I thought about what Rose and I had talked about earlier. “Mallory, how were things between you and your stepmother?”
She shrugged. “Not good.”
Elvis had settled himself on her lap.
“We were fighting all the time. Mostly about her drinking, but about other things, too, like school and my clothes and what time I got home.”
She went very still then except for the hand stroking Elvis’s fur. “You don’t think I had something to do with what happened, do you? I swear I would never have burned down our house.”
I couldn’t help it. I glanced at the cat. He was blissfully settled in her lap. Mallory Pearson was telling the truth.
I had no explanation for it, but Elvis could tell when someone was lying if they happened to be petting him at the same time. His ears would flatten and he’d look at the person with half-lidded eyes, pupils narrowed, the picture of skepticism. Mac seemed to think the cat could sense the same kind of physiological changes that a polygraph measured. I had no idea whether he was right. I’d just seen Elvis do it enough times to know it wasn’t a coincidence.
“No, no,” I said. “None of us think you had anything to do with what happened. It’s just the more we learn about Gina the better chance we have of figuring out what really happened.”
It was a pretty lame explanation but luckily she didn’t question it.
Mallory looked at Charlotte once more. “Please don’t give up. You have to prove that it wasn’t Dad’s fault. I’m okay, but . . . but Greg and Austin need him.”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through to a photo Mr. P. had found online of Gavin Pace. “Mallory, do you remember seeing this man anywhere in your neighborhood any time before the fire?” I asked, holding out the phone to her.
She studied the image. “He looks familiar, but I don’t remember seeing him anywhere in our neighborhood. Who is he? Do you think he’s the person Mr. Halloran saw?”
Charlotte put a hand on her arm. “He’s just someone who worked with Gina. We’re trying to track down her friends.”
Mallory picked at the hem of her Hey Violet T-shirt. “She pretty much didn’t have any friends left at the end. Except Katy. They’d been friends forever.” She looked at Charlotte. “Have you talked to her? Do you want me to call her or something?”
“We’ve already talked to her,” Charlotte said.
“She asked you to stop trying to help my dad.” The words weren’t a question.
Charlotte looked at me.
“I think Katy really cares about you and your brothers,” I said.
Mallory sighed. “I know she does. She stuck by . . . Gina when all her other friends walked away. And she even said if my grandmother really does want to move back to Washington we could move in with her.”
I waited for the “but” I knew was coming.
“But Katy tries to act like she’s our mother sometimes and there’s no way she could ever be that. Greg and I are having lunch with her on Thursday and she’ll probably start bugging us about this. She keeps saying we need to heal.” She put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “We can’t heal without Dad.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Charlotte said.
I nodded. I wished I knew how we were going to do that.
Chapter 13
Mac called about eight thirty that evening. I told him about the visit with Gavin Pace and the conversation with Mallory. “I’ve gotten sucked into this way more than any other case the Angels have taken on,” I said.
“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he said.
“We’re not any closer to figuring out what happened the night of the fire. What if we can’t? What if Mike Pearson spends the next four and a half years in jail?” I slumped in the corner of the sofa. “The problem is we’re trying to prove a negative.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Judge Halloran says he saw Mike walking away from the burning house. How do we prove the judge is wrong?”
“Where was he?”
“The judge? On his front steps, as far as I know.”
“No, not him,” Mac said. “Where exactly was Mike Pearson? If he wasn’t at the fire, where was he? He had to be somewhere. Wherever that is, maybe someone saw him.”
I blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before now.” I pictured Mac smiling.
“You would have gotten there eventually.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think we’ve all gotten a little too invested in this case. It started out that we were just looking for a way to get Mike out of jail and then suddenly we were investigating a murder that no one else is willing to say was a murder. No wonder we can’t seem to find any answers.”
“Hey, you’re on the team with Rose Jackson and Alfred Peterson,” Mac said. “They might know what the word ‘can’t’ means, but most of the time they just ignore it.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “I wish you’d been here to see Rose with the electrician Liam sent.”
“Let me guess: He told her she couldn’t have something the way she wanted it done—”
“Wall sconces,” I said.
“And Rose just kept going like the poor guy hadn’t said anything.”
“With just a pinch of befuddled little old lady thrown in.”
He laughed. “So how do the wall sconces look?” he asked.
“Good, actually.”
“Sarah, do you remember what you said to me when the Angels’ case involved my life, my future? You said, ‘We have a secret weapon. We have Rose. She’s a pit bull with sensible shoes and a tote bag full of cookies.’”
At the time I’d been trying to lighten the mood, but part of me had also been serious. Rose, Mr. P., Liz and Charlotte and their unorthodox methods of solving crime had worked in the past and deep inside I’d wanted to believe they could solve Mac’s case, too.
I could hear a sound on the other end of the phone. “Are you clapping?” I asked.
“Yes, I am,” Mac said. “I believe in you. I believe in Rose. I believe in the Angels. So I’m clapping.”
He was referencing Peter Pan, I realized.
“You clap if you believe in fairies, not angels.”
“Close enough.”
“This is silly,” I said.
“I’ve got all night and a cup of coffee at my elbow.”
I couldn’t help smiling. Mac always did that to me. I held up a hand in a gesture of surrender even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay, okay. I get your point.”
“Good,” he said. “It’ll work out. I mean it.”
I really hoped he was right.
After Mac and I said good night, I called Nick. “Hey, Sarah, what’s up?” he said. I could hear voices, noise in the background.
“I have a question,” I said. “You’ve read pretty much all the reports on Mike Pearson’s case, right?”
“Yeah, I have.”
“If it wasn’t Mike who Judge Halloran saw, where was he? Rose said he told the police he was just driving around. But where? Maybe someone saw him or maybe a security camera picked him up.”
Nick was quiet for a moment then he said, “That’s a good question. Let me see what I can find out tomorrow.”
I thanked him and said good night.
I woke up the next morning feeling a lot more positive. Talking to Mac—even though it was over the phone and not in person—had helped, and I had my fingers crossed that Nick might come up with some piece of information to help prove where Mike had really been the night of the fire.