“Sure, I’ll have a cup.” She turned to Matthew. “Doesn’t Della make the best coffee in the world? Maybe she should make the coffee for my shop?”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She sure does.”
Jenny must have sensed the strained atmosphere, because the next thing she said was, “Did I drop by at the wrong time?”
Matthew shook his head. “No, no. Della and I were just talking about my moving back to Charlotte until she takes over her new place.”
Jenny glanced at me, frowning. I kept my face impassive.
“Is that what that suitcase is doing in the front hall?” She looked from him to me and back again. “So your messiness finally caught up with you.” She chuckled, but behind her casual demeanor her eyes were full of questions. “I don’t blame her one bit for kicking you out. After all the work she did, getting this place in shape, you come in and mess everything up.”
She should be getting plenty of vibes now, I thought as I measured beans into the coffee grinder.
“I know. I’m a slob. What can I say?” He played along.
Jenny snapped her fingers. “I have an idea. Don’t move back to Charlotte. That’s just plain silly. Why don’t you move in with me? I have a spare bedroom. And you know me. I’m not at all like Della. I’m as much of a slob as you are.”
Translation? You and I are the same. We’ll fit together like a horse and carriage. I wanted to throw up. I kept my back to them and turned on the coffeemaker.
“You wouldn’t mind?” he said, and I almost had a meltdown.
They went on talking about how this could work out. He could use the back bedroom, blah, blah, blah. I tuned out in disgust and went shopping in my mind. I imagined myself trying on a sexy blue dress, the same blue Jenny was wearing now. I gave the dress a deep neckline, deep enough to reveal a bit of cleavage—not that I would ever wear something like that in real life, but this was a daydream, so why not? And just for the heck of it, I gave it a tight skirt, with a slit up the side, and I looked sexy.
“Della?”
I snapped back to reality. Jenny was looking at me with a question mark in her eyes, and Matthew was nowhere around. I heard his footsteps going upstairs. “Della?” she repeated.
“Uh, yes?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Of course. Why?”
She didn’t answer, but from the way she was studying me, I knew I wasn’t fooling her one bit. I also knew it had nothing to do with auras or feelings. I just knew my misery was written all over my face. At last she said, “Did you and Matthew have an argument?”
I nodded, avoiding her eyes.
“I see.” And when I looked at her, I thought she really did. “Don’t worry. Whatever it was about, he’ll get over it. In the meantime, he can stay at my place.” She must have sensed my embarrassment because she changed the subject. “Oh, before I forget. Listen to this. Marnie was just coming back from the bank when I saw her, and guess what?”
I shook my head. “What?”
“The money she took out of the bank to invest with Jeremy Fox? It’s back in her account—the entire amount. When she asked the teller about it, the girl told her that it came in by electronic transfer from the Cayman Islands.”
My mouth was still hanging open when Matthew rejoined us in the kitchen, looking uncomfortable. “So, you really wouldn’t mind if I used your guest room for a couple of weeks?”
“Not in the least. The house has felt so empty since . . .” She waved vaguely. “It’ll be nice having someone around.”
He nodded, smiling. “In that case, I accept.” I couldn’t object without making a fool of myself even more than I already had.
Jenny jumped up, smiling at me reassuringly, as if telling me not to worry. “Great. Let’s go.” They took off, heading for the door.
I swallowed a lump in my throat the size of a fist. He had taken Winston, hadn’t he? I went through the house, calling, “Winston,” getting no galloping dog, not even a slobbering kiss in response.
I was all by myself, completely and utterly alone. And suddenly the house felt spooky rather than warm and safe. I wanted to be anywhere but here. But the shop was opening in—I glanced at my watch—twenty minutes. I couldn’t just leave. I was running a business here. I hoofed it back to the kitchen, opened the fridge and rummaged through it.
I was hungry—but not. I slammed it shut again. And then I opened it and grabbed a container of yogurt. I sat at the table, dragging my spoon around in the yogurt without taking so much as a bite.
The phone rang and I jumped. But it wasn’t Matthew.
“Oh, hi, Mom.”
“Don’t sound so happy to hear me, dear.” Her voice lilted in amusement.
“Sorry, Mom. I’m just having a bad day.”
“That’s why I’m calling, dear. I was just speaking to June and she told me that you and Matthew had an argument and that he was moving back to the city. What happened, sweetheart?”
I groaned silently. “He told her that?” He must have called his mother while I was taking inventory of the furniture at Mrs. McLeay’s house.
“Well, June called him and he sounded so upset that she dragged it out of him. But he wouldn’t tell her what the argument was about. So, tell me what happened.”
I scrambled for some excuse. “I think, with my shop taking up all of the downstairs space, he’s feeling a bit put out. This is his house, after all, and I changed everything around and now he doesn’t even have a place to sit quietly and watch TV. And after stumbling on a dead body, I’m stressed out of my mind. We just got on each other’s nerves.”
“Is that what it was all about?” She sounded disappointed.
“What did you think the argument was about?”
She hemmed a bit, and finally admitted, “I thought maybe you two had a lovers’ spat.”
“A lovers’ spat! That’s ridiculous.”
