“And you think Winston took the money?” I asked.
“Who else would?” Glad asked. “The only other person who was authorized to draw funds from the account was your grandmother.”
CHAPTER 48
I walked to my car, put the key in the ignition, switched it into gear, and began driving. At least I assume I did, because by the time I was fully aware again, I was driving away from town, going toward the road to New York and away from everything that was familiar to me. My conversation with Glad and Mary kept playing in my head, over and over.
Someone was stealing money from Grace. Eleanor had access to the account. Winston found out. His body ended up in Eleanor’s rose garden and his belongings disappeared. If the participants were anyone else, the killer’s identity would be obvious. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was Eleanor. And Eleanor as a killer was unthinkable.
Suddenly a beeping sound came from the passenger seat, and I almost jumped out of the car before I calmed down enough to realize it was only my phone.
“Have you seen Molly?” Jesse sounded annoyed.
“She’s at the house,” I said.
“I had one of my guys go over to the house. He rang the bell several times and no answer.”
“She’s probably sleeping.”
“That’s what I thought, but Eleanor came home while he was there and they searched the place together. She’s nowhere.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you.”
I had enough trouble keeping track of the quilts, the murder, the vandalism, and Oliver’s plans—I didn’t really need to add an eighteenyear-old supersleuth to the mix. And judging by the tone in his voice, I could tell Jesse felt the same way.
“She’s not under house arrest,” I said. “You warned her to stay put, but if she doesn’t listen to you, that’s not your problem.”
“It is if she gets into trouble.”
I turned the car around and started back toward the center of town. “I’ll check the shop, Jitters, and the library,” I said.
“Thanks.” He hung up without another word.
Natalie hadn’t seen Molly, nor had Carrie. Though Carrie did have some interesting news.
“Ed was in here about an hour ago, and just as he was leaving, Glad pulled up in her car, got out, and practically hit him,” Carrie said. “Ed’s got to be a foot taller than Glad, and I swear, he looked like a child being yelled at by his mother.”
“For what?”
“I couldn’t really hear. The coffee machines are extremely loud.” She looked back at her espresso maker with disdain. “So as soon as I could, I snuck over to the door and caught the end of their conversation.”
Just as she was about to tell me what it was, a customer ordered a half-decaf cappuccino, no whip. I’ve always thought Carrie made those drinks quickly, but standing there waiting for her to finish up with the customer, it felt as though a year had gone by.
“So what did you hear?” I asked as soon as the customer left.
“Glad said that Ed was responsible, and he’d have to pay for the damage he caused,” she said. “What I don’t understand is if Glad knows that Ed is the one doing the vandalism, then why go to him and not Jesse?”
“Maybe she’s not talking about the vandalism.”
“Maybe. As soon as she was done yelling, she got in her car and drove away. I’ve no idea where she went, but she was pretty angry.”
“She went to her sister’s house to pretend that she was afraid someone was trying to kill her.”
Carrie had stopped listening. Something had drawn her attention to the front door of her shop. I turned around and saw Molly walking Barney. It wouldn’t have drawn any attention except Molly, a bandage still on the back of her head, was dragging a large, dirty suitcase.
I ran out of the shop and grabbed her.
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay at the house,” I yelled.
“I’m going to talk to Jesse.”
“You could have called him. He’s been looking for you all over town.”
“I found this. And I wanted to bring it to him. I wasn’t going to stay in that house knowing a killer was there.” She pointed toward the case. “It’s Winston’s suitcase.”
“Are you sure?”
She pointed toward the initials WLR embossed in faded gold lettering on the top of the case. “I can’t open it, but those were his initials : Winston Lawrence Roemer.”
I grabbed the case from her and brought her into Jitters. “Sit down,” I said, “and I’ll call Jesse.”
Within minutes he was there. Molly looked as if she were about to collapse from the effort, and I was worn out from trying to open the rusted lock.
“Where did you find this?” Jesse’s voice was gentle. He knelt in front of Molly, who was shaking, trying not to cry. “What happened?”
“I went out for a walk in the woods. Barney wanted to go out, so I took him, and we walked down by the river. We found the case half-buried by a tree. Barney’s the one that dug it up.”
“By what tree?” Jesse asked.
“I don’t know. A big one by the river.”
“I’ve walked those woods a thousand times,” I said. “I’ve never seen a suitcase.”
“Maybe you missed it,” she said.
“Maybe it wasn’t there.”
Jesse stood up and nodded at me. “Maybe it was put there.”
“Obviously.” Molly stood up to go toe-to-toe with him. Since she was barely five-three and Jesse was over six feet, it was more comical than threatening.
“I think he means maybe it was put there recently,” I told her.
“Who would do that?”
“Someone looking to implicate my grandmother.”
“Oh.” She sat down again. “But how would they know someone would find it?”
“Because Barney walks those woods every day.”
“And the townspeople know your dog’s habits?”
“Oddly, they do,” Jesse answered for me. “Barney’s quite loved in this town.”
