“Could you turn off the light?” she requested.
I nodded. Barney left the room with me, but rather than coming to my room, he headed back to his place by the front door. I guess he had no intention of going to bed until Eleanor was home and safe.
I, on the other hand, wanted to go to sleep. I didn’t want to think about the murders. I didn’t want to think about the quilt in Kennette’s room, and I certainly didn’t want to think of what my grandmother might be doing in the middle of the night.
When I woke up the next morning, I wanted to take Barney out for a long walk. I found him fast asleep at the front door. It was all the confirmation I needed that Eleanor had not come home all night. I didn’t know whether to be happy for her or worried, but I didn’t have time for either. I needed to open the shop. Sundays were always a busy day, and we also had Carrie’s quilt top to complete. It would have been helpful to have Eleanor’s full focus and energy, but I could hardly fault her. As I had found myself, it was alarmingly easy to get sidelined by romance.
I got to the shop minutes after our normal ten o’clock opening, and there were already three worried-looking women standing outside the door.
“We thought you weren’t opening today,” one of them said.
“No, sorry, just late,” I told them.
“Eleanor never opens late,” another woman said worriedly.
I smiled and tried to ignore the insult. I opened the door and let them in to wander around the fabric bolts as I started the computer and prepared for the day. Kennette came a few minutes after I did, having stopped at the bakery for muffins and coffee. She was dragging Barney behind her.
“I didn’t want to leave him home,” she explained. “He seems so out of sorts.”
But as she said that, Barney lurched past her and headed to the shop’s office. He was gone for a moment before he walked out again and, tail down, headed toward the classroom.
“Poor thing,” I said as I sipped my coffee, “he’s absolutely lost without Eleanor.”
“It’s kind of like she’s cheating on him with Oliver,” Kennette added. “I’m trying to fill in but I know I’m his second choice.”
I took it as my opportunity. “But you might be someone else’s first choice,” I said. “I heard that Greg gave you a ride home.”
She blushed. “He saw me walking and felt bad. It was really cold outside.”
“Did you have a nice conversation?”
“We did. He was telling me about the investigation. Jesse must be so jazzed to have Greg’s help.”
“Well, Jesse says the investigation has certainly been affected by Greg’s involvement,” I said.
Kennette and I were kept busy dealing with customer after customer. I stayed at the cash register while Kennette cut fabric and tried to help on the floor. When Maggie and Natalie arrived, I put them to work helping customers. Soon Bernie and Susanne were also chipping in.
“Everyone’s asking about Eleanor,” Natalie told me as she waved good-bye to another customer walking out with yards of fabric and the promise of a new quilt.
“She didn’t come home,” I whispered.
Natalie’s eyes widened. “Go Eleanor.”
“Remember that she was with Oliver, and we don’t entirely trust Oliver.”
“Right,” she said. “Still, I’d love to be having nights like that.”
I patted Natalie’s baby bump. “You already have.”
Within minutes Bernie was at my side.
“She didn’t come home at all?” she asked.
“And she didn’t call,” I said.
“Well I’ll find out at dinner tonight.” Bernie smiled. “They’re both coming to my house, and they won’t leave without my getting the full story.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Maggie interrupted. “She’s a grown woman. More than a grown woman. She has the right to do whatever she likes.”
“Anything you want to tell us, Maggie?” Bernie smiled.
“That’s enough gossip about Eleanor’s romantic life,” Maggie said. “Honestly, each generation thinks they invented sex.”
Both Bernie and I suppressed a smile as Maggie walked away.
“I think I’ll get to work on Carrie’s quilt,” Bernie said. She tapped Susanne and Kennette, and the three of them walked toward the classroom where we had planned to finish Carrie’s quilt top.
I checked my watch. It was after one o’clock. There was no sign that the rush at the shop would be letting up anytime soon, but I was anxious for a break. Besides, Barney was hovering by the door, getting in the way of customers.
“If I took ten minutes, would you kill me?” I asked Natalie. “Kennette knows the register if anyone needs to check out.”
“Go for it,” she said.
I grabbed Barney’s collar and led him out into the street. As I did I saw Eleanor jumping out of the passenger side of a police car. She was wearing the same beautiful turquoise dress she had on the night before, but now it was wrinkled.
“Grandma, what’s wrong?” I said, but she didn’t seem to hear me.
Barney ran over to her and wagged excitedly, but Eleanor brushed past him. Greg got out of the driver’s side of the car and followed Eleanor, who was walking past me into the shop.
“Nell,” Eleanor looked around and found Natalie. “Is Nell here?”
“Grandma, I’m right here,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“Oliver,” she said. “Oliver is in jail. And it’s my fault.”
“Go Eleanor,” Natalie said.
CHAPTER 31
“He’s not in jail,” Greg said quickly. “He’s been taken for questioning, that’s all.”
“Jesse took Oliver from a date to ask him about the murder?” Natalie sounded angry and confused.
Behind her, Susanne and Bernie seemed ready to storm the jail and break Oliver out. Our suspicions were one thing, I guess, but ruining my grandmother’s date—that was intolerable.
