Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery (23 page)

Marnie gave me the eyebrow. “Considering what people around here are saying, that’s not something I’d joke about if I were you.”

“Maybe you’re right.” I took a fortifying gulp.

Marnie scowled. “Are you going to drink the whole cup before you tell us what the hell happened?”

I set it down and told them, feeling the horror of it all over again. “I noticed the open door and popped my head in and called her name. When she didn’t answer, I got worried and went inside. She was on the bedroom floor, dead.”

Marnie looked horrified. “How awful. First her husband and now her.”

Jenny frowned. “Was she shot with the same gun?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “We won’t know that until the ballistics reports come in.”

“I don’t understand anything anymore,” Jenny continued. “Didn’t you say she was your primary suspect?”

That’s what I’d thought—at some point. “I said she was a suspect. But she was never the only one.”

“Who else could it be? We know it’s not Emma or Ricky. Much as I don’t like Bunny, I don’t think she had anything to do with it.”

“I don’t really suspect Bunny anymore,” I said. “I can’t find any motive for her wanting McDermott dead.”

Marnie cocked her head. “What I can’t understand is why anybody would want to kill Rhonda. If the killer wanted her dead, why didn’t he kill her and her husband at the same time?”

“Unless,” said Jenny, “Mrs. McDermott found out something.” She snapped her fingers. “Maybe she figured out who the killer was.”

Marnie nodded, adding her own theory. “And maybe she was blackmailing him.”

I decided to let them play detective as much as they wanted and not tell them that I had already come to much the same conclusions. I was especially not about to mention the errand Mrs. Anderson had asked of me. Of all the people involved, she was the one I had least suspected at the beginning. Now, as it turned out, she seemed to have not only the best motive, but also an excellent opportunity, one she had probably planned for just that purpose.

Marnie turned to me, a frown puckering her forehead. “You’re very quiet.”

“I’m just thinking that . . . I’m utterly confused. I have no idea what to think anymore.” They both looked at me as if they didn’t believe a word.

Jenny picked up the empty mugs. “I’d better get back.” At that moment, the phone rang. I glanced at the call display.

“It’s Bunny,” I blurted.

Jenny put down the mugs and stared at me expectantly. “Well, aren’t you going to answer?”

Marnie planted her elbows on the counter and cupped her chin in the palm of her hand. I took a deep breath and picked it up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” Bunny said.
Sure,
she was.
“I got your message. I’m in New York and won’t be back until this evening.” Not a word about the message Marnie had relayed to her yesterday. What a hypocrite that woman was. “Now, what’s this about you not wanting to place the order until I sign the contract?”

Maybe it was the stress of the morning combined with Bunny’s tone of voice, but I suddenly found myself snapping back. “Believe me, I do want to work for you, but I am just a small business. I can’t afford to risk ordering such a large amount of yarn without being certain that you won’t pull the rug from under me the way you did with Margaret Fowler. So, please come by and sign that contract. Until you do, I won’t place that order.”

Marnie gave me a huge grin and a thumbs-up. “Atta girl.”

Bunny’s voice went up an octave. “What are you talking about? I never did anything to Margaret Fowler.”

“Oh, no? What would you call what you did?”

“What happened with that girl—”

“What happened with
that girl
, as you call her, proves one thing. You are not to be trusted,” I said, getting more incensed with every word.

“You think I can’t be trusted?” She screamed this so loudly into the receiver that Marnie’s and Jenny’s eyes widened. “I’ll have you know one thing. By cashing my check, you committed yourself—”

“I did
not
cash your check,” I said with great enjoyment. “I have it right here. You can pick it up anytime you like.”

This silenced her. The pause stretched and stretched, and then without another word, the line went dead.

“Woo-hoo!” exclaimed Jenny. “You took my advice. Does that mean you finally believe I can read auras?”

I swallowed hard, suddenly realizing what I had just done. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

She smiled. “I’ll make a convert out of you yet,” she said, heading toward her shop.

I gave them a jaundiced smile. “Well, I’d better sell a lot of goods, because I can probably kiss that beautiful contract good-bye.”

The door opened and Matthew walked in. “I have some news,” he said. Winston scampered out from behind the counter and ran up to him. “Sorry, boy. I’m here to see Della. You, I’ll see later.”

Winston slunk away.

