Lie of the Needle (A Deadly Notions Mystery)

by Cate Price

  Together they hung a Rising Sun patchwork quilt from Lancaster County in the bare space on the wall where another had just sold. I sat in my chair and folded some linen tea towels and a pair of hand-embroidered floral silk curtain panels.

  “Everything looks great, guys. Thanks so much.” Now that I’d sucked down some caffeine and gobbled one of the bars, I did feel a bit more like myself. “So, how was your date the other night, Eleanor?”

  “What’s this?” Martha planted her hands on her hips. “A date? With whom, may I ask?”

  I grinned. “Tony Z and Eleanor, sitting in a tree. Actually, it wasn’t a tree, but a very romantic horse-drawn sleigh.”

  “Really?”

  Eleanor shrugged as if it was no big deal, although her mouth curved in a self-satisfied smile. “As you said, at our age, what are we waiting for?”

  “Did he kiss you good night?” Martha demanded.

  “Yes, he did. It was a very good one, as a matter of fact.”

  I was about to press for more details, but the doorbell jangled, and I set my coffee down with a sigh, ready to wait on a customer.

  Serrano strode into the store, looking especially dashing in his weathered black leather jacket and jeans. His eyes lit up at the sight of the shortbread bars, and if I thought Martha had fussed over me, it was nothing compared to the way she hovered over the detective.

  At this rate, there wouldn’t be many treats left for any customers, but I didn’t mind. I was more concerned about how I could stash some away for myself.

  “Ladies, I missed you,” he said.

  “The feeling is mutual, Detective,” Eleanor murmured.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked.

  Martha heaved a sigh. “Well, there’s still no sign of my dear Cyril. Although it’s funny; when I was working at the soup kitchen the other day, I could have sworn I saw someone who looked exactly like him.”

  Eleanor and I exchanged glances.

  “But it was probably just a hallucination, brought on by so much stress. I must admit I do enjoy helping those poor people, but it will be a blue, blue Christmas this year. Oh, and the gala. I don’t suppose I’ll be able to attend now. I’m so sorry about all the work you put into fixing the gown for me, Eleanor.”

  Eleanor licked the caramel out of the side of her shortbread bar. “I could go with you. I could be your date. I have a nice dinner jacket.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re too short. Never mind the wrong sex.”

  “Ah, yes, but sometimes when sex is wrong, it can be so right.” Eleanor winked at Serrano, who cleared his throat.

  “I would be honored to take you to the ball, Martha,” he offered.

  She beamed at him. “Now that’s more like it. But I wouldn’t feel right going with anyone other than my dear Cyril. Thank you for offering, though, Detective. It was very gallant of you. “

  I narrowed my eyes as I observed Serrano in action. I thought I was starting to figure him out. He went for the unattainable, like Patsy, who wasn’t interested in him, or the safe option, like Eleanor or Martha, knowing that nothing romantic would ever happen.

  “Patsy found a house,” I said, watching carefully for his reaction.

  “Yeah, uh, I heard. I’m going to help with the move.”

  Martha gasped. “We must plan a celebration for her. Sort of a combo Christmas and housewarming party. I’ll take care of everything. I need to surround myself with friends at this sad time in my life.”

  My phone beeped with a text, and I struggled out of the chair to grab my cell phone off the counter. It was a photo from PJ. I enlarged it to see a scene outside a mine shaft. I recognized the imposing figure standing in the foreground, captioned here as Randall Willensky, foreman of the Bonny Castle Mine.

  Three seconds later, the phone rang.

  “You’re never going to believe this.” PJ sounded like she’d been living on nothing but coffee and cigarettes for days. “See that photo? It wasn’t in the newspapers, or on the Internet. Found a journalist here who had the image in his computer files. There was a bad accident at the local mine, and the foreman was blamed for negligence and run out of town. Did ya recognize the dude?”

