by Sofie Ryan
“Ella confirmed what I had remembered: that potato chips can be useful for starting a fire if one’s intentions are less than honorable.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “But what was even more interesting was that she told me about six months ago there was a fire in Portland that got a lot of coverage in the local papers. A fire that at first was believed to be accidental.” There was a gleam in his eye. “A lamp fell over and the heat from the old incandescent lightbulb ignited some potato chips . . . spilled on a sofa.”
I shook my head. “Another coincidence.”
“So it seems.”
“Alfred, did they catch the arsonist?” Mac asked. He was perched on the edge of the stool, one foot on the floor.
Mr. P. nodded again. “Yes, they did. There’s no connection with what happened here.”
“Except for the method,” I said.
“According to Ella, the coverage in the newspapers was a blueprint for anyone looking to set a fire.”
“Both Kimber Watson and Jeffery Walker live in Portland,” I said. I remembered seeing that in the bios of the front-runners.
“So do Suzanne and Paul Lilley,” Mr. P. said.
“Is it possible there is a connection between Christine’s death and the vandalism at the other cat shows?”
Mr. P. didn’t answer right away. “Maybe,” he finally said. “I don’t want to say yes, but I don’t want to say no, either. I think for now we keep working on both cases, but we keep our eyes open for any potential links between the two.”
That worked for me. Now that we knew Christine’s death wasn’t an accident, we could work on finding the person who’d killed her. I felt vindicated. “I was right. From the very beginning I was right.”
Mr. P. reached over and patted my hand. “Yes, you were.”
“We’re going to catch the person who killed Christine,” I said. I didn’t phrase the words as a question because as far as I was concerned, there was no question to be asked.
“We most definitely are,” he said. “I will share what I’ve learned with Nicolas in the morning—keeping Ella’s name out of things, of course.”
“We need to talk to Michelle as well. Maybe we should do that first. I’ll call her in the morning.”
“An excellent idea, my dear.” He got to his feet. “I’ll be here in the morning to drive in to the shop with you. We can tell Rosie everything then.”
“I don’t mind picking you up,” I said. I stood up as well, setting Elvis on the sofa.
“Thank you, but the walk over will do me good.”
I nodded. “All right, but call if it’s cold or you change your mind.”
He smiled. “I will.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “I’ll wait in the hallway,” he said to Mac.
Mac wrapped his arms around me and I leaned my head against his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back in time to make it to the jam.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “This is a lot more important.”
“Do you think what Alfred found out will change Nick’s mind?”
“I do. Nick may be pigheaded, but he won’t ignore evidence and that’s what this is.” I tipped my head back to look up at Mac.
He smiled. “Get some sleep,” he said. He kissed me and I could have happily stayed like that, but there was a little old man in the hallway waiting for a ride home.
We said good night and Mac left. I picked up Elvis. “Well, furball,” I said, “it looks like we’re finally getting somewhere.”
“Mrrr,” he said. Then he licked my chin. I took that as agreement.
* * *
* * *
Mr. P. arrived just as I was locking my door in the morning. “Good morning, Sarah, Elvis,” he said. He wore a gray hat and a gray-and-red-striped scarf was wound around his neck several times. I knew Rose had knitted both for him.
Rose came out of her apartment then, smiling when she saw Mr. P. standing there. “Alfred, what a lovely surprise,” she said. “I thought you were going straight to the arena with Cleveland.”
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said. He glanced at me and I gave him an encouraging smile.
“Let’s get going then,” she said, bustling past us.
I unlocked the front passenger door for Rose and the back one for Mr. P. Elvis waited patiently at my feet. When I opened the driver’s-side door he looked up expectantly at me.
“I don’t think you’ve forgotten how to jump,” I said.
He gave an indignant meow.
“He doesn’t want to mess up his fur or his feet,” Rose said. “Could you help him, please?”
I bent down to pick up the cat. “Don’t get used to this,” I whispered. He wrinkled his whiskers at me.
Elvis settled himself on the seat next to Rose. She fastened her seat belt and folded her hands in her lap. I saw her glance at Mr. P. in the back as I did up my own seat belt. She spoke before I could stick the key in the ignition. “Now that everyone is settled, would you two like to tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” I said.
Rose shook her head. “Honestly, the two of you look like Elvis the time he got into my pie—minus the blueberry stains, of course.”
I didn’t think I looked guilty and I certainly didn’t think Mr. P. did, but Rose had some kind of extrasensory perception when it came to subterfuge. Probably all those years as a middle school teacher.
“Rosie, there is something we need to talk about,” Mr. P. said, putting a hand on the back of the front seat and leaning forward. “We have some new information about the fire. I told Sarah last night and I would have told you, but neither of us wanted to upset Debra. Not yet.”
Rose reached over and put a hand on top of his. “You did the right thing,” she said. She glanced over at me and gave me a smile. “But we can’t keep that kind of secret forever.”
