Weave of Absence (7 page)

I nodded. “Now do you get it?”

He took another bite of chicken and chewed in silence for a moment. “If it was anybody else, I'd flat out tell them there was nothing to investigate. But I have to admit, you do have an instinct for these things. I'm probably going to regret this, but . . .”

“Thank you. I'm telling you, there's something wrong with the man.”

Suddenly Winston hurtled straight into the
table, trying to look over the top. The next few seconds seemed to play in slow motion. Glasses fell over, splashing wine everywhere. Then the table dipped, and plates, glasses, and cutlery went crashing to the floor.

“Winston!” Matthew said. The dog froze. He studied the mess in silence and then slunk away with his head low. “You should feel guilty,” Matthew called after him. He squatted, picking up broken pieces of porcelain.

I hurried to the kitchen to get a mop. “Don't be upset with Winnie,” I said. “The table is old. I should really get a new one.”

“I'll take a look at it. Maybe I can fix it.” As soon we finished clearing up the mess, Matthew assessed the damage. “I'll swing by with some tools tomorrow and it'll be as good as new.”

“I guess that brings us to coffee and dessert,” I said. As I ground coffee, Matthew brought the conversation back to Bruce.

“Where does this Bruce guy live?”

“He's been staying at the Longview for the last month, maybe longer. I don't know much about him.” I shrugged. “Marnie says he was a successful financial advisor, sold his firm, and came out here looking for a place to retire.”

“Retire? How old is the guy?”

“I don't know for sure, but I'd say he must be around forty-five or so—maybe even younger.”

“Really?” He leaned against the doorway, folding his arms. “I thought you were going to say he
was in his sixties or older. But if he's only in his forties, he's awfully young to be retiring.” He said this as if retiring young suddenly made Doherty more suspicious. He continued. “In my experience, a successful financial advisor will postpone retiring for as long as he can. He'll take on assistants or even partners. That way he can enjoy as much free time as he likes and still keep the money rolling in. Maybe the guy wasn't doing as well as he wants everyone to believe.”

“There's something else too.” I felt like a real jerk for saying this. “Not only is he younger than Marnie by about a decade, but he's handsome. And you know Marnie. She's the salt of the earth, and anybody who gets to know her loves her, but she wouldn't exactly win any beauty pageants.”

“That doesn't mean a thing. Some men like a woman with some meat on her and with some experience.”

“How do you like your women?” I asked. As soon as the question was out, I wanted to bite back the words. Then I reminded myself that everybody kept telling me I should flirt with him. His eyes met mine with a mischievous glint.

“Oh, I don't know. I like them pretty. Pretty is better than ugly. And I like them smart. Smart sounds better than stupid.”

“Very funny. Well, there are plenty of pretty and smart girls around. How come you're still not dating anybody?” Now I knew I was pushing it.

“Maybe because the girl I like isn't available.”
He was still looking at me, but I couldn't read his expression.

“You're in love with a married woman?” I was shocked. When I'd first moved to Briar Hollow, I'd imagined that something might have been going on between Jenny and him. To my relief, I'd soon found out that all they shared was a friendship. If Matthew was in love with a married woman, that would explain why he was still single. And more importantly, why he was taking so little notice of me.

“I didn't mean unavailable in that way. She just doesn't like me the way I like her.” He tilted his head and stared at me. “Why aren't you attached?”

I blushed. “Oh, I guess I'm just too involved with starting my business to have time for love and romance.” I cleared my throat and changed the subject before he could see how his question had rattled me. “About men liking older women, I might agree with you except that I saw the way he made a beeline for Melinda Wilson at that party. And you know how beautiful Melinda is.”

“I still think you could be wrong. Any idea where he's from?” he asked.

“Seattle, according to Liz Carter. She's the one who introduced Bruce to Marnie.”

“He shouldn't be too hard to trace.”

“I'm so glad you'll look into him.”

“Hold on. Don't get all excited. I'm just going to run his name through the system, see if he has a criminal record. And, to be honest, I know this is a complete waste of time. I fully expect him to
come out clean. If it was for anybody else, I would never agree to do this.”

