“What about staying here? Don’t you think the house is large enough for two people?”
Much as I liked Jenny, this was a subject I felt uncomfortable discussing until I figured out my own feelings about sharing a house with a man—even though the man in question was one I had known my whole life. I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been living on my own for a long time.”
She started measuring a cone of yarn. “I’m just learning to live alone again after ten years of marriage, so I totally understand. There’s something to be said about not having to share the television remote, isn’t there?” Then she abruptly changed the subject. “I’m not sure how I feel about David Swanson—you know, about his anger management issue. I kept trying to interpret his aura, but I couldn’t get a reading on him.”
“You see auras?” I half expected her to be joking, but when I glanced at her, I saw she was serious.
She smiled, looking embarrassed. “I know what you’re thinking.” I shook my head, but she went on, “I’m not crazy. I’ve been seeing auras since I was a child. In fact, until I was about ten years old, I thought everybody saw them.” She chuckled. “You have no idea how much I can tell about a person just by reading their aura. I know when they’re lying.” She said this as if it were self-evident. “I can also tell if a woman is in love, or if she’s pregnant. I can tell when someone is sick, when they’re in danger. Sometimes I can even sense death.” She hesitated, then went on. “Just between you and me, I knew something would happen to Dolores’s husband about a week before he died.”
I gasped, shocked. Could she really be serious about sensing death? Now this was more than weird. It was spooky.
“You don’t believe me.”
“No, no. It’s just that—you knew he was going to die?”
Jenny tilted her head, looking pensive. “Well, I didn’t know that he would die—only that he was surrounded by danger.”
Call it silly, but I found that a lot less unnerving than her claim of being able to predict death.
“I didn’t know him well, but I happened to see him at Bottoms Up a few days before he died,” she said, naming a local restaurant. “He stopped by my table to chat, and his aura was so dark it was almost opaque.”
She turned and peered at me through her lashes, as if she were trying to read my mind.
I squirmed. “You’re staring at me.”
“Don’t move. I’m trying to get a reading.”
I grimaced. “Please don’t tell me I’m going to die.”
She chuckled, and to my relief the spell was broken. “You have a very nice yellow aura with a tinge of orange, which means you are a creative person and that you have a sunny disposition. And, just in case you wondered, you’re not pregnant,” she added with a smile.
I chuckled. “Now that would have been a real surprise.” As for the rest of her reading, anyone who met me would know I was creative, but I decided to be nice. “Wow. You’re really good.”
“Thanks. What sign are you?” she asked, and then, “Wait, wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She leaned in and studied me, her eyes boring into mine. And then she smiled victoriously. “You are a Capricorn—no, no, you’re an Aries. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I am.” This time I was sincerely surprised. As long as she stuck to horoscopes, I didn’t mind playing along. “How can you tell?”
She giggled, shrugging. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just one of those things I do.” She dismissed the subject with a wave. “But getting back to David Swanson, the atmosphere got so gloomy after he showed up. I’ve rarely felt such negative energy. It felt almost evil.”
“Evil! That’s a pretty strong word.”
“I know. I have to admit that sometimes”—she tilted her head thoughtfully—“in a room full of people, it can be difficult to tell where a particular energy is coming from.” She raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard about him.”
I paused, cone in hand. “What kind of stories?”
“Different versions of what happened between him and Jeremy Fox—he’s the man David threatened,” she explained. “Don’t get me wrong. David had ample reason to hate the guy’s guts. Jeremy broke his sister’s heart by two-timing her with David’s own wife.”
My jaw dropped. I must have looked shocked because she said, “That’s right. Rather sordid, isn’t it? The first account I heard was exactly as David told it yesterday—that he grabbed Jeremy by the lapel and threatened to kill him. But there’s another one going around—that Jeremy had to be rushed to the hospital after David nearly strangled him to death. And if that one’s not bad enough, I just heard another one while I was waiting in line at Mercantile’s this morning—that he was waving a gun in Jeremy’s face and that it had to be wrested away from him.”
“Oh, my God. Did he really have a gun?”
She shook her head. “Of course not, but Briar Hollow is a small town. I swear, sometimes I think gossiping must be the number one form of entertainment around here.” She gave me a sheepish smile. “I hate to admit it, but I’m sometimes guilty of it too.”
“I can’t imagine you being mean in any way. But getting back to David—he seemed very charming yesterday. I told him I wasn’t sure that I’d be moving, but he still offered to show me a few places.”
“He’s a real estate agent. It’s his job.” She grinned. “Did you see the way Marnie Potter grabbed his arm and pushed Dolores out of the way?”
I laughed. “I sure did. And I also saw the look on Dolores’s face.”
“For a widow who lost her husband just a few months ago, she sure seems to have recovered fast, don’t you think?”
“That recently?” I asked, surprised. For some reason, I’d imagined it had happened years ago.
“In mid-January—just a couple of months before you moved here.” She paused, then said, “Greg Hanson was a well-respected businessman—real estate holdings all over the state. And filthy rich,” she added in a whisper. “The strange part about it is that he was an avid hiker. He went hiking by himself one day and never came home. A search party went out the next day and they found his body at the bottom of the Devil’s Courthouse.”
