Loom and Doom (11 page)

T
he next few hours went by fast. The door opened and closed nonstop as customers came in. Before I knew it I'd made a number of sales and placed half a dozen orders for Native-style rugs.

“How are you going to fill all those orders?” Marnie asked, after the last order.

“I'll do what I always do—get my ladies to help.” From the day I first opened, I had accepted pieces on consignment, and over time I'd occasionally hired a few of my local weavers to help on larger projects. “The only problem is that I doubt any of them has the proper loom.” I walked over to the back and, tapping an index finger to my chin, I studied my large loom. “I wonder . . .”

“What?” Marnie asked.

“It looks so simple,” I said. “I bet a carpenter could build one of these. It might be cheaper than buying them from a retailer.”

“That's a great idea.”

Armed with my cell phone I snapped a number of pictures, making sure I had close-ups of every feature and from every angle and pulled out my measuring tape. Returning to the counter I spread out a sheet of paper on which I drew the basic design, adding the measurements. Then I got on the phone.

By midafternoon, I had lined up three of my regular weavers, and I had also found a local carpenter who claimed to have made looms in the past, and quoted me a reasonable price.

“I have an appointment with him at eight o'clock tomorrow morning,” I told Marnie. “All in all, I've had a really good day.”

“And it isn't over yet,” she said.

Suddenly, there was a fresh burst of activity. The door was opening and closing nonstop with customers attracted by my window display. I got busy racking up more sales. By the time the rush quieted, I had sold quite a few items, and had also signed on two students for my next beginners' weaving class. I now had a total of four students. That reminded me, Johanna Renay had asked to join my next class. I made a mental note to ask her about it when I next spoke to her. The thought had just crossed my mind when the phone rang. And when I checked the call display, I saw the number was from city hall.
Johanna.

“You already have the information?” I said. “That was fast.”

“It was no trouble at all. I asked the young lady who's temporarily taken over for Mr. Swanson. She went through all the permits and there haven't been any requests from anyone with that last name.”

It was pretty much what I'd expected—not that it mattered anymore. I was pretty sure I knew who the killer was. Then, out of curiosity, I asked her, “Would you happen to know if the police have bothered to look into the permits?”

“Not as far as I know,” she said. “But . . . hold on. I'll find out.” She put me on hold for a few minutes before coming back. “No,” she said. “Except for going in and out of Howard's office a couple of times, they haven't spoken to anyone at all. But why would they want to do that?”

“It was just an idea. Being a building inspector, I imagine Mr. Swanson might have made some enemies.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“Also, it's come to light that he was extorting money in return for permits.”

“What?” She choked on the word, and then lowered her voice. “Impossible! I simply won't believe that. He may have had his flaws—he stepped out on his ex-wife while they were married—but he was an honest man.”

Strange, I thought, that she would describe a man who cheats on his wife as honest. “I'm sorry if I upset you. But I'm pretty certain it's true.”

“It's just that . . . that I thought he was a nice man. I feel like I would have sensed if he was so dishonest.”

“Maybe you're right.”

She seemed to regain her calm. “I've been meaning to ask you. Did the police question you about the blood on your clothes?”

“It wasn't blood. It was paint,” I said. “But, yes. They did show up about twenty minutes after you left. I can't thank you enough for warning me. It was unpleasant enough when I was expecting it, but it would have been much worse if I'd been unprepared.”

“Well, let's hope they don't keep pestering you.”

“They wouldn't have questioned me to begin with if it hadn't been for whoever made up that story about me wiping blood from my clothes.”

“I know. It was really awful of Ronald Dempsey to say something like that. I don't know where his head was at the time.”

“It was Mr. Dempsey?” I said.

She gasped. “Oh, dear. I wasn't supposed to name names.”

“But . . . didn't you tell me it was a city employee?”

“I was trying to be discreet. I failed pretty miserably, didn't I?”

I was still trying to wrap my head around this new information. “I don't understand. Mr. Dempsey had already left by the time the police arrived.”

“He'd left his card, you see. And the police called him. So he had to come back. By then you were already gone.”

“I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. I think I've already figured out who killed him.”

“What? Who do they think did it?”

I told her about recognizing Mona Swanson's car as the same one I'd seen speeding out of the lot.

“Mona?” she said, sounding surprised. “Of course. It makes perfect sense. I tried to tell him he was making a mistake by marrying that piece of trash.” She stopped. “Oh, dear. I can't believe I just said that. I suppose it's the shock of finding out that she killed him.”

“Please don't repeat this to anyone yet. I shouldn't have said anything. This is all speculation on my part. I have no proof, you understand.”

“Well, I, for one, am sure you're right.”

“While I have you on the phone,” I said. “I just scheduled a beginners' weaving class.” I gave her the date and the time.

“Let me check my calendar.” She was back in a minute. “I'm free. I'll be there. You can count on it. Before you go, dear, would you do me a small favor?”

“Gladly.”

“If you hear anything else about the investigation, would you let me know? I realize it's none of my business, but the man was a friend. I won't sleep until his killer is brought to justice.”

“I'll be happy to.” We said good-bye and hung up.

•   •   •

“You won't believe this,” I told Marnie, joining her in the back. “I was under the impression that it was Tom Goodall who told the police he saw me wiping blood from my clothes. But I was wrong. Johanna just told me it was Ronald Dempsey. I can't figure out why he would say such a thing, unless he lied on purpose.”

“Why would he do that?”

I shrugged. “The only reason I can think of is if he was trying to throw suspicion on me.”

Marnie rolled her eyes. “Good God, woman. You're beginning to sound as paranoid as Jenny. Let's just forget about this murder. Put it out of your head. It's history. Over and done with.”

“You're right. Let's forget about it.”

