The Drowning Spool (A Needlecraft Mystery) (14 page)

The house smelled of hot cocoa and freshly baked sugar cookies. Betsy could see another young woman in the kitchen, stout but very attractive. “That’s Lia,” said Frey unnecessarily, gesturing toward her roommate.

“Hello,” Lia said without enthusiasm. Well, Betsy thought, she really
was
nervous about this meeting. Or maybe she was merely shy.

“May I take your coat?” said Frey.

“Thank you,” said Betsy, unbuttoning her black wool Jean Paul Gaultier coat—which she’d found, rejoicing, in an upscale consignment store—and letting it slide off her arms. She was wearing a thin brown sweater she’d knit herself and taupe slacks.

“Do you want me to take off my boots?” she asked. It was a common question in Minnesota.

“Please,” called Lia from the kitchen.

“The sand they spread on the streets scratches our floors,” said Frey apologetically.

Betsy pulled off her sensible low-heeled boots and set them on a rubber mat alongside two pairs of outrageously high-style boots, and Frey handed her a pair of thin, stretchy slip-ons, taken from a box of them behind the mat. She showed Betsy to the couch, which was as comfortable as it looked, if a little enveloping.

Betsy pulled on the slippers as Frey disappeared into another room with her coat, and Lia entered the living room carrying a bright red wooden tray on which rested three steaming mugs and a plate of cookies. “I hope you like these,” she said in a neutral, low-key voice.

“I’m afraid I’m very fond of home-baked cookies,” said Betsy with a smile.

“Me, too.” And Lia smiled back.

When Frey returned, they all sat on the couch, well separated from one another. Everyone took a cookie and a mug. The cocoa was rich and not too sweet, the cookies crisp, almond-flavored, and still warm.

“These are delicious, thank you,” said Betsy, taking a second bite.

“Lia is a fantastic cook,” said Frey. “We were so pleased when she joined us.”

“How long did you three live together?” asked Betsy.

Frey spoke first. “Teddi and I and another girl, Alison Reynolds, moved in here almost three years ago. But Alison’s mother had a stroke—she lives in Fargo—so Alison went out there to help take care of her. She’d only lived here nine months. We advertised on craigslist and found Lia. Alison was great, but I think Lia is even better.”

Lia said, “I think I was lucky to find Teddi and Frey.”

“How did you and Teddi get together?” Betsy asked Frey.

“At a party. At two parties, actually. We met at one and kind of hit it off, then at the next party, there we were again. We liked the same things; we were both employed, with steady jobs; and we were both unhappy with our roommates at the time. Teddi knew about this house for rent, but we needed a third person to live with us in order to afford it. I knew Alison was looking to move out on her boyfriend, who was a controlling jerk, so I contacted her, and she said yes, please. We split everything three ways: rent, utilities, groceries. But then she had to leave and we got Lia to move in. After a couple of months, we made a deal with her: We’d buy the groceries if she’d cook, because she’s like a chef, she took classes at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts in Mendota Heights.” Frey smiled at Lia. “She can make a delicious meal fast or slow, and she can even cook low-cal meals when we start putting on too much weight from her regular stuff.”

Lia said, “Except I can gain weight even on low-cal meals. I could gain weight eating bread and water.”

Betsy said, “Me, too. Not only that, I have a cat like the both of us. No metabolism at all. I feed her diet cat food, but she weighs twenty-one pounds.” She pulled her shoulders up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, you’re not a cat, and you’re not as overweight as my cat.”

“That’s all right,” said Lia, though her tone made it clear that it wasn’t all right at all.

“Speaking of cats,” said Frey, as a half-grown cat came galloping into the room. He was the Siamese from Teddi’s Facebook pages, his points now darkening toward chocolate. His tail had that hump in the middle that meant he was playing, though his back was also arched, and he danced sideways close to the stools at the breakfast bar, staring in mock-alarm at Betsy.

“Oh, Thai, how did you get out of the bedroom?” said Lia crossly.

Frey said, “I told you he knows how to turn a doorknob.”

