Diana dashed a glance at Ethan, who was leaning against the wall, snickering at her. She frowned a look that said Just wait—you’ll be next. “Um, well—” she was just about to reply when she saw Ethan’s lips moving. It looked like he was saying, “Bargain with her.”
She blinked. Of course. “Well, you know, Mrs. Galliday,” she said slowly, with real regret in her voice, “business has been a bit slow. Those doctors just aren’t messing up as much as they used to. I could probably afford it if it were, say, fifty percent off.”
“Fifty percent!” Helen clutched her hand to her chest, her beady blue eyes widening in feigned shock. “Oh my heavens, why that’s like giving away the store! Oh my, oh my, oh, I just don’t think we could do more than … twenty-five percent off.” Her eyes grew shrewd as she appraised Diana, waiting but seeming not to wait, for her response.
“Oh, dear. Well,” Diana drew in a deep sigh and turned from the quilt. “I guess I’ll just have to wait then. I might be able to swing it at forty percent ….”
Helen gave up all pretenses. “Twenty-eight percent!”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Thirty!”
“Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-three!”
“Sold!”
Diana laughed and Helen manipulated her lips into what passed for a smile. “Well, now, Betsy, why don’t you package up that wedding quilt there for Diana while we look at the Crazy quilt.”
“Wedding quilt?”
“Of course—couldn’t you tell, what with all the white? You put it in your trousseau for when you get married.” Pauline winked at Diana and let her gaze slide to Ethan.
Deciding to get herself off the hot seat, Diana turned to Ethan, saying sweetly, “Ethan, weren’t you saying you needed a quilt for your sister? And what about one for your house?”
That was all she needed to say—Helen was on him like a pit bull, leaving Pauline free to take Diana over to the Crazy Quilt.
It was the largest quilt she’d ever seen, measuring, she guessed, ten by ten feet unfinished.
“Each of us does a block whenever we have some leftover materials,” Pauline was explaining. “This one I did with the pattern we used for a fund-raiser last year for a little boy who needed a liver transplant. See, I embroidered little hearts and rainbows around the edge of the block.
“And this one here Martha created using some of the material from her granddaughter’s wedding dress, and the dresses from her bridesmaids.
“Look at this block—we did this one for Damariscotta’s centennial celebration.”
Diana was fascinated, and the other ladies crowded around, eager to share the stories behind each of the unique blocks. And though they were each of different patterns and colors and materials, somehow they fit together harmoniously—just like their creators.
Rose Bettinger, who had been quiet until now, eased her way through the small knot of people. “Diana, this was the last block your aunt was working on before she passed. I’ve been trying to finish it for her so we can add it to the quilt.”
She turned from the main quilt to take the four-by-four-inch piece of quilting Rose offered. “Do you know what its story is?” she asked, looking at the square. It was different from the others in that it was composed of one large square of material with a narrow border of black and red patterned fabric. The center square had stars and moons appliquéd on it, along with two fish that looked like the symbol for Pisces.
“I don’t know much about it—she’d been working on it only the last few days before she died, and she didn’t give any description where or how she got the idea.” Rose patted Diana’s hand in her motherly fashion, “Now, dear, I wish’t I could tell you more. Only other thing is she had some notes she was making about it somewhere’s around here. But I don’t know where they went off to. And there are other squares that she’s done—look here at this one with the yellow and blue triangles and circles. She said that one reminded her of the pyramids of Egypt.”
Diana glanced at the indicated block, then back at the one she held in her hands. She was compelled to stare at it, to try and figure out what theme, what meaning Aunt Belinda had been using when she composed the odd-looking piece. “What do you suppose this is?” she asked, pointing to a group of small black stitches in one corner.
“Let me see that.” Helen snatched the scrap of fabric out of her hand, peering down at it. “Looks to me like a snake climbing a tree. Looks like ol’ Bee got a little Biblical on us!” She cackled and handed the scrap of fabric back to Diana.
“Could be,” Diana looked at it again, a niggling in the back of her head telling her that she should recognize it. Stars and moons. Pisces. A snake in a tree.
She was jolted from her thoughts by Ethan’s approach. “Well, I’ve got to get some lunch, and we’d better go get your cats. It’s almost one o’clock.”
Diana nodded, and absently handed the block back to Rose. “Thank you for showing this to me. I’ll be very anxious to see it when it’s all completed.”
“I don’t think it’ll ever get finished,” Betsy Farr ventured. “We just keep adding on to it.”
“I have your quilt—and mine as well,” Ethan smiled at her. “They’re already in the truck.”
Helen led the way to the front of the shop. “Now, you stop by again,” she admonished with a curved forefinger. “Quilts make great gifts for Christmas and weddings, you know.”
