The Devil's Puzzle

by Clare O'Donohue

  “I came down from school in Boston to represent the family,” Molly answered her. “I understand you knew him.”

  “I knew him, yes.”

  We could have spent a lot of time on small talk leading up to the reason I’d brought Molly to meet Eleanor, but I didn’t have the patience.

  “Molly thinks that someone was trying to kill Grace,” I said.

  “Apparently someone was trying to cheat her, or at least that’s what Winston believed, and Molly is wondering if that person was you.”

  Molly turned bright red, but Eleanor laughed.

  “Nell is a bit more direct than she is polite. Why don’t we sit in the classroom and talk?” Eleanor turned to the only customer in the shop, a regular who came in at least twice a week. “Shout when you’re ready to have your fabrics cut,” she said. “We’ll be in back talking over old rumors.”

  Once we settled into the classroom, I couldn’t help but notice Molly staring at the quilts. My devil’s puzzle blocks were still on the design wall, waiting to be sewn into a quilt top. But there were finished quilts as well, used as samples for kits and classes, that decorated the walls.

  “These are beautiful,” she said. “When this is all over I want to make one.”

  “No one better to teach you than Eleanor,” I said. “Assuming you haven’t gotten her arrested for killing Winston.”

  Molly blushed again. “I’m sorry,” she said to Eleanor. “It’s just that you were closer to Grace than anyone, so if she was in danger . . .”

  “Either it was from me or I might know about it,” Eleanor finished Molly’s thought.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, dear, but as far as I know, Grace wasn’t in danger. Certainly not from me, I can assure you of that. And not from anyone else, either. She was ill. What would have been the point of anyone trying to kill her?”

  “What about cheat her?”

  Eleanor shrugged. “Not that I know of. This is a good town, with good people. I can’t think of anyone who would do something as heinous as cheat a dying woman.”

  “The mayor said something about Winston and Grace having an argument about you,” I said, getting to it before Molly could.

  Eleanor blushed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No idea what it could have been about?”

  “They didn’t see eye to eye about a lot of things. But I can’t think of why anyone would harm Winston.”

  “But someone did,” Molly pointed out. “And I think it’s because he knew something. Maybe someone wanted her money.”

  “Her children were her only heirs, and they adored her,” Eleanor said. “Besides, Elizabeth was in California, as you know, and Winston . . .”

  “He was the one raising the alarm,” I pointed out.

  Eleanor nodded. “Her money was in trusts, as far as I know. Winston was in charge of them. If he wanted her money, all he had to do was take it. And he was very careful with it. Grace used to call him Scrooge.” She laughed, then looked embarrassed when she glanced toward Molly.

  “Well, he was worried about something,” Molly said.

  She pulled out the letters her grandmother had sent her, and Eleanor read them one by one. As she did, I noticed that a batch of photos was also included, and I went through them. Most of them were of Winston with Grace.

  “When were these taken?” I asked.

  Eleanor looked at them. “That summer,” she said. “Right before we left for Canada. Winston had come back in May for a visit and stayed.”

  “Was he planning on staying long?” Molly asked.

  “He wasn’t at first, then he changed his plans. And then he changed them again,” Eleanor said. “Or at least I thought he had.” She put the photos on the table in front of her. “All those years in that garden. That poor man. And to think I spoke ill of him at his mother’s funeral. I thought he had left without saying good-bye to his dying mother. I thought it was the most selfish thing in the world.”

  I picked up the pile of photos and began going through them carefully. One immediately caught my eye. Winston and Grace posed in front of the rose garden, the very spot that would become his grave. But far from being the thick brush of weeds it had been since my childhood, the ground was covered in orange, pink, and yellow roses.

  “It was lovely,” I said.

  “Wasn’t it?” Eleanor glanced sadly at the photo. “I’m ashamed of myself for not keeping it up. I’ve just never been a gardener, and for so long I couldn’t afford to pay anyone. It just got away from me and became the neglected mess that you and Oliver tried to clean up.”

  “Maybe if someone had been tending to it, they would have found Winston sooner,” Molly said.

  “Maybe,” Eleanor answered her. Her face was neutral, even friendly, but there was a defiance to her voice that I was quite proud to hear.

  CHAPTER 36

  “I’m happy to report that we now have forty quilts promised to us for the show,” I told the group at our Friday night meeting. “Many of them are reproductions, but we also have some genuine antiques that have been generously loaned to us. Ed offered us the movie theater as a space to hang quilts, so I intend to hang the antiques there to protect them. What we need to work on now is what we’ll hang the quilts on, and also who will help me organize things that day.”

  I looked around, hoping for volunteers. No one was listening. The door had opened behind me and the newcomer was drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Sorry to be so late.”

  I turned to see Molly. Eleanor jumped up. “This is Grace’s great-granddaughter. She’s in town about poor Winston being found in the rose garden.”

  Though we hadn’t discussed it, as I looked around the room, I could see that no one was surprised to hear Winston being identified as the skeleton, or of Molly being in town. Now that Eleanor knew, there was no sense in the rest of us pretending we didn’t.

