Weave of Absence (8 page)

I
drove slowly. I'd left without a plan, without any idea how I was going to broach the subject.

Hey, there, Melinda, inquiring minds want to know. Were you flirting with Bruce Doherty? You do realize, don't you, that he's the man who's engaged to your good friend Marnie, the same good friend who taught you everything you know about baking?

The closer I got to Belmont, the crazier my spontaneous decision to just drop by felt.
I've come this far,
I thought, crossing the city lines.
I might as well go through with it.
I drove by the first few stores and craned my neck, trying to spot a bakery. In my rush to get here, I had left without the address or even the name of the store. All I knew was that it was situated somewhere along Main Street. I was halfway into my second drive-through when I spotted it. I parked across the street and made my way over.

It was a tiny shop, squeezed between a butcher and a green grocer. The sign read
MELINDA'S
and underneath, in smaller letters,
FRESH FROM THE
OVEN
. In the window was a display of breads, cookies, and pies. I walked in and was instantly enveloped in a blend of mouthwatering aromas—vanilla, apples and cinnamon, lemon. For a moment I almost forgot why I was here. Behind the counter a freckled-faced teenage boy with a head of red hair and a gap-toothed smile was transferring a tray of muffins to the display counter.

“Good morning. How can I help you?” he asked, straightening his lanky frame.

“I'm here to see Melinda. Is she in?”

He bobbed his head toward a doorway behind the cash register. “She's in the middle of icing a batch of coffee cakes right now. I can tell her you're here if you like.”

“That would be great.” I gave him my name and he disappeared into the back room, returning a moment later.

“She'll be right out.”

A few minutes went by. I studied the display cases. My stomach rumbled, and I was about to give in and order a piece of scrumptious-looking walnut torte when Melinda appeared. Her blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail under a hairnet. She came forward, untying her apron.

“Della. What a pleasant surprise.” She grinned. “Tommy gave your name as Mrs. Wright. I had no idea it was you. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I wanted to stop by and thank you personally for the lovely spread you prepared for Marnie's
party. Your food was a huge hit. Everybody was talking about it. I must have gotten a dozen phone calls about it yesterday.” Okay, so that was a lie, but it wouldn't hurt to butter her up. “You are a wonderful baker,” I continued. “I've always been partial to Marnie's, but yours is every bit as good.” I silently begged Marnie's forgiveness.

“What a nice thing to say. I'm glad you're happy. You paid for it. I have to say, if I'm any good, it's all thanks to Marnie. She taught me well, but I think I still have a ways to go before I can say I'm as good as she is.” She paused. “You didn't come all the way out here just for that, did you?”

“I had an errand in town and thought I'd stop by,” I said, trying vainly to think of some way to bring the conversation around to Bruce. “Also, I do have an ulterior motive. There was one kind of cookie you brought over, with butterscotch chips and nuts. They were so delicious. I've been dying to ask Marnie to make them, but I don't know what they're called.”

“You must be talking about my pecan rolls.”

“Whatever they were, I loved them.”

“The only other cookies I brought were chocolate chip. If you give me a sec, I'll write down the recipe for you in case Marnie doesn't have it.” She went behind the counter, got a pad and pencil and returned. As she jotted down the ingredients, I cleared my throat.

“I suppose you heard about Helen Dubois. Such a tragedy.”

She gave me a blank look. “What are you talking about?”

“You don't know? Helen is dead.” I decided not to mention I was the person who had found her body.

She covered her mouth in horror. “You can't be serious.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“How did she die?”

“It's not official yet, but the word is that she was strangled. The police have declared her death suspicious.”

“You mean she was murdered? How awful. Do the police have any suspects?”

I shook my head. “They asked me if I noticed anything at the party. But I was so busy playing hostess, I didn't. Were you and Helen close?”

“I hardly knew her,” she said.

“I've heard that she and Bruce Doherty argued that night. Did you witness that?”

“No.”

“Did he say anything to you that night about Helen?”

She stopped and stared at me. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you two having a long conversation near the food table. I was wondering what you were talking about.”

“He and I shared a few words—hello, nice to meet you, that sort of thing. But I wouldn't say we chatted for any length of time.” She gave me a
wary look as if she were trying to assess whether I believed her. I did not.

“Really? How strange. I could have sworn you were carrying on quite a long conversation.”

Her mouth tightened. “I don't even know the man. I can't imagine what I would want to talk to him about.” She picked up her pencil and resumed writing. “Let's see. One cup of golden raisins. One cup of pecans.”

“I'd never met her fiancé before that party. What was your impression of him?”

