Marnie beamed. “My grandmother gave it to me when I was just a girl, and I’ve had it stored away in a drawer ever since. I suppose you could call it a family heirloom. I’d completely forgotten about it, until I found it the other day when I was going through some old stuff. I sent it out to the Museum of History in Charlotte, hoping they could give me an idea of its value.” As she said this, she tore open an envelope. “Oh. Look at this, a note from the curator.” She perused the note in silence, her eyes growing wider as they moved down the page.
She grasped for the chair behind her. “I’d better sit down,” she said, fanning herself with the sheet of paper. She dropped onto the seat and glanced at it again. “He says the flag looks authentic and that, in his estimation, it could easily be worth something in the high six figures.” She stared at Liz and me, openmouthed.
I gasped. “High six figures? Wow! That’s a lot of money.”
Liz reached a tentative finger toward the flag. “Are you serious? Why . . . that piece should be in a museum.” Her face lit up. “That gives me an idea. I told you that Helen was working on a special project, didn’t I? She was hoping to raise money for the library. She was organizing this special one-week exhibition—a collection of old books, some first editions that are worth quite a lot of money, but nothing close to the value of your flag. She had a bunch of old pens too, and some old typewriters, a printing press. Just a whole lot of writing tools.” She glanced at the flag again, her eyes full of wonder. “Would you consider lending your flag to the library for the exhibition? It would only be for one week. And I promise it would be quite safe. It would be inside a glass display case. Nobody would be able to touch it. The exhibit is scheduled to start next week . . . although I have no idea what’s going to happen now.”
“Of course I’ll lend it,” Marnie said without hesitation. “It’s the least I can do for Helen. It would have made her happy.”
“Thank you. I know just how I’ll display it.” Her eyes became dreamy. “I’ll use it as a background for the most important piece, a first-edition biography of George Washington in six volumes by John Marshall. Won’t it look absolutely stunning?”
“It sounds wonderful,” Marnie said. “When do you need it? Would you rather take it right away?”
“Shouldn’t you call your insurance broker first?” I suggested.
“Oh, by all means. Get it insured first,” Liz said.
“Oh, you’re right. He’ll probably want to see it before issuing a policy,” Marnie said. “I’ll give him a call. The minute you can pick it up, I’ll let you know.”
“Great,” Liz said, heading for the door. She paused with her hand on the handle. “By the way,” she said, looking at me, “are you sure you want me to make a place mat for Marnie’s trousseau?”
“I’ve got three other beginners like you making one each. And I’ll help you.”
She looked relieved for a moment. Then her forehead furrowed. “I hope you won’t be angry at me, but I goofed. I let it slip about the trousseau we’re making for her. Me and my big mouth. But Marnie says she doesn’t mind it not being a surprise. Tell her, Marnie. That’s what you told me, right? You’re not angry at me, are you?” A second later the door closed behind her.
I swung around to Marnie and wagged a finger at her. “You sneak. You knew about my surprise. No wonder you dropped that hint about liking purple on white.”
She gave a weak laugh. “Don’t worry. I promise to love your gift no matter what the color.”
“I already decided to keep the navy on white for myself and start a new collection for you. So you’ll get your purple chevron.”
“No, really. You don’t have to do that,” she insisted, but I could tell she was pleased. When at last she put the subject of the towels to rest, she said, “Didn’t you think that was strange?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Liz asking us for advice on what she should do about the library. It doesn’t make sense. She could have asked any number of people. Nancy Cutler is on the town council and the two of them are friendly. She could have called the mayor. Why would she come to us instead of going to them?”
“Sometimes people don’t think clearly when they’re distraught.”
“Or maybe,” she said. “Because she heard that you found her body and was hoping to hear some details.”
“In that case, why didn’t she bring it up? She didn’t ask a single question about it.”
“You’re right,” Marnie said, tapping her chin with an index finger. “She came here for a reason. I just know it. Hmm, I wonder . . .”
“Maybe she wanted to find out what Helen and Bruce were arguing about at the party.”
“What are you talking about?” Marnie demanded. “Helen and Bruce didn’t argue.”
Shit, shit, shit. I would have paid to take my words back. But there was no point in denying it now. “Actually, they did, Marnie. I saw them arguing myself.”
“It was not an argument,” she said, confirming that she knew more than she’d previously admitted. This told me not only that she knew about it but might even have witnessed it herself. Marnie had lied, at least by omission, to Officer Lombard when she stopped by. “Helen was telling him about an incident she’d had at the library with a high school student.”
“Come on, Marnie. It didn’t look like a casual conversation to me. She was jabbing her finger in his chest.”
“That’s right. She was jabbing him the same way that teenager had jabbed his finger at her. She was demonstrating, for God’s sake.”
“How do you know what they were talking about? You were all the way across the room, unwrapping your presents.”
“I happened to notice them talking and asked Bruce about it later.”
