“No,” she answered. “California mostly. We lived in Napa until I was thirteen; then we moved around a bit. Two years in London, three in New York.”
“Sounds glamorous.”
“I suppose it does, but it was more lonely than anything. My parents weren’t really interested in being parents. They sort of forgot about me a lot.”
“Were they in the wine business?”
She looked confused.
“I just thought . . . because you lived in Napa,” I explained.
“Oh no. They were in lots of things. They dabbled.”
“Like what?”
Joi sighed and looked out the window. “I hope my kids look back on their childhood with happy memories. I think that’s why I got into the center. I wanted all the children I could find to look back on their childhoods with happy memories.”
I nodded. I could already tell that Joi was wishing she had reconnected with her parents while she had the chance.
“I think your father had regrets,” I said, hoping it might lead her to some insights into her parents’ marriage.
“I know he did,” was her quiet response.
And then she went back to talking about her husband and kids, the weather, the report on CNN of a tornado in the Midwest—anything not to talk about her parents. That was okay, I told myself. She was grieving. Besides, I would have other chances once we were at the inn.
At least I hoped so. The moment we arrived, Joi seemed stunned into silence. She walked around the grounds, checking out the classroom and the shop, before coming back to the car as if she were ready to go home.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a bed-and-breakfast,” I said. “Your parents bought it.”
“It looks like it’s falling apart.”
“I think they were in the process of remodeling, though I will grant you it hasn’t gotten very far. Some of the neighbors have pitched in to help and they’re doing a nice job on the inside.”
Joi stared at me as if she thought I was lying. “My parents—I mean, my mother lives here?”
“Yes. I don’t know if your mom will want to keep it up by herself.”
“What do you mean, by herself? Doesn’t she have help?”
I shook my head. “They wanted to hold quilt retreats here, and have a shop.”
“I don’t get it. Why would they buy a place like this?”
“Your mom said they wanted to live out the rest of their lives in peaceful surroundings.”
“They were up to something,” Joi muttered, then took a step back from the car and, instead of walking toward the house, turned and headed into the woods.
“Who is that?” Jesse was suddenly behind me.
“The daughter.”
“She’s walking in the wrong direction.”
“I think she would disagree with you. I gather she prefers to keep some distance between herself and her mother.”
“When did you find out where she lives?”
“Carrie gave me her address yesterday, when I was in town with Rita.”
He nodded but he seemed to be biting his lip. “Did you learn anything else?”
“Not really. She said her parents ‘dabbled’ in several professions, but she wouldn’t get specific. I have Natalie and Carrie looking into their backgrounds, so hopefully we’ll find something.”
He smiled. “Of course you do. You have a larger investigative team than I do.”
“You’re part of the team, remember? What did you learn this morning?”
“Actually, I do have something to tell you.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Joi returning from the woods.
“Tell me later.”
He nodded.
“I guess it’s time to see my mother,” she said. “I don’t think I can do this alone. Would you come with me?”
“Of course,” I said. I wouldn’t have missed this mother-daughter reunion for the world.
CHAPTER 31
“Where’s Rita?” I asked Bernie, who was hand sewing a tumbling blocks quilt in the living room. Bernie was so engrossed in her sewing she hadn’t noticed that Joi and I were standing behind her. After my interruption she finished work on a block and placed it on a pile.
“I’m making a wall hanging for over the fireplace. I love this pattern,” she said. “Don’t you?”
I did love the pattern, which creates a quilt of three-dimensional blocks, achieved by sewing three diamonds together: two vertical diamonds form the side of the block, and the third is sewn horizontally to make the top. The three-point intersection, what quilters call a y-seam, makes the quilt a popular choice for hand sewing, since sewing by machine would require just as many starts and stops.
“This is Rita’s daughter, Joi,” I told Bernie.
Bernie had reached her hand out but stopped and seemed on the verge of withdrawing it.
“You are the picture of your mother,” Bernie said as if seeing a ghost. “But you’re so young. You can’t be more than thirty.”
“Thirty-five,” Joi said. “Though I prefer your guess.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
Joi shook her head. “Only child. Do you know where my mother is?”
“I think she’s up in her room. I saw her going up the stairs a few minutes ago,” Bernie said, her voice still filled with shock. “I’m so sorry about your father, dear. He and I, and your mother, we were friends many years ago.”
“Really? My mother must take a lot of comfort in having you here.”
Bernie’s face started to turn a bright red, so I hurried Joi out of the room and walked with her upstairs to the second floor. We were about to continue up to the third floor when I heard a noise coming from Bernie’s room.
“Excuse me a minute.” I left Joi standing on the landing and walked as quietly as possible to Bernie’s door. It was ajar, but I couldn’t see inside. I pushed the door open.
McIntyre looked up at me, completely unruffled by my sudden arrival.
“Nell, so nice to see you again.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded, for a minute. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m searching your friend’s room.”
“Do you have a search warrant?”
He smiled. “No, ma’am, I don’t. But I do have permission from the owner of the inn.”
Joi was suddenly standing behind me. “What’s going on?”
