Weave of Absence Page 5

  In my short time in this sleepy little community I’d learned that any death—especially a murder—always hit the townsfolk hard. Most of them had lived here all their lives. They felt protective of their own, and when one of them became the victim of a crime, everyone shuddered, wondering who among them could be the culprit. Marnie was holding on to her emotions for now, but I knew she’d fall apart the second she was alone.

  A group of customers walked in and I busied myself helping them. Another couple of women walked in, and before I knew it the store was full and we were running ourselves ragged. Around twelve thirty, there was a sudden lull. When the last customer had finished paying, I handed her the bill and opened my drawer to get a new sales pad, riffling through the papers in the drawer. Instantly, Winston’s ears perked up. Whenever I opened that drawer, he figured he was getting a treat. I threw him a liver cookie. He gulped it down and then looked at me expectantly.

  “Sorry, buddy. No more.”

  “What are you looking for?” Marnie asked.

  “We’re out of sales pads. I must have forgotten to order new ones.”

  “Why don’t I run out and pick up a couple of generic receipt pads from Mercantile’s?” she said. “They won’t be as nice as the ones you usually buy, but we can stamp the name of the shop at the top until your new order comes in.” She looked so eager to go that I realized she needed the break. A walk would do her good.

  “Go. In the meantime I’ll call the printer and place the order. Get enough to carry us through the next couple of weeks.”

  “Will do.”

  I opened the cash register, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to her. She grabbed her bag and a second later the door closed behind her. I made my way to the back and peeked through the beaded curtain. A group of ladies were huddled around a table, no doubt talking about Helen’s murder. I caught Margaret’s eye and waved her over. She whispered something to Jenny and made her way through the tables to me.

  “Did I read you right? Were you seriously about to tell Marnie that we don’t trust her fiancé?”

  “Somebody has to tell her,” she said defensively.

  “I agree, but for God’s sake, not now. She’s already got enough on her plate. I don’t think she could handle more bad news.”

  “I suppose. But what if Helen’s death pushes her even deeper into the arms of that man? Do you think we should take that chance?”

  “What are you talking about, deeper? She can’t get much deeper than engaged. Besides. How do you propose we tell her? ‘Hey, Marnie, you know that man you’re head over heels in love with and planning to marry? Well, I’d hold off on that if I were you because I saw him flirting with another woman’?” I gave her the eyebrow. “I know exactly what she’ll say. She’ll tell us to butt out, that we’re nuts and to stop meddling in her life. And not necessarily in that order.”

  Her gaze rose to the ceiling. “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Maybe Jenny can give her a reading. She usually goes to her before making big decisions.”

  “Did she ask her before getting engaged?”

  “No.” She scowled. “He sprang the big question over a romantic dinner. He even went down on one knee and popped open a little blue box. Of course, she said yes right away. Can’t blame her for that. Any woman would have done the same.”

  I had to agree with her there. I might be compelled to let out an enthusiastic yes if Matthew so much as knelt to tie his shoelace. “A reading is a great idea. Let the cards tell her. That way she can’t blame us.” There was a hint of sarcasm in my voice, but if Margaret picked up on it, she didn’t show it. “I’ll suggest it to Jenny later.”

  I returned to my counter and called in my order of sales pads. Then I went to my loom and threw the shuttle halfheartedly for fifteen minutes or so. When I looked down at the rows I’d just completed, I saw that the thread tension was all over the place. Some rows were so tight I could barely tell where a stitch started or ended. Others were practically loose enough to be mistaken for fishnet. The result was a wavy texture worse than anything I saw in my beginner classes. I yanked out the yarn row by row, until I had a pool of thread at my feet. As I was rolling it back onto the bobbin, the bell sounded. I turned to see Marnie walking in, followed by Officer Lombard. I rose from my chair and joined them at the counter.

  “Sorry to drop in this way,” said the officer. “I have a few questions I forgot to ask. You said the vict—” She stopped and corrected herself. “The deceased was at your party last night?”

  “That’s right.” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “She arrived around seven thirty and left early—oh, I’d say it must have been nine or so.”

  “Did you happen to notice who she was talking to during the party? Or if she argued with anyone?”

  All at once I had a flash of Helen and Bruce arguing. She was poking him in the chest with a finger, her face twisted in anger. Could Bruce have something to do with Helen’s death? No. That was crazy thinking. But there was no way I could tell the police about that argument, at least not in front of Marnie.

  “Della?” I startled. Officer Lombard was studying me. “Did you just remember something?”

  “Oh, uh, no. I was just trying to. I was so busy making sure everybody’s glass was filled and that the food kept coming, that if anything did happen, I didn’t notice.” A lie by omission was still a lie, I reminded myself. I hoped I didn’t look as guilty as I felt.

  “Could you give me a list of all the people at the party?”

  “I can do that right away,” I said, pulling out the guest list from the drawer. “It’ll only take me a second to copy it down for you.”

