Weave of Absence (4 page)

“D
ead,” the older officer said. He was a rugged man with black hair and eyes. He stood and raised his eyes from the body to me. “I'd say strangled, by the looks of it.”

From the quick glimpse I'd had of Helen's bloated purple face, I'd already surmised as much, but hearing it from the mouth of an official suddenly made it real. A wave of nausea washed over me and the floor shifted. I grabbed the wall for support, taking long, deep breaths.

“Whoa. Careful there. Maybe you should have a seat before you keel over,” the second officer said. She was a pleasant-looking blonde with intelligent eyes. She guided me to the kitchen, where I wouldn't have to look at poor Helen.
Thank goodness
. She pulled out a chair at the table for me and then sat down opposite me.

“That's how the killer got in,” she said, as if to herself. I glanced at where she was looking. The sliding door to the backyard was not quite closed. A sliver of an opening remained. She bent over
and checked the handle and lock. “Shit. Anybody could have come in. It's broken.” She stood. “Hey, Harrison,” she called, “come look at this.” Her partner rushed in, and she pointed it out. As he continued to inspect it, she sat down again and retrieved her notebook from her shirt pocket.

“I'm Officer Lombard, by the way,” she said.

“Della Wright,” I said, struggling to keep control of my emotions.

She nodded. “I got your name from dispatch.” She poised her pencil to take notes. “Can you tell me what time you got here?”

“I must have gotten here at . . .” I glanced at my watch. “It must have been close to nine thirty. I knocked and knocked, but she didn't answer. I could hear music inside, so I knew she had to be here. I started getting worried. That's when I peeked through the living room window, and . . . and—” My voice broke and I wiped away a tear. “I just saw her last night. I can't believe . . .”

“You say you saw her last night. Where was that?”

“I was giving a party, a bridal shower for a friend of mine who's getting married. Helen was one of the guests.” She jotted a few words into her notebook.

“Dispatch said you called at nine twenty-two, so you contacted them almost as soon as you got here?”

“I—I guess so. I couldn't have been knocking more than a few minutes.”

“You say you were worried. Any special reason?”

“I could hear music, and I'd been knocking—hard—for a few minutes. I couldn't imagine that she didn't hear me.”

“Was the victim expecting you?” Hearing her referred to as a victim hit me again, and I had to swallow a few times before answering.

“I was giving Helen weaving lessons,” I said. “She wanted me to look at some yarn she'd bought. She wasn't sure it would work for the project she was planning and needed my advice.” I sighed. “Poor Helen,” I said under my breath for the umpteenth time.

“So the deceased was expecting you.”

I avoided answering by asking a question of my own. “Do you have any idea how long she's been dead?”

“The coroner will be able to tell.” If that was the case, they might never solve this murder. They were likely to be on the wrong track from the start. I must have made a face because the officer peered at me questioningly.

“Something wrong?”

I scratched at a dried fleck on the table. “I know Dr. Cook. He's a good doctor, but not a great coroner.” She watched my nervous fingers and I pulled my hands into my lap.

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

“Maybe I shouldn't mention this, but he's just too nice. He refuses to believe that not all people
are good. I've only lived here for a little over a year, and I already know of two cases where he pronounced the deaths as natural, only to find out later that they were murders.”

She twiddled her pencil between her fingers. “I wouldn't worry too much. I doubt in this case he'd make any mistake. The victim was clearly strangled.”

“Poor Helen,” I said again.

“You own the weaving store on Main Street, don't you? Is that where I can reach you if I have any other questions?”

“Dream Weaver, yes.” I gave her both my business number and my cell number.

The interview came to an end, and I left the house just as Dr. Cook arrived. He nodded as he walked by, carrying his old-fashioned medical bag. The poor man looked harried. I imagined he'd feel even worse in about two seconds.

I climbed into my Jeep, feeling despondent. Helen might not have been a close friend, but her death was still upsetting. All the more so since I had been the one to discover her body. I had moved to Briar Hollow to escape the big city, in search of peace and quiet. If a person could be murdered in Briar Hollow, was there anywhere in the world that was safe?

