A Drunkard's Path (30 page)

The next evening I brought the chairs into a circle for the quilt meeting. I put on the coffee and rang up the last of the day’s sales. It wasn’t until I turned the Open sign to Closed that I noticed I was being watched.

“What?” I jumped when I saw Eleanor out of the corner of my eye.

“You are a million miles away,” she said.

“I’m just thinking,” I said, trying to think of a topic I could safely claim to be thinking about.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

“What?” I said slowly. With all the skills she had, I wondered for a moment if it was possible my grandmother could read minds.

“Honestly, Nell, if you’re going to get like this every time a man breaks up with you, you’ll end up a nervous wreck.”

“Every time?” I repeated. “How often do you expect it to happen?”

She rolled her eyes. “The world does not revolve around men.”

“Spoken like someone who gets roses every other day.” I pointed to yet another arrangement Oliver had sent, which Eleanor kept at the register.

She smiled. “What did you do to Jesse anyway? I ran into him yesterday, and I thought he was going to break a world speed record trying to get away from me.”

“He thinks I don’t respect what he does. You know, because I asked about the investigation.”

Partial honesty was a good plan, I decided.

“Well the girl was found right outside our door,” Eleanor said. “She was a classmate of yours. And they hauled Oliver in for questioning. You have every right to be curious.”

I hadn’t seen that coming. Buoyed by her indignation, I went on. “Jesse thinks I should just stay out of it and leave the whole thing to him.”

“You should.”

A hundred and eighty degrees in two seconds. How did she manage that?

“You just said I had every right to be curious,” I pointed out.

“Curious, yes. But not to interfere.” She raised an eyebrow at me, making me feel like a child caught up after bedtime. “I would think you were smart enough to realize this, but a killer is by definition a dangerous person. And dangerous people are best left to the police.”

“Well at the moment one particular dangerous person is wandering around. And the police have no idea where he or she is.”

“Just as long as you stay out of his way.” Eleanor grabbed my hand. “That’s all I care about. You have to be careful.”

“So do you, Grandma.”

“What trouble could I get in? I spend my days in a quilt shop.” She smiled.

“So do I,” I reminded her, “and according to you and Jesse I’m always getting into trouble.”

“At least I’ll have my eyes on you tonight.” She winked.

“No you won’t. I’m helping Carrie in her shop so she doesn’t come to the meeting. And you guys are supposed to be finishing her quilt. It’s just a few days until the opening.”

“Has she figured out a name yet?”

“Don’t ask her or she might snap. And then there’ll be another murder in this town,” I laughed.

 

 

 

 

“S
eriously, what are you calling the store?” I asked. “You need to put up a sign.”

“I know,” Carrie grunted. “I have the sign guy waiting to paint and he’s getting very impatient.”

“Just go by the address,” I suggested. “I know several places in Manhattan that are known by their building numbers. You would be 118. That’s simple.”

“It’s boring.”

I stepped back. I had just put the finishing touches on the mural. It was almost exactly as I had pictured it. A large coffeepot pouring out a city skyline that was part New York and part my imagination. In front was a small coffee shop with a tiny Open sign in the window.

“If I’m not going to put the name of the shop on the mural, I guess I’m done,” I announced.

Carrie and I took a moment to stare at the finished mural.

“I’m in love with it,” Carrie exclaimed. “It’s everything I could have wanted and more.” She jumped over and hugged me. “Sign your name.”

I mixed several colors until I had a nice dark brown; then I dipped my brush into it and moved my hand to the mural’s lower right-hand corner. For some reason my hand wouldn’t stop shaking at the idea of signing my name. Finally, I wrote “Nell Fitzgerald.”

“You’re a real artist now,” Carrie said.

“I know. It kind of gives me the jitters.”

Carrie moved back and started jumping up and down. “That’s it. That’s it! That’s what we’re calling this place: Jitters.”

I could see the relief in her face as she finally figured out the puzzle she’d been grappling with for so long.

“I have to call the sign guy and tell him or he won’t have it ready for Tuesday,” she said.

I was about to join in her celebration—at least Carrie had found an answer to one of the problems we’d been facing these last few weeks—but something out the window caught my eye.

“What’s wrong?” I called out as I ran from the coffee shop to Someday Quilts.

“I don’t understand it,” Eleanor said.

“He was fine a minute ago.” Kennette stepped back toward the door.

I knelt down. Barney was barking and jumping up and down angrily at nothing, and there seemed to be little any of us could do to comfort him.

“We’re going to be here awhile, and I thought that he needed some company, so I brought him from home,” Eleanor told me. “But the minute we got here he started going crazy. Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

I looked up the street. There were a few teenagers at the corner, but they weren’t even looking at us. I turned the other way. A car was parked a few yards away. I could see that it was occupied but it wasn’t under a streetlamp so I couldn’t see who was inside.

I wrapped my arms around Barney, a gesture that normally meant I would get covered in licks. This time he strained to get away from me.

“What is it, fella?” I whispered, even though I knew his deafness had progressed to the point where he probably couldn’t hear a word I said. “It’s okay. Grandma’s okay. Kennette’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Try taking him down the street and see if he calms down,” Eleanor said. “He probably smells a squirrel or something. Poor thing. His other senses are probably heightened now, and he can smell everything in sight.”

“Probably,” I said, but there didn’t seem to be any squirrels on the street, and there usually weren’t. They tended to overrun Eleanor’s backyard and any other open space, but on Main Street there were too many people and too few trees to attract much in the way of wildlife. And in any case, I’d never seen Barney get this upset over a mere squirrel.

