The Double Wedding Ring

by Clare O'Donohue

  “No wonder Allie likes this place so much.” Anna stared at me, and I waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. She just moved on to the Easter fabrics that were displayed on a rack. I put Patch on the ground and followed Anna as she headed toward the classroom.

  “Have you made arrangements yet?” I asked.

  “For Roger? I’ve called his family and as many friends as I could. Roger had a lot of friends, so it’s impossible to think of them all. Everyone’s asking why it happened. I don’t know why.”

  “Jess will find out.”

  “Roger used to say Jesse was the best cop he knew. I suppose he doesn’t get a chance to do much real police work up here.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said. “I’m sure Jesse’s been filling you in on his progress.”

  “All we’ve been talking about are the old days.” She sat down in one of the chairs that faced a sewing machine, but she swirled it to face me instead. “They were wonderful times. Jesse and Lizzie would come over to our place in Queens, and we’d have barbecues in the summer and play cards in the winter. Lizzie wanted to buy a house in our neighborhood. They were living in a tiny apartment and Lizzie was pregnant at the time.” She sighed. “She wanted a dozen kids.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  “And sad that it didn’t happen.” She studied me for a moment. “It’s amazing how different life can be from what you plan. Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. Last night it was pointed out to me that I don’t make plans. I just sort of stumble along.”

  “That can’t be true. Jesse told me you help with his cases. A real partner in crime,” she said. “Or, I guess, crime solving.”

  “I like to help.”

  “That’s where I went wrong with Roger. I didn’t take an interest in his work. I harped on him to make more money or to spend more time with me, but I didn’t really try to learn about the things that made him happy,” she said. “You have. That was smart. Is there a wedding in the future?”

  I sat in a chair at the sewing machine next to her. I couldn’t tell if the question was genuine interest or a trap of some kind, so I sidestepped it. “Is it hard to be married to a cop?”

  “For me it was impossible. Lizzie didn’t mind.”

  “You and Roger . . .” I tried to start delicately, to not let my curiosity turn into rudeness. “How did you meet?”

  She laughed. “Oh God, you won’t believe me. We met in the police academy. My dad was a cop; my brother was a cop. I thought, why not? So I joined up. I was good, too. Passed all the exams with flying colors, could outshoot the guys, and was voted rookie of the year.”

  “But you quit?”

  “I hated it. When Roger and I got married, I left the force and started working for a small design shop on the Upper West Side. It suited me much better. Maybe that’s why we never talked about his work. I loathed it.”

  “And your marriage . . .” I took a breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just that Jesse said you had problems.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s not a secret. Roger and I fought all the time, broke up, and got back together. It was embarrassing, especially when you compared our marriage to Jesse and Lizzie’s. They were the happily ever after the rest of us just dream about.” She paused. Her voice softened. “Except, of course, they didn’t get to enjoy it for very long, did they?”

  “No,” I said quietly, feeling somehow that it was my fault.

  Anna got up and wandered the classroom. She was difficult to read. Shy people are sometimes seen as standoffish, sad people often come across as disinterested. My initial impulse was to see Anna as attempting to manipulate me, but as she walked around the classroom, looking at the sample quilts hung on the walls, she just seemed tired and overwhelmed. Talking about Lizzie might just have been her way of grasping a happier past, and my suspicion just insecurity.

  Anna’s eyes rested on my gazebo quilt in progress. “This is amazing. Is this yours?”

  “I’m making it for my grandmother’s wedding. She’s getting married a week from Saturday.”

  “Allie is the flower girl. She told me. She’s very excited.”

  “We all are. It’s going to be a great day. Lots of flowers and music, and half the town is bringing dishes to the reception. It’s a potluck dinner.”

  “It sounds like fun. Roger and I eloped, so I didn’t have any of that.”

  “Can I ask, when’s the last time you spoke to your husband?”

  “A few weeks ago. We met with lawyers.”

  “So this time you were divorcing?”

  “Not divorce lawyers. We were making changes to our wills. It was Roger’s idea. Stupidly I didn’t realize he was concerned about something happening to him. I thought he was just trying to force a reconciliation. You know, get us in the same room thinking about the future. Roger was very maudlin when he wanted to be. He didn’t want the divorce. He’d tried promises, threats, whatever he could think of. I thought it was just another tactic. Honestly, that day he was the worst. He talked about death as if he’d been diagnosed with something terminal.”

  “Had he been?”

  “No.” She seemed shocked by the idea. “Not that I’m aware of anyway,” she said. Her voice was a near whisper.

  “What did he change?”

  She smiled, just slightly. “You really do like to ask questions. Jesse told me about that. I think it’s what he likes the most about you.”

  “I’m being rude. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s a strange situation, for all of us. Seeing Jesse with you makes me feel he’s cheating on Lizzie. I know he has a right to move on with his life. And I know Lizzie would be happy he’s found someone else, but . . .”

  If I heard Anna say Lizzie’s name one more time, I thought I might cry. Trying to win a popularity contest with a memory was a stupid, and pointless, idea.

