by Lea Wait
“Whoever killed her could have taken the keys and thrown the bag away. Into the water, or into a Dumpster. Anywhere,” I said. “Then they could have gotten into her room at the Wild Rose to plant the jewelry.” I hesitated a moment. “Or, if Uma killed Lenore and was carrying the jewelry with her, he or she could have taken the jewelry.”
“And put it in her room?” Ethan shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“And you’re sure the embroidery wasn’t in her room?” I asked.
Ethan shook his head. “Positive. We’re stuck. Arvin’s the obvious suspect, but we don’t have any proof. Or motive. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I thought maybe you’d heard something that would help pull all this together.”
“All I’ve heard about Arvin is that he and his wife are having problems. They married young and have a baby. Alice thinks he leaves her alone too often. And Arvin owes money on his boat.”
Ethan shrugged. “Most young lobstermen pay off their boats slowly. And most wives feel neglected. Those aren’t grounds for Arvin to kill anyone.”
“A father has responsibilities as well as a mother.”
“Sure. But a father who’s working has obligations to his job, too. If he’s supporting his family and not running around, then he’s doing what he can.”
“You don’t think he needs to be there to support his wife emotionally? Be there when she needs him?”
I didn’t think we were talking about Arvin anymore.
“When there’s a child involved, both parties have responsibilities to the child. Of course, and to each other. But their child should be the center of their focus.”
We stared at each other. I was the one who looked away. Ethan and I disagreed about that. But he was married and had a child. Experience was on his side. Arguing wouldn’t get us anywhere.
“Even if Arvin and Alice have problems, that’s not a reason for him to kill anyone,” I said. “But the missing needlepoint may be valuable. We’re getting close to having a complete timeline for possible provenance.”
“So the needlepoint was worth stealing,” said Ethan.
“The question is—where is it now?”
“All the personal belongings in Uma’s room at the inn were hers. Except Lenore’s jewelry.”
“I don’t know if Arvin killed Uma,” I said. “Circumstantial evidence certainly puts him in the right place at the right time. Someone must have planted Lenore’s jewelry in Uma’s room to make people believe she’d killed Lenore. So far as I know, the only time Uma saw Lenore was after she was dead. And I talked to her about that. So did you. I believed her.”
“I did, too. I don’t know how she got mixed up in something beyond looking at a piece of embroidery,” said Ethan.
“If we find that embroidery, we find the murderer,” I said. “I can’t help thinking Arvin knows details he’s not telling you.”
“I agree,” said Ethan. “It all gets down to that piece of needlepoint.”
“Do you have any idea who might have it?” I asked.
He sighed. “Oh, hell. We haven’t a clue.”
We’d almost finished our lunches. I wasn’t sure we’d accomplished anything. I’d learned Uma had been killed before she was in the water. But killed by whom?
“What about Charlie?” I asked as Ethan called for our check. “I’m not convinced the same person murdered both Lenore and Uma. Charlie had a motive to kill Lenore. He’d inherit, and he wanted that jewelry back.”
“Her almost-ex?” Ethan shook his head. “He has an alibi. He was in a bar in Bath the evening Lenore was killed. We know, because the Damariscotta Police picked him up on Route One about midnight. He was on his way home, but they decided it would be safer for him and others on the road for him to spend the night at the Lincoln County Jail.”
“A pretty good alibi,” I had to admit.
“Between you and me, I would’ve loved it to have been Charlie. He’s a danger to himself and others when he’s on the road.”
“Won’t he lose his license for DUI?”
“Are you kidding? He doesn’t have a valid license. Doesn’t seem to stop him from drinking or driving.”
Ethan finished his iced coffee and sat back in his chair. “We don’t have anyone else we can connect to Lenore. Maybe her killer was someone random.”
I looked at him. Hard. “Would Lenore open her door late at night to someone she didn’t know? She was a smart lawyer!”