“Can we keep it until we talk to Michelle?” I asked. “I called her this morning and she’s stopping by the shop a little later.”
Her smile faded. “This new information is serious then.”
“Yes, it is,” Mr. P. said.
“I think we can wait at least that long,” Rose said. “What on earth did you find out?”
I’d already told Rose about my conversation with Nick the day before. She’d shaken her head and said, “I’m going to need to have a talk with him.”
Mr. P. explained how hearing about the lamp and the potato chips had twigged something for him. He told her about the trip to see the young woman in Owl’s Head and about the arson story in the Portland-area papers.
“Have you talked to Nicolas yet?” Rose asked me.
I shook my head. “We wanted to see what Michelle thinks first.”
She nodded slowly. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” She gave Mr. P.’s hand a squeeze and turned back around in her seat, giving Elvis a smile as she did. “Let’s put the pedal to the metal,” she said to me.
I stifled a smile. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, turning the key in the ignition.
* * *
* * *
Charlotte and Mac were in the shop when we arrived. Rose bustled over to Mac. “Thank you for rescuing Alfred last night,” she said, smiling up at him.
“It was no trouble,” Mac said.
I knew he meant the words. He and Mr. P. had gotten close in the time Mac had been in North Harbor. I also knew that Mac would have done the same for any of the others. For Rose. For Avery. He would have driven to Canada or all the way to Boston without thinking twice. It was just the kind of person he was.
Charlotte was fastening her apron. “I talked to Nick last night,” she said to me. “And I want to say I think he’s wrong.”
I knew she was referring to Nick’s opinion about the fire.
“Alfred has some information that’s going to change his mind,” Rose s
aid. I liked her confidence.
“Good,” Charlotte said. “Sometimes Nick just can’t see the forest for the trees.” She turned her head to look at me. “And no comments about apples and trees.”
I held up a hand. “I don’t have a thing to say about trees whatsoever. In fact, I’m going up to make the tea.”
“I’ll bring Charlotte up to date,” Rose said.
Mr. P. nodded. “I’m going to find those newspaper articles.”
Mac looked around. “And I’m going to . . . do something.”
I was leaning against the counter in the staff room, waiting for the kettle to boil a couple of minutes later when Mac appeared in the doorway.
“I thought you were doing . . . something,” I teased.
He grinned. “I was.” He held out a bag of coffee. “We were out.”
“How did that happen?” I said. I’d been lost in thought and hadn’t even pulled out the coffeepot.
He gave an elaborate shrug. “I don’t know. It couldn’t be because someone ran out of coffee at home and took the spare bag that was here.”
“Can’t be,” I said. “We have a policy against that kind of thing.”
He set the coffee on the counter next to the teapot and kissed me. “Do we have a policy against that?”
“Absolutely not,” I said.
Mac reached past me for the filter and the coffeepot.
“That was good of you to drive down to Owl’s Head last night,” I said.
“It really wasn’t a problem.” He got the coffee scoop out of the drawer to my left. “I’m just sorry I didn’t make it to the jam.”
“Next time.” I smiled. “Just so you know, Jess says she’s going to rope and tie you like a rodeo steer.”
“Why do I think she’s perfectly capable of that?” he asked.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Because she is. She dated a bullfighter. Not the kind with the red cape. The kind who distracts the bull at a rodeo. Plus, she’s really good at knots.”
Mac held up his thumb and finger about half an inch apart. “That scares me just a little bit.”
I grinned. “It should.”
He leaned against the counter next to me.
“Do you think what Mr. P. learned last night will convince Michelle and Nick and the arson investigator that Christine’s death wasn’t an accident?” I asked.
Mac nodded. “I do. If Alfred’s friend knew about that fire in Portland and all the coverage it got, you can bet the investigator here does.”
“I’ve been so focused on trying to convince Nick that fire wasn’t an accident and now I’m finding I almost wish it had been.”
“What do you mean?” he said.
“Someone killed Christine. Someone deliberately set the fire. It didn’t happen because of bad wiring or a faulty outlet. It happened because someone planned it. I’m not saying I think it was a deliberate attempt to kill her, but it had the same result.” I sighed softly.
“And whoever it was will pay for that,” Mac said. “The police—all of us—will catch the person who started that fire.”
“You sound pretty confident,” I said.
He smiled. “I am. Remember, we’re on the side of the Angels.”
* * *
* * *
Michelle showed up about half an hour later. Mac had brought in two more chairs to show Maud Fitch, who had called to say she’d be stopping in that afternoon. I was wiping the dust off them when Michelle came in the back door.
“It’s good to see you,” I said, giving her a hug.
“You too,” she said.
Ever since Liz had proven that Michelle’s father hadn’t been guilty of the embezzlement that had sent him to prison, Michelle had seemed happier. Even though Rob Andrews had died years earlier, Liz had used her considerable influence and connections to make sure his innocence made the news all over the state. Michelle still wore her father’s watch on her left arm, but now when she looked at it she smiled.
