Loom and Doom (9 page)

Another thought occurred to me. Marnie had told the police about Swanson extorting money. In fact, she had spoken to Lombard personally. Knowing that, how could they possibly imagine I had anything to do with his death?

I knew the reason, and her name was Lombard. The only crime I was guilty of was getting her nose out of joint. And she was going to make me pay dearly for it.

T
he buzzer rang. “It's me,” Matthew's voice came through the intercom. I let him in and he came bounding up the stairs, Winston galloping behind him. He closed the door and wrapped me in a hug.

“Don't worry. It'll all work out. I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I won't let anything bad happen to you.” I melted in his arms.

He released me. “Now, first things first. Go get those clothes you were wearing when you found the body—everything,” he repeated. “Even the shoes.”

I dashed to my bedroom and was going through the clothes hamper, when I remembered. “Oh, shit.”

“What is it?” he asked from the doorway.

“I don't have the jeans anymore. They were so splattered with paint, and then when I threw up there was spittle all over them. They were disgusting. I ditched them.”

I had to hand it to him. He didn't stress easily. He gave me a reassuring smile. “That's okay. Maybe it's not too late. Where's your garbage?”

Whatever hope I'd had, vanished. “Yesterday was garbage day. They're at the dump by now.” A fresh problem occurred to me. “Oh. Now the police will accuse me of getting rid of evidence.”

“Let's not panic.” This time, he didn't look quite so calm. And his next words didn't reassure me one bit. “You know as well as I do that the police are only doing their job. They have to follow every lead, no matter where it goes. They're probably questioning a number of people at the moment. I'm sure you're not their only suspect.”

I swallowed hard and nodded just as the buzzer sounded again. Winston, who had been napping in the corner, jumped to his feet, barking. “Quiet, Winnie,” I said. He tilted his head, as if questioning my order. “Down boy.” He returned to his cushion and watched, ready to pounce, as I went to the door.

“Police. Open up.” I recognized Officer Lombard's voice as it boomed through the intercom. I pressed the buzzer to allow her in.

Lombard and her partner Harrison stepped in. She was wearing a victorious smile that disappeared as soon as Winston let out a low, menacing growl.

“Quiet, Winston,” Matthew ordered and he stopped immediately. The moment she noticed Matthew, Lombard stuck her hands in her pockets, shuffling uncertainly. “Mr. Baker. I didn't know you would be here.”

“Matthew is my boyfriend,” I said. She turned to her partner, mumbling something I couldn't make out under her breath.

“I'm sorry to have to do this, sir,” she said, apologizing to Matthew rather than to me. “But this is a search order signed by Judge King.” She handed him the paper to examine. “You're free to stay while we search the premises, but you can't touch anything or stand in our way.” Suddenly she and Harrison split up, each heading for a different part of my apartment.

“Sorry, but that's not how you're going to conduct this search,” Matthew said. They looked at him, surprised. “I am going to keep an eye on you every second. So the way we're going to do this is: you will both search one room at a time, and I will be right there with you. I don't want either of you out of my sight. Do I make myself clear?”

“Are you inferring that we might plant some evidence?” Lombard said.

“No. I just want to make sure everything is done according to the book.”

There was some grumbling, but they headed for my bedroom together.

Matthew turned to me. “Della, you stay here.” And he followed them.

I let myself drop onto the sofa and patted the seat next to me for Winnie to join me. He hopped up and sat, watching me with large mournful eyes. He looked as frightened as I was.

“Don't worry, Winnie. You heard what Matthew said. He won't let anything bad happen to me.” I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him close for comfort.

There came the sound of drawers being opened and then slammed shut, then the grating noise of hangers dragging along the closet rod. This was followed by footsteps, then a squeaking I recognized as the lid of my laundry hamper. My cheeks flushed hot. Were they going through my dirty clothes? The thought of strangers going through my things, all my most personal items, was more than just a little disturbing. It was embarrassing—a violation of my privacy.

The footsteps started again, going from my bedroom to the laundry room, followed by the clang of the washer door banging shut, then the dryer. There were other softer noises, like clothes being dropped to the floor. What kind of a mess were they making? How much cleaning up would I have to do? I sat glued to the couch with Winnie, my heart hammering against my ribs.