  “Grab a chair and join us,” I said. “There’s coffee and cookies on the cutting table.”

  “I was looking at your quilts yesterday,” Molly explained to the group, “and I thought they were just lovely.”

  Bernie leaned forward and studied her. “Are you a quilter?”

  “No. Grace was the last quilter in the family.”

  “Maybe not,” Maggie said. “We’ll get you started, if you like.”

  And they did. Susanne and Carrie showed her patterns that would be easy for a beginner and Eleanor helped Molly pick out fabrics. But I wasn’t buying it, and when I looked over to Natalie, I could see she wasn’t convinced either. I sat next to Natalie and we watched as the others ran around the shop finding all the tools that would turn Molly into a quilter.

  “I’ve seen lots of non-quilters making their first pieces,” Natalie said in a low whisper, “and they all have this excited, overwhelmed look in their eyes.”

  “And she doesn’t,” I agreed. “She’s studying Eleanor. She thinks Eleanor killed Winston.”

  “But she has an alibi, I thought. She was in Canada.”

  “She was,” I said. “Molly must assume Eleanor hired someone to kill him.”

  “That girl is nuts. The good news is Jesse is the best there is. He would never believe such a stupid theory.”

  Natalie and I crossed our arms and watched Molly wander the shop, making our suspicion of her as plain as we could. Not that anyone noticed. They were too busy indoctrinating the new recruit.

  “So you knew Winston, too?” Molly was asking Maggie as they walked back toward us.

  “Yes. When he was growing up, he came up from New York every summer with your grandmother and Grace. Very smart man. Very articulate.” I could see Maggie straining to compliment a man she had disliked.

  “And did you spend much time with him that last summer?”

  “Not really. I saw him a few times when I visited Eleanor at the house. We had nothing in common, of course, so we rarely said anything more than hello to each other.”r />
  “What about Eleanor?” Molly asked.

  “Eleanor and I have a lot in common, dear. That’s why we’ve been friends for so many years.” Maggie was being deliberately obtuse, and enjoying herself in the process.

  “I mean Winston and Eleanor.” Molly looked up at me and I smiled back. I knew she was looking for help, but as my expression made clear, she was looking for it from the wrong person.

  Maggie seemed to be having fun, though. “You know, I’ve said many times there was no one fonder of Grace than Eleanor. And no one fonder of Eleanor than Grace,” Maggie said. “When I see Eleanor now with Nell, and the relationship they have, I am often reminded of Grace and Eleanor. Eleanor was Nell’s age then, and Grace’s was Eleanor’s age now.” Maggie sighed. “Funny how time flies. It feels like just the other day I had small children running around the house, and now my grandchildren are having children. Did I show you a photo of my great-granddaughter?”

  I could only sit back in admiration. Maggie had thrown Molly, who had been reduced to polite nodding and a strained smile. Of course, she’d used the photo of her family on me just a week ago, and I’d gotten just as confused.

  Finally Molly got a word in. “I was thinking that I might try to retrace Winston’s steps that last month he was here.”

  “How can you?” I asked. “Did you find a diary in the papers your grandmother sent?”

  “No,” she admitted, “but I have his letters and the photographs. I know he went to the bank several times and to the movie theater. I know he spent time at the house, obviously. And I know he got into an argument with Ed.” Molly stood up. “The movie theater is still open, right? I know everything else in town is closed, but people go to movies on a Friday night, don’t they?”

  “The last movie on a Friday starts at 8:45,” I told her, “so it’s still playing. Ed should be there.”

  “Well, then I’ll go talk to him.”

  “I’ve already asked him about Winston,” I said, not adding that his answers apparently had been lies.

  “I’m sure you did, Nell,” she said, “but I’d like to talk to him myself.”

  Molly smiled a half smile, and for a second I could sense the same smugness that people disliked in Winston in his grandniece. She waved good-byes to the rest of the group, still gathering tools and fabrics for her, and headed out the door.

  CHAPTER 37

  After the meeting, I went to Jesse’s house to talk with him about the night’s events and let him tell me about his day. He was exhausted. Half the town had stopped by the police station, he told me, insisting he do something about all the vandalism. He’d spent much of the day explaining that he was trying, but no one seemed pleased with that answer. Least of all him.

  “We’ve got a broken window at the school, books thrown about at the library, paint on Archer’s headstone, a pentagram in front of the church, and a police car running into a fire hydrant,” Jesse said as we curled up together in his bed. “What do they have in common?”

  “Aside from being pretty small acts of vandalism?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Right. No one’s house was broken into. Nothing has been stolen aside from a few pages from that book on Archers Rest history.”

  I sat up. “They’re all aimed at institutions in town. The school, the library, the church, and our founder’s grave. These are all places that matter to a lot of people in town, not just to one particular person. Whoever is doing this is trying to make a point about the town.”

  “What? That it’s a bad place? Who feels that way?”

  “Molly,” I said.

  “The school break-in happened before she got to town.”

  I leaned against his shoulder. “As far as we know, she may have come to town before the school break-in. She lied about why she was here, so maybe she lied about when she arrived.”

  “You don’t like her,” he said.

