Weave of Absence (14 page)

We climbed back into my Jeep and I drove him home, detouring past Marnie's house. It was dark, all lights out.

“She must be asleep,” I said.

“Or on the run,” he countered. I could have clobbered him, but the same thought had occurred to me. I dropped him off and went home.

I let myself in and found poor Winnie whimpering and walking in tight circles at the door. He hadn't been outside in hours. I took him out for a
quick pee and then settled him on his cushion in the corner of my room. He started snoring instantly—lucky dog.
I wish I could fall asleep as easily,
I thought. I climbed into bed, sure that I'd be counting sheep all night. But surprisingly, the next thing I knew it was eight o'clock the next morning. I'd slept right through my alarm.

Winnie watched, fascinated, as I ran around, pulling on clothes and brushing my hair. Ten minutes later I was downstairs at my counter, and he was in his usual spot—on his cushion sleeping, again.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” Jenny said, bringing over a mug and a muffin. Margaret followed.

“You have no idea,” I said, and took a deep gulp. “Did you hear about Marnie's fiancé?” I asked, waving away the blueberry muffin. My stomach was in no shape for food.

“No. What did the creep do now?” she said.

“It's not what he did, but what was done to him. He was murdered last night.”

Coffee splashed all over my counter as Jenny jerked her cup. “I'm so sorry,” she said, grabbing a napkin and wiping, while I pushed sales book and business cards away from the mess.

“There, all clean and no damage done,” I said.

“Did you say he's . . . dead?”

“Stone-cold. Somebody hit him over the head with a vase.”

“Murdered—how awful,” Margaret said. “I admit, I didn't like him much, but I certainly didn't wish him any harm, except for maybe a good hard slap in the face from Marnie.” She picked up Jenny's empty cup and stopped. “Does Marnie know?”

I shrugged. “I'm not sure.”

“Poor her,” she said, and then looked down at the empty cup. “I'll get you a fresh one.”

“You haven't spoken to her?” Jenny asked, tossing the sodden napkins into the wastebasket. “This is going to be really hard on her. You should give her a call.”

“I'm not sure I should, at least not until the police have questioned her.”

Jenny froze. “Why would they want to question Marnie?”

“They'll probably question everyone who knew him,” I said discreetly.

Margaret reappeared with a full cup. “Here you go.”

“Some people are going to think she's lucky,” Jenny said, stirring absently. “At least he's out of her life now. But I think this is the worst thing that could have happened. His death will devastate her. Now she'll probably elevate him to sainthood. She won't believe that he was anything less than perfect.”

“Oh, my God,” Margaret said. “This is exactly what you predicted.”

Jenny frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't you remember? When you read Marnie's cards, you told her that a man she knew was surrounded by danger.”

“So I did.” She planted a hand on her hip and gave me the eyebrow. “Gee, imagine that. I made a prediction and it actually came true.”

“Ha, ha,” I said. “Trust me, she doesn't think of him as a saint. Matthew and I had a long talk with her yesterday. He showed her the picture of the real Bruce Doherty.”

“So she already knows he was using an alias?”

I nodded. “She knows his entire background was fiction, and she suspects that the real reason he wanted her to take out life insurance naming him as beneficiary might have been part of a plan to kill her.”

“You told her all that? Even though she was already angry with you? And she believed you?”

“Matthew showed her the real Bruce Doherty's picture. She knows we were telling her the truth. She made the other connections herself. The last thing she said before we left was that it was over with him and that she never wanted to set eyes on him again.”

Jenny's mouth dropped open. “I would never have imagined.”

“I guess you don't know everything that's going to happen.” It was my turn to give her a knowing smile.

“Touché,” she said, laughing. In that moment I knew that all the bad feelings between Jenny and
me were gone. It had been silly of me to worry. Our friendship was solid.

“I have a favor to ask,” she said. “Would you mind driving to Melinda's bakery again? We're all out of everything, and from what you told me, I doubt that Marnie did any baking last night.”

