Scandal (17 page)

"I understand, Ms. Veil, that you obtained some of this cloth from Mrs. Buler. Correct?"

She glared at Magda, shrugged, and then nodded.
Yes.

"And that you made a dress from it? A dress with a breast pocket?"

Lena leaned to look close at both pieces. "Yes."

"This other cloth matches, does it not?" Before she could answer he said, "Is it from the
same piece?"

Lena was sniffling, "It could be. But it's a mess. Where did you get it?"

"From Tom Buler's hand. His dead hand. He took it to his grave with him. I guess you didn't
notice when you buried him." Her face went blank, until he leaned back against the table, against
the quilt.

"Don't lean on the quilt!" Lena snapped.

If it hadn't been out of place I'd have laughed.

"That piece of fabric was from your dress, wasn't it? Will you tell us how it got into a dead
man's hand? Now! Stop fooling around."

That was all it took for her to crumple, literally. Her knees bent and she wobbled.

Magda caught her on one side and Sam hauled her upright on the other. Deputy Bybee took
over, moving the quilt to one side and helping Lena sit on the picnic bench.

Lena's mouth was crimped tight against her teeth, and her hands were on her face. Finally
she took one big breath and started talking.

"It's not like you think. Magda, I never meant this to happen. I'm still not sure what did
happen." Lena reached out and latched onto the nearest end of the quilt, pulling it to her lap. Part of
it fell to the ground. She didn't notice. Her hand worried the piece she'd clutched, like a child
worries a blankie. She directed her words to Magda, as if they were having a heart-to-heart, but
with all of us watching, and listening.

"You remember, Magda, when you went with the gals on the last Quilt Shop Run, in June,
and I didn't go 'cause I was working to finish that commissioned piece from the woman in The
Dalles?"

The sheriff straightened his back like he was going to tell her again to get on with it, but
Deputy Bybee lifted her hand ever so slightly, and he relaxed.

Magda said, "Yes, I was gone longer than usual as we were making a long sweep to take in a
couple shops over in Boise. Gone four or five days."

"Barely long enough," Lena muttered. Louder she said, "That first night I went to a pie
social at the church and wore my yellow dress, the one I made from the fabric you gave me. The
new pastor is single. With nothing to do afterwards I came here to finish the quilt. I was in the living
room watching one of the BBC shows I'd taped, steeping myself in the accents. I felt good about
being almost done with the quilt. Just sitting there, turning down the binding, drinking my tea... I
like being alone here sometimes.

"I heard a noise at the back door. Scared the crud outa me, coming so sudden. A key turning
in the lock. I yelled, 'Who's there?' and then wished I'd kept quiet."

She gave Magda a quick glance. "We keep an extra key in a fake rock by the door. Who'd
know it was there but you and me? You know how the key sticks in the lock just that little bit, and
then the door makes that scraping noise when it does open?"

Magda nodded.

"It did that and then I heard someone step on the kitchen floor. Somebody yelled, 'Damn,
Magda! Ain't ya got this door fixed yet?' and I relaxed. It was Tom! Never thought I'd be happy to
see him. You know, he and I never got on, but at least it wasn't some crazed killer looking to chop
me up and spread me around the woods."

Lena stopped talking. Deputy Bybee handed her a water bottle and she screwed off the lid
and took a big gulp. "Thanks."

She handed it back and gripped her blankie again. "I put the quilt to the side and went in to
the kitchen. What a sight! He was drunk. Ugly.

"Oh, he seemed happy enough to see me 'Lena! You old thing! What'cha doing here?
Where's Magda?'

"While I was answering his questions I started making coffee because he needed to sober
up. When I asked him how he got here and what he was doing here, he got rude. 'I live here, you
stupid woman!'

"Except he didn't call me 'woman', he called me the c-word. I'm not going to repeat it. He
was foul.

"'You don't live here! This is our studio. You live on your boat.'

"Then I realized what his being here meant. 'Where have you been? Magda's been trying to
get in touch with you for a long time. We figured you were dead.'

"'None of your damn business. Maybe I've found a good woman who knows what a man
needs.'