Jesse patted the old dog, who seemed pleased to be in the center of the action but completely confused as to why.
“If Eleanor had that suitcase all these years, she’d find a better place for it than in the mud by the river.”
“I think we should ask her,” Molly said. “Or at least we should open it. I couldn’t find any tools in your grandmother’s house.”
“That’s because she keeps them in the garage,” I said.
“Well, let’s open it now.” She reached for the case, but Jesse stopped her.
“I think you should go back to Eleanor’s house and get some rest,” Jesse told her. “And this time I’m positioning my guy inside the house.”
One of Jesse’s deputies came to Jitters and drove Barney and Molly back to the house, but only after Jesse got a promise from Molly that she wouldn’t snoop in any of the rooms or stray past the front door. I wasn’t entirely satisfied with her assurances, but there was nothing I could do.
Once she was gone, Jesse bought me a cup of herbal tea and we sat on the purple couch, quietly staring at Someday Quilts across the street. Finally, our eyes both went to the suitcase, still sitting where Molly had left it.
“I’ll bet Carrie has a screwdriver,” I said.
“Get it.”
It took twenty minutes and more than a few curse words from Jesse, but he finally got it open. I don’t know what I was expecting, but all there was inside were some men’s clothes that looked as though they had gotten wet over the years, a fading passport with Winston’s name on it, and a gold ring.
“Was he planning to get engaged?” I asked when I saw the ring.
Jesse held it up. “This is a man’s ring.”
“I thought he wasn’t married.”
“Maybe he was about to get married.”
“And someone stopped him,” I said. “And then took the case so it would look like Winston went ahead with his plans to leave
for South America. So why bring it back today after hiding it for so long?”
“Because they wanted to point a finger at Eleanor,” Jesse said.
“So, somehow, we’re getting close.”
“Maybe. Was anyone at your house today?”
“The mayor and some photographers,” I said. “But anyone could have planted it. You can walk over from next door, or if you stay by the river, you could come from the center of town if you wanted to without anyone seeing.”
“You could also drive up if no one was home. And it would be easy to see if Eleanor was at the shop. Or you were.”
“Or it could have been put there last night.”
“It does tell us one thing,” he said.
I nodded. “Winston’s killer is still alive.”
CHAPTER 49
“John Archer was a man with many secrets and few friends,’” I read to Jesse as we sat in his bed at three in the morning, both unable to sleep. “‘He took what talents he had and turned them into greatness, despite the obstacles that often stood in his way.’”
“This book is giving us one important piece of information,” Jesse said. “Glad’s father is no writer.”
I looked at the red leather history of our town and shrugged. “He meant well. He was trying to preserve the image of a man who mattered to him and to the town.”
“He’s saying he’s a devil worshipper.”
“He is not, actually. He’s saying,” I turned the page and began reading again, “‘Archer was rumored to have pagan beliefs that could, in his time, have meant jail or worse. This may have been the reason he came north to what is present-day Archers Rest. There was also some speculation that he was responsible for the death of his neighbor, or even that he had taken money that did not belong to him and was fleeing for his life. Whatever the reason, Archer’s life cannot be judged by a single action, however wrong it was. It is only in looking at the totality of his accomplishments that we come to know the man.’”
“Jeez, he makes it sound like Archer invented the wheel,” Jesse said. “He just did what probably hundreds, maybe thousands of other people did at that time. He went north of New York, claiming land for settlements. Half the towns on the Hudson River were founded around the same time as Archers Rest.”
“He obviously admired the man,” I said, “almost as much as his daughter does.”
“She’s transposing her father onto Archer.” Jesse chuckled. “I cannot wait to see what that statue looks like. Odds are John Archer will be wearing a three-piece suit and have a bank ledger in his hand.”
“I wonder why she didn’t have copies of the book,” I said. “Considering how much she admires her father, and Archer.”
“Because he was a devil worshipper.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Now you’re a member of the John Archer fan club?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just tired of innocent people getting painted with silly rumors. So what if he cast spells, or danced around trees, or did whatever it was he did. Who cares?”
“He could have murdered his neighbor. That’s what the book says.”
“Do you think that’s why the pages were torn out? Do you think it was a clue?”
“I think it’s three in the morning and I need to get some sleep.” He took the book out of my hands and put it on the nightstand. “And tonight you’re staying until the morning.” He turned off the light and pulled me toward him. I curled myself into his arms and listened to the rhythm of his breathing, growing steadier and calmer as he drifted off to sleep.
But I wasn’t sleeping. Somewhere just outside my grasp was an answer, and my mind wouldn’t shut off until I pulled it closer.
Five hours later, I stumbled from bed and into the kitchen, running straight into Allie as I was buttoning the last button on my blouse.
“You and Daddy had a sleepover,” she said.
“We did. Is that okay?”
“Sometimes I have sleepovers at Grandma’s,” she told me. “We read stories until I fall asleep.”