“No problem,” I said, grabbing my keys. “Keep an eye on my shop till I get back.”

I climbed into my car, intending not to go to Belmont but to drive to Marnie's. She had a freezer full of baked goods. But what was more important was that this gave me the perfect excuse to stop by her house. If the police were there, my arrival wouldn't seem unusual. And if they weren't, it would give me a chance to prepare her.

A
disheveled Marnie swung the door open before I had even reached it. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and her nose was red from crying. She grabbed my arm, glanced around outside, and pulled me in, panicked.

“Thank God you're here!” she exclaimed. “I'm going out of my mind. I just know the police are going to come and arrest me.” The full impact of her words hit me. Not only did she know about Bruce's murder, but she expected to be arrested.

“Marnie, I think you should tell me where you were last night.”

“I didn't kill him, if that's what you think.” I remained quiet, and she continued. “Okay, I admit I went to see him.” She looked at me with watery eyes.

“I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee,” I said, my voice shaking. I wasn't sure I was ready to hear the rest of the story.

“I just made a fresh pot,” she said. I followed her to her kitchen and located the coffee.

“I didn't kill him. I swear I didn't.”

“I believe you,” I said, handing her a cup.
At least I want to
.

“I sure hope the cops do too,” she said, walking back to the living room. “I went to his hotel to have it out with him. I wanted to face him alone—sorry,” she added sheepishly. “To give him his ring back and tell him to his face exactly what I thought of him.” She rubbed her temples. “I don't know what I was hoping to accomplish. I suppose I still had a tiny hope that he was going to somehow make all the bad go away, and that everything would turn out all right.” She rubbed her naked ring finger. “But when I knocked on his door, it swung open. I was getting ready to throw his ring in his face, when I noticed he was lying on the floor. I walked another few steps inside, and that's when I saw his face covered in blood. He was . . . dead. I got out of there as fast as I could.”

“Oh, Marnie.”

“I know. It was stupid of me.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “You believe me, don't you? That I didn't kill him.”

“Of course I do.” Even though I believed her, the fact that she'd run away, and didn't report his death, did not bode well.

She sighed, as if a great load had been lifted from her shoulders. The doorbell rang, interrupting us. Marnie jumped to her feet.

“It's the police,” she whispered. “They're coming for me.”

“You stay put. I'll see who it is.”

“Or maybe it's Liz,” she said, her voice full of hope. “She called earlier, begging that I let her take the flag right away. I didn't have the energy to say no. The flag is all ready to go. It's in the box on the coffee table.” She darted to the kitchen and I made my way to the door. Sure enough, when I looked through the peephole, it was none other than Liz.

“Why, Della, what a surprise finding you here so early in the morning.” I had the distinct impression she was dying to dive into a serious gossip session. I gave her no such satisfaction.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Oh, Marnie called and said I could come over and pick up the flag.” She stepped in and looked around. “My, this is quite the decor.” I gathered from that comment that she'd never been here before.

“It's cheerful, isn't it?” I said.

“It certainly is. Where's Marnie?” She looked around.

“She can't come to the door at the moment. But I'll get you the flag.” I went over to the coffee table and picked up the box. When I turned, she was right behind me. “Excuse me.” I stepped past her and detoured past the small gold-leaf writing desk in the corner. I grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen. I set down the box. “I hope you don't mind writing her a receipt for the flag.” A look of surprise flashed over her face, but she recovered.

“By all means. I don't mind at all.”

I scribbled a few words, then read them out loud to her. “I hereby confirm that I am in the borrowed possession of one antique Betsy Ross flag and that I will return it to Marnie Potter by the last day of April of this year.” I handed her the pen. “That gives you just about two weeks. Sign your name and date it, here.”

I watched as she did so. She handed me the paper and took the box in exchange.

“I'll have it back in less than ten days,” she said. “Thank Marnie for me, will you, dear?” She gave the room one last glance and left.