"I guess I sneered at him then because he swung at me, throwing himself off balance. I
stepped out of the way and he stumbled against the counter. 'Where's Magda?' he said.

"When I get scared I do get defensive. I guess I did that then. 'As if you care.'

"He shouted, 'Listen, bitch, tell me where my wife is!' and doubled up his fist.

"I was close by the magnetic knife rack by the sink. Without thinking I grabbed the fillet
knife.

"He reached around the island to take it. I slashed out and cut the fat part of his thumb. He
leaped back, roaring filth at me. I pulled open that door and, funny, it didn't stick.

"I ran outside. He was right behind me. I have never been so terrified in my life. I just ran,
blind, into the back yard. He grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. I slashed again, not aiming.
He dodged back, but on the downstroke the knife cut into the top of his leg.

"He screamed and snatched at my head, had my hair in his hand. His hands were
everywhere. He snagged my pocket I guess.

"He fell and grabbed his thigh, screaming, 'Bitch! You cut me! You've hurt me!'

"I couldn't see much in the dark. The leg of his jeans did have a big slice in it, and it looked
wet.

"I ran back into the house and watched him through the window in the door. I was so
scared. He was crying and screaming, and then he just went quiet and fell over.

"When he hadn't moved for a while I went back out, scared he'd jump up and grab me. But
he was still. So still. His eyes were open, staring at me. Accusing. I think I lost my mind for a while
'cause if I'd thought it through, as I've done a thousand times since, I'd have called for help. I never
meant to kill him. Didn't even mean to hurt him, but he scared me."

Lena stared at Magda. "He scared me!"

"Yes." Magda didn't move from where she was standing, but she leaned forward to touch
Lena on her shoulder. "Yes. I know. When he was drunk he was very scary. And dangerous."

Lena turned to look at the sheriff. "All I could think of was hiding what happened, wiping it
out. Cleaning up. Making it disappear, like it never happened.

"I went to the garden shed, found the shovel. I picked a place as close as I could get to him
and dug in. The ground was soft because we'd had a lot of rain. I kept going until I had a hole deep
enough and long enough to put him in. It wasn't as much as I wanted it but I just had to get him
covered, to get those eyes away from my sight.

"It took a while to get him rolled in. I had to push and pull at his legs and then his body. He
didn't move easily. No help from him. When I got him in I saw the knife on the ground, and threw it
in the grave. I didn't like seeing him and that knife just laying there on the dirt. In the garage I'd
seen a raggy quilt so I got that and threw it over the mess. Then I shoveled all that dirt back over
him.

"It was dark but I could see that the grave was obvious, so I moved the picnic table over it.
Hard to do on the soft ground. Pushing and pulling, lifting it to sit over Tom's grave. Do you
remember, Magda, when you noticed the table was moved and you remarked on it and I said I'd
done that because I'd been doing my e-mail on my laptop and the sun was in my eyes, so I moved
the table. And you never questioned me." She leaned forward to Magda, her arms out in a plea.

Magda moved over beside her. Lena fell into her arms, letting loose, finally, with an
anguished howl.

Sheriff Kelly watched, saying nothing.

I stood by Sam, wanting to leave, to go in and sit at the kitchen table. I'd watched the whole
drama with a feeling of detachment. A criminal client had told me that sometime people, "Confess to
impress." The phrase kept repeating in my mind as I listened to her. I wanted to believe her and I
could see that Magda did believe her, or at least understood how Lena could have killed Tom.

I could believe that Tom caused his own death by his threatening behavior, that she killed
him in self-defense. Still, it was ugly.

The sheriff motioned for Lena to stand up.

Magda stood with her.

"Lena Veil, You are under arrest for the murder of Thomas Buler. You have the right to
remain silent..." He continued with the Miranda statement while Lena and Magda stood together,
holding hands. When he'd finished, he said, "We'll take Ms. Veil to jail now, where she can call a
lawyer. Magda, you must let go of her."

"But Wish, this is unfair. Can't I take her home with me, and bring her in tomorrow? She
won't run away. She'll be with us." She included Sam in this plan.

Sam shook his head at her naÏveté, while Sheriff Kelly rolled his eyes.

