Loom and Doom (16 page)

He's going to strangle me.
I yelped and ducked.

A moment later I felt foolish. All he'd done was walk around me to unlock the door.

“Don't forget what happened to Swanson. The same thing can happen to you,” he said as I walked out on gelatin legs.

“Are you all right?” Marnie asked as soon as I got in. “I heard you yell as if you were being choked, and I tried to do what you said—push the green phone. But it wouldn't get off the line.”

I stared at her. “You were supposed to hang up before you push the green phone.”

“Oh,” she said, looking puzzled. “How do I do that?”

“You push the red phone, right next to the green phone,” I said, in disbelief. “I came
this
close to being murdered, all the time imagining you were my lifeline.”

I started to laugh, and kept laughing until I cried.

M
arnie pulled to a stop in front of my shop, still smarting over my hysterical laughter. “I still don't get what was so funny about my not knowing how to use a cell phone.”

“I'm sorry, Marnie. I didn't mean to offend you. It was just my nerves.”

She mumbled something indistinct while Winston and I hopped out, and then drove off before I could say good-bye. Sometimes she got a bit irritable.

Winston followed me to my apartment. After I finished feeding him and was microwaving some leftover pizza—typical lazy evening at home—the phone rang. I glanced at the call display, expecting it to be my mother, but it was a blocked number. I picked it up.

An unrecognizable voice screamed into my ear. “Listen, bitch. You keep going around asking questions and you'll be dead just like the others.”

I dropped the phone, shaking. Almost as if he could sense that I was upset, Winston came trotting over, looking at me with big mournful eyes. But I couldn't move. Hell, I could hardly breathe. The microwave beeped, stirring me out of my stupor, and I dashed to the front door, checking that it was safely locked. I raced back to the kitchen and punched in Marnie's number.

“What is it? Find some other great joke at my expense?” she said.

“Oh, Marnie. Somebody just called and threatened to kill me.”

There was a quick intake of breath. “Did you call the police?”

“What's the point? They'd only tell me it's some kid's prank, and that I should keep my door locked just to be on the safe side.”

“Are you at home? By yourself? Hold tight. I'll be right there.” Less than fifteen minutes later, she was at my door, carrying a bag of frozen food.

“I was just about to heat up some chicken divan, so I grabbed a second portion for you. And I added a couple of mini chocolate cakes.”

“That sure beats the leftover pizza I was going to have.”

“Leftover . . . what?” She marched down the hall to the kitchen and opened the microwave. “Good grief. Were you really going to eat this? It's as dry as cardboard.” She threw it in the garbage can under the sink. “All right. First things first. What we both need is a glass of wine.” She opened a bottle of white and poured two generous glasses. After a few swallows, she put her glass down. “Now, did you recognize the voice?”

I shook my head. “It was disguised. I couldn't even be sure it was a man or a woman. And the number was blocked.”

She knitted her brows. “Don't you think it's strange that you should get that call no more than an hour after confronting Dempsey?”

“Somebody is getting scared,” I said. “That tells me I'm getting close. If he thinks he can scare me off, then he doesn't know me very well.”

“He? So you
do
think it's Dempsey.”

I thought about it for a moment. “I suppose it could be Mona Swanson. But how would she know I've been investigating? I'm with you. It is pretty suspicious that I got that call so soon after leaving his place.” I snapped my fingers. “Speaking of which, I have that recording.” I dashed to the foyer, snatching my jacket from the wall hook and breathed a sigh of relief. My cell was in my pocket exactly where I'd left it. I returned to the kitchen, brandishing it.

“Here it is. Wait till the police hear this.”

While Marnie popped the chicken into the oven, I set it on the table and pushed the
PLAY
button. After a few minutes of intermittent silence and squeaks, came a muffled voice. It was me, but I could barely make out what I was saying. The voice changed to that of a man, but it was even more muffled.

“There's no way anyone will understand a word he says.”

“Even if they did,” Marnie said. “He didn't confess. So it's of no use, anyways.”

“Maybe not directly, but he said something like, if I thought I could just pick up where Swanson left off, I had another think coming. And then he added that what happened to Swanson could happen to me. If that's not a direct threat, I don't know what is.”

