Loom and Doom (14 page)

She looked thoughtful for a half second. “You're right. But you have to promise not to tell a soul I told you. He got it for half the asking price.”

“Half?!” I asked, stunned. I'd expected it to be no more than ten, maybe fifteen percent. “Wow! I wish I could get that kind of a deal.”

“I know. I can't figure it out.” She gave me the remainder of the brochures and changed the subject. “If you decide to purchase from phase two, there are discounts to be had, but they get smaller as we get closer to the delivery date.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Could you do me a favor and let me know what Mrs. Swanson decides to do about the house? Maybe she won't want it anymore.”

“I'll be happy to,” she said. “But if it does go back for sale, it will be at its regular price.”

Instinct took over, and rather than write my name I gave her Jenny's, but added my own home number. We thanked her and returned to my Jeep where Winston greeted us like long lost family. “Yes, yes,” I said between wet doggie kisses. “I love you too.”

Before taking off, we flipped through all the brochures. There wasn't one under a million dollars. And the one that Swanson was buying was just under one million five.

“He was going to pay over seven hundred thousand for it. No matter how great a discount he got, that's still a lot of money,” Marnie said as we took off.

“It answers one question,” I said. “Instead of extorting money from Dempsey, I suspect he got his payoff in the form of that discount. Either that, or he paid the first half in cash.”

“That would be one way of laundering dirty money.”

Marnie was right. But as I started the drive back, another idea was taking shape in my mind. Now that Dempsey was about to begin a second phase to his project, it would have been just like Swanson to demand a second payment. That could explain the fifty percent discount. If I was a builder and somebody blackmailed me into giving him a seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar price reduction, I'd be mad as hell. That gave Dempsey one heck of a motive for murder.

The thought had just flashed through my mind when I stopped myself. I already knew who the killer, or killers, were . . . or did I?

I
hadn't been back more than five minutes when the bell rang. I buzzed Matthew up and greeted him with a glass of wine, while Winston all but did somersaults for his attention.

“Down boy,” he ordered, and Winnie sulked away.

“Where's the pizza?” I asked.

He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, I completely forgot. I'll call and have it delivered. It won't take long.”

“That's okay. I can make pasta if you'd rather. It will be ready in fifteen minutes.” But he had already dialed and was placing the order.

“Double cheese,” he said and gave them the address. He turned off his phone. And that's when I noticed the tenseness around his mouth.

“Something's wrong. What is it?” He took the glass from my hand and drank a long swallow, then without a word, headed for the living room and let himself fall back into the sofa, wearing a grim expression. I sat across from him.

“Matthew, you're scaring me. Tell me what's going on. Is it about the case? Did somebody else get killed?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like that. The chief called me to come down to the station because they found traces of blood on your shirt and on your running shoes.”

“What!”

“He only contacted me out of courtesy. It's come to his attention that you and I are in a relationship and because he respects me for all the help I've brought the department over the years, he wanted to let me know so that I could talk with you myself.”

“Talk about what?”

“Turning in the clothes you were wearing when you found Syd's body yourself—to spare you the distress of having your apartment searched again.”

“Oh, my God. They're building a case against me,” I said, jumping to my feet, tears threateningly close to flowing. “I don't know how they could have found blood. I never even went close to the man. Please tell me you believe me.”

“Of course I do,” he said, and I almost wept in relief. “And that's exactly what I told them—that I've known you my entire life and that there is no way you could have killed someone.” He steepled his fingers under his chin and leaned forward deep in thought. “Come to think of it,” he said at last, his expression relaxing slightly. “All he said was ‘traces of blood.' He never once mentioned DNA. That blood could have been anybody's.”

I sat back down, trying to remember. “I suppose I could have stepped in some of Swanson's blood. That could explain the running shoes. Did he mention whether the blood was on the sole or on the top?”

“Good question. I must have been really out of it to not even ask that.”

“As for the shirt, I have no idea how I could have gotten blood on it.”

“You used to get nosebleeds when you were younger,” he said.

“I haven't had one in years. But I have been known to cut myself cooking.”

He laughed, the last of his stress seemingly gone. “That I can believe. You in the kitchen with a knife can be a dangerous situation. It's a good thing I don't love you for your cooking.”

I gasped. This was the first time he'd used the “L” word, as my mother called it. But it hadn't sounded like a declaration of love. The way he'd said it, the word love could just as well have been replaced with “like.”