“Seems unlikely. But unfortunately none of her neighbors saw anything.”
“Did anyone see Uma getting off Arvin’s boat?” I asked.
“We haven’t checked with everyone in the harbor. You know how many people are wandering around down near the town wharf on a week like this. But so far, no one’s volunteered anything.”
It all came down to the embroidery.
Chapter 32
Patty Polk did this and she hated every stitch she did in it. She loves to read much more.
—Stitched by Patty Polk, age nine, Kent County, Maryland, circa 1800
I found Mary with Cos and Jude at the Curran’s house. I was surprised Jude wasn’t at Maine Waves. Maybe it was her lunch hour.
“Have you found my needlepoint?” Mary asked.
“No. But I’m still working on it,” I assured her. “And the police are, too. But we’ve come close to finding out where the embroidery came from.”
“So now you’re sure it’s valuable,” said Jude. “Right?”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “Mary, Queen of Scots, might have given it to one of her ladies-in-waiting, Mary Seton, who took it to France when she went to live at an abbey there. Both Talleyrand and Marie Antoinette’s lawyer had close ties to the church connected to that abbey where Mary Seton lived. Either of them could have entrusted the needlepoint, as one of the church’s treasures, to Captain Clough. Or Talleyrand could have brought it with him when he visited Maine in 1794 and given it to someone in your family.”
“Wow,” said Mary. “How can you find out what really happened?”
“I’m not sure,” I told her. “I think the next step is going through all those family papers you found.”
“That will take forever,” she said, looking discouraged. “A lot of them are faded, and the handwriting’s hard to read.”
“When you first showed us your needlework, Sarah Byrne volunteered to help go through your papers with you. With three of us looking, it shouldn’t take too long. We know the time periods to look for and the names that would be significant.”
“I guess so,” said Mary. She didn’t look enthused.
“You and I could start looking at your papers late this afternoon, and Sarah could join us after she closes her store.”
Mary nodded. “Okay. I could do that. I do think it’s awesome you’ve found out all that other stuff already. And that there were a lot of Marys involved.” She paused. “Mary of Scotland, Mary Seton, Marie Antoinette. My grandmother was named, Mary, too. And her mother.”
“My grandmother told me she thinks there’s been a Mary in your family ever since Captain Clough came back from France and named his youngest daughter Mary,” I said. “We can look for other Marys in your documents while we’re sorting through them.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” said Jude, who’d been listening to us. “Isn’t the needlepoint valuable on its own? Why do you need to go through all those old papers to find out how it got into Mary’s attic?”
“It wouldn’t be as valuable without provenance,” I told her. “And we’ll write it all out, with where we found the information, so Mary can keep it with her needlepoint. Without a proven connection between the stitching and the Clough family, everything I’ve told you is just an educated guess.” I turned to Mary. “How are you doing with sorting the papers at your house?”
“I haven’t done much more than when you saw it,” she answered. “I’ve been spending time with Alice Fraser. She’s been upset, and I’ve been helping her wi
th the baby.” She smiled. “He’s a cute little fellow, even if he does cry a lot.”
“So Arvin’s still not helping out a lot at home.” Did Alice know Arvin had taken Uma out lobstering?
Mary shook her head. “Alice says he’s busy with the Little Lady and doing accounts at the co-op. They’re hoping to put a down payment on a house soon, so he’s working harder than ever. He’s been hauling traps twice as often, and working at the co-op at night.”
Those must have been nights other than the times I’d seen the guys drinking at the Harbor Haunts or the co-op. “Rob must be busy, then, too,” I said. “Maybe he’ll make enough to put money toward that boat he wants.”
“Rob hasn’t been going with Arvin recently,” said Mary. “They argued about something. Rob’s been helping me at the house instead of lobstering.”
“Then who’s been Arvin’s sternman?” I asked.
“Josh has,” said Mary, looking sidewise at Jude.