“It’s all right, I like cats,” said Betsy. “Here, kitty, kitty.” She put down her mug of cocoa to snap her fingers at him. “Tie. Where did you get such a cute name for him?”

“It’s Thai, like from Thailand, which used to be Siam,” said Lia, “because he’s Siamese.”

“You won’t like him,” predicted Frey.

Thai trotted across the floor, leaped into Betsy’s lap, put his forepaws on her chest, and licked her on the chin. His gleaming eyes were a clear blue, the color of a summer sky. Betsy stroked him, a little surprised to find his bones prominent under the fur. “What a sweet cat!”

“You want him?” said Lia and Frey in unison.

“Didn’t I just say I already have a cat?” said Betsy lightly. “Besides, what’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing!” said Lia, grimacing at Frey.

“Oh, don’t lie to the nice lady,” said Frey. “He gets into everything, he sheds, he licks you on the face, he wants to be part of whatever you’re doing, and he barfs a lot.”

“And he’s a tomcat,” said Lia. “You know what that means.”

“What does it mean?” asked Betsy, imagining a number of possibilities.

“Spraying,”
said Frey. “Tomcats spray.” Her nose wrinkled. “And it
stinks
.”

“We’re taking him to the Humane Society this weekend,” said Lia.

“Oh, not
this
weekend!” objected Frey.

“Gwenfreya . . .” warned Lia.

Frey waved her hands to ward off the rebuke. “All right, I know, I promised. But what if he doesn’t get adopted?”

“Why don’t you get him neutered?” asked Betsy.

Lia said, “Teddi didn’t want to do that to him. She said it’s cruel. Anyway, it’s too late now.”

Betsy didn’t think it was too late, but she didn’t want to get into an argument over an issue that wasn’t germane to the reason she was here.

Lia said quietly, “We have to get him out of here before he starts stinking up the house.” They both looked at Betsy, as if hoping she might save the cat from a terrible fate. But Betsy put the cat on the floor. “I already have a cat,” she repeated firmly.

Thai trotted away behind the couch.

“So it’s too bad, he really is darling,” said Frey.

“And funny,” added Lia. “You should see him chase a ball. Sometimes he’ll even bring it back to you.”

Betsy felt something lightweight land on the back of the couch, and suddenly something was nuzzling her hair. Thai was back. His paws slipped around her neck, the nuzzling became more intense, and he started to purr.

“See what we mean?” demanded Lia. “I wish we’d never let him stay!”

“Then why did you?” asked Betsy reasonably.

“He’s Teddi’s,” said Frey. “She loved him.” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. “She really loved him. And he loved her. That’s why I hate, I
hate
throwing him away!”

“Yes, but we both
hate
that litter box, and his barf on the bed, and he won’t use his scratching post, and—” Lia cut herself off, realizing again that she was spoiling any chance of persuading Betsy to take the animal off their hands.

“And he gets lonesome spending all day and a lot of nights all alone in the house,” said Frey, trying to put their dilemma in a better light.

“Teddi bought him all kinds of toys, so he’s not bored,” said Lia, shifting ground. “I suppose you did the same for your cat?”

“Oh, Sophie spends her days down in the shop with me and my customers,” said Betsy. “She’s lazy, she doesn’t get into things. Her only fault down there—and it’s as much my customers’ fault as hers—is that she eats anything they’ll give her. She’s especially fond of potato chips.

“But I came here to talk about Teddi.” She put the cat on the floor, giving him a little push on the rump to encourage him to go away. “Let’s start with her job. Where did she work?”

“She was administrative assistant to the vice president of Goldman Fields, a CPA company in Minneapolis,” said Frey. “She’d been there going on six years. She started out in their bookkeeping department while she was still getting her associate’s degree in accounting. She was supposed to be working on her bachelor’s in business management, and she was, but not very hard. She was comfortable where she was at Goldman, didn’t want a promotion. Plus, she wasn’t what you’d call a scholar.”

“But she was a whiz at other things,” offered Lia with a chuckle. “Things like dancing and parties—and beer pong, she’d win at beer pong almost all the time. Actually, we’re all three party types—that’s why we get—why we got along so well. We’re not alcoholics, we don’t let the parties interfere with our jobs, but we enjoy going out a lot. Or having people over.”