Matthew glanced at Jenny and Marnie, and I guessed that he wanted to speak privately. “Are you free for dinner tonight?” I asked. “Maybe I can cook you dinner again?”

“That sounds great, but I already have plans.”

“Oh? What are you doing?”

“I’m having dinner with Lydia.” I struggled to keep my smile from slipping. To my surprise, he thought for a second and said, “But I should be free by nine, nine thirty at the latest. How about if I come over then? Unless you’d rather make it tomorrow night.”

Not on your life, buddy
. The earlier he came to my place, the less time he’d spend with Lydia. “Tonight is fine. I’ll make coffee and if you save some room, I’ll serve you dessert.”

“Good. See you then.” He turned on his heel and left.

Marnie gave me a crooked smile. “Just what kind of dessert do you have in mind?”

“Don’t be silly,” I said as an image of me wrapped seductively around Matthew flashed through my mind.

“Just so you know,” she continued, “I’ll be happy to provide cake or pie, but if you’re thinking of something racier than that, you’re on your own.” And before I could reply, she returned to her loom.

“Come on, Winnie. You know me better than that, don’t you? I would never throw myself at a man just back from a date with somebody else.”

He looked at me. “Ruff,” he barked.

Across the room, Marnie laughed. “You should listen to Winston. He just told you he thinks your attitude is rough too.”

•   •   •

Winnie was snoring on his cushion behind the counter when the door opened and Margaret Fowler walked in carrying a cardboard box. She dropped it on the counter with a thud.

Looking embarrassed, she said, “I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I’m so sorry. I hope we can still be friends.”

I was surprised at how relieved I suddenly felt. Obviously, the possibility of being on bad terms with her had bothered me more than I’d realized. “There’s nothing to forgive. It was my fault for prying, and of course we can still be friends.”

“Oh, good. I promised Jenny I’d be in by eleven. That gives me ten minutes to show you what I have.” She pulled open the flaps of the box and pulled out a stack of cloth goods, sorting them into piles: place mats, dish towels, afghans and kitchen rugs.

“They’re beautiful,” I exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re bringing in some rugs. Now that Jenny isn’t doing much weaving anymore, I really needed new inventory.”

“I don’t know that I can bring them in regularly, but I’ll do my best to keep you supplied.”

“What I really need are more place mats. I can never keep them in stock.”

“Place mats it is.”

Marnie wandered over. “By the way, did you know that Della turned down the contract from Bunny Boyd?”

That was not what I had done, but if Marnie had interpreted my words that way, Bunny probably had as well.

Margaret looked from Marnie to me. “Why did you do that? Not because of me, I hope.”

Marnie answered. “Of course not because of you. Because of the way she treated Della. Della asked her a million times to come sign that contract, and she just ignored her. She couldn’t take the chance she’d pull the same number on her that she had on you.”

Margaret looked uncomfortable, and I changed the subject. “I forgot to tell you I sold a few of your pieces.” I opened the drawer and pulled out my stock book, flipping through a few pages. “Let me see. I sold two of your afghans.” I continued down the list, checking the items and jotting down the amounts in the margins. I calculated the total and wrote her a check. “Here you go.”

Her face lit up. “Thank you so much. I didn’t expect to be paid this fast. This is great. I’d better get to work.” She turned and hurried to Jenny’s shop.

Marnie was staring at Margaret’s back as she disappeared behind the curtain. “I just noticed something. Ever since I first met her, I kept thinking she reminds me of someone, but I couldn’t figure out who.”

“Who?” I asked, only half listening.

“It’s her eyes. They’re a very unusual shade.”

Margaret’s eyes were a dark shade of bluish gray circled with black. They were arrestingly beautiful. She continued. “I’ve only ever seen that shade once before.” She paused. “Do you know who else had that color eyes? Philip McDermott.”

“Is that so?” I said, not really paying attention. I opened the drawer to put away my stock book, and my eyes fell on the file of the unknown model. For some reason, I pulled it out.

And just as I opened it, Marnie happened to say, “It’s too bad. If it wasn’t for that nose of hers, Margaret would be a very beautiful girl.” My eyes fell on the picture, and I froze. That was who the picture reminded me of—Margaret Fowler.

“Marnie, look,” I squeaked.

She waddled over. “What is it?”

