Old Maid's Puzzle (8 page)

I got a glimpse of my fellow students, hunched over their fabric. Mine was forlornly sitting on my green cutting mat. The woman closest to the door could see the police uniform. I saw the question on her face.

I reached for the classroom door, smiling at the students in a way I hoped was reassuring. Tim Shore caught my eye and frowned.

I said, "No worries, folks. Keep working. Ina will be right back." I closed it. Wong could break the news to them in a few minutes. I wanted to keep things as normal as I could for as long as I could.

Ina was fuming. "What's so important out here, Dewey?" She inhaled, ready to give me her best shot for ditching her class. She stopped short when she saw Officer Wong. She looked to me for explanation. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing, Ina. Someone died in the alley."

"That's nothing?" Ina yelled. Ina sometimes thought she was my moral compass. She worried that I'd gotten cynical after finding that body last spring.

I laid a gentling hand on her. "I meant nothing to do with us."

The young police officer's eyes were darting between the two of us. He'd probably thought he'd gotten the easy job-go talk to the little old ladies in the quilt shop. He was getting far more than he bargained for.

I knew cops liked nothing better than potential witnesses to a crime arguing. Who knew what might slip out?

"You can use my office." I told him.

He peeked into the cluttered room. My desk chair and Vangie's were the only clear space. Both our desks were overflowing, and the floor was a morass of merchandise that needed to be put out for sale. He sighed slightly. The sight disheartened me, too.

He backed down the hall. "I'd prefer the kitchen," he said, poking his nose in. Someone had wiped down the room earlier, and the tabletop was gleaming like a TV ad. Vangie was gone but she'd set the table with the thermal carafe, paper cups, and sugar packets. The fake Irish Cream nondairy cream bottle sat in the middle, a punctuation mark. Even though she wasn't happy about making coffee, she still did her best. I was surprised she hadn't gotten out the cookies.

I let him assert himself. "The kitchen it is." He walked in. Vangie was not there.

I hung back with Ina while he checked out the space. "What do you think I did? Arrange to have someone drop dead in the alley just to avoid my quilting class?"

Ina's arms were crossed tightly against her ample chest, a tic in her cheek making her look like she was chewing tobacco. Her face was creased with frustration. She knew this disruption was enough to sink her class for the night.

"If you could have, you would've. Don't bother to deny it."

"Someone died out there, Ina"

"Don't you get all pious on me," she said. "I'm sorry some poor soul died out there, and I will pray he has a better life in the next life than he did in this one, but you have to learn to quilt."

Sweet. If I'd just learn to quilt, my whole life would fall into place. The store would earn enough to pay me a decent salary. Kym would morph into the cool sister I never had. And Buster would drop the celibacy act. Yeah, right.

"Listen, Ina, there's a homicide investigation going on. This guy is going in there to tell your class that a detective is going to want to interview each one of them. The class will be over for tonight. Who knows if they'll want to come back for the next session? I'm going to lose revenue." I took a breath. Ina didn't know how much financial trouble the shop was in.

She considered, watching my face closely. She could tell something was going on. She unwound her arms and softened her tone. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I thought you were just out here, goofing off." She tsked loudly. "A dead body," she said in wonder. "Oh, Dewey."

There was so much angst in those two little words.

Ina set her shoulders back, her resolute nature taking over. She was used to handling messy situations. "I'll check the class calendar. If nothing else is scheduled for that Wednesday, I'll extend the class a week."

"Thank you," I said.

She went on her way. I poured coffee for Wong. Zorn strode into the room, like a surgeon whose team had the patient all prepped. He settled in a chair facing the doorway, took the cup from Wong and sipped.

"Go stay in that room, Wong. I don't want any talking. Just tell them what has happened, and send them in here, one at a time."

He turned to me, "Didn't you say there was another employee here?"

"Vangie Estrada."

"Let me talk to her first."