“Like every weekend, one or the other,” confessed Frey, smiling. “Here or somewhere out, doing something fun.”

“Did Teddi have a lot of boyfriends?” asked Betsy. She had gotten out her reporter’s notebook, which caused both girls’ eyes to widen.

“No, not really,” said Lia, toning it down a little. “I mean, she was beautiful, she attracted a lot of attention from a lot of men. And she liked that, a lot. But she wasn’t like . . . promiscuous or anything.”

“No, not at all,” agreed Frey emphatically. “She was just popular, like she couldn’t help it. And why should she? I wouldn’t have, if I looked like her.”

“You’re both really attractive,” said Betsy.

“Yeah, but not like Teddi,” said Lia.

“Was there anyone special she was dating lately?”

“Well, there was that little boy-man Tommy something,” Lia said.

Frey added, “He’s cute but looks about eighteen, though he’s twenty-four. He showed us his driver’s license to prove it. He’s kind of shy, very sweet, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer.” Frey chuckled. “Not that Teddi’s IQ was off the charts. And they both liked corny jokes. They were well matched.”

Lia said, “But then there’s our favorite carpenter, Noah Levesque—it’s spelled L-E-V-E-S-Q-U-E, but pronounced Le-VECK. He was hired by our landlord to build the deck out back, and he came over to get started on Teddi’s day off, and caught her out back getting a suntan. He was hot for her from that minute; I think he took about a week longer finishing the job than he had to, just so he could hang out with her. Not that Teddi was fighting him off. I mean, she was so gorgeous, and he’s so handsome, it was like they belonged together. Poor Tommy was feeling tossed aside—don’t you think, Frey?”

“Definitely. He was more sad than jealous, but feeling cast off, for sure.”

“Anyone else?”

“Well . . .” Frey looked at Lia, then at Betsy’s notebook.

Lia said, “There was this other guy, older, strange looking—no, that’s not what I mean. That is, he looked like the guy in a movie who turns out to be a vampire.” She touched her hairline. “What’s it called when your hair comes to a point on your forehead?”

“A widow’s peak,” said Betsy, amused.

“Okay, widow’s peak. Dark hair slicked back and cheekbones that kind of stick out and he likes to wear leather. Dark eyes, intense and just a little slanted. Teddi loved the way he looked. But I think he’s married.”

Frey said, surprised, “You do?”

“Yeah, I do. He never told her where he worked, for example, or what he did for a living, or where he lived. Teddi loved how he was so mysterious, but I think he had a wife and kids. And he’s old, like thirty-seven or even older.”

“No, he wasn’t!” Frey was scandalized.

“Yes, he was. He had lines on his face. And he talked kind of creepy.”

“I like the way he talked, so cool. And I never saw any lines.”

“You hardly ever saw him. And you won’t, either. Look on Teddi’s Facebook page—you won’t see a single picture of him.”

Frey grew thoughtful. “Yeah, now that I think about it . . .”

“Yes, think about it,” said Lia. “I was looking at Facebook today, getting ready for Ms. Devonshire’s visit, and I couldn’t find a single picture of him.”

“What’s his name?” asked Betsy.

“Preston something, or something Preston,” said Frey.

Lia said, “I think it’s Preston something—I can’t remember if I ever knew his last name. Teddi called him Pres.”

“What about the other two? Any sign they were married?”

Frey said, “Sweetie-face Tommy is definitely single. He couldn’t afford to be married.”

“And Noah was just getting over a divorce. No kids. It was one of those quick-to-get-married, quick-to-be-sorry-about-it things, but he and his ex are still friends.”

“God, what a hottie he is!” said Frey. “I mean, fan my brow, as my grandmother used to say.” She giggled, then sobered. “Sorry.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, not really, but . . .” said Lia, and she exchanged a look with Frey.

Frey said, “Now don’t get the wrong idea. Teddi was just friendly and . . . impulsive. She dated a lot of men just once or twice. No harm in that, not at all.” Betsy thought Frey was trying to explain away a lifestyle she thought Betsy might disapprove of.