“Thanks. I'll owe you one. And what should I do about the police? You know, about not mentioning that I saw him arguing with Helen at the party.”

“Tell me again what you saw.”

I described the scene, right down to the way Helen Dubois was stabbing Doherty in the chest with her finger while he looked around nervously.

“Maybe he was embarrassed. Being caught in an argument in the middle of a party would be uncomfortable. He would have wanted to put an end to it as fast as he could.”

“Maybe,” I said, unconvinced.

“Don't worry. I promised I'd look into him, and that's exactly what I'll do. What's his surname?”

“Doherty.” I spelled it out for him and he scribbled it on a piece of paper.

“So where's that dessert? I picked pie because I know that's your favorite,” he said, and the atmosphere lightened.

“Wish I could say I cooked it,” I said, chuckling.

He poured the coffee while I served the pie. A few minutes later we settled in the living room and ate in companionable silence. At one point I happened to glance at him and was surprised to find him staring at me with a contented smile. It occurred to me that if he had been sitting next to me rather than across from me, he might have leaned over and kissed me right about now. I
debated moving over to the sofa, and just as I was gathering my courage, he stood.

“Well, that was a pleasant evening, but I think I'd better get going. I have a lot of writing to do tomorrow.” Winston trotted over to him and he bent down to scratch his head. “Want to go home, big boy?”

Winston went into a break dance.
Traitor
. Why did he have to look so happy?

I
was at the store at eight o'clock the next morning, opening my copy of the
Belmont Daily
and in desperate need of a cup of java. If I didn't get one soon, I would go into serious caffeine withdrawal. Hopefully Jenny would be here soon. I glanced at the headlines, expecting to find the usual small-town article—something about a local spelling bee, or maybe a high school football game, but to my surprise, today's big, bold letters screamed
BREAK
-
IN
AT
THE
LONGVIEW
. And underneath in slightly smaller print, T
HIEVES
G
ET
A
WAY
WIT
H
V
ALUABLE
P
AINTING
.

Oh, no
. I knew just the painting they were talking about.
Poor Bunny
. Bunny was a local success story. She was born and raised in Briar Hollow, and then, a couple of decades ago, she moved to New York and became an interior designer. Now she was a nationally known television personality and star of her own decorating show. A few years ago she had come back to Briar Hollow, bought the local bed-and-breakfast, the Longview,
and with her impeccable taste in decor had soon turned it into a profitable business. Then, last fall, she had poured a ton of money into the place, giving it a new identity as an elegant boutique hotel with an adjoining dining room and hiring a top-notch chef. Just a few weeks ago, she'd proudly told me about her latest purchase, an original Grandma Moses that she planned to display in the hotel lobby.

“I think what this town needs is a touch of glamour,” she'd said casually when I'd questioned the wisdom of such an extravagance. “Don't worry. You know Grandma Moses's style. Nothing of hers is sophisticated. Her work is charming in a quaint country way—perfect for Briar Hollow.”

She had misunderstood my concern. I was worried about the expense, not the style. Still, she was right. Briar Hollow was not Manhattan. And Main Street was not Fifth Avenue. Before the Longview's renovations, our best local restaurant had been the Bottoms Up, a combination eatery and bar complete with pool table.

Bunny's acquiring the painting for the Longview had created a lot of local buzz. So much so that half the people in town made a special outing just to dine at the restaurant and look at the painting. And the Longview's new restaurant became an instant success.

All I could say was that I hoped she had insurance. At that moment I noticed some movement at the front door. It flew open and Jenny strode in.

“Did you hear the news?” she said. “Bunny's been robbed. They took her Grandma Moses.”

“I was just reading about that this very minute. Poor Bunny. She must be so upset.”

“I swear, Briar Hollow is becoming as dangerous as any big city—murders, robberies . . .”

“I'd hardly compare our crime rate to that of Charlotte,” I said. “That's one of the reasons I moved here.”

She paused, resting her elbows on the counter. “I know. It's just unnerving is all. I feel so awful for her. I know she loved that painting.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“No, not yet. I tried calling her, but her phone is busy.”

I snatched my cell from my bag and punched in her number. “Still busy,” I said.