  “Don’t bother. I can photocopy it at the station and bring back the original.” I handed it over. “Thanks.” She perused it and then folded the page and slipped it into her notepad. “I’ll have it back to you tomorrow.” She turned to Marnie, who had been listening quietly during this time. “Did you happen to notice the deceased talking to anyone last night?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not at all.” She began putting away the sales pads in the drawer. I tried to read her expression, but she was shuffling things around, lining them up neatly, seemingly intent on organizing everything in the catchall drawer. I couldn’t swear to it, but I had the impression she was avoiding the officer’s eyes. I knew my friend well, and I’d say she looked at least as guilty as I felt.

  Chapter 5

  As soon as the police officer left, Marnie seemed to relax.

  “Marnie,” I said tentatively, “are you certain you didn’t notice Helen talking with anyone at the party?”

  “What are you suggesting?” she snapped. “Are you saying I just lied to the police? Why would I do that?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything of the kind. I just thought you looked nervous when Officer Lombard asked you if you saw anyone talking with Helen at the party. That’s all.”

  “Well, if I looked nervous, that must mean I’m hiding something, right?” She grabbed the empty cup from the top of the counter and stormed away, but not before adding, “For your information, everybody feels nervous when the cops are around, and doubly so when they’re being questioned. That doesn’t mean they just killed someone.” A second later she marched off to the coffee shop.

  Just killed someone? What the hell? Why would Marnie even imagine that I would suspect her of something so vile? It was ridiculous. As for her excuse for being nervous, that was not so far-fetched. Everyone was nervous around cops, including me. The instant I spotted a squad car while I was driving, my heart went into overdrive. I pulled out the rubber stamp and one of the sales pads just as Marnie returned with a fresh cup of coffee and looking contrite.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Please don’t be upset. Of course I don’t suspect you. I’m just worried about you. That’s all.”

/>   “Give that to me. I can do it,” she said. She set her cup on the counter, splashing half of it all over the pad. “Now look at what you just made me do.” And just like that, a stream of tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry. It’s no big deal.” I grabbed a stack of paper napkins and blotted the spill, glancing at her as I did. She’d been holding on since hearing the news of Helen’s death, but, now, all that pent-up emotion was boiling over. “See? All fixed.” I threw the napkins into the wastebasket, and patting her arm, I said, “Listen, Marnie, you should be home right now. You should take a nap, do some weaving or baking—whatever makes you feel better.” She snatched a balled-up tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Let it out,” I said. “Keeping your feelings bottled up isn’t going to do you any good. Go ahead and have a good cry. That’s what I’d do if I’d just lost a friend.”

  “No, really, I’m fine.” She blew her nose and tossed the tissue into the wastebasket. “See?”

  “This is what you call fine? I’d hate to see what you look like when you’re feeling bad.”

  She cracked a weak smile. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “I need a few minutes to compose myself. But I really don’t want to go home. I’ll just go to the back and have a sit-down for a few minutes.” I didn’t think a sit-down, as she called it, would be much help, but there was no point in insisting. When Marnie made up her mind, there was no changing it. She picked up her bag and headed for the coffee shop. A moment later she had disappeared behind the beaded curtain. I wondered if Jenny would offer her a reading now, and prayed she’d wait until Marnie was more in control of her emotions. A bad reading now could send her over the edge. I hurried to the beaded curtain, and when I peeked in, Jenny had an arm around Marnie and was pulling up a chair for her. I had nothing to worry about. Her movements were full of sympathy. She would never do anything to make Marnie feel worse. I returned to the counter.

  All morning I’d been dying to call Matthew. I picked up the phone and punched in his cell number. I had so much to tell him. There was Helen’s murder and the argument I’d witnessed between her and Marnie’s fiancé last night. His phone rang half a dozen times before he answered.

  “Hi, Della. What’s up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m just getting out of the city. As long as I don’t hit traffic, I should be back in Briar Hollow in about an hour. My meeting went way faster than I thought.”

  “Oh, sorry. I don’t want you talking on your phone while you’re driving.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m on hands-free. What’s on your mind?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard. Helen Dubois was murdered.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “When did this happen?”

  “She was at my party last night, so it had to have happened some time during the night or early this morning.”

  “Let me guess. You found her body?”

  “Er . . . yes. I just happened to drop by her place. And when she didn’t come to the door, I looked in the window.”

  “That can’t have been very pleasant. How’s Marnie taking it?”

  “She’s holding up as best she can. I’ve been trying to get her to go home, but she won’t hear of it. Listen, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight and I’ll tell you everything?”

  “Does that mean you’re cooking?” he asked, sounding less grim.

  “Not unless you want frozen pizza. That’s about all I have at the moment. I could always run over to the store and pick up something.”

  “I have a better idea. I can pick up dinner and bring it over.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “By the way, I dropped off Marnie’s flag at the history museum. My friend took one look at it and almost passed out. He brought it to the back and showed it to his assistant. I have a feeling that thing is worth a small fortune. You should have seen the staff when they gathered around. They looked like they were witnessing the unveiling of the Mona Lisa. He asked to keep it for a day or two, and promised to send it back to Marnie the minute he’s finished examining it. I hope Marnie won’t mind.”

