Loom and Doom

by Carol Ann Martin

  “It wasn’t even locked,” Lombard said, stepping aside.

  From the outside, Syd’s house was lovely—a light stucco with stone trim—and considerably larger and more modern than Swanson’s. And, now, stepping inside, I could see that the interior design was equally as attractive. Its charm, however, did not extend to the decor. The house was furnished with odds and ends—a chrome-and-glass coffee table, a light maple dining room table surrounded by inexpensive garden chairs, and in front of the large-screen television, a recliner that was ready for retirement in the local dump.

  It looked like the worse kind of bachelor’s lair. As we walked through to the table, I noticed a bookshelf with a couple of framed photos, but it was too far away to recognize any faces.

  “Be careful not to touch anything,” Officer Harrison said, indicating for me to sit. He pulled a chair across from me. “I’m sure you don’t feel much like being questioned right now,” he said, surprising me with his consideration. “I promise to get this over and done with as quickly as I can.”

  “I know the procedure,” I said. “Unfortunately.” He gave me a glimpse of smile, gone as quickly as it had appeared. But it had been there long enough for me to notice. Did that mean he did not view me as a suspect? I dared to hope.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me in your own words what happened here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night,” I said. “I kept going over Swanson’s murder, and the only two people I could imagine had a real motive for killing him was his wife, or Syd Shuttleworth. And now that Syd is dead . . .”

  “You think it can only be Mona Swanson.” I nodded. “And you’re wondering if we considered her.”

  I looked at him sharply and glimpsed another quick smile. I chuckled. “I suppose I am.”

  “We are still investigating.” That answer was so vague it told me nothing. “Explain to me why you’re here.”

  “Yesterday, there was a picture of Mona Swanson on the front page of the Belmont Daily. She was standing next to a car that looked exactly like the one I saw speeding from city hall. Since I had to come into Belmont on business this morning, I thought I’d drive by and take a look at her car from up close. Well, it turns out that her car is the one I saw.” I told him about the bumper sticker.

  “You never mentioned that sticker when you first described it.”

  “I know. It came to me afterward.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to let us know?”

  “I should have. I’m sorry.”

  “The problem is that now, after you’ve seen her car, one could argue that you made up the sticker story to incriminate her.” I hadn’t thought of that. “So why did you drive by this house after recognizing Mona’s car?”

  “It occurred to me that she may not have been the driver.” A new thought occurred to me. “Do you think it’s possible that Mona and Syd were in on it together?” I strung my thoughts together out loud. “She and Syd were involved before Swanson came along.”

  “You know I can’t discuss the case with you.”

  “Yes, but there’s something else. When I walked by Mona’s car this morning, I put my hand on the hood and it was hot. Oh, my God,” I said, shocked at the new thought that had just popped into my mind. “What if she and Syd were in on it together? Maybe she talked him into killing her husband and then she killed him. That way, nobody can testify against her.” This seemed to register with him, and he pulled out his notebook and jotted something inside. As I glanced outside, I noticed the coroner stepping out of his car.

  “At what time did you drive by Mona’s house?”

  “No more than five minutes before I got here.”

  Harrison was silent for a few moments. Then he shot to his feet, mumbling something about being right back.

  I ran to the window to see where he was going. Just as I’d expected, he walked over to Lombard. They spoke for a few minutes. At one point she turned, spotted me in the window and threw me a dirty look. Whatever he was telling her, was not making her happy. He spoke a few more words and then made his way back to the house. I dashed back to the table, this time detouring by the bookshelf. Of the three photos, two were of a woman I was sure was Mona. I pointed this out to him as he sat down.

  “You should take a look at those pictures, over there.” He turned. “I believe the blonde in the photos is none other than Mona. Wouldn’t most men take down pictures of a girlfriend after she’s dumped him and married another man? Unless they’re still involved, or, maybe he was still carrying a torch for her?”

  He stared across the room. And when he turned back to me, there was respect in his eyes. “You’re free to go,” he said. “If I have any more questions I’ll give you a call.”

  The questioning had taken the better part of an hour, leaving me emotionally drained. After the events of the morning, all I wanted was to hightail it back to the safety and security of my store.

  • • •

  “Where’ve you been?” Marnie asked as I walked in. Her face was red and she looked ready to blow a gasket. “I’ve been worried sick about you. It’s almost eleven o’clock. At ten thirty, when I still hadn’t heard a peep out of you, I went upstairs to see if you’d overslept. I rang and rang and all I got was Winnie scratching at the door.”

  “Oh, no. Poor Winnie. He’s probably peed all over the apartment by now.” I dashed out, taking the steps two at a time and unlocked the door. Winnie greeted me with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I got busy.” I gathered his food, one of his toys and took him for a short walk.

  “Here you go, Winnie,” I said, walking into the store. I set him on his cushion behind the cash register, and within two minutes he was already snoring.

