Deadly Threads

by Jane K. Cleland

  “You must have been over the moon,” I said.

  Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “I was way over the moon!”

  “What happened next?” I asked.

  “Gretchen came and joined the conversation. I said something about McCardell’s use of closures, something … I don’t remember. Whatever it was, it was lame, and I knew that sooner or later, Gretchen would realize it.” She paused and shook her head. “I’m sorry about Gretchen, Josie, I really am—but at that point, I had to do everything I could to minimize risk. That was the first time I’d ever shot a gun. The recoil really hurt my shoulder.”

  Good, I thought, hoping her shoulder was still sore.

  She continued talking. “After that, I decided that my best hope, and realistically my only option, was to do nothing.”

  “You didn’t do nothing, though. You burned her condo down.”

  “That was later, after her memory of the car started coming back.” She met my eyes, and I could feel her intensity as if it were heat. “I had no choice, Josie. I couldn’t risk it.”

  I was revolted and infuriated in equal measures. I felt my lip raise into a snarl. I wanted to strike out at her or walk away. Instead, I glanced at Ellis. He nodded, encouraging me to continue. I looked at Ava and saw no guile. Evidently, she thought her attempts at killing Gretchen were logical and understandable, and, knowing me to be a reasonable woman, she was certain I’d agree.

  “How did you get the gun?” I asked.

  Ava made an “Oh, please” noise. “My roommate’s from Maine,” she said, “so I know what their driver’s licenses look like. Photoshop did the rest. I figured that the license didn’t have to be good enough to fool an expert; it only had to be good enough to fool a salesman who’d be way more focused on earning a commission than he would be on my ID.” She shrugged again. “I was right. It was easy.”

  “Why did you use the name Nancy Patterson?”

  “I thought it was pretty, and I knew it was fairly common.”

  She selected a name for her killer persona because she thought it was pretty, I thought.

  “Why did you use Riley’s name when you called the sorority about getting a replacement button?”

  “I was afraid they would only give out information to members,” she replied.

  As suspected. “Did you have any trouble tracing the button to the sorority?”

  “No. I only pretended.” She paused, then added, “I didn’t want to lie to you, Josie. I’m sorry that I had to.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Why did you alter Dr. Walker’s fax?”

  “That was such an opportunity! When I saw that a pearl rosette button was on one of Bobby’s grandmother’s coats, it was the answer to a prayer. I knew that if I could get my hands on the coat, I could remove the button, and that would be far less risky than ordering a replacement—and as long as the fax didn’t show a button, no one would ever know. I went through every garment in the collection looking for that coat. Do you remember? You came in while I was looking.”

  “Right,” I said, recalling how frightened I’d been listening to the little rustlings. “You were listening to your iPod, so you didn’t hear me call your name.” I paused. “Did Bobby know you’d lost the button?”

  “Yes … I had to tell him. I knew he’d wonder if he saw I wasn’t wearing it. I said I lost it at work, but since the police seemed to think that it might have been worn by the killer, I was afraid to tell.”

  “And he believed you.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Of course.”

  Wow, I thought, wondering if it was true and deciding it probably was. There’s no fool like an old fool except a fool in love. I recalled how I’d known something was off with Bobby the day I’d stopped by the Blue Dolphin to offer my condolences. Apparently, what I’d witnessed was the age-old battle between mind and heart: Bobby had wanted to believe Ava, but inklings of doubt had begun to edge out blind trust.

  Ellis interrupted my speculation by waggling his fingers at me.

  I took a breath as I pushed thoughts of Bobby aside. “Was it hard to do—change the fax, I mean?” I asked.

  “Not at all. Everyone was busy. No one noticed.”

  “When you discovered that the coat wasn’t among Riley’s collection, what did you do?”

  “I ordered the replacement from Blackstone’s. I went to a mall jeweler first, thinking they’d be less likely to remember me, but they don’t do custom work. I’d heard you recommend Blackstone’s to Jack.”