"I would if I could, Magda, but you know we can't do that. There's a way these things have
to go and she's got to go through with it. You can best help by getting in touch with her people. She
is going to need help. She'll probably be out tomorrow on bail."

Sam held out his handkerchief to Lena. She wiped tears from her face, and when she was
done, I was amazed to see her face smooth, calm, and smiling, peaceful. A wobbly smile, but a
smile.

When she went to hand the cloth back, he said, "Keep it. You might need it again."

Lena, the sheriff, and his officers left.

Sam, Magda, and I went in to the kitchen and sat down at the table, but in a minute she was
up to put the kettle on. She reached into the cupboard for cups, and then looked at the empty spot
on the knife holder beside the sink. "Funny, I never noticed the knife was gone."

"We'll get a new one," said Sam.

"The sheriff didn't mention it either." I said.

Magda sat down, took a sip of her tea. "Ow, hot."

Considering that the murdered man was her husband, she seemed quite calm. I was
reminded of the peaceful expression on Lena's face. She explained to us, and to herself, "They
already have it in evidence. They had an idea of what happened before Lena spilled it all. They did
an autopsy so they knew how he died. Just needed the details."

I try not to be a counselor to my friends, but she needed to talk, and here we were. I took a
drink of my tea, put the mug down. "So, Magda, how are you feeling now?"

"What do you mean, how am I feeling? Am I supposed to be feeling any certain way?"

"Well, then, let's start with what you think about how Lena feels. Did you notice how
peaceful she was after she'd dumped all that?"

Sam said, "Yeah, that was odd. She's been an absolute pill the whole time I've known her,
and suddenly, she's peace and light. After she'd just confessed to killing a man."

I gave him a look to let Magda talk.

He nodded and sat back in his chair, taking up his cup.

At that Magda put her hand out to him and laid it on his. She then told him the full horror of
her marriage, his drinking, his craziness. "Lena knew more about his behavior than others because
she was here and had seen him. But it had been so long, I'd begun to hope he would never return.
Funny, I remember Lena saying, when I talked to her about it, that maybe I was lucky, maybe he
was gone for good.

"I told her I'd like to know that for sure. Have some paperwork, some proof." She took a
deep breath. "But I've got to help her. Tomorrow, we'll go get her out of the lockup and make sure
she has a decent lawyer." She eyeballed me as she rinsed her cup and left it in the sink. "And then
you and I, we have a quilt to finish!"

Sam was looking at her in a funny way, almost flirty. "Mayhaps you will need to finish up
some things with your husband, too, Maggie. Then you and I can get to our business."

"And what would that be?" She took our cups, put them beside hers in the sink.

"Simple. Getting to know each other. It's about time, and I don't have a lot of it, or at least
not as much as I usta."

"Okay, you guys," I said, as we locked up the studio and got into my car. "I have to get back
home to my cat, get a sitter for him, take care of a couple of things. You two have plenty to do
tomorrow, and that doesn't include working on that dang quilt. I'll be back day after tomorrow. You
can expect me before noon. Anything I need to know before then, you have my number."

I let them out at Magda's house, Sam helping her out of the car and she opening the front
door to let him into the house. It pleased me to see them helping each other. I felt a tiny shiver of
envy, but shook it off. So be it.

The drive home was lonely. The stark truth of how Tom had died was painful to think
about. But I could see the justice in it.

It was a sober ride, full of reflection as to how some alcoholics luck out, and some don't. I
was a lucky one. Someday, when the time is right, I'll have a talk with Magda about this. But not
now.

Now is her time for healing. Sam will help.

I woke with the dawn, a feeling of purpose and expectation, like on Christmas morning,
energizing me. Through the open window above my bed I listened to the chattiness of the
Clackamas River. It has a very distinct voice that depends on the depth of the water, high and
strident in winter, tumbling rocks, or the slow drawl of summer, moving smooth and low to the
Willamette.

Now it was the change of seasons, leaves swirling in small eddies, with the occasional
splash of a salmon making its way upstream to spawn. The river melody soothed me to lie like a
salmon resting in the shoals of the edge of the river. The day could wait.