“Sometimes when there’s tension between a man and a woman, you have to ask yourself if the cause is attraction.” As my mother babbled on, I couldn’t help but wonder at how she had hit the nail on the head. She was wrong in only one way. The attraction was all one-sided, and that was driving me insane.
“Della? Are you still there?”
“Oh, sorry, Mom. You were saying?”
“I was saying that I’d like to come for a visit one of these days. I haven’t even seen your shop yet, you know.”
“Tell you what, if you wait until the first of July, you can come and visit me in my new place.” I went on to tell her all about the building and my plans for the new shop. But as exciting as I tried to make it sound, my mother took it like bad news. “Oh, well.” She sighed. “I guess I should stop hoping you and Matthew—” Her thought trailed off unfinished.
“As disappointed as you are,” I wanted to say, “I’m ten times more so.” But all I said was, “That’s exactly what you should do, Mom.”
• • •
The rest of the day went by second by agonizingly long second. Every time I heard a car, my heart went into overdrive. Was it Matthew? Jenny’s words had made me feel somewhat better. At least I knew she had no designs on him. But how could she imagine everything would be fine when she had no idea what had almost happened?
Meanwhile, I sat at my loom and continued weaving until I had not only completed the second blanket but also finished the warp for a third one. By six o’clock my back was screaming and my stomach was growling. And I was still heartsick over how I should best approach the matter.
I threw together a salad, added canned tuna and a boiled egg for protein and sat down to a lonely dinner. I’d lived almost all of my adult life alone, and now, after only three days of Matthew being here, I missed him—and Winnie. On the bright side, I’d been so distracted this afternoon that for the first time in days, I’d th
ought of something besides the murder.
I went hunting for my cell and found it on the kitchen counter. I punched in Jenny’s number. I was dying to know what Matthew was doing, but instead all I asked was, “What are you up to?”
“Nothing much. I’m almost finished with my second baby blanket. How about you?”
“I’m bored to tears.” And then, before I could stop myself, I asked, “Is Matthew with you?”
“No. He dropped off his suitcase the moment he walked in and then took off. I haven’t seen him since. Why don’t you call Susan? If she has nothing to do, maybe you could ask her to come over. It would be a lot better than letting her go and do something dangerous. I’m still worried about her.”
I’d been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I hadn’t even thought about Susan.
Not having to spend an evening alone sounded great. “Good idea. I’ll do that right away.” I hung up, then punched in Susan’s number. She picked up on the first ring.
“Hi, it’s Della. I was just wondering if you happen to be free, if I could talk you into coming over.”
“Normally, I’d be happy to, but I’m busy right now,” she said, sounding preoccupied.
“Well, how about if I come over to your place?”
There was a long pause, and for a second I thought I heard somebody in the background. “I don’t think so,” she said at last. “Maybe some other time.”
“Uh, is somebody there with you?” There was another pause, during which I could have sworn she covered the mouthpiece. “Susan? Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine, Della. I’ll speak to you later, okay?” And then, before I could say anything, I heard her yelp, followed by a thud, and the phone went silent.
“Susan? Hello?” I stared at the receiver in my hands, filled with fear. It sounded as if someone had attacked her. I shook my head. I was just imagining things. I hung up and dialed again, getting a busy signal. I paused, questioning myself. Had I really heard someone in the background, or was it maybe just the television or radio? I was trying desperately to quash the panic that was quickly rising. I had to do something. Without pausing to think, I punched in Jenny’s number.
“Susan’s in trouble. We have to get there. Now,” I shouted.
And, bless her for reacting so fast, it wasn’t two minutes before she zoomed up in front of the house and screeched to a stop. I hurried out, jumped into her car and we took off. Two sharp turns later we pulled up in front of a pretty Cape Cod.
“I have a really bad feeling about this,” she said, getting out of the car. This time, I tended to agree with her. I slid out and onto my crutches, and scrambled to keep up with her. By the time I reached the front door, she was pushing the buzzer repeatedly.
“There’s no answer.” She stared at me, her eyes wide with worry. “Do you suppose she went out?”
“She was here five minutes ago.” I tried the doorknob and the door swung open. We stood frozen for a moment and then stepped in.
The inside of Susan’s house was as neat and tidy as Marnie’s was messy. A gorgeous half-moon table, covered with a handwoven cloth, decorated the entrance. On it was a brown leather bag.
“Her purse is here, so she can’t be far.” I wandered a few steps farther, stopping at the entrance to the living room and looking around. The walls were taupe, the furniture beige slipcovered cottage-style. My eyes traveled, taking in the blond wood desk in the corner. Susan had good taste. Suddenly the blood drained from my face as I noticed a pair of legs sticking out from behind the coffee table.
I staggered, almost dropping my crutches but regained my balance at the last second. “There she is!” I hobbled over. There was Susan, unconscious.
Jenny rushed past and dropped to her knees beside Susan. “Call an ambulance!”
Chapter 38
The paramedics appeared minutes later and soon were using words like “skull fracture,” “intracranial hemorrhage,” and “traumatic brain injury.” By the time they sped away with Susan, siren blaring, Jenny was beside herself with guilt.