“Josh has big plans, too,” Jude said. “He wants to go to California. Any time he doesn’t have to work for his dad, he’s been working for Arvin.” She paused. “The needlepoint would be worth a lot even without all those papers, right?”
I shook my head. “Of course, the embroidery is just as beautiful without documentation. But for insurance purposes, and in case Mary ever needs or wants to sell it, she’ll need the paperwork.”
“Josh and Arvin are getting to be real buddies,” agreed Mary. “But that doesn’t help Rob and I pull together money for our house and his lobster boat.”
“Not everything that happens is about you and Rob,” Jude snapped. “Josh and Arvin need money as much as Rob does.”
“Have you set a date for your wedding?” I asked Mary, hoping I could change the subject.
“The first Saturday in October. That’ll be two weeks after my eighteenth birthday, so I’ll be able to use money my mom and dad left me to cover some of the expenses, like a caterer,” she said, smiling.
“Early October is beautiful in Maine,” I agreed. “The trees are turning, and the tourists have gone home. Except the leaf peepers, of course.”
“That’s what we thought,” said Mary. “We’ve made an appointment to talk to Reverend McCully. We have a reservation for the church, but we have to go through premarital counseling.”
“I think he does that with all the couples he marries,” I said. Maybe Tom could bring up the issues Gram and Lenore and I had about this impending wedding. But, no matter, the decision was up to Mary and Rob, and they didn’t seem to be hesitating.
She nodded. “That’s what his secretary said. I can meet you about three-thirty this afternoon at my house. Is that okay?”
“Sounds good. I’ll let Sarah know we need her help, too.”
Chapter 33
An Hour will come when you will bless
Beyond the brightest dreams of life
Dark days of our distress.
—Stitched by Grace Munson, age ten, 1803
Sarah agreed to meet us. “But it may be six o’clock before I can get there,” she cautioned. “A customer just called and asked if I had any carnival glass. I bought several pieces at an auction in April, but I’ve never put them out in the store. I don’t even remember what colors and patterns they are. I have to find them and log them into my inventory before the customer gets here. And she won’t be here until after four-thirty.”
“Carnival glass?” I asked.
“Iridescent glass dishes given as prizes at carnivals or movie theaters during the twenties and thirties here in the states. Most pieces were decorative bowls, of all different sizes and shapes. Even punch bowls and glasses. Most of them are orange. Blue and green and red pieces are the most valuable.”
“Whenever you get here is fine,” I assured her. “Paying customers come first.”
“Shall I bring food? I don’t know about you, but I’ll be starving by six o’clock.”
“I have a little time now, and you’re working. I’ll bring dinner. Nothing fancy.”
“Any food is fine,” said Sarah. “It’s been a depressing day. Everyone who comes in to my shop wants to talk about Uma Patel or Lenore Pendleton.”
“Believe me, I’d like this whole mystery solved, the needlepoint recovered, and time to get back to enjoying the summer,” I assured her.
“A-men. I’m trying to get a couple of balsam pillows needlepointed between customers. I’ve finished one of the lighthouse and started on a Christmas tree. Tourists often look for Christmas gifts or decorations when they’re on vacation.”
“Thanks. Katie will be home next week, and she’s stitching up some, too. I should check with Dave to see how he’s doing.”
“Whoops! Customers entering. See you at six!”
Since Sarah’d reminded me, I called Dave.
“I was about to call you,” he said. “I’ve finished the cushion covers for Skye West. Is she in town? Or shall I give them to you?”
“She’s in Boston most of the time, and last I heard she was on the West Coast for a meeting. Why don’t you drop them off with me? I’ll get in touch with her,” I said.
“How’s your needlework investigation going?” asked Dave. “I’ve been thinking about you. There certainly was a lot of activity over at Lenore Pendleton’s place a few days back, and I wondered about the needlepoint you were going to leave with her.”
“Horrible, isn’t it? Her being killed.”
