“It has to mean something,” I agreed. I just didn’t know what.
I got up to leave but I had one nagging question.
“Was Jesse involved in any of this?”
Powell nodded. “Sure. Obviously it’s technically his case. He brought his people to Lily’s apartment. In fact they were there before I even arrived on the scene. But he didn’t think there was cause to bring Oliver in for questioning.”
“So you did that on your own?”
“And as I guess you have found out, Chief Dewalt does not care for people doing things behind his back.”
That made me smile a little. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only person in the doghouse over this case.
“Can he force you off the case?” I asked.
Powell smiled. “No. After he calmed down, he was just interested in the information. Jesse’s a stand-up guy but he’s a little cautious. I think he secretly appreciates it when someone else jumps into the fray.”
“I hope so.”
Powell patted my shoulder. “Give him time. Then when he’s ready, you tell him what you’ve learned and he’ll listen.”
“And he should be grateful,” I added.
“Don’t push it.”
As I left I made a promise to share anything I found with Powell, and he generously offered me the same. I knew I was lying and I assumed he was as well. But even if he only shared a little, and only when he hoped I’d offer something in return, it was still more than Jesse was doing.
It had been a confusing conversation, with more maybes than actual proof. But I walked away with a possible connection between Oliver and Lily. That was more than I’d gone in with. I already had a connection between Oliver and Sandra. If Oliver really was guilty of murder, then it seemed to me that he needed one motive—one reason both women had to die.
And if there wasn’t one motive, then I needed to find two killers: someone who had killed Lily, perhaps because she was Oliver’s granddaughter, and someone who had copied elements of the first murder to kill Sandra.
Just thinking about it exhausted me. Finding one killer looked to be nearly impossible. I didn’t even want to think about the odds of finding two.
CHAPTER 39
“He killed Sandra because she wanted his money. And he killed Lily because she wanted his money,” Natalie offered. “That’s one motive.”
“Oliver doesn’t care about money,” I pointed out.
“But he cares about his reputation,” Susanne offered.
Natalie, Susanne, and Natalie’s son Jeremy sat with me at a diner in Morristown an hour after I’d finished my meeting with Powell. While we waited for our sandwiches, I recounted what Powell had said. I knew it meant telling the story again to the rest of the group, but they weren’t available and I couldn’t wait.
“I think the best news is what Powell said about Jesse. That once Jesse has calmed down he’ll forgive you for all of this meddling,” Susanne offered.
“Let’s stay focused,” I said.
Although I did think it was good news that Jesse might be willing to get past our difference of opinion, I didn’t think there was any point in even entertaining the idea until the murder was solved.
“What is Oliver’s reputation anyway?” Natalie asked, pulling me back to the subject at hand. “And how does having a granddaughter, or an affair with a beautiful young woman, tarnish his reputation? He’s an artist. The more scandal the better. I mean, look how his career took off. He got arrested and sold out a show.”
“I agree,” I said. “And it’s possible that he wasn’t having an affair with Sandra. We’ve only been guessing at that.”
“Then why were they so cozy together?” Susanne asked.
I was about to shrug my shoulders when it hit me. The kind words. The crying in the parking lot. The money.
“Maybe Sandra was his granddaughter,” I said.
“Did she kill Lily?” Susanne asked. “And if she did, then maybe Oliver was protecting her, but somebody got to her when Oliver was at Eleanor’s dinner party with you.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe Oliver killed Lily. Sandra knew and was blackmailing him, so he killed Sandra.”
“He killed his own granddaughter?” Susanne seemed alarmed at the idea.
“He didn’t even know her,” Natalie pointed out. “He didn’t care enough about his daughter to stick around for her birth, so why should he care about his granddaughter?”
“Then why would Oliver kill her?” Susanne asked.
“I got it,” Natalie jumped up, alarming Jeremy to the point that he burst into tears.
Susanne grabbed her grandson and held him tightly.
“Lily was Oliver’s granddaughter. Powell’s right about that,” Natalie said. “But Sandra killed Lily and Oliver killed her.”
I sat back and went over the details in my head. Sandra could have killed Lily. “That has to be it,” I agreed. “Oliver killed Sandra because she killed Lily.”
Susanne turned her attention from Jeremy to us.
“If he killed the woman who killed his granddaughter, it was rage and grief, not cold-blooded murder,” Susanne said. “If that’s the case, it’s okay. He could still be with Eleanor.”
We both looked at her.
“He’d still go to jail,” I pointed out.
“Only if we tell,” Susanne said. “And if Oliver was driven to do what he did, then why should he spend the rest of his life in jail? And why should we break Eleanor’s heart?”
We looked at one another in silence.
“Because he’s a killer,” I finally said.
“Besides, if we’re figuring this out, don’t you think that maybe Jesse or Powell will figure it out?” Natalie asked quietly.
Susanne nodded sadly, but she had punctured a hole in our excitement. By trying so hard to find a link between Lily and Oliver, Natalie and I had both forgotten what such a discovery might do to Eleanor.
