Weave of Absence (11 page)

“Oh, Marnie. I hate to say this, but you look awful.” Her face fell and I added quickly, “I'm talking about your injuries.”

“What is it with everybody? All I need is some peace and quiet, which I'm not going to get if you insist on jabbering. Now leave me alone. I'm perfectly all right.”

“You call this perfectly all right?” I slipped off my sweater. “Now tell me how this happened.”

“How do you think it happened? You don't imagine I threw myself down the stairs, do you? It was an accident.”

“A bit touchy, aren't we?” She scowled and looked away. “Can I get you anything?”

There was a long pause, and then a smile quivered at the corner of her mouth. “Well, since you're already here, you might as well go get a couple of lava cakes out of the freezer and pop them in the oven. If I'm going to be laid up in bed, I might as well eat chocolate.”

I grinned. “That's the best idea I've heard all day.” I hurried to the kitchen and turned on the oven to 425 degrees.

“And you can add a scoop or two of ice cream while you're at it,” she shouted. “By the way, the cakes are in the walk-in freezer.”

I entered the new space, taking in the expanse of stainless-steel counters, the six-burner restaurant stove, and the wall of ovens. One, two, three . . . Wow. Four ovens. I looked around and spotted a metal door with a small window, almost like a porthole on a boat. That had to be the freezer. It looked huge. I pulled it open and almost jumped out of my skin when a loud beep sounded. An alarm on a freezer? I'd never heard of that. I looked inside. There were shelves upon shelves of frozen baked goods, enough to keep Jenny's coffee shop supplied for a busy week and still have some left over. I could have come here this morning instead of running out to Melinda's.

I located the tray of lava cakes, chose two, and carried them to the old kitchen, where I popped them in the oven and set the timer at eleven
minutes, just long enough that the inside would warm but not cook. Deciding that a pot of coffee was definitely called for, I went in search of beans and a grinder. By the time the java was ready, the cakes were served, each with a scoop of ice cream. I put everything on a tray and carried it to the bedroom.

“What the heck is that beep on the freezer? It nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh, I had that put in. It's supposed to beep only when the door is left open longer than thirty seconds. But for some reason it also beeps when I open it. I never got around to having it fixed.”

“Let me plump your pillows,” I said, placing the tray on top of the dresser. I helped Marnie get comfortable and then handed her a plate.

“I had no idea you had so much food on reserve in the freezer. You wouldn't by any chance have reserves of handwoven goods too, would you?”

“Sorry, but I can't keep up with your demands. Weaving isn't exactly like making cupcakes, where all I have to do is double or triple a recipe.”

“I wish,” I said, sitting at the foot of the bed. Except for a few moans of satisfaction, we ate in silence.

Then Marnie put her plate on the bedside table and said, “So, tell me the truth now. Why are you here?”

“I told you why. I didn't want you to be by yourself when you can hardly move. By the way, you never told Jenny how this”—I gestured toward her injuries—“happened.”

She studied me as if trying to read my mind, and then said, “You think Bruce had something to do with it. You think he shoved me down the stairs?” To my surprise, she sounded more resigned than upset. She sighed. “I guess that's the price that comes with having friends who care.”

“That's the nicest thing you could have said.” I went over to her and wrapped her in a bear hug.

“Ouch! Ouch!” she cried.

I jumped away. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—”

She chuckled. “I'd always heard that love hurts, but I never thought to take it quite so literally.” She continued in a more serious tone. “I think I overreacted a bit yesterday. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry too. It was my fault as much as yours.”

The phone on her bedside table rang and she gestured for me to get it. I handed it to her.

“Oh, hi, Liz,” she said into the receiver. “No, I haven't spoken to my insurance agent yet, but I left him a message and I expect to hear from him today. Yes, I'll let you know the minute I have it settled.” She chatted for a few more minutes, then said good-bye and handed the phone back to me. I nestled it back in its cradle.

