Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery (4 page)

“Don’t get too excited. A bunch of us are going together. It’s not a date.”

“Still, wear something nice—a dress. How about that beautiful blue dress, the short one? It shows off your legs so nicely.”

“I’ll wear a dress. I don’t often get a chance to dress up out here.”

“And wear some makeup too—not just a touch of mascara and lipstick.”

“I always wear makeup. You know that.”

“And flirt with him, for God’s sake.”

“I’m hanging up now, Mom. Love you. Good-bye.” I put down the receiver and looked at Winston. “How would you deal with a mother like that?” He groaned. “You got that right.”

Just a few days ago, my mother had reminded me that I was in my midthirties and that if I wasn’t going to listen to my own biological clock, then I should at least remember hers. That she was in her late sixties and wanted grandchildren. Was it just mine, or do all mothers drive their daughters crazy?

Winston stared back with one eye closed. “You’re the only one who isn’t trying to get Matthew and me together.” He blinked and dropped his head onto his front paws.

I opened my closet and riffled through in search of the perfect outfit. I wanted to look sexy for Matthew, yet not too obviously so. This was a small town. In these parts, wearing anything other than jeans was considered dressing up. I pulled out the blue dress my mother had mentioned and noticed a small stain.
Damn
. Hopefully, it would come out with some spot remover. But no time for that now. I returned to my closet. I continued searching until I came across my red jersey dress. It was my favorite because it made me look tall and thin, a real feat, considering my height. I held it in front of me and turned to Winnie, who was snoring softly.

“What do you think, Winnie? Will Matthew think I look sexy in this dress?” He opened one bleary eye and stared at me, unconvinced. “Come on, Winnie. Help me here.” I hung the dress back up and pulled out another. This one was navy and rather plain, with a turtleneck and long sleeves. “How about this one?”

This time, he raised his head and barked.

“Oh, so you think I’ll look better with every inch of my body covered up. I think you’re trying to sabotage my efforts here, big boy. That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want Matthew to fall in love with me.” I returned the navy dress to the closet and picked up the red one again. “So there. That’s what I think of your advice.” Winnie gave a low, disapproving growl, but I stepped into the red dress nonetheless.

At five o’clock I was ready. My mother would approve. I had paid extra attention to my hair and makeup, and I looked great. My dark brown hair fell in lustrous waves onto my shoulders, and my eyes looked deep and sultry under smoky makeup. As I transferred my wallet and lipstick to a small evening bag, the doorbell rang. I hurried to the intercom.

It was Jenny. I buzzed her up, and a moment later she breezed in, carrying a pastry box and looking like a vision of beauty. This was the first time I’d seen her wear something other than her eternal black yoga pants. Instead she wore a short green gauzy shift with gold hoop earrings and bangle bracelets. On her feet, she wore high strappy sandals, which made her nearly six feet tall. Her hair, which she’d recently lightened with streaks of honey blond, fell in cascading curls to midback.

“Wow, you look incredible,” I said, selfishly hoping she didn’t outshine me too much. I made a mental note to not stand anywhere near her at the party.

“I clean up good.” She grinned. “And you,” she said, circling me. “You look gorgeous. Matthew will be putty in your hands.” I only wished. “Oh, and before I forget, here’s a flourless chocolate cake that Marnie dropped off for dessert tonight.”

I sneaked a peek inside the cardboard box. “Yum. It looks delicious.” I closed the box and carried it to the kitchen. “It’s too bad she’s not coming.”

“Actually, she is coming,” Jenny said, following me. “She was too embarrassed by her behavior yesterday to come with us, so she’s hitching a ride with her neighbors. But if we ask nicely, I’m sure she’ll join us for dinner.”

At that moment the doorbell rang again and I hurried back to the foyer. “It’s me,” Matthew called up from the street.

“We’ll be right down,” I replied. I gave Winnie a dog biscuit and looked around for my bag, locating it on my sideboard. I grabbed it and we hurried down.

Matthew was leaning against the hood of a late-seventies forest green Jaguar. He looked drop-dead sexy in a dark suit—so handsome that my heart skipped a beat. He stared at me and his eyes lit up. He let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Wow. You look hot.”

