Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery

by Martin, Carol Ann

  As if on cue, Marnie hefted herself off her seat. “I’m heading out to do that shopping you wanted,” she said. She counted on her fingers. “Two pounds of beef chuck, two cups of pearl onions, one pound of cap mushrooms, garlic, beef broth and potatoes. Am I forgetting anything?”

  I must have looked confused because she called over her shoulder as she headed toward the door, “I’ll give you a call from the grocery store. If I’m forgetting anything, you can tell me then.” The door closed behind her and Mrs. Anderson and I were alone.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  “I know you turned me down when I asked you before, but I’m hoping this time you might feel differently.” I waited for her to continue. She took a deep breath. “The blackmail has started again,” she announced.

  My eyes widened. She continued. “Whoever took the pictures from Philip’s studio has picked up where he left off. I got this in the mail this morning.” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out an envelope. It was addressed to her with a printed label, the generic stick-on type used in laser printers. She opened the envelope and handed me the note.

  The message consisted of three lines of pasted words cut from newspapers and magazines. It read: “I have the pictures. For ten thousand dollars I will give them to you instead of to the newspapers. Get the money ready and I will contact you with further instructions.”

  I looked into her frightened eyes and my heart went out to her. The poor woman was terrified.

  “It came yesterday morning. I got a call last night with instructions to drop off the money tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  She looked near tears. “I’m to meet this person in the park behind the church at eleven o’clock tonight. He warned that if anybody else came along, he would send the pictures to the newspapers right away.”

  “You heard the blackmailer’s voice? You’re certain it was a man?”

  She hesitated. “It was difficult to say. The voice was deep and raspy, but it sounded like somebody changing his voice.”

  “Could it have been a woman?”

  She looked taken aback. “You think a woman might be behind this?”

  “I have no idea whether it’s a man or a woman. I’m just looking at all the possibilities. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

  She shook her head. “None. The only thing I can tell you is, if my husband ever finds out, it will kill him.” She closed her eyes suddenly and wavered on her feet as if she might faint.

  “Mrs. Anderson, are you all right?”

  She swallowed and pulled herself up. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t understand what you think I can do. If this person told you to come alone—” And then it hit me. “You want me to go in your place?”

  Her eyes watered. “I know I have no right to ask you—”

  Call me crazy, but all at once, I did want to go in her place. “What were the instructions?” I asked.

  “I’m to sit on the bench at the edge of the park behind the church and wait. When the blackmailer sees me, he’ll give me the signal to leave the envelope on the bench and walk to the opposite side of the cemetery. I’m to wait there until he picks up the money, makes the drop and leaves. As soon as he’s gone, I can pick up the pictures.”

  I knew very well I shouldn’t get involved, but I felt compelled to help the woman. “You and I are the same height,” I said hesitantly. Her eyes brightened with hope. I continued. “He’ll never be closer than about twenty yards, and in the dark he won’t be able to see your face any more than you can see his.” I was using “he” as she was, but I suspected the blackmailer was none other than Mrs. McDermott, which was another reason I wanted to go. The woman might be a blackmailer, but I was convinced she wasn’t dangerous.

  “I can’t tell you how much I would appreciate it.”

  I thought of the nice dinner I was planning for Matthew. I thought of the snuggling and kissing I was hoping to do on the sofa in front of the fireplace. If I timed things right, I could still spend a nice evening with him. I’d just have to cut it a bit short. And if I went, I might not see the blackmailer’s face, but I’d at least see his figure. I’d know whether it was a man or a woman. All at once I made up my mind. “I’ll do it,” I said suddenly.

  “Thank you. Thank you.” She opened her purse and riffled through it, pulling out two envelopes. “This one is for you.”

  “I can’t take your money,” I said, handing it back.

  “I insist. There’s five hundred dollars in there.”

  I shook my head. “Please consider coming back and shopping at the store if you like anything. We don’t know that I can help you yet.”

  “It’s a deal.” She handed me the other, thicker envelope. “This one is in exchange for the photographs.” She repeated the instructions. “And remember, he will leave the photos on the bench. Don’t forget to pick them up before you go. Do you understand?” I nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and left.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, I was filled with panic. What had I just done? I had actually agreed to meet someone alone and in the dark. And that person was certainly a blackmailer and possibly a murderer. But even as I berated myself, I knew I wouldn’t change my mind. Somebody had to take a chance if this murder was ever to be solved. And if I was right, this might just do the trick.

  The phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  It was Marnie. “Do you have that beef bourguignon recipe in front of you?”

  I opened my drawer and shuffled around until I located the piece of paper on which I’d jotted it down. “I have it.”

  “Good. Now read me the ingredients.” I did, and then she said, “Got it. I’ll get everything you need and I’ll stop by my house for a couple of frozen lava cakes. All you’ll have to do is pop them in the oven for seven minutes. That and a scoop of ice cream and Matthew won’t stand a chance. He’ll be yours for eternity.” She hung up.

  Unfortunately not for eternity, it seemed, since I already had another engagement at eleven o’clock tonight.