“All of this is my fault. I should have made her believe me,” she said miserably. “If I’d insisted she take me seriously, none of this would have happened.”
“You’ve got it all wrong.” I patted her back. “What you did probably saved her life. Susan was going to do this whether you read her fortune or not. But the fact that you did is why we got here in time to call the ambulance.”
She nodded hesitantly, but judging by the torrent of tears rolling down her cheeks during the drive to the hospital, she didn’t believe a word I said.
• • •
The emergency room was swarming with doctors and nurses. A burly security guard stood blocking the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, “but you can’t go in there.”
“But that’s our friend who was just brought in,” argued Jenny. “We just want to see her.”
“I’ll ask her doctor to come talk to you as soon as he can.” He pushed her gently but firmly away from the doorway.
I put an arm around her. “Come on, Jenny. The best thing we can do for her right now is let the doctors do their job.”
She didn’t look reassured, but she followed me to a corner of the waiting area and dropped into a chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.
Feeling compelled to comfort her, I said, “She’ll be all right. Don’t worry.” My reassurance sounded false even to me.
We waited, watching the door to the ER almost as obsessively as we kept glancing at our watches. Every time it opened, we jumped to our feet, only to sit back down when it turned out to be a nurse or attendant. At last a doctor appeared. It was Dr. Green. We rose and he hurried over.
“How is she, Doctor?” Jenny wrung her hands with worry.
“Your friend hit her head pretty hard.” He gestured for us all to sit. We did, and he leaned forward, looking somber. “She was brought in unconscious. She woke up for a little while, but seemed drowsy and confused. The good news is that, according to the MRI, she has no intracranial bleeding and no skull fracture. But we’ll be keeping her overnight to continue monitoring her vital signs and the Glasgow Coma Scale.”
I frowned. “What’s that?”
“It’s how we check for brain injury.” He looked from me to Jenny. “I’m sorry there isn’t anything I can add at this point. We should know more by morning.”
“Can we see her?” I asked.
“She’ll be kept in the ER for most of the night. I suggest you go home, try to get some sleep and come back in the morning.” He glanced down at my foot. “How’s your ankle? Are you still feeling a lot of pain?”
“No. I’ve been obeying your instructions to the letter.”
“I’m happy to hear that. I think you can take off the bandages if all the swelling is gone. But don’t try walking on it for another few days.” With that, he nodded and hurried back to the ER.
“No bleeding, no skull fracture. That’s good news, don’t you think?” I said, scooping my crutches under my arms and heading for the door.
Jenny held the door open for me, still looking worried out of her mind.
And so was I.
Chapter 39
I finally fell asleep just as the sun began to filter through the window, only to wake up forty-five minutes before Jenny was due to pick me up. I swung my legs off the bed, testing my ankle gently. It still hurt, but the pain was hardly more than a dull ache. I raised my foot and examined it. It was now four days since I’d twisted it. The swelling was completely gone. Yay! I gave a silent thank-you to Dr. Green for allowing me to take off the bandages. If I’d had to wear a ballet slipper on one foot and a sock on the other for one more day, I would have screamed. As long as I kept using my crutches and didn’t so much as set my left foot down, I could wear whatever I w
anted, even heels, right?
I looked through the closet for my favorite midheight sandals, a pretty little pair of pink Manolos that had cost me a week’s pay. After ten minutes on my hands and knees, I still couldn’t find them. Had I left them behind when I’d moved all my stuff from Matthew’s room to this one?
I hurried down the hall and, hesitating only slightly, entered Matthew’s room. I gasped. This room was a mess: unmade bed with sheets and blankets bundled in a mass at the foot of it; an assortment of papers littering the bedside tables; jeans, sweaters and shirts piled on the corner chair; and loafers, running shoes and boat shoes littering the floor. I stood in shock, taking it all in. Good grief, Jenny was right. The man was organizationally challenged—if not a slob. But in all honesty, discovering this flaw of his only made him more endearing. What can I say? I covered the short distance between the doorway and the closet, got down on my hands and knees and rummaged around until I felt something hard and metallic. I froze.
It couldn’t be. But even as I wanted to be wrong, I knew I wasn’t. I held my breath and pulled it out. I was looking at a small gun!
I fumbled and dropped it. And in the split second before it hit the floor, I imagined it firing and saw my life flash before my eyes.
But the gun did not discharge, and I was not killed by a ricocheting bullet.
I stared at it for an eternity of seconds—unable to move, almost unable to breathe, my heart going like a jackhammer. A dozen thoughts raced through my mind at once, my mind locking on one. If he was David’s attacker, it stood to reason that one of his garments would match the yarn I’d found. All at once I went into high gear. I wiped the weapon clean—I wasn’t stupid enough to leave my prints on it—and pushed it deep in the back of the closet. I struggled to my feet and tore through the hangers, riffling through the few hanging sweaters and shirts at the speed of a cardsharp.
Nothing.
I crossed the room and went through a large pile of clothes on the chair.
Nothing.
The drawers, I thought.
In two swift crutch strides I tore them open, rummaging through underwear, socks and T-shirts.
Looming Murder Page 23
