The Double Wedding Ring (13 page)

C
arrie had customers and I knew I should go back to the shop. But instead I finished the hot chocolate she'd given me and ordered another one. I sat at a table near the back. I needed a moment alone, and preferably not standing on a windy, snow-covered roof, to think and strategize.

“Big picture,” I said to myself, trying to take my mom's advice. I was getting sucked in to the details of the shooting and there was so much else—the wedding, my parents, school, quilting, and, most of all, Jesse. I wanted to find Roger's killer and, by doing that, identify the person who put a hole through the Someday sign. I told myself it was because I wanted to help Jesse get justice for his friend. But maybe another reason, a more selfish reason, was because I wanted Jesse to need me, to prove that we were a great team. Or worse, maybe I just couldn't leave well enough alone.

Of course, if I was really in danger, then my other motivations were trivial. I had to find the killer before a warning turned into a second murder.

I could see Greg sitting by himself at a table near the window, poring over his police notebook with an intensity that I'd rarely seen in him. I knew that asking him about the investigation would just cause trouble for both of us, but it wasn't clues I needed anyway. It was advice.

“Can I join you?”

Greg looked up. “Sure, yeah.”

I put my hot chocolate down at his table and sat opposite him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If it's about the murder . . .”

“It's not. Not really. It's about Jesse. How is he handling the investigation?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is he doing okay or is he overwhelmed?”

“Are you asking if he needs help?”

I shrugged. I was, kind of. “Is he letting you help?”

“After the business card thing, he's doing everything by the book. Mostly he's doing it without anyone's help, but he's following procedure.”

“Do you think he's trying to do it all alone because Roger was his friend and he feels some kind of obligation to solve the murder himself, or do you think there's another reason?”

I could see that he was looking at me differently, trying to figure out what I knew that he didn't. It might have helped us both if I shared what Carrie had found out about the bank account, but that wasn't an option. “He's struggling with something,” Greg said finally. “Not sure what it is.”

“I know they were very close . . .” I started.

Greg rolled his eyes.

“What?” I asked. “I knew they had some kind of falling out, but I don't know what it was about.”

Greg leaned forward. “I don't know the whole story, but Jesse was smart to stay away from that guy. Jesse is a good guy, and a good cop.”

“And Roger wasn't?”

“I don't know. If Jesse's not telling you why they stopped speaking, you can be sure he's not telling me. But what kind of guy stakes out the house of an old friend? If Roger was a decent person with no ill intent, he'd have picked up the phone and called Jesse. But he sat in his car drinking coffee and watching the house like he was in the middle of some big undercover operation.”

“If Roger wasn't a good guy, wouldn't Jesse expose that if it meant catching the killer? Would he really risk letting a murderer go free?”

“There's a loyalty among cops. I would do anything for Jesse. . . .”

“Not anything illegal.”

He shrugged. “No, of course not. But I'd do whatever I could to protect him.” Greg sighed. “We shouldn't be talking about the investigation. I know we're both a little frustrated to be shut out, but I can't ask Jesse to do things by the book if I'm going to go behind his back.” He put his hand over his police notebook, where I could see the word
Walker
circled. When he saw me looking, he shut the book. “How's the wedding planning going?” he asked.

“Under control. I have to finish my wedding gift, and Natalie is quilting the one from the group, but other than that . . .”

“Cake, band, decorations . . .”

“All figured out,” I said. “Are you bringing a date?”

He smiled. “Kennette is coming into town, so we're going to go together.” Kennette was Oliver's granddaughter. She'd been studying art in London for the last year, but she was coming back for the wedding.

“You guys have stayed in touch?”

“A little. E-mails mostly. She's a great person and she seems to think I'm okay.” He smiled.

Romance was everywhere in Archers Rest these days. “She'd be lucky to have you, Greg.”

“I guess I want what you and Jesse have.”

“I'm not sure what we have at the moment,” I said. “It's not just Roger's murder. Anna is sort of driving a wedge through our relationship.”

“She's not after Jesse,” he said.