  Chapter 14

  “Don’t worry,” Marnie was saying. “I’ll help you every step of the way—except with the flirting,” she added. “You’re on your own with that.”

  It was a quarter to three and we were in my kitchen.

  Jenny had knocked on Margaret’s door herself, begging her to come back, and the girl had relented. Now she and Jenny were minding both shops while Marnie helped me prepare Matthew’s favorite meal. As soon as it was in the oven, we’d both hurry back to the shop.

  “Preparation will take twenty minutes at most,” Marnie promised.

  She lined up the ingredients and pointed to the onions. “The first thing you do is parboil the pearl onions so that you can peel them more easily.”

  She might as well have been speaking Chinese. “Parboil?”

  She stared at me, incredulous. “Oh, boy. I have a feeling this might take a long time. But don’t worry. I’ll be gone by the time Prince Charming shows up.”

  “You’d better be gone earlier than that. Jenny will mind the store, but what if she has customers?”

  “I have an idea,” she said. “I’ll call you from downstairs and walk you through the steps. If you have any problems, I can be here in a second.”

  She threw off her apron and hurried back downstairs. A second later my phone rang. It was Marnie. “Okay, first thing you do is—”

  Other than Winnie sniffing around and constantly getting in my way, things were going along great. I threw him a small piece of meat, which he gobbled up in one gulp, and placated, he retreated to his cushion. I cooked on.

  An hour later, my beef bourguignon was braising in the oven and already filling the kitchen with a wonderful aroma.

  “I can’t believe I did it,” I gushed. “And it wasn’t even that co
mplicated.”

  “Maybe for you,” Marnie grumbled at the other end of the line. “But I came pretty close to a heart attack about a dozen times.” I laughed. “I hope you know how to make mashed potatoes,” she continued.

  “I know how to peel them. I know how to boil them and I know how to mash.”

  “Thank God for small favors,” she said. I could almost hear the eye roll in her voice. “Then you don’t need me for that.” The phone went dead. It wasn’t a second later that it rang again. “Okay, here’s how you make perfect mashed potatoes.” She gave me a list of ingredients to throw in, salt and pepper, butter and chives. “And my secret ingredient, sour cream. The trick is to mash, add a bit of sour cream and mash again. Keep doing this until you get a nice and creamy consistency. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Then you do the seasoning—just a little at a time and then taste. Keep adding little by little until it’s just right. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Of course I can do that. Now, good-bye.” This time I hung up.

  An hour later, the potatoes were peeled and ready to put on the stove. Marnie’s lava cakes were in the refrigerator, the instructions for preparing them on the counter. I had nothing to do for the next hour and a half but make myself beautiful.

  “Want to help me pick a dress, Winnie?” He clambered to his feet and followed me to the bedroom. I pulled dresses from the closet, laying them out on the bed. “How about this one?” I held the sleek black knit dress in front of me.

  Winston growled.

  “You don’t like it? I agree. It’s way too fancy for a simple dinner at home. I don’t want to look as if I’m trying to seduce him”—even though that was exactly what I wanted to do. I put it back on its hanger and pulled out a blue wrap dress with a V neckline. “How about this one?” Winston stared for a moment and then barked. “And we have a winner,” I said. “You’re getting good at this.”

  I hurried to the kitchen, checked on the dinner and then took a shower and dressed. At five o’clock Marnie popped in.

  “I just want to make sure you’ve got everything under control.” She opened the oven, lifted the lid and put it back down. “It’ll be done by seven, seven thirty. Now, remember. You add the pearl onions and mushrooms no more than a few minutes before serving. Otherwise they turn to mush.”

  “Got it.” I wished I felt as confident as I sounded.

  “By the way,” she said on her way out, “Bunny Boyd called. She wanted to know if your order of yarn had arrived yet.”

  “She what?”

  Marnie smiled. “You told me to be nice in case you changed your mind, and that’s exactly what I did.”

  “Great. The one time I think someone deserves a good talking to, you don’t.”

  “Sugar pie, you have to learn to affirm yourself.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. I told her you left her a message yesterday, and when she pretended that she never got it, I repeated it to her word for word, without giving her a piece of my mind.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said that unless you place that order today, you can forget about the contract.”

  My eyebrows froze somewhere near my hairline. “She did, did she? Fine. I don’t even want her stupid contract.”

  “Don’t get yourself all riled up. Right now you have to think nice thoughts so that you can be in a good mood when Matthew arrives.”

  “You’re right. I can already feel my blood boiling.” Unless I put my mind on something else I would be tense all evening. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Now, do you need any last-minute help with anything?”

  I glanced around. Everything in the kitchen was done. The dining room table was set. Cheeses were already mellowing on the counter for appetizers. I shook my head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no. Everything is done. I made dinner, and it’s all under control.”

  Marnie nodded. “Just don’t forget how to flirt, and you’ll be perfect.” She headed toward the foyer. “See you tomorrow, cupcake.” Suddenly I had nothing more to do but wait—and be nervous.

