He was waiting when we got off the elevators. “It’s so good to see you, Alfred,” he said. “It’s been too many years.” The two men shook hands, leaning in and clapping each other on the back.

  Elliot Casey was of average height, which made him a bit taller than Mr. P. He had thinning white hair, a lived-in face and pale blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. I tried to picture the two of them as teenaged football players and couldn’t quite get there.

  “I’m sorry this visit isn’t under better circumstances,” Mr. P. said. “But I am very glad to see you after all these years.” He turned toward Rose and me. “Elliot these are my friends Rose Jackson and Sarah Grayson.”

  “Hello,” he said, smiling at both of us.

  Rose took Mr. Casey’s hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry about your stepson,” she said.

  He nodded. “Thank you so much.”

  I touched Mr. P.’s arm. “Ros
e and I are going to visit a couple of her friends. We’ll be back to get you in about an hour, if that’s all right.”

  He nodded. “That will be fine, my dear.”

  “We’re in 206,” his old friend said. “Down this hall and turn right. And you don’t need to rush. Alfred and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Rose had pushed the down button for the elevator. We got on and once the doors closed I turned to her. “Where do we start?” I said. I didn’t believe for a moment that she was looking to catch up with anyone. When Rose had lived at Legacy Place her main complaint was that all everyone did was complain about what had stopped working and what had started sprouting hair. I knew this was a fact-finding mission.

  To her credit Rose didn’t even try to deny it. “When you’re looking for information in this place, you want it straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were. That means Tabitha Gray.”

  We got off the elevator on the main floor and I followed Rose down a long hallway to the back section of the building. Rose stopped in front of an apartment door and rummaged in her bag.

  “We’re not breaking in, are we?” I asked.

  She shot me a look. “Of course not! You’ve been spending too much time with Liz. She’s a bad influence. You’re getting very suspicious.” She eyed the space between my eyebrows. “And that kind of thing will give you wrinkles.” She pulled a small white cardboard box tied with twine from her purse.

  “What’s that?”

  “Brown sugar fudge. You don’t come on fact-finding missions empty-handed.”

  She smoothed the front of her cranberry red sweater. I smoothed the space between my eyebrows with one finger while she wasn’t looking.

  Tabitha Gray turned out to be a tiny, round woman in an oversize white T-shirt and cropped black yoga pants. Her hair, styled in a bob with bangs, was dyed a vibrant shade of magenta. Avery would have loved it.

  “Rose Jackson, what on earth are you doing here!” she said when she answered the door.

  “I brought you some fudge,” Rose said, holding out the cardboard box.