“Thanks. Is that a new car?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush that was creeping over my face. “What did you do with the other one?” Matthew was a car buff, his hobby, restoring old classics.

He grinned. “Sold it for a nice profit and bought this one. I’m almost finished restoring it. What do you think?” He held the back door open for Jenny.

She slipped in. “It’s gorgeous.”

I studied the car. It looked perfect to me, but knowing him, he was probably shopping for some rare part, like nickel-plated hubcaps or an antique hand-carved steering wheel. Once, when I’d mentioned to my mother how Matthew spends hours taking care of his old cars, she’d stated that it was a well-known fact that any man who took good care of old cars was sure to treat a woman like a queen. Trust my mother to turn any mention of his name into an opportunity to promote him.

Matthew closed the door and opened the front passenger one for me. “I think maybe I should make a point of taking you ladies out once in a while. It’s nice to see you all dressed up.”

“Tell you what,” Jenny said as Matthew climbed into the driver’s seat. “You can take Della out. I don’t think Ed would like it very much if I went out with another man.”

My mouth grew dry. I searched for something to say, anything that might come across as flirtatious, and came up with a blank. Here was Jenny, doing her best to get Matthew and me together, and what was I doing to help? Nothing. No wonder he never asked me out.

I cleared my throat. “Speaking of Ed, why isn’t the good doctor coming to the party?”

“He’s on call at the hospital tonight,” she said, looking disappointed.

The car roared to life, and we took off.

•   •   •

I’d been living in Briar Hollow for about eight months now, and the sight of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance still left me in awe. I barely had time to register this thought when, a moment later, we turned onto a country road and they were behind us. We drove on in silence for some time, through cotton fields and cow pastures, until a beautiful white house appeared in the distance. The two-story structure was fronted by eight large columns. There were rows of windows dressed with black shutters—very formal and elegant. As we drew nearer, cars lined the road closer and closer together until they were bumper to bumper.

“Bunny wasn’t kidding when she said the whole town was coming,” I said.

Jenny chuckled. “I’m beginning to think we should have taken a cab. There isn’t a parking spot anywhere within a mile of the place.”

The Jaguar slowed to a crawl, and we craned our necks for an opening.

At last, Matthew said, “Why don’t I drop you ladies off at the door and then I’ll come back and find a spot?” He threw me a teasing smile. “I don’t think you could make it more than a few feet on those stilts you’re wearing.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Since I’d sprained an ankle a couple of months ago, I’d had to endure nonstop teasing about the height of the heels I wore.

When his smiling eyes met mine again, they had turned from dark brown to a light golden shade. My heart skipped a beat.

“Good grief,” Jenny said from the backseat. “Will you look at this place? It’s as big as a hotel. And it’s all lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“And look at that drive,” I said. It was a circular drive around a large fountain with a trio of sculpted fish jumping out of a seashell, streams of water cascading out of their mouths. My attention was drawn to the massive front door, above which was a gold-leafed eagle. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m impressed.”

Jenny chuckled. “Yes, but can you imagine having to clean a place like this? They’d need cooks and maids and butlers.”

“They probably have them,” I said, awed at the thought of such a grand lifestyle. Noticing the neat rows of flowers edging the drive, I added, “And gardeners too.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to pay for all that,” Matthew said. “But I doubt Whitby has more than a couple of people caring for his property. I’m sure most of the rooms are kept closed off, so the space he actually uses is probably closer to that of a normal house. Nobody lives those kinds of fancy lives anymore.”

We pulled up in front of the entrance, and a young man in a navy uniform—jacket and a matching cap—came rushing over.

He opened Matthew’s door. “Good evening, sir. I’ll park the car for you, if you don’t mind.” We stepped out of the car. Matthew handed him the keys in exchange for a ticket, and the attendant hopped in.

As soon as he drove off, Jenny turned to me. “Wow—a parking valet. This is fancier than anything I’ve ever seen. Let’s go in. I can’t wait to see the inside.”

Matthew took my arm and helped me up the steps. No sooner had he pressed the doorbell than the door opened.

“Good evening,” a butler greeted us. “Please come in.” His tone was so officious, I almost expected him to add, “Said the spider to the fly.”

