The Drowning Spool (A Needlecraft Mystery) (13 page)

“I’m sure he’s sorry, too,” Phil said in a grim tone that boded ill for Tommy.

“I wonder if it could be true that he doesn’t know who told him about people using the pool at Watered Silk,” said Doris.

Phil gave her a frowning look, clearly annoyed that she wasn’t on his side, but she continued bravely, “Now, you know how it is among a group of people when they’re drinking. They say all kinds of things, tell stories, make jokes, all of them talking at once.”

“But he remembered that one thing,” said Phil. “No details, just that one bit of information.”

“It was more than a bit,” Betsy said. “He remembered the name of the place as well as the fact that people went skinny-dipping in its pool.”

“We used to skinny-dip at the Y,” said Phil, going off on a tangent. “People don’t do that anymore.”

“Not at the Y, anyway,” said Doris.

This time Phil was the one who looked surprised. Doris laughed at his expression. “Or so I’ve heard.”

He laughed then, too, and nudged her with an elbow.

“I still don’t think he’s a murderer, but what are we going to do with the boy?” Doris asked, turning serious again.

“Maybe after he’s been arrested, his memory will improve,” growled Phil.

But Doris turned sad, concerned eyes on Betsy, who knew she wouldn’t be giving up her investigation just yet.

L
ATER
that night, Betsy checked her notes on her conversation with Tommy Shore, thought for a minute or two, then shrugged and dialed Dell Wheatly’s phone number.

The woman who answered was Dell’s roommate, and she called Dell to the phone.

“I don’t think I know you,” Dell said in a faintly angry tone, when Betsy identified herself.

“I’m a friend of Doris and Phil Galvin, Tommy Shore’s aunt and uncle,” said Betsy. “Tommy’s in a little bit of trouble and they’ve asked me to see if I can help.”

“Has he been arrested?” Now Dell’s voice was alarmed.

“No. But he may be. Do you know anything about the trouble he’s in?”

“I—don’t want to say. Maybe you should talk to Tommy,” suggested Dell.

“I have talked with him. He gave me your number.”

“Why did he do that? What have I got to do with it?” Now she sounded truculent.

“I think he wants you possibly to be a character witness for him.”

“Oh, he’s a character, all right!”

“Did you know he was seeing Teddi Wahlberger?”

“Not until he told me he was the father of her baby.” She gave a sad sigh. “But I knew he was seeing someone. You can always tell, y’know?” Another sigh. “So now you want me to say nice things about him, huh?”

“No, I want you to say true things about him. You know Ms. Wahlberger was murdered, and the police are looking hard at Tommy.”

“Yes. You would not believe how scared he is about that. But I’m sure he’s not the murderer. I don’t think Tommy would kill anyone. You should’ve seen how sad he was when his favorite goat was butchered. He hates that part about farming, when the animals go for meat.”

“How long have you known Tommy?”

“Oh, for years and years. Since middle school. He wasn’t good at school. I wonder if he’s not dyslexic or something.He just didn’t get studying, he never learned his times tables, his handwriting was terrible, he still can’t spell. And he’s a bad liar. He’s been drinking too much lately, which doesn’t help. People take advantage of him, they’ve done that for a long time. Once he got arrested because two people he thought were his friends asked him to keep some stuff for them that turned out to be stolen. He agreed because he’s
nice
. He’s sweet and kind to everyone and just
hopeless
. He’ll never amount to anything, I know that. He needs someone to take care of him.” After a pause, she said softly, “Maybe someday he’ll realize that’s me.”

Betsy thanked Dell for talking to her. After they hung up, she made some notes, shook her head, and logged on to the Internet.

She checked her e-mail, replied to an inquiry on the shop’s web site, then did a search for Teddi Wahlberger’s Facebook page. She was pleased to find it had not yet been taken down.

The page was colorful and featured lots of pictures. Teddi made the common young person’s statement that she was not religious
“at all!”
but was very spiritual, especially when in a forest or beside a lake. She believed cats had souls just like humans and dogs. She was touched by any show of compassion or act of kindness—“My friends are SO GOOD to me!” She believed that if more people thought hard about peace, it would happen. She believed that Girls Rule. She liked studly men who were sensitive. She liked dancing to loud music, swimming, long walks, skiing, bowling, and partying hearty (or sometimes “hardy”). New Year’s Eve was her favorite holiday, “more fun than Christmas.”