After what seemed like an eternity, Officer Lombard and Harrison reappeared. “Why don't you make it easier on yourself and tell us where you hid them?”

I had no idea what they were talking about. “Hid what?”

She gave me a look that cried of disbelief. “The shirt and the jeans you were wearing when you”—she made air quotation marks—“
found
the victim's body.”

I glanced at Matthew and he gave me the slightest of nods. “I don't have the jeans anymore. They were old and covered in paint. I threw them away.”

“Are you telling me you got rid of material evidence? You could be in big trouble for that.”

“Why would my clothes be evidence? They had nothing to do with the murder.”

“A witness saw you wiping blood off your clothes.”

“Claims,” Matthew said.

She looked at him and then corrected herself. “
Claims
to have seen you wiping blood off your clothes. According to this witness, you then ran to the car and hid the blood under a raincoat.”

I held on to my calm. “I was wiping off vomit. After finding the body, I was upset. I threw up. Some of it splattered on my jeans.” She nodded, her mouth a straight line. “If you don't believe me you can ask Mr. Goodall.” I was taking a chance naming him as my witness since he might have been the one who made up that story. “Or Johanna Renay,” I added quickly. “They were right behind me when I ran out of the building. They'll tell you I threw up. They came over to make sure I was all right. As for the
blood
,” I said, this time making my own air quotations, “that was red paint I'd recently used on my front door. If you don't believe me, you can go downstairs and see for yourself. My door is freshly painted.”

A single corner of her mouth stretched into a smile. “I think I'll do just that.” She marched off toward the door and walked downstairs, followed by the faithful Harrison.

“Don't let her intimidate you,” Matthew said, giving my shoulder a little squeeze. “She's only posturing.”

A minute went by, and then Lombard returned. “Do you have any of that paint left? I'll need to take it with me.”

I looked at Matthew again. This time he answered for me. “I'm sure Della won't mind at all.”

I went to the laundry room where I'd stored the half-empty quart of red paint.

“Here you are. Anything else I can get for you?”

Ignoring me, she handed it to Harrison. “Mark that as evidence and put it in the car.”

“I'll get you my running shoes and the raincoat I wore over my clothes yesterday. I'm sure you'll agree that if there was any blood on my clothes, some would have transferred to my raincoat.” Just as I expected, my offer was met with a calculating look. She no longer seemed so sure of herself.

“What are you standing there for? Get me those items now.”

I went to my bedroom with both cops on my heels. Going straight to my closet, I retrieved the coat and shoes. Then riffling through the same clothes hamper they had already searched, I pulled out the shirt. “I guess you were looking for clothes with bloodstains. As you can see, it doesn't have any.”

“How can we be sure that's the same shirt?”

“I'm sure you already got a description from the witnesses.”

Officer Lombard snatched it from my hands and handed it to Harrison, who carefully placed it in a large paper bag. At that point, I expected them to all leave, but no.

“We have a couple of questions for you,” she said.

“Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

Next to me, Matthew squeezed my arm. “Is Della under arrest?” he asked.

Lombard shook her head. “All we want is some information. If she's innocent, as she claims to be, what's the problem?”

“The problem is that you can use anything she says and twist it out of context,” he said.

“Don't worry,” I told him. Knowing they would find nothing on my shoes or my coat had restored my confidence. “I'm okay.”

“Sorry,” Matthew said, “but I'm not going anywhere. If you want to question Della alone, you're going to have to charge her with something. If you want her to talk, I'm going to stay right here.”

Lombard scowled. “According to another witness, a heated argument was overheard coming from the victim's office only minutes before you were seen running from the scene.”

“Whoever that was, it wasn't me. I told you yesterday that, just as I was driving into the lot, another car came screeching out of there, like a bat out of hell. It almost rammed into me. If you're looking for suspects, I'd start there.”

“Oh, right. The mysterious man—or woman—you saw driving a silver car. With that kind of information, the pool of suspects is just about every other person in town. I find it strange that you can't even tell us what make of car it was.”

Matthew spoke up. “Della couldn't tell you the difference between an American made and a Japanese import. She's not making that up. You can take my word for it.”

