Forget Me Knot (A Quilting Mystery)

by Mary Marks

  My words hung in the air like the particles of a bomb after an explosion. I’d spoken out loud the terrible truth this family worked so hard to keep hidden for three decades. Will Terry’s mouth fell open and he staggered backward for a moment, too stunned to speak. Then he turned to Siobhan. “What have you been telling her?”

  “Your wife told me nothing. Claire told me through her quilts. She sewed everything in her quilts using Braille. I imagine she wanted to make sure that somewhere there would be a record of what happened to her. Of how she was repeatedly raped by you when she was just a child. Of how you got her pregnant and then forced her to give up her child.”

  Will’s face turned frigid. “Get out of my house, you fat kike, or I’ll have you thrown out.”

  Kike. The anti-Semitic slur sent icy shards into my heart. This man was a typical narcissist with no regard for other human beings whatsoever. He was cruel and arrogant and probably not used to people standing up to him. I’d managed to push his ugly buttons.

  But calling me fat? That was war. I leaned forward, hands on my hips. “Listen, you pathetic little pile of monkey puke. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were behind your daughter’s death and the theft of her quilts. Who had a better reason to want to keep the world from knowing the truth about the incest and pregnancy?”

  He glanced at Siobhan, who was still crying. “I’d never kill my daughter.”

  “Oh no? Claire wrote all about the incest in her quilts. In details I imagine you’d do anything to keep secret.”

  Will waved his hand dismissively. “Until Siobhan engaged your so-called services, I had no idea Claire might have used her quilts in that way. My wife never told me about Claire’s messages.” He paused and said in a slightly softer voice, “The love of my life was gone.”

  My skin crawled as I remember what Claire wrote in her quilt: He told me I was the love of his life. If he was still calling her that, had he still been sleeping with her? “This new baby she carried—was this one yours as well?”

  Will remained silent, and Siobhan stopped crying and looked up sharply.

  “I’m sure you didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Claire was four months along, which tells me she intended to keep this baby. So killing her would solve the problem.”

  “It wasn’t my baby! Claire cut me off over a year ago after she went into therapy with that quack Godwin.”

  Siobhan was an armed missile as she jumped up and ran at her husband. She clawed at his face with her carefully manicured red fingernails, forty-five years of fury blazing in her eyes. “Bastard! You bastard! You swore to me you ended it after the boy was born. I should have known!”

  Will grabbed her wrists and threw her down on the sofa. Then he stepped toward me, with blood trickling down his cheeks. “You will regret this.”

  I hoped he couldn’t see my heart pounding in my throat. “I doubt it. The police know all about you. I made sure they did. You touch me now and they’ll be crawling all over your scrawny pedophile neck.”

  Someone coughed in the open doorway. We looked over. Jerry Bell stood there. I could tell Will didn’t recognize him. He snarled, “What do you want? This is a private conversation.”

  Jerry looked at me and my heart sank. “Jerry, honey, how much of this did you hear?”

  “Enough.” His eyes were swimming as he glared at his grandparents.

  Will glared back. “Who are you?”

  Jerry walked into the room and over to Will Terry. “Your son.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Will Terry fell into the nearest chair, Siobhan started to wail again, and Jerry just stood looking at both of them. What would they say to each other? I decided I didn’t want to know. Enough was enough. I left quickly, closing the door behind me.

  On my way to rejoin my friends, I pulled out my cell phone and left a message for Detective Beavers. “I know you told me not to tell anyone, but I couldn’t help myself. The cat is out of the bag. I told the Terrys about the secrets I read in Claire’s quilts, and Jerry Bell overheard everything. So now he knows, too. You have to get those quilts away from Will Terry before he destroys them.”

  By the time we got back to Lucy’s house, my head was throbbing and every muscle in my body ached. The confrontation with the Terry family caused my fibro to flare up. I dug a Soma and a migraine tablet out of the small cloisonné pillbox I carried in my purse.