“Not Jesse,” Greg corrected her. “Chief Powell, over in Morristown. He called Jesse about it, and this morning Jesse asked me to pick up Eleanor, um, Mrs. Cassidy, and bring her here.”
“Why didn’t Jesse call Nell?” Bernie asked accusingly.
Greg shifted his feet. “I didn’t ask any questions, ma’am. I’m not exactly Chief Dewalt’s favorite person right now.”
“It’s okay,” I said, though I was a little ticked off that Jesse hadn’t called. “Someone get Eleanor a glass of water. And when you’re calm, Grandma, tell us what happened.”
“I’m perfectly calm,” she snapped. “I’m just angry, that’s all.”
We closed the shop, pushing the customers out without the fabric they had come for. We all went to the classroom and sat around the big table, waiting for Eleanor to tell her story.
“We had dinner at a lovely restaurant near Oliver’s home, so naturally he asked me if I’d like to see his place,” Eleanor said.
“Are they still using that line?” Bernie laughed.
Eleanor shot her a withering look. “For heaven’s sake, Bernadette,” she said, “two people can enjoy each other’s company without it turning into something sordid.”
Bernie nodded. “Sorry. You went to his house . . .”
“Yes.” Eleanor sipped her water. “When we arrived there was a police car from Morristown parked out front. That Chief Powell and another officer were just sitting there, waiting.”
“They didn’t have a warrant,” Greg offered. “So they had to wait outside.”
“Why did they want to look in Oliver’s house?” I asked.
“Well,” Eleanor said, “obviously they think Oliver has something to do with the death of that poor girl.”
“Which one?” I asked, and immediately regretted it.
“The second one,” Eleanor snapped.
“Aside from Oliver knowing Sandra, what would lead Powell to want to search Oliver’s house?”
“How would I know?” Eleanor said. “And Powell w
ouldn’t tell us.”
“What evidence does he have that Oliver’s involved?” I asked Greg.
“I can’t say,” Greg told me.
“Do you even know?” Maggie asked.
Greg blushed. “No, ma’am. Chief Dewalt didn’t tell me.”
Kennette, who had sat stunned through the whole conversation, looked at all of us, one at a time. “Oliver did not kill Sandra. It’s not possible.”
I smiled at Kennette. I admired her certainty and, out of loyalty to my grandmother, I found myself agreeing with her.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I said to Eleanor. “Did the police find anything incriminating in Oliver’s house?”
“They didn’t go into Oliver’s house. They didn’t have a warrant,” she said slowly. “Greg just told you.”
“That only means they needed Oliver’s permission,” I explained.
“I told Oliver that unless Powell explained himself he shouldn’t let that man put one foot inside the house, so he didn’t,” Eleanor said. “And Powell arrested him.”
“Not arrested,” Greg corrected her again. “They took him in for questioning. And that’s where they’ve been pretty much all night. Powell called Jesse last night.”
“I just feel terrible,” Eleanor said. “If I hadn’t insisted that Oliver stand up to that bully, he could have let them search his house and this would have been over hours ago.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked her. “I would have brought you home.”
My grandmother stared straight ahead.
“Unless the police were questioning you,” I added.
Still nothing.
“Powell was questioning you? What for?”
Greg coughed and we all looked at him. “Powell thought maybe your grandmother might have helped.”
I jumped up. “This is nuts! Somebody take my grandmother home so she can get some sleep.”
“Nell, I’m perfectly capable—” she started to say.
“Fine,” I snapped. “I’m going to get some answers.”
I stormed out of the shop. A group of women were waiting outside. Just as I was about to tell them to go home, Eleanor straightened her dress, took a deep breath, and walked to the door.
“I’m sorry for the confusion,” she told them. “Come on in. We’ve got some lovely fabrics that came in just this week.”
We exchanged glances. She was composed and ready for business. I, on the other hand, was looking for blood.
“What does he mean, hauling my grandmother into jail?” I burst into Jesse’s office.
Jesse was at his desk, looking through some paperwork. He looked up at me and quietly answered, “He’s trying to investigate a murder.”
“Sandra’s murder happened in Archers Rest. Assuming that Oliver did have something to do with it, Powell doesn’t have jurisdiction. Just tell him to butt out.”
“Calm down, Nell.”
“What kind of an answer is that? Are you afraid of telling Powell to back off?”
Jesse stood up. “Lower your voice and sit down.” He stood within inches of me, but there was nothing romantic about our proximity. I knew he was making it clear that, at least in this office, he was in charge.
I sat down. As calmly as I could, I asked again, “How does he have the jurisdiction to investigate Sandra’s death?”
“He doesn’t.”
“So why is he?” Every ounce of me was struggling not to scream.
“He’s not. He’s investigating Lily’s murder. We found her just past Morristown, remember. She could have been killed in that town and floated a few hundred yards downriver into Archers Rest.”
I nodded, but the information was slow to sink in. Sure I had suspected that Lily’s and Sandra’s murders were connected, but I had nothing except an old photo. Powell had to have something more.
