Looming Murder (12 page)

T
h
e phone rang, but before I could answer, Matthew reached over and picked it up.

“My house, my phone,” he whispered. And then he spoke into the receiver. “Hello, Norah. How nice to hear from you,” he said. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered, “Your mother.”

Again? I had just spoken to her a few hours ago. I signaled for him to give me the phone. He shook his head, taking a few steps back. Damn it! If I knew my mother, she was already promoting her get-Della-and-Matthew-together campaign. I scrambled to my feet and scooped up my crutches. For every step I moved toward him, Matthew took one step back. To an onlooker, we might have looked as if we were doing some kind of primitive dance.

He chatted on, smiling, and stepping farther away from me: the weather was nice, his book deal was great, and then, much to my embarrassment, the subject turned to me.

He winked at me. “Don’t worry. She’s fine. She’s right here with me. It’s great having her here.”

Oh, God. I could just imagine how my mother would interpret that. I lunged for the phone again.

He ducked. “I guess it was a shock, but don’t worry. She’s handling it very well.” Another short silence, followed by, “I agree, and I told her so myself.”

What were they talking about?—and even more frightening—what were they
agreeing
about?

“I know, but she saw a great place and she’s decided to put an offer on it.” Another silence and then, “Of course I told her that. But you know your daughter. When she decides to do something, nobody can talk her out of it. But I’ll try again.” All at once, I knew. Mom wanted him to talk me into staying. My blood pressure shot up. I was so going to kill her.

As far as mothers go, there was nothing wrong with mine, except that from the moment I turned twenty-five, she made it her duty to find me a husband. And with every new birthday, she got more focused on it. Last Christmas, I’d been mortified to overhear her trying to coax Matthew into taking me to dinner.

“She’s been despondent since that whole embezzlement thing,” I heard her say as I walked into the living room one day. “It would do her a world of good if you took her out for a nice dinner.”

Without waiting for Matthew to come up with some excuse, I had stepped into the living room. “You’re embarrassing him, Mother.” And sure enough, when I glanced at him, he turned bright red. “Matthew doesn’t want to go out with me. He’s seeing someone—Amanda.”

After Matthew snuck away, I gave my mother a piece of my mind. “I don’t need you to find dates for me. I can get them on my own.”

“Well, then,” she’d said, pointedly, “if you can do it, why don’t you? If you won’t listen to your biological clock, will you at least listen to mine? I’m sixty-nine. How much longer are you going to make me wait before giving me a grandchild?”

I had to hand it to her. She had a real talent for pushing my buttons.

Now, I prayed to heaven Mom didn’t know Matthew and Amanda were no longer seeing each other; otherwise there’d be no letting up on her part. I tried to read his face and found amusement. It didn’t make me feel any better.

“Let me put her on the phone.” At last he handed the phone over to me, mouthing through a teasing smile, “It’s for you.”

I snatched it. “Hello, Mother.” I moved both crutches to one hand and hopped away on one foot until I was out of earshot.

“What’s all that thudding I hear? And why are you out of breath?”

“I sprained an ankle, and I can’t hold the phone and crutches at the same time.”

“Crutches? Does that have anything to do with the body you discovered?”

Oh, cr-rap
. “How did you hear about that?”

“I may not be young anymore, but I can still use the Internet. Everything is so easy nowadays with Google.”

“
You
search the Internet?” I chuckled at the picture of my silver-haired mother surfing the Web.

“Of course I do, dear. The Internet is the way of the future,” she said, trying to sound knowledgeable. “I check the
Belmont Daily
online every day. How else am I going to find out what’s happening in Briar Hollow? Not from you, that’s for sure.” I didn’t give her the satisfaction of replying. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am, Mom.”

“I hope the police aren’t stupid enough to think you had anything to do with it.”

“Not at all. I didn’t even know the man.”

“That’s what Matthew said, but I wanted to hear it from you.” And then in a low voice she said, “Did you know it’s over between him and Amanda?”

Uh-oh. “So I heard.”

