The lobby was filled. Everyone in the hotel seemed to have gathered together of their own accord. The conversations were muted. Tony and Wade had talked briefly with each of them. For the most part, there was not much information, but a few common threads about Scarlet's unsociable behavior emerged. He handed Martha a cup of coffee.
“Well, yes.” Accepting the cup, his aunt settled into the comfortable chair. This morning she wore a lavender sweatshirt bearing the slogan “Quilters keep you in Stitches.” Her curls were standing straight up in the air on one side and were smashed close to her head on the other side. The hairdo gave her a comical appearance, but Tony wasn't smiling. “It was a joke.”
Tony glared at her in response. “No one's laughing.”
Martha sighed. “I said something like if she saddled me with another UFO I'd have to kill her.”
“UFO?” Tony thought he should know what it meant.
“Unfinished object.” His aunt lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure you live with a quilter? I know Theo has at least twenty UFOs. I meant nothing by it. It was just, you know, the kind of comment everyone makes from time to time.” When he didn't respond, she sipped her coffee and watched him. “You look awful, kid. Can't you take a break?”
Tony flipped back in his notebook. “When did you go to bed?”
“It was a little after midnight. I told you that already.” She tried to squirm around until she could read what he had written but to no avail. “Us late ones went up at the same time.”
Tony nodded. “And did you leave again?” His eyes met hers. If he was a decent judge of anything, she was telling the truth, but he knew she was lying to him.
“No.” Setting the empty cup on the floor, she crossed her arms over her chest and sank deeper into the chair.
“No?” Tony's eyebrows jumped and he leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, I'm sure.” Her tone no longer seemed so certain. “You don't believe me. Why don't you believe me?”
Leaning back in his chair, he frowned at her. “I want to. I really do, but the facts are just not lining up.” He looked in his notebook and sat fanning the pages. “You're sharing a room with Mom?” She nodded, and he asked, “Did she leave the room at any time after the two of you went up?”
“No. We talked for a little while and then we went to bed. If she left, it was after I fell asleep, and I didn't hear her go out, and besides, she barely knew Scarlet. I can't see her pushing her off the veranda.”
Tony's felt his frown deepen. He did not correct her assumption about the cause of death. Even he wasn't sure if it was the fall or strangulation that killed the woman. Everyone in the hotel had seen the investigators combing the area around the railing and also knew Scarlet had been found in the bushes underneath. “Did you go to sleep right away?”
Martha glared at him and snapped, “Yes. And just for your information, I didn't hear anything but Jane snoring. She makes a world class racket when she gets rolling, so I know she was in there.”
Tony glanced at his notes again and looked up. “Mom said she woke in the night and went to the bathroom.” He stopped talking and adjusted his watch and pulled his shirt cuff down. Then he flipped through the notebook. Exhaling loudly, he leaned forward. “She says you were not in the room. Would you like to tell me where you were?”
“What?” Martha jumped to her feet. “Why would she say such a thing?”
He just stared at her. Finally, Martha plopped back into her chair. Running her hands through her gray hair, eyes closed, she mumbled to herself. “I don't understand. We went up to the room. I put on my pajamas and brushed my teeth. We talked for a little while about this and that. I read a few pages in my book while Jane was doing her thing—you know, brushing her teeth and slathering cream on her face. I turned out the reading light just minutes later and fell asleep right away and slept until I was awakened by the commotion in the hall this morning.” She stopped suddenly and frowned. Her eyes squeezed even more tightly closed. “No, that's not right.”
“What do you mean?” Tony shifted in his chair.
“I mean, I did get up.” Martha's eyes flew open and she bounced on her chair. “I thought I dreamed it, but I woke up and thought maybe I hadn't unplugged my iron downstairs. It really wouldn't do to burn down The Lodge, certainly not before the retreat is over.” She flashed a smile at him. “Anyway, I didn't bring a robe so I tiptoed into the lobby in my pajamas, checked the iron, and was back in bed and asleep without ever fully waking up.”
Somewhat relieved, Tony made note of her story. “I really wish you had remembered to tell me that before I found an error in your story.”
A light touch of her hand on his arm drew his eyes back up to meet hers. “I know it sounds improbable, Tony, but I really did forget it. It was so brief, and I was sleeping so soundly. This past week has been so busy I hardly know my own name anymore.”
Tony sighed. It was a great exhalation of air with a hesitation in the middle. “I don't suppose you suddenly remember seeing someone else on your excursion.” His tone and expression both felt sour.
Martha rubbed her eyes behind her glasses. “I got up.” She paused, her fingertips still pressed against her closed eyes. “I didn't put my glasses on. I went downstairs. I heard something.” She held her hand up, demanding silence. “It sounded like a door opening, and then something thumped like it was dropped or bumped against a wall, and then the door closed. I don't know if it was upstairs or at ground level.”
Tony scribbled a doodle that was shaped somewhat like a cowboy boot in his notebook then looked up. “What time was it then?” Pencil poised, he watched her thinking. He didn't actually suspect his aunt of any wrongdoing, but having the facts and a clear timeline would be very helpful.
