Looming Murder

by Carol Ann Martin

  “But, I heard you argue with him the day before he died.” Susan no longer sounded confrontational—just wary.

  “That’s right. He caught me trying to log on to his laptop and he went ballistic. I’m pretty sure he didn’t sleep too well that night.”

  There was another long silence. There were still a few things I didn’t quite understand. “Did you call him the night he was killed?”

  “I trust you won’t tell the police about this.” And then without waiting for a reply, she explained. “I had to get him out of his house long enough to break in and get his laptop. I called him and told him that I knew where he had hidden all the money, but that as long as he paid me back my own investment, I would destroy the evidence. I asked him to meet with me in that building, and then I hid behind his house, waiting for stupid Marsha to leave.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought the woman would never go. She must have stayed there an hour. Anyhow, I never went near that building that night, so I have no idea who killed him.” And then giving us another smug smile, she added, “But as far as I’m concerned, the murderer deserves a medal.”

  Susan cleared her throat. “I don’t understand. You have lots of money. The amount you stood to lose was nothing for you. Why go to all that trouble?”

  Dolores picked up the carafe and poured. “Nobody believed me when I said that my husband had been murdered.”

  “I believed you,” said Jenny. “I had a feeling all along.”

  Dolores glanced at her, then said without pausing, “It didn’t take me long to figure out that Jeremy Fox killed him.” There was pain in her eyes when she went on. “I couldn’t prove it. But if I couldn’t get him for my husband’s murder, I was bloody well going to make him pay somehow. And the next best way to hurt him was through his pocket.”

  “Why do you think he killed your husband?”

  Dolores carried the mugs over and set milk and sugar on the counter. “Greg was a threat to Jeremy’s project. He had organized a petition to stop it.”

  At last Susan said, “But what about the gun? I saw it in your purse.”

  For the first time since we arrived, Dolores blanched. “Wh-what gun?”

  “That was Marnie’s gun, wasn’t it?” I asked. “Mercedes took it from her closet, didn’t she?”

  Dolores plopped down onto a bar seat, looking defeated. She dropped her face into her hands and haltingly explained. “Mercedes went through a bad time last year. She was caught stealing from a few stores. Mike gave her a good talking-to and scared the daylights out of her—or at least I thought he did because she seemed to be coming around. And then I found a gun in her backpack. When I questioned her, she admitted that the gun belonged to Marnie. The last thing I wanted was to get her into more trouble. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone that she had stolen it, especially Marnie. She’s one of the few people who like Mercedes. So I did the next best thing. I turned it in to the police and told them I found it.”

  Next to me, Susan said, “You gave it to the police?”

  I swung around and looked at her. All at once my eyes fell on the police sweater she was wearing. I stared at the frayed edges of the collar. Something about the thread—then it hit me. The thread I’d found in the hedge at David’s house— I felt the blood drain from my face. “You didn’t by any chance give that gun to Mike, did you?”

  “Yes, why?”

  My heart went into overdrive. I turned to Jenny. “Do you know where Matthew is this morning?”

  She looked at me, puzzled. “He said he was going to work on his car.”

  “I have to get there. Now!” I scooped my crutches under my arms.

  Susan and Dolores stared at me, looking puzzled. Jenny ran out ahead of me, opening the passenger-side door and running around to slide behind the wheel. I closed the door and we took off.

  Jenny raced down the street. “What’s wrong?” Something in her voice made me think she already suspected. I had to keep my theory to myself until I was absolutely sure. I had never so much wanted to be wrong. “I’ll tell you later.”

  We pulled up in front of Matthew’s house and I pushed the car door open before we’d come to a full stop. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  If I was right about this, the last thing I wanted was for Jenny to be a witness. “No, you go on home. I’ll call you later.”

  Before she could argue, I hurried to the house and let myself in, closing the door softly behind me. I leaned against the doorframe for a second, willing my heart to slow down. I took a deep breath, praying I was just being paranoid. And then something came charging at me and I almost screamed.

  “Winnie,” I whispered, as he covered me with slurpy kisses. “You nearly scared me to death. Is Daddy here?”

  He titled his head, giving me a perplexed look.

  “Shh. You stay here.” I climbed the stairs as quietly as I could—which was not very, considering the crutches—followed by a disobedient Winston. That dog never was any good at taking orders. In Matthew’s bedroom I got on my hands and knees and fumbled through the closet until I realized the gun was gone.

  I stumbled back down the stairs with no idea what I should do. On my way to the door I spotted my stick shuttle. I grabbed it, jamming it in my pocket. It was as good a weapon as a gun I had no clue how to use. “Okay, Winston, let’s go catch ourselves a killer.”

  Chapter 42

  I made my way between the house and the garage without any semblance of a plan. Was I going to hit him over the head with my crutches? Or would I stab him with my shuttle? Or hide it behind my back, pretending it was a gun, and try to bluff a confession out of him? As I got nearer, I noticed the garage door was ajar. I moved closer. “Quiet, Winnie,” I ordered in a low voice.