I returned to the kitchen with the receipt and gave it to Marnie, explaining what I'd done.

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about it. Liz is a good soul. She's always helping, donating her time and energy to charitable organizations. But thanks all the same.”

My eyes fell on her hand, and I suddenly remembered something Matthew had said. “Marnie, what did you do with your engagement ring?”

“I—I . . .” She scrunched her forehead, trying to remember,
or maybe coming up with an excuse
. I couldn't believe that thought had just crossed my mind. “I think I put it back in my jacket pocket.”

“Could you go and check?”

“Sure,” she said, pulling herself out of her chair. She left the kitchen, returning a few minutes later, her face looking nearly as pale as Bruce's had been on the floor of his hotel room. “I don't know what happened to it,” she said. “I remember taking it
out of my pocket when the door swung open. And I was sure I put it back, but now I can't find it. You don't think I—”

I nodded miserably. “The police found it near his body.”

She collapsed into her chair. “Oh, my God. I am so screwed.”

“Uh, Marnie, did you happen to touch anything else in the room while you were there?”

“No,” she started to say, and then stopped. “Oh, I forgot. I did touch something. The glass vase was on the floor. I picked it up and put it on the bedside table.” And then the full impact of her action hit her and her eyes filled with horror. “Now you're going to tell me that vase was the murder weapon, aren't you?” I nodded, and at that, what little color had remained in her cheeks drained away.

At the same moment the doorbell rang, and Marnie started to get up.

“Let me get the door. If it happens to be the police, I'll tell them I'm here to pick up some baked goods for Jenny.”

She stood. “I'll start putting together some pastries,” she said. I went to the front door.

I looked through the peephole and saw that, just as I'd feared, it was Lombard and Harrison. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Good morning, Officers,” I said.

Surprise filled the police officers' eyes. “What are you doing here?” asked Harrison, looking suspicious.

“Marnie does all the baking for Coffee, Tea and Destiny,” I said. “I came by to pick up the order.”

“Did you discuss the murder of her fiancé with her?”

I might have been tempted to deny it, but I knew they wouldn't believe it. “I told her and offered my condolences,” I said.

“Did Ms. Potter already know about his death, or did your news come as a shock?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I'd just told her when you rang the bell. She didn't say anything. She just started to cry,” I said, squashing the surge of guilt that followed. Lying, in general, was not something I did easily. But Marnie was my friend, and I'd be damned if I was going to say anything that got her into even deeper trouble. At that moment, a small movement at the edge of the kitchen entrance caught my eye, and I realized Marnie was hiding behind the doorway, listening in on the conversation. Good thing. Otherwise she might contradict everything I said. “Have a seat.” I gestured toward the sofa. “I'll go get her.”

I found her behind the door just as I'd expected. “You heard?” I whispered. She nodded. “It'll be okay,” I mouthed. “Just tell them the truth.” And then I called out loud, “Marnie, the police are here.” We waited a few seconds and then stepped into the living room. Marnie's eyes were still swollen and red. The officers jumped to their feet.

“Good morning, Ms. Potter,” Lombard said. “I'd like to extend our deepest sympathies.”

Marnie nodded. “Thank you. I still can't believe it. He was so full of life, and now . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I'm sorry. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with us. We have some questions we need you to answer. Please get your coat.”

“Are you taking me to the station?” she asked. “You want to ask me about Bruce's murder?”

“I'm afraid so,” the older officer replied.

“But why would you want to question me? I don't know who killed him.”

“Maybe not so much about his death as about his life—who he knew, who might have had it in for him—that sort of thing.”

She picked up a sweater from the back of an armchair and followed the police officers out. At the door, she turned back to me. “I left my spare key in its usual hiding spot,” she said. “If you don't mind—”

“Don't worry,” I said. “I'll lock up.”

