The Double Cross (32 page)

“How are Helen’s knees?”

“Terrible. She has arthritis and can’t walk very far without being in terrible pain. Why?”

“Just asking.”

She nodded. “I suppose you have your reasons.”

Now that we were this close, it was frustrating to wait for the students to arrive. I walked to the classroom, thinking I might pass the time finishing my block for George. I had been working on an abstract piece that would represent the inn, but now I wanted to incorporate his love for Rita and Joi in the piece. That meant a lot of work, but I was too distracted. Instead I looked at the other blocks.

Frank had drawn a man and woman holding hands. The woman, with short blonde hair, was clearly Rita, but the man was nondescript. It was an amateurish drawing but it was very touching—assuming the man was George. Next to it was Helen’s block, with a very neat appliqué of a bird in flight. At the bottom of the block, on what I guessed was meant to represent the earth, was a crisscross of fabric pieces that reminded me of barbed wire. Maybe it was her way of saying that George was freed from the burdens of life. Pete’s wasn’t nearly so emotional. It was a simple drawing of two houses with some trees between them and a caption, “A Good Neighbor. A Good Man.” At the last table, the twins’ quilts were nearly finished. One was the detailed drawing of the inn, and the other, two hands clasped together. One hand had a large diamond on it, so I figured that was meant to be Rita. The other quilts were abstract, and I knew they belonged to Eleanor, Jesse, and Susanne. Like me, they didn’t know enough about George to offer much insight, but their quilts were made with considerable care and attention, and that was lovely in itself.

I loved the idea of journal quilting, even though this was only my second attempt. To make a small quilt, without any concern for durability or even beauty, but one that represented a thought—that was something I could really embrace.

When we arrived, the plan had been to make three quilts: one for the world around us, one for our lives as they are now, and one for our future dreams. We’d only made the first before “our lives as they are now” became a murder investigation. As I sat in the empty classroom, I thought about what I would have made, not just for the second quilt, but, more importantly, for the third. What did I want for the future?

Out loud I said, “I want the truth.”

I had learned from Bernie and Rita that you pay a terrible price for holding back the whole truth. Maybe there was a truth about my own life that I hadn’t been willing to face.

I took a piece of white felt and laid it down at a workstation. I took paints and colored the felt a soft blue and drew a sketch of the truth that scared me the most.

“You’re early.”

As I was finishing my sketch, I heard someone walk in behind me, but I was too busy to look up. When I did, I saw Helen holding a tote bag.

“I’ve been trying to work out a few things,” I said.

She nodded. “It’s nice to have a bit of peace and quiet.”

She took the items out of her tote bag and lined them up at her workstation—a photograph of George outside of the inn, some pastels, scissors, several needles, and a book of poems. I picked up the book.

“You love poetry,” I said.

“I always have but I never had the time to read it. Frank isn’t a fan of such things, but maybe the grandchildren would like them. It would be nice to share my interests with someone.”

“Where is Frank?”

“He came with me but decided to go into the woods before class starts. If that man has twenty minutes free, he either wants to flirt with someone or kill something.”

She looked down at her table and rearranged the scissors and needles so all her items were lined up from smallest to largest. As she did I noticed something on the scissors.

“What is that?” I put my finger on the red mark.

“Nail polish. It identifies the scissors as mine. That way they don’t walk out with someone else in the class.”

“Good idea. You should have a seam ripper too.”

She looked at her things then checked the tote bag. “I think I gave it to Frank. He’s always forgetting to bring his supplies. And what he manages to remember falls out of his pockets.”

I took a step back. “I’ll let you get some work in. It’s going to be a while before the others show up, and I should probably get some breakfast.”

“You do that, Nell. You look so tired. I think you’ve been trying too hard to solve George’s murder. I would think if you’re going to get yourself involved, you have to look at it logically. Who has the most to gain? And who had the time to do it?”

“I suppose.” I wanted so much to ask her about seeing Bernie in the woods, but I couldn’t betray my promise not to. Not if I expected any more information from McIntyre. Instead I took a different tack. “You were very fond of George, weren’t you?”

“He seemed to be a nice man,” she said calmly. “Of course, I didn’t know him that well.”

It was clear that she was a liar, but whether she was lying to me, to Susanne, to McIntyre, or to all of us, and why, was beyond me at the moment.

I cleaned up my space a little, I left my unfinished future quilt on the table and walked out of the classroom.

CHAPTER 50

Joi and Rita were sitting on the porch, enjoying each other and the morning air. Maybe it was only because I knew how sick Rita was that she suddenly looked so fragile, but I felt a concern and affection for her that startled me.

“My grandchildren are coming up to see me,” she said as I walked up the porch steps.

“That’s wonderful.”

Joi smiled at her mother. “My husband is bringing them up tomorrow. They’ll stay for Dad’s funeral, and we’re going to spend the week. My husband is wonderful with his hands, so if anyone can take this from a dilapidated old Victorian house to a beautiful inn and school, it’s him. And maybe some of the neighbors will keep helping.”

“I’m glad for you both.” As I said it, Eleanor walked out with Barney just behind her. Barney ran down the steps and sniffed at the trees for a moment, then sat on the lawn.

