Tree of Life and Death (10 page)

"That sounds like an incentive for him to attack her, not the other way around."

"Maybe he did, and Sunny killed him in self-defense," Dee said. "She's really strong. Even more than you might think from looking at her. She's got to be for her job. I know, because she worked with me three years ago when I injured my hip, and I saw her working with patients the size of professional football players."

"Let's just keep this theory between us for now. You remember the drill from before: answer the detective's questions, but don't volunteer any information they don't specifically ask for, and if you get nervous, just stop talking except to say you want to call your attorney."

Emma returned in time to hear my warning. "I remember," she said with a shudder.

Dee nodded. "We'll just tell them we want to talk to you."

"I'm not your lawyer," I said, exasperated. "If you need to talk to an attorney, it should be someone who has experience with criminal law and isn't herself a potential suspect."

"There's nothing for us to worry about," Dee said. "I'm confident you and Matt will figure it all out. I just hope you can do it quickly. If Meg can't get leave on schedule this afternoon, she'll remember the delay next year when we invite her back for another guild event, and she might not be willing to come. Even the prospect of a free night at the Ocean View B&B won't be enough to tempt her. The place is charming, on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and the innkeeper, Bree Milford, is a lovely woman. We want that experience to be what Meg remembers about Danger Cove, not a police interrogation that kept her here for hours and hours."

It wasn't worth explaining, yet again, that there really wasn't much that Matt or I could do. Dee and Emma thought we were invincible, much as they viewed themselves when it came to quilting. "I can't speak for Matt, but I'll do what I can to keep the investigation moving forward."

*   *   *

Judging by the way Gil was now humming along with the background Christmas music, through gritted teeth, she'd gotten nowhere with the stone-faced Richie Faria while I was talking to Dee and Emma. Gil had abandoned Faria and was mingling with the volunteers. Matt was also doing his best to entertain the quilters, holding an impromptu discussion of his quilting techniques at the white board.

At the other end of the room, trouble was brewing over the ironing board where Stefan had been assigned earlier. Jayne was shrilly lecturing another quilter, this one about my age, with a businesslike short haircut and a strong, square face. Jayne's latest victim had far more backbone than Trudy and, judging by her narrowed eyes and pinched-shut lips, was holding on to her temper by a thread much flimsier than the top-quality cotton that ran through the sewing machines.

Gil hadn't noticed the incipient explosion, so I hurried over to intervene. "I don't think we've met," I said to the irritated woman holding a steaming iron in her hands as if she were going to bash Jayne over the head with it. I didn't want to think about what Richie Faria would do if there was a murder or even just an assault right in front of him. "I'm Keely Fairchild. The appraiser. I'm no good at sewing or even ironing, but you look like you could use some help. Is there something I can do?"

"I don't need any help," the woman said in a clipped tone, addressing Jayne instead of me. "I know what I'm doing."

"Good. Then I can borrow Jayne to help me." I hooked my arm around Jayne's elbow and tugged her in the direction of the cutting table. "I've always wanted to know how to use a rotary cutter. Maybe I'd be better at that than sewing or ironing."

Jayne looked at me skeptically. "It's not something you should do without some training. The blades are extremely sharp."

"That's why I need you to show me how to do it."

"Well, I guess that would be okay." Jayne started off on what sounded like a rehearsed spiel about how to hold the cutter and making sure to always cut away from the body, never toward it.

Once we reached the cutting table, I only half listened, since I didn't actually trust myself with the cutter for the exact reason Jayne had mentioned: it was sharp and dangerous, and that wasn't a good combination in the hands of someone who might pass out unexpectedly.

My mind drifted, and I saw Meg return from her latest trip to the bathroom to join Gil in reassuring the quilters that the police had everything under the control. Richie Faria got a call on his police-issued radio. While he answered it, he beckoned for Carl Quincy to come over to the door. Carl gave his service dog an order to heel, and the two of them went over to consult with Faria. Judging by their actions, the gist of the conversation was that Carl should keep an eye on the quilters while Faria stepped out into the hall to continue his radio conversation. Did Faria really think we were going to erupt into a riot without the constant supervision of a professional trained in crowd control?

