Weave of Absence (20 page)

I had just reached the doorway of the professional kitchen when I heard footsteps outside, moving along the side of the house. Winston growled.

“Quiet, Winnie.”

Whoever had been here was leaving. Next came the slam of a car door, and then a motor roared to life. I ran through the house to the living room window in time to see a car drive away. In the dark, I couldn't even make out the color.

Damn it.
I flicked on the lights and returned to the kitchen, determined to find out what that intruder had been up to.

“What the hell is going on?” Marnie's voice startled me. I dropped the knife, and it stuck into the linoleum floor, barely half an inch from my big toe.

“Marnie! For God's sake, don't sneak up on me that way. I almost sliced off my big toe.”

“You're the one who was sneaking around, not me. What are you doing snooping through my kitchen in the middle of the night? If you're looking for a midnight snack, come with me. I was just about to start my baking.”

“I heard somebody back here. I came to investigate.”

She stopped. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Winnie heard it first, and his growling woke me up.”

“I can't believe you were going to confront him. You should know better than that. Confronting an intruder is a good way to get yourself killed.”

“By the time I got here, whoever it was was already on his way out. I got a glimpse of the car as he drove away. And before you ask, no, I couldn't see the color or the make. But I suspect it might have been a royal blue economy car.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I guess I never told you. Remember the intruder who broke into Helen's house while I was there? I got a peek at that car as it drove away. It was a small royal blue car. Then, earlier, when I got you out of the coffee shop, I noticed that the car Melinda was driving was also royal blue, though I couldn't swear that it was the same one.”

“You think Melinda broke into my house? That's ridiculous. How would she have gotten in?”

“Beats me, but I heard a noise coming from back here. A loud metallic clang.”

“I have nothing in here that would make that sound.” She marched over to the massive freezer. “Do you think she might have put poison in my food?” That was a frightening thought. She grabbed the handle and pulled it open. There was a loud beep.
Ah, the freezer alarm.

“I would have heard that,” I said. “Whatever she did, she didn't do it in the freezer.”

She closed it and looked around. “Something that clanged,” she said under her breath. She walked around the kitchen, picking up a frying pan here, a pot there, and banging them on the stainless steel counter.

“No, that sounds flat,” I said. “What I heard had more resonance.”

She paused, thinking. “The garbage can,” she said, her eyes lighting up. She ran to the back door. “It's the lid. I bought a heavy metal bin because I'm always throwing out leftovers and I wanted something that would keep rodents from getting in. And the lid clangs.” She went to grab it.

“Wait,” I said. “Don't touch it.” I snatched the wall phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“The police,” I said. “I suspect somebody just planted evidence in your garbage. You, my dear, are being framed.”

This time the police officers who showed up were two men, Barkley and Jones. Barkley, a big guy with more hair above his lip than on top of his head, looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.

“You're telling me that somebody just put something in your garbage can, and you want us to go look for it?”

Luckily his younger partner was more open-minded. “Where is this garbage can?” he asked.

Marnie led the way through the kitchen and opened the back door. “That's it, there.” She pointed to the metal bin.

“You go ahead if you want,” Barkley said. “But I'd be surprised if there was anything in there but trash.”

Jones hesitated. “You wouldn't happen to have rubber gloves, would you?”

“I do,” Marnie said. “I'll get them right away.” She left, returning a minute later with an unused pair of gloves and a garbage bag. “For transferring the trash.”

“Thanks. If you're right about this, I wouldn't want to destroy any prints,” he said, struggling to put the gloves on. He raised the lid, took a deep breath, and plunged in. Piece by piece he picked out eggshells, empty sugar bags and milk cartons, a glob of hardened dough. He transferred it all into the garbage bag Jones was holding.

“Hold on,” he said. “What's this?” He raised a metal container with a twist top. The label read
PRO METAL RESTORE
.

The officer studied the smaller print.
“Cyanide,” he read. “Guess you two were right after all.” He threw his partner a look. “Sometimes it helps to listen.”

“I'll call it in,” Barkley said, oblivious to the dig. “They'll want to send a team.” He stepped away, pulling out his cell phone.

“Let me get you another bag for that container,” Marnie said, rushing off again.

“Make that a paper bag, if you don't mind.” To me, Barkley explained, “Paper preserves prints better.”

Jones returned, scowling. “Looks like the team is you and me. I'll just zip over to the station and pick up a fingerprint kit. You stay here and make sure nothing is disturbed.” He gave Marnie and me a stern look as he said this. I wanted to point out that
we
had called
them
, so why would we want to destroy evidence? He took off.