W
e stepped into a large foyer crowded with guests. Women were dressed in everything from jeans to sequined dresses, most of them milling around an aristocratic-looking middle-aged man. Somebody must have said something funny at that moment because he laughed out loud, his deep voice carrying over the sounds of the crowd.
Whitby,
I guessed.

I looked around, awed. Under my feet were inlaid alder floors, buffed to a glow. Above, the ceiling was more than two stories high—at least thirty feet—and in its center hung a magnificent chandelier on a silk-covered chain. Hundreds of crystals sparkled, lending dazzling opulence to the room. On either side of the foyer, richly carved staircases curved up to a mezzanine that wrapped around the foyer below. This wasn’t a house. It was a mansion. Why in the world would anybody want to redecorate this magnificent home? It was perfect just as it was.

Suddenly, a woman in a black dress and white apron appeared, proffering flutes of bubbly liquid. “Would you like a glass of champagne, ma’am?”

I set my purse down on a nearby table and took one. “Thank you.”

Somebody called my name, and looking up toward the opposite end of the mezzanine, I spotted a sexy blonde wearing a tight blue dress with a deep décolleté. It was Bunny Boyd, and she was waving at me. She turned to the group of people she was with and said something. And then she hurried down the stairs and through the crowd, beckoning me over.

I turned to Matthew and Jenny, smiling apologetically. She shrugged, as if saying, “You do whatever you want, but you know what I think.”

“Go,” he said. “We’ll catch up later.” I wove through the crowd toward Bunny.

“I’m so happy you made it,” she shouted above the din. “I told Bernie about you. Come. I’ll show you around.” We made our way to the left staircase.

She paused at the first step. “I really want you to see the second floor. It’s almost finished. I haven’t started the third floor yet.”

I followed her up to a tall carved door. She opened it, saying, “This is the master bedroom. It needs only a few more details, so it’ll give you a good idea of the style I chose for Bernie’s house.”

I stifled a chuckle. She sure liked to drop Bernie’s name a lot.

I stepped into a room almost as large as my entire apartment. The windows were dressed in sumptuous cream dupioni silk, the same fabric that covered the padded headboard of the king-sized bed. The walls were robin’s-egg blue—one of my favorite colors—and underfoot was the most beautiful rug I had ever seen. It was an Oriental motif in shades of blue, taupe and cream.
Silk
, I thought, noticing the sheen of the pile. The rug was immense, stretching over the entire room. On the wall opposite the bed was a cream marble fireplace protected by a brass peacock screen. In front of it were two canvas-covered armchairs. Even without upholstery, they were magnificent. I had never seen such a luxurious room. I remembered to keep my mouth closed.

Bunny pointed to the chairs. “I need handwoven linen to cover those and two footstools I’m having made to match.” She pointed to the bed. “I’ll also need a few yards of the same fabric to make throw pillows.”

“This is a beautiful room,” I said. “I know exactly what you’re looking for.”

She nodded. “I knew you would.” I followed her to the next room. “This is one of four guest bedrooms on this floor,” she said. “There are twelve bedrooms altogether, two more on the third floor and another five in the next wing.”

Did I hear right? Twelve bedrooms? Holy crap!

The walls were covered with hand-painted Oriental paper, depicting a mountain view with pagodas, gardens and birds. The furnishings, carved and gilt covered, looked as impressive as anything I’d seen in museums.

“Everything here is original to the house,” she continued. “The only thing I’m doing in this room is having new draperies and bedcovers made. I’m looking for handwoven silk, the kind used in imperial kimonos. I’ll have to order it from Japan.”

“That will look stunning,” I said, relieved that she wasn’t expecting me to produce that fabric. It could take an experienced silk weaver more than a year to make even one such kimono. I couldn’t imagine how long it would take to produce enough fabric to make curtains and a bedspread. She’d probably have to hire an army of weavers to complete the job. Suddenly, the contract dangling before my eyes was becoming a bit daunting. I remembered Jenny’s comment about how tough Bunny could be with suppliers and then shook my distress away and concentrated on the positive. A contract like this would put me on the map.

The next room was a wood-paneled study. Bunny stepped in and crossed her arms. “I’ve got my work cut out for me in here.” She pointed to the moose head above the fieldstone fireplace. “Look at that ugly thing.” I silently agreed with her about that. She scowled. “Who wants dead animals in their homes nowadays? But Bernie won’t think of letting me get rid of it. Seems his grandfather shot the damned thing.”