"Hey." Jayne's shrill voice interrupted my thoughts. "If you're not going to pay attention, it's not worth my time trying to teach you."

"I'm sorry." I hadn't meant to be rude. I just couldn't concentrate with everything else running through my mind. "Perhaps it would be better if I waited until a less stressful time to learn how to use a rotary cutter. I couldn't help noticing that something seems to be happening with the police. Faria deputized Carl to keep an eye on the room."

"And who's going to watch Carl?" Jayne said, carefully setting down the rotary cutter she'd been using for her demonstration.

"I doubt Faria thinks a retired officer needs watching."

Jayne's already disapproving face took on an even more sour appearance. "If that's the sort of shoddy police work that's happening here, they'll never find that poor young man's killer."

"Faria's just a rookie," I said. "The real work is being supervised by Detective Bud Ohlsen, and he's a good guy."

"A job is only as good as its weakest link," Jayne said. "Someone needs to tell Faria that Carl is as much a suspect as anyone else in the room. Probably has more motive than anyone else, actually."

"I know he didn't trust Alan, but there's no indication Carl was ever a rogue cop who went around Danger Cove killing everyone who annoyed him. Why would he do it when he's retired?"

"He has a lot more motive than simple mistrust," Jayne said. "I didn't think to mention it before when you asked about when Alan left to catch his ride. Something happened before that, the first time Alan left the room. He kicked Carl's dog on the way past, or at least that's what Carl claimed when he caught up to Alan in the hallway. Meg and I were near the door, and we heard Carl say he'd kill Alan if he so much as looked at the dog again."

I didn't have any pets myself, but I knew how attached people could be to them. Add in the extra level of bonding with a service dog, and I couldn't simply brush off Carl's statement as an exaggeration or a thoughtless phrase. It bothered me that he hadn't mentioned the incident with the dog when he'd confessed that he'd been near the crime scene right around the time of the murder. As long as he'd volunteered he'd had the opportunity, why hadn't he mentioned he also had a motive, unless he'd done more than just threaten Alan?

Still, it was all just speculation, and the last thing we needed today was Jayne accusing an ex-cop of murder.

"I'm sure the police will consider all the evidence, including the altercation between Carl and Alan, and they'll be able to decide whether it's relevant."

"I hope so," Jayne said. "I just think things should be done right, that's all."

I agreed with her in principle, even if I knew better than to say it out loud. I was doing my best to overcome the need to make sure everything proceeded smoothly and efficiently, even when it wasn't my responsibility. I had to let go of that stress if I didn't want to keep passing out.

"Detective Ohlsen really is good at his job," I said.

"I hope so," Jayne said. "I mean, I know
I
didn't have anything to do with the murder, so whoever's arrested, it won't have anything to do with me. But I'd hate to see some innocent person traumatized by being suspected of murder. Today has been enough of a mess, and I just want to finish up here and go home."

"Once the police start taking statements, they should be able to release everyone who has a confirmed alibi pretty quickly," I said. "Can someone vouch for where you were the whole time Alan was outside?"

"I was right here, helping people." Jayne rattled off a detailed list of at least a dozen people, the exact times she'd been with them, and what they'd been doing that was so desperately wrong that she'd needed to intervene. "I'm sure they'll remember."

I was sure they would too, although not in the positive sense that Jayne meant. Still, there was one good thing about her abrasive personality: no one would ever forget where Jayne had been when it came time to providing an alibi. Of course, her witnesses might not be too enthusiastic about vouching for her, and if they were sufficiently annoyed, they might well be tempted to deny knowing where Jayne had been, especially if they could legitimately say that they had a less clear memory of the exact time of the interaction than Jayne had.