  “Yes, it’s Randy, Beau Cassell’s new foreman.” I clicked the phone on speaker so everyone could hear. “I read about that mine accident, but I never knew Randy’s last name and there were no pictures of him, so I didn’t put two and two together.”

  I quickly told PJ and the trio in my store about my encounters with Randy Willensky outside the zoning meeting and again at the town hall, but as I did, I realized that Beau Cassell had always referred to his foreman as “little.” The old man from the development had called him a pip-squeak, too.

  “But I’ve seen Randy up close, and no one would describe him as small. He’s not Beau Cassell’s foreman after all, is he? But why would Frank Fowler lie about who he is? What the heck is going on?”

  Serrano didn’t comment, but I could tell he was taking it all in.

  “I might have the answer to that,” came PJ’s rasp. “According to local gossip, the owner of the mine had a real wild child daughter called Mandy who disappeared right after she turned sixteen. I’ve seen an old photo, and I’d be willing to bet any money it’s Nancy Fowler, even though she’s changed her name and her hair color. Her criminal record was expunged because she was under eighteen, but it wouldn’t contain the kind of details she’d want made public, especially when running for higher office. I’m not just talking pots and pans here, if you catch my drift, but some serious shit.”

  Martha raised her hands in puzzlement. “Pots and pans?”

  “You know, grass, weed, reefer, herb,” Eleanor explained, although Martha still looked a little confused.

  PJ chuckled. “And a DUI, shoplifting, you name it, this chick did it all before she was even out of her teens. In a small town like this, people have long memories. Buy ’em a shot and a beer and they remember a lot.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “So Willensky has tracked Nancy down, perhaps to blackmail her about keeping the story quiet? It certainly wouldn’t look good for the future governor to be exposed as a former drugged-up alcoholic criminal.”

  I remembered how protective Frank was of Nancy. What a magnificent woman she is. I’d do anything to protect her, you know.

  Outside the town hall after the zoning meeting, Randy had been saying to Fowler that he owed him. I’d assumed it was something to do with Cassell and the land, but perhaps it was for extortion payments.

  “Oh my God, did Frank try to get rid of his blackmailer, only to run down the wrong person?” I exclaimed. “Althea’s very tall for a woman, and she wore a man’s hat most of the time. Both Randy and she wore long black down coats. They may have looked the same from the back.”

  “She was probably a dead ringer for him,” Eleanor said.

  PJ snickered on the other end of the line.

  I tried to keep a straight face as I scolded Eleanor. “That’s very inappropriate. And PJ? Good work. Now come on home. But drive carefully.”

  After I hung up, Serrano said he was going to bring Fowler in for questioning, Eleanor mumbled something about opening her store, and Martha wrapped her coat around herself and said she had a slew of errands to run. I reminded them about the meeting that night, and urged them to try to drum up as much support as possible.

  I made as many phone calls as I could between customers, although I reached a lot of answering machines and voice mail systems.

  A couple of hours later, Serrano called. “Yeah, so I brought Frank Fowler in. It didn’t take long to crack him. He’s confessed that he was the one who ran Althea down, mistaking her for the guy who was blackmailing him and his wife.”

  “Ah! So I was right!”

  “Daisy, you know, a broken watch is right at least once a day.”

 
; “Jeez, Serrano, give me a little credit. What’s going to happen to Fowler?”

  “He’s under arrest. Felony hit-and-run, plus attempted murder, even though he hit the wrong person, the gavoon. He’d better be praying that Althea Gunn doesn’t snuff it. It doesn’t look like the old bird is ever going to wake up, though, and chances are she’ll be brain damaged if she ever does.”

  “Poor Althea. What about her cat?”

  “I stopped by his foster home to see him the other day. He’s as fat and happy as ever.”

  Seeing as Serrano was on the phone and not standing in front of me, I didn’t have to hide my smile. I’d always known there was a soft heart under that tough-guy bravado.

  “So that solves the question of the hit-and-run, but who killed Roos? Did Frank think Roos had uncovered Nancy’s past and was going to blackmail him, too?”