Marnie tapped me on the shoulder. “I might as well get dressed and put on a pot of coffee. It's going to be a long night.”

I looked at my watch. “I hate to tell you, but it's almost morning already.”

She plodded away with a loud sigh.

Officer Barkley returned and set to work with Jones, brushing sooty black powder all over the garbage can. After taking dozens of photographs of the resulting prints, they lifted them using adhesive tape and then glued them onto white cardboard cards.

“This is fascinating,” Marnie said. “I've never
seen it done before.” She had changed into an orange sweater, which was almost the same color as her hair, and a pair of black stretch pants. It was a subdued outfit compared to her usual garb. It made her look less pale.

“I'd better make up Jenny's order out of some frozen stuff again.” She swung open the freezer door.

“At least you're cleaning out your freezer this way.”

“I have a bad habit of making too much. And then what I don't use immediately, I freeze. Twice a month, I just throw out whatever is older than three weeks.”

“Don't do that,” I said, shocked. “Send it to one of the soup kitchens in the city.”

“Now, why didn't I think of that?”

“You might even be able to get tax receipts for your donations.” That was the business analyst in me speaking.

The policemen came in again, closing the back door behind them. Barkley walked on through, mumbling something about his job being done.

“Sorry, ladies,” Jones said. “I'm going to need to fingerprint you, just to eliminate your prints from the ones we got off the garbage.” He produced an inkpad and two white pieces of cardboard prestamped with the outline of five fingers.

Starting with me, he held each finger one at a time, rolled the tip over the pad, and then pressed it onto the card in the appropriate space for that
digit. He moved on to Marnie and I went to scrub my ink-stained fingers at the sink.

“How fast can you fingerprint your suspects?” I said.

“Sounds to me like you're more informed than I am,” Jones said. “I didn't know we had any.”

“It's obviously linked to the two murders,” Marnie said, exasperated. “Helen was poisoned—with cyanide.”

Jones laughed. “I was just being sarcastic. We'll bring in everyone who hasn't already been printed as soon as we can. It shouldn't take more than a day or so. But I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. Anybody devious enough to plant evidence won't likely have left any prints. The only ones we'll get will be yours, and maybe the garbage man's.”

“Great,” Marnie said. “So we're still no further ahead.”

“T
alk about making a person feel like a criminal,” Marnie said later, as we loaded the bags of frozen pastries into her car. “This was the first time I've ever been fingerprinted.” I knew exactly how she felt.

“Come on, Winnie. Let's go.” He hopped into the backseat and planted his front paws on the console between the front seats.

“Look at him,” Marnie said. “He looks like he's grinning.”

“I'm glad somebody around here is having fun,” I said.

We climbed in and took off. Moments later we were at the shop. To my surprise, the lights were on.

“Do you think Jenny is already here? It's only seven thirty,” Marnie said.

We carried the bags in, Winnie trotting behind us.

“Matthew,” I said, “what are you doing here?” He was sitting behind the counter, holding his head in his hands. He pulled away his hands and
I was shocked by how haggard he looked—deep dark circles under bloodshot eyes.

“I've been worried half to death,” he said, jumping to his feet. He took two giant strides toward me and gathered me in a bear hug.
Matthew had been worried about me?

“There you are,” Jenny said, running in from the back. “Where were you? You don't just disappear like that. You had everyone worried sick.”

“I slept at Marnie's,” I said as Matthew released me.

“If you can call it sleeping,” Marnie said. “We had an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night.”

“Why didn't you answer your cell phone?” Matthew said. He looked as if he was ready for a rant. “I must have called a dozen times,” he continued. “And left you just as many messages.”

“You called? That's strange. I never heard it ring.” I snatched my phone from my purse. “It's out of juice. Sorry. I never thought to check. Didn't you get my message? I called around five thirty to let you know I wanted to keep Winnie for the night.”

“I never got that message. And I never thought of checking with Marnie,” he said.

Margaret appeared in the doorway of the coffee shop. “Oh, thank God you're all right. What happened? Where were you?”

“You're here too? Who else did you call? The whole town?” I said.

“She was at my place,” Marnie said. “And we had a bit of an eventful night. We had an intruder and called the police.”

Margaret's eyes widened. “Someone broke into your place?”

“They didn't break in,” Marnie said. “They planted evidence in my garbage can to frame me for Helen's murder.”

“Come on over to the coffee shop,” Jenny said. “I won't be open for another half hour. You might as well give us the details over breakfast.”

“Stay,” I said to Winnie. I fished through my drawer, gave him a treat, and he settled onto his cushion.

Marnie picked up the bag she'd just put down and marched to the back. “Breakfast is a damn good idea. I've been up half the night and I haven't had a bite to eat since dinner.”