“Look at this picture.”

She glanced down at it. “You already showed me this one.”

“Yes, but look at it again and tell me. Doesn’t that model remind you of Margaret Fowler?”

Marnie stared at it and her eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be—you’re right. It’s the same nose.”

“And you just said that Margaret’s eyes remind you of Mr. McDermott’s eyes. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

We both stared down at the picture again and then at each other.

Marnie spoke first. “I think maybe McDermott was doing more than just taking pictures of his models.”

I nodded. “I think you’re right. He was doing a lot more. He was making babies with them. Margaret is his daughter. But who was the mother?” And that’s when it hit me. If I imagined the same face twenty years older and with a nose job—“Bunny Boyd,” I exclaimed.

I
t was five o’clock, closing time, and Marnie had left half an hour earlier. Now Jenny and Margaret were leaving. It had taken all of my self-control to not question Margaret about Bunny and Philip McDermott. I could just imagine what her reaction would have been. No. Whatever her ties to the murders, I would have to figure it out by myself.

“See you tomorrow,” Jenny said.

“Tomorrow,” I replied. Margaret waved, and they were gone.

There was one more thing I wanted to do before the end of the day. I stared at the phone, wondering if I should call Mrs. Anderson again. Her money was still hidden in my cereal box. I hated to spend another night with it in my apartment. It made me nervous, an invitation for a break-in. Surely the woman wanted it back. If she didn’t feel comfortable picking it up herself, I didn’t mind dropping it off. I picked up the receiver and dialed her number.

A secretary or maybe a housekeeper answered. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Anderson is out of town,” she said.

“Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. May I take a message?”

I gave her my name and number and put the receiver down. Now what?

Next to me, Winston barked. “What’s the matter, boy? Want to go for a walk?” I grabbed his leash, clipped it on and we left.

Much to my surprise, Winston immediately headed toward the bank, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise since today I was hoping to stroll the other way—by the Coffee Break. I was curious to see if there was still police activity going on. “Oh, well. Maybe you know best, Winnie. It might not be a good idea to be seen going back to the scene of the crime.” Winnie pulled on the leash, giving his best imitation of a nod.

Ten minutes later we were back. He galloped up the stairs ahead of me and went straight to the kitchen, dropping to his butt in front of the refrigerator.

“Okay,” I said. “But only one.” I gave him a liver treat, filled his water bowl and then I fished the box of cereal out of the cupboard. The money was still there. I sighed in relief and put it back, shutting the cabinet door.

How could Mrs. Anderson leave town without bothering to pick it up? It made me wonder. She didn’t care about the money. Maybe she had every reason to keep McDermott alive. As long as she paid him and he was happy, her secret was safe. Looking at it this way, maybe Mrs. Anderson wasn’t the killer after all.

As for Bunny, all along I’d been unable to find a motive for her to have wanted McDermott dead. But now, knowing that she was the unknown model, it changed everything. As Bernard Whitby’s fiancé, she had a strong reason to not want that nude picture of her to be made public. And even more important, she didn’t want anybody finding out that she’d had a baby out of wedlock, and to make matters worse, from an affair with a married man.

Under any other circumstance, these were incidents that would not have mattered, but as the soon-to-be wife of a politician, all bets were off. How would Whitby react to that kind of information? He might drop her like a hot potato and find himself a new armpiece. That was a chance Bunny Boyd couldn’t take.

There was also the fact that she’d had not only an excellent motive, but also the perfect opportunity. She, better than anyone, had had access to the stolen gun. And living right across from the Coffee Break, she’d also had a perfect view of the comings and goings of both victims.

But why would she have killed Rhonda? I suddenly remembered the conversation I’d overheard Rhonda having on the telephone. That had probably been with Bunny. “You can call it blackmail if you like,” she had said. She was blackmailing Bunny. There was the motive. It all made sense.

But what I couldn’t understand was how a mother could force her own daughter into bankruptcy. There had to be more to the story. I made up my mind suddenly.

“Winston, stay,” I said. He raised his head from the pillow and dropped it back down. I hurried out of the apartment.

Margaret answered on the third knock. Without waiting for an invitation, I brushed past her and walked in. “Wow. It looks beautiful.”

