A Murder in Mohair (29 page)

Maggie looked confused at first, then quickly nodded. “Oh, right. Come anytime. I'll be there.”

Of course Maggie knew Lucy wanted to talk more about Dale Gordon and Jimmy Hubbard's murder.

The next morning, Lucy pedaled steadily toward the village, flying down the last big hill. She barely noticed the incline, or the hollow in the pit of her stomach as her bike picked up speed. She steered into the driveway in a spray of gravel and jumped off, then headed straight for the porch, where Maggie was waiting for her.

“I was expecting you. Where's your knitting bag? Don't they sell one for cyclists?”

Lucy scoffed as she pulled off her helmet and loosened her hair. “You know I only said that because Charles was there.”

“I know. And I hate being sneaky around him.”

“All you have to do is listen. Is that all right?”

Maggie shrugged. “I guess so. In for a penny, in for a pound. And I have been thinking about what you said last night. About Jimmy.”

“I've been thinking about that, too. I have a good guess about what happened.” Lucy was not happy about her conclusions. But the pieces had come together for her. And the picture they created felt true.

“Well, go on,” Maggie prompted. She was knitting and listening. Lucy knew she did some of her best thinking in that pose.

“Richard and Nora both had good reason to kill Jimmy, if they had discovered he supplied the drugs that killed their son. But only Richard had the strength and easy access, late at night, in this neighborhood. Edie is always saying how he helps her close up and is in that alley, putting out trash and locking up. Then he goes back to his shop and keeps working on his rush orders.”

“That does make sense.”

“Jimmy knew Richard. He would have opened the door, not knowing that Richard realized the connection. Especially if Richard acted pleasant and neighborly. He's definitely good at that. Maybe he claimed that he'd just come by to warn Jimmy that the light at the back door was out.”

“The light he'd broken,” Maggie added.

“That's right. He's a very handy fellow. He thinks of these things. So he gets inside the theater, stabs Jimmy, and makes it look like a robbery. Then he locks the door behind him and goes back to his shop.”

“And cleans himself up. There must have been some blood.”

“Or he wore something to protect his clothing and threw that away,” Lucy suggested.

“But what about his alibi? He said he was working in the shop and the tenants nearby, in the apartments above the stores, confirmed that,” Maggie recalled.

“I was thinking about that, too. But I learned something last night. There are gadgets you can buy to make lights go on at a certain time. Or off. Timers. In fact, Richard explained that to me. He'd set some up for Edie, in her backyard.”

“There's an ironic touch,” Maggie noted. “But go on. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Maybe he left the lights on in the shop and had some power tools attached to timers? So it only sounded as if someone was working. They only had to run on and off a little while. Half an hour, maybe even less. Before he could sneak back.”

“That's brilliant, Lucy. You could be right.” Maggie sat up and put her knitting aside, her dark eyes bright.

“What about Cassandra?” she asked after a moment. “How does her murder fit in? Or was that entirely unrelated, do you think?”

Lucy shrugged. “It could be unrelated. But what if Nora suspected, or even knew, that Richard had avenged their son? What if she talked about that in a session with Cassandra? Believing she was talking to Kyle's spirit?”

Maggie sat back again, her expression somber. “I see. Yes, it could have happened like that. Cassandra must have thought she'd hit the jackpot. She would blackmail the Gordons, don't you think?”

“Oh, I think so. But she wouldn't have said anything to Nora. Nora still believed in her powers. Cassandra would have threatened Richard. Now she really had a sword to hold over his head.”

“Oh dear . . . I think you're right. But wait.” Maggie shook her head, her brown curls shaking. “Richard had an alibi for that night, too. Didn't he?”

“In his shop again. According to Edie,” Lucy recalled. “But maybe the lights were on, and the murderer was not home?”

“But he was. He really was working. Someone in an apartment came down and knocked on his door and saw him. They were complaining about the noise. He told the police that and it all checked out. Dana told us. Don't you remember?”

“Oh . . .” Lucy sat back. “I guess I forgot. I'm not sure then. Maybe the two crimes are not connected.”