Ethan and Diana agreed they would be back, but as they started down the steps, Diana heard him mutter, “If I buy many more of those, I’ll be bankrupt.”
She slid into her spot in the cab of the truck just as he opened his door. “Hungry?” he asked. “Want to grab some lunch?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks—I need to get back to the house. I’ve got a million things to do there.”
He shrugged. “All right, then.”
But when they returned to the back lot behind Doc Horner’s office, a surprise awaited them.
Diana’s Lexus sat on ribbons of slashed tires.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“They must have done it while Doc Horner’s office was closed for lunch,” Ethan told Joe Cap as they sat in his office. “She had it parked in back by the animal shelter barn.”
The lanky, straw-haired officer sat back in his chair, tilted so that he could look up at the ceiling, and folded his arms over his chest, listening as they told the story.
Diana’s face was drawn so tight her cheekbones were almost skeletal in the fluorescent lighting of the station’s office. “Last night I received a prank phone call, too. It was the second one.”
Ethan swiveled in his chair. “You didn’t mention that.”
She ignored him, speaking only to Cap. “I didn’t think much of it—I answered the phone and no one was there, both times. I figured it was some kids playing around. But now … I’m rethinking that.” Her hands were curled in her lap, but other than that and the whiteness of her face, she showed no other sign of emotion. Something he’d come to expect from her.
“You didn’t feel, after a break-in last weekend, that it was important enough to call the police?” Ethan said harshly. “He was probably checking to see if you were home. For whatever reason.”
Again, she ignored him. “I planned to stop by today and let you know about it,” she told Joe. Her hand shook delicately as she brushed a thick lock of hair behind her ear.
Joe’s chair thumped as he allowed it to right itself. He looked across his desk at them and said, “There’s something more to this.” His pale eyes probed Diana seriously. “I don’t think this is just some kids messing around,” he said.
“You said the other day you thought something was odd,” said Ethan.
Joe nodded and returned his attention to Diana. “I remember thinking that when I found your aunt’s body, there was something odd about it. She was in her bed, and had died probably of heart failure in her sleep—which was substantiated by Marc Reardon, who was treating her he
art condition. There were no signs of forced entry, no signs of struggle, no robbery … nothing. But ….” He drew in a long, deep breath and faded into silence. Of course with Joe and the way he talked, one couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just pausing between words.
“Smothered. She was smothered.”
Ethan spun to look at Diana, who’d spoken abruptly. The words sounded as though they had been dragged from deep within her. “Smothered? What makes you think that?” he demanded, knowing he was on the verge of learning something important—about Diana, about her abilities, about Belinda.
“I … just … know it.” Her voice was steady but barely discernable as she forced the words from her lips—lips that moved stiffly and were white around the edges.
“I dreamt it.” She seemed to brace herself, as though in protection of any ridicule they might send her way, but she didn’t retreat from her words. Her eyes sat, huge and sunken, in her delicate face—blue-gray irises ringed with black, dark lashes fringing the deep lids, accented by dark brows.
“The bed was just too neat,” Joe Cap said. “I wondered later how anyone could have slept without even wrinkling the sheets.”
“And no reason to do an autopsy, hmm?” Ethan mused. “An elderly woman with a documented heart condition dies in her sleep, and no one thinks twice about it.”
“Yep.” Joe Cap scratched his head, then flattened the ruffled hair into a smooth sheen. “Shoulda gone with my gut. There were some faint bruises on one wrist, but they coulda been there awhile. Marc checked her over too, and said it was a heart attack. Coulda assumed too much there.”
“We’re talking about murder here.” Ethan spoke the words flatly, aloud, to make certain he could believe it.
“Yep. Murder.”
~*~
Ethan insisted on buying Diana lunch at one of the outdoor seafood places in town before giving her a ride home. She’d agreed that Belinda should be exhumed for an autopsy to determine if their suspicions were correct. There’d been miles of paperwork to complete, so it was nearly two-thirty by the time they left the police station, and he was ravenous.
As they sat at a picnic table shaded by a green-and-white-striped umbrella, Ethan watched Diana stare into space. He wished there was something he could do or say to take that stone-like, taut expression from her features.
The only part of her that seemed to have life was her dark hair: the breeze played with it, toying with a curl here, tossing a wisp into her face there. He loved that it was so full and soft, but left her neck and shoulders bare. Once, a few strands caught at the corner of her full lips and he reached over without thinking to brush it away, sliding his fingers over her smooth, warm skin. She came out of her reverie to look at him in surprise, then with a faltering smile settled further back on her bench—away from him.
“You have such beautiful hair,” he said. “I couldn’t resist.”
She clapped a hand to her head, pushing the tousled mass flat, and looked at him as if he were crazy. “It’s always so out of control and messy. My mom used to say—well, I always think of it as my worst feature,” she added with a wry laugh. “But thanks for saying that.”
