Weave of Absence Page 4

  “What do you think we should do?” Margaret said. She looked from Jenny to me. “If you two are right about him and Melinda, shouldn’t somebody warn Marnie?”

  “Are you serious?” Jenny looked stunned. “I don’t think that would be very wise. What if we’re wrong?”

  “A minute ago you were so sure,” I said.

  She grimaced. “I know. Poor Marnie. I just hate to hurt her.”

  I crossed my arms. “I, for one, think Margaret is right. Somebody has to tell her. She’ll be hurt. There’s no question about it. She might even hate us for it, but she’ll come around. If we don’t tell her now, it will be much worse later.” My comment was met with a long silence.

  “I still don’t like it one bit,” Jenny said, throwing up her hands. “But you are closer to her than I am.”

  “How about we sleep on it for a few days?” Margaret said.

  Jenny nodded. “Good idea. It’s not as if she’s getting married in the morning. And who knows? Maybe she’ll figure it out on her own. And when that happens, we can be there to support her.” She saw the look on my face and added, “I’m being a chicken. I know.” Before I could try to change her mind, she turned to Margaret. “We’d better get back and start preparing for the lunch crowd—supposing we have one.” They disappeared behind the beaded curtain and I returned to my weaving.

  As I got into the rhythm of working the loom, my mind wandered back to the events of the party and then to the argument I’d witnessed between Helen Dubois and Marnie’s fiancé. Whatever it was about must have been important; otherwise I couldn’t imagine Helen getting into a public confrontation in the middle of a celebration. What could have made her so angry, I wondered?

  There was only one way to find out. I would have to ask her myself. I calculated quickly. The next time I was scheduled to see Helen was five days from now—on Saturday, when she was to come in for a private weaving lesson. I was not about to wait that long. I beat in the weft on my loom and put away my shuttle.

  “Margaret,” I called, hastening to the beaded curtain. She looked up from behind her counter. “Can you keep an eye on the shop for a while? I’ll be right back.”

  “No problem,” Margaret said, looking puzzled. “Where are you going?”

  But I hurried away without answering.

  • • •

  I parked my red Jeep in front of Helen’s house and as I approached the front door, I quickly worked out how to explain why I was popping by so unexpectedly. Helen had mentioned wanting to show me some yarns she was thinking of using. I’d simply tell her I happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to stop by and take a look at them. I knocked and waited a few minutes—no answer. I knocked again.

  When I pressed my ear to the door, I could hear music from somewhere inside. Surely she was home. Why wasn’t she coming to the door? I thought back to what I knew of Helen’s private life. Marnie had told me the woman had been single her entire life and that she lived alone. So if anybody was here, it was likely her. I knocked one more time, harder now, and waited. Still nothing. A bad feeling came over me.

  “Hello?” I called out. “Helen? Are you home? It’s me, Della.” I knocked a few more times and as the minutes ticked by, my feeling of dread grew.

  What if something had happened to her? She could have slipped in the shower, taken a tumble down the stairs. Accidents happen in the home all the time. I wasn’t about to break into her house, but I couldn’t just walk away either. I stepped off the stoop, and tiptoeing behind the shrubs, I made my way to the living room window and peered in. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, I made out the furnishings—a large open armoire with a television inside, a coffee table with a pile of books, a sofa— There she is.

  Helen was sleeping on the sofa, still dressed in the same blue party dress she’d worn last night. Maybe she’d had too much to drink. I was about to walk away when it occurred to me that no matter how drunk she had been, she should have slept it off by now. The party had been hours ago. And nobody could sleep through all that knocking. I peered in again. Was it my imagination or was there something odd about the angle of her head? All at once my dread turned to panic.

  I grabbed my cell phone from my bag and punched in 911.

  Chapter 4

  “Dead,” the older officer said. He was a rugged man with black hair and eyes. He stood and raised his eyes from the body to me. “I’d say strangled, by the looks of it.”

  From the quick glimpse I’d had of Helen’s bloated purple face, I’d already surmised as much, but hearing it from the mouth of an official suddenly made it real. A wave of nausea washed over me and the floor shifted. I grabbed the wall for support, taking long, deep breaths.

  “Whoa. Careful there. Maybe you should have a seat before you keel over,” the second officer said. She was a pleasant-looking blonde with intelligent eyes. She guided me to the kitchen, where I wouldn’t have to look at poor Helen. Thank goodness. She pulled out a chair at the table for me and then sat down opposite me.

  “That’s how the killer got in,” she said, as if to herself. I glanced at where she was looking. The sliding door to the backyard was not quite closed. A sliver of an opening remained. She bent over and checked the handle and lock. “Shit. Anybody could have come in. It’s broken.” She stood. “Hey, Harrison,” she called, “come look at this.” Her partner rushed in, and she pointed it out. As he continued to inspect it, she sat down again and retrieved her notebook from her shirt pocket.

  “I’m Officer Lombard, by the way,” she said.

  “Della Wright,” I said, struggling to keep control of my emotions.

  She nodded. “I got your name from dispatch.” She poised her pencil to take notes. “Can you tell me what time you got here?”