I rammed the stick shift into drive and headed back to the store, nearly going through a red light at the only intersection in town.
Whoa
.
There's
no point in my ending up dead too
. A few minutes later
I swung the Jeep into the alley behind my building and pulled to a stop. I climbed out, pausing for a steadying breath before going into the shop.

It was only a few minutes past ten o'clock, my regular opening time. Marnie would probably already be in, and she could read me the way Jenny read tea leaves. And Helen had been one of her friends. I couldn't just blurt out the tragic news. As soon as I opened the door, Winston came bouncing up, wagging his tailless butt in joyful exuberance. He threw himself at me.

“Hey, Winnie.” I rummaged through my pocket and found a lint-covered doggy treat. He snapped it up in midair and trotted back to his cushion, munching with satisfaction.

“There you are,” Marnie said with a smile. “Where did you disappear to?” I hadn't noticed until now, but since Marnie had met Bruce, her mood had greatly improved. When I'd first moved here, she's been known as the local grouch—her way of camouflaging her too generous spirit, as far as I was concerned. But I had a feeling that her recent pleasant disposition was about to take a dive.

“How was your breakfast date?” I asked, in search of a way to tell her about Helen.

“Oh, it wasn't a date. It was just breakfast.” Even though she smiled as she said this, I had the impression that something was bothering her.

“Hey, is something wrong?”

“Of course not. What could be wrong?” She
gave me a smile that was too bright, which only made me more suspicious.

“Come on, Marnie. You can't fool me. I know you better than that. Something is clearly upsetting you. Is it something to do with Bruce?”

She glowered. “Oh, it's nothing. At least I hope it's nothing. For some reason, Bruce got it in his mind that Briar Hollow is not the right place for him to retire after all. He was trying to talk me into moving farther south.”

“That's rather sudden. I thought he loved it here. Did something happen to make him change his mind?”

“Not that I know of. Yesterday, Briar Hollow was the most wonderful place in the world. Now, this morning, he can't wait to get out of here. Anyhow, what can I do? I hope he changes his mind again and decides we can stay here.” She crossed her arms and seemed to suddenly notice my discomfort. “Are you all right? You're looking awfully pale.”

“I'm fine,” I said, not very convincingly, and her frown turned to concern.

“You're so white. Maybe your blood sugar is low. Let me get you something to eat.”

“Don't go.” I struggled to find the right words and ended up just blurting it out. “I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Helen is dead.”

She just stood there, frozen. Maybe she hadn't heard me right.

“What? That can't be. She was fine last night.”
Her face fell slowly, as if she was still waiting for me to jump up and announce that I was just joking. “She's dead? But how?”

“She was killed. I'm so sorry, Marnie.”

“Killed. You don't mean . . . murdered?”

“I'm afraid so.”

She felt for the seat of the chair behind her and collapsed into it, probably paler than I'd been. “Helen—dead.” Tears rose to her eyes. “But what happened? How?”

I couldn't bring myself to tell her she had been strangled to death. “I'm sorry, Marnie. I know she was a good friend. Do you want me to get you something? A cup of coffee? A muffin, maybe?”

“Do the police know who did it?”

“I don't think so.”

“How did you find out?”

“I happened to go by her place this morning, and when she didn't answer—”

She cut me off, horrified. “Are you telling me you found her? Don't tell me any more. I don't want to know.” She pulled herself out of the chair. “No wonder you look sick. Here, you sit. I'll get you a coffee.”

I must have been having a delayed reaction, because I began to shake. It started with my knees, but pretty soon I was trembling all over. “Thanks. But any more caffeine and I'll be vibrating like a jackhammer.”

She hurried toward the back of the shop on wobbly legs. Winston stared after her, looking confused.

“It's okay, boy.” I threw him a treat and he snatched it in midair. “Go back to sleep. Marnie will be fine.” I hoped I was right about that.