“I have no idea. Did Jane give you a time?” At Tony's answering nod, she smiled. “Since I don't know, I'll go along with Jane. I couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes.”
By the time Tony worked his way through the quilters, he was ready for a nap. A duller group to question would be unimaginable. They were all very nice. They were all clean, if not neat. Almost every one of them had loose threads stuck to some article of clothing. They were all sober, at least at this hour, law-abiding, comfortable women with whom he had little professional contact. They didn't even run stop signs, at least not as a rule. If he knew them personally, it was from living in Silersville for most of his life, or he saw them at church or the school or in Theo's shop. None of them was on first name basis with the jail staff.
Tony's conversation with Gavin, Beth's nephew, was only marginally more interesting than the ladies. “Had you met Scarlet before?”
“No, not really.” Tony thought Gavin's expression seemed at bit defensive but many people are uneasy talking to the police. “I think I've seen her, you know.”
“I understand she was somewhat demanding?”
“You can say that again, Sheriff. I'm running my backside off carrying bags and boxes for all the ladies, and she swoops in looking like a portable jewelry store and her spy toy and wants me to carry her stuff first.”
“Spy toy?”
“You know, one of those amplifying headsets.” Gavin growled. “There was nothing wrong with her hearing. I'm sure of it.”
Although Gavin was disgruntled, it wasn't criminal. The only thing Tony could think to do was just let the hotel guests and staff continue with the weekend as planned.
After a while, Tony realized he'd been simply staring out the tall windows. The rain had stopped about the same time the ambulance bearing Scarlet's body and Wade as her escort left. They had been gone for hours. The sky was bright blue now, and there was little haze on the mountains.
His eyes crossed with fatigue, and he let them drift shut as he leaned back in his chair, thinking. It would be less surprising if someone had done away with Eleanor. Even as intensely annoying as she was, they didn't have the nerve to tell her she couldn't join their qui
lting group, much less kill her. It seemed unlikely, therefore, that one of the quilters would resort to killing a virtual stranger like Scarlet. If anything, they would have slipped poison into her coffee and gone on quilting. He knew these women, and they had definite priorities—fabric and chocolate.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
True to his word, Doc Nash returned to The Lodge with a wheelchair. He opened it and waved Theo into the seat with a courtly bow. “This is your best friend for the next few weeks. You will not walk more than three feet. You will not stand for more than three minutes. Take fast showers. You will spend more time in bed than in the chair.”
Theo nodded her acquiescence and sat. “I'll be good.”
“I know you will, Theo.” The doctor patted her shoulder. “Just as I know this is very difficult for you. I've seen the way you live and work. You're a cute little tornado, but you can't keep it up.”
Theo relaxed into the seat, quietly relieved to be off her feet. “Do I walk up the steps into the house or does Tony have to carry me?”
“I'll talk to Gus and see what he can throw together. You can't walk, and not even your oversized husband can carry you up and down all the time. No stairs in the house. You'll live on the main floor. We'll find a hospital bed for you.”
“Thank you.” Theo knew he had gone out of his way deliver the chair and the lecture. The poor man probably got less sleep than anyone she knew.
The doctor's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “You're going to love your assistant.”
“Who?” Theo's curiosity was piqued.
“Just wait and see.” The doctor's cell phone rang, and he had it pressed to his ear as he trotted away, leaving her parked in the lobby.
Tony's cell phone ringing jolted him back awake. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep. Wade's name appeared on the phone's screen. “What's up?”
“I'm still in Knoxville.”
“And?”
“They haven't determined the actual cause of death, but it's most likely strangulation. There was a single wire tightly wrapped, twice, around her neck. It looks like something from a musical instrument.” Wade's voice took on an even more somber tone. “Or, it's possible her neck was snapped. The odd thing is there were some smudges of grease on the back of Scarlet's clothes. Only on the back. You know, like the heavy stuff off equipment or car engines. The clothes have gone to the lab.”
“So maybe her killer, wearing dirty clothes, caught her from behind and killed her.”
“Yep. Probably brought the wire along. But here's the second odd part.” Wade's voice faded out for a second. “The body wasn't dropped over the railing until at least three hours after death, something to do with lividity. Don't you think that's weird? Why not just leave her where she died?”
Tony wanted to hit his head against a brick wall. Instead, he congratulated his deputy and asked him to stay in touch.
Just then he spied Art making his way through the lobby. Tony called him over and waved in the direction of the chair recently vacated by his Aunt Martha. “You are just the man I needed to see.” Tony deliberately kept silent, watching the man.
Art did not seem at all pleased to be there and fidgeted like a five-year-old in church during a long sermon. First he crossed one ankle on his knee. Then the other. He sat back in the chair. He moved to the very edge of the seat. Finally his patience snapped. “Did you have something to ask, Sheriff? I do have work to do. And my guests to take care of.”
“I sympathize. I do. But it's hard to rush through an investigation of this nature, you understand.” Tony pasted on his best artificial smile, knowing Theo would probably kick him in the shins if he used it on her. Art didn't know him well and seemed to find the smile reassuring. “Why don't you just start with yesterday afternoon and tell me what you did between the time the ladies arrived and the time I arrived.” Resting his elbows on the chair arms and lacing his fingers over his stomach, he leaned back comfortably, trying to look relaxed. The open notebook lay on his left thigh and his pencil was tucked into the spiral. It might appear to be a simple man to man chat.