I looked around, admiring the heavy wood desk and the leather armchairs. Behind the desk the wall was lined in barrister’s bookcases, each filled with leather-bound volumes. On the opposite wall was a long display cabinet containing an extensive collection of guns. There must have been two dozen guns. I stared, surprised. I could never understand people’s desire to collect weapons.

At that moment, Bunny pointed to the windows. “This room alone will need about fifty yards of handwoven linen,” she said, averting my attention from the guns. We finished the tour of the second floor and returned to the foyer, where the crowd seemed to have doubled during the short time I’d been upstairs.

“Good grief. The entire village of Briar Hollow must be here,” I said.

Bunny put a hand to her ear. “What did you say?”

I repeated, this time more loudly.

“Yes, and I must have given a tour to each and every one of them, and to all of Belmont too,” she said, naming a nearby town. “Bernie sent out invitations to everyone. I’d say we had a good turnout, wouldn’t you? Any more people and we wouldn’t be able to turn around in here.”

We made our way through the throngs of partiers with an “excuse me” here and there, until I found myself facing the elegant silver-haired man I’d noticed earlier.

“Della Wright,” Bunny said, smiling up at the man. “I’d like you to meet Bernard Whitby. Della is the weaver I was telling you about. She and I have just reached an agreement for her to produce all the handwoven fabric I need to finish your lovely home.”

We had reached no such agreement, but my spirit soared with hope. Did this mean the contract was as good as mine? I noticed that Bunny and Mr. Whitby had locked eyes, and the way she was staring at her client suggested that Bunny had more than just a professional interest in the wealthy man. I wondered if that feeling was mutual.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Whitby. You have a magnificent home.”

“Thank you,” he said, wrapping an arm around her. “And Bunny here is helping me make it even lovelier.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze.

At that moment I felt a tug at my sleeve. I excused myself and turned to find Marnie, dressed in a purple satin dress that clashed loudly with her carrot hair. On anybody else it would have looked ludicrous. But on Marnie, somehow it looked appropriate.

“You came. I’m so glad.”

“Have you seen Jenny anywhere?” she asked, her eyes flashing around the room.

“We came in together. She’s here somewhere. You’re coming over for dinner later, aren’t you? I insist.”

“Well, since you put it that way . . .” Her thought went unfinished and she waved at someone. “There she is, with Matthew.”

I had just caught sight of them when, next to me, Mr. Whitby muttered, “What the hell?” I glanced at him. His jaw had tightened. His mouth was a straight line. I followed his gaze to a couple standing by the grand piano across the room.

Marnie leaned in and whispered, “That’s Jeffrey and Julia Anderson. He’s the mayor of Belmont.” Judging from Mr. Whitby’s reaction, he didn’t like them much. I guessed that the general invitations he had sent out were not meant for some people. Behind the mayor and his wife I noticed another couple, the McDermotts.

Marnie froze. “I knew I shouldn’t have come.”

At that moment, they happened to look in our direction, and Mr. McDermott blanched. Next to him, Mrs. McDermott blushed a furious red. She reached to the occasional table nearby and snatched her bag. Then, grabbing hold of her husband’s arm, she half pulled, half pushed him all the way to the front door. Just before it closed behind them, he glanced back toward us with a look of relief.

I chuckled. “I guess they were more afraid of running into you than you were of running into them.”

Marnie’s scowl melted into a cocky grin. “As well they should be.”

“Hey, Marnie, Della.” Jenny was tapping me on the shoulder. “I want you to meet a friend of mine.” Standing next to her was a beautiful blonde I had noticed around town a few times but had never officially met. She was tall and thin, with flawless skin and wide blue eyes. The blue was so dark it was almost aquamarine.
She could be a model
, I thought. Jenny continued. “Della, this is Emma Blanchard. Emma and I used to work together at Frannie’s.”

We shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Emma,” I said. Behind the girl, a dark-haired man wearing a sullen expression took hold of her arm possessively.

She turned to him. “Ricky, you remember Jenny, don’t you?”