“Why don’t you hold off a little before moving out? This is no time for you to be alone, with a murderer running around. Besides”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“you never know, maybe you and he might decide you like each other.” There it was, just as I had been dreading, that same old tune. “I just know you two would be happy together.”

“Mom, please stop.”

“I hope you’re wearing makeup.”

“Yes, Mother, I am.”

“And you’re wearing skirts. Men like to see a woman’s legs.”

“Yes, Mother, I am.”

“And are you cooking for him? On second thought, maybe that’s not such a good idea. You never were much of a cook.”

“I’m going to hang up now, Mom. I have some work to do. I’ll call you soon. Love you.” I hung up before she could say anything else. I returned to the kitchen and put the phone back into its cradle.

Matthew was eyeing me with a teasing smile. “Did Norma talk you into having dinner with me?”

“No, but not for lack of trying.” I covered my embarrassment with a weak laugh. “I’m sorry. She can be such a bug at times.”

“She’s no worse than my mother.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “Are you telling me your mother is trying to . . .” I pointed at him and then at me. He nodded. “What is it about our mothers?”

He shrugged. “It’s cute. Don’t worry about it. One of these days I’ll have to take you out.” And in case I got the wrong idea, he added, “Just to make them happy.”

“You don’t have to do that.” My face grew hot. “In fact, I can’t think of a worse idea. Can you imagine? If we ever did go out together, they’d be sending out wedding invitations the next day.” I gave a strangled laugh. “There’d be no stopping them.”

Matthew looked at his watch, and—thank you, God—changed the subject. “By the way, I asked David to come over to prepare your offer.”

“Oh.” I took a deep breath. “I wanted to go over the financials one more time.”

“If you’re worried about money, why don’t you rent out both apartments and live somewhere else? It would make good business sense. Here’s an idea. If you set up your shop and studio there, there’d be plenty of room for both of us in this house.”

I was stunned. I swallowed and nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. I wasn’t sure why the idea of staying here made me so nervous—it actually could solve my financial problems. I answered as casually as possible. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He was searching my face. I changed the subject. “If I rented out both apartments, do you think I could make a positive return on the building?”

“Yes, I do, although certainly not a high one.” He paused and studied me. “So you’ll take my offer?”

He had asked me to stay! At the very least I could give it some serious thought. After all, I did enjoy his company, and apparently he liked mine. “I guess so,” I said, struggling to keep the corner of my mouth from twitching. I was suddenly scared and excited all at once. I was almost afraid to believe everything was falling into place so easily.

“I’m glad.” He looked at his watch. “Oh, shit. It’s later than I thought. David won’t have time to prepare the offer right now. He has to report to the police station for questioning before the end of the day.”

“But he was questioned this morning. He already told the police everything he knows. Why does he have to go back?”

“Don’t worry,” he said patiently. “What they took this morning was only a preliminary statement. Questionings are much more official. First of all, they’re generally held in an interrogation room and taped. And then they make him sign a copy.”

“And that’s it?”

“Pretty much—unless he gives them a reason to keep him there.”

“What are you talking about? What kind of reason could he possibly give them?”

“Listen, I know you like David—” I started shaking my head. I wanted to say that sure, I liked David—as a friend—but he cut me off. “Remember, you’ve only known him for a short time. I know I told you I’ve known him all my life, but he and I haven’t been close in a long time. I hope—for your sake—that he’s innocent, but we won’t know for sure until this investigation is over.”

My mouth dropped open. “Do you really think he might be guilty?” My mind was already racing. If David was the killer, it would mean that he set me up as a false witness. Could he really be that manipulative? I’d been going around telling everyone that he couldn’t possibly have done it, that I had been there when he first saw the body, that I had seen his face, and that nobody could be such a good actor. I swallowed hard. Had David really played me so convincingly?

Matthew shrugged. “Is it possible? Yes.” And then, he seemed to take pity on me. “But likely? No.” More seriously, he said, “Don’t worry, kiddo. Anything I can do to help him, I promise I will.”