She kept her expression impassive, but her attitude was gone. “After leaving the scene, did you happen to remember anything you might have forgotten to mention?”

“No. Not a thing. Sorry. However, there is one thing I think you should know. My employee, Marnie Potter, heard something from a friend. It seems that Mr. Swanson was conducting a little extortion business on the side.” I already knew Marnie had reported this, but it didn't hurt to remind her.

Her eyes narrowed. “That's right. And didn't you tell me yesterday that you went to city hall to get Swanson to sign your permit, after”—she made air quotations again—“he came by your shop that morning?”

“That's right,” I said. Too late, I realized the trap I'd just fallen into. Lombard probably thought Swanson was trying to extort money from me, and that was my motive for killing him. “He'd already approved my permit,” I added quickly. “If you don't believe me, ask my contractor. He'll confirm it.”

“I think I'll do just that. What's his name?”

“Sydney Shuttleworth. I'll give you one of his cards.” She followed me to the kitchen where I rummaged through my catchall drawer until I found one.

She slipped the card into her pocket. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

And just like that the interrogation was over.

T
he door closed behind the officers, and all at once my knees wanted to give out. Now that it was over, all the stress I'd been holding back came bubbling to the surface. Matthew must have sensed it, because he wrapped an arm around my waist and walked me to the sofa.

I let myself collapse into it and Winston plodded over, laying his chin on my knees. I patted him absently. “I thought she'd never leave.” I took a long breath. “How did I do?”

“You did fine. I couldn't have done better myself. You came across as open and honest.”

“That's because I was telling the truth.”

“As I'm sure they know. When they get a tip, they're obligated to follow it. As soon as they test your clothes and see that there's no blood, they'll eliminate you as a suspect.”

“Thank goodness you were here. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“You handled it all by yourself.” He sat next to me and patted my knee. “Still up to going out?”

I'd completely forgotten about our dinner date. I checked my watch. “It's already six thirty. Isn't it too late to make our reservation?”

“A quick phone call will fix that. Come on. We still have to eat.”

“Give me fifteen minutes. I won't look as nice as I'd planned, but I can still clean up pretty good.”

•   •   •

Half an hour later, Matthew and I walked into the Longview reception. Bunny Boyd, the owner, came forward from behind the reception desk to greet us with her arms open wide.

“It's been so long,” she said. “Too long. I saw your name in the reservations book and wanted to be here to say hello.”

“It has been too long,” I said. “Margaret sends her love.” Bunny was Margaret's birth mother. The two hadn't met until the previous fall. And what started as a contentious relationship had soon turned into a loving one.

“Did she tell you that she and I went shopping day before yesterday? We had a great time.”

“She did. She was very excited about all the new clothes.”

“I'm glad. But you two aren't here to chat with me. You're here for dinner. Let me walk you to your table.”

We followed her down the hall to the dining room, a generous space with art-covered walls and different antique chandeliers, one hanging over each table. She guided us to “the best seat in the house for two of my favorite people.” The table was set directly in front of the fieldstone fireplace. She pulled a chair for me and then one for Matthew, and gestured to the waiter, who hurried over with the menus.

“Please take special care of these two,” she told him. “And whatever drinks they order are on the house.” She leaned forward and whispered into Matthew's ear. “If you want a truly romantic dinner, I recommend ordering a bottle of Cristal Champagne.”

“That's very generous of you, Bunny. But we can't accept. It's too much.”

“In that case, let me order it for you. My friends will have a bottle of Cristal,” she told the waiter. “Now, I'll leave you two to your dinner. Enjoy.”

“I love this place,” I said, leaning back. “As far as I'm concerned, it's every bit as good as any restaurant in Charlotte.”

The waiter reappeared with the bottle of champagne. He popped the cork expertly, offered a half-inch in a glass for Matthew to taste, and then poured.

As soon as he had left with our food orders, Matthew raised his glass and looked me in the eye. “To you.”