“I still can’t believe it. The police came here, asking if I’d seen anything, but I don’t stand at my windows watching other people.”
I smiled. Some people in Haven Harbor were known to do just that. A nuisance if they were your next-door neighbors, but handy to talk to during a murder investigation.
“Did you know Lenore?”
“As a neighbor. I never used her legal services. I was a little worried about her, actually. She had an ex-husband who got out of hand.”
“Charlie. I talked to him. You know him?”
“Not personally. But I’ve seen him over there, talking to Lenore. Actually, shouting would be more like it. He could cause a scene. Once I called nine-one-one because the yelling was getting so loud. I was afraid he’d hurt her.”
“But she was all right.”
“I assume so. I saw her after that, and she seemed fine.”
“Charlie visited her the morning of the day—or night—she was killed,” I said. “But Ethan Trask told me he has an alibi for the time she was killed.”
“I thought I saw Charlie’s car there that evening, early,” Dave said. “But I could have been mistaken. I didn’t pay close attention.”
“I don’t think the police have any real clues as to who killed her.”
“I thought it was that girl from Boston. The one who drowned.”
“They’re still investigating.” I decided not to say anything else. After all, I wanted Ethan to trust me, and he’d told me details about the investigation that hadn’t been released to the public.
“It’s an awful situation all around. And now the needlepoint is missing?”
“Yes. But Sarah and Ruth think it was done by Mary, Queen of Scots, and brought here in the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century. Sarah and I are going over to Mary Clough’s house tonight to help her look through her family’s papers. See if we can find a connection from that end.”
“Could you use extra help? I’m getting bored needlepointing and gardening, and there isn’t even a Red Sox game on tonight.”
“That would be great! I’d love us to get through all the papers tonight. It might be fun to go through them together.” Fun for some people, anyway. “Who knows what we might find? We’ll be looking for specific names or dates or places.”
“Tell me where to be and when.”
I gave him Mary’s address. Then I walked down to the small store on the end of Main Street that sold basic foods, magazines, and newspapers. With Dave coming, I’d be feeding four of us. Jude might even show up. This
afternoon she’d seemed very interested in the documentation.
I picked out packages of sliced ham, cheese, bologna, and roast beef, and large bags of pretzels and chips.
My stop after that was at the patisserie.
“Angie, good to see you. How can I help you today?” Nicole was behind the counter.
“I’d like two loaves of sliced bread—one white and one whole wheat,” I said. “And a dozen assorted cookies. How’s Henri’s mother doing?”
Nicole leaned toward me. “It is sad. She is not well, and I need Henri here. We are trying to figure a way she can come and stay with us. Perhaps we can hire a nurse for the times Henri and I are working.”
“I’m so sorry, Nicole.”
“I would like for her to be in a nursing home. There she could get good care all the time. I am no nurse,” Nicole added. “But nursing homes are so expensive!”
I nodded. I’d had no experience with nursing homes, but I had no doubt she was right.
“How is your research going, with the needlepoint?”
“We’re making progress. Thank you again for your help with the translation,” I said.
“No problem. So the needlepoint is very old, then?”
“It may be,” I said. “But we still have work to do to be sure.”
“I would love to see it someday.”
“I would love to show it to you,” I told her. “But I’m afraid it’s missing. Whoever killed Lenore Pendleton must have taken it.”
“No! Very sad,” Nicole said, shaking her head in sympathy. She finished slicing the bread and putting the two loaves into bags, and was picking out the cookies.
“We hope to get it back, though,” I added.
“You know where it is, then?” asked Nicole.
“Not yet. But we’re working with the police. I’m sure we’ll settle it all soon,” I said.
“I see,” she said, handing me my change. “I wish you luck, then.”
I headed for home, my arms full of food for the evening. I’d add a bottle of soda and a six-pack of beer when I got home. I reminded myself to be sure to tell Nicole when we’d found the needlepoint. She’d seemed very interested and, of course, she’d helped with her translation.