The Lover's Knot

by Clare O'Donohue

  I was sure that Ryan would tell the same story to Jesse he’d told me last night, but I wanted to hear it again. It was clear, though, that Jesse wasn’t going to start asking questions while I was in the room.

  I walked out into the hallway. Jesse closed the door behind me. As much as I wanted to lean against the wall and listen in, I knew it wasn’t right. Besides, in old houses like this one, the walls are thick. When I tried, all I could hear were indecipherable mutters.

  I went to the kitchen to consult with Eleanor.

  CHAPTER 25

  “You won’t believe what he’s doing upstairs,” I said to my grandmother as I walked into the kitchen. She was at the sink, balancing on one crutch and washing ink off her hands. “You too?”

  “Me too, what?”

  “He took your fingerprints. You don’t think that’s a little ridiculous?”

  “He’s conducting an investigation. He’s trying to see whose fingerprints were on the scissors.”

  “Everyone’s fingerprints were on the scissors,” I spat out, but I knew that wasn’t true. Mine were, as were my grandmother’s, Nancy’s and probably the entire quilt club. But Ryan’s fingerprints shouldn’t be there. As far as I knew he had never even been inside the shop. “What do you know about that cop, Jesse?”

  “A little. He’s a local boy. Went to New York and became a cop, got married and had little Allison. Then his wife got sick and they came back to town. She died about two years ago.”

  “That’s not a little. You know his life story.”

  She shrugged. “Why are you interested?”

  “He’s questioning Ryan.” I plopped down at the kitchen table.

  She nodded. “Ryan didn’t do anything wrong, so there’s no reason to worry.” She said it with certainty and a touch of reproach.

  I paused and then asked the question I’d wanted to ask her since last night. “How do you know?”

  Eleanor considered it for a moment, then said firmly, “It was in his eyes. And his voice. Everything. I’m not an expert on people, but I’ve lived awhile, and Ryan was genuinely surprised when I said Marc had been stabbed.” She hobbled back to the kitchen table and with some difficulty sat down and rested her injured leg on a chair. “Didn’t you think he was surprised?”

  I sat back. “I guess I was too freaked out to pay close attention,” I admitted.

  “Well, you have so many emotions mixed up with Ryan and Marc that it would be hard to see it objectively.”

  I nodded. She was right, I decided. I would feel better when Ryan went back to New York and I could sort out my feelings— and mourn Marc—without him.

  Eleanor grabbed a pile of red fabrics that lay on the table in front of her. Slowly and with annoying patience, she began neatly folding them into triangles. With nothing else to do, I grabbed a piece of red fabric and copied her. We sat in silence, waiting for movement from upstairs. At least I was waiting. My grandmother seemed content to fold.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, suddenly impatient with the silence.

  “Folding fat quarters.” Without waiting for me to ask the next, obvious question, she continued. “Fabric comes forty-four inches wide, standard. If you get a yard, you get a piece that’s forty-four inches wide and thirty-six inches long. If you get a quarter yard, then you get a piece that’s forty-four inches wide and nine inches long.”

  “These aren’t forty-four inches wide.”

  “No, they’re not,” she said slowly as if I were a not-too-bright child. “A quarter yard of fabric is useful, but it has its limitations. If you only need a little fabric, but you need something longer than nine inches, you get a fat quarter, which is twenty-two inches, half the length of a normal quarter, and eighteen inches, twice the length.”

  “Why not just buy a half yard?”

  “Because you don’t need a half yard.”

  “But the shop would sell more fabric that way.”

  Eleanor moved my pile of folded fabric and replaced it with unfolded rectangles. “When we reopen, let Nancy run things.” She patted my hand and smiled.

  Two sets of boots could be heard walking down the stairs, but only one person came into the kitchen.

  “Can I talk to you now?” Jesse’s tone was still flat but it was clear that he wasn’t asking me a question.

  “I guess,” I said and left my pile of red fabrics. “What do you want to know?”