“Another quilter?” McIntyre looked at her. “I heard it was a growing hobby, but you seem to breed like rabbits.”
“She’s not a quilter. She’s the Olnhausens’ daughter,” I said.
“I am, actually. A quilter, I mean.” Joi stepped into the room. “My grandmother taught me.”
“Mine too,” I said.
“I’m sorry for the loss of your father, ma’am,” McIntyre said. “I’m sure it’s doubly hard the way he passed, but I want you to know that I’m doing everything I can to bring his killer to justice.”
Joi nodded but said nothing. Her eyes were welling up.
“I’m sorry, ladies,” he said softly. “I hate to do this, under the circumstances, but I need you to leave. I can’t have you in here right now, while I’m searching for evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” Joi asked.
“This is Bernie’s room,” I explained. “He thinks she might have been involved.”
Joi turned toward the police chief. “You think that nice woman downstairs might have killed my dad? What the hell is going on here?”
“Please don’t curse in my house,” I heard Rita say seconds before she appeared in the doorway of Bernie’s room.
There was one of the longest periods of silence I’d ever endured. Mother and daughter just stared at each other. McIntyre and I stared at them. The tension was getting to me, so without any particular plan in mind, I decided to break the impasse. But Joi beat me to it.
“Nell came to Saratoga Springs this morning to tell me about dad,” she said.
/> Rita turned her eyes to me, blinking slowly, like a cat deciding whether to pounce. “You pick up daughters and dry cleaning. Aren’t you handy?”
“You ladies might be more comfortable talking somewhere else,” McIntyre jumped in. “I’d skip downstairs if you want privacy. Your neighbors are working on the dining room, and I hear the twins are fixing pasta salad for the group. Might sneak down and get some for myself when I’m done here.”
“Maybe we should go upstairs,” Rita said to her daughter, who nodded and followed her out of the room.
I was about to go when McIntyre grabbed my arm. “Let ’em go,” he said.
I nodded. “You may regret that. If I’m not going with them, then I’m staying here. This,” I waved my hand across the room, “is a mistake.”
He smiled. “I’m no Sherlock Holmes, miss, but I do find that if the facts lead you somewhere, well, then that’s the direction you ought to go. It may make you feel better to know that even your friend Jesse thinks searching Bernie’s room is a good idea.”
That stopped me. “He does?”
“He suggested it.”
Jesse. He could have warned me. I resisted the urge to run outside and confront him, because I didn’t want to appear as though I believed Bernie had something to hide.
“Well, you’re not going to find anything,” I said.
“I already have.” McIntyre showed me an evidence bag. Stuffed inside was a blouse I recognized as Bernie’s. “It has blood on it. I’d bet it’s our victim’s.”
“But you don’t know that.”
“Not yet. But give the lab boys a couple of days.”
“And if you’re wrong, you’ll look elsewhere?”
“Nell—I hope you don’t mind me calling you Nel—I’m looking everywhere. I’m open to any ideas. If you have one, I’d like to hear it.”
I looked at McIntyre. He seemed sincere. I took a deep breath and made a decision. “As long as you’re making a trip to the lab, I have something to show you.”
McIntyre followed me to my room, where I showed him the container of lemonade and told him how George had drugged me the day of his murder.
“I was going to ask Jesse to get it analyzed, but since he’s sharing everything with you anyway, you may as well have it,” I said.
“Any idea why George would drug you?” McIntyre asked.
“No. I just know that there’s something going on here. Some people say Rita and George were the perfect couple, but they couldn’t have been. Rita seemed to have zero interest in the inn. George did everything around here, and she, well . . .” I almost told him about the man in town but thought maybe it was better to save that until I could look into it myself. “They barely spoke to their only child,” I said instead. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job but you have to look deeper than Bernie.”
He nodded. “Maybe. In the meantime I’ll check the shirt and the lemonade.” He walked toward the door. “You’re a bit of an amateur detective, aren’t you?”
I folded my arms, getting ready for the inevitable admonishment. “I’m just curious, that’s all. And I don’t like to see innocent people railroaded.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “And I assure you it won’t happen in this case.” He paused for a moment before adding, “My force consists of me, two part-time deputies, and my dog. I could use a smart lady like you. If you learn anything else, you let me know.”
“If you’re serious,” I said, “then there is something else. I honestly don’t know if it means anything, but Jesse and I found a dog buried in the woods. I remember reading that hunting dogs were going missing and I thought . . .”
“I’ll bring some guys with shovels back from town, and you show me where you found the dog,” he said. “There might not be a connection, but as I said, I go where the facts lead me, even if I’m not sure how it all fits.”
After he left the room, I spent a few minutes re-evaluating my opinion of Jim McIntyre, not just because he had recognized my investigative skills, but because, though he might be leaning toward her, he hadn’t settled on Bernie. That meant he was smart enough to look beyond the obvious. And that was what we had to do if we were going to find the killer.
But first I had to kill Jesse.
