Crewel Yule (24 page)

“So this was really, really important,” said Betsy, “and Belle knew it.”

“Of course she knew it! If it wasn’t important, she wouldn’t have bothered to”—she held up two fingers on each hand to scratch quote marks in the air—“
forget
to change the due date.”

“Did you do something to make her angry at you?”

“Obviously. Problem is, I have no idea what it was. We were friends, she was so helpful and encouraging, she was behind me all the way, then suddenly she wasn’t. Suddenly she didn’t think the pattern was ready to submit; suddenly she was sure Bewitching Stitches wasn’t the right place to send it; suddenly I was a little idiot to think I could turn out a piece worthy of professional handling—suddenly, suddenly, suddenly! And suddenly I didn’t have a model fit to bring to Nashville.”

“So you decided to go have it out with her,” said Jill.

“Yes, dammit, yes! I knew she was here, I saw her at breakfast. So I spilled coffee on myself in Bewitching Stitches’ suite to give me an excuse to leave. I went up to my suite and changed clothes and my hairstyle, and washed my makeup off. I went to the door, yanked it open, and closed it again—with me still in the room. I opened it again, and closed it again. I think I did that about five times before I decided I didn’t have the nerve to go after the woman. I was so
mad
at myself! My babies, my wonderful babies, put into the hands of base-wage, daycare strangers! And it was all that ugly witch’s fault! And why?
Why?
I couldn’t understand why she would do that to me! And I couldn’t understand why I didn’t have the courage to go and stomp her into the floor like the cockroach she was!” Lenore’s hands were shaking and she began to cry.

Jill walked out of the room into the back.

“So you didn’t go after her,” said Betsy.

“No, I didn’t. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was that I didn’t.”

Jill came back with several sheets of tissue, which she handed to Lenore.

“Thanks,” said Lenore, dabbing and then blowing. “What a wreck I am! And a cowardly wreck to boot!”

“How did you find out Belle was dead?”

“I heard this noise, like a scream or yell, then a lot of voices shouting. I was sitting on my couch at that point, crying and ashamed, so at first I didn’t care. But the shouting got louder and people were sounding really scared and I kept remembering that scream, like someone falling, so I finally came out. And when I looked over the railing, I could sort of see someone down on the floor with lots of people standing around her. I’m nearsighted but I don’t like to wear glasses except for driving, so I couldn’t see who it was. I remember I actually said to myself, ‘A shame that isn’t Belle.’ Because she’s the kind of person nothing bad ever happens to.”

“When did you find out it was actually Belle who had died?”

“When I went back down to Bewitching Stitches to get my model. Someone in there was talking about it, and said it was a shop-owner from Milwaukee who had died. I turned around and went right back out again, back up to my room, and I stayed there until lunchtime. I want to thank you, Jill, for getting me back to work. They were wondering where I was, a lot of people had questions about the pattern.” She sniffed and blew one last time, and then suddenly she smiled through her tears. “You know, I almost think that horrible model has turned into a selling point. People just have to stop and look to see if it’s as bad as it looks. So when I was there to talk about how the real model didn’t get finished in time and this was the working model, that gave me a chance to explain how I figured out the pieces. And people were interested! We’ve sold enough that Mr. Moore says he hopes my new design is as clever as this one.” She nodded once, sharply. “I don’t know if it’s as clever as the Christmas tree, but it is clever, and it’s almost ready for me to send to him.”

She looked at Jill, then Betsy, her eyes shining. “I’m glad I’m a coward, isn’t that strange?”

Betsy said, “All right, it wasn’t you. Who else is here who was mad at Belle?”

Lenore drew a big breath and held it while she thought. “Well, Cherry is, I think. I mean, she’s never said anything, but sometimes I’d come in and the atmosphere was pretty frosty. You could just tell they’d had words.”

“What about?” asked Jill.

Lenore shrugged. “Cherry never said. Belle kind of hinted that Cherry wasn’t pulling her weight, but she never said anything specific to me. But I think the strain was getting worse between the two of them.”

“Very good,” said Jill with a nod. “All right, who else?”

Lenore thought. “Someone who’s here? I can’t think of anyone.”

“Did you ever hear of an employee named Eve Suttle?” asked Betsy.

“There used to be someone who worked for Belle and Cherry named Eve. I remember her because she really got her act together while she was working for them. There was some kind of kerfuffle with her after she got married, but I don’t know any details. And she left a long time ago, she doesn’t work for them anymore.”

Twenty-Two

“What have we got?” asked Jill. They were back in their suite.

“Nothing,” said Betsy in a hollow voice.

It was partly that Betsy was tired, but it was mostly that when Betsy had another question she wanted to ask Eve, they’d gone searching for her on three and, naturally, found her at the far end of the gallery. She’d stared at them with wide, frightened eyes and said, “I’ve decided I’m not going to talk to you anymore. Okay? So please just go away.”

“Whose idea was this?” asked Jill, but Eve just turned and walked off.

So they were back in their suite, and Betsy was depressed.

Jill said, “You’ve got a notebook full of notes. That’s not nothing. Look at them, what do they tell us?”

Betsy opened the booklet, and found herself looking at a page of notes from the interview with Cherry Pye. She read a note at random, gave a quiet little gasp, and read the words aloud. “ ‘Thought it was a prank.’ ”

“Who did?”