“Can't say that I got any impression one way or another,” she said curtly. “Why all the questions? Are you working for the police now?”

I felt the blood rise to my face.

“Of course not. It's just that Marnie is my friend, and I have a bad feeling about this man. I want to know whether she's making a huge mistake marrying him. Melinda, if there's anything you know about him, please tell me. Marnie was good to you. Don't you think you owe her the truth?”

She seemed to debate with herself. Then suddenly she said. “I didn't want to say anything, but . . . he and I did talk. At first it was just polite conversation, at least on my part. But he became very rude, making comments about my figure and suggesting that we get together. That's when I walked away. If it had been anybody but Marnie's fiancé, I would have slapped him in the face, but I didn't want to make a scene at her engagement party.”

My mouth dropped. Now that I had the information, I felt sick. I'd never felt so sorry to be right.

She tore the recipe from the pad and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“No worries. If there's anything else I can do for you, drop by anytime. Hope you enjoy the pecan rolls.”

I nodded to her employee and left. It wasn't until I was in the car that it occurred to me that if what she'd told me was the truth, the misbehavior was on his part, not hers. So why had she tried to convince me that they weren't talking? Unless Melinda wasn't as innocent as she wanted me to believe. I sat in my Jeep for a full minute. When I glanced at the shop, I spotted her staring at me. I turned the key in the ignition. I felt her eyes boring into me until I drove away. I returned to Briar Hollow, feeling like a cat that had been outsmarted by a mouse.

Winston came bounding over as I walked in. “Yes, I love you too, big boy.” He jumped up, hoping for a treat, no doubt. “No, Winnie. Down.” I disengaged myself and he slunk off, his eyes full of hurt. “Don't look at me like that. You know you're not supposed to jump on people.” Feeling guilty, I fished a dog treat from my pocket and held it up for him. He galloped back, snatched it, and we were friends again.

“You just missed Matthew,” Marnie said from behind her loom. She rose and came to the counter. “He said he'd pick up Winston around five. He had his tool kit with him, said he promised to repair your dining room table?” She gave me a crooked smile. “What exactly have you been doing on that dining room table?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I snapped.

“I gave him your apartment key. I hope you don't mind. He brought it back a few minutes later. He said the table was good as new.”

“Great. Did Jenny give you a good reading?” I asked, taking off my jacket.

“She always gives good readings. Not that I always like what she has to say.”

“Why? What did she say?”

“I bought myself a gorgeous dress in Charlotte last week—my wedding dress.” She smiled shyly as she said this, and then she became serious. “Jenny said that I wouldn't get to wear my wedding dress.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You won't get married?”

She looked horrified. “Don't even say such a thing. I bought my wedding dress one size smaller, and I'm on a diet. I think it means I won't lose the weight before the wedding.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. I'd better find another dress in the right size.”

“What else did Jenny say?”

She shrugged. “Not much. She said a man close
to me is surrounded by danger. I don't know who she could be talking about. The only man close to me is Bruce, unless she was talking about my next-door neighbor. That's it—she must have meant Barney. He has a bad heart.” Just as I'd feared. Jenny had been too vague. Now Marnie was giving the prediction her own spin.

“Anything else?”

“I should watch out for somebody who wishes me harm.”

“Uh-oh. I hope his initials aren't B.D.”

She looked puzzled for a second, and then guffawed. “You mean Bruce? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”

“How sure are you that you can trust him?” I asked. “It's not as if you've known him for very long.”

“I wouldn't be marrying the man if I didn't trust him. Besides, she didn't tell me the person I shouldn't trust is a man. The only man she mentioned was the one who is in danger.” Her face clouded over. “Uh-oh. You don't think it's Bruce, not Barney, who's in danger, do you?”

“Are you sure you didn't misinterpret what she told you? Maybe she said the man close to you is dangerous.”

She stared at me. “What are you talking about? You're trying to hint at something, aren't you?”

“No. I'm just wondering. Sometimes when we're in love, we don't want to see what's right in front of us. Remember? You were married once. You
trusted your husband. And then years into your marriage, you found out that he had been having affairs all along.”

“I was young when we got married. I was nineteen years old, going on sixteen. I'm a little older and wiser now.” Older, yes, but I had my doubts about her being wiser. She continued. “When a man wants to hide something, he can hide it pretty good.” That was my point exactly. I said nothing. She narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at? You think Bruce is seeing other women?”

