Lie of the Needle (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (20 page)

I still had about twenty minutes before the store was due to open, so I decided to drive over to their house to see if I could get a peek at Frank’s vehicle.

The Fowlers lived south of Millbury, in a wealthy neighborhood near Ringing Springs Park. When I drove down the street, there was a Dazzle Team cleaning van outside the house. I pulled over to the curb a good distance away from the house, pretending to check messages on my phone.

Suddenly the garage doors opened and the Porsche backed out at high speed, with Nancy driving and Frank in the passenger seat.

I quickly slid down in my seat, but they zoomed off in the opposite direction. I popped up in time to see the doors closing on an empty garage.

I
grabbed my phone, ready to call Serrano, but I was still smarting from his recent curt dismissal of my discoveries. I knew he’d insist on some cold hard facts, so I called Dottie Brown instead. I didn’t need much of an excuse to call her. Dottie loved to talk.

“Hey, Dottie, I happened to be driving by the Fowlers’ house this morning and saw one of Kathleen’s vans. I didn’t know that she cleaned for the Fowlers, too.”

“Oh, yes, she’s got quite the business going, my girl does.” Even over the phone, I could hear the pride in her voice.

“That’s wonderful. Good for her. She’s a real go-getter, just like her mom.”

Dottie laughed.

“You know what’s funny, though?” I said. “The Fowlers were driving Nancy’s Porsche. I’m so glad I have my all-wheel-drive Subaru in this kind of weather. I don’t know why they didn’t just take his SUV.”

“Oh, that’s because Frank’s car is in the shop,” Dottie said. “He’s getting the headlight replaced. I think he drove into a pole in a parking garage or something.”

“Ah, I see. Well, good talking to you, Dottie. See you soon.”

Did Fowler really damage his car banging into a pole, or from running down an elderly woman and leaving the scene of the crime? But why, for the love of God? What on earth could Althea have done to him?

I drove back to Sometimes a Great Notion, still puzzled. I didn’t have much time to think about it for the next few hours, though, as droves of customers came in, each searching for the perfect present.

“Oh, I’m already tired of making lists and checking them twice,” said one woman, sighing. “And it’s not even December yet.”

I laughed and helped her find gifts for several of the family members on her list. “Here, try this.” I gave her a pot of hand cream from the lavender farm. “It’s very relaxing.”

She bought a German tape measure with a spring action from the 1920s adorned with a celluloid basket of flowers, and several vintage needle cases and pincushions.

A male customer wandered in next, appearing lost and uncertain, as men often did in my sewing notions store. “I’m looking for a special gift for my wife,” he said. “I know she’s into sewing, but that’s the extent of what I know. I usually buy her jewelry for Christmas, but I’d like to find something different this time.”

He seemed drawn to one of the most expensive items in the store, which was a gorgeous nineteenth-century sewing box and writing desk of black ebony wood with a bone inlay. I opened the carved wood lids to show him the many small compartments for writing and sewing notions. It was lined with the original blue silk, and there was an oval mirror inside the top lid. It even had the original key.

“This one might be a little expensive,” I murmured.

He took a look at the price tag and shrugged. “Cheaper than diamonds. Wrap it up. I’ll take it.”

“It’s truly a magnificent piece. I’m sure she’s going to love it.” I took my time wrapping it so it was ready to gift, finishing the package with my signature peacock-blue grosgrain ribbon. He seemed as happy with the fact that he didn’t have to wrap it as he was with the purchase itself.

At this rate, I’d need to hit some estate sales and auctions soon. My usual wealth of stock upstairs was almost depleted. I could see that the other shops in town were doing a good business, too, judging by the bags I saw customers carrying from the chocolatier and gourmet pantry.

Serrano strode in about half an hour before closing time. “Here, I brought you an early Christmas present.”

He slapped an envelope on the counter. I eagerly opened it and pulled out a stack of glossy black-and-white photos that were obviously from Cyril’s modeling shoot.