“You have some information about the fire on Tuesday night.” She was wearing gray pants with a pale blue shirt and a black wool jacket. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
I nodded. “Rose and Mr. P. are waiting for us in the office,” I said.
We walked across the workroom and I knocked on the open door.
Mr. P. looked up from his computer. “Good morning,” he said with a smile.
Michelle smiled back at him. “Good morning, Alfred,” she said.
Rose was just ending a call on her cell phone. “Hello, Michelle,” she said. “I received a note from your mother just a few days ago. It was lovely to hear from her.”
“She was so happy to get the photos you sent her.”
Rose nodded. “I’m glad.”
Revitalization of the harbor front had been going on for months now. We had hosted an auction on our website of items, mostly toys and photographs, that had been found in several of the buildings that were torn down as part of the new development. Rose had bought a collection of photos, many of them more than thirty years old. She and Avery had had great fun tracking down the people in the pictures and getting the photographs to them. There had been several of Michelle’s parents that looked like they had been taken during some sort of summer festival. She had gotten her mother’s address from Michelle and sent the photos to her. Rose had smiled all day after the thank-you note arrived.
“Sarah says you have some information about the fire Tuesday night,” Michelle said.
Mr. P. nodded. He explained about learning how the fire began without mentioning Nick’s name, although Michelle had to guess that was where the information came from. He told her how things twigged for him after he heard about the lamp and the potato chips. And he recounted the trip to Owl’s Head.
“I gave my word that I wouldn’t give up my source, but I do have the links to the newspaper articles,” he said.
“It’s all right,” Michelle said. “I don’t need them.”
I’d watched as Mr. P. talked and I realized that Michelle didn’t seem surprised by his conclusions.
“Something’s changed in the last day,” I said.
She nodded. “It’s going to be news when we have a press conference at lunchtime so I’ll tell the three of you now. Christine Eldridge’s death is being investigated as a homicide. Tom Manning, the arson investigator, came to the same conclusions as you did.”
Rose and Mr. P. looked as surprised as I felt. “How?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Michelle said. “That’s all I can tell you.”
She shifted her attention to Rose and Mr. P. “I know there’s no point in telling you not to investigate, but please call me if you find anything and don’t take any . . . risky chances.”
“When we know something, so will you,” Rose said. I noticed she didn’t say how quickly Michelle would know.
Michelle glanced at her watch. “I know you and Sarah had lunch with Christine and her friend the day of the fire. Did she say anything about any trouble with anyone—a neighbor, someone in her classes, someone at the earlier cat shows?”
Rose shook her head. “No.”
I hesitated.
“Sarah?” Michelle said, green eyes narrowing.
“You know that the Angels have been investigating some incidences of sabotage at a couple of cat shows.”
“I heard.”
Rose looked at me. “What is it?”
“Christine did say something that at the time I dismissed, but now I’m not sure. We were talking about the vandalism that had happened at the earlier cat shows and she said, ‘Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the cats. Maybe it’s more personal.’”
“Did you ask her what she meant?” Michelle said.
“I did. She said she was just speculating.”
“But now you think she wasn’t?” Mr. P. said.
“Maybe.”
“Alfred, do you have any serious suspects?” Michelle said to Mr. P.
“I’m sorry to say we don’t. We’re looking closely at several people, but there’s nothing that points directly at anyone. And there were no issues at the Searsport show and there haven’t been so far at this one.” His phone rang then. He picked it up from his desk and checked the screen. I saw a flash of something—concern, maybe—cross his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to take this. Please excuse me.” He walked out into the workroom.
Michelle touched her jacket pocket as though checking to make sure she had her own phone. “Can the two of you think of anything else I should know?”
I looked at Rose. She shook her head. “I don’t think there is anything else,” I said.
She nodded. “I’m on my way to talk to Debra Martinez. Maybe she’ll have some ideas.”
“Debra is staying with me,” Rose said. “She should be there for about another hour before she leaves for the arena.” She frowned. “Are you going now?”
“I am,” Michelle said.
“Could I go with you?” Rose asked. “Just to be moral support.”
Michelle hesitated for a moment. “All right.”
Rose smiled. “Thank you. I just need to get my coat.” She looked at me. “I’ll drive over to the arena with Debra and if anything changes I’ll call you.”
“I’ll bring Mr. P. and Elvis,” I said.
Just then Alfred came back in. His expression was somber, his lips pulled in a tight line. “It appears I spoke too soon,” he said. “There’s been a problem at the arena.”
“What happened?” Michelle immediately turned toward him.
“There were two mice found in one of the booths.”
“Good heavens! How did that happen?” Rose exclaimed. “Where did they come from? The pest control company did a sweep on Tuesday before anyone was allowed in to set up.”
“Cleveland thinks these are domesticated mice,” Mr. P. said.