“The . . . what?”
“The Devil’s Courthouse—that’s the name of the mountain. It has a really popular trail, maybe half a mile long. People climb all the way to the top to enjoy the view. Sometimes people have picnics there. The point is, the trail is moderate to difficult, and Greg Hanson was an expert hiker. When Dolores was told that he was dead, she cried ‘murder’ to anyone who would listen. According to her, her husband could have hiked that trail blindfolded, and the idea that he would fall to his death from such an easy trail was preposterous.”
I shuddered at the mental image of a shattered and bleeding body at the bottom of a cliff. “But it really was a hiking accident, right?”
Jenny shrugged. “Just between you and me, I’m not sure what to think. On the one hand, Dolores Hanson claims he was murdered, but she’s a drama queen—always vying for attention.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I sometimes wonder if maybe she’s right.”
“But you just—”
Looking as if she regretted her words, she shook her head. “That’s true. Forget what I said.” She paused for a second. “On the other hand, Greg Hanson was a very rich man, and rich men sometimes make enemies. You know who had the most to gain from his death?” She paused for a beat before answering her own question. “Dolores.”
I tilted my head. “Are you going to tell me you have a feeling about this?” She remained quiet, avoiding my eyes. “Crap, I wanted to live in a nice, safe town. I sure hope there isn’t a killer running around loose in Briar Hollow.”
Jenny slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, damn. I didn’t want to say anything that would turn you off Briar Hollow, but I’ve been doing exactly that for
the last half hour.” She looked at me, embarrassed. “You must think I’m a real bitch.”
I laughed. “Not at all. You didn’t frighten me one bit.”
A twinkle lit her eyes. “I didn’t? Oh, well, let me try again.” She giggled, and in the next breath she stood up. “The warp is done. We’re ready to dress the student looms.” Half an hour later, we had everything under control.
Jenny brushed her hands off. “Now how about that cup of coffee you promised?”
Chapter 4
Jenny followed me back to the kitchen and propped herself on the stool at the counter. I pulled out a bag of dog treats and gave one to Winston.
“There. Friends again, right?”
He didn’t even look up, chewing his beef jerky with relish. I got the coffee from the cupboard and was measuring it out into the filter when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get that for you.” Jenny hopped up and hurried down the hall with Winston in plodding pursuit.
I heard the door open and close, and voices growing closer. A second later Jenny appeared, followed by Marnie Potter. Today the redhead’s hair was tied in an old-fashioned Katharine Hepburn bun, which contrasted sharply with her checkered pink shirt and floral print pants. She carried a straw basket full of fresh muffins. If not for her outrageous outfit, she would have looked like an older, overweight version of Bree Van de Kamp from Desperate Housewives. I stifled a chuckle.
“I brought you some home-baked goodies.” She set the basket on the table. She pointed her chin toward the coffeemaker and said, “Is that freshly ground coffee I smell? Got enough for an extra cup?”
“Sure do.” I measured a few more tablespoons of coffee into the filter.
She pulled out a chair and sat down so hard I had a sudden vision of Marnie sitting on the floor surrounded by chair debris. She had barely sat when she jumped back up and hurried to the back door, swinging it open. “Good God, why is it so hot in this house?” She fanned herself, looking from Jenny to me. “Aren’t you two hot?” And then seeing the surprise on our faces, she smiled crookedly and, leaving the door propped open, returned to her seat. “Oh, never mind. I came over here for a reason. There’s something I want to run by you, Della.” And with no further preamble she went straight to the point. “What would you say if I offered to work for you? I’m looking for part-time work, and I was thinking, you’re in your shop all by yourself every day. Maybe you could use some help. I wouldn’t charge much.”
I turned on the coffeemaker, searching for a kind way to let her down. “That’s nice of you, Marnie, but business is really slow so far. I haven’t enough work to keep even one person busy right now.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am not being nice. I need the work.” She folded her arms, scowling. “I made a bad investment and unless I find some work soon, I might have to move out of my house.”
“Oh, no. Poor you,” Jenny said.
“Keep your sympathy. It was just plain stupidity on my part. I let that jerk Jeremy Fox talk me into investing in his condo project. I should have known better.” She shook her head ruefully.
I paused, coffee container in one hand. “Jeremy Fox—isn’t he the fellow David Swanson attacked?”
“One and the same,” said Marnie, absently patting Winston, who had sidled up to her, probably in hopes of a muffin—the bum. “This dog reminds me of my Brutus,” she said. “I had him for eleven years.” She was quiet for a moment. “Much as I still miss that old dog, the person who was most upset when he died last year was Mercedes. I never saw anyone cry over a dog as much as she did.”
Jenny turned to me. “Mercedes walked that dog before and after school every day since she was ten years old.” She turned back to Marnie. “Don’t be too hard on yourself about investing in Jeremy’s project. From what I hear, you’re not the only person he took for a ride.”
“Please, let’s not talk about him,” she said impatiently. “I get upset every time I think about how gullible I was. I swear I’d kill that man if I thought I could get away with it.”
