Weave of Absence (19 page)

“So they'll search Helen's house and find the pictures.”

“And the letter. You did put it back like I told you to, right?”

“Of course.”

“I still can't believe—” He shook his head. “What am I saying? Why wouldn't I believe? You do this sort of thing all the time.”

“You're beginning to sound like my mother.”

He laughed. “God forbid.” He gave me a peck on the cheek and left.

Half the morning had gone by and still only a handful of customers had come in, all of whom had gone straight to the coffee shop.

“It's my fault,” Marnie said, putting away her shuttle. “I shouldn't be here. As long as people think I killed Bruce, nobody's going to set foot in this place.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I said. “It's just a quiet day. We get them all the time.” As I said this, the door opened and Melinda Wilson came in.

“Marnie,” she said, walking over to the counter, “I came as soon as I heard. I am so, so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Marnie's eyes watered. Melinda put her bag down and threw her arms around her. “I know you're hurting. I'm hurting for you.” She stepped back and I was surprised to see that she looked as if she'd spent the night crying too.

“Why don't we go sit down for a minute?” Melinda said, guiding her toward the coffee shop.

They had just disappeared behind the curtain when I noticed that Melinda had left her purse behind. I picked it up, starting to call after her, and then I stopped. If Melinda was like me, she carried her car registration in her purse. All I had to do was take a quick peek and I would know for sure what kind of car she drove. I pulled out her wallet and flicked it open. A driver's license with a bad picture of Melinda, a few credit cards—I flipped through the cards quickly. But no car registration.
I was just about to put the wallet away when I came across a photo. It was a wedding picture, Melinda and her husband on their special day. I felt a twinge of guilt. Here I was, going through her personal things. What was wrong with me? I was replacing the photo when I focused on the husband—and froze.

This couldn't be. I stared at it in disbelief. I must have stood there for a full minute trying to make sense out of what I was looking at, until the sound of footsteps jarred me back to reality. I slipped the picture back in the wallet and closed the purse—and not a minute too soon. Melinda was approaching, her hand extended.

“You forgot your purse,” I said.

“What were you doing?” she asked. “Were you going through it?”

“I didn't know whose it was. I was just looking for some ID.” She studied me, and I gave her my most innocent smile. “Your driver's license hardly looks like you.”

She seemed relieved. “I've never been photogenic,” she said. “I always end up looking like a criminal.”

Maybe that's because you are
.

A
s soon as she was out of the room I snatched the phone and pressed speed dial for Matthew's number.

“You won't believe what I just found,” I said the second he picked up.

“I can't talk right now. I'm writing.”

“This is important. Guess who used to be married to Bruce?” Without waiting for an answer, I blurted out, “Melinda Wilson.”

“What?”

“It's true. I just came across a snapshot of them at their wedding. She's in a wedding dress and it's him standing next to her wearing a tux,” I said.

“Where did you find this?” he said, and I knew from his voice that he thought I'd broken into Melinda's house.

“Melinda's here, in the shop. She just took Marnie to the back for a cup of coffee and left her purse at my counter. All I did was peek inside her wallet. Honest. I was only looking for her car registration. What was I supposed to do? Don't you
see? It all makes sense. Melinda was at the Longview the night Bruce was killed. Judging by the fact that she still carries around her wedding picture, she's probably still in love with him. She probably killed him in a jealous rage.” And then a new thought hit me. “Oh, my God. She's having coffee with Marnie. What if she puts poison in her cup?”

“Get Marnie out of there now,” he said, his tone urgent. “And then call the police.”

I slammed the phone down and ran to the back, arriving just as Marnie finished stirring sugar into her coffee. She raised it to her lips.

“Marnie!” I screamed. Everyone in the shop stopped and stared at me. “Uh, I'm sorry. I don't feel so well.” I doubled over, pretending to be in pain. Marnie jumped up and rushed over.

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” Behind her, Melinda watched me intently.

“Just help me upstairs. I need to lie down.”

“Of course. Here, hold on to my arm,” Marnie said. “Would you mind keeping an eye on the shop?” she called to Margaret. We stopped at the counter, picked up our purses, and made our way out of the shop and to the private entrance. I ran up the stairs and made a beeline for the living room.

“What are you doing? You need to lie down,” Marnie said. “You shouldn't be exerting yourself like this.”

“I have to call the police,” I said, snatching my cell phone from my bag.

“What are you talking a—”

I shushed her as the phone was answered. Under Marnie's confused stare, I asked the dispatcher to connect me to Officer Lombard.

“I have some information about Bruce Doherty's murder.” Marnie's eyes widened. I gave the woman my name, address, and phone number.

“I'll get her to call you right back,” the woman said.