I was speechless. The story was thin. It didn’t explain the anger on Helen’s face, nor the way she had stomped off in a fury. Even though all my instincts told me I was right and Marnie was wrong, I felt just the briefest of doubts. What if it had happened that way? What if all this suspicion I felt toward Bruce was based on nothing but my own fertile imagination?
Marnie was shaking her head at me. “You really are something else. I’m surprised you haven’t already convicted Bruce of murder. You’ve got to stop going around mistrusting everyone all the time.”
I was saved from having to answer when the door swung open and Bunny walked in. Her hair was limp, her makeup smudged, and instead of one of her usual expensive designer outfits, she wore a pair of jeans and a plain knit sweater. I moved forward.
“Oh, Bunny, I just read the news. How are you holding up?”
She brushed back a long lock of blond hair and gave a weary shrug. “I’m not exactly thrilled. But I’m thankful that at least nobody was in the room when it happened. Otherwise, who knows, Briar Hollow might have seen its second murder in two days.”
“That’s an awful thought. I hope the painting was insured,” Marnie said.
“Of course it was. Not that it will be easy to get the insurance company to pay up.”
Marnie’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? If you had a policy, they’ll have to honor it. You can sue them if they don’t.”
“Not if they can prove fraud.” At our shocked silence, she said, “The painting was wired directly into the security alarm. Nobody could have taken it down without disarming it, and I am the only person who knew the code. So the police think . . .” She opened her hands in a helpless gesture.
“You can’t be serious.”
“As long as the case is unsolved and there remains a question about my innocence, the insurance company has the right to hold the face amount. My insurance guy was the second person I called, after calling the police. His company had an investigator there within hours. The man was there before the reporter from the Belmont Daily. And the questions he asked? He was stickier than the cops. Ugh.” She
shuddered. “I hope I never have to go through that again.”
“Poor you.”
She grimaced. “There must be half a dozen cops searching my lobby as we speak. I should really be there, but I had to get away before I had a public meltdown.”
Marnie pulled the chair from behind the counter. “Here, have a seat. You look as if you’re about to collapse.” It was nice to see Marnie fawning over Bunny. When the two had first met, my friend had taken an instant dislike to the beautiful blonde. According to her, the woman dressed too flashy, wore her makeup too loud and her nails too long. But to everyone’s surprise, the antipathy had slowly given way to a grudging respect and then to a warm friendship.
Marnie continued. “I tried to call you, but your phone was busy.”
“Figures. It hasn’t stopped ringing all morning. One of the cops finally took it off the hook.”
“Why don’t I get you a cup of coffee?” Marnie offered.
“Thanks, but I think caffeine is just about the last thing in the world I need right now.” She put out a shaky hand as evidence. “But I’ll have a cup of tea if you don’t mind—jasmine, maybe, or chamomile.”
“Right away.” Marnie disappeared into the back.
She groaned. “God. I had no idea how tired I was until I sat. I’ve been up all night.”
“All night? What time was it when you discovered the painting was gone?”
“I heard the robbers take it. At least I think I did. The last restaurant clients must have left around eleven, and we locked up about a half hour later. I went to bed soon after that. Around one o’clock in the morning I heard this loud metallic grating sound from right below my room. I couldn’t make out what it was. Then there was a loud pop. I thought it sounded like a gun, or what I imagine a gun would sound like. My bedroom is right over the reception area, and the noises seemed to come from there,” she said. “You know how quiet this town becomes at night. Normally the lobby is dead silent until morning. I considered calling the police, but thought I should take a look around first. I grabbed my bathrobe and went downstairs. That’s when I saw the painting was gone.” She let herself fall against the back of the chair, as if the retelling had exhausted her. I thought I saw tears quivering on her lashes, but she brushed them away so fast that I wondered if I’d imagined them. I had never seen Bunny looking less than perfectly composed.
“Come on, Bunny. Everybody around here knows you. You’re the last person in the world the police would suspect of being involved.”
She wiped a hand over her face, further smudging her makeup. “I hope you’re right,” she said, sounding doubtful.
“You know I am. And as far as the insurance companies, they’re just trying to find an excuse to keep the money. I suppose it was worth a lot?”
“Almost half a million.”
Ouch. “No wonder you’re upset.”
“It’s not the painting, or even the money, that I’m upset about.” She tightened her lips for a moment, struggling to keep her emotions in check. “I always thought of Briar Hollow as home. This is where I come to feel safe. If somebody can break into my home here, then I might as well stay in New York between filming seasons.” It occurred to me that I’d had the same bleary thoughts after discovering Helen’s body.
“Anybody would feel that way after a bad shock. But, you’ll see, everything will fall into place. The police will catch the culprit, and they’ll find your painting.” She looked as if she didn’t believe a word of it.
Marnie appeared carrying a tray with a cup and a plate of pastries. “Here you go. I brought you something to eat. It’ll make you feel better.” She set everything on the counter and handed the mug to Bunny.