“Just as I expected,” she said. “She spoke to the mayor and he was very happy with her taking over the librarian's position until they hire someone.”

“It was nice of her to offer.”

Marnie nodded. “She's doing it for Helen, of course.”

“Have you heard anything about her funeral arrangements?”

“Actually, her body was sent to Charlotte for the autopsy, and the police are still waiting for the medical examiner's report. I might organize a simple service for now, and then arrange for the burial later. Who knows how long they keep bodies in these cases.”

“Good idea. It could take a long time. This is a murder investigation. They have to make certain they gather every last bit of evidence before they allow interment.”

The phone rang again. This time it was the insurance agent.

“I'm so glad you called,” Marnie said. She explained about her flag, and then, sounding shocked, she said, “How could you know about it? I just found out myself yesterday.” She was quiet for a bit. “In today's
Belmont Daily
? Really?” She pointed at the newspaper I'd left at the foot of the bed.

I picked it up. To my surprise, right there, on the front page the headlines announced,
LOCAL WOMAN LENDS VALUABL
E PIECE OF HISTORY T
O LIBRARY EXHIBIT
. The article went on to explain how Marnie Potter owned a family heirloom, namely an antique flag valued at hundreds of thousands of dollars. Marnie was described as a generous patron of the library, lending this flag for a period of one week, beginning the following Monday. There was a general invitation to the public to come by, followed by a plea for donations to help repair the roof.

Marnie was still on the phone, looking none too pleased. “What do you mean, it's going to cost me more?” She listened for a moment and then snapped, “I have no idea who could have leaked this to the paper.” After a sharp good-bye, she slammed the phone into the cradle.

“Can you believe this? He said that because of that article, people now know I own the flag, so I have to either get an alarm system installed or pay about ten times the normal amount of insurance.” She grabbed the paper from my hands and perused it. “Who the hell could have blabbed to the newspaper?” she mumbled to herself.

“The only person I can imagine is Liz Carter. She's organizing that exhibit. The whole purpose is to attract as many visitors as they can. I'm sure she never thought that bringing attention to the flag might cause you a problem.”

“That's the problem. She never thought,” Marnie said. “I don't know why I agreed to let that woman borrow it. I have a good mind to call her right now and give her a word or two.”

“Before you do that, why don't you call a security company and find out how much an alarm system might cost. It might be less than you expect. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to take precautions. After all, you're a woman living alone.”

“Do you have an alarm system?” she asked pointedly.

“Er, no. But now that we're talking about it, I think I'll get an estimate for my place too.”

“Really?” Just as I'd hoped, my considering a system for my place suddenly convinced Marnie that she should do the same. “Maybe you're right. I'll look into it.”

Now that she seemed calmer, I tried again. “So, tell me exactly how you fell down those stairs?”

“It was an accident. Honestly. We had dinner at the Loft in Belmont.” I knew the restaurant. A trendy place, it was situated on the second floor of an old manufacturing plant and decorated in a modern industrial style, with stainless steel lamps hanging from a black-painted ceiling that was crisscrossed with rusty metal pipes. The tables and chairs were metal. The floor was worn wood. The kitchen was clearly visible in the back of the cavernous room behind a glass wall. And the menu was enormously expensive. “The staircase was dark, and I'd had a bit too much to drink.”

“You don't normally drink much,” I said.

“I know, but yesterday we were celebrating after finding out how much my flag is worth. If I sell it, I might have enough money to last me the rest of my life. I wouldn't even need the life insurance policy anymore.”

“Did you say as much to Bruce?”

“Yes, but he thinks it would be silly to cancel the policy now—even though we're still within the cancellation period. We would get all our money back and have no penalties. But if we wait until next week, it'll be too late.”

“So, you lost your balance?”

“I think so,” she said, sounding uncertain. “All I know is one minute I was walking down, my hand on the railing, and the next thing I knew, I was bouncing down the stairs, bumping and banging every part of my body along the way.”

