Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery

by Martin, Carol Ann

  “He wasn’t being a hermit. He was being a snob,” Marnie said with a smirk. “He always had time for the ladies.”

  I shrugged. “It seems he has an announcement to make.”

  Marnie put down her cup. “If he’s inviting all the townsfolk, it means that bitch Rhonda McDermott and her creepy husband will be there.” She harrumphed. “You go if you want to, but there’s no way I am setting foot in that place.”

  “Aw, come on, Marnie. Don’t be like that,” Matthew said. “I wasn’t planning to, but if Jenny and Della are game, I say we should all go and have a good time. If the McDermotts happen to be there, just ignore them.” Matthew was clearly unaware of the feud between Marnie and the McDermotts. Rhonda and her husband, Philip, owned the Coffee Break up the street. A while ago, after investing her life savings in a Ponzi scheme and being desperate for income, Marnie had approached the McDermotts with an offer to supply their shop with her homemade baked goods.

  The couple had originally expressed interest and asked for samples, and then more samples, and even more samples. They oohed and aahed over every recipe, insisting that they needed the list of ingredients to answer customers’ questions. Marnie had spent days baking, convinced she had found the answer to her money problem. Finally, after weeks of putting her off, they turned her down.

  She was heartbroken. She’d been so certain they would use her services. They had certainly led her to believe they would. Then, a few weeks later, she was devastated to find out that the Coffee Break had suddenly added a number of new items to their menu—every one of which was a blatant copy of a recipe she’d baked for them.

  Whatever hurt and disappointment she had felt was instantly wiped out and replaced with fury. As far as Marnie was concerned, the McDermotts’ action was tantamount to declaring war. But there wasn’t much she could do about getting vengeance.

  But things changed. The moment Jenny announced that she would be opening Tea and Destiny, Marnie insisted on doing all the baking. “I won’t rest until I’ve steered every last one of their customers to you.” Marnie had also convinced Jenny to add “Coffee” to her shop name. “There are more coffee drinkers in this town than tea drinkers,” she’d insisted. Jenny agreed and the shop became “Coffee, Tea and Destiny,” and judging from the rate at which business was growing, Marnie’s point had been a good one.

  “So who wants to come to the party?” I asked. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  Jenny nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll ask Ed to join us. We can all go together.” Ed, otherwise known as Dr. Green, was Jenny’s boyfriend.

  Marnie grumbled, “If I come within a foot of McDermott, I swear I’ll slap that smug look off his face.”

  “Matthew’s right. You should come,” I began, but before I could continue, she stormed out, the door banging shut behind her.

  The room became quiet for a few seconds, until Matthew glanced at his watch. “I have a favor to ask you, Della. Would you mind keeping Winston overnight? I have to drive into Charlotte, and I won’t make it back until sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

  I bent down to scratch the back of Winston’s neck. “Sure I will. Don’t rush. You can pick him up when you come over for dinner after the party.” Winnie looked up at me with soulful eyes. “You and I are buddies, right?” He arched his back in gratitude. I looked up at Matthew. “Why don’t you drop him off for a few hours every morning? Poor thing must be lonely alone with you all day. While you write, you wouldn’t notice if he was scratching at the door with his legs crossed.” I bent down. “You want to stay with me, don’t you, Winnie? You don’t want to be lonely, do you?”

  “I suspect you might be right about that. I get so wrapped up in my work, I totally forget about him. You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course not. Why would I?”

  “In that case, why not? You’re going to stay with Della, Winston.” Winston looked up at him, perplexed.

  I cleared my throat. “Why are you driving all the way to Charlotte?” I asked, hoping the answer would not be “another woman.”

  “I have to meet with my editor and go over a few of the chapters I sent in. They want the book to sound less technical so they can market it to a wider public.”

  Jenny nodded. “That makes sense. Criminology is a hot subject these days.”

  “How do they suggest you make it less technical?” I said.

  He shrugged, looking unconvinced. “They want me to include anecdotes, examples of how different techniques have been successful in catching criminals.”

  I didn’t know much about criminology or even about writing, but it seemed like a good idea. “I can see how that would work. I love that kind of book.”

  He and Jenny broke into laughter. “That, my dear,” Matthew said, still chuckling, “is because you have a thing for chasing crooks.”

  Over the past year I had stumbled upon two crimes, which I had solved for the police. To my surprise, this had brought me a bit of local notoriety. Since then, whatever crime happened to be in the headlines, friends and neighbors made a point of asking my opinion.

  “Hold on a second,” I said defensively. “It’s not like I go looking for them.”

  “How can you say that? The minute you hear of a crime, you’re off investigating,” Matthew said. “You missed your calling. You should have been a snoop. Oh, wait. You are a snoop.”

  My calling was for weaving—I had no doubt of that—but admittedly, I did have a thing for snooping. But when that happened, it was invariably because I was trying to help someone I cared about. Before I could defend myself, he pulled up his sleeve, glancing at his watch.

  “I’d better get going or I’ll be late. Why don’t I pick you both up around five tomorrow? We can all go in the same car.” He gave Winston a pat on the head, me and Jenny equal pecks on the cheek and then took off with a “See you tomorrow.”