Ricky gave Jenny a grudging smile and tugged at Emma, saying loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Come on, baby. Let’s blow this joint. There’s nobody here under thirty”—as if thirty were a dirty number.

“Hi,” Marnie said, ignoring the boyfriend. “Have you been by to see Jenny’s shop?”

The girl smiled apologetically. “I haven’t. I heard you were supplying all the goodies. Knowing myself, I’ll probably gain ten pounds just walking in.” She patted her flat stomach. “I need to stay away from sweets.”

Marnie bobbed her eyebrows in obvious disagreement.

“Are you still hoping to get into modeling?” Jenny asked.

She threw her boyfriend a nervous look, but his attention had moved on to the maid offering him a glass of wine. “I am,” she said in a low voice. “I’m still working at Fran’s, saving my money to go to New York. That’s where all the big modeling agencies are. Right now I’m working on putting together a professional portfolio.”

“How’s that coming along?” asked Jenny.

Emma glanced worriedly at Ricky again. He had moved a few feet away and was gesturing for her to follow. “Good,” she answered. “I’ve already got more than half the pictures I need. I think I’ll be ready in another few weeks.” She nodded to Ricky, who had downed his drink and set it back on the tray. “I’d better go,” she said. “See you later.”

A voice next to me interrupted. “Would anybody care for a glass of champagne?” The maid was standing next to me with a fresh tray of fluted glasses.

“I don’t mind if I do,” Marnie said, accepting a glass. I looked around, not remembering where I had put mine down.

“I think I will too,” I said, and Jenny also took one.

From a distance a bell rang, and the room quieted. The crowd turned to face the left staircase, where Bernard Whitby now stood on the third step, as if on a podium. Below him were photographers. The crowd pressed closer. Whitby waited.

This was a press conference, I realized. A light flashed, and at the same moment I noticed Matthew standing near Whitby. He saw me looking at him and waved. I smiled back.

Gradually, the buzz of conversation quieted. When all eyes were on him, Bernard Whitby cleared his throat. “I’m sure many of you are wondering why I invited you all here tonight.” Murmurs went up in the crowd. Whitby raised his hand, smiling, and they quieted. “The reason, my friends, is that, following in the tradition of my father and of his father before him, I hope to become governor of this wonderful state of ours, and I’m looking to all of you, my friends, my neighbors, for your support.” A smattering of applause rose.

Marnie leaned in, whispering in my ear, “That’s Bunny Boyd, isn’t it?” She was pointing at Bunny, standing a few away from Bernard Whitby. She was staring up at him with undisguised adoration.

I nodded.

Marnie continued. “She sure carries her heart on her sleeve, don’t you think?”

I nodded again. “I hope she knows what she’s getting into. Politicians aren’t always the most trustworthy sort.”

Marnie harrumphed. “Especially this one. He’s a dyed through and through bachelor. He’s dated almost every woman in the state. Maybe he thinks he needs a wife now. If he’s running for state election, it might be easier to get the votes with a woman by his side.”

“And Bunny is a TV star,” I said. “She has a lot of visibility. That can’t hurt.”

Marnie nodded. “Although, I expect he’ll want her to dress a bit more subdued—less like Bettie Page and more like Betty Ford.”

I laughed.

Whitby’s speech was winding down. “I want you all to have fun, enjoy, and remember, a vote for Whitby is a vote for a prosperous North Carolina.” Applause broke out, and Bunny, who had been standing a few feet away, moved closer. She posed sideways, smiling at the camera. Lights flashed and the applause wound down.

Whitby raised his hands. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” He stepped down.

I noticed Matthew approach Whitby as if to ask him a question, but at that moment the butler stepped in between them and whispered something in the man’s ear. From where I was standing, it looked as if Matthew were trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Looking worried, Whitby turned toward the butler and said something. The butler spoke again, at which point Whitby turned to those around him and seemed to apologize. And then he followed his butler up the stairs and down the hall toward the study.

“I wonder what that was all about,” Marnie said.

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t good,” Jenny replied. “I have a feeling something bad is about to happen.”

Soon, Whitby reappeared, hurrying down the stairs with a pacifying smile. “Everything’s fine,” I heard him say. “Nothing to worry about. Just a false alarm.” But behind his confident smile, I sensed nervousness.