I might have been tempted to deny it, but I knew they wouldn’t believe it. “I told her and offered my condolences,” I said.
“Did Ms. Potter already know about his death, or did your news come as a shock?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’d just told her when you rang the bell. She didn’t say anything. She just started to cry,” I said, squashing the surge of guilt that followed. Lying, in general, was not something I did easily. But Marnie was my friend, and I’d be damned if I was going to say anything that got her into even deeper trouble. At that moment, a small movement at the edge of the kitchen entrance caught my eye, and I realized Marnie was hiding behind the doorway, listening in on the conversation. Good thing. Otherwise she might contradict everything I said. “Have a seat.” I gestured toward the sofa. “I’ll go get her.”
I found her behind the door just as I’d expected. “You heard?” I whispered. She nodded. “It’ll be okay,” I mouthed. “Just tell them the truth.” And then I called out loud, “Marnie, the police are here.” We waited a few seconds and then stepped into the living room. Marnie’s eyes were still swollen and red. The officers jumped to their feet.
“Good morning, Ms. Potter,” Lombard said. “I’d like to extend our deepest sympathies.”
Marnie nodded. “Thank you. I still can’t believe it. He was so full of life, and now . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’m sorry. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I’m going to have to ask you to come with us. We have some questions we need you to answer. Please get your coat.”
“Are you taking me to the station?” she asked. “You want to ask me about Bruce’s murder?”
“I’m afraid so,” the older officer replied.
“But why would you want to question me? I don’t know who killed him.”
“Maybe not so much about his death as about his life—who he knew, who might have had it in for him—that sort of thing.”
She picked up a sweater from the back of an armchair and followed the police officers out. At the door, she turned back to me. “I left my spare key in its usual hiding spot,” she said. “If you don’t mind—”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll lock up.”
I watched Lombard get into the driver’s seat, while Officer Harrison opened the back door for Marnie, placing a hand on her head and helping her in. This was not good. They were treating her like a criminal. As much as they said otherwise, I was sure she was on her way to being arrested. The questioning was only a formality. And with her engagement ring being found near the body, it would be difficult for her to maintain her innocence. Not only did Marnie have a motive, but that ring put her in Bruce’s room around the time he died. I wanted to help, but I had no idea what I could do.
I went back to the walk-in freezer. This time, when it beeped I was only slightly startled. I bagged everything Jenny might need.
• • •
Try as I might, at five foot nothing, there was no way I could reach the key above the doorframe. Shit. I snatched my phone from my bag and speed-dialed Matthew. He answered on the first ring. “I’m at Marnie’s,” I said. “She just left for the station with the police and she asked me to lock up, but I can’t reach the key.” I heard a chuckle at the other end. “Don’t laugh. Marnie is probably being grilled as we speak. I don’t see anything funny about the situation.” I had always been sensitive when it came to my height.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not laughing.” But I could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll be right over.”
Minutes later he drove up in an antique Corvette—his latest project. Since his teenage years, his favorite hobby had been restoring old cars. He hopped out and jogged over. He quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching—the street was quiet—and then snatched the key from its hiding place. A second later the door was locked and the key back in its spot.
“I’m sorry I laughed,” he said, “but I kept picturing you jumping, trying to grab the key.”
“As you said,” I snapped back. “Not funny.” I would have given anything to be six or even eight inches taller. That way, I’d at least be kissable height for Matthew. As it was, the top of my head didn’t reach his shoulder.
He grew serious. “Tell me, do you have any idea whether the police read Marnie her rights?”
“They didn’t. At least not while I was there. All they said was that they had some questions about her fiancé.” I could almost hear him thinking in the silence that followed.
“How do you feel this morning? Still think she’s innocent?”
“Of course I do.”
“I hope you’re right. And if they haven’t given her the Miranda, that means they aren’t arresting her—at least not yet,” he added. “I really should be writing, but I’ll see if there’s anything I can do to help her case. I have a feeling she’ll need a lot of help. I’ll give you a call when I come up with an idea.”
“Do you really think you can do something?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. It’s sensitive. Usually I help the police make a case against a suspect, not the other way around. And I don’t want to ruin my professional relationship with them. Leave it to me.” He helped me load the bags of baked goods into the back of my Jeep, then hopped into his ’Vette and sped away in the direction of the police station. I drove to work, hoping he could find a way to prevent her from being arrested. But knowing about her engagement ring in the carpet and the vase with her prints on it—not to mention the insurance policy . . . I wondered again if Marnie stood to collect on Bruce’s life insurance policy. Not much chance of that, especially if she was arrested for his murder.
I carried the first two bags through my store and into the back, setting them on the counter.
“Do you have many more to bring in?” Margaret asked, putting down her bar cloth.
“Three or four. Want to help?” She followed me out and we carried in the last of the bags. Jenny was sorting through, pulling out box after box. She held up a cupcake. “How come everything here is frozen?”
