Thread and Gone

by Lea Wait

  “Did you tell Ethan Trask that?” I asked.

  “Not at first. I didn’t know it was important. But, yeah, when he called me again last night I told him.” He looked at me. “I wouldn’t lie about a thing like that. Plenty of people must have seen that girl after she left my boat.” He looked straight at me. “And, no. She wasn’t wearing any fancy necklace when she was on my boat. She wasn’t wearing any necklace at all.” He almost looked contrite. “I’m sure about that because her T-shirt was . . . low in front. I noticed that. I didn’t tell the police that right away because I figured the way this town is, it would get back to Alice.”

  “You’re in trouble.” Josh teased. “The police better find people who saw Uma after she left you. If no one saw her, you’ve got a big problem.”

  “She was fine,” Arvin repeated. “Fine. Sure, maybe she had a bruise. But no way was she dead that afternoon.” He looked at me “And she wasn’t wearing any fancy necklace, and she didn’t have any embroidery or bags of jewelry with her. She was just a girl in shorts and sandals and a T-shirt. I don’t know what happened to her after that.”

  Of course, he did know. We all did.

  Uma Patel had died.

  Chapter 40

  Say, while you press with growing love,

  The darling to your heart,

  And all a mother’s pleasures prove,

  Are you entirely blest?

  But every pain the infant feels,

  The mother feels it too!

  Then wispers busy cruel fear

  The child, alas, may die

  And nature prompts the ready tear

  And heaves the rising sigh.

  —Stitched by twelve-year-old

  Hetty Muhlenberg,

  Reading, Pennsylvania, 1797

  The rain had stopped, but the day was still dank and overcast. I shivered as I walked up the hill from the wharves to my house.

  Once, when I was little, it had started to rain on a sunny July day, ruining our chances for a promised picnic. Mama had taken my hand and pulled me outside anyway. We’d danced with the raindrops. I had a sudden memory of the double rainbow that appeared over the harbor that day.

  I’d never minded rain after that. To prove it, I stomped through a couple of puddles on my way home. “In your honor, Mama,” I said to myself.

  Uma had slipped and fallen on Arvin’s boat. That explained one of the bruises or blows the ME had identified.

  But Ethan had said she’d “been hit” several times.

  Could she and Arvin have underestimated how hard she’d hit the deck? Sports commentators talked about football and soccer players who’d had concussions that didn’t show up immediately. Maybe after her lobstering adventure she’d gone for a walk on the rocks and gotten dizzy, or slipped and fallen again. If she was still wearing leather sandals, that wouldn’t be surprising.

  Her feet were bare when I found her body tangled in seaweed.

  Tides could have washed shoes away.

  And tides could have dashed her body on the rocks. Despite what the ME had said, that might explain the other marks on her body.

  I hoped so.

  Maybe no one had killed Uma. Maybe she’d been the victim of carelessness and ignorance of the dangers of the Maine coast.

  But the ME had said she was dead before she was in the water.

  Dead people didn’t bleed. Or bruise.

  And my theory didn’t explain how a stolen sapphire necklace had gotten around her neck.

  Assuming I believed Arvin’s story, whatever happened to Uma had happened after she left the Little Lady.

  At home, I changed out of my wet clothes. Dancing in the rain had been fun when I was five. Walking around town in wet jeans and a sweatshirt wasn’t comfortable.

  I still had time to visit the Wild Rose Inn. I’d put off that trip. Tom had arranged for Uma’s parents to stay at the inn, and I didn’t want to run into them. They deserved their privacy.

  Mrs. Clifford was at the front desk when I got to the Wild Rose. No one else was in the small lobby. “I’m sorry, no press,” she said without looking up. Then she recognized me. “Oh. You’re not press. You’re the young woman who came to see Uma Patel last week, aren’t you? I’m sorry—almost everyone who’s opened that door today has been from the media.” She shook her head. “I wish they’d leave that poor girl’s family alone.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “This must be an awful time.”

