A Drunkard's Path

by Clare O'Donohue

  “I guess so, but he seemed really unhappy,” I said.

  “Except when he saw Jesse. He really likes Jesse,” Kennette offered.

  “Well Barney’s a good judge of character,” Eleanor said. “If he doesn’t like someone there’s a reason. And if he does, well, that’s good enough for me.”

  “I wish he were a good judge of quilts.” Susanne shook her head. She pointed to the nearly finished quilt meant for Carrie’s coffee shop, now pinned to the design wall.

  “It looks good,” I said.

  “It looks okay,” Natalie countered.

  I took a step back and closed my eyes, then opened them again to get a fresh look. The quilt was really beautiful but there was something missing.

  “It needs a bit more quilting,” I offered. “And something else, something structured. There are a lot of circles and swirls but maybe it needs some boxes.”

  “You should paint them,” Maggie suggested. “Use fabric paints. That would add a nice bit of texture.”

  With the enthusiastic agreement of the crowd shoring me up, I gathered some paints and added a few small strokes to the quilt. I stepped back. I didn’t want to go overboard.

  “That’s it,” Bernie declared. “A little more quilting and it’s done.”

  “Can I do it?” Kennette asked. “I want to add a little something of my own.”

  The women grabbed Kennette, led her to a sewing machine, and handed over the quilt to her. While Bernie and Susanne fussed about her, Maggie and I stayed in the front of the shop. I told her about the scene up the street.

  “Jesse is building a relationship with Oliver,” Maggie concluded.

  “Why?”

  “They already know each other from Eleanor’s dinner party, so if Oliver were going to trust someone enough to give him information, it would be Jesse.”

  I nodded. “It makes me feel like Jesse knows something we don’t.”

  “Let me look into it,” Maggie said.

  “How?”

  “Well, just like Jesse is using his kind nature to lure Oliver into a confession, I can use my crankiness to lure Jesse into telling me what’s going on.”

  I smiled. She was probably right. When it came to revealing information, Jesse may have been immune to my romantic charms, but I didn’t think he stood a chance against Maggie.

  CHAPTER 41

  I stood in Someday Quilts, waiting. Behind me, Eleanor, Susanne, Kennette, Natalie, and Bernie were lined up. The only one yet to arrive was Maggie.

  “She knows it’s at eight o’clock, right?” Bernie asked.

  “Of course she knows,” Eleanor said.

  “Well we’re going to be late if we wait for her,” Susanne pointed out.

  “One more minute, then we go,” Eleanor said. “She’s not usually late.”

  Outside, I saw a figure hurrying up the street.

  “She’s coming,” I said. “Grab the stuff.”

  Maggie was breathless when she grabbed my arm. “We have to talk,” she said.

  I nodded, but before I could say anything, Eleanor broke us apart. “We said we’d be the first to arrive, so let’s go,” she said.

  And just as she said it, white twinkly Christmas lights lit up Jitters. We walked across the street and opened the door, the first official customers of Carrie’s coffee shop. Inside, Carrie’s husband was pouring champagne, and her kids were eating cupcakes on the big velvet sofa.

  As we said hello, others started coming in. Oliver arrived with a box the size of a notebook. Greg and another officer from Archers Rest stopped in and helped themselves to coffee. A few neighbors and friends from town began to fill the place, making for quite a party.

  “I’m a wreck,” Carrie confessed. “I don’t know how you felt when you opened Someday, Eleanor, but I feel like I’m going to faint.”

  “You’ll be fine, dear. You’ve probably just had too much caffeine,” my grandmother said. “I assume you have some herbal tea here.”

  Carrie laughed and headed behind the counter with Eleanor following close behind. I looked around the place. It was exactly as Carrie had once hoped it would be: the funky furniture, the mismatched art pieces, and the giant mural on the back wall.

  “It’s cool,” I heard someone say behind me.

  I turned around to see Jesse smiling. His daughter, Allie, ran from him to play with Carrie’s children, so he and I were left standing together, looking at the mural. He put his arm around me.