I felt myself melting under his gaze. “To you,” I said, and took a sip. It still amazed me that after knowing each other all our lives, and after harboring a major crush on him for so long, Matthew had developed romantic feelings for me. Sometimes, I had to pinch myself. But, as thrilled as I was, his mother and mine were even more so. It had become obvious to me over the last year or so, and very possibly to Matthew too, that our mothers had been hatching a plot to match us up. Unfortunately, the more his pushed him, the more he dug in his heels. No man worth his salt wants his mother to dictate his love life. It was only after I pointed this out to my mother, and she relayed the message to his, that they retreated. Now that we were officially an item, the pressure was mounting for us to get engaged. I dared to hope he'd be asking me before the year was out.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about the shop,” I said, not wanting to so much as utter the word marriage. Pressure from mothers was bad enough. But from a girlfriend, that would be disastrous.

“I should have asked you sooner. How was your first day?”

“Encouraging. Today we saw mostly lookie-loos, but there was a lot of interest. Tomorrow will be better.”

We were still making small talk when I noticed a beautiful woman sitting with a man, a few tables over, trying to attract Matthew's attention. I leaned in.

“I think there's somebody over there who knows you.”

He turned in her direction. “Well, what do you know? Excuse me for a second, will you?” He made his way over wearing a grin the size of Texas. I glanced at the woman's hand and was relieved to see she wore a wedding ring. Matthew chatted with the couple for a moment, and they came over to join our table. It was only when she came closer that I recognized her. It was Susan Price. She had been in my shop no more than a few hours ago, and now she was completely transformed. She looked like a movie star. Her blond hair was styled in an elegant cut, and she was all dressed up in a sleek black dress with a beaded neckline.

“I invited them to join us for a glass of champagne,” he said, as they sat. “This is Della, my girlfriend.” My heart did a somersault, as it did every time he referred to me that way. “Della, this is John and Susan Price. The three of us went to college together.”

“How are you?” I said. “Nice to see you again.”

“You two know each other?” Matthew asked.

“We met this afternoon,” Susan said. Matthew gestured for the waiter to bring two more glasses. Soon, we were all sipping champagne. While the men caught up, Susan and I chatted about fashion for a few minutes, and then changed the subject to how wonderful the food was here, and then to the art in the room. Through it all, I couldn't help but notice that Susan seemed nervous. Her chatter was quick. She flitted from one topic to another, as if she couldn't allow a moment of silence. After exploring a number of subjects, the discomfort that had hung over our conversation returned. At last I decided to ask her directly.

“I hope you're not uncomfortable with me.”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“I got the impression that you were annoyed with me about the conversation in my shop this afternoon.”

She opened her eyes wide, an attempt to look confused, no doubt. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Mr. Swanson's murder.” At her blank look, I continued. “He was apparently overheard arguing with a woman just a few minutes before I found him.”

“If you think—”

“No, of course not. The problem is that, now, the police seem determined to prove that woman was me. So, if you know anything, please tell me.”

Her attitude went from defensive to sympathetic, in a heartbeat. “How perfectly awful.” Emotions flew over her face until she seemed to arrive at some decision. “You're right. I did feel awkward this afternoon. You see, I had an appointment with him that morning. I was going to tell him that I'd decided to lodge a complaint against him, but in the end I decided against it. He'd been with the city for decades, and I know others had made complaints and nothing ever came of them. When I heard he was killed around the same time I was supposed to meet with him, I was worried that if it got around, people would think I'd killed him. You know how people are.”

“Believe me. I do.”

“And I don't trust the police,” she said. I silently agreed with her there. “Lately all we hear about are cases where some person is released after years of serving a sentence for some crime they never did.” She nodded toward her husband. “John thinks I'm being paranoid, but, if it can happen to others, it could happen to me.”

“You said others had gone to the city about him? Do you know who?”

“No. I called the city and the woman I spoke to told me others had tried before me. The way she said it, I got the impression she was warning me that nothing would come of it. She went on to tell me that he'd been at the same job forever and that he had an excellent reputation.”

“Do you remember who you spoke to?”

“No idea. Except that it was someone in the permits department.” I made a mental note to ask Marnie if she remembered who she had spoken to when she called about my permit.

“What I can't figure out is, if he was so disliked—”

“So I've heard.”