“It’s definitely not your worst feature,” he said. “I think it’s one of your best features. That and your eyes. Every time I look at them, they seem to be a different color. From blue to gray and everything in between.”
Diana looked supremely uncomfortable. “Thanks,” she said.
He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed nervously and he admired the long line of her neck, thinking how much he’d like to slide his mouth along and nuzzle its warm, intimate curve. But of course, that was out of the question.
“And then there’s the rest of you,” he continued, wondering whether she was uncomfortable because of the compliments, or because it was he who was giving her the compliments. “Including your mouth. I think it’s pretty fantastic too—including what comes out of it.”
He was certain it wasn’t the sun’s heat that made her face pinken, and he settled back and admired the view. Why an intelligent, beautiful woman like her was so blown over by a few compliments he couldn’t understand.
He heard their number called from the restaurant counter and stood to retrieve their food. But before he went, he looked down at her and said, “Do you want to know what your worst feature really is?”
Diana went still, and he could see even her breathing stop. “What?” she asked, sort of shrinking away. Her whole demeanor changed: walls went up, eyes went flat, body went stiff.
Wow. Hit a soft spot there. “As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “your worst feature is Jonathan Wertinger.” And he walked away to get the food.
~*~
When they returned to Diana’s house, Ethan turned off the truck and gallantly got out to help her carry the cats inside. Ordering Cady to “park it,” he hurried over to take both of the carriers from Diana.
She unlocked the door and stepped in, turning to take Motto’s carrier. After letting the cats out of their cages, he followed her into the kitchen, where the distinct odor of tuna reached his nose. “What’s that?”
Diana looked embarrassed as she noticed the open can of tuna on the counter. “A bribe for the cats—I guess I forgot about it because I was so relieved to get them ready to go. I’m going to put the mail in the den,” she said, and left him in the kitchen.
Ethan leaned in his favorite spot against the counter, noticing that the Tarot cards were no longer in their regular spot under the phone. He wondered what she’d done with them, and was just about to ask when he heard a startled cry.
He bolted down the hall toward the den, and found Diana in its doorway, leaning against the wall. Her hand covered her mouth and she pointed, wordlessly, into the room.
It was trashed.
The stacks of magazines and periodicals had been thrown everywhere. Torn paper littered the floor, books had been flung and lay, binding-side-up, pages crushed, every which way. A penholder rested on its side, with pens, pencils, and markers in a jumble on the desk and onto the floor. Even the settee had been destroyed—cushions torn open and tossed around, and the back slit open.
Diana sank onto the floor, cross-legged, and stared silently into the room. “What is going on?” she whispered. “What are they after?”
From her place in the doorway, she looked up at him—her eyes wide, frightened and very blue, her thick dark hair in disarray, her features etched with confusion. He dropped his hand to touch her hair, gently massaging its warmth and softness, while at the same time fighting stunning, encompassing anger.
“I don’t know,” he breathed. “But we’re going to find out.”
~*~
It was after dusk by the time Ethan pulled into his driveway, Diana and her overnight bag in the front seat next to him.
He’d been unshakable in his insistence that she not stay in Belinda’s house alone tonight. Joe Cap had agreed, and Diana, to her credit, didn’t argue. Once Joe started using words like unauthorized entry and murder, her initial hesitation evaporated. Although, to be fair, Ethan suspected Diana’s reluctance stemmed more from staying with him than from being evacuated from her house.
Cady leapt out of the kennel in the back of the truck as soon as Ethan flung the door open, shooting into her yard to sniff around and make sure nothing had invaded her domain. He didn’t miss the fact that Diana eyed the dog with trepidation before hurrying toward the cabin while the lab was sniffing at the base of a pine tree on the far end of his yard.
“I take it you don’t like dogs,” he commented, feeling a bit crestfallen that it was so.
“No, not really,” she replied, still eyeing Cady warily. She looked as if she expected the dog to come barreling over and attack her at any moment. “Especially big ones.”
Ethan whistled for his pet, and she came trotting across the lawn, grinning happily that there was another human about to give her attention. Poor thing was bound to be disappointed.
“Co
me on in.” He gestured Diana into his high-ceilinged living room. “Cady, snooze—right there,” he said, pointing to a worn, Navajo rug in front of the fireplace. The lab looked at him with her big brown dog-eyes as if to say What did I do? He went over to give his best friend a pat on the head to let her know that he still loved her, then said to his guest, “Would you like something to drink? Beer, wine, soda, coffee, juice? Water?”
“Um … ” she paused for a moment, looking up at him with eyes dulled by stress, “A glass of wine? Red if you have it.”
The Cards of Life and Death (Modern Gothic Romance 2) Page 16