Maggie didn't answer. She got up and poured a cup of coffee. “Want some?”

“I'm fine, thanks.” Lucy didn't mean to act deflated but she did feel that way.

“Hey, what's up? Looks like a serious conversation going on here.” Dana was coming up the path and they both turned to look at her.

“We are having a serious conversation,” Maggie replied. “About the Gordons.”

Lucy wanted to ask Dana about Richard's alibi for the night of Cassandra's murder, wondering if Maggie had remembered it incorrectly. But Dana spoke before she could.

“Did you hear
already
? I just ran down to tell you.”

“Tell us what?” Lucy turned to look at her, blocking the sun with her hand.

“The police found the missing mat from Nora's car. In the recycling center. It wasn't stained with paint. They used an infrared light and found traces of blood. The blood type matches Cassandra Waters's. They don't know about the DNA yet, of course. But they've arrested Nora and charged her with Cassandra's murder. They went to her house early this morning and took her down to the police station again.”

Maggie stood up from her seat. “I still don't believe she did it.”

“I don't, either,” Dana said. “But if not her, who? Richard?”

“We were trying to work that out, but he has a good alibi, with a witness for that night. That's what you heard from Jack anyway,” Lucy said.

Dana thought a moment. “Yes, I do remember now. Richard said he was working in his shop all night. Then he packed up his van and went to pick up Dale at a party, around one a.m. A tenant in one of the apartments nearby came down and talked to him about the machinery sometime before that. The noise and complaint were all within the time frame of Cassandra's murder, so the police eliminated him early.”

Lucy sighed. “That's what Maggie recalled. More or less. I was hoping there was some wiggle room in there. But sounds airtight.”

Dana glanced at her curiously. “Seems so. Do you really think he killed Cassandra?”

“I'm not sure. Something doesn't fit. I do think Richard killed Jimmy, but I'm not sure now about Cassandra. And I don't think Nora did it, either,” Lucy added, feeling very sure of that conclusion.

Maggie turned the sign on her shop door to closed and locked the door. “I've already made too many speculations. I'm going over to the Schooner, to see if Edie's there.”

“Good idea. I'll come with you,” Dana said. Lucy was glad Dana was going, too. Edie would surely be in emotional meltdown mode. Dana could help calm her.

Lucy walked down to the sidewalk with them, then turned toward her bike. “I have to get going. I have to call a client soon. I'll talk to you later, Maggie, and check in.”

“Yes, do that,” she called back over her shoulder. “Maybe Edie will know something more about Nora.”

Lucy rolled her bike out of the driveway as her friends crossed the street and headed to the diner. But instead of pedaling up the hill toward home, she headed toward the harbor, deciding it would be nice to get a little extra exercise before starting the workday. Plus sitting by the harbor a minute or two might clear her head of all these distressing questions.

As much as she wanted now to figure out this Rubik's Cube of betrayal, blackmail, and murder, her head was spinning and she had to give it all a rest.

And leave it to the police. Who might actually know what they're doing? Most of the time, she silently amended. Not this morning, when they had arrested Nora.

Nora did not kill Cassandra. Nora Gordon did not kill anybody. As Lucy pedaled past the lovely Gilded Age antique shop, she felt a pang of sympathy for the poor, misjudged woman. Down the alley beside the store, she saw Richard's workshop. Both buildings looked deserted.

Surely Richard would be at his wife's side right now? Not at her side exactly, if the police had her in custody. But certainly at the station, waiting to see her, dealing with her lawyer. Nora would be charged and booked and held a while, before she could come before a judge. But she could soon be out on bail. Very soon, Lucy hoped. Her mental state was frail. Surely a good lawyer could use her condition to some advantage?

Lucy wasn't sure why, but she suddenly steered the bike in a big U-turn, swooping by the antique store again from the opposite direction. Then, on impulse, she crossed the street and turned down the alley.