  “I’m really proud of you,” he said. “It’s so imaginative.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m proud of myself too.”

  I leaned into his arm for just a second before I was interrupted.

  “Now,” Susanne said, “before it gets too crowded.”

  The women of the quilt group gathered together in the center of the coffee shop. Maggie held a box out for Carrie.

  “A little something from us. From all of us,” she said, nodding toward Kennette who stood at the edge of the group.

  Carrie began to get glassy-eyed. “I hope it’s what I think it is,” she said. “I’ve been holding a space for it.” She ripped open the box and pulled out the quilt we had made. At that she started crying. “Oh my heavens. It’s so beautiful.”

  Her husband grabbed the quilt, and he and Jesse held it up over the blank wall. Against the soft mocha color, the bright batik fabrics really popped. The circles and swirls gave the quilt movement, and my small blocks of painted fabric added a nice, hard contrast to the soft lines everywhere else on the quilt. Though it had started as Susanne’s vision, it became a group effort as we pinned, sewed, quilted, and painted together. I noticed, as I looked at the quilt up close, that Kennette had managed to quilt in a secret word: “Jitters.”

  “We did good with this one,” I said to Kennette as we stared at our creation.

  “It’s so great,” she said. “I like the idea of giving a quilt to someone even more than I like the idea of making one for myself. It’s like giving away a part of yourself.”

  I smiled. “I think that’s why we do it. What could be more personal than turning an idea into an object?”

  “I’m humbled by it myself,” Oliver said as he joined us. “I brought a little something for Carrie and now I feel a bit embarrassed to give it to her with such talent in the room.”

  “I noticed the package,” I said. “What’s in it?” I pulled Carrie away from the quilt. “Oliver has something for you,” I said.

  Oliver blushed a little, then handed her the box. Carrie unwrapped it and took out a framed sketch of a woman looking into the distance, a coffee cup in her hand.

  “Oh my God,” Carrie said. “You can’t possibly give this to me.”

  “I drew it for you,” Oliver said. “I’m kissing up to Eleanor’s friends so they’ll like having me around.”

  “Well, it’s working.” Carrie kissed Oliver on the cheek then rushed off to show the others.

  “An Oliver White sketch is worth a couple thousand dollars,” I said to him.

  “Eleanor’s worth more than that.”

  At that Kennette burst into tears and disappeared into the ladies’ room.

  “Should you see if she’s okay?” an alarmed Oliver asked.

  “She’ll be fine,” I said. I had something more important to do than comfort Kennette’s broken crush. “Do you want some coffee or something?”

  “Lovely.”

  “If you need to grab a cigarette, I’ll bring it out to you,” I offered.

  I watched Oliver exit the shop as Carrie made two cappuccinos. All she could talk about was Oliver’s generous gift, which was already hanging behind the cash register.

  “Maybe we should just let things be,” she whispered to me. “He really is such a nice man. He couldn’t be the killer.”

  “You’re easily bought,” I said, and grabbed the two coffees.

  “Here’s to you and my grandmother,” I toasted as soon as I walked outside.

  “I’ll drink to
that.” Oliver took a long sip of his coffee and smiled. “I wasn’t sure that you liked the idea very much.”

  “I want her to be happy,” I said. “And I think you make her happy.”

  “It’s strange at this point in my life to be feeling like a schoolboy,” he said, smiling, “but at least now I have the common sense not to let anything stand in the way of love.”

  “I guess I could use some of that.”

  “He’s a good man, your Jesse,” Oliver said. “But I sense he likes structure and stability. He just needs to get used to having someone with your spirit in his life.”

  “I get the sense he’d prefer it I let go of some of that spirit,” I admitted.

  “Don’t. Don’t change that, Nell. Not for Jesse, not for anyone. It is what makes you such an interesting and talented artist.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise at the compliment. “Thanks, Oliver,” I said softly. “I feel so privileged to have been taught by some of the best artists around, you included.”