“What information?” Marnie asked as soon as I put the telephone down.

“I think I know who killed him.”

“Who?”

“Melinda Wilson. She used to be married to him.”

“What? But that doesn't make any sense. Melinda is a widow. Her husband was killed in Afghanistan eight years ago.”

“Marnie,” I said, taking her hands in mine, “I just saw her wedding picture.” I told her how I'd looked through the woman's wallet. “It was him, all right. He was standing next to her, wearing a tux. She was wearing a white wedding dress. From the hair and makeup, I'd say it was taken about ten years ago.”

The doorbell rang, and I jumped up.

“It's Officer Lombard,” the voice said through the intercom. I buzzed her up and soon she and Officer Harrison were sitting with us in the living room. “We were just driving by when we got the call from dispatch.”

I repeated what I'd just told Marnie.

“And you're certain the man in the photo was Bruce Doherty?” Harrison questioned.

“Absolutely. The picture wasn't big, but it showed him from the waist up and cropped very closely. It was him—no question about it.”

“Are you going to arrest her?” Marnie asked. She sounded more worried than relieved. “I can't believe she could have killed him.”

“We don't know that yet,” the policewoman said. “This is just another piece of the puzzle. But we'll question her.” She and her partner stood. “Thank you for reporting this,” she said, heading for the door. “Please let us know if you learn anything else.”

“I will,” I said, and closed the door behind them.

I returned to the living room, where Marnie sat in shocked silence.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “Would you like a glass of water?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Tell me something. Why did you rush in screaming my name? Did you think I was in danger?”

“I wasn't about to take any chances. Helen was poisoned. If Melinda murdered her, who knows what's going through her mind?”

“You think she might have poisoned me?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “I always considered Melinda a friend. After everything I did for her, you think she was Bruce's accomplice? She wanted to murder me?”

“We don't know that,” I said, hearing the uncertainty in my own voice. I picked up the phone.

“Who are you calling now?”

“Matthew. I phoned him after finding Melinda's wedding picture. He's the reason I got you out of there and called the police. He's probably sitting on pins and needles, waiting to find out what happened.”

Marnie got to her feet. “I'll be downstairs,” she said. “I could use a cup of coffee. One without poison.”

When I rejoined her a little while later, Jenny and Margaret were standing around the counter, listening in fascination to Marnie's retelling of the events.

“I was really worried about you,” Jenny said.

“I'll have to remember what a good actress you are,” Margaret added.

“You really think Melinda could have . . .” Jenny shook her head. “I can't believe it.”

“Please, nobody repeat this to anyone. If I'm wrong about this, I could be slapped with a slander suit. I just spoke to Matthew and he pointed out something: for all we know, she could have been divorced from him for years.”

“Didn't you tell me that she and Bruce were having a clandestine conversation at your party?” said Jenny. “To me, that suggests something was afoot.”

“That's how it sounds,” I admitted. “But I know Matthew will say that doesn't prove a thing.”

The shop remained quiet for the next couple of hours, then shortly after lunch, droves of people started coming in. Marnie joined me at the counter.

“Something's happened,” she said, sounding uneasy.

“I think you're right.” The atmosphere had changed. One could almost hear the drums beating. We watched as one after another, women were carving a path to Jenny's coffee shop.

Soon Margaret came scurrying over from the back. “I just heard. The police questioned Melinda and then released her.”

“Who told you she was released?”

“Everybody is talking about it,” she said. “One of her customers happened to be in her shop when the police came to pick her up. And then a few hours later somebody saw the police drop her off.” She leaned in. “What if she comes after Marnie?”

Marnie paled. “Do you really think she might?”

“Of course not,” I said. “But if you're worried, why don't you stay over at my place tonight? You'll feel safer if you're not alone.”

“I wish I could, but I have some baking to do. You could come stay with me. Please?”

Margaret's and Marnie's panic was beginning to influence me. “All right. I'll ask Matthew if I can keep Winston overnight. I'll bring him along,” I added. “We'll be fine. If anybody tries to come
after you, I'll sic Winston on them. He'll lick them to death.”

“Scary,” Margaret said, with a roll of her eyes.

By the end of the day, none of Jenny's clients had so much as glanced at my displays. They had all walked straight through to Coffee, Tea and Destiny, leaving me with the lowest sales I'd had in a long time. There wasn't even enough money to warrant making a bank deposit.

Jenny and Margaret took off, and Marnie, Winston, and I left a few minutes later. I ran up to my apartment for a pair of pajamas and a container of Winnie's food.

“Let's walk,” I said, returning downstairs. “Winnie needs the exercise.”

“It won't hurt me a bit either,” she said. “So Matthew didn't mind you keeping him?”