I found Vangie out front, wrestling with fabric bolts. I sent her in, ignoring her obvious reluctance, and retreated to my office. I called Buster, but got only voice mail. I left him a message to call me, without filling him in. The wall between my office and the kitchen was thin. I didn't want Zorn to hear me talking about the murder.

I plopped myself in Vangie's chair. From here, I could see into the hall and watch who went from the class into the kitchen. I could also try to listen in on the interrogations.

I had a knack for eavesdropping. It started with having three brothers who didn't want their sister around. I'd learned at an early age that knowledge was power, and if that meant lurking in corners, I was okay with that.

Vangie finished with Zorn and stuck her head in. She looked surprised to see me at her desk, but didn't ask why. "I'm going to close the register. We'll be shutting down early, right?"

I nodded, then I remembered something. "Hey, did you take your brownies home?"

Vangie smiled. "Ate them," Vangie said.

I looked at her askance.

"I couldn't leave them lying around," she said. "There were only two. Small, and very mild."

"Do we need to talk about this?" I said.

"Under control, boss, always," she said. She disappeared from the doorway, humming "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" Smart ass.

I checked my phone to see if Buster had called back. Nothing. The laundry or the Giants game must be enthralling.

I could hear more police cars arrive in the parking lot. I could hear Vangie out front, dropping coins into the metal cash box. I could hear Ina talking about rotary cutters.

But I could hear only murmurings from the kitchen. Until it was Tim Shore's turn.

I felt the office shudder as he closed the kitchen door with a bang. I jumped out of my chair and leaned into the wall to hear him, his deep voice carrying easily.

"Officer, I want to know why you continue to hold us." He was unhappy.

I crept closer.

Zorn's voice rumbled. "I'm investigating a death, sir. I understand this is not how you expected to spend your night, but I can't really help that. Just answer a few questions, and you can be on your way.

The first question Zorn asked was why he'd arrived late. Shore's excuse was traffic, the one thing no one could dispute in Silicon Valley. He gave Zorn excruciating details of his drive over the hill from Santa Cruz. He'd left before four, but there was a fender bender at the summit, which slowed him down. He hated to be late and so was concentrating on nabbing the last spot in the parking lot and getting in to class. He'd been so distracted, he hadn't noticed anything in the alley.

A class he thought should continue tonight.

He pleaded with Zorn. "I paid my money, and I want to learn how to quilt."

I looked him up in the database on Vangie's computer while he talked. One of the joys of computerizing the store's files was that I had records of all the transactions going back several years.

I looked in the customer screens. Tim Shore, there he was. I moved over to his sales history. The class was his first purchase.

Zorn was slowly explaining to him the fine points of an investigation. I remembered I'd promised him a list of students. I clicked back to the class, and viewed the other names enrolled. Most of the beginning quilters were new to the store. Our future customers. Sure enough, I didn't recognize most of the names. I generated the report with names, addresses, and phone numbers.

A note on the class list caught my eye. Alice Quick was enrolled, but she hadn't paid. Damn. That was against store policy. Either you paid in advance, or you weren't put in the class. It just made sense. I couldn't have someone filling up a spot that a paying customer might have taken.

My stomach roiled. This was one of those new rules I'd established. In years past, classes hadn't filled up. My mother was okay with low enrollment, holding sessions with as few as two students. She'd never considered that she might be losing money. I'd done an analysis and found that the break-even point was six students. Unless I had more than six paid students in my classes, I wasn't making money.

One of my staff had signed up Alice without paying. Against the rules. I looked to see whose initials were on the sale. KP. Kym Pellicano. It figured.

I went out to where Vangie was closing the drawer. She'd counted the cash and was putting the credit card slips in order. "Do we have any open tabs?" I asked. With this computer system, we could keep an open sale and add to it until the customer was finished or until the end of the class. Maybe Alice had paid tonight.

Vangie looked at the cash register screen and shook her head.

I said, "There's an unpaid student in the class."

Vangie raised her thick eyebrows. "Who signed her up?"

"One guess"

Vangie made a disgusted sound. I let her stew for a moment. I knew she would do what needed to be done.