“You know something, Allie, that’s exactly what your dad and I did last night. I read to him about the history of Archers Rest.”
“It sounds boring.”
Jesse entered the kitchen. “It was. Get ready for Grandma’s, Allie.” As she ran out of the room, Jesse turned to me. “And where are you off to?”
“I’m picking up the poles to hang the quilts. Ed’s letting me store some of the stuff at the theater, since there isn’t enough space at the shop, so I have to go there, too. And somehow today I have to find the time to finish my own quilt. What about you?”
“I’m praying for a nice, quiet day.”
Allie came running back in with a twelve-inch-square piece of fabric. On closer inspection I could see it was a small quilt made from strips of brightly colored cottons, some of which I’d helped her pick out, and held together with small tied threads rather than stitched. An easier, and just as traditional, way to attach the three layers of a quilt.
“Can I enter this in the show, Nell?” She held up her work.
“I’m thrilled,” I said. “I’ll hang it next to my quilt.”
“Okay, but afterward you have to give it back so I can give it as a present when you and Daddy get married.”
“That’s really sweet,” Jesse said, “but you know Nell and I aren’t getting married anytime soon.”
“But Eleanor said . . .”
Jesse looked at me.
“I’ll say something to her. So you can stop panicking.”
“I’m not panicking. I’m just surprised Eleanor would say that.”
“Oliver’s ring,” I reminded him. “She thinks you bought it.”
I kissed him on the cheek, then did the same to his daughter. “Thanks for the quilt, Allie. It’s the perfect way to show everyone that quilting has a long future.”
I spent the day doing what I had told Jesse I would. I finished sewing the blocks of my devil’s puzzle quilt into one large quilt top, then readied it for longarm quilting. I went to the hardware store and picked up the poles that would hold the quilts up. It looked like a metal jumble to me, but when I brought them to the theater, Ed promised to help assemble them the night before the show.
I noticed right away that his mood seemed changed. I also noticed that, for once, everything in the theater, from the soda machine to the ticket counter, was operating perfectly.
“Something’s going your way,” I said.
“Things have improved, Nell. Sometimes even a guy like me catches a break.”
“You deserve it, Ed,” I said. “Were you able to get a loan?”
“No. Bankers don’t have vision. They look at this old place and see worn carpet and broken equipment. They don’t see what I see.”
“Which is?”
“Rainy Saturdays made fun, first dates made easy, difficult afternoons made bearable. That’s what a movie theater is, Nell. It’s a place anyone can go to—alone, on a date, with a crowd, and, just for a little while, escape,” he said. “You know what I mean?”
“I do,” I admitted. “And it sounds like you’ve convinced someone else, too. A buyer?”
“An investor,” he said. “An opportunity that needed just the right nudge to make it happen.”
“It wasn’t Glad, was it? I heard you two had a few words outside Jitters.”
He looked down at his feet for a moment. “I’m sorry that’s getting around. It was a bit of a misunderstanding, that’s all. Glad thinks that she knows what’s best for everyone, but sometimes she doesn’t.”
“She’s certainly gotten everyone under her thumb for the anniversary celebration,” I said.
“You know, I was thinking about that. I know she’s got some fancy reception planned at the library for before the fireworks, but I was hoping maybe we could do something here. Something simple, in the afternoon, to celebrate the quilts.”
“I’d love that.” I was a little uncomfortable broachin
g the subject, but I knew I had to. “I talked with Glad and Mary. They remember the fight you had with Winston a little differently than you do.”
He seemed to blush. “It was a long time ago. I’m surprised they remember it at all.”
“You said something about Winston buying someone off.”
“That’s what the rich do, Nell. They buy loyalty, silence, love . . .”
“Is that what Winston did?”
“That was what I thought at the time. But maybe I was hard on him. I didn’t know everything. I couldn’t know everything about what he had to do, what sacrifices he made. But I’ve been learning a lot lately.”
“Like what?”
He smiled. “I know, for example, what my father and Winston were fighting about when Winston came into the theater.”
“Which was?”
“It wasn’t actually a secret. I just didn’t know about it. But you’ve inspired me to investigate this old place. I looked through all the old papers, making sure there weren’t any debts I didn’t know about—like the money owed to your grandmother.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t care about that, Ed.”
“She probably doesn’t, but I will pay her back. And I can now, with things looking up. I mentioned it to Eleanor the other day, and she said she was just happy to see the theater in the hands of someone who loved movies. It was ‘an investment in Archers Rest,’ she called it. And in good people like my father.” He seemed about ready to cry.
“She’s right,” I said. “But you were talking about the fight.”
“I was, sorry. I get off track sometimes. My father had some papers with Grace’s name on them. She’d hired the theater for the whole day on July 1st of ’75. Then Winston came in and canceled it. It must have been what the fight was about, because my father had written jerk across the contract,” he said.
“No idea why she hired the theater?”
“Can’t help you there. But whatever the reason, I think she had a lot of nerve trying to hire the whole place, knowing how I felt about her son.”
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