  The antique box came from imperial China and featured a small peach-colored lantern surrounded by tiny pink peonies on a turquoise background. My grandfather found it in an antique store and gave it to my bubbie on her birthday, and she used it for many years. I caressed the design gently with my finger before putting this precious keepsake back in my purse. Then I took a gulp of water and threw my head back to swallow. Bumper purred and rubbed against my ankle.

  Joey walked into the kitchen. “Your alarm system is in, Aunt Martha. Me and Richie straightened the mess up a little, so you might find things in the wrong place, but at least they’re off the floor.”

  I hugged him. “Joey, you didn’t have to do that.” But I was secretly relieved I wouldn’t have to clean my ransacked house while suffering such pain. Whatever mistakes the boys made, I could put right tomorrow. I smiled. “All I want to do now is go home and fall into bed.”

  “I’ll follow you home then and show you how to work your new alarm system. You’re being monitored by All City Alarm Company.” Joey grinned. “I know a guy. He gave me a really good deal.”

  I picked Bumper up. “Great. I’ve already said good-bye to your parents. Just let me put this guy in his crate and gather our things and I’m good to go.”

  “Don’t forget the gun.”

  “In my suitcase.”

  On the way home, Bumper started yowling again. “Poor little guy. First your mommy gets killed, then you get adopted by me, then you get kidnapped overnight, then you go to live at Lucy’s house, and now you’re coming back home with me again. Poor kitty. I promise you this will be the last disruption in your life. From now on, it’ll be just you and me.”

  I pulled into my driveway a few minutes later and as soon as I turned off the motor, someone tapped on my car window. Sonia Spiegelman. How did she manage to appear so fast? She couldn’t even wait until I was out of the car? I opened the door and got out, still angry she took Bumper home with her the night I was arrested. I could barely remain civil.

  “Hello, Sonia.” I refused to look at her. I turned my back and yanked out my suitcase and Bumper’s crate a little too hard, hoping she’d take the hint and leave. She didn’t. When I turned around, she blocked my way.

  “Hello, Martha.” She put a worried look on her face as transparent as a politician’s promise. “Have you been in jail all this time?”

  What an idiot. Like I’d tell her anything? The entire Northern Hemisphere would know in about ten seconds.

  I looked over her shoulder and pretended she wasn’t there as I tried to walk forward, but she stayed put.

  “I haven’t seen you around for a few days, but we noticed a lot of activity at your house. We called an emergency meeting and activated the patrol.”

  Sonia had organized a harmless but zealous neighborhood watch group that sometimes patrolled the streets at night. They even used walkie-talkies and wore matching T-shirts proclaiming they were the “Eyes of Encino.”

  I took a step forward, but she persisted. “The police came back here the day after you were arrested, but none of us could get them to say what was going on. Just what happened here? We’d all like to know.”

  I sighed. Conversation with Sonia was unavoidable. “Yes, Sonia. The bomb squad has been working like crazy to remove all the ordnance I have hidden in my basement. They’re having particular difficulty disarming the ground-to-air missiles, but I think they’ve got them all.”

  While I talked to Sonia, Joey picked up my overnight bag and Bumper’s crate and carried them up the walkway to the front door. I followed him with Sonia still chattering to
my back. “I’m glad to see you know this young man. I saw him earlier at your house and didn’t know whether or not he was the one who broke in. I was waiting to see if I should call the police.”

  I caught up to Joey.

  He shook his head and grinned. “Ground-to-air missiles? Dude!”

  I looked back. Sonia was already talking on her cell phone. “The nosy neighbor who stole my cat right after I was arrested.”

  Joey unlocked my front door and turned to a new white keypad on the wall, beeping urgently. “I gave you a temporary code, Aunt Martha. I chose the number of guys on a pro football team, fifty-three, and entered the number twice. So you just press five three five three and then press ‘Enter.’ You can easily change the code. Just read the manual I left on the coffee table.”

  “Thanks, Joey.” I couldn’t care less about sports. I’d have to think of something easier to remember. I briefly wondered why they settled on exactly fifty-three players. Why not fifty-one or forty-eight?

  I looked around at a fairly cleaned-up house. “Looks normal in here again. You boys did a really nice job.”