All in all, I suspected Jayne might not have as easy a time as she expected with proving she couldn't possibly have killed Alan. I didn't know what Bud Ohlsen would think, but I certainly considered her a suspect.

*   *   *

Faria returned from the hallway, his chest puffed up with self-importance. He had a quick word with Carl Quincy, who nodded and abandoned his sewing machine to head over to where Gil was chatting with a group of quilters at the refreshments table.

Faria whistled sharply. "Listen up, everyone. I've been assigned to collect everyone's contact information. I'll be taking over the desk in the back of the room, and Carl Quincy will be in charge of escorting everyone over to see me. I expect all of you ladies to do as he asks, just as if I were the one asking you."

If Faria was going to be using the desk where I'd done the appraisals, I needed to get my messenger bag out of his way and make sure I'd packed up all my supplies. I hurried over there before he could make up some new rule of police procedure that might prevent me from collecting my own personal property. Fortunately, the only things I'd left out were the completed applications for quilts to be added to the museum's registry. I was stuffing the papers into my bag to give to Gil later, when Faria dropped into the chair I'd used earlier.

"We might as well start with your information." Faria's tone turned decidedly sarcastic. "Unless you've solved it already, of course. In that case, you could save us all a lot of time and effort."

"I don't have any idea who killed Alan Miller, but I would like to have a chat with Detective Ohlsen. If the murder has anything to do with either the museum or the people here for the workshop, he might have some questions about the quilting community that I could answer for him."

"That won't be necessary." Faria pulled out a little notepad and gestured toward the two chairs across from him. "Have a seat."

I hadn't realized until now just how awkwardly the chairs were placed. Anyone sitting in them would be staring into the corner of the room, like a child in time-out, unable to see the activity behind her. It wasn't just security professionals who liked to sit with their backs to a wall in order to keep an eye out for trouble. I'd always done the same thing as a trial attorney, making sure I had the best possible view of the people who mattered: the judge and jury.

I didn't like this seating arrangement, but there really wasn't any other option. Faria would undoubtedly consider resistance to any of his orders to be tantamount to a confession of murder. Besides, it shouldn't take long to give him my contact information.

"All right." Faria's pen was poised over his notebook. "Your full name and contact information. And spell out anything that might not be obvious."

"It's the same as before." I spoke slowly, giving him time to write it all down, providing my name, address, phone numbers, and email address.

He repeated the information back to me, and I grudgingly gave him credit for recording it accurately. He might not like me, but that didn't stop him from doing his job.

He looked up from his notebook. "Did you know the victim? Or anything about his past brushes with the law?"

That question went beyond his assigned role of collecting contact information. In someone else, I might have thought it was just personal curiosity, but his formal tone suggested he thought he was qualified to get additional information from the witnesses and would be writing down my answers. I doubted Detective Ohlsen had actually given him that much authority. He would have cringed to hear the way Faria was telling a witness information that I might not already have, namely that the victim had a criminal past. Now I really wanted a word with Ohlsen, before Faria could unwittingly alter all of the witnesses' memories of the morning's events.

Fortunately, I'd already heard about Alan's shady past, so Faria hadn't done anything more than confirm by implication that the initial theory of the case was that the young man's past had caught up with him. It wouldn't hurt to tell Faria what little I knew about Alan, and clamming up would only cause more problems. Perhaps if I cooperated, Faria would let more information slip.

"I only met Alan Miller briefly. He was here to have a quilt appraised. I did the appraisal, and he went outside to call for a ride home, came back in for some refreshments, and then left again. It was maybe thirty or forty minutes later when I heard Sunny calling for help, right after she found the body."

"You don't know that's when she found the body," he said, smirking as if he'd caught me in some huge lie. He was acting like a brand-new lawyer doing his first, real-life cross-examination without understanding which inconsistencies mattered and which were best ignored or saved for a more effective time to point them out. "She could have found the body earlier than that."

"And held off hysterical screams for more than a few seconds?" My eyebrows rose. "That seems fairly unlikely."