  “Who the hell knows, but the Fowlers were at a political event that night after the funeral. They didn’t leave until well after midnight, and then a driver took them home, so they’re in the clear for that one. Sounds like Fowler’s shelled out a fortune to Willensky already. I’d like to bring that son of a bitch in, too, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Was Frank doing favors for Beau Cassell to come up with the money to pay off Willensky? There’s another zoning meeting tonight, and I have a suspicion that Fowler is working behind the scenes to help our sleazy builder.”

  Serrano sighed. A deep sigh. “I was so sure that Cassell was our guy, but he has an alibi. After I saw those pictures, I had a chat with Sally McIntire. Forensics think that the photographer was killed somewhere between 10 p.m. and midnight, at which point Cassell was apparently banging Sally. His prints are all over the tool chest and the truck, but then again, it’s his truck.

  “And Daisy, there’s something else. We managed to get a couple of prints off the rope in the tool chest. They’re a match for Althea Gunn. And there was a green woman’s sweater in the cab. I still can’t figure out how she could have hauled a full-grown man into an attic, though.”

  “Don’t lose hope, Detective. You’ll figure it out.”

  Serrano gave a glum chuckle. “Yeah, just like you, Ms. Buchanan, I never give up.”

  * * *

  After work, I closed up the shop and headed over to Doylestown Hospital. I would be cutting it close to get to the zoning meeting in time, but I couldn’t wait.

  Althea had been moved out of intensive care and was in a private room. As nice as it was, there was still that weird smell that hospitals have, of disinfectant, of food left sitting out on trays, of desperation, sickness, and fear.

  I stared down at the patient, who had been a tall, thin woman before, but was now incredibly gaunt, with a gray cast to her skin. She was hooked up to a mass of monitors, and her heartbeat was steady, but I wondered what was going on in that brain, if anything.

  I set the vase of flowers I’d brought on the table next to her. There were no other cards or flowers, or any sign that anyone else had been to visit. I sat down at her bedside, and for the next half hour, I talked. I told her that her cat was fine and well–cared for and not to worry about him. I told her about finding the sampler at her house, and that I knew her secret, and it was okay.

  Suddenly her eyelids flickered. An expression of abject horror spread across her face.

  “Gah! No, tell me it isn’t so.” She squinted at me, as if trying to block out a horrible vision. “Save me, oh my Lord, save me from the depths of hell!”

  “Jeez, Althea, it’s me. Daisy Buchanan.”

  She moaned.

  “You’re not in the Devil’s Kingdom. You’re actually in Doylestown Hospital, in rather a nice room.”

  I rang for the nurse, who rushed in and checked her vital signs. When she was satisfied that Althea was stable, she hurried out again, saying she was going to page the doctor.

  “Althea, did you hear any of what I said just now?”

  She looked confused, so I decided to take it slowly from the beginning. I had no idea how much time I had before the doctor showed up and asked me to leave, and I knew I was pushing it with a woman who had just awakened from a coma, but this was important.

  “I have to ask you some questions. Please think carefully.” Or as much as you can. “Did you take Beau Cassell’s truck the night that Alex Roos was murdered?”

  She nodded slowly. “We had to move a piano for the church. Beau let me borrow his truck, but I returned it to the site that night.” Her voice was dry and cracked, and I poured her a glass of water, helping her to drink a little.

  “Did you pick up Alex Roos on the road outside the pub?”

  “Yes, I—ah—I needed to talk to him about something.”

  “The sampler?” I asked gently.

  She looked at me again with fear in her eyes.

  “It’s all right, Althea. I know your family history. It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

  She sighed. “Roos came here to write a book. The biggest story of his life. One that would have destroyed mine.”

  She fell silent, and while patience wasn’t my strong suit, I waited for her to talk.

  “Can I tell you how many nights I’ve woken up in a cold sweat? All those poor, wretched people that Otto Gunther chased down and brought back to a life of misery? They call to me in the dark, Daisy, begging me to save them, but I can’t.”