  At least this time he hadn’t called me “kiddo,” a habit that drove me crazy. Every time he did, it drove home the point that he saw me as no more than a buddy or a pal.

  I snapped out of my morose thoughts to find Jenny watching me. “What?”

  She smiled. “I wish you’d flirt with him instead of behaving the way you do. No wonder he doesn’t ask you out. But the party might be your chance, so dress sexy and, for heaven’s sake, be nice to the man.”

  “I thought I was being nice to him. Don’t you think so, Winston?” He looked up at me, his expression mocking. “Thanks a lot, Winnie. You can forget about getting any more treats from me.”

  He covered his face with his paws, doing a wonderful imitation of sorrow—what a ham.

  Jenny laughed. “Anytime you’re hungry, big boy, come and see me.” She threw me a teasing look and headed to the back.

  • • •

  The day flew by with a steady stream of customers. Most of them were clients of Jenny’s, but a few paused at my displays on their way in or out. In some cases those pauses translated into sales, and those customers left swinging a bag from my shop in their hands.

  Jenny sneaked over during one of the lulls. “How’s Winnie doing?”

  I glanced at the dog snoring behind my counter. “I swear that dog sleeps all the time. He wakes up only when there’s food.”

  To prove my point, at the word “food,” Winston’s ears perked up and he jumped to his feet, instantly alert. “Go back to sleep, Winnie,” I said. He glanced at me with a wounded look and then dropped onto his cushion. A second later, he was snoring again.

  “Guess what,” I told Jenny. “I had a couple of your clients stop by. I must have had four or five extra sales that way.”

  “That’s great. I know some of my new customers came in after being attracted by your displays.” She smiled. “Isn’t that what I predicted?”

  When Jenny had first approached me with the idea of renting a part of my shop space, her sales pi
tch had been that sharing the space would help increase our sales. “It seems to be working. I’m already seeing a slow but steady increase in my business. If it continues to improve this way, perhaps it won’t be long before I have a little left over after covering my overhead.”

  She gave me a confident smile. “Your shop will do great. I just know it. The weaving classes you advertised for October will bring some new students. And I bet your ads will attract new suppliers and clients too.”

  I crossed my fingers. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  Jenny returned to her shop to tidy up before closing, and I prepared my deposit for the day. Running a craft shop was sometimes frustrating. Apart from making beautiful display windows, advertising in the local media and offering classes, there wasn’t much I could do to attract new clients. There were days when all I seemed to do was watch the door, hoping for customers to show up. Today I felt reenergized. If I was lucky enough to pick up that weaving contract from Bunny Boyd, it would bring in enough income to keep my business financially healthy for a long time. I closed my sales book, tallied the daily sales and placed the cash in a night deposit bag.

  “Come, Winnie,” I called, picking up his leash. “Want to go for a walk?”

  He instantly hopped off the mat and galloped over. I clipped on his leash, called out, “See you tomorrow,” to Jenny in the back, and we took off. Soon we were strolling along Main Street on our way to the bank. Or rather, I was struggling and Winnie was pulling with all his might.

  “Will you please slow down, Winnie? I’m wearing heels, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  He threw me a backward glance that told me he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for me. If anything, he marched on even faster, the brat.

  It was late afternoon—almost dinnertime. The street was quiet. The sun was descending behind the mountain, painting the sky with strokes of pink and gold. At times like this, I knew that moving to Briar Hollow had been the best decision I had ever made. Rich or not, I was happy here.

  • • •

  The next morning, I opened my shop hoping for another day of brisk business. I was not disappointed. Within two hours of opening, I was already out of place mats, and when yet another customer requested some, I had to pull out a set from the window display. But from lunchtime on, business slowed, and from two o’clock on, not a single soul crossed the threshold.

  Jenny came forward, pulling off her apron. “Wouldn’t you know it? I’ve made three fresh pots of coffee, every one of which I had to throw out. Not a single person has come in all afternoon.”

  “You shouldn’t make coffee ahead of time. Why don’t you wait until a customer comes in before making a fresh pot?”

  She grimaced. “Maybe you’re right. But I’m always so worried when I have to make customers wait. What if word got out that the service here is slow? With the McDermotts just down the street, it would be just as easy for customers to go there.”

  “I think you’re doing much better than you give yourself credit for. Marnie’s baking is more delicious than anything they serve—even with their stolen recipes. Marnie bakes heart into her food. If anybody should worry, it’s them, not you.”

  “Thank God for Marnie,” she agreed. She stepped over to the window and glanced out. “It’s dead out there. There’s not a soul on the street.” She looked at her watch. “I might as well go home and get ready for the party. Why don’t you lock up and do the same?”

  I was weaving samples, large tweed patterns made of thick linen thread. Maybe it was optimistic on my part, but I was hoping to have my samples ready to show just as soon as Bunny gave me the word. I wanted to impress her.

  “You go,” I said, throwing the shuttle through the shed a few more times. “I won’t be far behind.”

  “You don’t mind being here by yourself?”

  “I’m not alone. Winston is with me.” At the mention of his name, he popped his head up from the mat I’d moved to the foot of my loom. “You’d protect me if I were in danger, wouldn’t you?” He looked at me as if I had clearly lost my mind.