We pulled two small tables together and gathered around. Marnie popped a dozen muffins into the oven while Jenny served coffee to everyone.

“Why were you so worried about me?” I asked Matthew.

“I got some information from the police that I knew you'd want to hear. I called and called. Finally, I came over and knocked so loudly that I got Margaret out of bed. When I told her I couldn't reach you, she called Jenny.”

Jenny picked up from there. “I used the key you gave me and checked your apartment.”

“We waited inside for a few hours,” Margaret
said. “And then we all came down here a little while ago and were just about to contact the police.”

“Please tell me you didn't call my mother,” I said.

“I was just about to,” Matthew said. “And then you showed up.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

Marnie placed a tray of muffins on the table and soon I was retelling the events of the night between bites.

“You went after him with a butcher knife?” Matthew said. “Are you crazy? That's how people end up dead.”

“Well, I'm fine, as you can see. Besides, I didn't exactly go after him. By the time I got there, he was already gone.”

“You never saw him?” Matthew said, more calmly.

“No. We couldn't even tell you if it was a woman or a man,” I said.

“It might be Melinda Wilson,” Marnie said. “Or it could be Nancy Cutler.”

“Enough theories,” I said, wanting to end this conversation before it turned into a long-winded review of every possibility we'd examined. “I want to hear facts, not suppositions. What did you learn from the police?”

“I stopped by the station last night,” Matthew said. He was sitting right next to me, our knees practically touching, and he kept glancing at me, as if to reassure himself that I was all right. “I
found out that Melinda and Bruce were indeed married,” he continued.

“Aha. I knew it.”

“They were together for a little over two years. Her story is that she had no idea when they married that Bruce earned his living conning women out of their life savings.”

Marnie scowled. “Of course she would say that. She's probably worried about being charged as an accessory.”

Matthew continued. “According to her, that was the reason she left him. She found out about six years ago and moved out here. She admits that she was still in love with him at the time, which is why she never reported him to the police. She hoped he would change his ways and come back to her. She made up her story about being a widow because it was easier than having to explain why she divorced. She said she almost passed out when he walked into your party.”

“It makes sense,” Jenny said. “That could be what all the whispering between them was about.”

“She told the police that she was furious when she saw him,” Matthew said. “She was certain he was planning to bilk Marnie out of every dime she had, and she warned him that if he didn't leave Briar Hollow right away, she would call the authorities and let them know what he was up to.”

“So she wasn't trying to kill me?” Marnie said.

“According to her, she was trying to protect you.”

“Yeah. Right.” She smirked. “I wasn't born yesterday.”

“What about Sybille Dubois?” I asked. “Did she say anything about her?”

“Only that she heard about her over the years through local gossip, but she never made the link that the man Sybille had been seeing at the time was her ex-husband. When she found out that Bruce and Brent were the same man, she was shocked.”

“Did she tell the police what his real name was?” I asked.

“His name was Barry Donnelly.”

My eyes met Matthew's. “Initials BD again.”

He continued. “He was born in a small fishing village in Maine. He moved to New York when he was in his early twenties, was hired as a chauffeur for a rich couple, and soon began an affair with the wife. Her husband died of a heart attack, leaving her a fortune, and then she died some years later, leaving Barry half a million dollars.”

“Barry,” Marnie said to herself. “I'll never be able to think of him as Barry.”

“Half a million dollars?” Margaret interjected. “That's a fortune.”

“It might be for most people,” Matthew said. “But Barry blew through it in less than a year. That's when he started his life as a grifter.”

“Do you think he might have killed the husband to get him out of the way, and then killed the wife some time later?”

“Maybe, but I rather doubt it. If Melinda is telling the truth, the man was a con artist, not a killer.”

“What about the life insurance policy he made me buy?” Marnie asked. “Don't you think he was planning to kill me?”

Matthew avoided Marnie's eyes. “We'll never know,” he replied, giving me the impression he did know, but preferred to spare her feelings.

“Probably not,” Marnie said, sounding relieved. “Maybe he was really planning to marry me. I'm older than he was, and he probably thought I might predecease him. In that case, there was nothing wrong with him wanting me to make him my beneficiary. Still, maybe he really did care for me.” Believing this seemed to make her feel better. I threw Matthew a grateful look.

“You're probably right,” I told her, and to Matthew, “But hold on. If what Melinda told the police is true, why is she still carrying that snapshot of their wedding?”

“The police asked her that. She said that she normally didn't, but she had fished it out after deciding to tell them everything she knew. She only wanted to show the police that Bruce and Brent were the same man.”