  “I must have gotten here at . . .” I glanced at my watch. “It must have been close to nine thirty. I knocked and knocked, but she didn’t answer. I could hear music inside, so I knew she had to be here. I started getting worried. That’s when I peeked through the living room window, and . . . and—” My voice broke and I wiped away a tear. “I just saw her last night. I can’t believe . . .”

  “You say you saw her last night. Where was that?”

  “I was giving a party, a bridal shower for a friend of mine who’s getting married. Helen was one of the guests.” She jotted a few words into her notebook.

  “Dispatch said you called at nine twenty-two, so you contacted them almost as soon as you got here?”

  “I—I guess so. I couldn’t have been knocking more than a few minutes.”

  “You say you were worried. Any special reason?”

  “I could hear music, and I’d been knocking—hard—for a few minutes. I couldn’t imagine that she didn’t hear me.”

  “Was the victim expecting you?” Hearing her referred to as a victim hit me again, and I had to swallow a few times before answering.

  “I was giving Helen weaving lessons,” I said. “She wanted me to look at some yarn she’d bought. She wasn’t sure it would work for the project she was planning and needed my advice.” I sighed. “Poor Helen,” I said under my breath for the umpteenth time.

  “So the deceased was expecting you.”

  I avoided answering by asking a question of my own. “Do you have any idea how long she’s been dead?”

  “The coroner will be able to tell.” If that was the case, they might never solve this murder. They were likely to be on the wrong track from the start. I must have made a face because the officer peered at me questioningly.

  “Something wrong?”

  I scratched at a dried fleck on the table. “I know Dr. Cook. He’s a good doctor, but not a great coroner.” She watched my nervous fingers and I pulled my hands into my lap.

  “What makes you say that?” she asked.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t mention this, but he’s just too nice. He re
fuses to believe that not all people are good. I’ve only lived here for a little over a year, and I already know of two cases where he pronounced the deaths as natural, only to find out later that they were murders.”

  She twiddled her pencil between her fingers. “I wouldn’t worry too much. I doubt in this case he’d make any mistake. The victim was clearly strangled.”

  “Poor Helen,” I said again.

  “You own the weaving store on Main Street, don’t you? Is that where I can reach you if I have any other questions?”

  “Dream Weaver, yes.” I gave her both my business number and my cell number.

  The interview came to an end, and I left the house just as Dr. Cook arrived. He nodded as he walked by, carrying his old-fashioned medical bag. The poor man looked harried. I imagined he’d feel even worse in about two seconds.

  I climbed into my Jeep, feeling despondent. Helen might not have been a close friend, but her death was still upsetting. All the more so since I had been the one to discover her body. I had moved to Briar Hollow to escape the big city, in search of peace and quiet. If a person could be murdered in Briar Hollow, was there anywhere in the world that was safe?

  I rammed the stick shift into drive and headed back to the store, nearly going through a red light at the only intersection in town. Whoa. There’s no point in my ending up dead too. A few minutes later I swung the Jeep into the alley behind my building and pulled to a stop. I climbed out, pausing for a steadying breath before going into the shop.

  It was only a few minutes past ten o’clock, my regular opening time. Marnie would probably already be in, and she could read me the way Jenny read tea leaves. And Helen had been one of her friends. I couldn’t just blurt out the tragic news. As soon as I opened the door, Winston came bouncing up, wagging his tailless butt in joyful exuberance. He threw himself at me.

  “Hey, Winnie.” I rummaged through my pocket and found a lint-covered doggy treat. He snapped it up in midair and trotted back to his cushion, munching with satisfaction.

  “There you are,” Marnie said with a smile. “Where did you disappear to?” I hadn’t noticed until now, but since Marnie had met Bruce, her mood had greatly improved. When I’d first moved here, she’s been known as the local grouch—her way of camouflaging her too generous spirit, as far as I was concerned. But I had a feeling that her recent pleasant disposition was about to take a dive.

  “How was your breakfast date?” I asked, in search of a way to tell her about Helen.

  “Oh, it wasn’t a date. It was just breakfast.” Even though she smiled as she said this, I had the impression that something was bothering her.

  “Hey, is something wrong?”

  “Of course not. What could be wrong?” She gave me a smile that was too bright, which only made me more suspicious.

  “Come on, Marnie. You can’t fool me. I know you better than that. Something is clearly upsetting you. Is it something to do with Bruce?”

  She glowered. “Oh, it’s nothing. At least I hope it’s nothing. For some reason, Bruce got it in his mind that Briar Hollow is not the right place for him to retire after all. He was trying to talk me into moving farther south.”

  “That’s rather sudden. I thought he loved it here. Did something happen to make him change his mind?”

  “Not that I know of. Yesterday, Briar Hollow was the most wonderful place in the world. Now, this morning, he can’t wait to get out of here. Anyhow, what can I do? I hope he changes his mind again and decides we can stay here.” She crossed her arms and seemed to suddenly notice my discomfort. “Are you all right? You’re looking awfully pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, not very convincingly, and her frown turned to concern.

  “You’re so white. Maybe your blood sugar is low. Let me get you something to eat.”

  “Don’t go.” I struggled to find the right words and ended up just blurting it out. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Helen is dead.”