“—then why was he still at the same job?” She huffed. “And how he managed to land himself a beautiful young wife like Mona is beyond me.”

This was the second time someone remarked on how attractive his new wife was. “Did they go out for a long time before getting married?”

“No, not at all. She was dating somebody else for a long time. And when that relationship suddenly broke up, she started seeing Swanson and almost overnight, the two of them were married. I don't think it was more than a few weeks after they met.” I stored that tidbit of information away.

“That must have been hard on her ex.”

She frowned. “No, I think they remained—I wouldn't say friendly—but on good terms.”

“You wouldn't happen to know who that was, by any chance?” I said.

“Of course I do. Sydney Shuttleworth is an old friend of ours. As a matter of fact he was at college with John and me too.”

“You're kidding.” I turned to Matthew and waited for a break in his conversation with John. “Did you know that my contractor, Syd, was at college at the same time you were?”

“Really?” he said. “I don't remember him there.”

“Maybe that's because he was a couple of years ahead of us,” John said. “He graduated our first year.”

That explained it.

Before I could react, her husband stood. “I think it's about time we returned and give these people their table back. Besides, I think the waiter is bringing over our food.” They both said good-bye and left.

A few minutes later our own food arrived, and I lost myself in the heavenly flavors of my salad
caprese
—my all-time favorite—followed by
spaghetti alla vodka
. We were relaxing over coffee when I noticed the Prices leaving, and a question came to me.

“I suddenly get the feeling you're a million miles away,” Matthew said.

“Oh, er, sorry. I have to run to the washroom.” I made a dash for the exit, but instead of going to the ladies' room, I turned right and darted to the back entrance, which gave me a view the parking lot. I opened the door just as John and Susan were getting into a silver luxury vehicle. The car was the right color, but was much larger than the one I'd seen speeding away. All at once I remembered a detail that until now had slipped my mind. The silver hatchback had a sticker on its back bumper—something about death or the hereafter.

I returned to the restaurant feeling relieved. Susan Price was a nice woman. And I instinctively felt she had nothing to do with the murder.

“Are you feeling all right?” Matthew asked as I sat.

“Of course. Why?”

“You took off so fast I was afraid you felt ill.”

I gave him a beaming smile. “It's sweet of you to worry, but I'm fine. Just had to powder my nose.”

Matthew stared at his coffee for a few minutes, smiling to himself. “It was great running into John after all this time. It brings back so many memories.” He chuckled. “We both tried out for the Carolina baseball team. He made it. I didn't. He never let me forget it.”

He launched into a recital of old stories, but I didn't hear a word of what he was saying. How could I not have thought of it earlier? Light blue was not a common color for baseball caps. It was, however, the color of the UNC baseball team. At the same time, another idea occurred to me. Syd Shuttleworth often wore a light blue T-shirt under his overalls. I was convinced it was a T-shirt from UNC. And I was willing to bet he also had a college baseball cap too.

On the way back to my place, Matthew brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“Now that your shop is running again, are we going back to the old routine of me dropping off Winston in the morning?”

“I hope so. I like having him around. He's good company on quiet days, and I always feel safer having him in the shop. Although”—I chuckled—“if I had to count on him to rescue me, I might as well take lessons in self-defense.”

He gave my hand a squeeze. “In that case, should I leave him at your place for the night?”

“That's a good idea.” We were both quiet for a moment, and then he added, “You know, you'd probably feel a whole lot safer in your apartment if I was to spend the night too.” He glanced at me sideways, the streetlights flashing over his handsome face as we drove by. My heart skipped a beat.

“I think you make a very good point.”

•   •   •

The next morning, I came downstairs at a quarter to ten, Winston trotting happily after me. Matthew had taken off around eight thirty, to get an early start on his writing.

“You're here early,” I said, finding Marnie already in.

“I had to drop off Jenny's order. So there was no point in going back home for just a couple of hours. Besides, I was sure you'd be here no later than eight, but then I saw Matthew leaving an hour ago.” She gave me the eyebrow. “That explains why you look so happy this morning.”

I felt the blood rising to my face. “Nonsense. The whole point of the remodel, in case you've forgotten, was that I would no longer have to be here before ten every morning.”