“Listen, Matthew, I want to clarify something. I’m not in—”

Before I could finish, there was a knock at the door. Matthew hurried to answer and a second later, he returned, followed by David, who—though I would have believed it impossible—looked even worse than he had earlier. The bruising around his swollen eye had turned a deep shade of eggplant. His upper lip had swollen to double its size, and the stitches looked ready to pop.

“Oh, God, David, you look awful.” I continued with as much authority as I could muster. “Well, that does it. I don’t care what you say. I’m getting you an ice pack right now.”

He chuckled, keeping his face stiff. “Yeah, maybe an ice pack isn’t a bad idea after all.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out a file, placing it on the table.

I got a bag of frozen mixed vegetables from the freezer, smashed it on the counter to break its contents apart, and wrapped it in a dish towel. “Sorry, but I’m all out of peas.”

David gave me a lopsided smile and placed it carefully against the bruised side of his face. “Thanks. I hope you weren’t planning to make these for dinner.”

“Not anymore.” He looked taken aback. “Just joking.”

He sat, propping an elbow on the table to keep the bag in place. “Do you want to sit in while we prepare the offer?” he asked Matthew.

Matthew smiled apologetically. “Listen, man, I hate to tell you this, but the offer will have to wait until later. The police want to question you.”

David looked stunned. “Oh.” He just sat there, looking uncertain. “I guess this is where I should call my lawyer.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“That would not be a bad idea,” said Matthew. “Ask him to meet you at the station.”

David took a shaky breath and pulled out his cell phone. A minute later, he turned it off. “He’ll meet me there in half an hour.” Turning to me, he tapped the file. “You might want to read through these papers in the meantime.” He turned to Matthew. “What do you think? Be honest, man. Am I going to get arrested?”

“I don’t know,” Matthew answered solemnly. “But having your lawyer present will make it less likely.”

Panic filled David’s eyes. “This is a nightmare. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

Matthew walked over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll walk over to the station and wait with you until your lawyer shows up.”

David turned to me, handing me my makeshift ice pack. “Here. Put it back in the freezer. One of us might need it later.”

“How long will this take?” I asked.

Matthew shrugged. “Every case is different. It could take ten minutes or ten hours.”

David blanched.

“Isn’t there something I can do?” I asked. “I mean, I was there this morning. How come they want to question David and not me?”

Matthew gave me the raised eyebrow. “You didn’t even know the man. But, hey, if you insist, I can tell them they should question you too.”

“Very funny,” I snapped.

Matthew chuckled. “About dinner—don’t wait for me. I’ll grab something on my own.”

So much for ribs tonight.

I waved them off and they left, David with his shoulders slumped and Matthew full of false cheerfulness. I tossed the bag of frozen veggies back into the freezer. Feeling helpless, I turned my attention to the file David had left on the table. I opened it. I must have stared at it blankly for a full ten minutes before slapping it shut and returning to my loom.

The next time I looked at my watch, it was five o’clock. I had been sitting at my loom for an hour, but even weaving had not helped calm my jangled nerves. In fact, when I looked at the strip I had completed, I realized a beginner would have done a better job. The thread tension was all over the place, ranging from seventeen yarns per inch to about twelve.
Garbage
, I decided. I had no choice but to undo all the work I’d done in the last hour—but later. Anything I attempted now would only result in more sloppy work. I heaved myself up, grabbed my crutches and returned to the kitchen, where I stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. What the hell was taking them so long?

Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. If I didn’t do something—anything—right this minute, I was going to go crazy. An idea flashed through my mind and I hurried to my desk, forgetting all about how tired and sore I was. I rested my crutches against the desk, flipped open my laptop and typed in David’s name. In seconds, the online directory gave me his phone number and—more important—his address. I jotted it down.

Anderson Lane was just a few blocks away, still a trek for someone on crutches. Could I really do it? Or should I call a cab? No, I decided. No need for a cab. I could get there by myself. I stuffed the paper in my pocket and picked up my crutches again. Almost as if he could read my mind, Winston, who a minute ago had looked about as lively as the rug on which he’d been sleeping, jumped up and dashed toward the door.