“I didn't say that. I just wondered how much you trust him. You only met the man a month ago. How can you trust someone enough to want to marry them in such a short time?” Color rose to her face, and I realized I'd been too insistent. “I've never been married,” I added quickly, hoping she would think all I was voicing was my own insecurity. “I've never even lived with anyone. Just the thought of trusting someone completely would scare me to death.”

“Ah, so that's what this is all about. Honey pie, when the right man comes along, you just know.”

That was such hogwash. I had to turn around so she wouldn't see the expression in my eyes. I changed the subject. “By the way, did you hear anything about the funeral service for Helen?”

“I called the police this morning. I wanted to find out who's in charge of making the arrangements. They still haven't been able to locate any relatives.”

“You mean she had nobody in the world? That's so sad.”

“She never married. The only family she had was a sister—Sybille. She was about ten years younger. Their parents died when Helen was nineteen, and she became a sort of surrogate mother to Sybille, until she just—poof—vanished one day.”

I looked at her skeptically. “Vanished?”

She nodded. “Nobody knows what happened. It's a mystery. Sybille was living in Chicago at the time. She was very successful, only in her early twenties and already head of human resources at the Art Institute of Chicago. And then one day she just didn't come home from work. Helen spent years looking for her. She hired private investigators. She put up a reward. She spent every dime she ever made on the case. Then about six or seven years ago she just gave up. I guess she came to accept what everybody else already knew. Sybille was dead. Helen went to court and had her declared legally dead.”

“Was the case ever solved?”

“There are plenty of theories, but as far as I know, the police never found out. Helen and I didn't discuss it. This all happened back when I was married and living in Charlotte, so I never heard all the details. When I moved back here and Helen and I renewed our friendship, I tried to bring up the subject a couple of times, but she became so distraught—cried and cried. I thought it best to
leave it alone. If she wanted to talk about it, fine. But I wasn't about to risk upsetting her again.”

The story left me feeling sad for Helen.

Marnie's voice brought me back. “I was thinking,” she said. “If nobody steps up, I might make the funeral arrangements myself.”

“That would be really nice of you. If you need any help, I'm here.”

She squared her shoulders. “I'll call the police again. Maybe they've located a relative by now.” She picked up the landline and punched in the number.

T
he door swung open and Liz Carter walked in, wringing her hands. “Oh, Della. I just heard about poor Helen. It's so, so terrible.”

“I know. It's an awful tragedy.”

“I don't know what to do about the library. I was volunteering a few hours a week, giving Helen a hand. There was way too much work for one employee. But that's all the town budget would allow, one employee. Somebody's got to be there, but I have no idea if I should call a locksmith and take over until a new librarian is hired.” She looked at me as if she expected me to offer her a solution.

Marnie ended her phone call and hung up. “Hi, Liz,” she said, coming around the counter. “How are you?”

Liz repeated what she had just told me. “I know how much Helen cared about that library. She was even organizing a special event to raise funds.” The doorbell jingled as a messenger strode in, carrying a flat parcel.

He looked from me to Liz to Marnie. “I have a package for Marnie Potter.”

“That's me,” Marnie said. The young man handed her a pen and she signed the receipt. “I wonder what this is,” she said, trying to read the label.

“It's from the Charlotte Museum of History,” he said, stashing the pen behind his ear. He headed for the door, leaving Marnie staring at the box.

“It must be my flag.” She snatched a pair of scissors and slid the blades along the tape.

Something Liz said just hit me. I turned to her and asked, “How could you have just heard about Helen? She was killed two days ago. That's all anybody around here has been talking about.”

“I left town right after the party. I've been in Charlotte ever since. I just got back. I must have chosen the worst time to leave. Not that anybody could have foreseen this, but still, if I'd been here, I would already have figured out what to do about the library. Now it's been closed for two days, and as far as the exhibit she was working on, it's as good as dead.” And then, realizing what she'd just said, she covered her mouth. “I can't believe I just said that.”

“Why don't you call the mayor? He'll tell you what to do. I bet he'll be relieved when you tell him you're willing to take over until they hire someone. He might even offer you the job, since you're already familiar with the place.”

She shook her head, taken aback. “Oh, I could never take Helen's job. It would feel so wrong.
Besides I don't want to work full-time. Nine to five, five days a week? That's not for me.” I remembered how much of her time Liz spent traveling. A full-time job would curtail her freedom. She continued. “But I don't mind helping out until they find somebody else.” She glanced around. “Wow. This place sure looks different once you get all the party stuff out.” She wandered over to the armoire and looked at the display of towels. There were small linen hand towels, regular-sized linen bath towels, and great big Turkish towels with fringed ends. “Everything you sell is so beautiful. One of these days I'll have to come by and pick something nice for myself.” Her eyes fell onto the Betsy Ross flag Marnie was taking out of the box. She walked over to the counter. “What's that?”