I watched Lombard get into the driver's seat, while Officer Harrison opened the back door for Marnie, placing a hand on her head and helping her in. This was not good. They were treating her like a criminal. As much as they said otherwise, I was sure she was on her way to being arrested. The questioning was only a formality. And with her engagement ring being found near the body, it would be difficult for her to maintain her innocence. Not only did Marnie have a motive, but
that ring put her in Bruce's room around the time he died. I wanted to help, but I had no idea what I could do.

I went back to the walk-in freezer. This time, when it beeped I was only slightly startled. I bagged everything Jenny might need.

Try as I might, at five foot nothing, there was no way I could reach the key above the doorframe.
Shit
. I snatched my phone from my bag and speed-dialed Matthew. He answered on the first ring. “I'm at Marnie's,” I said. “She just left for the station with the police and she asked me to lock up, but I can't reach the key.” I heard a chuckle at the other end. “Don't laugh. Marnie is probably being grilled as we speak. I don't see anything funny about the situation.” I had always been sensitive when it came to my height.

“Sorry,” he said. “I'm not laughing.” But I could hear the smile in his voice. “I'll be right over.”

Minutes later he drove up in an antique Corvette—his latest project. Since his teenage years, his favorite hobby had been restoring old cars. He hopped out and jogged over. He quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching—the street was quiet—and then snatched the key from its hiding place. A second later the door was locked and the key back in its spot.

“I'm sorry I laughed,” he said, “but I kept picturing you jumping, trying to grab the key.”

“As you said,” I snapped back. “Not funny.” I
would have given anything to be six or even eight inches taller. That way, I'd at least be kissable height for Matthew. As it was, the top of my head didn't reach his shoulder.

He grew serious. “Tell me, do you have any idea whether the police read Marnie her rights?”

“They didn't. At least not while I was there. All they said was that they had some questions about her fiancé.” I could almost hear him thinking in the silence that followed.

“How do you feel this morning? Still think she's innocent?”

“Of course I do.”

“I hope you're right. And if they haven't given her the Miranda, that means they aren't arresting her—at least not yet,” he added. “I really should be writing, but I'll see if there's anything I can do to help her case. I have a feeling she'll need a lot of help. I'll give you a call when I come up with an idea.”

“Do you really think you can do something?”

He shrugged. “Not sure. It's sensitive. Usually I help the police
make
a case against a suspect, not the other way around. And I don't want to ruin my professional relationship with them. Leave it to me.” He helped me load the bags of baked goods into the back of my Jeep, then hopped into his 'Vette and sped away in the direction of the police station. I drove to work, hoping he could find a way to prevent her from being arrested. But knowing about her engagement ring in the carpet and the vase with her prints on it—not to mention
the insurance policy . . . I wondered again if Marnie stood to collect on Bruce's life insurance policy. Not much chance of that, especially if she was arrested for his murder.

I carried the first two bags through my store and into the back, setting them on the counter.

“Do you have many more to bring in?” Margaret asked, putting down her bar cloth.

“Three or four. Want to help?” She followed me out and we carried in the last of the bags. Jenny was sorting through, pulling out box after box. She held up a cupcake. “How come everything here is frozen?”

“That's because I didn't drive into Belmont,” I said. “I went to Marnie's. When I was there yesterday, I saw she had a freezer full of baked goods. I didn't see the point of getting them from Melinda's. Besides, it was a good excuse to see how she's doing.”

“Good idea.” Jenny put the box down and continued putting away the food. “Did she already know about Bruce?”

I nodded.

“Poor her. How is she holding up?”

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. But she's being questioned by the police right now.”

“Questioned?”

“They got there just as I was about to leave.”

“Oh, my God. Tell me Marnie didn't have anything to do with his death.”

“You're her friend. You know her better than that,” I said. “How can you even make such a suggestion?” It occurred to me that she didn't even know about Marnie's going to Bruce's hotel room and she had automatically jumped to that conclusion, which meant that as soon as it became public knowledge, Marnie would be as good as convicted. I felt sick.