  Marnie glared at me. “You still haven’t given me any explanation. If you hadn’t walked in when you did, I would have called the police. I was afraid you might be dead.”

  “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” I said. “But somebody else isn’t.”

  The anger melted from her face. “What happened?”

  “Syd Shuttleworth was murdered this morning. I just found his body.”

  “Oh, my Lord.” She grabbed on to the counter as if to steady herself. “Do you think his death is tied to Swanson’s murder?”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said. “And I think Mona Swanson is probably going to be arrested for both murders. She might not have killed her husband herself, but she sure as hell killed Syd Shuttleworth.”

  The bell above the door tinkled and Jenny appeared carrying a tray with coffee and muffins.

  “I saw you come in and figured you probably hadn’t had breakfast yet.”

  “You are a mind reader. I’m starving.” I grabbed a mug and a lemon-poppy seed muffin.

  “Syd Shuttleworth was murdered,” Marnie told her.

  Jenny’s face fell. “What? When did this happen?”

  “Della just found his body.”

  I told them about my appointment with the carpenter and how I’d driven by Mona Swanson’s and then Syd Shuttleworth’s homes. “She stabbed him in the chest.”

  “What makes you think she killed him?”

  “It had to be her.” I told her about stopping by Mona’s house, recognizing the bumper sticker and then touching the hood of her car. “She and Syd must have conspired to kill her husband. And then she got rid of him.” Both women were silent as they thought this over.

  “She wouldn’t have to share any of her inheritance with him,” Jenny said.

  “And he could never testify against her,” Marnie added.

  “That’s exactly what I think,” I said. “But it’s all just conjecture at the moment. Don’t you dare breathe a word about this to anyone,” I said. “I don’t want Mona Swanson to come after me now.”

  “Not a word,” Jenny said. “I’d better get back before Mar
garet has a nervous breakdown. It’s pretty busy this morning. Want a coffee?”

  “I could use a refill,” I said.

  “It’s crazy busy already,” she said. “Once the news of Syd’s death gets out, it’ll be a madhouse.”

  “I’d better eat something,” Marnie said, helping herself to one of the muffins. “I’ll need my energy. When Jenny’s shop is busy, we get busy too.”

  Chapter 19

  “By the way,” Marnie said, after Jenny had left. “I made two sales this morning.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But one of them I suppose doesn’t really count. Judy Bates came by to pay for the merchandise she borrowed yesterday. So technically that sale was yesterday. She says it looks amazing in her living room. In fact, she said your blanket and cushions pulled the entire decor together.”

  “That’s great. Let’s hope the rest of the day brings more good sales.”

  In between reorganizing my window display and waiting on customers, I couldn’t help but notice the number of people going into Coffee, Tea and Destiny as the morning turned into the afternoon, and I wondered how Jenny was able to seat everyone.

  “Marnie, do you mind keeping an eye on the shop for a minute? I’ll be right back.” I crossed over to Jenny’s shop and made my way between the café tables to the counter where Margaret was counting out a customer’s change.

  “And here are your cookies,” she said, handing the woman a bag, and turned to me. “Hey, Della. What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a coffee,” I said, watching Jenny rush from table to table. “And I’ll take one for Marnie too. Things are really swinging over here. That’s good.”

  “I know. Isn’t it wonderful? Although, I doubt it’ll be this busy once the mystery of the murders is solved.” She leaned closer to whisper, “This is the meeting place for the Briar Hollow Gossip Society.”

  I laughed.

  “There is no such club,” she said, “but there might as well be.” She pointed discreetly with her chin. “It’s the same group of biddies who always get together whenever there’s a tragedy to dissect.”

  “I take it the tragedy is Syd Shuttleworth’s murder?”

  She handed me a cup of coffee, looked around the room. “Everybody is wondering what the link between the two murders is.”

  “What’s the consensus?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the theories. Swanson, it seems, was quite the lady’s man. Some people seem to think his ex-wife might have killed him, and that Syd Shuttleworth was killed because he figured it out.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s pretty lame if you ask me. Then there’s this theory: Syd killed Swanson for God knows what reason and Swanson’s wife killed Syd in revenge. And, of course, there are those that think they were both killed by organized crime.”

  “But of course,” I said, jokingly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “If I hear anything more, I’ll let you know.”

  I picked up the second coffee and left.

  When I got back to my shop, Marnie was on the phone. “Here she is now,” she said, and covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Mrs. Renay.”

  “Oh, Della,” she said. “It’s just terrible. I heard there was a second murder. What is this world coming to?”

  “It’s upsetting, I know.”

  “And, of all people, you had to find the body. How traumatic for you. You were just recovering from the first murder and then you had to stumble onto this one. How are you feeling?”

  “A bit shaken up,” I said. “But otherwise all right.”

  “Do the police have any idea who did it?”

  “Not that I know of,” I said, deciding on discretion.

  “I still think Mona Swanson killed Howard,” she whispered. “But I can’t figure out why she would kill that contractor—unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Do you think maybe he found out she did it and she had to silence him?”