  Jenny returned to the back. I heard some clicking of glassware and dishware. A few moments later she returned, throwing a lovely handwoven wrap around her shoulders. “I’ll be at your place by five fifteen, in time for Matthew to pick us up,” she said, and the door closed behind her.

  I continued throwing the shuttle and walking the pedals, but the silence lent a spooky feel to the shop. I kept darting worried glances around until, twenty minutes later, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I marched over to the door and peeked out. Up and down the street as far as I could see, the shops showed CLOSED signs in their windows. Was I the only business left open? I flipped my own window sign to CLOSED.

  Winnie and I did the day’s bank deposit and then headed upstairs to my apartment. Just opening the door gave me a lift.

  My new home was as different from my condo in Charlotte as antique is to modern. In the city, I’d prided myself on my Zen-like decor. Everything there had been smooth lines and sharp angles. In Briar Hollow, I had shed my old preferences and replaced them with a desire for everything cozy and comfy. I now lived in an old apartment built during the 1940s. I had replaced all my modern furnishings with the collectibles Matthew had helped me refinish.

  My living room was beautiful. It had inlaid hardwood floors and a working fireplace with an antique mahogany mantel. I’d slipcovered a sofa, added an armchair and a few coffee tables, and the room was complete. For the dining room, I’d picked a small, round white table, and Matthew and I had painted four cane-back chairs to match. As a finishing touch, I’d hung a light fixture with toile cabbage roses above the table—very French country.

  Of all the rooms, the kitchen was my favorite. The first time I’d walked in and seen the old Chambers gas stove, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. And then I’d noticed the farm sink with a drain board, the high cabinets that reached all the way to the ten-foot ceiling, and the black Formica countertops finished with stainless-steel edging. I couldn’t have wished for a more perfect decor.

  When the real estate agent suggested gutting the place and renovating with laminate floors and stainless-steel appliances, I’d been outraged. In hindsight, I probably bought the building as much to save it from destruction as for the long-term investment.

  I filled a water bowl for Winnie, picked up his doggy bed and carried it to my bedroom, where I dropped it in the corner.

  “There you go, big boy. Make yourself right at home.”

  He threw me a grateful look, climbed onto his cushion and promptly closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he was already asleep—lucky dog.

  The phone rang, and I picked it up.

  “What are you doing home at this time of day?” my mother asked, sounding worried. “Is everything all right? I called the shop and got no answer. You didn’t close your shop, did you?”

  “No, Mom. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m still in business. There’s a big party tonight and half the town is going. It was a slow day, so I decided to close early and get ready.”

  There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “I still can’t believe that you left a wonderful career as a business analyst to become a weaver.” This was a familiar refrain. I steeled myself for a long diatribe, but thankfully she changed the subject—to her next favorite one. “But I suppose in this case there is a silver lining. You and Matthew live so close to each other now. Is he going to the party with you?”

  “Don’t get too excited. A bunch of us are going together. It’s not a date.”

  “Still, wear something nice—a dress. How about that beautiful blue dress, the short one? It shows off your legs so nicely.”

  “I’ll wear a dress. I don’t often get a chance to dress up out here.”

  “And wear some makeup too—not just a touch of mascara and lipstick.”

 
“I always wear makeup. You know that.”

  “And flirt with him, for God’s sake.”

  “I’m hanging up now, Mom. Love you. Good-bye.” I put down the receiver and looked at Winston. “How would you deal with a mother like that?” He groaned. “You got that right.”

  Just a few days ago, my mother had reminded me that I was in my midthirties and that if I wasn’t going to listen to my own biological clock, then I should at least remember hers. That she was in her late sixties and wanted grandchildren. Was it just mine, or do all mothers drive their daughters crazy?

  Winston stared back with one eye closed. “You’re the only one who isn’t trying to get Matthew and me together.” He blinked and dropped his head onto his front paws.

  I opened my closet and riffled through in search of the perfect outfit. I wanted to look sexy for Matthew, yet not too obviously so. This was a small town. In these parts, wearing anything other than jeans was considered dressing up. I pulled out the blue dress my mother had mentioned and noticed a small stain. Damn. Hopefully, it would come out with some spot remover. But no time for that now. I returned to my closet. I continued searching until I came across my red jersey dress. It was my favorite because it made me look tall and thin, a real feat, considering my height. I held it in front of me and turned to Winnie, who was snoring softly.

  “What do you think, Winnie? Will Matthew think I look sexy in this dress?” He opened one bleary eye and stared at me, unconvinced. “Come on, Winnie. Help me here.” I hung the dress back up and pulled out another. This one was navy and rather plain, with a turtleneck and long sleeves. “How about this one?”

  This time, he raised his head and barked.

  “Oh, so you think I’ll look better with every inch of my body covered up. I think you’re trying to sabotage my efforts here, big boy. That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want Matthew to fall in love with me.” I returned the navy dress to the closet and picked up the red one again. “So there. That’s what I think of your advice.” Winnie gave a low, disapproving growl, but I stepped into the red dress nonetheless.