Before Marnie could reply, the telephone rang. We both froze. And then I sprang into action, snatching the phone.

“It's him,” I said, seeing the name Prestige Homes on the call display. I grabbed my cell and turned on the recording app, holding it against the phone. But, to my surprise it wasn't Ronald Dempsey voice, but a woman's.

“May I speak to Jenny please?” she asked. I was about to tell her she had the wrong number when I remembered that was how I'd identified myself to the saleslady when we'd gone snooping at the development.

“This is Jenny,” I said, garnering a confused look from Marnie.

“This is Karen, from Prestige Homes. When you came by the other day, you asked that I let you know Mona Swanson's decision regarding the house she and her husband bought. If you had your heart set on that one, I'm afraid I have disappointing news for you. She's decided to move in.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. “I thought, after what happened, that it might be a bit too expensive for her.”

“It might have been, except that her husband had mortgage insurance.”

“Really?” I said, storing that information along with all the rest of Mona Swanson's possible motives.

“Perhaps I could make an appointment for you and your fiancé to come in together?”

“Let me speak to him and I'll call you back.” After a hurried good-bye, I turned to Marnie.

“You won't believe this. Mona Swanson is going ahead and moving into the house.”

“All by herself in that great big honkin' house?”

“Maybe her original plan had been to move in with somebody else,” I said, quirking an eyebrow. “Even if Dempsey did kill those men, I'm convinced she was planning on getting rid of her husband somehow. And listen to this: Swanson had taken out mortgage insurance.”

She frowned. “What's that?”

“If the person who borrowed the money dies, the insurance covers the unpaid portion of the mortgage.”

“So she gets the house free and clear?”

“A one-point-five-million-dollar home—all hers. Plus whatever else he left her—he probably had life insurance through his work, a pension plan—as his widow all of that would now go to her. He might have an IRA too. Then, there's the house she's living in now. All in all, Mona is probably laughing all the way to the bank.”

“No wonder she's your number one suspect.”

Another thought stirred. “What if she didn't kill Swanson herself? Maybe she hired someone to kill her husband? And what if that somebody was Syd? Let's not forget that they were a couple before she got married.” Now the ideas were flowing. “Wouldn't you think that most people would get rid of an ex's pictures? Or at least put them away? Well, Syd didn't. There were pictures of her all over his living room.”

“So you think he was still in love with her?”

“And she could have used that to her advantage, like maybe let him think that if he killed her husband, he and she would get back together again. And then, once he did the deed, she got rid of him?”

Marnie's eyes widened. “Not a bad plan. Except—”

“Except what?”

“I can't help but wonder. If she knew Syd was going to murder her husband that morning, why would she go to city hall? Don't you think she would have made sure she had some unshakable alibi?”

“You're right.” I puzzled over this for a moment. “Maybe she does have an alibi. That could be why the police haven't arrested her.”

“And why they're still considering you a suspect.”

“About that,” I said. “I have some good news. Turns out the blood on my shirt was Winston's.”

“Not the victim's? That's great news. So you're off the hook.”

“Not completely, but at least they don't have DNA evidence against me.” I returned to the subject of Mona. “If she does have an alibi, she might have lent Syd her car. His van, with his company name on the side, would have been recognized in a New York minute, whereas half the cars in town are silver. She probably forgot about her bumper sticker.”

Marnie nodded. “Okay, Sherlock. So who was it? Mona by herself. Mona and Syd, or Ronald Dempsey?”

I dropped into a chair, exhausted by the endless speculation. “At this point I have no idea.”

The oven timer beeped and Winston galloped over.

“Sorry, Sugar,” Marnie said. “This is people food.” He slunk away with his tail between his legs.

“Aw, poor baby. I should have stopped by Matthew's to get you some more kibble.” I went to the cupboard, emptied what little dog food was left into his bowl. He stared at it, unimpressed. “What's wrong? Not good enough for you?” I opened the fridge and tossed him a piece of cheese. He threw me a grateful look and returned to his cushion, munching contentedly.

“You spoil that dog,” Marnie said. But a few minutes later I caught her sneaking him a morsel of chicken.

“Who's spoiling him now?” I asked.