“That’s because I didn’t drive into Belmont,” I said. “I went to Marnie’s. When I was there yesterday, I saw she had a freezer full of baked goods. I didn’t see the point of getting them from Melinda’s. Besides, it was a good excuse to see how she’s doing.”
“Good idea.” Jenny put the box down and continued putting away the food. “Did she already know about Bruce?”
I nodded.
“Poor her. How is she holding up?”
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. But she’s being questioned by the police right now.”
“Questioned?”
“They got there just as I was about to leave.”
“Oh, my God. Tell me Marnie didn’t have anything to do with his death.”
“You’re her friend. You know her better than that,” I said. “How can you even make such a suggestion?” It occurred to me that she didn’t even know about Marnie’s going to Bruce’s hotel room and she had automatically jumped to that conclusion, which meant that as soon as it became public knowledge, Marnie would be as good as convicted. I felt sick.
At that moment Margaret set the last bag on the counter. “What suggestion?”
“I was just telling Jenny that the police picked Marnie up. And Jenny asked me if Marnie killed Bruce,” I said, incensed.
“That’s outrageous,” Margaret sputtered.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jenny argued.
“What other way is there?” I asked. And then seeing the look on her face, I changed my tone. “I’m sorry. I guess I feel protective of her. Anybody who knows Marnie has to realize that she could never hurt anybody.”
“That’s right,” Margaret said. “She couldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Hopefully that will be everybody’s opinion,” I said. “Starting with
the police.”
I heard the telephone ringing from my shop and raced over. “Dream Weaver, good morning. Della speaking.”
“Della? It’s me.”
“Mom? Hi. How are you?”
“How I am is worried. I just heard about a second murder victim in Briar Hollow. Please tell me you didn’t find that body too.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t. Matthew found him.” It was better not to mention that I happened to be present. “You know, don’t you, that the victim was Marnie’s fiancé?”
“He was? Oh, how terrible. You never told me she was engaged.”
“I didn’t? It happened very recently,” I said. “And very fast.”
“What do you mean, fast? How long had she known him?”
“Not long at all. Only one month.”
“Really.” I could almost hear the gears in my mother’s brain clicking. Any second now, she would question how Marnie could get a man to propose in such a short time when I couldn’t even get Matthew to date me after years of knowing him.
“It was a terrible mistake on her part,” I said quickly. “The police are looking into him. So far all we know is that he was using an alias, and he talked Marnie into buying one million dollars of life insurance with him as beneficiary.”
There was a gasp at the other end. “Are you suggesting he was planning to kill her?”
“That’s one possibility. At this point we just don’t know.”
“Oh, my. That poor woman. She must be devastated.”
“She is. Totally devastated.”
“I think I’ll give her a call. What do you think? Or should I just send her some flowers?”
“I’m sure she’d like to hear from you, but give her a day or two. Right now she’s pretty raw.”
“You’re right, of course. So how’s Matthew?” she asked.
“He’s well,” I said, wondering how I could preempt an interrogation. The best way was probably just to tell her what she wanted to know without waiting for the questions. “We’ve been having dinner pretty regularly lately.”
“Dinner . . . as in dinner dates?”
“I’m not sure. He seems friendlier these last few weeks. More affectionate too.” And before she got the wrong impression, I added, “Not romantic or anything, just—I don’t know—warmer.”
“That’s good. I hope you’re responding in the same way?”
“I am, but I have to be careful. I want him to take the lead.”
“Right. Good thinking. Oh, I’m so happy. That is such good news,” she said, her voice rising an octave in her excitement. Before I knew it, we’d said good-bye and hung up. This was the first time in ages that I’d had a lovely conversation with my mother without feeling pressured. Maybe that was the trick—just tell her what she wanted to hear. The problem was that what she wanted to hear was not always what really happened.
I wandered over to my loom, thinking about what I’d just told my mother. It was true. Matthew had been behaving differently toward me lately. For a long time we’d had a friendly but sparring relationship. Lately, the bickering gave way to gentleness, and the change had been so gradual that I’d hardly noticed. What could it mean? I stared at the shuttle in my hands.
There was no point in obsessing about this. I would simply have to keep my eyes open and encourage Matthew every chance I got. I loaded my shuttle with a fresh bobbin and returned to my weaving. Soon my worries for Marnie were replaced by more positive thoughts. With Matthew’s help, Bruce’s murder would be solved and Marnie’s life would go on. I had no doubt about it.
Most days I could count on a few hours of weaving before business picked up sometime around midmorning. But today—probably because of the news of Bruce Doherty’s murder—business was hopping right from the start. To my surprise, one of my first customers was Liz Carter. She came bursting through the door a few minutes after ten.
“I just heard,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “It’s such a tragedy.” Her sadness seemed sincere. “Poor Marnie. How is she doing?”