  “How about a walk?” Jesse seemed determined to take each of us out of earshot of the other.

  We walked outside without speaking, crunching the leaves underneath our feet. I had nothing to hide, but I was unnerved anyway.

  “Ask me,” I quietly demanded after a minute or so of silence had passed. I couldn’t take his patience, his quiet demeanor anymore.

  “Ask you what?”

  “If I killed Marc.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I know I didn’t,” I said immediately, then stopped and turned to him, realizing what he’d said, but his caramel eyes betrayed nothing. “How do you know I didn’t kill Marc?”

  “The coroner puts his time of death at around six p.m. You were with your grandmother at that time,” he said with a slight smile. “And Eleanor wouldn’t lie about that, even for you.” His eyes stared directly into mine. “Besides, you had no motive to kill him. You didn’t know him well enough.”

  If he was being sarcastic, I couldn’t tell. “All right, what is it that I’m missing about Marc? Everyone in town seems to know something about him that I don’t.”

  Jesse was looking straight at me, his voice calm and even. But I was struggling to stay composed. “Did your fiancé ever explain why he punched Marc?” he asked.

  “Over me,” I said quickly, but I realized I’d never asked Ryan exactly why a normally nonviolent man had gotten into two fights in the same day. “No, he didn’t tell me.” I felt exhausted by my confusion. “Why did he?”

  “Marc apparently made some comments about you.”

  “So what?”

  Jesse hesitated, clearly unsure of how much he should tell me. “About how Ryan had gotten you primed for Marc to go in for the kill.” Jesse hesitated again and looked back toward the house. He took a breath and finished his thought. “Marc liked women who were vulnerable.”

  “You keep using that word. What do you mean exactly?”

  He nodded. “He helped himself to their affections . . . and to their bank accounts.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “I have a hundred and forty eight dollars in my bank account,” I stammered.

  “You have access to the shop. And to the house. And what’s in it.”

  I wanted to laugh. I wanted it to be a joke, but Jesse didn’t seem like a guy who would joke about such things. All I could do was stand there.

  “I’m not saying he was only interested in getting his hands on Eleanor’s stuff,” he said quickly, “although I’m sure it crossed his mind. But Marc liked to play all angles. Maybe he thought he could get some money out of your grandmother if he left you alone. Or maybe he thought there was something valuable in the shop he could take if he had access to the place without your grandmother being here.”

  “And I’m that much of a sucker? Some guy smiles at me and I give him the keys to the place?” I said the words as sarcastically as I could, but as I was asking Jesse, I was also asking myself.

  “Marc didn’t go after just anyone.” Jesse moved closer, a look of concern on his face.

  “Just the really stupid ones.”

  “No. Smart, actually. He liked his women smart. He was a bit of a con artist, but he had good taste.”

  I knew he was trying to give me a silver lining for my cloud, but it seemed like insult upon insult. A smart woman would have seen through the flattery and puppy dog eyes.

  “Maybe,” I said, “one of the other . . . women found him at the shop.”

  “Maybe.” He locked his eyes on mine, but they revealed nothing. “It’s too early to tell.”


  “Officer Dewalt, you don’t think Ryan killed Marc, do you?”

  “It’s Jesse.”

  “Okay, Jesse, do you think Ryan killed Marc?”

  Jesse looked down at the ground, moving his boot in a circle in the dirt. It took only seconds for him to look up again, but it felt like hours.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “he had motive and opportunity. But I don’t know yet what that really means.” His eyes met mine but offered nothing but a slight amount of sympathy. “Do you think Ryan killed Marc?” he asked flatly.

  I knew if I opened my mouth the words “I don’t know” would have come out, so I slowly moved my head from left to right and back again. If I could get Jesse to believe Ryan wasn’t hiding anything, maybe I could believe it myself.