“Why?” I asked. “Why does Powell think Oliver killed Lily?”
Jesse looked at me. The stern-cop expression slowly melted away and was replaced by the gentle smile of my friend. “You have every reason to be freaked out, with Eleanor getting dragged into this. I don’t want you to worry.” He sat next to me and took my hand. “Oliver is on his way home. I talked with Marty Powell this morning, and he admits that he was a little overzealous. But you have to understand that we’re trying to solve two murders that may be connected.”
“Based on what?” I asked.
“Based on confidential police information.” Jesse kissed me on the cheek. “I was thinking that maybe you could come over for dinner on Wednesday. Maybe it’s time you and Allie got to know each other better.”
“That’s your consolation prize for not telling me what you found out,” I said.
“I take it that’s a yes?”
I nodded and returned his kiss. I wasn’t satisfied with his answer, but I knew if I wanted a better one, I’d have to find it myself. “I should get back to the shop.”
We got up and he walked me from his office to the front door of the police station. As I was walking out the door, Susanne walked in.
“I just got a call from my sister,” she said to Jesse. “What happened to Rich?”
“Breaking and entering,” Jesse said. “Again.”
“It was only at the school.” Susanne sniffed.
“There’s not a list of approved places Rich can break into,” Jesse told her.
“Can I do anything?” I asked Susanne.
“We need to finish Carrie’s quilt,” she said. “I’ll bail Rich out. He’s a good boy. Just a little exuberant.”
“Well, if he keeps this up, Susanne, he’ll be exuberantly doing five to ten,” Jesse said. He pointed the way toward the jail cells and winked at me, which I took as my signal to go.
“I’ll call you later,” I said. “Both of you.” But they ignored me, already immersed in the latest crime wave to hit Archers Rest.
I walked out into an early February day that was cold but with a bright sun that felt almost hot on my face. When even the weather couldn’t be clearly defined, why should anything else start to make sense?
CHAPTER 32
That evening Eleanor went to Bernie’s for dinner as planned. She and Oliver, she said, had no reason to cancel any engagements. They were not criminals, despite what that Chief Powell might think. Kennette and I nodded each time she told us. I was afraid to even mention that Powell must have something on Oliver or else he wouldn’t have moved forward the way he did.
What especially interested me was that Powell wanted to get into Oliver’s house. He must have felt there was something in there that would prove Oliver guilty of at least one murder. And if Oliver was innocent, wouldn’t he have preferred to let Powell in than to spend the night in a police station?
I knew I had to get into that house. Eleanor had written Oliver’s phone number on a piece of paper she’d left in the kitchen, so I looked up his address by using a reverse-phone Web site. I told Kennette I’d be working on the mural for Carrie’s shop and jumped into my car.
In less than half an hour I was standing outside Oliver’s small house. It was like an English cottage, down to the roses planted in the front yard. The house looked sweet and innocent, but it had to be hiding something. I knew Oliver would be at Bernie’s for several hours, so I would have time to find out what that secret was.
I checked his front door, and then the back. Both were locked. I checked each window. They were all locked. I tried each window again and looked for any way I might get in. No luck. Climbing onto a fire escape to get into Sandra’s was, in retrospect, pretty easy.
I walked around to the back, where there was a converted two-car garage he used as his art studio. Instead of a roll-up garage door, there were two large swinging doors, like you would see on a barn. But unlike on a barn, these doors were padlocked. Even the small windows on either side of the building were locked. When I pulled myself up to look in the windows, all I saw was darkness.
“This is useless,” I said to no one.
I was about to head home when I had an idea. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed.
“Natalie,” I said. “I need your help.”
In another forty-five minutes Natalie pulled up behind my car. She jumped out with a big smile on her face.
“This is going to be so fun,” she said. “We’re actually sleuthing.”
“First we have to get inside,” I pointed out.
We both looked toward the backseat of the car, where Rich was still sitting. Natalie waved at him and he reluctantly got out.
“I’m not going back to jail,” he said.
“You won’t,” I promised. “Just get us in and then you can take my car for the evening. Natalie will drive me home.”
He sighed and walked toward the house. Like me, he tried the front door and then started making his way around the side of the house. We followed, uncertain of what to do.
“I tried the windows,” I told Rich.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted.
He stopped in front of a window at the back of the house and pulled out a metal nail file. He moved the nail file along the window frame. Then for several minutes he moved the file in and out around the lock, while Natalie and I stood a few feet away, watching.
“Is your mom babysitting?” I asked Natalie.
“Yeah. She loves it. She was at my house in five minutes.”
“Where did you say you were going?”
“I told her you needed Rich to break into Oliver’s house.”
“And she was okay with that?” I asked. It had been only a few hours since Susanne put up Rich’s bail.
“She said he would probably be getting into trouble anyway. This way at least it’s for a good cause.”
Rich looked up from the back window he’d been working on. “Do you mind? This isn’t a tea party. It’s a felony. If you could keep the conversation to a minimum.”
A Drunkard's Path Page 17