  I stared at her. She had always seemed like such a formidable woman. Here, in this hospital bed, I saw the real, vulnerable Althea, who cared deeply about others and had suffered for the sins of her forefathers.

  “Roos’s ancestor was a slave,” she said in a tortured whisper. “He escaped to this area, but was captured and killed. I’m not sure, but it may have been my ancestor who tracked him down. Otto Gunther performed some unspeakable acts, and if he was the one who got to him, I expect he was the one who did the killing. I can’t bear to think about it. I’m so ashamed to be related to that monster.”

  “But Alex Roos didn’t look black.” Even as I said it, I realized how stupid I sounded. What I’d thought was a permanent tan was probably his natural skin tone.

  “This was generations ago, Daisy.” Her voice was getting weary, and I glanced at the doorway. No one was coming yet, but I knew I was running out of time.

  “So then you had to kill him to stop him from writing the book?”

  “No!” She tried to sit up in bed, but fell back against the pillows. “I tried to reason with Alex when I dropped him off at the carriage house, but he was set on telling the story of his family. So I stopped in at the shivah for a few minutes. Then I took the truck back to the construction site, and Grace met me there and gave me a ride home. But I didn’t kill him, I swear. You have to believe me!”

  “What time did Grace pick you up?”

  “I think around 8 p.m.”

  If Roos was killed at midnight, then she wasn’t the culprit. But who was? I’d run out of suspects without alibis. “Why on earth didn’t you say something earlier about giving Roos a ride?”

  “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself and the reason I wanted to talk to him. Also, I’d forgotten the rope that we used to secure the piano. I’d left it in the tool chest, and I was worried that it might incriminate me. That detective is too smart, and you’re not too bad yourself.” A tear ran down her thin face and slipped onto the pillow. “Oh, Daisy, I’ve been so ashamed.”

  “Althea.” I gently took her hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We can’t help our histories. All we can do is live in the present and try to make that the best it can be. And you’ve been wonderful, with your work for the church and your generosity to so many charities. I think it might be time to forgive. Yourself, especially.”

  I had an inkling that there was another reason she hadn’t said anything before. “Were you also worried that Be
au had something to do with it?”

  She nodded, murmured something about cigar smoke, and then she closed her eyes and apparently fell asleep.

  A tapping noise sounded down the corridor, and I turned to see Grace Vreeland hobbling into the room, a cast on her foot. “Daisy! What are you doing here? I just got back from Florida, and the nurse told me Althea woke up?”

  She stared down at her cousin, who was out cold. I stood up so that Grace could take my chair.

  “Yes, and she was talking normally. I’m no doctor, but I’d say she’s going to be fine.”

  “Oh, praise the Lord!”

  “Grace, I have to ask you something very important. Can you confirm that Althea borrowed Cassell’s truck with his permission? And that at eight o’clock you gave her a ride home from the construction site after she dropped it off?”

  “Yes. I told her I’d give her a ride, but that I’d need to be home in time to watch Law & Order. What’s this all about?”

  “Just wondering if Althea has been protecting Beau Cassell in some way.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. She thought the sun shone out of that man. She worked her butt off for him, but he never appreciated it and paid her peanuts. She’d be cooped up in that little trailer, bundled up in that old green sweater every day, freezing to death. I always told her to get another job, but she said she loved her ‘career.’ Humph. Some career.”

  Seeing as Grace was Althea’s cousin, the story of Gunther the slave catcher was part of her family history, too. I’d hazard a guess that she didn’t know about it, but I could save the telling of the tale for another day.

  I said good-bye to Grace and hurried down the shiny tile hallway back out to the parking lot. Althea wasn’t the killer, I was sure of it now. I called Serrano again as I got into my car.

  “I got it all wrong, and you were right.” I quickly explained about her having permission to borrow the truck. “I bet it’s Beau who killed Roos. I know he has an alibi, but I’m certain it’s him.”