  “Then you heard that I thought the coat was in the trunk in the attic.”

  “Right, and I knew I had to get the trunk open before you did.”

  “You used the hatchet.”

  “I tried so hard.” Tears welled in her eyes, and her handcuffed hands curled into fists.

  “What about Bobby? You couldn’t just take the button from his grandmother’s coat, could you?”

  “He wouldn’t care.” She seemed to read skepticism in my expression, because she added, “Bobby adores me, Josie. He’d never question my motives.”

  “What about Ruby Bowers? Didn’t it bother you that he was seeing her, too?”

  “Ruby and Bobby? What a joke!” She paused, looking at me. “I’m not lying, Josie. Ruby was nothing to him but a ticket to the big time. Bobby and I … we’re so close. We’re soul mates.”

  I felt my stomach clench. Soul mates, I thought, disgusted. I swallowed and forced myself to continue.

  “Where did you meet Bobby, anyway?” I asked.

  “Here. It was my first day on the job. We both knew right away.”

  I needed to ask about her killing Riley, but I didn’t know if I could bear to listen to her sick rationalizations. She was waiting for me to comment, and from her expression, I could tell she expected me to share her joy.

  “Why did you go to the tag sale room to talk to Riley? I mean, you knew how upset she was, and you knew Bobby wasn’t ready to get off the gravy train. What made you do it?”

  She nodded, eager to explain. “I’d thought of a way for her to save face. She could use Bobby’s move to New York as an excuse for their breakup. I told her lots of people break up because they grow apart, that there was no shame in it. I begged her to leave her money in the business. I said that just because their marriage was ending didn’t mean the restaurants weren’t a good investment.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She laughed at me. She told me I was pathetic. Can you believe it? Me. She told me I was pathetic. Ha.”

  “That must have been horrible to hear.”

  “It was beyond humiliating. It was unendurable. Riley taunted me on purpose, then swatted at me as if I were a gnat.” She paused again. “What could I do? I had no choice.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I pushed back.”

  “What happened then?” I asked.

  She looked off into the distance, and I thought I’d lost her, but from her tone as she continued talking, I could tell she was back in the tag sale room with Riley.

  “She grabbed my necklace,” she said.

  “Did it break?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She looked back at me. “That’s when the button fell off. I’d looped it through a silver chain.” She smiled, a sad, small smile. “I can’t believe I lost it. When I put it on, I swore I’d never take it off.”

  “What happened after Riley tore your necklace?”

  Ava kept her eyes on me, and I could tell she was daring me to dispute her version of the event. Her gaze was searing. “I didn’t mean to kill her … you know that, right?”

  “Right,” I said, only because in order to keep her talking, I had to. I felt no guilt fibbing to her.

  “If she’d agreed to give Bobby up, none of this would have happened,” she said. “It was her own fault.”

  I nodded, hoping she’d believe that acknowledgment implied agreement.

  “It was so easy,” she said, “and quick. I grabbed the ends
of her scarf, twisted them, and pulled. She was dead in less than a minute.”

  “You killed her.”

  “I had to.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  She raised her chin. “You’re right. I wanted to … but that doesn’t change the facts—it was her own fault.”

  I was out of questions. I couldn’t stand to talk to her anymore. I’d been right about what happened to Riley, but I took no pride in that because I’d been wrong about who’d done it. I felt awful that I’d misjudged Becka and Kenna so completely.

  I was also crushed by Ava’s betrayal. I’d trusted her. I’d planned to hire her full-time. I felt like a fool. I hadn’t watched my back, and now I was paying the emotional price. I looked at Ellis and shook my head, one shake.

  Ellis stepped forward. “Let’s go,” he said to Ava.

  Ava jumped, startled. It was as if she’d forgotten she was in police custody.

  “No!” she protested. “I’m not done.”

  They ignored her protests, and within seconds, Detective Brownley had her in the back of Ellis’s SUV.

