Sins and Needles (32 page)

“But Todd Warner told him that it's the restored Baby Gar that would be worth that kind of money—and that professional restoration of an antique boat would cost a great deal of money. Money he didn't have.”

Susan said in a low, angry voice, “That's when he cooked up that deal with the girls, coaching them to choose very expensive items from the house so he could get the restoration money from them.”

“No, I don't think so,” said Betsy. “I think he genuinely thought he could do most of the restoration himself—he has an excellent opinion of his skills. By putting the girls forward as legitimate claimants, it made it possible for him to get the boat for nothing. But he really loves his daughters, Susan. That's why he tried to murder Lucille.”

“Lucille? I don't understand.”

“He was pretty sure he could talk Jan into loaning him some of the money she was to inherit. But she turned him down because she believed Lucille's claim was legitimate, which might bring Jan's share down to something even less than what he wanted to borrow. And he wanted to keep the boat.”

“I never thought when I told him that…” said Jan, looking stricken. “Oh, no,
I
helped him decide that Lucille had to die!”

“No such thing!” said Susan. “I won't have you feeling guilty for something your uncle found out from you. He would have found out anyway.” She sniffed back a tear. “Poor Lucille, walking into a nest of vipers all unknowing.”

“One viper,” corrected Betsy. “He was upset when his attempt on Lucille failed, but he still had Plan B, which was to tell Jan about the boat. If she loaned him just a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, she could have it back when he sold the restored
Edali
. He'd have enough left over to start his business.”

“And fail,” said Susan.

“Now, we don't know that,” said Jan. “It really is a good idea, Mother. He loves to go fishing, and he knows every corner of Lake Minnetonka.”

“Yes, but he doesn't like sitting in a cramped office doing sums and paying bills—and that's a great big part of owning your own business.”

“It sure is,” sighed Betsy, thinking of her poor, neglected shop.

“Not that he'll ever have a chance to find out,” muttered Susan, who was using anger to stave off grief.

Jan looked at her watch. “Is it over yet?”

Betsy looked at her own. “Probably. Both of you will very likely have messages on your phone machines when you get home.”

“That's why we're here,” said Jan. “I couldn't bear talking to him right now.”

“I can't believe it,” said Susan. “When I thought the worst about Stew, I had no idea it wasn't remotely the worst. How could he? How
could
he?”

 

“D
ID
he confess?” asked Betsy. She and Sergeant Rice were in a small conference room in the Excelsior Police Department building.

“Not yet,” said Rice. “He's made some damaging admissions, however. How did you find out about that boat?”

“I got a call from Mr. Todd Warner, asking if I knew someone who knew something about restoring an old Persian carpet. I asked my finisher, and she told me Mr. Warner bought and sold antique boats. I called him back and asked him about Gar Wood, and when he found out I knew where the old
Edali
was, he was very eager to get a look at it. We managed to arrange that just before Stewart came by to pick it up—and discovered that Stewart had been talking to Mr. Warner about a Gar Wood boat last fall.”

“I take it you didn't suspect him until then.”

“Oh, but I did. Stewart was very near the top of the people I thought might have murdered Edyth Hanraty—except he didn't seem to have a motive. He wasn't in line for any of the inheritance, nor were his daughters. That is, until I found out that a restored Baby Gar is worth a serious fortune.”

“I don't understand why you were looking at him at all,” said Rice.

“A couple of things. He was among the people who didn't know Edyth Hanraty put her hair into a braid before going to bed. Jan did, and so did Susan. It might have occurred to Lucille—it's one of the things that turns up in women's literature and in old movies. But probably not Bobby Lee. They knew about Edyth Hanraty and her relationship to Susan and Jan before they came up here, so they were at the top of my list.”

“How do you know that?” asked Mike Malloy.

“Because they couldn't afford this trip as a mere vacation,” said Betsy. “Or even as a search for blood relatives. They are maxed out on their credit cards—I found that out from the owner of the cabin they're staying in. She said they had to try three times to find a credit card that would cover the rent. And Lucille told me that Bobby Lee is just getting over a serious gambling problem. Lucille wanted to come up here to connect with her blood relatives, but Bobby Lee wouldn't agree until he found out about Edyth Hanraty. If Lucille was a relative, maybe she was also an heir-in-waiting. If not, by making the connection now, while Edyth was still alive, she could work her way into the family and become one.