I could have gone to pick up a muffin myself, but I knew my friend well. Keeping busy was her way of coping. Two minutes later she was back, Jenny and Margaret on her heels. From the expressions in their eyes I knew she had already given them the bad news.

“You're still as white as a sheet,” Marnie said. “Here, I brought you something to eat.” She handed me a coffee and set a plate of muffins on the counter. “Cranberry-orange, your favorite. It'll make you feel better.”

“I'm all right, Marnie. Don't worry about me. Here, why don't you sit down?” I hardly thought eating would help in this case, but I picked a pastry if only to satisfy her, and broke it into small pieces. Meanwhile, she was struggling to keep from crying.

“I still can't believe it.”

Jenny gave me an I-told-you-so look. “And you said I was crazy when I predicted something bad was going to happen,” she said in a low voice.

“You knew Helen was going to be murdered?” Marnie asked, her eyes round with shock. She had always been a strong believer in Jenny's ability to divine the future. “And you didn't warn her?”

“No, of course I had no idea Helen would be killed. If I'd known, I would never have let her go home by herself. All I had was a premonition that something bad was going to happen.”

Margaret looked about to add something, and froze. For one terrible moment I was certain she was about to tell Marnie about how we mistrusted Bruce. I gave her a fierce look and shook my head imperceptibly. There couldn't be a worse time than now to tell her something like that. She had just lost a friend. To my relief, Jenny broke the tension.

“You know me,” she said. “I get feelings, but they're generally vague.”

Marnie stared at her. “I get feelings too, you know. And I get the feeling right now that you three are hiding something from me. Will one of you please tell me what's going on?”

We were saved from having to answer when the bell tinkled and two of Jenny's regulars walked in. They marched over to the counter like women on a mission.

“We just heard about Helen Dubois,” said the first, a dark-haired woman with a shade of orange lipstick my mother wore decades ago. “Is it true? That you found her?” It never ceased to amaze me just how fast news—especially tragic news—got around in this small town.

“It was very upsetting. I can't bring myself to talk about it. I'm sure you understand.” I wasn't about to let myself be maneuvered into a gossip session.

“Oh, how perfectly awful for you,” said the second woman, this one a silver-haired lady wearing three strands of pearls. She wasn't going to give up so easily.

Luckily, Jenny took charge. “Hello, Agatha, Norma. Marnie brought in some homemade scones this morning, and I remember how much you like them. How would you like a cup of fresh coffee to go along with that?”

“Oh, er, that would be lovely,” the dark-haired woman said, sounding disappointed. They followed Jenny to the coffee shop, throwing backward glances over their shoulders.

“I guess we'd better be prepared,” Marnie said, watching them walk away. “It's going to be a busy day. Nothing gets business hopping like a local murder.”

“Are you sure you want to stay? If you prefer to go home, I'll understand.”

“No. The last thing I want is to be alone. I'd have nothing to do but think. I'd rather keep busy.”

“Are you sure? People will be in all day, wanting to hear the details. They'll want to talk about her, share memories. That might be too much for you.”

She raised her chin. “It'll be better than being alone.” She picked up the phone. “I'll give Bruce a call. He always knows how to make me feel better.”

I busied myself tidying up the displays, all the while lending a discreet ear to her conversation. After telling him about Helen's death, all she said was “yes,” “no,” and then her tone took on a happier note. “Really? You mean it? See? I knew you'd feel differently if you gave it a bit more thought.”

She hung up. “Bruce changed his mind about moving away.”

“He did? I'm really happy for you.” She joined me at the armoire and pulled out a stack of hand towels and began refolding them. I kept an eye on her as we worked. I caught her tearing up a few times, but she just blinked away the wetness.

In my short time in this sleepy little community I'd learned that any death—especially a murder—always hit the townsfolk hard. Most of them had lived here all their lives. They felt protective of their own, and when one of them became the victim of a crime, everyone shuddered, wondering who among them could be the culprit. Marnie was holding on to her emotions for now, but I knew she'd fall apart the second she was alone.