  Winnie stared back at me, and I could have sworn he was nodding.

  “Sit,” I whispered. He dropped his butt to the ground with a thump, his eyes following me as I edged closer and closer to the door. I caught the end of something Matthew was saying.

  “—you know I would never do that.”

  And then Mike’s voice—“I have to hand it to you. You really had me fooled, but you can’t talk your way out of it now.” I gasped. Was Mike accusing him of murder? But Matthew’s next words put a different spin on what was going on.

  “I’m not living with her. I’m only using the guest bedroom. And don’t worry. If it bothers you, I’ll move out.”

  “Don’t take me for an idiot. You told me yourself, back in January, that you were in love with someone.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t talking about Jenny! Why don’t you put that gun away before somebody gets hurt?” My heart nearly stopped. Had I just heard correctly? Mike was holding a gun on Matthew? This time my heart nearly stopped.

  Mike chuckled eerily. “You’re not fooling me one bit. Jenny is just like my mother. I don’t know how she guessed it, but as soon as I got sick, she started fooling around with every Tom, Dick and Harry—except in this case it was Greg, Jeremy and Matthew.”

  There was a brief silence, and then, sounding strained, Matthew said, “Medicine has come a long way since your father’s cancer. There are brand-new treatments. You’ll probably—” I edged a few inches closer, my heart drumming madly in my chest. I dared a peek, but my eyes were unaccustomed to the dark inside the garage.

  Mike cut him off sharply. “It’s too late for me. My cancer has metastasized. It’s in my bones and in my brain now. I’m going to die—and so are you. Now get on that dolly.”

  Greg, Jeremy and Matthew. Jenny had told me that Mike had suspected her of having an affair with Greg Hanson, and then he had turned up dead. She’d given Jeremy a reading at a restaurant. Could Mike have spotted them and jumped to one of his paranoid conclusions? And then Jeremy had turned up dead.

  And now Matthew was living with Jenny. He was next, unless I saved him.

  “Hold on,
” Matthew argued, an edge to his voice. “You don’t want to do this, Mike. You’re an officer of the law. You’re not a killer.”

  “You brought this on yourself. You all did! What have I got to lose? Get on that dolly. Now!” But why does Mike want Matthew to get on the dolly?

  My eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom. I could make out Mike, his back to me, pointing a gun at Matthew, as he obeyed Mike’s order. Just behind him, the left front wheel of his TR6 had been removed and the car was jacked up.

  In a flash I knew exactly what he was planning. He wanted Matthew under the car so he could kick the jack out of place. The car would fall and crush Matthew to death—another tragic accident, just as Greg Hanson’s death had been.

  I had to do something, but what? Point my shuttle from inside my pocket and pretend it was a gun? Or hit him over the head with it? Whatever I did, I would surely end up dead.

  Suddenly Mike lifted his foot, placed it on the edge of the dolly and gave it a shove. Matthew rolled under the car. And then everything happened very fast.

  I screamed, “No!” at the top of my lungs. Mike swung around, pointing the gun at me. Next to me, Winston growled and lunged for Mike’s wrist, clamping his teeth down hard. The gun went flying.

  Matthew rolled out from under the car, leaped to his feet and grabbed Mike’s other arm, twisting it behind him.

  I dropped my crutches and limped over. “Thank God you’re all right!”

  “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m fine. Could you please call the cops?” He winked at me, and his golden eyes made my fears melt away.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, not minding one bit that he’d just called me kiddo again. “Right away.” I went inside and dialed 911.

  Chapter 43

  Three weeks later

  News of Mike’s arrest blew through Briar Hollow like a wildfire. But rather than feed the gossip mill, it left people stunned and asking themselves how someone so highly regarded could have done something so terrible. A pall settled over the community. A collective sympathy emerged for both Jenny, who locked herself away for days, refusing to speak to anyone, and Dolores, whose claims that her husband had been murdered had been ignored. She had only been wrong in suspecting Jeremy Fox.

  Shortly after his arrest, Mike was transferred to the prison hospital, where it was determined that his paranoia had at least partly been caused by his brain tumors. This news seemed to calm everyone. It was the cancer, not Mike, that was to blame—easier to accept.

  Three weeks later the members of the weaving group gathered in my shop to get ready for the official presentation of our baby blankets to the hospital the next morning. Soon I would be in my new space, where there was plenty of room for expansion. I already had plans for more classes. I’d put out feelers for more weavers to leave their goods on consignment. And I was sure I would find plenty of other opportunities. I could hardly wait. Still, I prepared for the gathering with a mixture of emotions—happy and sad all at once.

  The first to arrive was Marnie, wearing a red polka-dot dress that did nothing for her figure. She carried a basket of cookies and cake on one arm and a large bag over the other.

  She stepped in, dropped her bags and began fanning herself furiously. “It’s so hot out there. I’m melting.” And then seeing the numerous fans I’d set up all over the place, she broke into a smile. “Oh, it’s so nice and cool in here now.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to come visit anymore unless I got those fans I promised.” I picked up the basket. “Mmm, something smells delicious.”