  She nodded. “At first a couple of my other guests stayed around, to see what all the excitement was about. But then the police starting searching rooms, and the Patels arrived.” She shuddered. “And the press. It’s been awful. Now everyone’s checked out except the Patels. I’ve told them they can have all their meals here. I don’t usually offer my guests anything more than breakfast, but how could they go out anywhere when people are always asking them questions? Such a tragedy. And then the police found that jewelry in their daughter’s room.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. She certainly didn’t seem like a murderer or thief to me.”

  “So no one else is here now?”

  “Just the Patels. And I had a full inn. All eight rooms were reserved for the first two weeks in July. I was straight out, arranging hair and massage appointments for the guests, and boat rides and fishing trips. Now—nothing.”

  I remembered the couple who’d been sitting at the same breakfast table as Uma. And the Nolins, those art and antiques dealers from Quebec. And there’d been five other full rooms? I glanced around. The inn was deserted.

  “I liked Uma,” I said. “I agree with you. I can’t believe she’d have killed Lenore Pendleton. Someone must have put that jewelry in her room.” And around her neck, I added to myself.

  Mrs. Clifford looked perplexed. “I have no idea how. I have a key that opens all the doors, and of course the maid does. But I can’t believe anyone who works for me would have done such a thing.”

  “Did Uma have any visitors when she was here?”

  “You, of course,” said Mrs. Clifford. “I don’t remember anyone else. The police asked me when she got in at night, and whether she had any company. But I don’t keep track of my guests. Unless I’m down here in the lobby by chance, I don’t know when they come or go.”

  She sighed. “We’ve never had any problems like this. That girl could have had a friend visit, or someone could have met her here. I just don’t know.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But thank you.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” said Mrs. Clifford. “Things like this don’t happen in Haven Harbor.”

  I nodded and left.

  Mrs. Clifford was wrong.

  Things like that did happen in Haven Harbor. They’d happened to my mother. And to Lenore Pendleton.

  And to Uma Patel.

  Chapter 41

  Oh woman, in thy idleness thou has sought out many inventions, besides making pin-cushions, working worsted, and getting up fairs for everything conceivable. But industry is better than idleness, however frivolous the industry may be.

  —Miss Mary Orme, Godey’s Magazine and Lady’s Book, 1846

  My kitchen calendar told me it was July, but the house seemed damp after the drenching rain.

  I’d spent the day talking to people about what had happened to Uma and Lenore, and I hadn’t learned anything. Or gotten any closer to finding Mary’s needlepoint.

  I curled up on the living room couch with a cup of cocoa and turned on the television. Three people I didn’t care about were earnestly answering questions about the War of the Roses on Jeopardy.

  English history. What did it matter that we might have figured out the history of a piece of needlepoint, if now the needlepoint had disappeared and two people were dead?

  I’d about decided to add marshmallows, and maybe brandy, to my cocoa, when my phone started vibrating. I’d forgotten to turn the ringer on after talking to people this afternoon.

  It was Mary Clo
ugh.

  I almost didn’t pick up her call. I didn’t have any news for Mary, and certainly no good news. I sighed and pushed the button.

  “Angie, I need help.” Mary’s voice was low and scared. “It’s Jude. I don’t know what to do.”

  I sat upright and muted the television. “What about Jude?”

  “Jude and Cos and I share a room,” said Mary, her voice still quiet. “I just went to borrow Jude’s yellow hoodie. She lets me.”

  “Yes?” What was scary about borrowing a sweatshirt?

  “I found it, in her bottom drawer, in the corner, under her sweaters.”

  “You found her sweatshirt?”

  “No! You don’t understand! I’m pretty sure it’s Mrs. Pendleton’s ring. The emerald one that was stolen.” She paused. “I saw her wearing it once. I told her I liked it, and she took it off and showed it to me. Said it had belonged to her grandmother. And there’s a gun in the drawer, too.”