“Cherry. When she heard Belle’s scream. And the smash on the floor.”

“Well, so what?”

“That was another of Cherry’s lies.”

“That’s a lie?” said Jill, surprised. “She said she thought it was a prank and she didn’t want to go gaping like a tourist. What’s wrong with that?”

“Did you think it was a prank?”

“Me? No, of course not.” Jill shook her head, remembering. “I was out of the suite before I thought anything, looking over the railing. But I’m a cop, Betsy; that’s different.”

“I’m not a cop, and the racket I heard all around me after she fell was not people being amused or startled; they were scared, and then horrified,” said Betsy. “But Cherry said she didn’t look down until she was in the elevator and heard two women say someone had died in a fall.”

“Maybe she’s a—I don’t know—a social inept, or something. Someone who doesn’t interpret people’s behavior accurately.”

“You think she’s autistic?” Betsy was incredulous.

Jill frowned and lifted her shoulders. “Well, no. And you’re right, she’d almost have to be, to ignore all the shouts and screams. Wouldn’t she?”

“So why did she say that? Did she have some other reason for not going to look?”

“Maybe she couldn’t see over the railing and for some reason doesn’t want to say that. You know, it would be just one more admission of something she can’t do that fully abled people can do without thinking.”

“Maybe. But that’s a pretty thin argument,” said Betsy, and a thoughtful silence fell.

“On the other hand, look at her chair,” said Betsy, at last. “Those plastic spokes don’t twinkle like wire wheels do.”

“You think that twinkle business Judy Bielec told you about is for real? I thought when Eve described the way the falling snow made the light twinkle . . .”

“Yes, but she also said she saw some kind of movement. Someone was up there, we know that; someone who threw Belle over the railing. It’s true, I didn’t see anyone standing up there, and nobody else did, either. I know, I know, you can’t see someone who isn’t right up against the railing. But it’s funny.” Betsy thought a few seconds. “Eve said the shape was boxy, not long. I wonder . . .” she hesitated. “What do you call it when you do this?” Betsy held the back of her skirt in place with her hands, then stooped and awkwardly waddled a few steps, her knees nearly up to her chin.

Jill put a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. “Duck walk,” she said, and held out her other hand to help Betsy up.

Betsy grabbed and pulled herself upright. “My joints don’t want me to do things like that anymore,” she sighed, shaking a leg to loosen an incipient cramp. “But Eve is a young woman, she could duck walk all the way to the stairwell if she had to. Farther, probably. And she was wearing a dark sweater with lots of silver threads knit into it.”

“But Eve’s the one who said the shape was boxy.”

“So it was Lenore she saw.”

“And what would have possessed Lenore to think of doing something like that?”

Betsy thought. “Well, picture it. Belle’s scream brought almost everyone’s attention. If I had set off that scream, I’d’ve ducked down instinctively. And once down, it’s easy to think maybe I should stay down.”

“Yes, I can see that,” agreed Jill, but doubtfully. “Still, a duck walk is . . . I don’t know . . .”

“Silly?” said Betsy.

“You said it, not me,” agreed Jill, suddenly fighting to contain her amusement again.

Betsy made a sulky face. “I don’t like it when you laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Jill, which was true—but she was smiling. “But think about it: If the twinkle is real, then it can’t be Cherry, because she doesn’t have wheels that twinkle. I’m just happy because we’ve finally crossed someone off the list, even if it does call for someone else to duck walk away from the scene of the crime.”

“Well, okay,” said Betsy. And she smiled, because she had looked silly doing her duck walk. “Anyway Eve was wearing slacks, no need to duck walk when you can crawl.”

“Did Lenore have anything about her that twinkled?”

“I don’t remember anything, but she changed clothes before she came down to lunch, remember? She told us about that, how she changed out of her fancy working clothes because she spilled coffee on them.”

“So maybe we should find out, if we can, what she was wearing that morning,” said Jill.

“Let’s go back to Bewitching Stitches and ask her.”

They found her in her sky-blue dress oramented with birds and waited until a pair of shoppers walked away before approaching her, but she waved them off. “I’m not talking to you anymore. You’re not official, and I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Whose idea was this?” asked Jill, but Lenore set her jaw into a stubborn line and looked away until they left her alone.

So they went to speak to Mr. Moore, the owner. He seemed proud and possessive of Lenore.

“She’s doing great for us, now she’s seen how well her pattern is selling,” he said. “You should have seen her yesterday morning, she was so unhappy.”

“Was she dressed as beautifully as she is right now?” asked Betsy.

“Oh, gosh, yes,” he replied.

“What was she wearing? Do you remember?”

He thought that an odd question, but obediently tried to recall. “She had this long green skirt, and a fancy burgundy blouse with trick sleeves, and her hair was done up with little slips of it hanging down. Very classy, but even more so today. Look at her over there, she dresses like a queen.”

“Was there gold or silver in the blouse or skirt?” persisted Betsy.

He frowned at her. “No. Everything was plain, not even shiny. What’s this about?”

“We’re looking for someone who was wearing clothing that twinkled yesterday.”

“Well, it wasn’t her.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jill, and the two left the suite.

“Well?” said Betsy.

Jill said, “Looks like we really are down to one, then. Unless you want to search Lenore’s room? But I can’t imagine someone putting on flashy clothing to go commit a murder.”