“I think he’s finally put the woods behind him,” she said.

“Or he’s gotten too lazy to bother.”

“Either way he’ll be easy to find,” Eleanor said.

“Where’s Jesse?”

“He’s in the shower. He’ll be down in fifteen minutes.” Eleanor smiled. “You two can’t bear to be separated. Two minutes ago he asked me where you were. It’s nice to be in love, isn’t it?’

“I wouldn’t know. Jesse told me he ‘really likes me.’ ”

“And what do you feel?”

I thought about my future quilt: a sketch of me and Jesse and his daughter, Allie, with the Main Street of Archers Rest in the background. “I’m scared. His life is so fully formed and mine is so . . . not. If I love him, maybe I’ll find myself fitting into his plan, when I really need to make my own.”

“You can be no one other than who you are, Nell. It seems to me that Jesse has figured that out. As soon as you do, you’ll be okay.” Eleanor nodded toward the dog. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands. I need a cup of tea.”

As soon as Eleanor walked back into the inn, Barney stood up. He looked for a moment as if he was going to follow my grandmother, but instead he turned and ran toward the woods.

“Oh, that nut,” I said. I ran down the steps after him.

“I’ll help you,” Joi called out, and the two of us headed into the woods to find Barney.

“Barney,” I called out as we headed toward the spot where I thought I’d seen him digging in the past. I knew he wouldn’t hear me—his deafness was nearly complete—but I didn’t know what else to do.

The woods seemed darker than ever before. The sky wasn’t overcast, and it was very early in the day—not yet eight in the morning—but I felt myself getting confused, as though the light was fading and I was being trapped.

“I’ll check over there.” Joi pointed to another path. Before I had a chance to respond, she was gone.

“Be careful,” I shouted after her.

There could be traps, or rabid animals, I worried, and somewhere among the trees Frank was wandering with a gun. I stood for a moment, hoping Joi could take care of herself, and then I wondered if I could.

“Barney,” I yelled. There was rustling and I thought I heard something else. “Barney,” I said again.

I turned in the direction of the sound and realized that I was walking toward more darkness, but at least now I had figured out the reason. There were evergreens throughout the woods and in this section they were particularly dense. Just knowing why made me breath a little easier. It even looked a little familiar.

“I’ve seen this before,” I said to myself as I noticed a slightly mounded area of dark earth.

And then I knew. Seconds before my biggest concern was a missing dog, but now that I knew the truth, I could feel the blood drain from my face. I’d been wrong. I’d been wrong about everything.

CHAPTER 51

Just as I was about to turn and run, I saw Barney sniffing at a nearby tree. When he saw me, he came over and licked my face.

“We’re leaving, sweetie,” I said. “Grandma will be mad if you keep her waiting.”

But he didn’t want to leave. Once he’d sniffed at the dark mound of earth, he wouldn’t let me pull him away. He started to dig. I tried to pull him off the hole but I couldn’t. In just a minute, his digging had revealed the thing I knew was there but I’d dreaded seeing: a woman’s hand.

“We have to go now,” I told the confused dog. He pulled away from my grip. “Now!” I shouted.

Then I heard a shot.

“You and that dog are exactly the same,” I heard. “Stubborn. Too stubborn to live.”

Another shot. I pulled Barney toward a tree. “Run,” I whispered to him. “Get Jesse.”

Barney licked my face as if he was trying to play, but I put my hands on his jowls so we locked eyes.

“Get Jesse,” I said again, then let him go.

For a second he seemed confused; then suddenly he took off toward the edge of the woods. And away from Pete, and me.

I ran the opposite way, hoping the noises going in two different directions would confuse Pete. I saw that I was heading toward the hiking path that would take me toward Pete’s house, and that was the last place I wanted to go. I turned right and ran through the trees.

When I couldn’t run anymore, I crouched behind the largest tree I could find and tried to steady my breathing. It’s startling how loud breathing can be when you’re trying to be quiet. My hands were shaking and I didn’t know how long my legs would hold, but my life depended on it. The thought made my hands shake more.

I listened. There was nothing but the sounds of a few birds. I knew it was probably pointless but I took my cell phone out of my pocket. There was one bar, so I took a chance and dialed Jesse. Just as it started to ring, the call was dropped. No signal, only the quiet of country life that my grandmother had been extolling a few days before. I wrapped my fingers around the phone, just in case.

I heard leaves rustle. I tried to think. Was it thirty or forty feet away? Did I have time to run or should I just hope for the best and stay hidden behind the tree? I thought about every action movie I’d ever seen, trying to figure out an escape plan, but nothing came to me. All I could think of was my unfinished journal quilt—the one that was supposed to depict my life as I hoped it would become.

My heart was pounding. I looked around for a possible escape route. I wasn’t sure my feet would move even if I wanted them to, so I waited. More noise. But this wasn’t birds. This was something else. Footsteps. I held my breath and prayed they would move in the other direction.

Then nothing. The noise, the footsteps, had stopped. I realized I’d been standing in tangled vines and my ankle was itching. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on the footsteps. I’d have plenty of time to scratch my ankle once I got out of this. If I got out of this.