CHAPTER 32
I walked around for twenty minutes and couldn’t find him. Jesse had been right outside the front door when I brought Joi in. Joi, whom I had completely abandoned. I considered going back inside, but since she hadn’t run out of the house crying, I figured she was probably fine.
Susanne followed me out of the inn and waved me over.
“We have to talk later,” she said.
“What about?”
“Later.” She turned and I saw Helen behind her. Loud enough to be overheard, Susanne said, “Helen is helping us with the quilts today, and we need to get back to it.”
I nodded as if I understood, but I didn’t. I was about to follow her to the shop when I spotted my target, leaning on the hood of his car, laughing with Eleanor.
“Jesse,” I yelled. “If there weren’t witnesses, I would strangle you.”
Eleanor stood between me and Jesse. She looked like she was about to scold me but then backed down. “This is between the two of you,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Don’t bother,” I told her. “It won’t take long. And you’ll hear about it anyway.”
Though it took him a minute, Jesse seemed to finally catch on that I wasn’t kidding. He stood up. “What are you upset about?”
“You told McIntyre to search Bernie’s room.”
“He didn’t need me to give him the idea, Nell.”
“But you did give him the idea.”
Jesse took a deep breath. “What did he find?”
“Blood,” I said. “He found blood on one of Bernie’s blouses.”
“There has to be a reasonable explanation,” Eleanor offered.
“Of course there’s a reasonable explanation,” I snapped, then thought better of it. Eleanor was, after all, on my side. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . Why would you help McIntyre get more evidence on Bernie?”
“I didn’t help him get evidence on Bernie. I discussed the case with him because he’s looking for the killer and so are we,” Jesse said calmly, almost coldly, in that cop voice that suggested he was being extremely patient with me.
“We’re supposed to be leading him away from Bernie,” I said. “Not pushing him to find things to use against her.”
“Let me ask you something, Nell. If Bernie is the killer, do we cover for her?”
I actually had to think about it, which didn’t make me feel too good. “No,” I admitted. “If, and this is a purely hypothetical and ridiculous if, then no. Whoever killed George has to be found. But Bernie didn’t kill George.”
“So then if we help McIntyre eliminate Bernie, we help find the killer.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?”
“I didn’t realize you were the lead investigator. From now on I’ll clear everything through you.” The sarcasm was unmistakable.
“You said we were going to work together,” I pointed out.
“I was going to tell you once you had the daughter settled in. I told you I had something to tell you, and you asked me to wait, remember?” He cocked his eyebrow at me and waited. I did remember.
“Jesse,” I started to say.
He wasn’t listening. “Oh, and by the way, partner, thanks for the heads-up on getting the daughter up here.” At that he turned and walked toward the house.
“I thought that was a necessary clearing of the air.” Eleanor smiled at me after a moment of uncomfortable silence. She reached out and wrapped an arm around me. “We’ve all been there. Relationships are hard.”
“Not for you and Oliver. From the moment you met, all you two have ever done is coo at each other,” I said. “I guess Jesse and I aren’t soul mates like the two of you.”
“We’re not sou
l mates.”
“If you’re not soul mates . . . ,” I started.
“Jesse is a careful man. He follows the rules, not because he’s a follower, but because he believes in them. He likes structure. He likes to know where he’s going in the morning and where he’ll lay his head at night. You could say that’s because of his daughter, wanting to provide some stability for her, but my guess is that he’s always been that way and always will be.” She turned toward me. “You, my dear Nell, are almost his opposite. You love not knowing what’s ahead of you. You plunge headfirst into trouble and you enjoy getting yourself out of it. It’s why you are an artist. The life is unstable but there are no restrictions.”
I’d never thought of myself as an adventurer, an artist looking for a life of no restrictions. I’d thought of myself as a curious, perhaps meddlesome twenty-six-year-old seeking refuge in my grandmother’s house while I figured out my life. Of the two, I definitely preferred the way Eleanor saw me. It sounded cool and exciting. In either case, the woman she described was not Jesse’s type. I told Eleanor as much.
“Nonsense. You just have to let go of the image you have of the man you will love, and if you really want to be with Jesse, then you have to love him as he is.”
“And he has to do the same for me.”
“Yes. You both have to let go of the controls a little.”
“And then we can be as happy as you and Oliver?”
She shrugged. “I’ve learned not to get too caught up in minutiae but to step back and see the bigger picture. Most everything looks better when you take a step back.” she said.
“I think you’ve said pretty much the same thing about quilting.”
She laughed. “I’m a wise woman.”
“When do I get to be a wise woman?”
My grandmother grabbed my hand and placed it on hers. “When your hands look like mine. And even then it’s kind of hit or miss.” She patted me on the back and headed toward the shop. “Go find your young man. It’s what you both want.”
After standing by the car for a while, hoping Jesse would come looking for me, I headed into the house. The whole thing was a little foolish, I had to admit. But, then, love was a little foolish. There’s something nutty about a system that requires two people to meet, and even if they have nothing in common, fall for each other because of some odd, unexplainable attraction. If it all works, like it clearly does for Oliver and Eleanor, there’s nothing better. But if it doesn’t,
The Double Cross Page 15