“She’ll recover,” I said, not wanting to say too much. “It will take some time, but she’ll get over it.”
She nodded grimly. “I suppose,” she said. “Can you think of anything I can do to help her?”
“Not at the moment, but if I do, I’ll let you know.”
“She wanted to take care of Helen’s funeral arrangements. Maybe I could help her do that,” she said.
“Do you have any idea when the medical examiner plans to release her body?”
“As a matter of fact, I called the police department as soon as I heard they’d picked Marnie up this morning.” I wondered how that piece of news had gotten out so fast. As if reading my mind, she explained. “Mercedes Hanson saw her get into the police car his morning. She told me about it when she stopped at the library to drop off some books.” Mercedes didn’t have a malicious bone in her body. If she’d said anything, it would have been out of concern.
“What did the police say?” I asked, referring to the release of Helen’s body.
“The medical examiner will soon be finished. And then they’ll need someone to claim the body before releasing it. I don’t mind doing that.”
“The police weren’t able to locate any living relatives?”
“Seems not,” she continued in a gossipy tone. “Anyhow, I’d better get going. I’m on my way to church. I’m meeting with Father Jones to finalize the library fund-raiser. He promised me some volunteers. I’ll ask him about organizing a funeral service at the same time. Helen would have wanted a religious ceremony.”
“That’s very nice of you,” I said.
“The only problem is,” she said, “I’ll have to get into Helen’s house and find something nice for her to wear.” I must have looked surprised because she added, “For the viewing.”
“Of course,” I said.
“I’ll let you know what Father Jones suggests regarding the funeral, and you can tell Marnie.”
I watched the door close behind her, as questions crowded my mind.
Helen’s body hadn’t been released yet, so why did Liz need to get her a dress? Besides, she’d already been dead for nearly a week, and she’d been autopsied. Could an open-casket service even be held under the circumstances? Why did I have the feeling that this was just an excuse for Liz getting into Helen’s house? I’m definitely getting paranoid.
The bell rang and I looked up to see Nancy Cutler walking in with two other friends of Marnie’s who’d been at the party.
“Go ahead,” she told them, waving them toward the coffee shop. “I’ll join you in a minute.” She came over to the counter. “Hi, Della. Can you believe what happened to Bruce Doherty?”
“It was quite the shock,” I said, and then I changed the subject before she could get away. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me regarding Brent Donaldson, and I can’t help wondering, do you have any idea whether Helen ever saw a picture of him?”
She puckered her brow, thinking. “I know Helen never met him. But whether she ever saw a picture of him, I couldn’t be sure. I remember Sybille begging Brent to come to Briar Hollow with her. She so wanted him to meet her sister. But he never did. On the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if she sent Helen that same picture she showed me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. It just makes sense. She was so excited to show me, and even with the geographical distance, she and Helen always remained close. I’d be shocked if she hadn’t. On the other hand, the police asked me for a picture of him during the investigation of Sybille’s disappearance. Surely they wouldn’t have asked me if they’d gotten one from Helen.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “The more pictures they have, the better.”
“True,” she agreed.
“Did you and Hel
en ever discuss the case?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding? That was all she ever talked about. The police never found out anything, but that didn’t stop her from carrying on her own investigations. For years, she called me regularly, sometimes a couple of times a week. She’d ask me the same questions over and over again. ‘Did Sybille ever mention meeting any of Brent’s friends or family?’ ‘Did I know where he was born?’ ‘Did they have any special places where they used to go?’ ‘Could they have run away together?’ It got to the point where I started feeling as if I was a suspect. I finally stopped taking her calls. Then, when I moved back out here, I got an apartment in Belmont rather than in Briar Hollow, just so I wouldn’t have to run into her every day. Eventually, of course, I did. And you know, Helen probably blamed me on some level for Sybille’s disappearance, because whenever she saw me she’d just pretend she didn’t see me.”
“How awful for you,” I said.
“To tell you the truth,” she continued in a whisper, “I think Helen had sort of lost her grip on reality these last few years. I know it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but honestly, she became as loony as a tune.” She made a circling gesture around her ear.
“That’s so sad,” I said, wondering whether Nancy was making this up or not. It was possible. Helen had probably spent years obsessing about finding her sister. She’d fought to keep the police investigating long after the case had grown cold, putting up rewards. Had she continued until her mind had snapped? I suddenly remembered that Marnie had mentioned Helen falling apart after years of trying to find Sybille. That was when she’d turned to the courts to have her sister declared legally dead. Poor woman. It sounded as if she’d waited too long to turn the page. By then she’d already lost her mind.
“If only I could find out for sure whether Sybille ever sent Helen a picture of her boyfriend,” I said.
“What difference would it make at this point? The case is closed.” She looked at me incredulously. “Oh. I get it. You’re looking for proof that Bruce and Brent are the same man. But even if she did see his picture, that was such a long time ago. She would have thrown it away by now.”
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