  Just before the detective closed the door, Ava leaned out and called, “Tell Bobby where I am, will you, Josie? Thank you!”

  Her words echoed in my mind long after the door was shut behind her and the car had pulled away from the curb.

  How, I wondered, could I have been so wrong about her? It was as if up were down and back were front. If I couldn’t trust my judgment, I thought, I might as well pack it in.

  * * *

  “You okay?” Wes asked, stepping out from behind the tub.

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the place the car had been. “No.”

  “How did you know it was her?”

  I didn’t reply.

  Wes stepped in front of me, blocking my view. I looked up and met his eyes. He waited for me to speak. He must have recognized my upset, because when he spoke again, his voice was different, softer and more compassionate.

  “Want a cup of coffee or something?” he asked.

  I nodded, wanting to sit down, wanting warmth. Wes led the way to Hot Buns. It felt good to follow along and not to think.

  As soon as he pushed open the bakery door, I felt some of my tension drop away. The place was redolent of fresh-baked cinnamon buns, and the scent reminded me of my mother’s kitchen on Fridays, her regular baking day. Cinnamon was the smell of comfort, the aroma of love.

  Most of the bakery’s business was takeout, and there were only two tables. Both were empty. I chose the one farthest from the counter, and I let Wes wait on me.

  I’d known what was coming, but I was shocked nevertheless. That Ava was soulless was the only way to explain her matter-of-fact recitation of murder, arson, and attempted murder. Soullessness accounted for the way she’d blamed her victims, too. I had no context, not yet, for the fact that I’d welcomed her into my world. I’d taken a monster under my wing.

  “How did you know it was Ava?” Wes asked, after he’d placed a pot of Earl Grey tea and an apple croissant in front of me.

  “Never overlook the obvious,” I said. “When I had an easy time tracing the button, and Ava said she hadn’t been able to get to first base with it, the obvious conclusion was that she was lying. When the police couldn’t find the phone Bobby used to break up with his mistress, the obvious conclusion was that he did it in person—or that he didn’t do it.”

  “You think he didn’t break up with her for real?” Wes asked, sounding shocked.

  I shrugged. “You heard her. It sounded true to me.”

  Wes soft-whistled. “Not nice.”

  “He’s not even close to nice, Wes. He’s a creep. A louse. A rat. He’s a jerk.”

  “So you figured out Ava killed Riley and tried to kill Gretchen just because she screwed up researching the button and there was a chance Bobby didn’t break up with her?”

  “Those, plus two other things: The trips to Honduras occurred during Hitchens vacations—and Ava is a grad student at Hitchens. Also, in Ava’s first interview with the police, right after Riley’s body was discovered, she said she’d admired Riley’s McCardell jacket that afternoon in the parking lot, but she couldn’t possibly have seen it then. Riley’s trench coat was buttoned to the neck, and she wore a scarf—the scarf Ava used to kill her. She had to have seen Riley without her coat on, and that could only have happened later in the day.”

  “Which cooks Ava’s goose, for sure. What’s going to happen to Bobby, do you think?”

  I finished my tea and pushed back my chair. “My guess? Nothing. He’ll hold another press conference and throw her under the bus.”

  “You’re probably right,” Wes agreed.

  “If he does, I want to be there. Can you get me in?”

  Wes grinned. “You bet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Wes called at eight the next morning. Bobby had scheduled a news conference for noon, and Wes had snared me a press pass.

  Due to the incredible wave of media interest, the news conference was being held in the Sheraton’s Grand Ballroom. I got there early and sat in the last row, by the exit. I hoped to be practically invisible. All the major news and Hollywood gossip organizations were represented, along with specialty publications like New York City Restaurateur. By noon, there was standing room only.

  At ten after, Bobby entered the room from a service door without his entourage and walked to the podium. He scanned the room and waited for people to quiet down. He looked older than he had the last time I’d seen him, and worried.