  He just grinned. “Come on. I’ll show you how to set the alarm after I leave. Then you can ‘fall into bed.’”

  A half hour later, Bumper was curled up next to me on top of the antique blue and yellow Ohio Star quilt my grandmother sewed before I was born. As I snuggled between clean sheets, I didn’t want to think about the knife stuck in my other pillow a few nights ago. I was home at last, and between the alarm and the gun sitting in the drawer beside my bed, I felt safe.

  I looked at the clock before I closed my eyes. It was four in the afternoon and there was something I ought to do tonight, but my brain was foggy with fatigue and I couldn’t remember. Never mind. Everything will just have to wait.

  Was someone hammering nails? No, they were slapping boards together. No, they were beating a drum. Why didn’t they stop? I slowly swam up from my dream and realized someone was pounding on my front door. The clock read past seven.

  I stumbled out of bed, put on a robe, and shuffled through the living room, eyes half closed. “Hold on!” The pounding stopped.

  “Who’s there?” I pulled my robe closer around me and strained to look through the peephole.

  “Arlo Beavers.”

  I opened the door and a howl immediately pierced the air inside the house and out. My eyes snapped open and I jumped. The abort code—what was it again?

  I looked at Beavers. “Quick, how many guys on a pro football team?”

  “Eleven.”

  “No, I mean all of them.”

  “Uh, fifty something.”

  Oh yeah. I pushed five three five three Enter, and the howling stopped.

  “Sorry.” My ears were still ringing. “I forgot about this thing. Not used to it yet. Are they all this loud?”

  “The louder the better.”

  We still stood at the door. “I just woke up. Was something supposed to happen tonight?”

  “Yeah. May I come in?”

  “Oh.” I hopped backward. “Sorry.”

  It wasn’t until he walked inside I saw he wasn’t alone.

  I pointed. “Who’s that?”

  “Arthur.”

  Then I remembered Beavers said he was going to bring over someone named Arthur for protection. “This is my bodyguard?” I was expecting someone beefy, tall, and wearing sunglasses. What I got instead was a German shepherd. Arthur cocked his head at me as if he could read my mind.

  “No offense, Arthur, but I don’t think this arrangement will work. I’ve got a new cat who’s still getting used to this place.”

  Just then Bumper walked into the room. He took one look at Arthur and hissed. Arthur got down on his belly and put his head on his paws and whined.

  I looked at Beavers and rolled my eyes. “Great! How can this dog protect me if he can’t even stand up to my cat?”

  “Arthur is a retired police dog with dozens of take-downs to his credit. He’ll turn into a fierce fighting machine if he senses danger. Obviously, your cat doesn’t scare him.”

  We both watched as Bumper walked over to Arthur and delicately sniffed the dog’s nose in the universal cat greeting. Arthur thumped his tail loudly on the floor while Bumper executed an imperious turn and sauntered away.

  Arthur thrust his head forward, and in the universal dog greeting stuck his nose in Bumper’s butt. The cat jumped three feet in the air, yowling and clawing.

  “See?” Beavers chuckled. “Another take-down.”

  I wasn’t amused. Didn’t I just promise Bumper our domestic bliss was only going to be about the two of us? “This definitely won’t work.”

  Beavers shifted his feet. “Arthur’s like me. He’ll grow on you.”

  Whoa. Was he flirting with me? Hummingbirds started beating their wings inside my chest again.

  “I don’t know . . .” I dared not look at him. I stuck out my hand for Arthur to sniff. He sat up and started licking my fingers. “Well, maybe he is kind of nice.” I scratched Arthur behind the ears and he closed his eyes. “Where’d you get him?”

  “I adopted him two years ago. He’s a bit gray in the muzzle, but he’s still got a lot of life left in him.”

  I looked sideways at Beavers’s white mustache. I pushed away thoughts of how much life he might have left. “This is your personal dog, then?”

  “Yes, but he was trained at the taxpayers’ expense. Shame to have all his training go to waste.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Shall I bring Arthur’s food and gear in from the car?”