Marnie beamed. “My grandmother gave it to me when I was just a girl, and I've had it stored away in a drawer ever since. I suppose you could call it a family heirloom. I'd completely forgotten about it, until I found it the other day when I was going through some old stuff. I sent it out to the Museum of History in Charlotte, hoping they could give me an idea of its value.” As she said this, she tore open an envelope. “Oh. Look at this, a note from the curator.” She perused the note in silence, her eyes growing wider as they moved down the page.

She grasped for the chair behind her. “I'd better sit down,” she said, fanning herself with the sheet of paper. She dropped onto the seat and glanced
at it again. “He says the flag looks authentic and that, in his estimation, it could easily be worth something in the high six figures.” She stared at Liz and me, openmouthed.

I gasped. “High six figures? Wow! That's a lot of money.”

Liz reached a tentative finger toward the flag. “Are you serious? Why . . . that piece should be in a museum.” Her face lit up. “That gives me an idea. I told you that Helen was working on a special project, didn't I? She was hoping to raise money for the library. She was organizing this special one-week exhibition—a collection of old books, some first editions that are worth quite a lot of money, but nothing close to the value of your flag. She had a bunch of old pens too, and some old typewriters, a printing press. Just a whole lot of writing tools.” She glanced at the flag again, her eyes full of wonder. “Would you consider lending your flag to the library for the exhibition? It would only be for one week. And I promise it would be quite safe. It would be inside a glass display case. Nobody would be able to touch it. The exhibit is scheduled to start next week . . . although I have no idea what's going to happen now.”

“Of course I'll lend it,” Marnie said without hesitation. “It's the least I can do for Helen. It would have made her happy.”

“Thank you. I know just how I'll display it.” Her eyes became dreamy. “I'll use it as a background for the most important piece, a first-edition biography
of George Washington in six volumes by John Marshall. Won't it look absolutely stunning?”

“It sounds wonderful,” Marnie said. “When do you need it? Would you rather take it right away?”

“Shouldn't you call your insurance broker first?” I suggested.

“Oh, by all means. Get it insured first,” Liz said.

“Oh, you're right. He'll probably want to see it before issuing a policy,” Marnie said. “I'll give him a call. The minute you can pick it up, I'll let you know.”

“Great,” Liz said, heading for the door. She paused with her hand on the handle. “By the way,” she said, looking at me, “are you sure you want me to make a place mat for Marnie's trousseau?”

“I've got three other beginners like you making one each. And I'll help you.”

She looked relieved for a moment. Then her forehead furrowed. “I hope you won't be angry at me, but I goofed. I let it slip about the trousseau we're making for her. Me and my big mouth. But Marnie says she doesn't mind it not being a surprise. Tell her, Marnie. That's what you told me, right? You're not angry at me, are you?” A second later the door closed behind her.

I swung around to Marnie and wagged a finger at her. “You sneak. You knew about my surprise. No wonder you dropped that hint about liking purple on white.”

She gave a weak laugh. “Don't worry. I promise to love your gift no matter what the color.”

“I already decided to keep the navy on white for myself and start a new collection for you. So you'll get your purple chevron.”

“No, really. You don't have to do that,” she insisted, but I could tell she was pleased. When at last she put the subject of the towels to rest, she said, “Didn't you think that was strange?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Liz asking us for advice on what she should do about the library. It doesn't make sense. She could have asked any number of people. Nancy Cutler is on the town council and the two of them are friendly. She could have called the mayor. Why would she come to us instead of going to them?”

“Sometimes people don't think clearly when they're distraught.”

“Or maybe,” she said. “Because she heard that you found her body and was hoping to hear some details.”

“In that case, why didn't she bring it up? She didn't ask a single question about it.”

“You're right,” Marnie said, tapping her chin with an index finger. “She came here for a reason. I just know it. Hmm, I wonder . . .”

“Maybe she wanted to find out what Helen and Bruce were arguing about at the party.”

“What are you talking about?” Marnie demanded. “Helen and Bruce didn't argue.”

Shit, shit, shit
. I would have paid to take my words back. But there was no point in denying it now. “Actually, they did, Marnie. I saw them arguing myself.”

“It was not an argument,” she said, confirming that she knew more than she'd previously admitted. This told me not only that she knew about it but might even have witnessed it herself. Marnie had lied, at least by omission, to Officer Lombard when she stopped by. “Helen was telling him about an incident she'd had at the library with a high school student.”