A sand-colored love seat faced the fireplace. On one of its arms was draped a white afghan. Above the fireplace was a painting of a French bulldog.
Cute
. Instead of curtains, Margaret had draped handwoven tablecloths over an iron curtain rod. There was a small, round bistro table in the dining room, along with two chairs. The decor was simple but tasteful.

“You like it?”

“It’s lovely.” For a moment I almost decided to forget about my reason for coming. I snapped back. “I know you don’t want to, but I have to talk to you,” I said. “It’s important.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone? Don’t you see? I could get into trouble over this.”

“How can you get into trouble? I don’t understand.”

She turned toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something? A soft drink? Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I just want us to talk for a minute. I need to understand a few things.”

She scowled, walked over to the love seat and plopped into it. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” Clementine trotted over, placing her head in Margaret’s lap. It was the same kind of comforting gesture Winnie might do.

“No, I won’t.” I sat across from her. “I think I already figured out most of it. For one thing, Bunny Boyd is your mother, isn’t she?”

She stared at the floor and nodded. “You have to keep everything I tell you a secret. I signed a confidentiality agreement, and if anybody finds out that I told you, I could be sued for everything I’ve got.” She looked around the room. “It isn’t very much, but it’s all I have.”

My mouth dropped open. Bunny had made her sign a confidentiality agreement and threatened to sue her? I closed my mouth. “I take it you were adopted?”

She nodded. “I love my adopted parents, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt them. But I needed to find my birth mother. So I waited until I was at college, and then I went looking for her. All I knew was that she was from Belmont. That’s why I moved out there.”

I nodded encouragingly and she continued. “Not long after, I happened to visit Briar Hollow—it’s so picturesque—and stopped by the Coffee Break. Funny how things happen,” she said as if to herself. “When I went to the counter, I noticed that the woman who served me was looking at me very strangely. She couldn’t peel her eyes off of me. I had the impression I reminded her of someone.” She paused and picked up Clementine, who had been scratching at her leg. The dog settled in her lap and she continued. “I wanted to talk to her in private, so I went back around closing time, but she was gone. In her place was her husband. The minute he saw me, he turned white. And as soon as I saw his eyes, I knew I was looking at my own father.

“He seemed to compose himself, and he asked me what I wanted. Afterward, I realized that he meant what kind of coffee. But at the time, I thought he wanted to know why I had come. So I told him I was looking for my birth parents and asked him if he was my father.

“You would have thought I’d accused him of a crime. He came storming around the counter, grabbed me by the arm and marched me out of the shop. And then he told me that if I ever came back, he’d call the police.”

I was quiet for a few moments as I digested this. “You’re certain he was your father? He could have been an uncle or something.”

She shook her head and continued. “No, Mrs. McDermott made that plenty clear later. Anyhow, I was so upset that my own father had kicked me out that for weeks I obsessed about trying to talk to him again. I decided I’d shocked him. I was sure, now that he’d had time to think, he’d want to get to know me. So I decided to write. I sent him a letter with my name and telephone number. I thought he’d give me a call, but he never did. I waited a bit longer and then I went back to his shop. But this time I decided that I should approach his wife first. For all I knew, she could have been my mother.” She looked at me with pleading eyes. “It could have happened that way. A young couple have a baby. They’re not married, so they decide to put it up for adoption, and then some time later they get married. I convinced myself that once Mrs. McDermott saw me, she’d want to get to know me and we’d have an instant mother-daughter bond.” She met my gaze sheepishly. “I know. It was silly.”

“Go on.”

She sighed and continued. “I waited until she left the coffee shop and ambushed her. I told her that I had been adopted and was looking for my birth parents, and I blurted out that I thought she might be my mother.” Margaret gave a strangled laugh. “That didn’t go over very well. She made it plenty clear that I was no daughter of hers, that in fact, I was the bastard child of that television slut Bunny Boyd. And that if I had any idea of approaching her husband, she was going to sue me for harassment.”

I pictured the scene, imagining Margaret’s disappointment. “I’m so sorry. That must have hurt.” I almost regretted questioning her.

Clementine hopped off her lap and came to me. I picked her up. Margaret continued. “It didn’t hurt at all. She wasn’t my mother. And she had just told me who my real mother was. I didn’t know how I would find Bunny Boyd, so I went on the Internet and found out that when she wasn’t filming in New York, she sometimes returned to Briar Hollow. And then, one week later, she walked into my shop.” She stopped as if she had come to the end of the story.