The door opened, throwing the bell into a tizzy. It was Matthew.

I checked my watch, surprised that it was already closing time. Winston, who'd been snoozing on his cushion behind the counter, hopped to his feet and ran to greet him.

“Hello, big boy. How are you doing?” Winnie was wiggling around excitedly and grunting with pleasure. “You look like you had a nice day.” Matthew scratch him behind the ear, then came over and kissed me. “I love your window display. That's the new collection you were telling me about?”

“I'm glad you like it.”

“I've got the leather chair in my car. Where do you want it?”

I told him and he brought it in. “How are you going to lift it into the window?”

I smiled. “I happen to know this big strong guy who comes around just about every day. I'm sure he'll give me a hand when I'm ready.”

“I see your game,” he said, and gave me another quick kiss. He nodded to Marnie. “So, what kind of a day did you ladies have? Solved any crimes lately?”

“Actually, I think we did.”

His eyes widened. “Really? I was just joking. But, tell me.”

I told him, with Marnie filling in the details whenever I stopped to take a breath.

“Good for you,” he said. I detected more than a little relief in his voice. Knowing the way his mind worked, I knew he was happy that the murder was solved. “Now promise me that your only involvement will be in supplying the police with the clue to solve it.”

“I can't say a word to the police with no more than an idea.”

“I hope that doesn't mean you're planning anything dangerous.”

“I'm not planning anything,” I said.

“That's good, because, chances are you're wrong. The police always look at the spouse first. If there was any evidence his wife killed him, they would have likely brought her in by now.”

“Maybe they don't have proof yet.”

“You might be right. But it seems to me that you're jumping to conclusions. You don't even know if her car is the one you saw leaving city hall.”

I knew everything he was saying was true. Maybe spending so much time with Jenny was beginning to rub off on me, but I had a feeling about this. Mona Swanson was not innocent. It was her car I'd seen that morning. I was certain . . . or almost.

“I had an idea,” he said, turning to Marnie. “I was going to invite Della over for dinner, but why don't you join us too? I made chicken curry—my specialty.”

“I can vouch for his curry,” I said. “I've had it a few times and it is delicious.”

“I'm sure it is,” Marnie said. “But I've already got plans for the evening.” Knowing her, she was making herself scarce to give Matthew and me some privacy. When it came to wanting Matthew and me to get married, she was almost as bad as my mother.

“Are you sure? You're more than welcome to join us,” I said.

“No. You kids have fun. You don't need me as a third wheel,” she said, confirming my suspicions.

When no amount of convincing made her change her mind, I closed up shop. Marnie went on her way and Matthew and I drove to his place.

•   •   •

Matthew's small Victorian house was only a few blocks down the street. During the drive, which took no more than a couple of minutes, I was acutely aware of his presence just a few inches away. The confined space made our closeness all the more intimate. He drove slowly, as if to extend these lovely moments and I leaned back against the headrest and breathed in the spring air.

It was mid-April. The days had finally started getting longer, and the sun was just beginning its descent in the west. It was almost six thirty, a time when most people were getting ready for dinner. This left the street nearly deserted, as if Matthew and I were alone in the world.

Matthew took my hand. “How was business on your second day? As good as you expected?”

“Better. Much better. I sold a few of my classic pieces, but, more important, my new collection is taking off. I've got pieces out on approval and three orders for rugs. Luckily, a few of my weavers have agreed to help me fill the orders. I think that collection will turn my business around.”

“I had no doubt you would do well.”

We arrived at his house, and while he took the curry out of the oven, I filled Winston's bowls and set the table. Soon he poured us some wine and we sat down to eat.

“Heard from your mother lately?” he asked.

“She calls me at least three or four times a week. And now that there's been a murder in town, she's upped her quota. How about you? Speak to your mother?”

“As a matter of fact, I spoke to her this afternoon. She called to make sure I'd be here all day tomorrow. She sent me a package—something special, according to her, and I have to be here to sign for it. The way she was carrying on about it, you would have thought it was the
Mona Lisa
.”

“Any idea what it might be?”

“None. I just hope it's not some old floral rug or something equally frilly.”

“If it is, you can give it to me. I love that kind of stuff.”

We lingered over dinner, and the conversation turned to the case. “So tell me everything you've learned about the case,” he said.

I searched his eyes. “You honestly want to talk about it?”

“Of course. If you're interested, I'm interested.” That was so sweet, I could have kissed him.

“The thing is, if Mona Swanson is innocent, the suspect pool will be huge. There could be hundreds of them. The man was extorting money in return for permits. Anybody who had any remodeling done in the last year or two could have a reason for wanting him dead.”

“Well, then start with those you know.”

“My main suspect at the moment is Mona Swanson. Next on my list is Syd Shuttleworth. It turns out that he and Mona used to be involved before she dropped him to marry Swanson.”

“So you think he killed him out of revenge, or jealousy?”

“Maybe. Somebody—I forget who—mentioned that Shuttleworth hated him, and that Swanson was giving Syd a hard time on all his jobs.”

Matthew nodded. “Sounds like some egos got bruised. Hopefully, this isn't a game of bloody knuckles gone out of control.”

I took a sip of wine and put my glass back down. “If Mona married him for his money, as some people seem to think, she probably killed him in order to get her hands on it. Is there any way we can find out if she had a policy on his life?”

He shook his head. “Insurance policies are not public domain. However, Swanson was a city employee. He definitely had insurance through his work. It was probably worth a couple of times his yearly income. Are Syd and Mona your only two suspects?”

“No. I'm also keeping an eye on one of my clients who had a problem with him a few months back,” I said. “But it isn't as if I have any real evidence against her. And even her motive is weak. Then there's Ronald Dempsey who told the police he saw me wiping blood from my clothes.”