The Double Wedding Ring (7 page)

I
t all seemed to happen in slow motion. I ran from Jitters and saw Eleanor coming from Someday Quilts. Carrie was behind me. Natalie, Maggie, and Susanne pushed past us to see what was going on. Bernie yelled out that she would call the police station. I understood the words, but it seemed like they were in an echo. On the sidewalk beside me, a crowd seemed to gather from nowhere. Jesse was on the street, on his back. I wanted to run to him, but Carrie held me back just as another shot rang out, hitting a streetlamp and shattering glass all over Jesse.

“Jesse!” I screamed.

He sat up, then turned to me and barked, “Get back inside. Now. Everyone.”

People started running into doorways and shops. A third shot. This one hit Jesse's squad car, causing the windshield to explode.

“Now, Nell. Move.”

Eleanor and Natalie went back into the shop. Carrie grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back toward Jitters. Jesse, finally, got up and ran toward us. We made it into the store just as a fourth bullet tore up a second streetlamp.

Then, everything sped up. I saw blood on Jesse's arm. His face was pale. I looked in his eyes. They were clear, angry, and maybe a little scared, but it was obvious that he was in control of the situation.

“I'm okay,” he said. He wrapped the good arm around me.

“What the hell is going on?” My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear myself speak.

“I have to call the station.”

“Not necessary.” I pointed out the window. Two Archers Rest police cars were speeding down the street, sirens blaring. They stopped in front of Jitters. Greg got out of his car and came toward the store. He moved quickly but didn't run, all the while looking around him. It was one of those brave cop moves that reminded me how far he'd come since I'd met him. He walked into Jitters, looked around for Jesse, and went straight to him, moving past the rest of us without comment.

“Where was it coming from?” Greg asked Jesse. No preliminaries or “how are yous,” just right to it. Jesse seemed relieved.

“The park, it seemed like.”

Archers Rest had a Main Street going north and south, and a couple of small side streets before it drifted off into houses and, farther out, into farms. Someday Quilts was right in the middle of Main Street, with Jitters directly across from it, and beyond that the cemetery. Around the corner, at the north end of the street, was City Hall and the police station. To the south Main Street dead-ended at a small but well-loved park.

“Did you see anyone?” Greg was writing down Jesse's answers in a small notebook. It was very official, and it made me feel safer knowing that Jesse wasn't going to have to deal with this alone.

Jesse shook his head. “Didn't see anything, just heard shots.”

“How could someone have shot from the park without being seen?” Greg asked.

I'd been thinking the same thing. The park was a wide-open space. There was only one place to hide—the gazebo. The street in front of the park was normally a no-parking zone, but I'd noticed that there was a car parked there this morning, a VW Bug. It might have been suspicious except I knew who it belonged to, our town's librarian, Dru Ann Love. I doubted Dru, who rarely stuck her head out of a book, was shooting at anyone in her spare time.

I was standing in the center of the shop, away from the front window under orders from Jesse and Greg to stay back, but I still had a decent view. Dru's car was still at the end of the street. Her VW Bug didn't provide much cover, and since it hadn't been stolen as a getaway car it meant that the shooter would have had to run from the spot to escape.

“No one would have noticed in all the chaos,” I thought out loud, “unless the person running still had a gun.”

“Not a gun,” Jesse said. “A rifle. A bolt-action rifle, if he's a pro.”

“Are you sure?”

“The sound, it's very specific,” he said.

“But why would someone shoot at you?”

“It wasn't aimed at me,” Jesse said. “Unless the guy is the world's unluckiest shooter. There were half a dozen people on the street when the whole thing started, and the only damage is to a car, two streetlamps, and the sign to Someday.”

“The what?”

I moved closer to the window, trying to still stay back far enough to be out of the line of fire, just in case. But I had to see for myself. The logo for Someday Quilts was a needle, with the shop's name spelled out in thread. It was painted on a piece of wood that hung above the front window of the store. The sign was big, maybe five feet long, but it was flat against the building. It didn't seem like an easy target unless you were directly across the street from it, and yet there was a hole in the
S
of “Someday” that wasn't there this morning. Why would someone shoot at a quilt shop?

Jesse and Greg huddled at the back of Jitters, talking in low voices. While Bernie did her best to tend to Jesse's wound, I saw Carrie handing out tea and coffee to the shaken patrons. I went for one of the green teas on offer, but as I grabbed for the cup, I noticed my hands were shaking.