There was one more question I had to ask, even knowing that it was likely to upset Marnie again. “Where was Bruce during this time?”

“He was right there with me. He was so worried, my poor sweetheart. He ran down the stairs, and when he saw how sore I was, I thought he was going to cry.”

I'll bet he was
.
But not because she was sore.

My cell phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I snatched it from my purse and glanced at the call display. Matthew, at last.

“I have the picture,” he said without preamble. “And it's just as we feared. Bruce Doherty is an alias.”

“I'm with Marnie right now,” I said. “Are you bringing it over?”

“I'll be there in five.” The line went dead.

“Who was that?” Marnie asked.

“Matthew. He's bringing something he wants to show you.”

“What is it?”

“I'm going to let him tell you.”

I picked up the plates and coffee cups. I carried them to the kitchen and rather than return and face Marnie's questioning, I hid there until the bell
rang. I opened the door to a grim-looking Matthew who held a brown manila envelope in his hands.

“She's in her bedroom,” I said and led the way through the living room.

I let him into the bedroom and stepped in after him.

“What's wrong?” Marnie asked. “Why does everybody look so glum? I'm not sick or dying. I'll be like new by tomorrow.”

“I have something I'd like you to look at,” he said, opening the envelope. He pulled out a couple of photocopies and handed them to her. Puzzled, she studied them.

“Am I supposed to know these men?”

“I contacted the Washington State Investment Board and this is the picture they sent me of the real Bruce Doherty. I'm afraid the person you know as Bruce Doherty has been using this man's identity.” He pointed to the picture of the older man.

She frowned, staring at the photo in her hands. “But that can't be. I saw his business card. Last night he left his wallet on the table when he went to the washroom, and I peeked in,” she said in a defeated tone.

I came closer and pulled a chair to the edge of the bed. “Does that mean what I think it means?” I asked. “You already had some suspicions?”

Her chin quivered, but she held on to her self-control. “Not exactly. But with all the grief you
were giving me about him, I just—I don't know—wanted to check for myself.” She stared down at her hands. “I guess that means Bruce is a con artist. What did he want from me? I don't have any money. Why didn't he go after some rich old woman? Why me?”

“I don't know,” Matthew said.

“That life insurance policy he made me take. I named him as my beneficiary. You don't think—”

“I suggest you call your insurance provider and cancel that policy as soon as you can,” he said.

“And let Bruce know you did it,” I added. She blinked back tears and nodded.

“So what happens now?” she asked.

“There's nothing much we can do. I would like to report him to the police,” Matthew told her, “but unfortunately, lying is not against the law. Neither is carrying other people's business cards.”

“I don't ever want to see him again,” Marnie said. All at once, her tears came bursting forth. I wrapped my arms around her, but she pushed me away. “I don't want anybody's pity. I should have known better. Imagine, a good-looking man like that, falling in love with a fat old lady like me. What was I thinking?”

“Marnie, don't talk like that. It could have happened to anybody,” I said, handing her the box of tissues from the bedside table.

“Right,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “If you don't mind, I think I'd like to be by myself right now.”

“Are you sure? I could stay, maybe prepare you some lunch?”

“No, you've already done enough. Just go. Both of you.” She sounded angry as much as hurt. And I couldn't blame her. Matthew and I had been the bearers of the worst news.

“Sure,” I said. “I'll give you a call later, see how you feel.”

“Fine.”

“But before I go,” Matthew said, “let me ask you, does Bruce have a key to your house?”

She shook her head. “I was about to give him one, but I never got around to it.”

“That's good,” he said. “If anybody drops by, don't answer the door. Call Della or me.”

She nodded. “He called a little while ago and said he was going to come check on me this afternoon. See how I was doing. He asked if he could borrow my key and make a copy of it, so he could drop in on me at any time and make sure I was safe.” She harrumphed. “And I thought that was sweet.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Good grief, I can't believe how stupid I was.”