  “I don’t like that she seems to think Eleanor might have killed Winston. And I don’t like that you’re giving her information about an ongoing police investigation.”

  “I give you information.”

  “That’s hardly the same thing.”

  “Are you still jealous?” He was smiling.

  “For heaven’s sake, Jesse, I don’t think for a second you’re interested in a barely legal busybody, or that she’s interested in an old man like you . . .”

  “Hey . . .”

  “But you have been feeding her details of the investigation. And when I think of all the times I’ve had to drag it out of you, it just seems unfair.”

  “One of the many things I’ve learned since we met, Nell, is that interested parties have a right to information. And Molly is an interested party. I’m not telling her anything I wouldn’t tell you.” He saw me about to protest. “In fact, I’m telling her a lot less than I tell you.” He wrapped his arms around me.

  “What are you telling me that you’re not telling her?”

  “I love you.”

  “About the investigation. What else about that?”

  He sighed. “I think you’re on to something about the institutions. Maybe I need to put men out patrolling the other churches in town, the post office, and city hall.”

  “City hall is next to the police station. I doubt anyone would vandalize the building next to the cops. They’d be caught in a second.”

  “It would make my job simpler.”

  “Or if you didn’t catch the guy, it would make Glad and the mayor even more upset with you than they already are.”

  We made a halfhearted attempt at making love, but both of us were tired and our minds were elsewhere, so we just held each other and fell asleep watching television. Three hours later I was woken up by a particularly loud commercial. I wanted desperately to stay curled up in Jesse’s arms, but I knew that if I did, I would stay until morning, so I got up.

  “Come back to bed.” Jesse reached an arm out toward me.

  “Be quiet. Allie will hear you.”

  “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be going out there at night by yourself. Remember the note,” he said. “And Allie has to find out sooner or later. Just stay. I’ll explain it to her.”

  “Explain it to her first. Then I’ll spend the night,” I said. “I’ll be fine.” I kissed him on the forehead.

  “I’ll walk you to the car.”

  “It’s parked outside your window. Just stay in bed. I’ll be fine.”

  “Call me when you get home,” he said.

  “I’ll wake you up.”

  He grabbed my hand. “Nell, I’ll stay awake until you call me.”

  “Okay. As soon as I walk in my door.”

  I drove down Jesse’s street, turned the corner, and drove past darkened houses, past the cemetery, and into town, looking constantly for someone who might be up to no good. But there was no one.

  I reached the town center, where all the shops were dark. As I passed the small square park that bordered Main Street, I saw that the base for Glad’s statue had been poured. She was, apparently, going ahead with it despite the general lack of enthusiasm for the idea. Past the park, the movie theater was quiet, as were the bank and the travel agency. On Main Street, Jitters was closed, and as I turned to the other side of the street, I was expecting to see the same quiet darkness at Someday Quilts. But I didn’t.

  Something—someone—was lying on the ground.

  I threw my car into park, leaving it in the middle of the street, and ran toward the figure.

  “You okay?” I called out.

  There was no answer.

  I went closer. It was a woman. Young. Not moving.

  “Molly?” I yelled. “Molly. Are you okay?”

  The streetlight was just close enough that I could make out something odd about her dark brown hair. It was wet, but what had caused that I had no idea. Three steps closer and I had my answer. Blood. I leaned down and confirmed that Molly had been hit on the head with something.

&nbs
p; “Molly?” I felt her pulse. It was there. Faint. But it was there.

  “Molly, I’m going to call an ambulance. Can you hear me? Can you understand?”

  There was no response.

  I grabbed my cell phone from my purse and dialed 9-1-1. Once they were on their way, I pressed the first number on my speed dial.

  “You’re home already? That was fast.” Jesse’s sleepy voice was cheerful and reassuring.

  “I’m not home. I’m outside Someday Quilts. Molly O’Brien is hurt. I think it’s bad.”

  “On my way.”

  “She’s alive,” Jesse said to me as I waited by the front door to Jitters. The ambulance with Molly inside had sped to the hospital moments before, and all of Jesse’s officers were out combing the crime scene.

  “Did she say anything to you?” I asked.

  “No. How about you?”

  “Nothing. I don’t think she was conscious.”

  He grabbed me and held me tight. “I knew you shouldn’t be out by yourself this late. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

  “I’m okay, Jesse.” Though I wasn’t sure if I felt okay.

  “I’ll tell you one thing. This isn’t kids having fun.” There was anger in his voice, and I was glad of it, because I felt just as angry.

  “I can’t imagine why anyone would do this. No one in town even knew her,” I said.

  “Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “What was she doing back at the shop?”

  “Maybe she was going to break in and look for clues,” Jesse offered.

  “Or maybe she caught someone else breaking in.”

  As I spoke, Jesse’s phone rang. “The station,” he told me as he answered it. “Yeah . . . where?” he said into the phone. “Are you kidding me? I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up and turned to me. “There’s been a break-in. And you won’t believe where.”

  Remembering our earlier conversation, I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “City hall?”

  Jesse slowly moved his head back and forth. “Worse. The police station.”