She hopped off the bike and balanced it against the trash bins near the wood shop. Then she peered in the small, grimy windows, shaded from inside with a film of sawdust. She couldn't see a thing and hardly knew what she was looking for. She tried the doorknob and the door opened with a soft creak.

Surprised at that, she stuck her head in and called out. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

No one answered. The space was dimly lit, slants of thin sunlight, filled with dust motes working their way through the shadows. Long beams of wood were tilted at angles against the walls like giant chopsticks.

Other piles of wood—sheets of plywood, two-by-fours, strips of carved molding, and types she didn't recognize—were balanced on sagging metal shelving that extended up to the peaked ceiling.

A countertop ran along the walls, where an array of professional power tools sat ready for use—jigsaws and drills and many she didn't know by name. Most looked sharp, jagged, and dangerous, especially to someone who didn't know how to handle them.

What was she looking for? Lucy wasn't sure. She searched for electric sockets, following a twisting network of extension cords. One led to a nearby wall and she knelt down under the counter. At the hub of a tangle of wires, she saw a small white box that covered the outlet, the plug stuck in the box, like a surge protector.

Only it wasn't a surge protector. It had a timer dial. It was the gadget Richard had described to her. And I'll bet my new bike that this one is not attached to an outdoor spotlight, to scare off burglars, Lucy thought as she followed the length of wire to its source. As she suspected, it led to a large tabletop saw. One that could buzz all night long, with no one at the controls.

“You shouldn't wander around in here, Lucy. You could get hurt.”

She saw the shoes first. Heavy brown work boots stained with varnish. Then the paint-splattered jeans and flannel shirt. It was Richard. No longer the neat suburban husband she had chatted with at the barbecue, but bleary-eyed, unshaven, and haggard-looking again.

Possibly a little crazy, too. The glint in his eyes nearly set off an automatic scream for help. But she didn't dare.

“What are you doing in here? Lost something?”

“I'm sorry . . . I just wanted to ask about Nora,” she fibbed. “Why aren't you with her?” she challenged him. “She must be scared.”

“I was on my way home for a change of clothes. I saw your bike out there. How did you get in?”

“The door was open. Honestly.”

“What's in your hand? Are you stealing from me?”

“No . . . of course not.” She quickly dropped the timer on the counter.

“You're a very clever woman. For a blonde,” he said snidely.

Lucy bristled at the dumb joke. She stood up straight and stared at him. “Very funny. Listen, sorry to hear about Nora. But I'd better get going.”

“Not so fast, Blondie.” He stepped closer, blocking her only path to the door. “You could have an accident in here very easily. This metal shelf, for instance? Way too much weight on there. Say you bumped into it? You could be buried alive. It would be very painful.”

He grabbed a thin metal strip supporting the shelves and shook it. Hard. Showers of dust and splinters and even some bugs rained down on them.

Lucy squealed and covered her head with her hands.

She heard Richard laugh.

“You'd better stop . . . it's going to fall on both of us,” she warned.

“But I don't care. That's the difference between us.” He shook the shelf again, laughing even louder at her reaction.

“Stop, Dad. That's enough!”

Lucy looked all around but couldn't tell where the voice had come from. Then she saw Dale in the back of the shop, making his way up a narrow space between the machinery and shelves of wood.

Richard turned to face him. And Lucy began to slowly back up, desperately seeking another escape route. Or at the very least, a safer spot. The door was totally blocked. No way out there, she realized with a sinking heart.

“I told you to stay home, Dale. Go on. I'll deal with this!” Richard shouted.

“It's over, Dad. I can't do this anymore. What I did was wrong . . . and what you did was wrong, too. I'm going to the police. I'm going to tell them everything.”

Richard's eyes widened with anger. He pounded the countertop with his fist. Drill bits, tools, stray nails, and screws flew in all directions.

“No you're not. We already talked about this. Just do as you're told.” Richard's voice was loud and angry, then suddenly, soft and pleading. “Please, son . . . please. I know what to do. Just listen to me, okay?”

“What about Mom? Don't you care about her at all?”

“Your mother will be fine. She'll never go to trial. I told you that. She'll never have to know.”