"Would you please go collect from her?" I asked.

Vangie frowned. "I hate having to ask for money after the student is already in the class. It's embarrassing. Most of the time the customer forgets they haven't paid and then I feel like a bill collector."

"I hear you. I'll go with you."

She paused on her way to the classroom, and hesitated. Her brown eyes clouded and she cracked a knuckle. "Did you see the body?" she said quietly.

"Yeah."

A heaviness filled the air between us.

"Anyone we know?"

I shook my head. "Just a random guy."

"Okay." Vangie turned and walked away, her shoulders looking lighter than they had a moment ago. She liked to pretend she was a tough street kid, but underneath she believed in unicorns. Or maybe Puff the Magic Dragon.

I followed her back down the hall. The kitchen door was closed. I couldn't hear Shore, so Zorn must have a different student in there-maybe the granny whose lipstick was pumpkin orange.

We entered the classroom, which was quieter than I'd expected. Once inside, I could see why. Officer Wong was standing in the corner watching the group, killing any conversation. Most of the students had already packed their gear. They were seated quietly at the tables, tote bags refilled, sewing machines covered, tools put away. Tim Shore had hauled out his backpack and was stuffing his fabric into it with angry movements.

Ina was trying her best to amuse the customers, telling tales about the peccadilloes of famous quilters she'd taken classes from, but most were paying her no attention.

"I can't tell you her name, she's too famous," she was saying. "She brought her Shitza-poo-poo everywhere, even putting him in a basket on the podium while she gave her lecture. He barked through the whole thing. She didn't even notice. After the first fifteen minutes, I had such a headache."

Vangie went over to a woman with a name tag that read "Alice" and whispered in her ear. The customer got red-faced and got out her credit card. Vangie left to ring up her class fees and complete the charge. Both she and Alice were feeling awkward, a situation Kym had created. I felt another wave of irritation.

I called for the class' attention. All heads turned to me expectantly. "I am sorry about the inconvenience," I said.

"You need to talk to the police. They're not letting us move our cars," my tablemate said.

I looked to Wong. He shrugged. Police investigations trumped comfort.

The lipsticked granny called out. "How are we supposed to get home?"

I had to do something. "Let me go ask Detective Zorn. Maybe he can tell me how long it's going to be."

I crossed to the kitchen. The door was open, and I waited for Zorn to finish talking. A curly-haired brunette had replaced Tim Shore. As soon as I realized more flirting than questioning was going on, I broached the room.

"Listen," I said. "Is there something I can do to move things along? I mean, my customers need to get home"

"I'll talk to them," he said, watching the student leave. It was amazing how long it takes to watch a pretty woman walk awayand with such concentration. I was just about to jump into his line of vision when he followed her to the door.

He paused in the doorway to let me go through first. "They can go once I've talked to them."

He took a stance alongside Ina at the podium, legs spread and hands on his hips. Superman pose.

"People, this is an official police investigation. I appreciate your cooperation. I'm sorry to put you out, but your cars are in the midst of a crime scene and will not be released until the investigation is complete. That could take several hours. You may want to secure alternate means to get home."

The group turned to me, standing in the doorway. I held up my hands helplessly. "I'm sorry. You can use the phone in here or in my office to call husbands or friends to come get you. Just dial nine for an outside line."

That satisfied most of the customers, and they spread out and began to make their calls. Two remembered their cells and retrieved them from Ina's basket. Tim Shore was the lone holdout. He was angry and not budging. Typical male. Even though there was nothing to be done, he wanted something done.

Tim opened his mouth to complain.

I tried to forestall his scene. "I will provide cab fare for anyone who can't get a ride home."

His face slowly creased into a smile, and he gave me a thumbsup. He was quite handsome when he smiled.

Vangie came into the classroom to give Alice her credit slip, just in time to hear my offer. When she heard what I'd said, she nudged me hard and whispered, "Do you know how expensive cabs are? We've got exactly eighty bucks in petty cash."