I didn't say anything, but I hadn't been thinking of her as competition. Not just because her husband's body had been discovered only two days earlier and he had once been a close friend of Jesse's, but because I'd learned the hard way that if someone wants to stray there's nothing you can do to stop them, and if they want to be faithful there's nothing anyone else can do to make them cheat. I knew Jesse well enough to know that if he wanted to be with another woman, he'd tell me.

Anna wasn't trying to get Jesse for herself. Either unintentionally or out of some unnecessary loyalty to Lizzie's memory, she kept reminding me that Jesse had already found the love of his life, and I wasn't it.

“She's walking around in a daze, I think,” Greg continued. “Full of guilt if you ask me.”

“Guilt about what?”

“She's with that guy.”

“Bob Marshall?”

“No, the other guy. The business partner. He came up today.”

“Brown hair, camel hair coat.”

“Yeah. Jesse said he put up the money for her interior design business and I guess it turned into something more.”

“Is it a motive for murder?” I asked.

“I think it's the oldest one there is.”

S
omeday Quilts was quiet when I opened the door. No customers, no dog, no tiny black and white kitten. No mom, despite the fact that her car was still parked outside the shop. And, oddest of all, no Eleanor.

“Grandma?” I called out. “Are you here somewhere?”

I walked past the register, past the St. Patrick's Day and Easter fabrics that were displayed near the front, past the cutting table, the sale section, past the threads and notions wall. I took a left at the longarm machine, with a quilt in the frame that had been covered with a large piece of muslin. Natalie sometimes covered quilts to keep off the dust, but I knew that wasn't the reason this time. Eleanor's wedding quilt was under there. After a peek at the amazing work Natalie was doing, adding hearts to each block, and feathers in the border, I entered the classroom.

Eleanor and my mother were quietly studying my gazebo quilt in progress. Barney was curled up by Eleanor's feet, and Patch was sitting on a table watching him.

“Didn't you hear me calling for you?” I asked.

Both women looked up at me as if I'd woken them from a spell.

“You guys shouldn't be looking at this,” I said when I saw them with the quilt. “It's your wedding gift, Grandma.”

“Sorry. We came in here to chat and when I saw it, I couldn't help myself,” she said. “It's beautiful. I can't wait to see what it looks like when it's finished.”

There was no point in hiding it anymore and I was dying to share. I moved over to the drawing pad I'd left on the table and flipped through until I came to my sketch. “This is my plan,” I told her. “I think I could make simple embroidered flowers for the base of the gazebo. It would be easier than trying to appliqué really small pieces.”

“Much,” Eleanor agreed. “And you could add some vines up the gazebo. We don't have them in real life, but I always thought it would look pretty with vines.”

She was right, it would be the perfect addition. I quickly added vines to the sketch. Vines that didn't break, of course. I didn't believe in quilt superstitions, but there was no point in inviting bad luck.

My mother was sitting quietly, watching us. She had a small, sad smile on her face.

“What do you think, Mom?” I asked.

“It's lovely,” she said. “You've always been a very talented artist and I think Oliver was right—you really have a gift for fabric, like your grandmother.”

“I'm trying to figure out a way to do this for a living,” I said.

“Making quilts?” my mother asked.

“No. Patterns.”

Eleanor's eyes widened. “Someday Quilts Designs. We could sell them in the shop, and on the website. . . .”

“You have a website?” my mother jumped in.

I laughed a little. “We have one page that shows a picture of the shop and our hours and directions. I've wanted to expand it, but Grandma doesn't want to sell fabrics online and I didn't know what else to put on it.”

“Putting our fabrics online would mean ordering much bigger amounts, changing the inventory frequently, having a shipping department. It's a full-time job,” Eleanor said. “But patterns make sense for our size shop. We could sell those. They would be a huge hit.”

“Do you think?” It had been sitting in my mind for a while, but doing it, really selling patterns of my work, seemed daunting and even a little cocky. “Do you think my stuff is good enough that someone would want to re-create it?”