  “Ask whatever questions you like,” Anna said. “Jesse has his version of Roger, which, to be honest, is a more idealized man than he really was. I think he’s afraid to ask me any questions that might tarnish his memory.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said. “You said Roger changed his will.”

  “He added a codicil. He set up a trust for Allie.”

  My throat tightened. It might have been a simple, kind gesture from a man who knew his time was running out, but whatever his motive, Roger had involved Allie in something that might have gotten him killed. “Why?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How much is the trust?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know that either. Roger wanted me to know about it, but then he got very secretive.”

  “What about you? He must have left you money.”

  “Roger had a life insurance policy, and I’m the beneficiary. It’s enough to pay off the mortgage but not a lot else. Does that make me a suspect? Angry ex-wife?” she asked. “I guess it does. There was no other money as far as I know. Civil servants don’t cash big paychecks. Even the ones who risk their lives. He used to talk about how he had a second insurance policy, but then he’d laugh. He said the only way it paid off was if he didn’t die.” She rubbed her eyes and stared at me again. She didn’t look like she’d had any more sleep the night before than I did.

  “Maybe you should get some rest,” I suggested.

  “I’m fine. If you want to ask me anything else . . .”

  I did, though I felt bad asking it. “What did you mean, he wasn’t the idealized version Jesse thinks he was?”

  “He was a man. Just an ordinary, fallible man. He did his best, and sometimes that was pretty good, but sometimes he went too far.” She squinted, thought for a moment, then started again. “I loved Roger. He annoyed me, drove me crazy actually, but in my own way I loved him. I just didn’t want to be with him anymore, and he couldn’t understand that.”


  “I know Jesse doesn’t consider you a suspect . . .”

  She laughed a little. “I spent fifteen years listening to Roger talk about catching bad guys. Even if I wanted to kill him, which I didn’t, I know that killers get caught. And I also know that the spouse is the very first person the police look at. I’m not stupid. And I guess, unlike what you were saying about yourself, I do plan. Spending my life in prison is not in my plan.”

  I heard the door to the shop open. Eleanor was back with the sandwiches. “I should get going.” Anna moved quickly into the main part of the store, introduced herself to Eleanor, and then headed back out into the snow.

  “She seems nice,” Eleanor said, looking back at me. “But you don’t like her.”

  “She is nice,” I admitted. “And no, I don’t.”

  I was glad Eleanor didn’t question me further. I had no idea what it was about Anna that bothered me. But something did.

  CHAPTER 25

  The afternoon dragged. My eyes were tired, my mind was restless, and my stitches were huge. I left my project on the worktable in the classroom and wandered into the main part of the shop. We’d been open six hours and so far there had been only two customers. Now the shop was empty. The snow had stopped, but the roads were barely passable. The county had the job of clearing the streets, and they were busy on the highways. Archers Rest was low on its list of priorities. I stared out the window at what should have been a pretty scene, the blank white covering on the streets and trees, giving the town a wintery glow.

  But my eyes wandered from the street up to the rooftop across the street where just the day before a sniper had probably stood. If I’d been standing in the same spot yesterday I would have seen who it was. Or been shot.

  Some of the murders I’d maneuvered my way into investigating had too little information. This one had too much. Roger came to town, was murdered. There was a shooting, no one got hurt. Different weapons, different targets, but I knew they were connected. And they were planned. Someone had seen Dru’s car parked in that spot and saw a chance to use it as cover. That meant there wasn’t one killer, there were two. Anna and Bob Marshall—who else could it be? They were the only ones who knew Roger. And if Jesse was right that the murder had nothing to do with his days as a New York City cop, then it might have something to do with Roger’s personal life—an affair between Anna and Bob? I was stepping out of theory into fiction, but it was better than standing in the shop feeling lost in a sea of confusion.

  “Grandma, I’m heading across for coffee,” I shouted. I grabbed my coat and went to the door before she had a chance to answer, but I heard a muffled “okay” as the door closed behind me.

  I walked across the street to the coffee shop, but instead of going up to the counter for my usual order I walked straight through, leaving through the alley door.

  Carrie called out, “Nell, don’t you want . . .”

  “No, thanks.”

  “But we have to talk.”

  She seemed insistent, but it could wait. Something was pulling me up to the roof.

  There were fire escapes bolted to the back walls of each of the stores. I jumped up to the ladder of the one leading to the roof of the old Clark’s Dry Cleaners. The old iron slid down with a grunt. I climbed slowly. There was ice on the rungs, making each step slow and scary. My foot slipped as I tried to move higher, my bare hands gripped the frozen metal, which tore at my skin as I tried to let go. By the time I made it to the top I was out of breath and regretting the attempt. In my hurry to get moving, I’d left my boots, gloves, scarf—basically all of the sensible attire for a cold winter’s day—back at the shop. All I had to keep the chill out was my coat and my stubbornness.