  “Well, as long as he leaves Bumper alone, I guess we could try this out for a while.” Arthur was now on his back begging for a tummy scratch. “He really doesn’t seem like much of a bodyguard to me.”

  Two minutes later Beavers carried in a thirty-pound bag of kibble, two giant stainless steel dog bowls, a slightly hairy dog bed, and a pooper scooper. “For the backyard. You’ll want to put his bed next to yours. That way he’ll be right there if you need him.”

  “He better not snore.”

  After some searching, I finally located where Lucy’s boys had put things, and I was able to make some tea. We sat at the table and Beavers clinked his spoon against the blue mug as he stirred in some sugar. “I got your message. Talk to me.”

  I told him about the sordid events earlier in the day with the Terrys, including Will’s admission he slept with Claire up to a year ago. “I was totally grossed out, and I felt so sorry for Jerry.”

  “Do you still think Jerry’s a suspect?”

  “Well, even though he’s got motive, means, and opportunity, I don’t think he’s involved with Claire’s death or the theft of the quilts. He seems to be genuinely grieving over losing her.”

  Beavers gulped the last of his tea. “Once we pick up Claire’s quilts, we might find some more answers.”

  I scooted forward on the edge of my chair and put my hands flat on the table. Was I hearing him right? “Oh my God! Haven’t you collected them yet? Don’t you realize Will Terry has every reason to destroy those quilts to keep from being exposed as a pedophile?”

  “I sent Kaplan out there this evening to pick them up, but Will Terry wouldn’t cooperate. We have to get a court order tomorrow from a sympathetic judge. The Terrys have friends in high places and the DA has to be very careful about this. Meanwhile, I want you to promise you’ll quit poking around and leave the rest of this investigation to the police.”

  I wasn’t going to let him brush me off so easily. “Well, what about our stolen quilts? Are you doing anything about them?”

  Beavers stood, preparing to leave. “In the grand scheme of things, Ms. Rose, a murder investigation trumps everything else. We can always hope that in the course of solving this murder we’ll also find your missing quilts.”

  I didn’t like his officious tone. I also stood and put my hands on my hips. “You wouldn’t have gotten this far without my help and expertise. Surely I deserve to know what else you discov
er in those quilts.”

  “Possibly in the end the whole world will know.”

  I screwed up my face. “Please. Spare me the vague platitudes. And by the way, why haven’t I gotten my computer back?”

  “I’ll bring it back to you tomorrow.” Beavers reached in his pocket and handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s the instruction manual for Arthur. Feeding times and all that.”

  I sighed and took the paper.

  Then he knelt down and ruffled Arthur’s head. “You be a good boy, Artie. Take care of this lady here. She’s very important and we don’t want anything bad to happen to her. Please go easy on the cat.” The dog wagged his tail and licked Beavers’s face.

  “We’ll take care of each other.” I scratched Arthur’s ears.

  As I closed the door behind Detective Beavers and set the alarm, I smiled because, although he didn’t know it, the photos of Claire’s quilts were still in Lucy’s computer. If Claire’s baby wasn’t Will’s, then it must be Godwin’s. I needed to decipher the story in the baby quilt to see if I was right.

  There’s more than one way to get at the truth, Detective.

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER 29

  I spent a restless first night at home waking up several times to Arthur’s toenails clicking on the hardwood floor as he made occasional rounds through the dark house. At six in the morning, he jumped on my bed and began licking my face. I sighed, stumbled through the kitchen, punched in the alarm code on the keypad next to the back door, and let a desperate dog outside.

  Then I filled up food bowls for both animals, put on a pot of coffee, and went back to my bedroom to get dressed. Rising so early wasn’t on my agenda, but I was facing a long day of organizing my house. Having to get out of bed to let the dog out gave me the push I needed.

  After breakfast I went into the yard with the pooper scooper and almost immediately found what I was after. Arthur was a big dog. It seemed I was becoming an expert in cleaning up dog crap. Only a couple of days ago I hosed a messy pile off Birdie’s porch. Apparently the police were unable to find anyone on her street who witnessed anything. Birdie and Lucy didn’t have an active neighborhood watch like I did.