“Ri-i-ight,” Marnie said. “Come on. She knew the police would be looking into his background. It was only a matter of time before they found out she'd been married to him. Her only chance was to give them the information before they came to her.”

“I happen to believe her,” Jenny said without hesitation. “Her story makes sense. Every last bit of it.”

“What about the snapshot of Bruce—I mean Brent—er, Barry, in Helen's house?” I said. “Why would she have planted that?” Jenny and Margaret looked at me, confused
. Oops. I didn't tell them that part.

“We don't know that she did,” Matthew said. “You told me yourself, that picture could have been there all along.”

“If you ask me, I'm convinced she was the woman who sneaked in while Della was hiding under the bed,” Marnie said. Jenny and Margaret looked at me as if I'd just grown a second head. “Oh, Della never told you about her little detecting expedition, did she?” They shook their heads in perfect unison.

I glared at Marnie. “Have I ever told you you have a big mouth?”

“Sorry,” she said, looking not nearly sorry enough.

I turned to Jenny and Margaret. “If I tell you, do you promise never to repeat this?” They nodded.

“I didn't tell the police about your ‘expedition,' as you call it,” Matthew said. “So they didn't question Melinda about the picture. They don't even know you or I know about it.”

“I think she planted it there,” Marnie insisted.

The bell above the door tinkled, announcing Jenny's first customers, so we put the tables and chairs back in place. Matthew and I returned to
the front, and Marnie went straight to her loom, winking at me as she walked by. “Now, for God's sake, flirt with the man,” she whispered.

I glanced at Matthew. He seemed not to have heard, thank goodness. That would have been embarrassing.

“It's sweet that you were so worried about me,” I said. “Maybe I should disappear more often.”

“Only if you want to see me really angry.” He was only teasing. I wasn't sure where to go from there, so I said the first thing that went through my mind. “That must mean you like me a little bit.”

His grin widened. “Just a tiny bit,” he said, bringing his thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch from each other. As he bent down I was certain he was about to kiss me, but he kept bending down, until he was on one knee. My heart skipped a beat, and then he tied his shoelace. And then he turned around and walked out, leaving me swaying on my feet.

“Wait,” I yelled. “Don't go! We have a date to go to the library exhibit in”—I glanced at my watch—“half an hour.”

He paused in the doorway. “Sorry, kiddo. I'd like to, but after yet another sleepless night—thanks to you—I'd rather go home and shower. I'll see it some other time.” The door closed.

Marnie left her loom and made her way over to me, swaying her hips and grinning. “Well, what do you know? The minute Prince Charming thought his damsel was in distress, he came charging to the
rescue.” A blush crept over my face. She continued. “If you play your cards right, you could land that man. I'd say he's ripe for the picking.” That was exactly what I'd needed to hear. “And before you ask me how to go about doing that . . .” She planted her hands on her hips. “First thing you do is go upstairs and change, and I'll tell you on the way to the library. You'd better get moving if we want to be there when it opens.”

I ran upstairs and changed into a pair of casual beige pants and a coordinating cashmere V-neck sweater, adding a pair of gold hoop earring to dress it up—just in case Matthew changed his mind and appeared after all. I rejoined Marnie.

“Sorry, Winnie, but you have to stay here. You guard the shop until we're back.” He watched us leave with big mournful eyes.

“Some guard,” Marnie said. “He'd probably roll over on his back, hoping the robbers would rub his tummy.”

It was a lovely spring morning. The sun was bright and the temperature warm, so we decided to walk over.

“When was the last time you cooked for Matthew?” she asked.

“A while ago,” I said. “It's been maybe a month or so.”

“Well, it's high time you invited him to a nice home-cooked meal.”

“Good idea. I have a recipe for chicken Parmesan from my mother. He always loved that dish.”

“Great. If you need help, I can come over and make sure you prepare it right. You concentrate on looking good and, remember, get him to talk about himself. Don't hog the conversation.”

“Gee. What is it with everybody? I do
not
hog the conversation.” She gave me the eyebrow, which I ignored. “I always let him talk.” She looked at me with an expression that screamed skepticism.

We arrived at the library a few minutes after nine. Across the street I noticed Bunny Boyd getting into a car and driving off.

“Have you heard anything about Bunny's painting?” Marnie asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I wish we had time to stop by the hotel after this event. See how she's doing. I'll have to remember to give her a call when we get back.”

We walked up the steps of the building and as we entered, I ran right into Melinda. Literally. One minute I was on my feet, the next I was on the ground. Melinda had dropped her large handbag, but rather than help me to my feet, she snatched it up and scampered off.