Art finally quit squirming around on his chair. “Well, it was pretty busy for a while. We were trying to get everyone checked in and the luggage delivered while we attended to our few non-quilting guests. People coming and going.” Art helped himself to a cup of coffee. “Let's see. I guess by then it was time for dinner. I worked in the dining room. Except for the birthday cake and singing, it was pretty quiet in the lobby. After everyone was settled in and since there were no more reservations, I locked the outside doors and went to our apartment. Beth and I watched television until I made a last door check before I went to bed about midnight. There was still a group of quilters down here doing their thing.”
Tony looked around. The quilters had moved back into their work area and appeared to be talking normally among themselves. He saw Theo experimenting with her new wheelchair. “How did you handle room assignments?”
For some reason, that question seemed to please Art. Waving his arms expansively, he gestured toward the front desk. “Normally, of course, we assign the rooms and hand out the keys individually. With this group though, since they are old friends, we let them check the rooming sheet and get a key so they wouldn't have to wait if we were busy.”
“So anyone could look at the list, see what room everyone is in, take a key to any room and wander off with it?” Tony's eyes narrowed, and his expression grew hard. His hands tightened into fists. “That's the worst security I ever heard of,” he growled and leaned forward. “My wife was in one of those rooms.”
The skin on Art's neck and cheeks reddened, then paled, and his mouth dropped open but only a bubble of air came out and as he leaned away. His hands rose to shield his face.
They sat staring at each other for a full minute before Tony exhaled and relaxed his fists. “Answer me this then. What time did you go to bed?”
“It was about eleven-thirty. The news was just ending, and I watched the sports with Beth and fell asleep. I slept soundly until you arrived and rang the bell.”
Tony glanced at Theo. She had parked her wheelchair in a shadow, holding a quilt in her lap. She shook her head at Tony after hearing Art's story, but she didn't say a word.
“Are you sure about that?” Tony watched the man's eyes. Even if Theo hadn't told him what time she had seen Art, Tony would have known he was lying. He really wasn't very good at it. In the past two minutes, his story had shifted from bed at midnight to sleep at eleven-thirty. Tony was puzzled. What possible innocent reason could the man have for being out at that hour and then lie about it? Tony couldn't come up with a single one, but his reaction to hearing of Scarlet's death didn't fit either. Only a fool would kill someone staying under his own roof. A fool or a very desperate man.
“Yes, of course, I'm sure. So.” Art jumped to his feet. “That's all?”
“Sit.” Tony picked up his notebook and leaned back into the chair. He made his notes. “I have a few more questions for you.”
“Really?”
Tony noticed a definite quaver in Art's voice. He perched on the very edge of the chair and squeezed his hands between his knees, but Tony could see them shaking. “Do you do any of the mechanical repairs around here?”
“Mechanical repairs?” Art blinked rapidly and his face went blank. “What kind of repairs?”
“I don't know, maybe changing the oil in the car, mowing the lawn. Something like that?”
“Sheriff, I can barely change a light bulb.” Amusement lightened his expression. “My wife would kill me if I so much as threatened to change the oil in the car. We always take it to the Thomas brothers when it needs work.”
“Well, then, would you like to tell me why you were outside about three this morning and why you are pretending to have been in your bed the whole time?” Tony would love to connect him to some greasy work clothes.
“Oh, I must have gone jogging.” Art's eyes opened wider, like a man who just remembered wher
e he left his wallet. “Sometimes I jog when I can't sleep.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. You can ask anyone. When I remembered, I thought I shouldn't tell you about it because I know I already said I was somewhere else and you would probably think I'm a liar.” Art stopped for breath.
Tony could see he wasn't going to get any kind of rational statement out of the man and waved him away. The next time he talked to Art, he wanted the man in the interrogation room at the law enforcement center.
Art scuttled out of the room like a crab headed for water.
Theo rolled her chair to his side. “Do you believe him?”
Tony lifted one eyebrow in her direction and grinned, but he wasn't amused. “Are you saying you think he could possibly make up a statement more inane than that? If I heard him correctly, he just told me he is in the habit of running in the middle of the night, in the dark, and forgot he had been doing it. And then, when he did remember, he hesitated to change his story because he knew I would think he'd been lying?”
“Absolutely not.” Theo pulled her curls away from her face. “I think he was lying through his teeth the whole time, and not just because he wasn't panting and sweating like he'd been running. It is pitch black in these woods at night, and he didn't even have a flashlight, at least not one that I could see. I think he is covering up something.” She hesitated. “It might be personal. I wonder if he is Lila Ware's married boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend, hmm?” Tony thought it might fit. “He's not a good liar, but he could be a bad husband. I don't see him killing Scarlet, at least not in his own hotel. As provoking as the woman might have been, I just don't see him losing control and killing her.”
He spotted Beth across the lobby and waved to attract her attention. As she began making her way toward him, she was not smiling.
Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music Page 10