  “That’s one theory,” I said. “But I got the feeling the police aren’t taking that one too seriously.”

  I could hear the disbelief in her voice when she spoke again. “They think she’s innocent? I hope they checked to see if she has an alibi.”

  “I would be shocked if they hadn’t,” I said.

  “But,” she said, “do you think it could be Ronald Dempsey? He had the opportunity. He was here when—” Suddenly there was another voice in the background. “Oops. I’d better go,” she whispered into the phone. “I’ll call you later.”

  I hung up, thinking about Ronald Dempsey. I looked at my watch. One o’clock. Still four hours till closing.

  “Marnie,” I called, heading toward the back. She was measuring a warp, wrapping yarn around the rack I’d had installed directly on the wall. “Are you starting a new project?”

  “I thought I’d try my hand at Native-style weaving too,” she said. “But since I don’t have the right loom, I figured I could copy the design, using finer yarns, and maybe make some place mats to match the rugs and cushions.”

  “That’s a great idea. And once you finish the first set, I’ll give Judy a call. She might like to get some to continue with her decor theme.”

  “You were about to say something?”

  “Yes. How would you like to go for a drive with me after work?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Are we going to break into anybody’s house?”

  “That’s not even funny,” I said. I’d once done exactly that, and had almost been caught. The experience had been terrifying and I was in no hurry to repeat it. “I just want us to visit Ronald Dempsey’s development, Prestige Homes.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see how the other half lives. Does that mean you’re going to do some detecting?”

  “I just want to see the place, and get an idea of the prices. Since Swanson was planning to buy in that development, knowing how much he was spending will help determine the scope of his little extortion game.”

  The phone rang and I returned to the counter. It was Matthew.

  “I just heard there was another murder. I can’t believe you didn’t even call me.”

  “I didn’t want to disturb you while you were writing.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said in a tone that made my knees turn to jelly. “There are times when you should call. I’ve been worried sick since I found out.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “The chief called. He wants me to come in to the station, so I can give him my opinion on some evidence they’ve got. He feels this latest murder might be linked to the city inspector’s.”

  I could have told him that. But all I said was, “They want you to join the investigation?”

  “No, nothing like that. He only wants to show me something, hear what I have to say about it. I was worried it would take away from my writing, but he promised it was a onetime thing.”

  “I wonder what he wants to show you.”

  “He wouldn’t tell me on the phone.” Being ex-FBI, I knew Matthew often missed the challenge of catching the bad guys. “I’m heading over now, so I won’t be picking up Winston until later. I figure around seven or so. Want me to bring a pizza when I come over?”

  “Sounds great,” I said. “See you then.”

  Seven o’clock was perfect. It gave me time to check out Prestige Homes and be back before Matthew showed up. “Did you hear that, Winnie?” He opened his bleary eyes and stared up at me. “You’re going investigating with me, big boy.” The prospect did not seem to excite him in the least. He closed his eyes and went right back to sleep.

  • • •

  By the end of the afternoon, we’d sold a few more pieces, making for an excellent day. I counted the cash and checks, and slipped them into the overnight-deposit bag.

  “Ready when you are,” I
called out to Marnie in the back. She hurried forward, slipping on her jacket.

  “I was just waiting for you.”

  We locked up and climbed into my Jeep. “Come on, Winnie.” He jumped in. After a quick stop at the bank, we headed for the highway with Winston riding shotgun on the console between the two front seats.

  “Get back, Winnie,” I said. “That’s dangerous.” He threw me a dirty look and resentfully hopped to the backseat.

  “Where is this development?” Marnie asked.

  “On the outskirts of the other side of Belmont. I looked it up on Google Maps.”

  “Tell me again why we’re going there?”

  “I’m just curious. If Mona was responsible for her husband and Syd’s deaths, the only question I still have is how lucrative was Swanson’s extortion business. And how much would she have to gain by offing her husband?”

  “He could have been doing it for years,” she said.

  “And if he was, he could have been hiding a lot of money.”

  “And what better place to invest it than in a brand-new home?”

  “I doubt he would have done that. Paying cash for a house would be a sure way to attract the attention of the IRS.”

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later, Marnie and I pulled up in front of an imposing black iron gate. Above it in large letters read PRESTIGE HOMES, EIGHTY PERCENT SOLD.

  “He built it as a gated community,” she said. “That was smart of him. It adds another level of status to the place.”

  We drove through the entrance and followed the signs to the sales office, passing a dozen homes, each larger than the other.

  “Now that’s what I’d call a McMansion,” she said, looking at a huge two-story home with two chimneys and an attached garage. “Can you imagine how long a place like that would take to clean?” She clucked her tongue. “I’m happy in my tiny little house.”

  “It’s hard to believe there are enough people around here with the money to pay for such houses,” I said.

  “How do we know eighty percent are really sold?” she pointed out. “He could be posting those numbers just so it looks good.”