“Come on, Marnie. It didn't look like a casual conversation to me. She was jabbing her finger in his chest.”

“That's right. She was jabbing him the same way that teenager had jabbed his finger at her. She was demonstrating, for God's sake.”

“How do you know what they were talking about? You were all the way across the room, unwrapping your presents.”

“I happened to notice them talking and asked Bruce about it later.”

I was speechless. The story was thin. It didn't explain the anger on Helen's face, nor the way she had stomped off in a fury. Even though all my instincts told me I was right and Marnie was wrong, I felt just the briefest of doubts. What if it had happened that way? What if all this suspicion I felt toward Bruce was based on nothing but my own fertile imagination?

Marnie was shaking her head at me. “You really are something else. I'm surprised you haven't already convicted Bruce of murder. You've got to stop going around mistrusting everyone all the time.”

I was saved from having to answer when the door swung open and Bunny walked in. Her hair was limp, her makeup smudged, and instead of one of her usual expensive designer outfits, she wore a pair of jeans and a plain knit sweater. I moved forward.

“Oh, Bunny, I just read the news. How are you holding up?”

She brushed back a long lock of blond hair and gave a weary shrug. “I'm not exactly thrilled. But I'm thankful that at least nobody was in the room when it happened. Otherwise, who knows, Briar Hollow might have seen its second murder in two days.”

“That's an awful thought. I hope the painting was insured,” Marnie said.

“Of course it was. Not that it will be easy to get the insurance company to pay up.”

Marnie's eyes widened. “What do you mean? If you had a policy, they'll have to honor it. You can sue them if they don't.”

“Not if they can prove fraud.” At our shocked silence, she said, “The painting was wired directly into the security alarm. Nobody could have taken it down without disarming it, and I am the only person who knew the code. So the police think . . .” She opened her hands in a helpless gesture.

“You can't be serious.”

“As long as the case is unsolved and there remains a question about my innocence, the insurance company has the right to hold the face amount. My insurance guy was the second person I called, after calling the police. His company had an investigator there within hours. The man was there before the reporter from the
Belmont Daily
. And the questions he asked? He was stickier than the cops. Ugh.” She shuddered. “I hope I never have to go through that again.”

“Poor you.”

She grimaced. “There must be half a dozen cops searching my lobby as we speak. I should really be there, but I had to get away before I had a public meltdown.”

Marnie pulled the chair from behind the counter. “Here, have a seat. You look as if you're about to collapse.” It was nice to see Marnie fawning over Bunny. When the two had first met, my friend had taken an instant dislike to the beautiful blonde. According to her, the woman dressed too flashy, wore her makeup too loud and her nails too long. But to everyone's surprise, the antipathy had slowly given way to a grudging respect and then to a warm friendship.

Marnie continued. “I tried to call you, but your phone was busy.”

“Figures. It hasn't stopped ringing all morning. One of the cops finally took it off the hook.”

“Why don't I get you a cup of coffee?” Marnie offered.

“Thanks, but I think caffeine is just about the last thing in the world I need right now.” She put out a shaky hand as evidence. “But I'll have a cup of tea if you don't mind—jasmine, maybe, or chamomile.”

“Right away.” Marnie disappeared into the back.

She groaned. “God. I had no idea how tired I was until I sat. I've been up all night.”

“All night? What time was it when you discovered the painting was gone?”

“I heard the robbers take it. At least I think I did. The last restaurant clients must have left around eleven, and we locked up about a half hour later. I went to bed soon after that. Around one o'clock in the morning I heard this loud metallic grating sound from right below my room. I couldn't make out what it was. Then there was a loud pop. I thought it sounded like a gun, or what I imagine a gun would sound like. My bedroom is right over the reception area, and the noises seemed to come from there,” she said. “You know how quiet this town becomes at night. Normally the lobby is dead silent until morning. I considered calling the police, but thought I should take a look around first. I grabbed my bathrobe and went downstairs. That's when I saw the painting was gone.” She let herself fall against the back of the chair, as if the retelling had exhausted her. I
thought I saw tears quivering on her lashes, but she brushed them away so fast that I wondered if I'd imagined them. I had never seen Bunny looking less than perfectly composed.

“Come on, Bunny. Everybody around here knows you. You're the last person in the world the police would suspect of being involved.”

She wiped a hand over her face, further smudging her makeup. “I hope you're right,” she said, sounding doubtful.

“You know I am. And as far as the insurance companies, they're just trying to find an excuse to keep the money. I suppose it was worth a lot?”