  “You really think it’s worth a lot of money?”

  “Let me put it this way. My friend suggested Marnie might want to have it carbon-dated.”

  “Hold on a second. Carbon dating—don’t they have to cut pieces out of it to do that? That would ruin its value.”

  “Maybe in some cases, but he noticed that one of the corners is a bit frayed. He said he could take a few threads without causing any damage.”

  “Is that all he’d need?”

  “I wouldn’t worry. If the Vatican allowed the Shroud of Turin to be carbon-dated, I’d say that Marnie can allow the flag to be tested without worry. Anyhow, it’ll be up to Marnie. He can venture a guess as to its value, but if she wants a more exact figure, she’ll probably want to do further testing.”

  “I suppose so.” I chuckled. “Would you mind if I tell Marnie the good news? It might lift her spirits a bit.”

  There was the blast of a car horn and Matthew swore under his breath. “Some idiot nearly rammed into me. Listen, I’d better stop talking and concentrate on driving. Since I’m coming over for dinner, I won’t bother picking up Winston before that. See you around six.” He clicked off.

  I put the receiver down just as Marnie returned. I wondered if Jenny had given her a reading. Probably not. Margaret would have waited for me to make the suggestion to Jenny.

  “I have some good news for you,” I said. “Matthew dropped off your flag at the museum, and they think it’s worth a lot of money.”

  “Really?”

  “They offered to have it carbon-dated. They wouldn’t mention something like that unless they were quite certain.”

  She wiped a hand over her brow. “It’s all so crazy. I had it sitting in a dresser drawer for years. I had almost forgotten about it. And now I’m worried about sending it out to experts.”

  “They said they’d have it back to you in a couple of days. But you should have it insured as soon as possible.”

  “Again, insurance,” she said, sounding surprised. “I went through my whole life without ever worrying about it, and now, that’s all I seem to be hearing about—mortgage insurance, life insurance, and now property insurance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bruce is concerned about my financial security. Isn’t that sweet of him? He offered to go over my investments with me the other day, and when he saw how little I have in my retirement account, he suggested we get joint life insurance. That way, if he dies first, I’ll be financially secure for the rest of my life. I can’t believe how protective of me he is. We’re not even married yet and he’s already looking out for my safety.”

  “That is nice,” I said. “What’s joint life insurance?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know much about life insurance in general, but this one sounded like a smart choice. He said it was also called a first-to-die policy. We only pay one premium, but whichever one of us dies first, the other collects the face amount. The agent said it was a no-brainer for couples concerned about each other’s financial security.”

  “I think I have heard of those,” I said. “How much is the face amount?”

  “A million dollars.”

  My eyebrows jumped. “Wow. You’ll be rich if he dies first.” Or he will be if Marnie predeceases him. I had no idea why that idea popped into my mind, but now that it had, I couldn’t shake it.

  “I know it’s an awful thought, but that’s what he said too. At first he only mentioned getting a policy on his life, and then he remembered about joint life.” The bell tinkled and a couple of women walked in, cutting our conversation short.

  “Welcome to Dream Weaver,” Marnie said, walking over. Meanwhile, all kinds of crazy notions were whirling through my mind. I pus
hed them away and plastered on a smile. She guided them to the armoire where a stack of handwoven Turkish towels were displayed.

  The rest of the afternoon went by in a continuous stream of clients. As grateful as I was for the business—by day’s end I had sold more in a few hours than I usually did in a week—I was even more grateful for the reprieve it seemed to offer Marnie. As long as she was running around helping clients, she didn’t have time to grieve. But as soon as the shop became quiet, around five thirty, the mournful look returned to her eyes. She looked around for something to do, and noticing the dish towel I had been working on at my loom, she examined it.

  “This is beautiful,” she said. “I love the navy on white. But you know what would look really pretty is purple on white.”

  “Purple? Are you sure? I’ve never been asked for purple before.”

  “I don’t know about anybody else,” she said, “but I’d love it.” She grabbed her purse and blew me a kiss. “See you tomorrow, sugar pie.” She was trying to sound breezy, but didn’t quite make it.

  “What are your plans for the evening?” I asked.

  She paused at the door and sighed. “I sure hope Bruce will be okay with a quiet evening at home. I don’t have the energy to do anything but veg in front of the TV. I’ll try to find out about the funeral arrangements for Helen. I’ll let you know.” The door closed behind her, and I was left wondering about her comment. Had she somehow guessed that the towels I was making were for her? Was this a hint that she’d prefer purple? Regardless, I would just finish this towel and put it in stock, then start a new set for Marnie. But it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if the surprise was spoiled.

  Winston stirred. He looked up at me with big questioning eyes.

  “Ready to go for a walk, big boy?” He jumped to his feet, suddenly alert. “Going for a walk is your favorite thing, isn’t it? Along with treats, belly rubs, and head scratches.” I pulled out his leash and he almost convulsed with joy. “Hold on for a second.” I clipped it on and called out to Jenny in the back. “I’m off. Do you want me to lock the door as I leave?”