“He wasn't there when I called, so I left him a message. He won't mind.”

Once at her place, we went straight to the kitchen. I pulled up a stool and watched as she prepared one of my favorite dishes, veal scaloppine.

“No, Winnie, this is people food,” I said. He hung his head and plodded away, sulking.

“You know,” Marnie said as she heated up a cast-iron frying pan, “I never mentioned it, but I couldn't help but notice the way Melinda was glaring at me at the party.”

“Maybe she wasn't very happy at seeing Bruce in a relationship with you.”

“Ha. Some relationship. She had nothing to be unhappy about. We never even slept together,” she said. “He wanted to wait, out of respect for me.” She slapped the veal into the flour. “And I thought that was so sweet.” She shook her head, muttering something under her breath.

I was quiet for a few minutes, thinking over the events on the night of the party. “I wonder if she knew Brent would be there.” Another thought occurred to me. “Maybe she didn't know that your fiancé was the same man she used to be married to. If that was the case, seeing him there must have come as quite a shock.”

“If you're right, that means she had nothing to do with this plot,” Marnie said, looking hopeful.

“I think I should go over and have a bit of a talk with her.”

“If she's guilty she'll invite you in and then put cyanide in your coffee.”

“Ha, ha. Maybe I'll stop by her shop tomorrow instead.”

“Hand me those, will you?” She pointed to the jar of capers. “Thanks. I'd think twice before doing that. If Melinda knows you called the police on her, you'd better be ready for fireworks.” She had a good point.

We had a quiet dinner, over which Marnie told me about being questioned at the police station.

“Now that they found out about Melinda's
history with Bruce, I'm probably not the main suspect anymore,” she said.

“How did you explain your ring being in Bruce's room?”

“I told them the truth. I figured they'd either believe me or they wouldn't. Besides, if I lied and they later found out, then I'd be as good as convicted.”

“I'm glad you decided not to lie.”

“They put me in a small room and made me sit there by myself for over an hour before they even started. I had plenty of time to think about it. If that was their goal, it worked. By the time they came in, I was singing like a canary.”

I laughed, picturing Marnie trembling under the light shining in her eyes. “You would make a terrible spy.”

“I'd spill the beans at the very sight of thumb screws.” She giggled.

“There's something I never asked you,” I said. “Why did you wait so long to introduce him to all your friends?”

Marnie blushed. Squirming, she said, “The truth is I couldn't believe he was really interested in me. I kept expecting him to stop calling. But then, when he asked me to marry him, I believed he was being sincere. That's when I told you. The night you threw me the surprise party, I'd just asked Bruce if he'd like to meet everyone.” Her eyes barely watered, and giving a self-conscious laugh she blinked the tears away, making me
believe that she would recover sooner than anybody expected her to. Marnie was a resilient person.

After cleaning up, I suggested we make it an early night and Marnie agreed.

“I'll take the sofa,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

I bounced on it, testing its comfort. “Absolutely,” I said. “This is fine. And Winnie can sleep on the floor right next to me.” I flapped a sheet, spreading it over the sofa, then added another sheet and blankets.

“Hold on a minute,” she said, hurrying away. She reappeared carrying a pillow and a folded bathrobe. “Here. I know it might be a bit big for you, but it's the smallest one I have.” It was a pink chenille robe, a few sizes too large for my five-foot-nothing frame. “Just tie the belt tight and it'll be okay. And this is for Winnie.” She placed a folded blanket at the foot of the sofa. “You'll be nice and cozy here.” She patted Winnie on the head and he stretched out on his makeshift bed.

I climbed in. “Not bad,” I said. “Almost as comfortable as my own bed.”

Marnie said good night and turned off the lights. I must have fallen asleep within minutes because the next thing I knew, I woke up with a start. Winston was growling, a low, menacing rumbling deep in his throat. I'd caught him making that sound only once before, seconds before he attacked an intruder brandishing a gun. I sat up, glancing around the room nervously, but the
darkness was so dense a prowler could have been inches away and I wouldn't have seen him. From the direction of Marnie's bedroom came the sound of snoring. Whatever had alerted the dog, it wasn't her.

“What is it, Winnie?” I whispered. And then I heard it, a metallic clang that seemed to come from the kitchen area. I threw back my blankets and felt around for Marnie's bathrobe. I slipped it on. “Quiet, Winnie,” I said. By now, my eyes were growing accustomed to the dark. I could make out shadows well enough to avoid bumping into furniture. I tiptoed to the kitchen, barely breathing, I was so nervous. I'd made it to her old kitchen, when I heard the second clang. The noise seemed to come from the professional kitchen, just beyond this one. I slid my hand along the Formica countertop until I felt the knife block. I grabbed the chef's knife and stepped forward.