“She's probably getting calls from everybody in town.”

“How much was that painting worth? Do you have any idea?” I asked.

“At least a few hundred thousand dollars, I'd say. I Googled Grandma Moses when she first bought it, and let me tell you, her paintings are not cheap.” She straightened. “I have to make the coffee. This robbery means another marathon day of gossiping. I'd better get ready for the crowds.”

“Some people's bad luck,” I said. “As if she didn't already have enough with what happened last year.” The previous fall, Bunny had been engaged to the local multimillionaire. But instead of
becoming her husband, the man was now serving a life sentence.

“I know. Crazy, isn't it?” She headed toward the back, shaking her head.

Soon the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. The bell above the door tinkled again and Marnie came in, carrying her daily delivery of fresh pastries.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said, sounding surprisingly upbeat. And then, winking, she added, “I have something I know you love in here. Apple turnovers. I had a bag of apples that were getting a bit wrinkled. Not good enough to eat raw but perfect for baking.”

“Thanks. That's really sweet of you, but I'd better not. I had dinner with Matthew last night—fried chicken and pecan pie from the Longview.” I patted my stomach. “I'm going to have to let out a few seams.”

She harrumphed as she walked by on her way to the back. “Right. You are so very fat. I wish I was so fat.”

“You're the one with the fiancé, so don't come crying to me,” I said. I was tempted to ask if she'd learned anything about Helen's funeral arrangements, but decided to hold off. The question would only kill her good mood.

“You could have a boyfriend too if only you learned to flirt a bit. Speaking of”—she turned and marched back, dropping her boxes on the counter—“how did your dinner with Prince Charming go?”

Oh, dear. I knew exactly where this was heading. She'd be giving me another of her speeches. Why was everybody so convinced I needed lessons in flirting? “For your information, it went very well,” I said, looking for a way to change the subject. “Did you hear about the robbery? Bunny's Grandma Moses painting was stolen.”

“Really? How awful.” She knitted her eyebrows. “You know, there's been quite a string of robberies lately.”

“That's news to me.”

She nodded. “Oh, yes. They're happening all around Charlotte, in museums, in private homes, everywhere.”

“Right,” I said, remembering. “I was reading about that just yesterday.”

“Bruce left his paper at my place last night,” she said. “I went to bed early and slept for a while, but after doing all my baking I couldn't get back to sleep. Damn menopause. When it's not hot flashes, it's insomnia. So I sat up and read for a while.” I suspected her sleeplessness might have had more to do with the news of Helen's death than hormones. “Seems the cops suspect all those robberies are the work of the same person,” She continued, picking up her boxes. “Well, you and I have nothing to worry about. We don't have anything worth stealing.”

“You're right about me, but from the sounds of it, that flag of yours is worth a pretty penny.”

She looked startled. “It completely slipped my
mind. I was supposed to find out about insuring it. I'd better do that as soon as possible.” She frowned. “But I don't even have an exact value on it yet.”

“The curator said he'd be able to give you at least a rough idea of its value. Call your insurance broker. He'll be able to advise you.”

“Yeah. Right. I know what he'll do. He'll slip me some hugely expensive policy, hand me a pen, and say, ‘Sign here.'” She headed toward the back, looking irate.

“Wait. I want to hear all about your evening with Bruce.” But she had already disappeared behind the curtain.

I returned to the article about the robbery. The painting, it seemed, had been wired, making it almost impossible to steal without triggering the alarm. When asked if the police had any suspects, they had answered with their customary “We're working on it.” I picked up my cell and tried Bunny's number again—still busy. I dropped the phone back in my bag and returned to my project.

With the number of customers who'd come in yesterday, I'd hardly made any progress. I still had about fifty rows to do before I could take this one off the loom. I studied it. The dishcloth would be gorgeous. I'd pulled out the uneven threads until all that remained was perfect. But my misgivings about Marnie's fiancé had erased much of the pleasure of working on her wedding present. In spite of that, I picked up the shuttle and went back to work.

“Here's your cup of coffee,” Marnie said, returning with a tray a few minutes later. I left my loom and joined her. “I know you said you didn't want one, but if you don't eat it, you'll hurt my feelings.” With that she set a plate with an apple turnover on the counter.