  At six o’clock, Matthew buzzed from downstairs, and I let him in. He came up, taking the steps two at a time and carrying a bottle of red wine in one hand and flowers in the other. He handed me the bouquet.

  “Pink roses. Oh, Matthew, I love them.”

  “There are lilies and asters in there too,” he said. “I thought you’d like them. They reminded me of you somehow.”

  “They did?”

  He didn’t answer, bending down to pet Winston. “Hey, boy. Did Della spoil you too?” He stood back up. “Where do you want the wine?”

  “How about you open the bottle in the kitchen.” He trailed after me and made appreciative noises as I checked on dinner.

  “It’s not every day I have a beautiful woman cooking me my favorite meal,” he said, rummaging through the drawer for a bottle opener.

  I had already cooked and mashed the potatoes following Marnie’s directions. I had tasted them and they were perfect. They were now sitting in a pot on top of the stove. All I would need to do was pop them in the oven to warm up at the same time I added the pearl onions and mushrooms to the stew.

  “Everything will be ready in an hour. In the meantime, we can have wine and cheese in the living room.”

  He looked around. “I’m impressed. You don’t even look nervous.”

  “Why should I be nervous?” I said, thankful he couldn’t hear my heart thumping against my ribs. I opened the cupboard, grabbed two glasses and handed them to him. He poured and carried them to the living room. I followed with the tray of crackers and cheese.

  I checked my watch. I’d planned everything down to the details. I had forty-five minutes to relax. Then, at six forty-five, I would complete the last step and serve dinner at seven. I would pop the lava cakes in the oven at seven thirty and serve them at seven forty-five. At eight thirty we would move to the living room again and sip our wine until around ten. With any luck, there might be a bit of canoodling during that time. And then I would have to make some excuse—exhaustion or something—and Matthew would leave early enough for me to change into jeans and make it to the park before eleven.

  We sat. “How’s your book coming along?” I asked, determined to take Marnie’s advice and get Matthew to talk about himself. Easy enough since I was interested in his life.

  “It’s coming along. I’ve been working on inserting anecdotes, the way my editor suggested, and I have to admit, she knows what she’s talking about. The book is a lot less dry. I think even people in the industry will like it better.”

  “That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to read it. You’ll have to sign my copy.”

  He laughed, and the way he looked at me told me Marnie was right. The more interest I showed in him, the more he seemed to like me.

  Soon, the timer I’d set for the beef bourguignon rang, and I excused myself, added the pearl onions and mushrooms, put it back in the oven for a few minutes, along with the mashed potatoes. Fifteen minutes later, we sat down to eat.

  “This is every bit as good as your mother’s,” he said between bites. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was hiding in your bedroom right now after having cooked it herself.”

  I laughed. “Go check for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  Lava cakes were the perfect dessert. By the time dinner was over, I was basking in the glow of success, made all the more pleasant by the two glasses of the smooth merlot Matthew had served me. Everything had gone perfectly. I had even flirted. Marnie would have been proud of me. Now we were back in the living room. Matthew sat across from me, studying me through golden eyes.

  He got up and refilled both our glasses and then walked around the coffee table toward me. For once I hadn’t put my foot in my mouth.
I dared believe that he was going to sit close to me, maybe even wrap his arm around my shoulders. In a few minutes we would be kissing.

  Suddenly he tripped. “What the hell?” He had regained his balance. Now he stared at the object on the floor—my purse. Uh-oh.

  It lay open, with a pile of hundred-dollar bills—ten thousand dollars’ worth of bills—spilling onto the floor.

  He tore his eyes away from them and looked at me. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

  I scrambled for an answer. “I—I was going to tell you.” That was a complete lie, and from the tightness of his mouth, I could tell he already knew as much. “It’s not mine. It’s blackmail money. Mrs. Anderson’s payment in return for those pictures of her with Mr. Whitby.”

  He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I told him. “Please don’t be mad at me. She was so desperate, Matthew. I felt sorry for her. I couldn’t say no.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring down at me, his eyes ablaze. “I can’t believe—I take that back. I am not in the least surprised. I should have known you would do something like that.” He shook his head in frustration. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’d be putting yourself in? If the blackmailer also happens to be the killer, you could end up with a bullet through that pretty head of yours.” At least he’d called me pretty—sort of. “I absolutely forbid you to go.”

  My eyebrows bobbed. “You forbid it?” Now I was starting to get angry. “You have a lot of nerve thinking you have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do. Who do you think you are?”

  His jaw hardened, and his eyes darkened. “You’re right. Only somebody close to you would have the right to worry about your safety. And God knows you and I are anything but close.” He turned to Winnie, who was watching, puzzled, from the corner. “Let’s go, Winston.”

  Winnie jumped up and scampered after Matthew. The door slammed shut behind them.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. I had done it again. I had spoiled the perfect opportunity to set this friendship on fire. Judging from the way he’d looked at me before leaving, I wasn’t sure I even had his friendship anymore.