“Okay?” Carrie asked.

“So far,” I said.

Maggie and Susanne busied themselves making more drinks, and Natalie turned herself into Bernie's assistant. She handed Bernie a bandage from Jitters's first-aid kit and searched in her purse for some aspirin to give to Jesse.

“It isn't a bullet wound,” Bernie assured me. “He got hit with some falling debris and he's just cut. It's deep, might need a stitch or two, but he'll be okay. I could go over to my pharmacy and get something to disinfect . . .”

“You're not going anywhere,” Jesse told her. “I'll be fine.”

He looked fine. Mostly. He could move his arm and he didn't seem to be in much pain. I tried not to think about how it could have been so much worse. Or how much worse it could still get.

All of us—Carrie's customers, my quilt group, Jesse and Greg—stayed crowded in the back. No one, it seemed, was anxious for a place near the window. The minutes ticked by. We waited. Nothing happened, and with each minute I grew more frustrated. Jesse held tight to my hand, probably as much to keep me with him as to comfort me. After a few calls to the station seemed to indicate that the shooter hadn't moved on to another target but stopped completely, Greg and Jesse took the short-cut through the alley to the station to see what could be done. Carrie locked the door behind them and we all went back to waiting. But after five more minutes of silence, I was done with doing nothing.

I walked toward the wide glass window with a clear view of Main Street. The street outside looked quiet. Across from me, I could see Eleanor in the window of Someday. She had the phone to her ear, and my cell was ringing in my pocket. But when she saw me, she put down the phone and pointed toward her arm. She wanted to know about Jesse. I smiled and nodded, hoping that conveyed he was fine. Then she gestured for me to move back and disappeared from the window.

I should have done the same, but I needed to see what was happening. The shock was gone. Sadly, Archers Rest wasn't immune from the violence that hits everywhere. In fact, murders and other crimes seemed to strike the town with an alarming regularity.

As I stood staring at the hole in the Someday sign, and the damage that had been done to the car and streetlamps, I tried to figure out where the shooter could have been. The angle was such that it seemed like he might have been above the shop, but there was no second floor. Next door maybe?

“Nell, get back there.” Greg was behind me walking toward me. He had come in the back door and startled me more than I cared to admit. “We have the rest of the force on the street, the sniper seems to be gone. I'm going to take Jesse to see the doctor. If you want to come with us . . .”

“So it's safe now,” I said.

“Safe enough to get Jesse to the hospital. I think it would be better if everyone just stayed inside a little while longer. We have some help coming from the state police to do a street-by-street sweep. That should take an hour or so, and then everything can get back to normal. Hopefully.”

“Do you think this has something to do with the murder?” I whispered my question, but it didn't matter. Jesse had also snuck up behind me.

“You made a promise,” he said.

“You got shot at,” I countered.

“All the more reason to stay out of it.”

“So you think this has something to do with Roger.”

Jesse turned to my quilt group, my friends and co-conspirators on more than a few cases. “If you have to tie her up, keep her here.”

“Absolutely,” Maggie said.

Jesse kissed my forehead, and he and Greg headed toward a police car. Carrie locked the door behind them, and we watched them get into the car.

“He'll be okay,” she said.

Greg sped away, replacing Carrie's reassurance with the piercing sound of sirens.

T
he siren had barely faded away when I got another jolt. My cell phone vibrated against me, insisting on my attention. I grabbed it from my jeans pocket assuming Eleanor had decided she wanted to talk. But it wasn't Eleanor. And while the number was familiar and comforting, the timing was all wrong.

“Not now,” I muttered. I took what I hoped was a calming breath, and answered. “Hi, Mom.”

“Everything okay? You sound nervous.”

“Not nervous, caffeinated. I'm in a coffee shop with some friends.” I just didn't have the energy to explain.

“Oh.”

I couldn't tell whether she believed me or not, but it wasn't a lie, and in any case, it was the only answer I intended to give. “Are you and Dad back from Rome?” I asked.

“Istanbul, and yes, we're back. We got back two days ago and we were completely jet-lagged or I would have called sooner. But don't worry, Dad is packing the car right now.”