“Yes!” my mother and grandmother said in unison. Probably the first time they'd agreed since my parents' arrival.

I flipped through my sketchbook, showing them various ideas I had, getting their thoughts on how to proceed. My grandmother, like me, was a detail thinker. She focused on creating the actual pattern, getting good photos of my quilts, price points, and packaging. My mom thought big. She wondered aloud about other websites to sell my patterns, suggested I look into publishing instruction books. She started looking on the Web for the best shows to enter quilts, even finding international ones in places like Ireland and Australia. It was getting a little overwhelming, but it was nice to feel that my mom saw quilting as a real future for me.

“Will you have time for all of this?” Eleanor asked. “With school and your work here, and Jesse?”

“This is her career,” my mother answered for me. “This is something she's building for herself. She shouldn't concern herself with whether it conflicts with a dinner date. Does Jesse leave a crime scene because they have movie plans?”

I laughed a little at that. I was usually at the crime scene with him. As the two women who loved me the most were loudly debating my future, my cell phone rang. “I'll be right back,” I said, grateful for any chance to sneak away from the conversation, but especially grateful that it was Jesse.

“Hey, there,” I said. “I've been thinking about you.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have time to pick up Allie from school and take her home? There's some fruit and cheese, I think, if you guys want a snack. I shouldn't be more than an hour.”

“The investigation heating up?”

“No. Anna wants to go visit Lizzie's grave. I'm not sure it's the right time for that considering what she's already going through, but she says it will bring her some comfort.”

“Oh, sure, I can see that.” And it will remind Jesse of how much he misses his late wife, I thought.

“You don't mind, do you?” he asked.

“Why would I mind?”

“I have a lot of responsibilities, and your mother is right—it's sort of an instant family pushed on you when you still have the freedom to go where you want, when you want.”

“Like the free spirit I was before we met? Backpacking through the jungles and mixing it up with the jet set?”

“That's great.” In order to pick up on my sarcasm he had to actually listen to me, which he clearly wasn't doing. “Listen, Anna is here. Allie gets out at two forty-five and you have to meet her by the north entrance to the school.”

“I know where to meet her,” I said, but he had hung up. I'd picked up Allie from school dozens of times, but this was the first time I'd felt like the babysitter. Never mind, I decided. Anna will be gone soon and life will go back to normal. After Roger's killer is caught, I reminded myself. And the reason Jesse has for paying Roger is explained. And my parents accept that this is where I live, and Jesse is who I want to be with. Then life will return to normal.

But without Eleanor as my roommate and full-time boss.

I
didn't hear the bell to the shop door ring, so I nearly jumped when I heard my name. Bob Marshall was standing in front of me. But as soon as I glanced at him, he walked past me.

“I see a doggy bed but no dog,” he said.

“He's in the classroom.”

“Teacher or student?”

I laughed. “A little of both, usually. Are you here for your sister's gift?”

“Yeah. But she has a lot of fabric, so I don't think she needs more of that.”

I laughed again, which I soon realized seemed rude. “Sorry, it's a quilter's thing. We never have enough fabric.”

He smiled. “Sort of like a thief I once knew. He said each time he stole it was because he only needed a little more money. I asked him how much was a ‘little more' and he said, ‘just the money I don't already have.'”

I laughed. “Same thing, only with fabric.”

Bob looked around the shop, seemed overwhelmed at first, then gravitated toward a group of pincushions that Natalie made. He held a small pear-shaped one toward me. “This is pretty, but it doesn't seem like it's enough.”

“Can I make some suggestions?”

“You can insist. I'm putty in your hands.”

For the next ten minutes we wandered the shop, choosing small items, like charm squares, scissors, hand lotion, and a box of threads. I added a quilt pin from our collection as my gift to his sister. “If you bring these to Cindy's Flowers and Gifts, she'll put them in a gift basket for you,” I said. “It's right near the police station. Have you gone by there yet?”

“Not yet,” he said. But he seemed distracted. The Bob Marshall Jesse described bore no resemblance to the soft-spoken man in front of me. “This was really nice of you, Nell. I forget sometimes how nice people can be.” His voice cracked slightly.