“But,” he continued, “I suggest you gather the items you were wearing this morning when you discovered Syd's body and we'll drop them off after we eat.”

He got off the sofa, pulling out his cell phone and punching in a number. “Put me through to the chief,” he said, walking out of the living room. At that moment the bell rang and my heart went into a gallop. Was that the police, come to arrest me? I went to the foyer and pressed the intercom button.

“Pizza,” a voice called from downstairs. I pressed the door buzzer and scurried for my purse, catching the end of Matthew's conversation.

“We'll be by to drop them off in an hour or so.” He dropped the cell in his pocket. “I'll get the pizza,” he said and hurried to the door.

Soon, we were at the kitchen table. I still felt like hell, but was able to get a few bites down. But I had another worry. “You don't think they could have planted that blood, do you?”

“No.”

I should have felt better, but I couldn't get the image of Lombard's angry eyes out of my mind. It only made me more determined to find the killer myself.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “Stop worrying and eat.”

I made a halfhearted attempt to eat, but after a few bites, I gave up.

“I don't understand what's going on. Mona had the best motive to kill him. Why are they even looking at me?”

“They're just following the evidence. They found blood and they have to test it. And they'd be remiss in their duties if they didn't also test the clothes you were wearing when you found your contractor's body.”

“The whole thing is just silly.”

“Think of it this way. They have to cross you off as a potential suspect, if only to tighten the evidence against the real killer.”

I thought this over. “Okay. I understand.”

After clearing away the dishes, I gathered the pants, shirt and jacket I'd been wearing earlier and stuffed them into a bag. Then I took off my shoes. “I hope they don't keep these forever. I like them. I wear them all the time.”

“Providing they don't find anything on them, I'm sure they'll return them as soon as they're done.”

We climbed into Matthew's antique Singer Roadster. As a car hobbyist, this was the oldest one he'd ever owned or worked on.

We got on the highway to Belmont, the silence stretching until it felt like lead. He glanced at me and, as if reading my mind, he reached across the gear shift and gave my hand a light squeeze. “Don't worry. Everything will be fine.”

At the station, I stopped at the front desk, turned in my clothes and signed a number of forms. And then we headed back to Briar Hollow.

“Are you going to be all right by yourself?” he asked. I wasn't sure if that was his way of asking if he could stay over, but I felt like being by myself. I was planning on a good sulk and long bath.

“I'll be fine.”

He walked me to the door, took me in his arms and told me one more time not to worry. Then he picked up Winnie and left.

•   •   •

By five o'clock the next morning, I was already in my weaving studio. I studied the Native-style weaving Marnie had started. It was gorgeous. I was almost tempted to pick up her shuttle and do a few lines myself, but I knew that was a bad idea. Weaver's tend to work at slightly different tensions. I could always tell when more than one person had worked on a project.

I left that loom and settled at mine to continue my own project. This rug would be the fifth I'd made. And with each one, I was becoming better. I checked the bobbin—still full—and got to work.

Before I knew it, it was light outside. I had been so deep in my concentration that I hadn't noticed time going by. At that moment, there was a knock on the door.

“I saw your light on, so I figured you were already here. You're in early today. How come?”

“Insomnia,” I said. “The police found blood on the shirt I was wearing the day Swanson was killed. And they asked for the clothes I was wearing when I found Syd's body.” Just talking about it, brought a lump to my throat.

Jenny studied me in silence for a moment. “Let me get you a cup of tea.”

“Make that a coffee,” I said as she walked out. A few minutes later she was back. I looked at the cup she handed me. “You know I don't drink tea.”

“This time you will,” she said. “I want to read your tea leaves.”

I was not in the mood for this kind of nonsense, but I couldn't say that without wounding her feelings, so I drank the cup, turned it upside down in the saucer as she instructed, and then turned it three times while asking my secret question.
Will I be arrested for murder?

Jenny took the cup and stared inside. To me it looked like nothing more than a few clumps of wet tea leaves.

“I see a dagger near the rim,” she said, showing me. “The closer it is to the rim, the nearer in the future this event will happen. I think this is imminent. Do you see it?”

Looking at the spot she was pointing to, I had to admit that the shape of the leaves did look a bit like a dagger. “I guess so.”

“And see, over here there's a snake. This one is a bit lower. I'd say in a few days or so.”

“A dagger and a snake. Neither of those sound very good.”