We sat eating our lunch in silence, trying to find a way to solve the murder without hurting my grandmother.
“We don’t really know what happened. Powell’s just guessing and so are we,” I pointed out. “We have no idea whether Oliver was Lily’s or Sandra’s grandfather. And even if he was, we have no idea if Oliver knew. And even then, we don’t have a motive for why he would kill either woman.”
“So what do we do?” Natalie looked as overwhelmed as I felt.
“We take it step-by-step. First we have to prove that Oliver was related to one of the victims,” I said. “Then we have to see if it leads us to a motive.”
“And if it was rage over the death of his granddaughter, can we let sleeping dogs lie?” Susanne asked.
I swallowed hard. “No. If he’s the killer we turn him in, no matter who it hurts.” I turned my eyes to a now comforted Jeremy, sleeping in his grandmother’s arms.
The next evening I brought the chairs into a circle for the quilt meeting. I put on the coffee and rang up the last of the day’s sales. It wasn’t until I turned the Open sign to Closed that I noticed I was being watched.
“What?” I jumped when I saw Eleanor out of the corner of my eye.
“You are a million miles away,” she said.
“I’m just thinking,” I said, trying to think of a topic I could safely claim to be thinking about.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“What?” I said slowly. With all the skills she had, I wondered for a moment if it was possible my grandmother could read minds.
“Honestly, Nell, if you’re going to get like this every time a man breaks up with you, you’ll end up a nervous wreck.”
“Every time?” I repeated. “How often do you expect it to happen?”
She rolled her eyes. “The world does not revolve around men.”
“Spoken like someone who gets roses every other day.” I pointed to yet another arrangement Oliver had sent, which Eleanor kept at the register.
She smiled. “What did you do to
Jesse anyway? I ran into him yesterday, and I thought he was going to break a world speed record trying to get away from me.”
“He thinks I don’t respect what he does. You know, because I asked about the investigation.”
Partial honesty was a good plan, I decided.
“Well the girl was found right outside our door,” Eleanor said. “She was a classmate of yours. And they hauled Oliver in for questioning. You have every right to be curious.”
I hadn’t seen that coming. Buoyed by her indignation, I went on. “Jesse thinks I should just stay out of it and leave the whole thing to him.”
“You should.”
A hundred and eighty degrees in two seconds. How did she manage that?
“You just said I had every right to be curious,” I pointed out.
“Curious, yes. But not to interfere.” She raised an eyebrow at me, making me feel like a child caught up after bedtime. “I would think you were smart enough to realize this, but a killer is by definition a dangerous person. And dangerous people are best left to the police.”
“Well at the moment one particular dangerous person is wandering around. And the police have no idea where he or she is.”
“Just as long as you stay out of his way.” Eleanor grabbed my hand. “That’s all I care about. You have to be careful.”
“So do you, Grandma.”
“What trouble could I get in? I spend my days in a quilt shop.” She smiled.
“So do I,” I reminded her, “and according to you and Jesse I’m always getting into trouble.”
“At least I’ll have my eyes on you tonight.” She winked.
“No you won’t. I’m helping Carrie in her shop so she doesn’t come to the meeting. And you guys are supposed to be finishing her quilt. It’s just a few days until the opening.”
“Has she figured out a name yet?”
“Don’t ask her or she might snap. And then there’ll be another murder in this town,” I laughed.
CHAPTER 40
“Seriously, what are you calling the store?” I asked. “You need to put up a sign.”
“I know,” Carrie grunted. “I have the sign guy waiting to paint and he’s getting very impatient.”
“Just go by the address,” I suggested. “I know several places in Manhattan that are known by their building numbers. You would be 118. That’s simple.”
“It’s boring.”
I stepped back. I had just put the finishing touches on the mural. It was almost exactly as I had pictured it. A large coffeepot pouring out a city skyline that was part New York and part my imagination. In front was a small coffee shop with a tiny Open sign in the window.
“If I’m not going to put the name of the shop on the mural, I guess I’m done,” I announced.
Carrie and I took a moment to stare at the finished mural.
“I’m in love with it,” Carrie exclaimed. “It’s everything I could have wanted and more.” She jumped over and hugged me. “Sign your name.”
I mixed several colors until I had a nice dark brown; then I dipped my brush into it and moved my hand to the mural’s lower right-hand corner. For some reason my hand wouldn’t stop shaking at the idea of signing my name. Finally, I wrote “Nell Fitzgerald.”
“You’re a real artist now,” Carrie said.
“I know. It kind of gives me the jitters.”
Carrie moved back and started jumping up and down. “That’s it. That’s it! That’s what we’re calling this place: Jitters.”
I could see the relief in her face as she finally figured out the puzzle she’d been grappling with for so long.
“I have to call the sign guy and tell him or he won’t have it ready for Tuesday,” she said.
I was about to join in her celebration—at least Carrie had found an answer to one of the problems we’d been facing these last few weeks—but something out the window caught my eye.
“What’s wrong?” I called out as I ran from the coffee shop to Someday Quilts.
“I don’t understand it,” Eleanor said.