Looking through the pictures that Teddi had posted, Betsy realized with a start that she had already seen the house Teddi lived in. It was on Third Street, about four blocks from Betsy’s building. A two-story white clapboard, it had a blue-gray roof and sky-blue shutters, and a new wooden deck out back. With her two roommates, Lia (Amelia Perrin) and Frey (Gwenfreya Kadesh), Teddi had held barbecue parties there all last summer, with guests ranging in number from four to over a dozen.

In one photo Betsy saw Tommy, looking younger than ever, wearing the foolish expression of a drunk. His jeans were too big and his Trampled by Turtles T-shirt was faded. He was raising his can of beer in a salute to the woman in the center of the frame. That was Teddi herself, wearing a yellow bikini too small for her lush figure under a short, lacy cover-up. Standing sideways to the camera, she was posing provocatively, one hand pushing up the back of her long blond hair, the cover-up pulled off her shoulders. Also in the photo was a tall, handsome man, well-muscled and deeply tanned, wearing white shorts but no shirt. He appeared to be laughing indulgently at Teddi’s posturing. There were two other young women in the background. One was frankly plump with dark, curly hair surrounding a beautiful face. She was wielding a spatula beside a freestanding charcoal grill, and wearing denim clam diggers and a sleeveless T-shirt with a Las Vegas casino logo on it. The other woman, tall and very slender, had a noble nose and deep auburn hair. Her blue short shorts showed off long legs, her orange camisole a narrow waist. She was smiling at the camera—and presumably at the person taking the picture. There were no captions or tags to identify any of the people, but from other posted photos Betsy was able to identify the dark-haired woman as Lia and the redhead as Frey.

There were other photos of parties held in the house. Tommy was in one of those photos, too; and in the later ones, a skinny-tailed white kitten appeared, at first tiny, then bigger—darkening around the edges into a blue point Siamese. It was usually being smooched by Teddi.

By checking the friends list, Betsy found Lia and Frey, and by clicking on their pictures, she was directed to their respective Facebook pages. She left messages on both, offering condolences on the death of their friend, and asking them as gently as she could to contact her at Crewel World to talk about Teddi.

Betsy clicked away from Facebook and went on to her e-mail, then to some of the blogs she followed, and finally to her books: employee hours, bills paid and due, profit and loss, checking her running inventory, giving a second reading to an e-mail from her financial advisor.

A Kathryn Molineux trunk show was coming. Kathryn’s animal-themed, Asian-styled canvases were hugely popular with Betsy’s customers. She made a note to check how Godwin was registering his usual enthusiasm on the shop’s web site and newsletter, so she could echo or supplement it on her own web site. The company backing the designer had sent an e-mail with pictures that she and Godwin could use in publicizing the event. She chose the wood duck canvas—maybe she could persuade Phil to try needlepoint—and the white heron, whose design of exotic, curving feathers was particularly lovely.

She wanted to talk with Godwin about the shop’s standing offer of a five percent discount to any customer on his or her birthday, and sent him an e-mail about that. When the idea was presented some years back, she worried that most women would not wish to show their driver’s license as proof of their birthdays because it would give away the year of their birth. But it turned out that many customers didn’t mind a store clerk learning their true age, as long as they got their discount. And some customers felt tempted to spend more than usual because of the discount, and their extra purchases often made up for the shop’s loss. Betsy was sure there was an algorithm to figure out who came out better on the deal, customers or Crewel World, but she hadn’t any idea how to compose one, especially if she wanted to factor in the goodwill generated by such an offer. Maybe Godwin could figure it out.

She copied Teddi’s Facebook address and sent it to Jill, asking in the accompanying e-mail if Jill might be able to read something into Teddi’s Facebook pictures that Betsy had missed.

She was undressing for bed when her phone rang.

“Are—are you the owner of Crewel World needlework shop?” asked a young-sounding woman.

“Yes,” Betsy replied.