“Where are you going to this time?” My parents had been on an almost nonstop around-the-world trip since my dad retired two years ago.

“Archers Rest. We're coming to see you and Grandma.”

I had gotten used to them being a postcard or a Skype conversation away. Seeing them in person was like Christmas arriving eleven months early. Except this wasn't the best time for a quiet visit. “The wedding is more than a week away, why don't you wait . . .” I started.

My mother cut in. “She's going through with it?”

“The wedding? Of course.”

“Nell, tell me the truth, is she okay? Is she . . . her mind, I mean . . .”

“What are you asking? Eleanor and Oliver are really happy.”

“Eleanor? That's what you call her now. What happened to Grandma?”

“We work together. I call her both names.” I could hear my impatience. If she and Dad wanted to traipse around the world that was their business, but here at home things had changed. Eleanor had changed. And so had I. “Oliver's a terrific guy.”

“They're in their seventies.”

“Which means they're adults who can do what they like.”

I heard my mother grunt. “The Philly traffic gets bad in the afternoon, so we'll have to head out now,” she said. “I intend to continue this discussion when I arrive.”

“Mom, they're very happy. . . .”

She ignored me. “And there's a few things I'd like to talk to you about, too.”

I heard my father call to her that it was time to get going, and then the phone clicked off without even a good-bye. I love my parents and I couldn't wait to see them, to introduce them to Jesse, and to show them the changes that Eleanor and I had made at Someday Quilts, but somehow it had already gotten off on the wrong foot. And gun shots on Main Street weren't helping.

Natalie walked up to me, twisting her long blond hair. She smiled, but she looked nervous. “I called the sitter. The kids are okay, but I really need to get home. Are we here much longer?”

“I have no idea. Where's your car?”

She pointed out the window. I could see it across the street toward the end of the block, just north of where the shots had been. I could also see another car, the blue sedan from yesterday, parked behind it. It had been moved from the spot where it had been ticketed, which likely meant that its owner was somewhere in one of the shops waiting, like the rest of us.

“Maybe you should stay here until we get the all-clear,” I suggested. I could see her fear and frustration. I felt it, too. Everything in me wanted to walk outside and start examining the evidence. Everything except the part of me that was scared.

“This is about the murder, right?” Natalie asked. “Whoever killed Jesse's friend just shot up our street.”

“It would be one heck of a coincidence to have two big crimes in twenty-four hours if they weren't related,” I agreed. “But what would be the point?”

“To scare Jesse.”

“Then whoever it is doesn't know Jesse very well.”

“To scare you?” she suggested.

“Why me?”

“Maybe you saw something the other night when you walked past Roger in his car.”

“A man. Cigarette smoke. That's it. Certainly nothing that would identify the killer.”

“Maybe the killer
thinks
you saw something.”

“But even if that's true, I wasn't on the street. I was in here.”

“But the sign,” she said. “Why would someone shoot at the sign unless it was a warning to you?”

She had a point. I could buy the idea that someone was shooting wildly, except that Jesse was right, no one was hurt. In fact, the bullets mostly hit things, like the streetlights and the sign, that were well above people's heads. So if the shots were aimed, what would be the point unless it was a message?

I closed my eyes and tried for the hundredth time to remember the scene outside Jesse's house the night of the murder. It was cold and I was annoyed at myself for leaving my purse behind at the shop. I parked my car. The streetlight in front of Jesse's house was out, so I couldn't see too far ahead. The car was an SUV with an open window, a man sat in the front seat. There was cigarette smoke.

If the killer was already in the car, sitting behind Roger, had I seen anything—any glimpse of anyone? Was Roger even still alive? I didn't know. I strained to remember more, but the truth was, all I saw was the outline of a man I assumed to be just an unfriendly smoker, sitting in a car. I turned and walked toward Jesse's door without giving anything about the scene a second thought.

If the killer was trying to warn me off the case, then he, or she, was having the opposite effect. There was nothing I was going to learn standing there. I took one more look out the front window and decided that leaving that way was too risky. Instead, I headed toward the back. I heard Maggie call out for me to stop, but it was too late. I was already out the back door. It was safe, that's what Greg had said. No sign of the sniper. Though even the word gave me chills, I tried not to let it get to me. If the police couldn't find him, I doubted I would. Besides, what were the odds he'd be hiding in the alley?

I guessed I was about to find out.