  I looked through the window and saw the women in the quilt club laughing and enjoying the party.

  “Oliver, we need you inside for a photo with the local press,” said Carrie, popping her head out the door. Oliver dropped his cigarette on the ground and went inside. I hesitated for a moment, then picked up the cigarette, extinguished it, and put it into the plastic bag I’d brought along just in case. I dropped the bag into my coat pocket. I felt bad about it, but I told myself it was the only way I would know the truth.

  “What are you doing out here?” Jesse opened the door.

  “I was talking to Oliver,” I said quickly. I wasn’t sure if he had seen me grab the cigarette, but if he didn’t say anything about it, I wasn’t going to. “It’s freezing out here.”

  Jesse grabbed my hand and led me inside. We found a spot near the back and sat. We held hands and looked around as the place filled up, but it was clear we were both struggling to think of something to say.

  “The mural is great.” Jesse smiled.

  “You said that, you know.”

  “I know. I just think anything I say will get us into trouble.”

  “You can ask about school.”

  “But that leads to Oliver and the investigation. So does a discussion of your grandmother or my job or pretty much anything,” he said.

  “So then, you like the mural.” I laughed.

  Jesse leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I get that maybe I overreacted a little. I still think you were wrong, and I think you should really stay out of things that are dangerous.”

  I found myself ready for another fight. I let go of his hand. “Are you apologizing or telling me off again?” I asked.

  “Sorry. I’m . . .” He paused. “I’m not doing either, really. I’m just hoping that maybe we can figure out a way to get things back on track now that we both admit to being wrong.”

  I hesitated. It wasn’t my intention, but I guess I had admitted to being wrong. I nodded and rested my head on his shoulder. The evening was turning out to be far better than I’d even hoped. And better than Carrie had hoped. The place was getting crowded. People seemed to be enjoying the party and to be impressed with all the hard work she had put into the shop. I could see Oliver and Eleanor standing with Bernie near the front. Natalie was helping Carrie pour coffee. Susanne was helping Carrie’s husband hang the quilt. And Maggie was looking around the room. I caught her eye and she smiled, then nodded toward the ladies’ room.

  “Excuse me for a second,” I said to Jesse.

  I followed Maggie toward the bathroom and we ducked inside. There was a pile of crumpled tissues on the sink that I assumed belonged to Kennette, but she was nowhere in sight.

  “I brought you something,” Maggie said, handing me a slip of paper. “It’s Violet’s phone number in Canada.”

  “How did you get this?”

  “I tried to find her through normal channels, you know, directories and Internet searches and a people-finding group, but they all came up empty. So I got it from Jesse.”

  “He gave you Violet’s phone number?”

  “Not gave. Not exactly. But I figured if Susanne could steal stationery, then I could steal this.” Maggie took a breath. It was clear she was very excited and wanted to tell the story without leaving anything out. “We were in his office, having a nice chat. I saw files on his desk with Sandra’s and Lily’s names on them. I asked him to get me a cup of tea, and then I rifled through his desk.”

  “And he didn’t catch you?” I had inspired quite a crime wave in my fellow quilters.

  “No. But I don’t think we’ll need it. Jesse knows,” Maggie said. “He knows who the killer is.”

  “He does?” I was shocked. “Who is it?”

  “He wouldn’t say. What he would say was that he believes he can bring the right person to justice soon.”

  “When did he say that?” I was just sitting with him. Why hadn’t he told me that the case was nearly solved?

  “I went to see him this afternoon. I told him I was worried about you and Kennette and Natalie and all the young women in town. And he told me that I had no reason to worry. None of you were in danger.”

  “But he didn’t say he knew who it was.” I got the feeling Jesse was just reassuring a worried citizen.

  “No.” She smiled. “But it was the way he said it. He knows the killer isn’t attacking random women. He knows the murders are connected. I think he’s closing in.”

  I wanted to be relieved. I could just sit back and wait until Jesse wrapped up the case and then the biggest obstacle to our romance would be removed.