I’d been right that the rustic setting would be a great fit. Cyril was standing behind a stack of painted shutters, wiry arms crossed, his long gray hair contrasting with the dark shadows and shafts of sunlight coming through a gap in the side of the barn. Alex Roos had used the vintage camera to perfection, doing justice to Cyril’s tough personality and the rugged face that had weathered a hard life, yet was still striking and sexy in its own way.

Tears pricked my eyes as I looked into my old friend’s face, seeing the familiar belligerent expression. I pretended to study the photos some more, willing the tears to recede before I looked up at Serrano.

“He looks fantastic,” I murmured.

Serrano gestured to the stack. “There’s more. Keep going.”

I flipped through more photos. It was obvious that rebels Alex and Cyril had broken into the house at some point, because there were shots of the interior. Oddly, there were also photos of the land, the outbuildings, the root cellar, and a close-up of a sampler on the wall. It was a tree of life design, again with a rooster in the tree, just like the one that Althea had in her bedroom.

I peered closer at the photo, moving over to stand under the glow of the lamp on the Welsh dresser. “Hey, wait a minute, this
is
Althea’s house. Alex must have climbed her ladder and shot the photo through her window with a long-range lens.”

“Strange for a guy to be interested in antique needlework samplers, ain’t it?” Serrano’s comment echoed the thought in my head. “I’ve saved the best for last.”

I moved the photo of the sampler to the back of the pile and gasped as I saw the last few shots.

Even though their faces weren’t clear, I was sure that the couple locked in a passionate embrace inside a home under construction was Sally McIntire and Beau Cassell. The next photo was even more graphic, with Sally’s face clearly shown as she threw her head back in ecstasy, Cassell standing between her legs. The last one was Beau Cassell looking directly at the camera, his face dark with anger.

“Holy smokes,” I whispered. He looked like he wanted to kill whoever was on the other side of the lens.

Serrano pointed a finger at me like he was cocking a gun.

Then reality hit me. “Ew. A new construction site is not a very comfortable place to carry on like that. All that sawdust and nails. All those splinters!
Jeez.
”

“Daisy, focus, please. Haven’t I been saying all along that this guy is my numero uno? By the way, forensics showed that Roos’s body was in the tool chest of Cassell’s truck at some point.”

“I knew it!”

“And after the hit-and-run, I brought Cassell in for questioning again. One of his construction trucks had some front end damage. He blew a gasket, claiming he was being victimized and that his vehicles were parked inside the enclosure that night. But then he admitted that the guys are sometimes careless and leave keys in the trucks.”

Serrano’s lip curled as he looked at the photos of the tryst with Sally McIntire.

“Then he went off on a rant about how his useless little foreman has a lot to answer for. Neighborhood kids often climb over the fence and mess with the equipment and steal his materials. Maybe one of them took a truck out joyriding.”

“Are there any witnesses to the accident?”

He shook his head. “No, and Althea Gunn is still in a coma and can’t help.”

I told him about the Fowlers driving the Porsche in the snow and Frank’s story about hitting something in a parking garage. To my surprise, Serrano didn’t scoff like he usually did, but said he would check out the local body shops.

After he left, I closed up Sometimes a Great Notion. The note that I’d found in Stanley’s jacket was stuffed in my pocketbook. I’d wrestled with how to handle this all day, but I’d finally decided that it might make Ruth feel better if she knew she wasn’t the only one who had cheated. It might relieve some of the guilt that was weighing on her and give her some peace.

I called Joe to say I had a quick stop to make and drove over to Ruth’s house. Even before I got to the front door, I sensed something different about the place. Like the vacant property at Cassell’s development, this one gave off a gloomy vibe now, with the darkened carriage house, newspapers piling up on the driveway, and the steps that hadn’t been swept free of snow since Kathleen wasn’t coming to clean anymore.

I hadn’t called Ruth to tell her I was coming, not knowing how to approach the delicate matter over the phone. I had to ring the bell a few times before she finally appeared. She actually looked a bit more like her old self, with her makeup done and dressed in her elegant clothes.

“Daisy! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I—er—just came to see how you’re doing. And there’s something I wanted to show you.”