  She just stood there, frozen. Maybe she hadn’t heard me right.

  “What? That can’t be. She was fine last night.” Her face fell slowly, as if she was still waiting for me to jump up and announce that I was just joking. “She’s dead? But how?”

  “She was killed. I’m so sorry, Marnie.”

  “Killed. You don’t mean . . . murdered?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She felt for the seat of the chair behind her and collapsed into it, probably paler than I’d been. “Helen—dead.” Tears rose to her eyes. “But what happened? How?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell her she had been strangled to death. “I’m sorry, Marnie. I know she was a good friend. Do you want me to get you something? A cup of coffee? A muffin, maybe?”

  “Do the police know who did it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I happened to go by her place this morning, and when she didn’t answer—”

  She cut me off, horrified. “Are you telling me you found her? Don’t tell me any more. I don’t want to know.” She pulled herself out of the chair. “No wonder you look sick. Here, you sit. I’ll get you a coffee.”

  I must have been having a delayed reaction, because I began to shake. It started with my knees, but pretty soon I was trembling all over. “Thanks. But any more caffeine and I’ll be vibrating like a jackhammer.”

  She hurried toward the back of the shop on wobbly legs. Winston stared after her, looking confused.

  “It’s okay, boy.” I threw him a treat and he snatched it in midair. “Go back to sleep. Marnie will be fine.” I hoped I was right about that.

  I could have gone to pick up a muffin myself, but I knew my friend well. Keeping busy was her way of coping. Two minutes later she was back, Jenny and Margaret on her heels. From the expressions in their eyes I knew she had already given them the bad news.

  “You’re still as white as a sheet,” Marnie said. “Here, I brought you something to eat.” She handed me a coffee and set a plate of muffins on the counter. “Cranberry-orange, your favorite. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “I’m all right, Marnie. Don’t worry about me. Here, why don’t you sit down?” I hardly thought eating would help in this case, but I picked a pastry if only to satisfy her, and broke it into small pieces. Meanwhile, she was struggling to keep from crying.

  “I still can’t believe it.”

  Jenny gave me an I-told-you-so look. “And you said I was crazy when I predicted something bad was going to happen,” she said in a low voice.

  “You knew Helen was going to be murdered?” Marnie asked, her eyes round with shock. She had always been a strong believer in Jenny’s ability to divine the future. “And you didn’t warn her?”

  “No, of course I had no idea Helen would be killed. If I’d known, I would never have let her go home by herself. All I had was a premonition that something bad was going to happen.”

  Margaret looked about to add something, and froze. For one terrible moment I was certain she was about to tell Marnie about how we mistrusted Bruce. I gave her a fierce look and shook my head imperceptibly. There couldn’t be a worse time than now to tell her something like that. She had just lost a friend. To my relief, Jenny broke the tension.

  “You know me,” she said. “I get feelings, but they’re generally vague.”

  Marnie stared at her. “I get feelings too, you know. And I get the feeling right now that you three are hiding something from me. Will one of you please tell me what’s going on?”

  We were saved from having to answer when the bell tinkled and two of Jenny’s regulars walked in. They marched over to the counter like women on a mission.

  “We just heard about Helen Dubois,” said the first, a dark-haired woman with a shade of orange lipstick my mother wore decades ago. “Is it true? That you found her?” It ne
ver ceased to amaze me just how fast news—especially tragic news—got around in this small town.

  “It was very upsetting. I can’t bring myself to talk about it. I’m sure you understand.” I wasn’t about to let myself be maneuvered into a gossip session.

  “Oh, how perfectly awful for you,” said the second woman, this one a silver-haired lady wearing three strands of pearls. She wasn’t going to give up so easily.

  Luckily, Jenny took charge. “Hello, Agatha, Norma. Marnie brought in some homemade scones this morning, and I remember how much you like them. How would you like a cup of fresh coffee to go along with that?”

  “Oh, er, that would be lovely,” the dark-haired woman said, sounding disappointed. They followed Jenny to the coffee shop, throwing backward glances over their shoulders.

  “I guess we’d better be prepared,” Marnie said, watching them walk away. “It’s going to be a busy day. Nothing gets business hopping like a local murder.”

  “Are you sure you want to stay? If you prefer to go home, I’ll understand.”

  “No. The last thing I want is to be alone. I’d have nothing to do but think. I’d rather keep busy.”

  “Are you sure? People will be in all day, wanting to hear the details. They’ll want to talk about her, share memories. That might be too much for you.”

  She raised her chin. “It’ll be better than being alone.” She picked up the phone. “I’ll give Bruce a call. He always knows how to make me feel better.”

  I busied myself tidying up the displays, all the while lending a discreet ear to her conversation. After telling him about Helen’s death, all she said was “yes,” “no,” and then her tone took on a happier note. “Really? You mean it? See? I knew you’d feel differently if you gave it a bit more thought.”

  She hung up. “Bruce changed his mind about moving away.”

  “He did? I’m really happy for you.” She joined me at the armoire and pulled out a stack of hand towels and began refolding them. I kept an eye on her as we worked. I caught her tearing up a few times, but she just blinked away the wetness.