  And yet I knew I’d be unable to do it.

  CHAPTER 42

  “You will testify that this belonged to Oliver,” Powell said as he put the cigarette butt into an evidence envelope.

  “Yes, if it links Oliver to Lily,” I agreed. It had been less than twelve hours since I’d confiscated some of Oliver’s DNA, and yet I’d changed my mind about turning it in a dozen times. Finally handing it over in Powell’s office should have made me feel better, but it only filled me with the feeling that I was somehow betraying my grandmother.

  “I’ll call in a favor and get the DNA processed right away,” Powell said. “If Oliver’s not related, then we’re back to square one, but at least you’ll be relieved. I didn’t realize you liked the guy so much.”

  “You mean the other night?”

  “That was quite a glowing review.”

  “It was for Kennette’s sake. I don’t want her telling my grandmother I have doubts about him.”

  Powell nodded. “Well here’s hoping for her sake that this cigarette removes any motive Oliver had for Lily’s murder.”

  “But if it’s not Oliver, then who is it? Do you have any idea?” I was thinking that if Jesse really was close, then he must have shared his thoughts with Chief Powell.

  But Powell shrugged. “We have DNA evidence so we’ll see where it leads. After that, I don’t know.”

  I nodded as if I believed he were right, but I suspected that he wasn’t sharing the whole truth with me. That was fine, because I was holding back from him too.

  I walked out of the police station and headed for my car. I wasn’t going anywhere, but it was the only place I could find that would give me the privacy I needed. As soon as I closed the door, I dialed my phone.

  It rang. And rang again. I didn’t want to leave a message but was beginning to think I’d have no choice when a woman finally answered.

  “Violet Kelly?” I asked.

  “No, she’s sleeping,” a friendly woman said. “This is her daughter. Can I help you?”

  “This is Rachel?”

  “Who is this?”

  I had two options, mentioning her daughter and finding out if she knew her child was dead, or mentioning her father. Either way was a minefield.

  “Do you know who Oliver White is?” I asked.

  “Are you from the police?”

  “You’ve talked to
police?” I asked.

  “Why? Who are you?”

  “I’m . . .” I hesitated just long enough to sense a change on the other end of the phone.

  “Are you a friend of his or something?” Her tone had turned hostile. “Look, if you are a friend of his, tell him I will never forgive him for what he did to my mother, or to my daughter.”

  And then she hung up.

  I sat back in the car. I was sure now. Jesse was convinced Oliver was the killer. Powell seemed to be as well. In fact it seemed obvious.

  Except I kept coming back to something Oliver said to me in class: “Let yourself be wrong.” Something about Oliver being the killer felt too easy. Or maybe it was just that as I got to know Oliver and saw the effect he had on my grandmother, I wanted to be wrong.

  When I walked into class on Thursday, I watched Oliver unpack a box of small wooden figures. He was so friendly and relaxed and seemed to genuinely enjoy talking with the students. Gone were the pretentious speeches of the early classes. Now he had gotten to know everyone by name and was as much a cheerleader as teacher, seeing something to praise in everyone’s work. When I forgot about all that was happening outside of the studio, this was my favorite class.

  “Since quite a lot of you seemed to feel intimidated by our live model, I’ve decided to take a step back and introduce you to these,” Oliver said as he held up one of the wooden figures. “They are a tried-and-true way to practice drawing the human figure in poses. Not as much fun as the real thing, but this way we can focus on proportion without getting hung up on nudity. You’ll each get one, and you will use it to draw three poses, focusing on the basic human form. No need for great artistry here, just technique. For those of you who cannot avoid great artistry, feel free to embellish.”

  As he said it, his eyes went to the easel behind mine, where Kennette usually worked, and I realized Kennette wasn’t there. She had been making her self scarce in the couple of days since Carrie’s café had opened. I hadn’t been able to find her when it was time to drive to school, but I assumed she’d get the bus. It had never occurred to me that without me to give her a ride she wouldn’t come to class, and I felt horribly guilty about it.