“And then what happened?”

She stared at the floor for a long time. “I’ve already told you too much. You know everything you wanted to know. Leave the rest alone, please, for my sake. It’s really personal.” She looked at me so pleadingly that I couldn’t bring myself to push. Besides, she was right. I knew all I needed to know.

“Fair enough. I won’t bother you about that anymore.” I smiled. “But I might bother you to do more weaving for me.”

She grinned. “That’s no bother. I’ll be happy to help you all I can.”

I gave her Clementine back and returned to my apartment and to Winnie, who came sniffing and looking at me suspiciously. He must have smelled Clementine on me, because he turned and marched away looking disgusted.

“I’m sorry, Winnie. I held that other dog for only a minute. I promise you’re still the only dog I truly love.” He stopped and stared at me.
Prove it
, he seemed to say.

“Okay, come.” He trotted after me to the kitchen, and I held out a liver treat. His rump hit the floor with a thud. “Good boy.” I tossed it at him, and he gobbled it down in one bite.

It was only seven o’clock, and I had two hours, maybe three, until Matthew showed up—hours that felt all the longer because I knew he was with Lydia Gerard. I wondered what she was wearing, probably some sexy little dress. I gave myself a mental thump on the head. The last thing I wanted was to become a jealous wreck. If Matthew and Lydia began dating, the only person I could blame was myself. Instead of showing him that I liked him, I’d spent the last six months trying to prove I didn’t care.
Real smart, Della
.

Disgusted with myself, I put the picture of Lydia and Matthew out of my mind and forced myself to go back to my list of suspects.

I was down to two suspects, Mrs. Anderson and Bunny Boyd, with the latter now in the lead.
But what about Margaret?
I thought suddenly. She might have had a reason to kill McDermott. I hopped back up and raced over to her apartment.

“What now?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously as she opened the door.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing to do with any of that.” I flicked my wrist as if waving the subject away. “Did you happen to go to the Whitby party last week?”

She looked at me as if I’d lost all my marbles. “Are you kidding? With Bunny Boyd playing hostess? She would have kicked me out in a New York minute.”

“Right,” I said. “Okay, I won’t bother you again.”

“You keep saying that,” she said with a smile. “Yet you keep doing it.”

I returned to my apartment, laughing. It was only after I closed the door that it occurred to me. How did she know Bunny Boyd was the hostess that night? Certainly she knew that the woman was working for Whitby, but it was a bit of a stretch to expect that she’d be playing hostess at his party—unless she’d lied about not being there. There had been so many people in the house. It wouldn’t have been difficult for her to keep out of sight. All she’d have to do was duck behind someone whenever she saw Bunny coming her way. I sat for a long time, trying to come to terms with my new theory.

All this thinking was giving me a headache. I glanced at my watch and was surprised it was already eight o’clock. If I wanted to make myself gorgeous and eat before Matthew got here, I had better get a move on.

I was halfway through a microwaved frozen pizza when the telephone rang. It was my mother.

“Why haven’t you made Matthew that beef bourguignon yet? Don’t wait too long or it’ll be too late.”

I groaned. “Mom—”

She kept right on talking. “I was just speaking to June”—Mathew’s mother—“and she told me he had a date tonight with an old girlfriend.”

Lydia Gerard was an old girlfriend?
Shit
. Knowing that made me feel even worse. “For your information, Mom, I already made it for him. He was over for dinner last night.”

There was a long pause. “Well, it can’t have been very good. You didn’t even call me for instructions.”

“It’s nice to know that’s what you think of my cooking.”

“And with reason. You’ve never cooked a meal in your life.”

“I have too. I can make pasta.” Then, realizing this would only prolong the argument, I said, “You’re right. I need all the help I can get, and that’s why I had a friend come over and give me instructions. The meal was delicious. Matthew had two helpings.”

“Oh.” She was at a loss for words momentarily. “I hope your friend didn’t stay for dinner.”

“She didn’t. We had dinner alone.”

“Oh,” she said in a brighter tone. “I hope you wore something sexy.”

“Mo-om. Stop it.”

“And makeup?”

“Of course. I always wear makeup. Why do you even ask?”

“And did you flirt?”