“Ms. Devonshire,” the voice continued, pronouncing it “Devon-shyre” instead of, correctly, “Devonsheer,” “I’m Frey Kadesh. I lived with Teddi Wahlberger for a little over three years. I don’t think I ever heard her mention your name.”

“That’s not surprising,” Betsy said. “I never met her. But I’ve been asked by a friend to supplement the police investigation into her death. It’s something I do, to help clear a person who’s been falsely or mistakenly accused of a crime. Teddi’s murder was a deeply distressing event, and now there’s been another suspicious death apparently connected to it.”

“There has? Who?”

“A resident of Watered Silk, who may have had information about the person responsible for Teddi’s murder. The police are redoubling their efforts, of course, but now so am I.”

“Oh God, Lia and I are so upset about this! Teddi was such a good, good friend, such a great person! This has been really hard for us!” There was a sound like a sob.

“I’m sure it has. I’m sorry you two are having to suffer all this distress and sorrow.”

“Thank you. The police are doing all they can, I’m sure. Do you think you really can help them?”

“I hope so. But I need to talk to you and, if possible, Lia.”

“I wish I knew what to do,” Frey said fretfully. There fell a thoughtful little silence. “Say, wait a minute,” she said, “I think I’ve heard of you. Someone told me about this embroidery store woman who figured out how a man killed himself and made the gun disappear so everyone thought it was murder. Happened over in Navarre, right? Was that you?”

Well, word certainly did get around. “Yes,” said Betsy.

“Wow. And you really think you can find out who killed Teddi and this other person?”

“I’m going to try.”

“And it would help if you could talk to me about Teddi?”

“You and your other roommate, Lia. I want to get a clearer picture of who Teddi was, what she was like.”

“I’ll have to ask Lia, but I’m sure she’ll say yes. Right now she and I are still roommates, so you could talk to us together. When do you want to do this?”

“When are you available?”

“I don’t want to do it without Lia, so let me ask her and I’ll call you back.”

“That will be fine. I hope to hear from you first thing tomorrow.”

“All right, then, you will. Oh, this will be so great, to be able to help solve her murder. Whoever did this seriously needs to go to prison.”

• • •

L
IA
was much less sure about talking to Betsy about Teddi. She called at around eleven the next morning to say she would sit in on the interview, but her reluctance was obvious in every syllable of their brief conversation. They agreed, however, that it would be best to get on with it as soon as possible. By the time Betsy got off the phone, they’d decided she would visit the women that evening.

“Now we’ll see some progress,” predicted Godwin. “I want to know everything they tell you, all right?” He was an avid follower of Betsy’s cases. “Call me when you get home, especially if you learn something interesting.”

“All right.” Godwin was Betsy’s most valuable employee (and the only one who worked full time), the most knowledgeable, and the one most willing to work long hours and on holidays; and in return, Betsy was willing to keep him up to date on her investigations.

She had a hasty supper with Connor, who gravely wished her success, and offered one of his favorite Americanisms: “I’ll leave the light on for you.”

Like most houses in the prosperous little town of Excelsior, the house Teddi Wahlberger had shared with Lia Perrin and Frey Kadesh was in good repair. A two-story clapboard in a neighborhood of similar houses, its small front yard featured a huge elm tree that was probably twice the age of the house. A winding brick walk led to the shallow front porch. Betsy stood for a few moments in front of the bright-blue door, painted to match the shutters, before pressing the doorbell.

The door was opened promptly by a young woman, tall and slim, her dark auburn hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. She was wearing a thick purple pullover, tight green jeans, and jeweled sandals. Her ears were studded with numerous earrings. She was easy to recognize from the photos on Teddi’s Facebook page.

“Hello, Ms. Kadesh. I’m Betsy Devonshire.”

“Hi. Call me Frey. Come on in.” Frey stepped back, opening the door wide.

The living room was a recent remodel, laid with diagonal hardwood flooring, or perhaps a good laminate, and open to the kitchen with a breakfast bar between the two rooms. Two brightly patterned carpets interrupted the lines of the boards, one of them in front of an oversize squashy sectional upholstered in dark gray and covered with many pillows in bright solids and prints. It looked opulent and comfortable. In front of the sofa stood a coffee table with chrome legs and a gray stone top. Beyond the sofa were French doors leading out to a big, dimly seen snow-covered deck.