Still, I took my grandmother’s advice and grabbed Barney’s leash. “Why don’t you come with me,” I said to Kennette, “in case he gets away.”

We walked him toward the car parked down the street. Barney strained at the leash and it was hard to keep up with him. Kennette stayed a few steps ahead, apparently afraid of what Barney might do. As frightening as it was, I was glad I had an excuse to see who was sitting inside the car.

I only had to walk a few feet to realize that it was a Morristown Police car. I pulled Barney to a stop and leaned in.

“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting,” Chief Powell said. He nodded toward a building where two men stood talking in the darkness.

“Heya, Nell,” said a voice from the passenger seat.

I leaned in farther. “Hi, Greg. What is this, a policemens’ night out?”

Barney, who had momentarily calmed down, began barking again. Powell and Greg both got out of the car.

“What’s wrong with Barney?” Greg went to pet him but seemed to think better of it.

“I have no idea. Something has spooked him,” I said.

Kennette moved to the front of the police car, away from the conversation. I noticed Greg look at her but he didn’t so much as say hello. Powell seemed to notice it too, because he walked over to Kennette.

“I met you the night of the murder,” he said. “You’re the art student living with Mrs. Cassidy and Nell.”

“Kennette Green.” She shook his hand.

“What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one.” Kennette shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, I’m a friend of Nell’s and I take classes. Nothing interesting.”

“You like Oliver White?” Powell nodded in the direction of the two men standing in the dark.

“Who doesn’t?” Kennette asked.

Powell shrugged. “Seems like a friendly guy. Seems like a lot of women like him. I just wondered if you were one of them.”

Either Powell was a great judge of character or he somehow knew about the painting in Oliver’s studio. I tried to catch his eye, but he was too interested in Kennette to notice me. Besides, I had my hands full trying to keep Barney from running off.

“I think he’s a great artist and a great teacher, and you don’t have to like him to think that,” Kennette said. “Even Nell thinks that and she doesn’t like Oliver at all.”

I found myself turning red. “I didn’t say that,” I told her.

“No, but you act like it, and I think it really bothers Eleanor,” Kennette said.

Her tone was soft and sympathetic but her words were like knives. I may not have trusted Oliver, but I didn’t want my grandmother knowing that.

“I think Oliver is a great guy, actually,” I said. And at that Powell looked over at me. “I love his class and I couldn’t be happier that he is so interested in my grandmother. It shows he has good taste.”

The two men in the darkness started walking toward us. As they passed under a streetlight, I realized it was Jesse and Oliver. They headed to the front of the police car where Powell, Greg, and Kennette were standing. Barney, who had settled down, suddenly broke from me and ran, barking, toward the group. I lunged to catch him but it was too late. Jesse grabbed the dog and pulled him back.

“What’s up, buddy?” Jesse crouched next to Barney and seemed immediately to change the dog’s mood. He was now licking Jesse and wagging his tail.

“Has he lost his mind?” I asked. “A minute ago he was freaking out.”

“I think it’s Oliver,” Kennette announced. “He was by the shop earlier, and I think Barney is jealous of him and Eleanor.”

Oliver leaned over the dog but didn’t touch him. “I’m not trying to take your place, old man,” he said. “I know I come second.”

I wanted to stay and find out what Oliver and Jesse had been talking about, and why Powell and Greg weren’t included in the conversation, but Barney had finally returned to normal. I took the opportunity to grab his leash and lead him away from the men. Kennette followed at a slight distance. Once we got back to the shop, Barney didn’t join the group of quilters, though he was an honorary member. Instead he walked into the office, his tail between his legs, and lay down on a quilt near Eleanor’s desk.

“Crisis over?” Eleanor shouted to me as I hung up my coat.

“I guess so, but he seemed really unhappy,” I said.

“Except when he saw Jesse. He really likes Jesse,” Kennette offered.

“Well Barney’s a good judge of character,” Eleanor said. “If he doesn’t like someone there’s a reason. And if he does, well, that’s good enough for me.”

“I wish he were a good judge of quilts.” Susanne shook her head. She pointed to the nearly finished quilt meant for Carrie’s coffee shop, now pinned to the design wall.

“It looks good,” I said.

“It looks okay,” Natalie countered.

I took a step back and closed my eyes, then opened them again to get a fresh look. The quilt was really beautiful but there was something missing.

“It needs a bit more quilting,” I offered. “And something else, something structured. There are a lot of circles and swirls but maybe it needs some boxes.”

“You should paint them,” Maggie suggested. “Use fabric paints. That would add a nice bit of texture.”

With the enthusiastic agreement of the crowd shoring me up, I gathered some paints and added a few small strokes to the quilt. I stepped back. I didn’t want to go overboard.

“That’s it,” Bernie declared. “A little more quilting and it’s done.”

“Can I do it?” Kennette asked. “I want to add a little something of my own.”

The women grabbed Kennette, led her to a sewing machine, and handed over the quilt to her. While Bernie and Susanne fussed about her, Maggie and I stayed in the front of the shop. I told her about the scene up the street.

“Jesse is building a relationship with Oliver,” Maggie concluded.

“Why?”

“They already know each other from Eleanor’s dinner party, so if Oliver were going to trust someone enough to give him information, it would be Jesse.”

I nodded. “It makes me feel like Jesse knows something we don’t.”

“Let me look into it,” Maggie said.

“How?”

“Well, just like Jesse is using his kind nature to lure Oliver into a confession, I can use my crankiness to lure Jesse into telling me what’s going on.”