“Thank you.” And then she surprised me by accepting a chocolate cupcake. This, more than anything, drove home just how upset she was. As if she’d read my thoughts, Bunny said, “I normally never eat pastries, but I haven’t had a bite since dinner last night—so, just this once.” She broke a piece off her cupcake and popped it into her mouth.
“I wonder if it’s the work of the same person,” Marnie said.
“What are you talking about?” Bunny asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” Marnie asked. She told her about the article in the Belmont Daily. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”
“I only read the New York Times. Tell me more about this article.”
“They’ve been breaking into museums and private homes all over the state and making off with valuable artworks. The article didn’t give any more details than that.”
Puzzled, Bunny said, “But how would anybody know about my painting?”
“Are you kidding? A painting worth half a million dollars in Briar Hollow? That kind of news gets around,” Marnie said.
“I know the local paper made a fuss about it. But it was hardly national news,” Bunny said.
“Oh, word travels fast,” Marnie said. “How many people do you think heard about it? It made the front page of the Belmont Daily. And half the people in town had dinner at the Longview just to see it. Those same people could have told friends, who told other friends.”
I didn’t want to point out the obvious. Killers and robbers didn’t all come from big cities. They sometimes came from small towns, too.
Bunny looked pensively into her cup. “The police have probably thought of the same possibility. They asked me for a list of all the restaurant and hotel guests we’ve had since the painting’s been on display. It isn’t enough that they questioned me and the hotel employees. Now they’re going to harass my guests.”
All at once it occurred to me that one of the guests staying at the hotel was none other than Bruce Doherty. I pictured the layout of the Longview in my mind. When Bunny had converted it from a bed-and-breakfast into a hotel, she’d transformed a part of the second floor into her private quarters. She’d simultaneously expanded the back of the building to almost double its previous size, creating an extra eight suites for a total of fourteen. The main corridor accessing all the suites ran from the lobby to a back emergency exit. I couldn’t help wondering which room Bruce was staying in. Was he on the second floor? Or was he on the main floor, close to the reception area where the painting was displayed? I glanced at Marnie. She was twisting her hands, wearing a worried expression.
“Thank you for the tea, ladies,” Bunny said, rising to her feet. “I think I’d better get back. Otherwise the police will imagine that I’ve skipped town.” She attempted a smile, resulting in a lopsided grimace. She had no sooner left than Marnie snatched the phone.
“I’d better call Bruce and warn him,” she said.
“Warn him?” I said.
Her forehead furrowed, and she put the receiver down. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I was just thinking,” I said, “that’s a strange choice of words.”
Her eyes became suddenly ablaze. “What are you suggesting? That I’m warning him because I think he’s involved somehow? Or maybe you think he and I conspired to steal the painting together.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re my friend. I would never—”
“But you think Bruce is involved. Admit it. Not only do you think he’s involved in an art heist, but you suspect him of being involved in Helen’s murder. Don’t bother denying it. You’ve been hinting at it ever since you found her body.” She glared at me. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you are not going to turn me against the man I love. Bruce is a good man, and I am damn well going to marry him—no matter what you say.” She picked up the box in which she’d placed her refolded flag, grabbed her purse, and marched over to the door.
“Marnie, don’t go. I’m only worried for you because I care.”
“I suggest you stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself. At least I have a man who loves me, which is more than you can say for yourself,” she snap
ped from the entrance, and the door slammed shut behind her.
I knew she’d only spoken in anger, but her words stung all the same.
“What in the world is going on?” Jenny asked as she parted the beaded curtain. “I could hear the shouting all the way from the back.” She looked around. “Where’s Marnie?”
“Gone.” I told her what had just happened. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she never spoke to me again. I really messed up.”
“That doesn’t sound like her. It makes me wonder if she already had doubts of her own about him. That could be why she was so angry.”
“You don’t think I said too much?”
“Maybe a little. Still, if she suspects that you’re right, it will be difficult for her to accept that she made a mistake. It would mean having to break things off with Bruce.” She sighed. “It’s much easier to get angry at you. Hopefully, you made her rethink her relationship. Give her time. She’ll come around.”
“I hope you’re right.” I thought about this for a second. “Do you think I should give her a call?”
“Not now. She needs distance to think things through.”
“By the way, how did the reading go?” I asked. “From what she told me, I think you didn’t make it clear that Bruce was not to be trusted.”
“That’s the funny thing,” she said, frowning. “I saw a lot of emotional turmoil around her, but the only danger I could see was for a dark-haired man. But I did advise her not to trust too easily.”
“But the whole point of that reading was to warn her off Bruce.”
She tilted her head, peering at me. “Hold on. I promised to give her a reading, and that’s what I did. I honestly thought I’d see danger surrounding her, but I didn’t. What did you want me to do? Lie? I can’t predict things I don’t see. That would be dishonest.”
Weave of Absence Page 9
