“Mrs. McDermott,” I repeated, stunned. Could that have been her? “Well, don’t worry about it. It was probably just a crank call.” I wished her good luck on her trip again and hung up.
Marnie stared at me. “Did I just hear right? You think Mrs. McDermott made that crank call?”
“That’s what Emma believes, but I can’t see why she would do that.” I repeated what Emma had said. “She sounded pretty sure.” I was quiet for a moment as a thought occurred to me. “You know, I’ve been wondering if money could have been a motive for McDermott’s murder.”
She gasped. “You think Rhonda killed Philip?”
“I don’t think anything right now. I’m just looking at all the possibilities.”
“Well, as much as I don’t like the woman, I doubt she is capable of murder. In fact, I’d probably be more likely to kill someone than she would. She’s such a wimpy, whiny, dishcloth of a woman.”
The telephone rang again. I looked at it, wondering if this was going to be another threat. I snatched it up before I lost the nerve.
“I just saw an ad on craigslist about an apartment for rent,” a girl’s voice said. “Is it still available?”
Next to me, Marnie looked even more worried than I’d been. I threw her a reassuring smile. “As a matter of fact, it is.”
“I’d like to make an appointment to come and see it. Would it be possible to come by today?”
“No problem. I work in the same building, right downstairs, so you can pop by anytime.” I gave her the address.
“Great. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”
“That must have been good news. You’re grinning from ear to ear.”
“Somebody’s coming over to see the apartment. She sounded young, but nice.” I frowned. “I hope she can afford the rent.”
“You listed the price in the ad?”
I nodded.
“In that case, don’t worry. And if she asks you to lower the price, you don’t have to agree.” She picked up her coffee and muffin and returned to her loom.
“It’s not like people have been lining up to rent it.”
“Bah, don’t worry about it. You’ll rent it in time.”
I was sure I would, but every month the apartment remained empty was another month of rental income I would never recover. I picked up the notes I’d taken at the Whitby estate, pulled out my calculator, and began punching in the length and width of the fabric I needed to produce.
Planning a weaving project consists of counting the amount of yarn needed. First one needed to calculate the amount for dressing the loom, then the amount for the weft. This project was so large that when I completed my calculations, the total was way more than I’d imagined.
Could this be right? I went over the figures once again. This time the total was even higher. After repeating the calculation half a dozen times, I was confident that I had arrived at the correct amount. “I hope Bunny won’t be put off by the advance I’m going to ask.”
The bell tinkled and I looked up. “Oh, hi,” I said, surprised to recognize the girl from whom I’d bought my wide loom. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Margaret,” she said, coming forward, hand extended. “Margaret Fowler.” Margaret was in her late teens or early twenties, with short brown hair. Her eyes were a deep shade of gray. They were arrestingly beautiful. The only flaw in her otherwise lovely face was a rather unfortunate nose. It dwarfed the rest of her delicate features. Still, her smile was so engaging that it made up for the graceless trait.
She came forward. “I had no idea when I called about the apartment that I was talking to you.”
“You’re here for the apartment?” I said, surprised. “When I saw you walking in, I thought you were dropping by to take a peek at my store.”
“I’d love to do that too, if you don’t mind.”
Marnie came over and introduced herself. “I’m Della’s store manager.”
I suppressed a chuckle. If she considered herself the store manager, she had to be the worst-paid manager in history.
Marnie continued. “You’re going to love the apartment. It’s just beautiful.”
“It sounded lovely in the ad. It’s a little more than I wanted to pay, but that won’t be a problem for long. I’m sure I’ll find a job soon.”
My hope deflated. The last thing I wanted was an unemployed tenant. I needed someone who could afford the rent and pay it on time.
I turned to Marnie. “Margaret used to have a weaving studio.”
Marnie’s eyes widened. “You’re a weaver? Why, that’s just too fortuitous to be a coincidence. Della just picked up a huge contract and will be needing help. Maybe you could work for her.”
Margaret turned and looked at me with such hope that I was tempted to agree. That could solve her money problems and, at the same time, assure me of getting the rent.
“It’s still a bit premature to be talking about hiring anybody. I don’t even have a signed contract yet.” Now that I was looking at her again, I had the impression she reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of whom. I pushed that thought away and turned to Marnie. “Would you mind the shop while I run upstairs with Margaret?”
Marnie beamed. “No problem. Take your time.”
Margaret followed me out of the shop and up the stairs. I pointed to the second door down the hall. “I live right there.”
“Do you own the building?” she asked, looking impressed.
“Well, right now I think it would be more accurate to say that the mortgage company owns it.”
“I really hope I like it,” she gushed.
“I hope so too,” I said and then was struck with an unnerving thought. If Margaret and I became friends, as I had a feeling might happen, that could present a problem. I was notoriously bad at saying no, and if she had financial difficulties, it would be impossible for me to ask her for the rent if she fell behind. One more reason for me to hire her as soon as the contract with Bunny was signed.