“You know I can never turn down your baking,” I said, groaning. “Did you see Bruce last night?” I asked.

“He came over for a quiet dinner at home.” She smiled, and I was amazed to see her twirling a lock of hair, much the way a teenage girl might do. The woman was
so
evidently in love, and she was
so
going to get her heart broken. Her face clouded over. “I was pretty tired. I guess the news of Helen's death hit me harder than I thought, so he went back to his place early. Anyhow, you enjoy your coffee. I'll be right back. Jenny promised to give me a reading today and she's not too busy right now.”

This I did not want to miss. I took another bite from my turnover, grabbed my coffee, and headed to the beaded curtain, hoping to listen in. Jenny shuffled the deck and then instructed Marnie to cut it and pick a card. For the next minute all I could hear was the sound of cards slapping against the table. Then, more shuffling and card slapping.

“Here we go,” Jenny said. Before I could hear more, the front door opened and Margaret strolled in.

“Morning, Della,” she called out. “What's going on?”

I signaled her to be quiet. “Jenny is giving Marnie a reading,” I whispered.

Her eyes lit with sudden understanding. She lowered her voice, “Ooooh. I'm so glad Jenny took our suggestion. It's a great idea.” She tiptoed over and we both strained to hear. I made out some whispering, none of it loud enough to understand.

“I can't hear a thing,” Margaret said after a few minutes. “I'll go grab a cup of coffee and be right back.” She stepped into the coffee shop. A minute later she returned. “I heard her tell Marnie to be careful, that she has a habit of trusting too easily.” She gave me a thumbs-up.

“That's good. I hope she told her to be careful of tall dark-haired men who come bearing engagement rings.”

“That might be a bit too obvious,” she said.

“Perhaps, but she'd better make it really clear. Otherwise, you know Marnie—she'll give it some different interpretation. How did she seem?”

“Hard to say. She was just listening and nodding.”

I strained to hear once again, but couldn't make out a word. “Damn it. Why do they have to speak so low? I want to know what Jenny is saying.”

“Don't worry. Marnie will tell us, probably in excruciating detail.”

I walked over to the counter and took a sip of my now-cold coffee. Margaret followed me. “You saw his behavior at the party, didn't you?” I said.

“Nancy Cuttler was flirting with him,” she said.
“And he seemed to be flirting back. Then she just turned around and fled. It was weird.”

Jenny said she had slipped him a piece of paper, I remembered. And what was Nancy's sudden panic all about? “So that's what happened. I ran into her when I was bringing in more wine.”

“And then Helen Dubois went over to him. At first they seemed to be having a normal conversation, then suddenly she got really angry. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but he looked scared to death. He kept backing away from her and glancing over at Marnie.” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God. You don't think—” She shook her head. “No, that's just crazy.”

“I don't think what?”

“You don't think he could have killed Helen, do you?”

The thought had crossed my mind. But chances were he had nothing to do with it. “For all we know, Helen could have been giving him a piece of her mind for carrying on that covert conversation with Melinda while his fiancée was just a few feet away.”

“I hope you're right,” Margaret said, looking doubtful. “But what if he did? Shouldn't we do something? Say something to Marnie?”

“Tell her what? We have no idea what he and Helen were arguing about. As for him being her murderer, that's pure conjecture.”

And then she repeated the same words I'd been saying over and over. “Poor Marnie. He's going to break her heart. I just know it.”

“That's my biggest fear too,” I said. “If only I could find out what he and Melinda were talking about—to find out if they were really flirting.”

“That's easy. Ask her,” she said, as if it was the most natural suggestion in the world. And then, sensing my incredulity, she added, “Even if she lies, you should be able to read the body language.”

“You're right. Go straight to the source.” I snatched my purse and rummaged through it for my car keys while talking to myself. “I'll remind her that she owes Marnie. Without her, her bakery would have gone under. Maybe she'll fess up.”

Margaret looked surprised. “You mean you're going there right this minute?”

“No better time than the present,” I said. “Bakeries open early. I'll be back before you know it.”