“Then Jan told Lucille about Aunt Edyth's peculiar will. If Lucille was Susan's long-lost daughter, she was, in fact, in line for a fortune.”

Malloy made a noise in his throat. “Yeah, Mitch told me about that and how Lucille could be an heir.”

Betsy nodded. “And the sooner they got the money, the sooner they'd be out from under the crushing debt Bobby Lee piled up while his gambling was out of control. Since they had never met Edyth, they had no reason to see her as anything but a will in their favor waiting to be sent to probate.”

“What about the murder weapon, the knitting needle?” asked Rice.

“You can buy one in any store that sells knitting supplies. Bobby Lee had seen them in his house, Lucille had tried knitting with them. Worse, Lucille didn't know where they'd gotten to. Oh, yes, I was pretty sure Bobby Lee was the killer. He told me with some relish how he used to pith frogs for Lucille when they were both in the same biology class. It was the same method used to murder poor Miss Hanraty. But Stewart knew how to pith a frog, too.”

“So how do you think he did it? Snuck up on her getting ready for bed?”

“No, she never would have allowed that—she locked her doors at night. He came over to do chores for her, just like he'd been doing for months, trying to get in her good graces. He probably made cocoa, or coffee, or got her to make some, and when she wasn't looking, doctored it with sleeping pills. I know Susan has a supply of them. Jan told me about that when we showed Susan the doll we dredged up on the Big Island. Susan was extremely upset, poor thing, but Jan said she'd give her a pill. Stewart would have had any number of chances to steal a few, if he didn't have any of his own.

“Once Edyth was helpless, Stewart either killed her at the table, or got her into bed and killed her there. What I don't understand is why he left the needle there to be found.”

Rice said, “The medical examiner said she threw her head back when she died, pinching it in place. So he cut it off close, but not close enough, and it was discovered.”

“I understand that's typical of the man,” said Betsy. “He has great ideas but isn't always good at carrying them out.”

Rice said, “One thing I still need to check out is this DNA thing. I can't help thinking that a couple of coincidences and a faked test would explain a whole lot about Lucille Jones.”

“It's authentic,” said Betsy. “Jan told me Susan submitted a blood sample. Maternity is harder to prove than paternity, and the father wasn't able to provide a sample, so Jan did, too, since a full sibling is the next best thing. The test came back ninety-three point something probable that Susan is Lucille's mother. As soon as Lucille is up for visitors, Susan is going to see her.”

L
UCILLE
had been moved from Intensive Care to a semiprivate room. She looked, as she put it, “like I was dragged through a knothole backwards,” but managed a smile when she saw who was standing in the doorway.

It was a short, slender woman with silver hair and shining blue eyes, carrying a Chinese-red vase filled with red, white and lavender roses. Their fragrance came wafting before her.

“Please come in,” said Lucille. “I think I know who you are.”

“And I know you are my daughter,” said Susan. She came in quickly, put the vase on the table, moved it aside, and bent to kiss the bruised face under its burden of bandages. “These are from my garden.”

“They're beautiful,” said Lucille, and immediately burst into tears.

“Here now, here now, none of that,” soothed Susan. “You're still in recovery, and we don't want to complicate things.” She picked up one of Lucille's hands and stroked it tenderly.

“Yes, yes, I'm all right. I'll be fine in a minute.” Lucille sniffed and blinked. “There, see? I'm a good little Minnesotan, all over that now.” The sobs had, indeed, stopped, but the tears still streamed, running out of the corners of her eyes to be soaked up by her bandages.

Susan pulled a Kleenex from the little box of them on the table and gently wiped her daughter's eyes. “Good thing you're all over crying. They charge about ten dollars apiece for Kleenex in this place.”

Lucille choked on a laugh. “Isn't it scary how much things cost in a hospital? Oh, I had so many important things to say to you, and here we are talking about Kleenex!”

“The first thing I want to say is, I never stopped thinking about you. Every single day I thought about you—even when I thought you were a stillborn baby boy.” Her smile was bittersweet.

“And ever since I found out I was adopted, I dreamed of meeting my genetic mama and daddy—I'm so sorry I missed seeing him.”