  I moved to the center of the roof gingerly, half afraid the thing would collapse under the weight of the piles of snow that had fallen. I edged closer to the front of the building and could see the street below. I was only one floor up, but I suddenly felt dizzy. The wind was picking up. I pulled my coat tighter. I had an irrational fear that I would be swept off the roof by a strong breeze, but I stayed where I was, hoped for the best, and tried to imagine what the shooter had been looking for.

  From my position on the roof, I could see the end of the street where Dru’s car had been parked. Someone with a reflective object signaling from behind her car would most certainly be seen from up here.

  But why did he do it? If the shooting was a message, as it seemed to be, what was the message? If the killer had followed Roger, or taken him to Jesse’s house, then surely he knew that Roger hadn’t spoken to Jesse yet. Whatever it was he was going to say, or do, Roger had been killed before he’d had his chance. Trying to threaten Jesse seemed likely to cause more trouble, not less. Besides, why not just leave town? He’d gotten away with murder, all he had to do was slip back onto the highway and head south to New York. But the killer had stayed at least long enough to climb up to this roof.

  I stood there a long while, watching people walking down below, unaware that I was up here. Any one of them could have been hurt, or worse, if the shooter had aimed his gun just a little lower.

  Today the street was back to its normal level of small-town busy. People were going in and out of stores, and I could hear greetings and complaints about the weather as voices wafted up toward me. The broken bulbs on the streetlights had been replaced, and I knew that there was a new windshield on Jesse’s squad car. The only evidence of anything out of the ordinary was the bullet hole in the S of “Someday Quilts.” Other than that, it was like the shooting had never happened.

  I saw my parents’ car drive down Main and park in front of the shop. My mom got out and went inside. Through the window of Someday I could see her looking around, but then she disappeared farther into the store.

  I watched as Greg walked from the park, cigarette in hand. He crossed the street toward Jitters and briefly looked up at the roof. Instinctively I pulled back. He didn’t see me, at least he didn’t seem to, but he looked nervous. I heard the bell announcing that the door to the coffee shop had opened. Greg went inside.

  There was no point in hunting for clues. Assuming the shooter left anything behind, the state police would have found it or the snow would have covered it up. And yet I was pinned to this spot. There was something here, something that might lead to an answer. I just didn’t know what it was.

  I tried to put myself in the mind of the shooter, the person who also very likely killed Roger Leighton. If I was sending a message, where would I aim? The Someday sign was across the street, the two streetlamps with broken bulbs were in the direct path of a shooter on either side of the shop, and the squad car with the shattered windshield had been parked just below.

  It gave me the shivers. The night Roger was killed, he had sat in the coffee shop watching Someday Quilts. When Carrie told him that Jesse’s girlfriend worked there, Roger had muttered something about hoping “she liked heartbreak.” If it was meant for me, as Natalie suggested, it seemed odd that the shooting happened while I was still inside Jitters. Why not wait until I crossed the street? Maybe the message was to Jesse, and it wasn’t that he was in danger, but that unless he did what the killer wanted, I would be hurt. Maybe that’s why he wanted me to stay off the case.

  My hands were frozen and my feet, clad only in loafers, were wet in the two feet of snow that packed down on the roof. I turned to head back, and as I did I had a decent view of River Street, which intersected Main. City Hall was the most prominent building on the street, with the police station right next to it. I caught a glimpse of bright blue, Anna’s coat. She was walking down the steps of the police station toward a silver car. A man I could see only from the back was waiting for her. They hugged. It was hard from this distance to tell if the hug was friendly, comforting, or something more intimate. But it lasted. I couldn’t see the man very well, but he wasn’t Jesse, and he wasn’t Bob Marshall.

  He turned toward his
car, and I caught a brief glimpse of him. He was elegantly dressed in a suit and camel hair coat. He had a briefcase. Lawyer, probably. I’d been hoping for another suspect, but he was probably just some old friend of Anna and Roger’s making sure papers were in order to take the body home. It was nothing, I decided.

  Then he looked up and saw me. Maybe it was the light, or the distance, but as our eyes met, it looked like he smiled.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Are you nuts? It’s freezing out there.” Carrie didn’t even ask if I needed anything, she just handed me a cup of hot chocolate and wrapped a blanket over me the minute I stepped back into Jitters. “What were you doing in the alley?”

  “On the roof,” I corrected her. I was shivering, and not all of it was from the cold. The idea that the killer might be after me was sinking in. “I just wanted to see where the shooter had been.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. He . . .”

  “Or she . . .”

  I nodded. I almost told her my theory, but I couldn’t. I might be wrong, and, either way, it would only worry Carrie and maybe put her in danger, too. “Right,” I said. “He or she had a very good view of the center of town. I could see people down below, but if I stayed away from the edge, I don’t think anyone would have seen me. With Clark’s empty, it’s not like there was anyone down below who would have heard footsteps on the roof.”

  “And his escape?”

  “Once the shooting started we all stayed inside, so he could have climbed down the fire escape and been in a waiting car in less than a minute. Or he could have dumped the gun somewhere and just walked toward the library. With all the panic, would anyone have noticed?”

  “For all we know, he could have stashed the gun on the roof earlier, and been in here drinking coffee, and just slipped out the back.”