“Actually, the dagger is a good omen. It represents a favor from a friend. As for the snake, that represents an enemy, but also wisdom. And down here I see a banana. Any fruit indicates prosperity.” She put the cup down, and gave me a cheerful smile. “I didn't see anything terrible.”

“What about the enemy? That sounds ominous,” I said, even though I didn't believe in this stuff.

“That's the good thing about having your fortune told,” Jenny said. “It can act as a warning. Now that you're aware, you'll keep your eyes open. And chances are you'll thwart whatever malicious intent an enemy may have.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That was nice of you to do that.”

She chuckled. “I know you don't believe a word I just told you. But I bet the reading will stay with you, and because of it you'll be on your guard. So whether you admit it or not, the reading will have helped.” She went to the door. “Now I'll get you that coffee you asked for.”

She was right about the reading staying with me, because even after she left, I found myself wondering if that enemy was Officer Lombard.

•   •   •

I was halfway through the article in the
Belmont Daily
about Syd Shuttleworth's murder, when Marnie showed up.

“I just dropped off Jenny's order for the day.” She set a basket of apple turnovers and a fresh cup of coffee on the counter. “Thought you'd welcome one of these.” Marnie's turnovers were the best, and I hadn't had one in months.

“Delicious,” I said, taking a bite.

“Jenny told me about how they found blood on your clothes.”

“There's not much I can do about it but wait for the DNA report to exonerate me.”

“How long is that going to take?”

I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” As I said this, the door swung open and Matthew walked in followed by Winston.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he said. “Marnie.”

“Don't mind me; I'm going straight to the studio,” she said, scurrying away.

I rolled my eyes. “I think she might be happier than both our mothers combined that you and I are dating.”

He came close and gathered me in his arms. “Not happier than I am—that's for sure.” He always said the sweetest thing.

“Speaking of mothers, did you get that parcel she sent you?”

“Yes . . . er . . . It wasn't anything important.”

I frowned. He was hiding something. I could tell. “What was it?”

“I'll show you some other time.” And then he changed the subject. “I was thinking about it last night, and a possibility occurred to me. Do you remember if anybody at the scene of Swanson's murder touched you that day?”

“You think somebody might have transferred blood to my clothes?”

“It's a possibility.”

I closed my eyes, trying to picture the events. “Tom Goodall, he's one of the city employees, I bumped into him as I ran through the main room.” I shook my head. “But he was wearing a white shirt. I would have noticed if he had blood on it.” I thought more. “Ronald Dempsey was wearing a dark sweater, but I don't remember him coming anywhere near me. Though, Dempsey went and got me a glass of water and he handed it to me. He got pretty close then.” I stopped. “Does this mean the police have eliminated Mona as a suspect?”

“All I know is they haven't arrested her.”

“They must know something we don't,” I said.

“Anybody else come close to you that morning?”

I blanched. “Uh-oh.”

“What is it?”

“Officer Lombard,” I said. “She asked me to go to Swanson's office with her, and at one point she bent down to look at the body and then she came to stand right next to me. She could definitely have touched me without my noticing.” I looked at him. “You don't think—”

“No, of course not.” And then he paused. “Well, at least not on purpose,” he added. “But that gives me an idea. I left my cell at home. Can I use your phone?”

“Of course.” I handed it over and he punched in a number.

“This is Matthew Baker. Please put me through to the chief.” A moment went by. “Chief, Matthew here. Something just occurred to me. I know you haven't got the DNA results on Della's clothes yet, but, as I told you, I know her. There is no way she killed anybody. But if the blood turns out to be the victim's, which I very much doubt, it might have gotten there when somebody at the scene touched her. I think you should get the clothes that everybody at the scene was wearing,” he paused and then added, “including the police officers.”

Even standing four feet away, I could hear every word the chief was screaming. “Are you implying that one of my officers—”

Matthew cut him off. “I'm not suggesting anything of the sort. What I'm saying is that sometimes these things can happen by accident. Besides, think about it. If you're going to arrest somebody you want to make damn sure you've dotted all of your I's and crossed all your T's. I'm only bringing up something a lawyer might.” They talked for another few seconds and then hung up.

“What was that about arresting someone? Did you just tell him how to make the case against me airtight?”

“Of course not. All I did was point out the flaws in his reasoning. If he was to charge anyone with murder, any defense attorney could shoot holes the size of cannonballs through his case.”