Chapter 5
Seeing the alarm on my face, she said, “Oops. I didn’t mean to shock you.”
Jenny folded her arms. “Believe me, you’re not the only person around here who would like to see Jeremy disappear. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t skipped town.”
Marnie passed the basket around, turning the conversation back to her initial subject. “Don’t you take a day off once in a while?”
I selected a lemon and poppy-seed muffin. “I’m sure I will at some point. But I can’t afford to hire anyone until business picks up.” She looked so disappointed that I felt compelled to add, “How about this? The minute it does, I’ll give you a call.”
“I’d like that.” She gave us a forced smile.
“But in the meantime I can sell your weaving,” I reminded her, breaking into my muffin.
Her face fell. “Oh, shoot. I plumb forgot about that. I’ll bring it by tomorrow.”
“You can drop if off anytime during shop hours. Otherwise I might not be here.”
“Okay, I’ll do that.” Now that she’d completed her business, she looked at Jenny and then back to me, changing the subject yet again. “So what were you two talking about before I so rudely barged in?”
“Nothing really,” Jenny said, munching on something that looked like a caramel-pecan muffin. “Oh, my God, this is so good.” She flicked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sending her feather earring fluttering. “Della was telling me all about her plans for the store.” That was a complete fabrication, but better I supposed than admitting we had been gossiping about members of the weaving group, including Marnie herself.
I was sinking into a comfortable sugar high. “I want to stir up more interest in my shop. I know there must be something I can do other than sit around and wait for customers to show up. I just haven’t figured out what yet.”
“What did you do before moving here?” Something in the way she looked at me made me believe she already knew all about me. After all, the papers had dragged my reputation through the mud for weeks until the real embezzler was caught. It was a miracle nobody in Briar Hollow had recognized me from my pictures in the media.
“I suspect you already know, don’t you?” I waited for her reaction.
Marnie had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I recognized you immediately, but I can’t say that I read any of the articles.”
I seriously doubted that. In fact, I was willing to bet she’d practically memorized every libelous word written about me.
Jenny’s eyes darted from me to Marnie and back again. “What is she talking about?”
“You’ll probably hear all about it, so I might as well tell you myself. To make a long story short, I used to be a financial analyst for an investment firm. Six months ago I came across evidence that my boss was embezzling from the company. When I confronted him, he begged me to wait twenty-four hours before calling the SEC.” I scowled, remembering. “He said he wanted to make restitution before turning himself in. And—fool that I was—I believed him. Of course, to the SEC, the fact that I didn’t report him until the next day made me look guilty.”
“Poor you.” Jenny sounded genuinely shocked.
“But then he disappeared, and that made her look even guiltier,” Marnie chimed in. I was right. Marnie did know every detail of the case.
Jenny’s head swiveled from Marnie to me. “He disappeared?”
“He pulled a fast one. The next day, when I called the SEC, he had vanished. He was apprehended three weeks later, trying to cross the border into Mexico—three weeks during which I was questioned, charged, arraigned and released on a one-million-dollar bond, borrowed from my mother. Even after he was caught, a lot of people still thought I was guilty. In the end, I was able to clear my name only by providing evidence against him.”
Jen
ny’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God!”
I let out a long sigh. “Testifying against my boss, as it turned out, caused another set of problems. In the financial industry, blowing the whistle on a superior is professional suicide. It’s almost worse than embezzling.”
Marnie laughed ruefully. “Maybe because they all seem to think it’s okay to steal from clients.”
I gave a half smile and said, “Rather than look for another job in the industry, I decided it was time for a change.” I shrugged. “So, here I am, doing what I always wanted to do—operating a weaving shop and studio.”
The women were quiet until Jenny said, “I’m not sure I’d have the guts to just pick up and go like that. It was incredibly brave of you.”
I smiled crookedly. “A few of my friends said the same thing, but they made the word ‘brave’ sound more like ‘crazy.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if they placed bets on how long I would last here.” I grew thoughtful, remembering how overwhelming the decision to move had been.
Marnie leaned forward to pat my hand. “I’m sorry I asked. It was really none of my business.”
I waved her apology away. “I don’t know why I wanted to keep it a secret. It’s not as if I did anything wrong.”
Jenny nodded. “That’s right. You didn’t. In fact, what you did was heroic.”
“I feel exactly the same way,” Marnie said. “The fact that you turned him in, in spite of the problems it caused you, makes me respect you all the more.”
“Thank you. That’s nice of you.”
Marnie got a faraway look in her eyes. “Crazy, isn’t it, the way life is a continuous string of starting-overs? You get divorced—people tell you you’re starting a new life. You go through the change, they say, ‘This will be the better half of your life.’ You make a bad investment—” She shrugged. “They say, ‘Don’t worry. It’s not too late to start over.’ So here I am. I’m fifty-four, single, and looking for a job.” She said all of this with a bright smile, but suddenly the smile cracked and tears hovered on her lashes. She fished in her pants pocket, pulled out a lacy handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Looming Murder Page 4