She opened the front door a crack to let me in. Even standing in the foyer, the house looked bare. Many of the paintings were gone from the walls, and the living room was completely cleaned out from what I could see. She must have shipped the rest of the furniture off to Backstead’s for an auction. Apparently once Ruth had made up her mind to leave, she wasn’t wasting a minute.

“I’ll be glad to get out of here, Daisy. The place is already listed with the Realtor. There’s nothing but sad memories in it for me now. I’m looking forward to starting fresh in the city. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone new.”

We were still in the foyer, and she made no move to invite me further into the house.

“Yes, maybe.” I shifted uncomfortably and swallowed. “Look, Ruth, I really don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just jump right in. Last night, when I put on the rain jacket that I bought at the estate sale, the one that belonged to Stanley, I found this in the pocket.” I fished the note out of my bag and handed it to her.

She scanned it quickly, her mouth thinning as she read.

“Why did you show me this, Daisy?” Her voice was very quiet. “Are you deliberately trying to hurt me?”

“No!” I gasped. “Of course not. I just thought it might make you feel better to know that you’re not the only one who—um—cheated.” My voice trailed off as I realized I’d made a terrible mistake.

“Well, I wish you’d never said anything.” Her beautifully made-up face twisted into an ugly snarl. “You know, I used to hate myself for being so weak with my feelings for Edward. I would lie in bed at night, wishing Stanley would have died in a car accident or something, anything, rather than being stuck with this shell of who he was. He wasn’t the man I married, but I still had to care for him, whether I wanted to or not.”

I sucked in a breath and backed toward the door.

Ruth ripped the note into tiny bits and threw them at me. “How
dare
you? Why the hell do you have to be such a busybody all the time?” Her eyes were full of angry tears. “In spite of my own faults, I still wanted to believe that Stanley was a good and honorable man.
Thank you
, Daisy Buchanan, for shattering the last decent memory I had of him. Now get out. I never want to see you again.”

As I stumbled out of the house, tears filling my own eyes, I damned myself over and over. Ruth was right. What on earth gave me the right to be such a self-righteous ass? I got back in my car and drove down the driveway too fast, desperate to get away, sucking in a breath as I fishtailed a bit out onto the main road.

The snowflakes were getting bigger now and splattering against the windshield in clumps instead of the pinpricks they were before. I wiped the tears off my cheeks as I drove, a sick ache in my heart.

Now I wondered if I should have told Martha that Cyril was still alive. Did I really have the right to keep this from her? Who the hell did I think I was? I had another awful thought as I realized how pissed off Martha would be at me when she finally found out, but then I remembered the most important part, about keeping her safe.

Still, it was as if I was damned if I said something and damned if I didn’t.

I had just reached Millbury, turning onto Main Street, when I blinked at an approaching apparition. I pulled the Subaru over to the side and stopped, watching in wonder as two white horses pulling an antique sleigh walked slowly up the deserted, snow-covered street.

Even with the car windows rolled up, I could still hear the dulcet tones of Tony Zappata as he serenaded Eleanor in his beautiful tenor. Not with one of his usual operatic arias, though. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was the Partridge Family’s “I Think I Love You.”

As the sleigh passed me by, resplendent in its dark green paint with gold pinstriping and crushed red velvet interior, Eleanor raised her champagne glass to me and winked. I glimpsed a cannoli in Tony’s hand as he blasted his love to the sky.

I chuckled. Maybe my meddling wasn’t
all
bad.

*   *   *

O
n Sunday, Patsy called. “Yo, Daisy, I found another house that I think is great, and I put in an offer. Claire really likes it, too. Even Angus approves, and you know what a pain he’s been about this whole thing.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”

“I wanted you to see it, Daisy, but it was such a rush job, because other people were bidding on it.”

“Oh, I understand, and I’m sorry I haven’t helped you more on the house hunt. The store has been crazy lately with the Christmas rush.”

“No prob. But I was calling to see if you might have time on Monday morning before the store opens? We’re doing the home inspection at 9 a.m.”