Over dinner we reviewed the possibilities until I came to the decision that we couldn't ignore any lead until we were certain who the killer was. “I should still try to speak to Swanson's ex-wife, just to rule her out. And if she isn't the killer, she's probably the one person who would willingly tell us more about Mona. But the problem is I have no idea where she lives.”

“Have you checked the Charlotte listings?”

“I checked the entire state.”

“Maybe she reverted to her maiden name after the divorce,” Marnie said. “There must be somebody around here who would know. She must have had some friends who would know.”

“You're right,” I said, and suddenly remembered something. “Judy Bates might know. I think they were in the same book club together.” I pushed away my plate and set my laptop on the table. “Here's her number,” I said, already punching it in. A moment later I had her on the phone.

“Of course I know her maiden name. It's Andrews. Sondra Andrews. Why do you ask?”

I wasn't prepared for that question, so I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “She placed an order from my shop and I forgot to take her number.”

“You want her number? I have it around here somewhere. Give me a minute.”

I covered the mouthpiece. “She's got her number,” I told Marnie, giving her the thumbs-up.

“Here it is,” she said. “Do you have a pencil?”

A few minutes later I was surprised when after two rings Sondra Andrews picked up.

“Hello,” answered a pleasant voice.

I introduced myself. “You don't know me,” I said. “But I'd like to ask you a few questions about a delicate matter.”

There was a short pause. “Does this have anything to do with Howard's murder?”

“It does,” I said, half expecting her to hang up.

“Well, it's about time somebody came around to speak to me,” she said. We made arrangements to meet the next day, and I took down her address.

“I thought you said she was agoraphobic,” Marnie said.

“I guess she got over it.”

“Now that that's settled, come back and finish your meal,” Marnie said, “or I won't ever cook for you again.”

“Now, that's the kind of threat that really scares me.” I put away my laptop and settled back to enjoy my meal. “You know what's really weird,” I said. “I haven't heard from my mother. I was sure, after I found Syd's body, that she'd be calling me, worrying that I was getting myself into trouble again. I'm sure she must have read about the second murder by now. I hope nothing's happened to her.”

“You have nothing to worry about. She's fine,” Marnie said.

I stared at her. “How would you know?”

“Oh, er . . . I spoke to her,” she said, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

“You spoke to my mother? When did this happen?”

“She, er . . . called me when she couldn't reach you.”

“What do you mean she couldn't reach me? I always have my cell phone with me.”

“How should I know how come she couldn't reach you? All I know is she called and she seemed fine.”

“What did she want?”

She hesitated. “She wanted to make sure you were all right,” she said at last. “She'd read about your finding a second body and she was worried. I told her you were fine.”

“Tell me the truth,” I said. “She was angry at me for getting involved, wasn't she?”

“I didn't want to upset you,” Marnie said.

“I knew it.”

•   •   •

In bed, later, I tossed and turned for hours. Every little creak amplified in the dark, every shadow a killer waiting to pounce. I was so spooked I even broke my own rule and allowed Winston to hop into bed with me. He snuggled his back to mine, no doubt thinking I was doing him a huge favor.

In this case, however, the favor was mine. His presence felt reassuring, and eventually I fell into a fitful sleep. But at five o'clock I was wide awake. There was no point in trying to get any more sleep. I threw back the bed covers and padded to the kitchen with Winnie on my heels, flicking on all the lights along the way.

“All right, big boy, what would you like for breakfast? Kibble, or kibble?” I opened the tin container in which I kept it. “Oh, crap.” I'd clearly forgotten that I'd given him every last bit last night. And since no store would be open for another four hours, I'd have to pick some up at Matthew's. “Oh, crap,” I said again, remembering I'd made arrangements with Matthew to do just that, and to lock his door as I left afterward, which meant his door had been unlocked all night.

Normally I might have thought, “What could happen in Briar Hollow?” But with a murderer running around loose, one just never knew.

I jumped into my clothes, put on the coffeemaker and we took off, covering the two blocks to Matthew's place in something between a jog and a speed walk. And when I tried the doorknob, sure enough, it was unlocked. I latched it behind me as I went in, and turned on all the lights.