The Double Cross (16 page)

Rita looked at me, a slightly annoyed expression on her face, as though I didn’t have my priorities straight. “It’s really more important than ever that we get this place up and running.”

Eleanor stepped forward. “I’m sure it’s what George would have wanted . . . ,” she started.

“It’s what I want,” Rita interrupted her. “I appreciate the work you’re doing. Can you make ten quilts? I think I’ll need ten.”

And with that she walked out of the shop.

“I am sorry about her husband. I really am,” Susanne said. “But that woman is just unpleasant.”

“She certainly has an interesting way of mourning,” my grandmother agreed.

I would have commented, but something caught my eye near the back of the shop. There was an open box of seam rippers dumped on a cutting table a few feet from the front door. There must have been a hundred of them. And every one was exactly the same: a little metal hook with a medium blue plastic handle.

I looked for Bernie, back at the long-arm machine, quietly working on the next quilt. I didn’t want to share with her what I had found in the woods, because talk of her relationship with George seemed to make her defensive. But I felt better. These seam rippers meant that anyone with access to the quilt shop, and that could pretty much mean anyone, since Rita didn’t seem to lock the door, could have dropped that tool near the crime scene, either by accident or on purpose.

Rita’s visit and the seam rippers had brought the murder back to the forefront. Even though we were now, I suppose, directed to make ten quilts, I left the work to the others and walked out of the shop, hoping to find out who else might have left a seam ripper in the woods.

CHAPTER 23

As I walked out into the daylight, I saw McIntyre and Jesse talking with Fred. The three men seemed engaged in a pretty serious conversation, and when I came closer, I got a stern look from Jesse. It was clear that I was not welcome to join them. I walked away. If we were going to be on the same side in this investigation, I had to trust that Jesse would share the information with me as soon as he could. Instead I walked into the classroom to see if there was a chance I could find any clues the students had left behind.

On a back table were flowers and cards that had been brought by members of the community to offer their condolences to Rita. The classroom was empty, and most of the students seemed to have cleaned up after themselves at the end of yesterday’s class. Only some fabrics, a packet of needles, and a handful of seam rippers had been left out on the tables, and it was hard to tell who their owners were.

I found myself drifting toward the front of the classroom, where the group’s first quilts were displayed. Each student had made something unique, and it was easy to see who had made which quilt. Helen’s was an orderly and nearly literal translation of a tree, with a trunk of brown corduroy and pieces of green velvet cut into dozens of tiny leaves. It was beautiful but restrained and careful. If I were judging Helen by her quilt, I’d say she didn’t like to take any chances. Frank’s quilt, on the other hand, was a mess. I doubt it had been his intention to make it abstract, but it had sort of turned out that way. It was a whirl of fabrics and trim and small metal buttons. He’d used the computer to print the words MY WORLD and fused them to the top. There was none of the charm he had tried to display on the first day. This quilt was all force. It must be hard for Helen to have her orderly world connected to his chaos.

I walked closer to the next quilt to see the details. It had to be Pete’s, I decided. He’d used the sky fabrics we’d picked out together and added so many trees that they nearly blocked out the light. There was a dark circle in the corner, made of deep brown silk with a spray of brightly colored ribbons coming from it.

“You like it?”

I turned to see Pete at the entrance of the classroom.

“I do,” I said. “Are these flowers?”

He blushed a little. “It’s supposed to mean that even in the darkest places good things can grow.”

“Well, it does,” I said. “It’s nice.”

“It’s not as cool as her quilt.” He nodded toward one of the twins.

I looked at the quilt next to Pete’s and saw a quilt that was almost black, with small blue triangles around the edges. It was as strange and inexplicable as the woman herself. But as I got closer, my nose almost touching the quilt, I realized that it was an extreme close-up of a crow, almost blocking out the sky behind it. The word PROMISES written over and over and over, in tiny lettering, covered each wing completely. In tiny letters in the corner was the maker’s name: Alysse. I stepped back.

“That’s really interesting. I wonder what it means.”

“I was thinking broken engagement,” Pete offered.

“Probably. This must be Alice’s quilt,” I said about the one next to it.

It was also a close-up image, this time of a leaf, with small green beads decorating the edges. A considerably lighter and happier image.

I turned away from the quilts. “How’s the remodeling going?”

Pete smiled. “We’ve got the living room painted and we’re working on the dining room. Helen and the twins have made lunch, if you’re hungry. I told your grandmother and the others.”

“And you were looking for me?”

“You always seem to be off on your own somewhere.”

“Do I?” I’d thought I spent most of my time with the group, but maybe he was right. I did tend to wander off.

“I hear you like looking into things,” he said. “Like what happened to George.”

“I want to see justice, same as everybody else.”

He nodded. “I just think a nice lady like you would rather help with the quilting than get involved in something as messy as someone’s murder. Especially with your friend Jesse and Chief McIntyre around.”

“I like to help.” I pointed to a paint stain on his shirt. “Just like you.”

I didn’t want to get into a discussion about some of Pete’s rather old-fashioned ideas about what women and men should do with their time, not unless it had something to do with the murder.