  “I’ll read a brief statement,” he said, “then answer your questions. I asked you all here today because I know your readers and viewers and listeners have questions. They are as shocked at Ms. Marlow’s assertions as I am, and they want to know the truth about my role in this tragedy. I want to set the record straight as to what I did and didn’t do.”

  He took a deep breath, then continued.

  “After listening to nonstop rumors that I was unfaithful, Riley decided to find out for herself if they were true. Through her attorney, she hired a private detective to investigate. He succeeded in finding evidence of my wrongdoing. Riley saw the evidence and instructed her lawyer to immediately file for divorce and change her will. Then she called me.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Getting caught was a real wake-up call. I knew I didn’t want to lose Riley, and I told her so. I begged her to forgive me, to give me another chance. I promised her that I’d change, and she agreed.”

  Bobby paused, and I could see rock-hard muscles pulsing in his neck and jaw.

  “Make no mistake, Riley was a saint. I am the sinner. Riley agreed to forgive me.”

  He cleared his throat again.

  “I immediately ended my relationship with the young woman I’d been seeing, Ava Marlow. I would now like to anticipate some of your questions. First, I didn’t tell the police about Ava because I was in shock from losing my beloved wife. It never occurred to me that a woman I perceived as sweet and kind could possibly be capable of murder.” He raised a hand as if he expected a barrage of questions. “I know, I know … some of you are thinking it’s impossible that I was that stupid—but it’s true. I was exactly that stupid when it came to Ava. I believed what she told me. Now, of course, I see the truth. Ava isn’t sweet, she’s manipulative and narcissistic. She would do anything to achieve her ambition.”

  He paused and inhaled deeply.

  “Second, I suspect you’re wondering why I gave Ava my grandmother’s button. I could have told you that I did it simply because it was handy, but the truth is more complicated than that. I wanted the gift to mean something special to her. That I didn’t properly value my family heirloom is another thing of which I am deeply ashamed.” He paused to sip water. “I’ll take your questions now.”

  As Bobby answered the reporters’ questions, I observed him closely. His eyes reflected his jumbled emotions. I could see his thoughts and feelings as clearly as if t
he words “mortified,” “horrified,” “shocked,” and “crushed” were tattooed across his forehead. Ava was right—she and Bobby hadn’t been having a casual fling; he’d fallen as deeply in love with her as she had with him. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite, because from the way he spoke to the camera, not the audience, I could tell that the tattoo artist would have inked the word “calculating,” too.

  Bobby kept his cool throughout the hour-long ordeal. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t purposefully evasive. He stated that he hadn’t seen or spoken to Ava since her arrest and had no intention of ever seeing her again. He had no idea whether she was cooperating with the authorities or not. While his protestations of ignorance, shame, and embarrassment seemed genuine, I remained skeptical that his motives were pure. Bobby was a good talker with a lot at stake. Regardless of the truth of the matter, from what I could see, his apparent candor was working its magic. Even Wes, as hard-nosed a reporter as I’d ever met, was nodding as he scribbled notes.

  “I didn’t want to believe it,” Bobby said, responding to a question about whether he’d thought that Ava was capable of murder. “Frankly, I’m still struggling to believe it.”

  When the pace of questioning slowed and I sensed an end in sight, I stood up. I hated being the center of attention, but there were questions that needed to be asked. Bobby looked at me, confused, and I could tell that he hadn’t known I was in the room.

  “Why didn’t you tell the police that you gave Ava one of your grandmother’s buttons?” I asked.

  Several reporters skewed around in their chairs to see who was talking, then turned back to listen to Bobby’s answer.

  “It was a private gift,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I didn’t see the need to tell them.”

  “Why not? As soon as they told you that a button had been found at the murder scene, you must have known it was hers.”

  “That’s not true. I still don’t know it’s hers. Thousands of buttons were produced. None can be traced to an individual.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, “but she told you she lost it at Prescott’s, in the room where your wife was murdered, right? And you still didn’t tell the police?”