  “Does Jude shoot?” I was trying to stay cool, and calm Mary. Lots of Mainers had guns. By itself, that might not be a problem.

  “I’ve never heard her talk about shooting. Or hunting. And the gun’s a little one. The kind people carry. Not the kind they use for hunting.” Mary paused, as if to take a deep breath. “It wasn’t there the last time I opened that drawer, I’m sure. Angie, I’m scared.”

  Lenore’s emerald cocktail ring hadn’t been with the stolen jewelry found in Uma’s suitcase at the Wild Rose.

  “Where’s Jude now?”

  “Downstairs, watching television with Cos.”

  “Don’t say anything to her,” I cautioned. “Maybe there’s an explanation.”

  “Not a good one,” said Mary. “There can’t be!”

  “We don’t know for sure. Mary, you have to stay calm. Don’t tell anyone you called me. I’m going to come over. I’ll talk to Jude.”

  “Can you come soon? Please?”

  “Right away,” I promised.

  Where could Jude have gotten that ring? I wasn’t happy about a gun showing up in her room, but it wasn’t hard to get a gun in Maine. Jude was twenty. Lots of Mainers her age had guns. But if Mary hadn’t seen a gun during the two years she’d lived with the Currans, then chances are it was new.

  Why would Jude need a gun?

  I hoped there’d be a reasonable explanation. Maybe it was for protection, because of Lenore’s and Uma’s deaths. Maybe someone gave her both the ring and the gun. But if that was Lenore’s ring, she had stolen property. And whoever gave it to her might have been the one who stole it. And killed Lenore.

  This situation could get messy. Fast.

  I wasn’t stupid. Mary might have called me, but the police needed to know what was happening.

  I pressed Ethan’s number on my cell. “Mary Clough just called me. She saw an emerald ring in one of Jude Curran’s drawers. She thinks it was Lenore’s. Plus, she saw a gun in the drawer. She said it was small; I’m assuming it was a handgun.”

  “Jude Curran? What has she got to do with all this? And where in hell did she get that ring?” Ethan sounded distracted. Not happy I’d called.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think she got the ring or gun at Maine Waves. But I’m hoping she’ll talk to me about it.” I paused. “She’s sweet on Josh Winslow. He could be involved.”

  Ethan was silent. “I should go with you, Angie.”

  “Let me try first. If I didn’t think you should be involved I wouldn’t have called you,” I pointed out. “Jude might talk to another woman more than to a state trooper. Especially if she’s covering for Josh.”

  “We don’t know for sure that ring was Lenore’s,” Ethan pointed out.

  “No. But Mary thought she recognized it. And how many people in Haven Harbor have emerald rings? I don’t think a hairdresser just out of school could afford one.”

  “Okay. You go talk to Jude. But I’m going to the Currans’ house, too. It’ll take me a couple of minutes; I have to get Emmie out of the bathtub. But I’ll be there. I’ll park close by, down the street. If you have any problems, call me. You don’t have to leave a message. I’ll come right away.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  I hesitated a moment, then pulled off my sweatshirt, slipped my gun into my shoulder holster, and pulled the sweatshirt back on. I checked my mirror. Yes, the gun was now concealed, and no, my Maine concealed carry permit hadn’t come through yet. I hadn’t been back in Maine for the full six months’ waiting period. But in case of trouble I’d rather be armed than legal.

  I left my angel necklace on. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra luck tonight.

  I drove to the Currans’ small tan house. It was faster than walking.

  Getting out I smelled freshly cut grass. Daisies were blooming around the “Curran” mailbox. Just a quiet evening in a scenic coastal village. I hoped.

  I looked around. When I didn’t see Ethan’s car I waited a few seconds. But he’d promised. He should be here any minute.

  Cos came to the door after I rang.

  “Angie! We didn’t expect you.” She opened the door for me to come in.

  The television in the living room was on, just as Mary had said. They were watching some survival reality show.

  “Hi, Angie,” said Mary, joining Cos at the door. “Good to see you.”