“So am I. He was a very sweet man.” She studied Lucille's face. “I think you have his eyes. But just like Jan and Jason, you have your grandfather John's big bones and fair coloring.”

“Oh, I hope you have lots of pictures!” said Lucille. “And that reminds me, Bobby Lee brought the present I made for you to the hospital. It's in the closet over there, on the top shelf.” She nodded toward a corner of the room.

As Susan walked over to the closet, she turned back to look again and again at the daughter she never knew she had. In the closet, on the top shelf, was a shallow box about twenty inches long and fourteen inches wide. It was wrapped in pink paper tied with a pink bow. Susan took it down and brought it back to the bed.

“What's in here?” she asked.

“It's for you,” said Lucille. “Open it.”

With swift economy, Susan pulled off the ribbon and undid the paper at one end. Out slid a white cardboard box. When Susan lifted the lid, she found a photo album with a cover made of white imitation leather. She lifted it and found an unframed counted cross-stitch piece done all in shades of brown on white aida cloth. About ten by eleven inches, it depicted a newborn's head and shoulder surrounded by her mother's face on top and arms coming up behind to cradle the back of her head.

“Oh, my,” murmured Susan.

“I thought maybe you did that before you let me go,” said Lucille. “I was so sorry to find out you never did.”

“I have wished every day since you were born that I had gotten a chance to hold you. This is very beautiful.”

“Do you like it? I sent all the way to England for it. It's called Tenderness. Vervaco's the name of the company. I never heard of them before, but I saw a model of it online and just had to get it to do for you. I had thought about a birth sampler, but that seemed kind of silly. I wanted something to give you, to make you think of me when I was just new.” Tears threatened to spill from Lucille's eyes again.

“Thank you, my dear, it's exactly right. But what's in this album?” Susan turned a page and found a photocopy of Lucille's adoption certificate and beside it, a photograph of a baby in a woman's arms, a man standing proudly beside them.

And on successive pages, carefully reproduced, were photographs of Lucille through her childhood and teen years, with loving parents, birthday cakes, and rowdy friends. For the next hour, the two women went through the album, talking and laughing. In the later pages, one young man started showing up more frequently until he stood beside her in an ill-fitting tux, she radiant in bridal regalia.

On the last few pages were photographs of a boy and then a girl—the boy looking a great deal like his father, the girl like her mother—as infants, then children, then adults.

“Your grandchildren,” said Lucille proudly. “Glen's the boy, Wanda's the girl—she's nearly finished with her internship as a veterinarian.”

“What does Glen do?” asked Susan. By now she was perched comfortably on the edge of the bed.

“He's an airplane mechanic for American Airlines at Dallas/Fort Worth International. He works on the jet engines and is taking classes to be certified on the electrical wiring systems. He earns more money than I do, and he's going to get married next year to a wonderful girl,” Lucille finished proudly. “Wanda wants to work with both large and small animals—she's crazy about horses. She never outgrew that horse thing some girls get into. But she's really good with cats. Her doctor says she can just put her hand on a scared cat, and it calms right down.”

Hearing a noise, they both looked around to see a tall, thin man with salt and pepper hair and a bashful air standing in the doorway.

“Bobby Lee,” said Lucille, “come in and meet your mama-in-law, Ms. McConnell.”

“Call me Susan,” said Susan, extending a hand.

The man came to take it in his own large, knobby one. “I'm pleased to meet you,” he said, and then to his wife, “The doctor says he wants to take another X-ray of your head and chest. I think he wants to see how much of your brains have leaked out.”

“Now, don't go teasing a poor, sick, weak woman,” scolded Lucille, but without any sting to her words. She looked up at Susan, then again at her husband, then down at the album. “I feel as if a blank place in my personal history has been filled right up, and the story is good, even if there are some sad parts to it,” she said. “I feel really bad about Uncle Stewart. I wish—”

“There's nothing that can be done about your Uncle Stewart,” said Susan firmly. “Save your pity for his daughters.”

“Is there anything we can do for them?”

“I don't know. Probably not right now. Stewart has sown the wind, and his wife and daughters are caught in the whirlwind. But the storm will pass, and maybe then we can do something.”

Lucille looked up again into the clear blue eyes of her mother.
Lost—and found
, she thought. “We'll think of something, I'm sure. All of us, together.”