“He was fine a minute ago.” Kennette stepped back toward the door.
I knelt down. Barney was barking and jumping up and down angrily at nothing, and there seemed to be little any of us could do to comfort him.
“We’re going to be here awhile, and I thought that he needed some company, so I brought him from home,” Eleanor told me. “But the minute we got here he started going crazy. Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
I looked up the street. There were a few teenagers at the corner, but they weren’t even looking at us. I turned the other way. A car was parked a few yards away. I could see that it was occupied but it wasn’t under a streetlamp so I couldn’t see who was inside.
I wrapped my arms around Barney, a gesture that normally meant I would get covered in licks. This time he strained to get away from me.
“What is it, fella?” I whispered, even though I knew his deafness had progressed to the point where he probably couldn’t hear a word I said. “It’s okay. Grandma’s okay. Kennette’s okay. I’m okay.”
“Try taking him down the street and see if he calms down,” Eleanor said. “He probably smells a squirrel or something. Poor thing. His other senses are probably heightened now, and he can smell everything in sight.”
“Probably,” I said, but there didn’t seem to be any squirrels on the street, and there usually weren’t. They tended to overrun Eleanor’s backyard and any other open space, but on Main Street there were too many people and too few trees to attract much in the way of wildlife. And in any case, I’d never seen Barney get this upset over a mere squirrel.
Still, I took my grandmother’s advice and grabbed Barney’s leash. “Why don’t you come with me,” I said to Kennette, “in case he gets away.”
We walked him toward the car parked down the street. Barney strained at the leash and it was hard to keep up with him. Kennette stayed a few steps ahead, apparently afraid of what Barney might do. As frightening as it was, I was glad I had an excuse to see who was sitting inside the car.
I only had to walk a few feet to realize that it was a Morristown Police car. I pulled Barney to a stop and leaned in.
“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting,” Chief Powell said. He nodded toward a building where two men stood talking in the darkness.
“Heya, Nell,” said a voice from the passenger seat.
I leaned in farther. “Hi, Greg. What is this, a policemens’ night out?”
Barney, who had momentarily calmed down, began barking again. Powell and Greg both got out of the car.
“What’s wrong with Barney?” Greg went to pet him but seemed to think better of it.
“I have no idea. Something has spooked him,” I said.
Kennette moved to the front of the police car, away from the conversation. I noticed Greg look at her but he didn’t so much as say hello. Powell seemed to notice it too, because he walked over to Kennette.
“I met you the night of the murder,” he said. “You’re the art student living with Mrs. Cassidy and Nell.”
“Kennette Green.” She shook his hand.
“What’s your story?”
“I don’t have one.” Kennette shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, I’m a friend of Nell’s and I take classes. Nothing interesting.”
“You like Oliver White?” Powell nodded in the direction of the two men standing in the dark.
“Who doesn’t?” Kennette asked.
Powell shrugged. “Seems like a friendly guy. Seems like a lot of women like him. I just wondered if you were one of them.”
Either Powell was a great judge of character or he somehow knew about the painting in Oliver’s studio. I tried to catch his eye, but he was too interested in Kennette to notice me. Besides, I had my hands full trying to keep Barney from running off.
“I think he’s a great artist and a great teacher, and you don’t have to like him to think that,”
Kennette said. “Even Nell thinks that and she doesn’t like Oliver at all.”
I found myself turning red. “I didn’t say that,” I told her.
“No, but you act like it, and I think it really bothers Eleanor,” Kennette said.
Her tone was soft and sympathetic but her words were like knives. I may not have trusted Oliver, but I didn’t want my grandmother knowing that.
“I think Oliver is a great guy, actually,” I said. And at that Powell looked over at me. “I love his class and I couldn’t be happier that he is so interested in my grandmother. It shows he has good taste.”
The two men in the darkness started walking toward us. As they passed under a streetlight, I realized it was Jesse and Oliver. They headed to the front of the police car where Powell, Greg, and Kennette were standing. Barney, who had settled down, suddenly broke from me and ran, barking, toward the group. I lunged to catch him but it was too late. Jesse grabbed the dog and pulled him back.
“What’s up, buddy?” Jesse crouched next to Barney and seemed immediately to change the dog’s mood. He was now licking Jesse and wagging his tail.
“Has he lost his mind?” I asked. “A minute ago he was freaking out.”
“I think it’s Oliver,” Kennette announced. “He was by the shop earlier, and I think Barney is jealous of him and Eleanor.”
Oliver leaned over the dog but didn’t touch him. “I’m not trying to take your place, old man,” he said. “I know I come second.”
I wanted to stay and find out what Oliver and Jesse had been talking about, and why Powell and Greg weren’t included in the conversation, but Barney had finally returned to normal. I took the opportunity to grab his leash and lead him away from the men. Kennette followed at a slight distance. Once we got back to the shop, Barney didn’t join the group of quilters, though he was an honorary member. Instead he walked into the office, his tail between his legs, and lay down on a quilt near Eleanor’s desk.
“Crisis over?” Eleanor shouted to me as I hung up my coat.
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