“Why are you moving?” I asked, pausing in front of the door. “I saw your apartment. I thought it was lovely.”
“It is,” she said. “And I love it. But the place is huge. Now that I’ve sold off all my weaving equipment and closed my studio, I should really find something much smaller and less expensive.”
The place was huge, I remembered. And even as large as it was, the old loom I’d bought had taken up the entire living room. The rest of her equipment was in her dining room, the setup similar to the way I’d designed my space when I was using Matthew’s house.
“You sold off everything?” I was surprised.
“I still have tons of yarn—enough to last me a lifetime—and a lot of woven goods.” She chuckled. “And even more that are only in the planning stage. Actually, I kept one loom for my personal use.” She stood aside while I unlocked the door. “I love weaving, but I wasn’t able to earn a living at it.”
I wasn’t surprised. It was difficult enough to attract clients with a shop right smack in the middle of Main Street. With a studio in her home, it must have been near impossible. “That’s too bad.” I opened the door and let her in. “What kind of work are you hoping to find?”
She stepped into the main room: a kitchen, living and dining room combo. Her eyes widened. She forgot all about my question and made a beeline for the stove.
“Oh, I love it. I’ve always wanted one of these.” The stove was an antique Wedgewood gas range, more than sixty years old and still in impeccable condition.
“I have a thing for antique stoves too,” I said. The more she and I spoke, the more I found myself liking her. She was so nice, so very likable.
She looked at the refrigerator and chuckled. “I guess that’s almost old enough to be an antique too.”
“I’m planning to replace the refrig
erator. These old things use up way too much electricity. It’s more economical in the long run to buy a modern appliance.”
“Really? A new refrigerator? That would be wonderful.” She trailed her hand along the countertop, which was made of black Formica and trimmed in aluminum, just like mine. She grinned. “The kitchen is gorgeous. I wouldn’t change a thing—except the fridge.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
She wandered over to the living area, standing in the center of the room. She looked around, tapping her chin with an index finger as she furnished the apartment in her mind. “I could put my sofa there and my table over by the window.” She looked outside. “Nice view.”
She turned to me. “Can I see the bedroom and the bathroom?”
I showed her down the hall to the bedroom and opened the door.
She walked in, gave it a cursory inspection and moved on to the bathroom, which like mine, had an old claw-foot tub with a nickel-plated showerhead and a wraparound rail for the curtain. The floor was tiled in small white lozenge-shaped tiles and edged with a black border.
“Everything is so beautiful,” she said, awed. “It looks like everything is original to the building.”
I nodded. “That was one of the first things that attracted me to this building. The owner was meticulous in its upkeep.”
“It sounded lovely in the ad, but it’s even nicer than I expected.” She turned to me. “I’ll take it.” And then, hesitantly, she added, “If you’ll have me, of course. I can give you the first and last month right now if you like. Oh, and I have a dog. Is that a problem?”
Before I had a chance to think, I blurted, “It’s not a problem at all. I love dogs. What kind is it?”
“She’s a French bulldog. She’s not very big, only twenty pounds.”
“You’re kidding. A friend of mine has one too. I dog-sit him in my shop every day. We’ll have to introduce them. What’s her name?”
“Clementine.”
I laughed. “Wasn’t that the name of Winston Churchill’s wife?”
“Most male bulldogs are named Winston, so that’s why I chose Clementine.”
“You’re right. My friend’s dog is named Winston.” I grinned. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as a neighbor. Come, I have a lease downstairs. I’ll have you fill it out.”
“You mean it?” I nodded, and she whooped and danced a few steps.
“You can look around while I fill out the landlord’s section.” I only hoped she found a job soon.
• • •
I jotted down the terms on the agreement while Marnie showed Margaret around the shop. She was full of compliments. “Oh, I love this monk’s cloth throw. I’ve always wanted to make one like this, with a country heart design.”
Marnie nodded. “It is nice. That’s one of Jenny’s projects. You’ll meet Jenny in a few minutes.” At Margaret’s quizzical expression, she explained. “Jenny operates the coffee shop in the back, Coffee, Tea and Destiny. Didn’t you see the sign outside?” At that moment, a trio of women left the coffee shop, cutting through my store on their way out.
“Oh, that’s why it smells so good in here. I was wondering where that came from.”
“I have the lease ready,” I called to her.
She picked up the document, nodding silently as she read it through. And then she signed it. “I’ll write you that check before I forget.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I’d remind you.”
She laughed, rummaging through her bag and pulling out a checkbook. “Here you go—first and last month.” I handed her a copy of the lease in exchange and folded mine safely into my drawer.
“Hello. Am I interrupting?” Jenny asked as she joined us.
I turned. “Jenny, meet my new neighbor and tenant, Margaret Fowler.”
They smiled and shook hands, and then Jenny said, “So you’re renting the apartment. Congratulations. It’s a beautiful place. When are you moving in?”