With me in the lead, Pete and I passed Jesse and the others, who were still in conversation. We walked into the inn, and it was obvious that in just a few hours a lot of work had been done. The textured wallpaper in the entryway had been primed; the furniture in the living room was still covered, but the walls had gone from a drab and dirty white to a warm taupe; and as I entered the dining room, I saw that a coat of a light moss green had already been applied to three of the walls. Even though the room was under construction, a few people from town, Alice and Alysse, Bernie, Susanne, and my grandmother were eating and a buffet-style lunch had been set up along the unpainted wall. I grabbed a plate of fried chicken and potato salad, and sat across from the twins.

“I was just in the classroom,” I said. “I really like your quilts. The basic idea is the same—you know, the extreme close-up of an object—but you’ve taken them in such different directions.”

“Alysse’s is very dark,” Alice said. “She thinks she’s profound. I think it’s unhealthy. Especially now.”

It was an unexpected and welcome opening. “With George dead, you mean.”

“Such a terrible shame,” Alysse said. “A good man cut down in his prime. A dear person. I’ll miss him.”

“You were friends? I didn’t know that.”

Alysse’s face whitened. “Not friends. But since we started the class, we saw him around.”

“So you didn’t know him?”

“No,” her sister said quickly.

“So how did you find out about the class? The others are all friends of the Olnhausens.”

“We met Rita at a church function. She mentioned the class and so we came.”

“Which church?”

“The one in town,” Alysse said. “I’m sorry, but I promised Helen I would help with dessert. We made chocolate cake.”

“Of course.”

Both sisters got up from the table and left me sitting alone. I could see Susanne trying to catch my eye so I motioned to her, and she came to sit with me.

“How’s it going?” I whispered to her. “Any admissions of guilt during lunch?”

Susanne grimaced. “I think Helen wants to talk. She’s been hiding in the kitchen this whole time, but I don’t think I’m good at interrogating, especially when I’m trying not to seem like I’m interrogating. You go and see what you can find out.”

Once I saw the twins return, with chocolate cake and plates, I headed toward the kitchen where Helen was washing dishes.

“Can I help?’

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed. “I guess I need a distraction from everything that’s going on. It must be especially hard for you.”

“Why especially?” She took a step back.

“You’re friends with the Olnhausens. You and Frank.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “We knew them as well as anyone in town I suppose.”

I leaned in and quietly said, “Rita seems so brave. I’ve hardly seen her cry, but, then, I don’t really know her. She must be more expressive with her grief around you.”

Helen’s eyes darted in the direction of door, then back to me. “She hasn’t said anything to me. She hasn’t even thanked me for the Bundt cake I brought this morning. Not that I expect thanks.”

I smiled. This was going to be easier than I thought. “Rita seems, well, I don’t know how to say it but she’s . . .” I hesitated.

“A bit hard?” Just as I expected, Helen finished my sentence. Now it was her turn to lean in and whisper. “She had George wrapped around her little finger, and I have no idea why. He did all the work for this place. He roped everyone into taking this class.” She stopped. “Not that it hasn’t turned out to be quite fun.”

“Of course. But you had no way of knowing that when George asked you—”

“Asked!” Her voice rose an octave, then quickly lowered. “He insisted. Made it seem life-or-death. But that was George about everything concerning Rita. If she wanted something, he would move heaven and earth to get it for her.”

“I guess that’s true love.”

“I guess. Seems to me that she could have done more for him. Marriage is a two-way street, but, of course, everyone has to find their own balance. If it worked for them, then I say fine. I just worried that he would end up with a heart attack, that’s all.” She shook her head. “Poor man.”

“I wish I’d known George as well as you,” I offered. “You seem like a good judge of character and you obviously felt a great deal of affection for him.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. Then she turned her back to me and walked slowly out of the room.

CHAPTER 24

I finished the dishes and left the kitchen to look for Jesse, in the hopes of finding out about his conversation with Frank and telling him about mine with Helen. I didn’t find him. Instead I ran into Rita, who looked tired and pale. She was sitting alone in the half-finished living room, staring into space, car keys in her hand.

“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“They’ve painted the living room,” she said quietly.

“It’s a nice color.” I stood for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“I need a ride into town.” She handed me the keys to her car without waiting for a reply. She seemed to be struggling to get up, so I bent over to try to help her, but she waved her hand at me. “I’m not an invalid,” she snapped. “I’m a widow. I can get off the couch by myself.”

“If you would rather drive yourself,” I found myself snapping back.

Rita immediately weakened. She seemed ready to cry, and she took a slow breath to calm herself. “I’m not up to it. Maybe I could drive there, but not back. George used to . . .”

I felt like a jerk. “It’s fine. Of course I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

We walked to her car, a late-model BMW, and headed toward town without talking.

As much as I preferred the silence, eventually I had to speak up. “I don’t know where I’m going.”

Whatever weakness she had expressed back at the inn was gone. “Just drop me off at the police station,” she said dismissively.

“But I think McIntyre is at the inn. I saw him earlier, talking to Frank.”

“I don’t want to talk to McIntyre.”

“Then why do you want to go to the police station?”

“I can’t imagine why that would matter to you.”

“Man, you are an unpleasant person,” I wanted to say. But instead I said, “Helen seemed pretty upset about George.”

Rita shrugged. “People liked him. They liked him more than me.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case. George just seems to have gotten out more.”

Rita stared at me. “Have you been asking around?”

I could feel my cheeks turning a little red but I ignored it. “When someone dies, people like to talk about him.”

She turned away from me and slouched in her chair. “I suppose. Not that any of them knew him, especially that Helen woman.”