  I touched her shoulder to let her know she’d done the right thing. Where was Jude? “Are your parents home, Cos?” I asked.

  If they were, I’d want them to know I was there.

  “Mom went grocery shopping and Dad’s next door watching the Sox game.”

  “And Jude?” I asked. I glanced around. She wasn’t in the living room.

  “I’m here,” she said, coming down the stairs. She had a full backpack slung over one shoulder and was wearing a long, loose top over her jeans. Did she have a holster for her gun? Mary’d said the gun was small. That top could hide a gun.

  I knew. Mine did.

  “Could I talk with you for a few minutes, Jude?” I asked.

  “What about?” she said. “If you want your hair done you can come to the salon. I’m on my own time now. I was about to leave.”

  She continued toward the door.

  “Just a few minutes,” I said. “The rain’s stopped. We could talk outside in the yard.” I wanted to get her away from the other two girls. And, if possible, in Ethan’s sight. I didn’t have a good feeling about what might happen next.

  She frowned. “Only for a minute. I have to go.”

  I followed her out the door.

  She turned to me. “Okay. What do you want?”

  I decided to be blunt. “Where did you get the emerald ring, Jude?”

  “What emerald ring?” She backed up a couple of steps.

  “The one in the drawer with your sweatshirts and sweaters.”

  “How do you . . .” She went toward the door, and yelled in, “You little bitch! You went through my things and then told?”

  I put my hand out to stop her. “Mary was worried about you, Jude.”

  “It’s none of her business what I do. None of yours, either,” said Jude. “That ring is mine.”

  “Where did you get it?” I asked.

  “I don’t have to say,” she answered.

  “Is it Lenore Pendleton’s ring?” I asked. “If it is, you should tell me how you got it, because it was stolen. You’re in real trouble for having it.”

  She stood on the grass, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She didn’t say anything. She just glared at me.

  “Who gave it to you, Jude? If you tell me, and I tell the police, you won’t be in as much trouble.”

  “I’m not talking,” she said. “That ring is mine, and I’m keeping it. I deserve it. I’ve wasted too much of my life in this boring town already, always doing what other people want me to do. It’s time for me to do what I want.”

  I heard a car pull up and stop. I didn’t turn. Would Ethan park so close?

  Jude glanced in bac
k of me as we heard the car door open.

  “Josh! Hold on. I’m coming.” She ran past me down the brick path to the car. As she did she yelled to him, “Angie knows about the ring. She’s gonna blab.”

  I ran after her. “Jude, wait! You’ll be in more trouble than you are now if you don’t talk to me.”

  Josh hadn’t said a word, but he’d gotten back in the car. He reached to open the passenger seat door for Jude. She jumped in and slammed the door before I got to the car window.

  “Stop, Jude! Don’t make this worse!”

  “You don’t understand! You don’t know anything!” she yelled through the open window. “Just leave us alone. Stay away!” As she spoke she pulled her gun out from beneath her shirt and pointed it at me.

  I stopped. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. I backed up, and reached for my weapon.

  I’d just pulled it out when Josh gunned his car.

  He sideswiped a parked car ahead of him, making a horrible scraping sound as he swerved into the middle of the narrow residential street.

  He didn’t stop.

  Before I had a chance to react Ethan’s car passed me, in pursuit of Jude and Josh.

  I raced to my car, jumped in, and tried to follow them.

  But they both had a head start.

  Chapter 42

  Come now let us forget our mirth

  And think that we must die

  What are our best delights on earth

  Compared with those on high.

  —Stitched by Sally C. Lovejoy, age ten, 1811

  Josh’s car wove in and around the narrow village streets.

  Ethan was on his tail, siren blaring. I tried to keep up.

  Other cars, drivers out for a quiet evening, pulled as far as they could to the side of the road.

  Josh drove through two red lights, swerving around other cars.

  He didn’t slow down.

  Within a few minutes we were all out on Route 1, heading north on the two-lane road.