Margaret looked at me. “As soon as possible. I’d like to start bringing in furniture right away, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I said. “We’re still a week away from October, but the place is empty, so you might as well use it.”
“Well, that’s definitely a cause for a celebration,” Jenny said. “How about a cup of tea or coffee for everyone? My treat.”
“Sounds great, but the treat is on me. It’s only fair. A new tenant means more income for me.”
“Go ahead and pay for the coffee if you like, but how about you bring over a few muffins. Those are on me,” Marnie added. To Margaret, she whispered, “Jenny’s muffins are homemade and to die for,” and then, chuckling, “I bake them myself.”
“It’s quiet back there for now.” Jenny glanced at her watch. “But it’s bound to start getting really busy soon. I’ll bring everything out here.” She went to her shop, returning with a tray laden with mugs and goodies.
I’d already had one just a short while ago. I hesitated. What the heck, I thought, picking a lemon-poppy muffin. I could never pass up Marnie’s baking.
She passed the coffee around and raised her cup. “To Margaret. May your new home bring you much luck and happiness.”
Margaret smiled. “I could use some good luck for a change. I’ve had nothing but bad luck lately, but after finding this great apartment, I’m beginning to think things are about to turn around.” She took a swallow of her coffee and then added, “All I need now is to find a job.”
I was only half paying attention to the conversation. From where I stood, I had a clear view of anyone who came to the door. A movement had caught my eye. It was Bunny Boyd. She walked up, put her hand on the doorknob and froze. In her eyes was an expression I couldn’t quite identify. Fear? Anger? I followed her gaze. She was staring at Margaret. And then she spun around and hurried away.
What the heck was that all about? Why would Bunny Boyd want to avoid Margaret?
“Della?” I snapped back to what Margaret was saying. “Maybe I can show you some of my woven items. If you like them, I could leave them on consignment with you.”
It was a question more than a statement. “That’s a terrific idea. I’m always looking for new suppliers and new stock.”
Jenny had been studying Margaret for the last few minutes. “What sign are you?” she asked. And then she held up her hand. “No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She squinted at her.
Margaret squirmed, looking from Jenny to me nervously. “What is she doing?”
“She can see auras,” Marnie explained. “She can tell a lot about a person that way. And if she reads your tea leaves, she can tell your future too.”
“You’re a Virgo,” Jenny said. “You are strong willed and determined. You’ve just suffered a great disappointment, but you’re not letting it get you down.” She smiled. “Am I right?”
Margaret nodded, impressed. “I am a Virgo. How did you know that? And I just had to close my business, so you’re right about a recent disappointment too.” She shrugged. “But I tell myself that everything happens for a reason. Something better is bound to come along.”
I chuckled. “That was not very difficult to divine. You just told her you’d had nothing but bad luck lately.”
Jenny gave me an epic roll of the eyes. “Della is our local skeptic. She never believes my predictions.” She turned to me. “For your information, what I told her is what I saw in her aura. I didn’t even think about what she’d just told us.”
“Sure, sure,” I said.
She shook her head dismissively. “Does anybody want a refill?”
Margaret looked at her watch. “I’d better get going.” Grinning, she added, “I have some packing to do. If you need to reach me for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.”
As soon as the door closed behind her, Marn
ie gushed, “She’s terrific. Della, if you decide you need help in your shop, you should hire her.”
“I thought you wanted the job. Now you’re telling me that I should hire her. What gives?”
Marnie scowled. “You’re right. That was stupid of me. But she sounded like she needs a job more than I do.”
“I might have the solution.” Jenny said. “The way my business is going, I can barely keep up with all the work. I need to check with my accountant and make sure I can afford it, but if he gives me the go-ahead, I’ll hire her right away. I have a good feeling about that girl.”
“You’re doing that well? That’s wonderful,” I said. “I’m so happy for you.”
Jenny picked up the cups, lining them up on the tray. “Don’t tell her until I’m sure. I’d hate to disappoint her.” She marched off toward her shop, and just in the nick of time. At that moment, the door flew open and half a dozen people walked in and headed directly to the back. The door had barely closed when one more woman walked in. She looked familiar. And then it came to me. She was the maid who had served the drinks at Bernard Whitby’s party.
She came to the counter, fiddling with her purse. “Bunny Boyd asked me to drop off this envelope for her. She’s sorry she couldn’t come in person, but she’ll give you a call and arrange to pick up the signed document later.”
Now Bunny’s behavior had gone from odd to completely ridiculous. She was sending the maid to do her errand rather than risk running into Margaret. That was just plain stupid. Or was I jumping to conclusions?
“Thank you.” I took the envelope. “I met you at Mr. Whitby’s party, didn’t I?”
She studied me. “Perhaps,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m not good with faces, and there were so many people.”
I nodded. “There certainly were.” And before she could walk away, I continued. “Have you worked for Mr. Whitby very long?”
“Thirty-two years,” she replied. “We worked for the Whitbys all of our adult lives. We worked for his father when we first started.”
Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery Page 13