  “I brought enough goodies for everyone.” She shrugged. “It won’t hurt to do a bit of promotion ahead of time for Jenny’s tea shop.” She handed me the basket and opened her bag. “And here are the baby blankets. I made eight,” she said proudly.

  At that moment, the doorbell tinkled and Susan appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Della. Hi, Marnie.” She carried a pile of folded baby blankets. “Where should I—?” And then spotting the chair where Marnie had set hers, she went over. “Good grief, you’ve already got a whole lot.”

  “Six from Della,” Marnie said, “and eight from me.”

  Susan fingered one of Marnie’s blankets admiringly. “And now we have another six. We did really well. The hospital should be thrilled.”

  Marnie went over to the coffee table I’d retrieved from the third bedroom and began setting up her cookies and cakes. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’ll say. I’m sure they expected no more than half a dozen blankets and we already have twenty. By the time everybody brings in their projects we’ll probably have nearly three dozen.” She stood. “Hey, look who’s here.”

  I turned around to see Dolores and her daughter arrive. Mercedes hurried over with her blankets, handing them over proudly to Marnie. “I made three. And they’re pretty nice.”

  Marnie examined them carefully and nodded. “They’re beautiful, child. I couldn’t have done better myself.”

  Mercedes preened. “You mean it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I studied the girl, amazed at her transformation. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a pink T-shirt instead of her habitual black. Her skull-and-crossbones earrings were gone, in their place a pair of gold hoops. And most impressive, she had toned down her makeup to a soft blush, mascara and lip gloss. She looked beautiful.

  Dolores wandered over to me. “Here. I have a little something for you to make up for not having any finished blankets.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, opening the box. Inside was a large bag of Kona coffee. “This is right up there among my favorites. Thank you so much.” Call me silly, but Dolores’s gift made me completely rethink my opinion of her. Anybody who gave me two pounds of luxury coffee couldn’t be all bad. “That’s very generous of you. I didn’t think I’d be enjoying such a wonderful coffee again for a while—at least not until business picks up.”

  Marnie offered a plate of cookies. “Actually, you seem to be doing great. Every time I walk by lately, the shop is full of people.”

  It was true. Business wasn’t exactly booming, but sales were good and consistent. “Tourists seem to have discovered my shop,” I said. “You and Jenny will have to supply me with more merchandise. I can barely keep the shelves stocked.”

  “Speaking of Jenny, how is she?”

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose. She’s been keeping busy, making plans for her new tea shop, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts dating soon.”

  Susan laughed. “I know. There’s a certain doctor who’s been calling her. The whole town is talking about it. If they start dating, I intend to take full credit for that relationship.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “If I hadn’t tripped over my own two feet and cracked my skull on the coffee table, I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital, and Jenny wouldn’t have met Dr. Green.”

  I laughed. “Good point.”

  At that moment the door opened and David Swanson walked in, carrying his loom, with very little weaving completed. Apologetically, he said, “Here’s my contribution. Not that it’s worth anything. I did my best, but I just couldn’t get the hang of it.”

  Mercedes giggled. “I think the bit you did weave would make a nice dishcloth.”

  He grimaced. “You can have it if you like. I’ll be damned if I’ll use a pink dishcloth.” Everybody laughed.

  David went to the second room and poured himself a cup of coffee, which he raised toward Winnie, who was snoring in the corner. “I propose a toast to the hero of the hour. If not for that big fella there, I wouldn’t have been able to close the sale on that building.”

  I chuckled. “Nice. The only reason you’re glad I’m alive is because I bought the building? I’m going to remember that.”

  He grinned. “Hey, without commissions I don’t eat.” He looked at Winnie again. �
��You understand that, don’t you, Winston?”

  Upon hearing his name, Winston jumped up.

  “And I thought you were just a big ugly pussycat, but you are a hero,” Mercedes said, earning herself a wet kiss. “Oh, yuck. That’s gross.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. But for all her complaining, she looked happy.

  Marnie leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Mercedes came over this afternoon. She apologized for taking my gun. God only knows why she did it—probably just a teenage prank. Whatever the reason, I forgave her. Everyone deserves a second chance.” Ah, that explains the girl’s new attitude, I thought. There’s nothing like forgiveness to give a person a fresh outlook on life.

  Mercedes wandered back to the chair where all the blankets were stacked. “I can’t believe how beautiful they all are. I’m thinking of making a cream and white throw for my own bed.”

  The bell tinkled and Jenny walked in, looking lovely in a gauzy turquoise top and yoga pants.

  I hurried over and gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” She glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, hi, Matthew.” I swung around.

  Matthew was carrying a tray of coffee mugs from the kitchen. “I figured you might run out of clean cups.”

  Jenny’s eyes traveled from him to me. In a low voice she said, “I have a feeling about you two. I can see it in your aura.”

  I gave her a look as if to say, “Give me a break.”

  She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t play innocent with me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Jenny—my aura. You know I don’t believe in any of that stuff.” But I must have been spending too much time with my new friend, because I was really thinking, I have a feeling too.