I'd done nothing out of the ordinary, but somehow it had touched him. “Anytime.” I watched him walk out of the shop, another puzzle that seemed just beyond my ability to solve.

“What's wrong with you? I'm always finding you in a dream world these days.” Maggie was standing less than a foot away from me, holding a large quilted tote bag that she dropped on the counter. “Are you sitting down?” she asked me.

I looked down at my feet in an instinctive check. “Nope, standing right in front of you. Do you need to get your eyes checked?”

She waved me away. “I was making a point. You should be sitting down because this will knock you off your feet. I spent half the night on the Internet checking on the lead I got from Bernie, and I found something. I saw you cozying up to Bob Marshall. . . .”

“He was here buying a gift for his sister.”

“Well, your new friend was released from prison six weeks ago after doing twenty-seven months on assault charges.”

“But he was a cop. . . .”

“
Was
is right,” Maggie said. “He was a corrupt cop.”

“And he was Roger Leighton's partner,” I added hopefully. If it were true, then we would have a murderer who didn't have anything to do with Jesse's payouts to Roger, and the whole thing would be over by the time the sun went down.

Maggie looked surprised. “Not unless you know something I don't.”

“He wasn't Jesse's partner at any time, was he?”

“No. But he was involved in a case where Roger was the arresting officer. A drug dealer—a man named Alex Walker.” Walker, the name Greg had circled in his notebook. He was obviously chasing the same leads we were, doing his own shadow investigation behind Jesse's back.

“What about Jesse?” I asked. “Did he have a role in any of it?”

“The arrest happened just two months after Jesse came home to Archers Rest.”

“What do we know about the case against Alex Walker?”

“It was thrown out of court. It seems that nearly half a million dollars that was alleged to have been found at Walker's home went missing.”

“Bob Marshall stole it?”

“Not that anyone could prove. The money was never found.”

“So maybe Roger was his partner, and maybe after Bob got out of prison he came looking for Roger to get his share of the money. . . .” I was getting excited. Maybe we really would solve the case by sundown.

I thought about the money in Roger's bank account, the fact that he was still living in the house he'd shared with Anna, and that for three years after the money was stolen Roger had worked for the police force. If he had access to a large amount of cash, he wasn't living like it.

“You think it might be hidden somewhere in Archers Rest?” I suggested.

“If it is, then it's got something to do with Jesse.”

“Nell!” My mother walked in on Maggie and me. “Please tell me I didn't just hear what I think I heard?”

“Depends what you think you heard.”

“That Jesse's friend was a corrupt police officer who was murdered and Jesse might be involved?”

“I'm just thinking out loud,” I told her.

“I don't know what happened to this town since I was a child, but it's not a healthy place for you to live. Maybe it's for the best that your grandmother is moving away from here, and maybe it would be a good idea for you to do the same.”

“That's an overreaction, Mom. And a complete misunderstanding of the situation.”

Maggie stepped toward my mom. “Patty, don't worry yourself. What's happening now, well, it's a bit of excitement, but really everything's fine. And Nell is really very good at figuring things out. She's brought quite a bit of intrigue to our quilt group.”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Sweeney,” my mom said, “Nell should be focusing on her career plans, not murder investigations or boyfriends or quilt groups.”

“Speaking of which,” I told Maggie, “I can't make quilt group tonight.”

“We'll muddle through.”

“What exactly are you doing tonight, Nell?” my mother asked. “More traipsing around after killers?”

“No, actually, I'm not. We'll talk later about my patterns and getting them on the Web and in other shops. I'd really like your input, but right now I have to go.”

“Where?”

“I have to pick up Allie from school.” Before my mother could say another word, I lifted my hand to stop her. “This is my life, Mom. Mine. And right now I have to go.”

Maggie handed me the tote bag. It was heavier than I expected. “Take this with you,” she said. “There are some interesting patterns in there.” From the look she gave me, I sensed she didn't mean for quilt tops.