  CHAPTER 26

  Ryan and Eleanor were huddled together at the kitchen table, deep in discussion, when Jesse and I came back inside. Eleanor had her broken leg up on one of the chairs and Ryan was eanor had her broken leg up on one of the chairs and Ryan was adjusting a red and white quilt over her. The pattern looked exactly like its name, a bowtie.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  Eleanor looked up as if she had been caught doing something wrong. “Fine,” she said stiffly. “Just waiting for you.”

  I looked at Jesse to see if he noticed the chill in the air, but he was looking through his wallet. He took out a piece of paper and put it on the table in front of Eleanor.

  “That’s a guy over in Nyack who does great remodeling work. He can probably start for you as soon as we’re finished at the shop.”

  Eleanor studied the name on the paper. “Doesn’t your brother-in-law do remodeling work in Nyack?”

  “Yes, that’s my brother-in-law . . . my ex-brother-in-law, I guess. He’s a good worker.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for this. I’ll give him a call.”

  Jesse turned his attention to Ryan. “You’ll be available if I have any questions?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Here?” I said.

  “He’s staying with us for a few days,” Eleanor said.

  “In the house?” I said, now very confused.

  “Your grandmother suggested I stay while this gets straightened out.”

  “Why? Jesse can always call you in New York if he has questions. ” I looked to Jesse for confirmation.

  “Absolutely,” he jumped in. “As long as you’re available at the number you gave me in New York, I can call with any questions. I’m sure you have to get back to work on Monday.”

  “It’s fine,” said Ryan, a little too insistently. “I can take a few days off to help around here and answer any questions you have.”

  “But . . . ,” I started.

  My grandmother shifted in her seat. We had been talking over her head and it was clear she was making her presence known. “It’s settled. It’s my house and I’ve invited Ryan to spend a few days, which he agreed to.”

  She had spoken with the finality of a mother to her wayward toddlers. All three of us stood silent—unable to compete with her authority. Both Jesse and Ryan were looking to the floor, and I clenched my jaw and literally pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t say anything I would regret in front of Jesse.

  Eleanor just straightened the quilt on her lap and waited for one of us to challenge her. Finally, Jesse spoke.

  “I need your prints, Nell,” he said quietly, with a hint of apology in his voice.

  I rolled up my sleeves, pressed my fingers one by one into the black ink and with Jesse guiding my hand, rolled each finger onto a blank piece of paper.

  “I guess that’s it, then,” Jesse said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “There was a quilt next to Marc’s body,” Eleanor said. “When can I get it back?”

  “I don’t know,” Jesse said. “It had some blood on it. We’ll need to keep it as evidence. Is it valuable?”

  Eleanor shrugged. I knew that she was speaking of Grace’s quilt, and I knew to my grandmother it was priceless. “Bring it back when you can,” she said.

  Ryan shifted his feet and looked up.

  “I’ll walk you out,” he said to Jesse.

  Jesse took the cue, nodding good-bye and walking toward the front door with Ryan.

  Now that we were alone, I unclenched my jaw. As I opened my mouth to yell something clever about meddling grandmothers, Eleanor moved her broken leg and made an exaggerated groan.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” she said as she adjusted in the chair and winced from pain. It was amazing how, now that I was angry, she was suddenly in more pain than she had been since the accident.

  “You didn’t have a choice,” I repeated. “Do you think I believe that?”

  “If you trust me, you do.”

  “If I trust you? To do what? Decide my life for me?” I was overreacting, and I knew it. But I couldn’t stop myself.

  Ryan stood in the doorway. “Nell,” he started.

  “No,” my voice cracked. “I don’t want to be manipulated by either of you anymore.” I pushed Ryan out of the way and ran upstairs.

  I slammed the door to the bedroom not once, but twice. I wanted to make sure that my grandmother got the point. I was well aware I was acting like a child, but Eleanor had to be equally aware she was treating me as one. It wasn’t just that Ryan’s presence was confusing, it was that my grandmother had decided for me that he should stay. I wanted her advice, not her interference.

  I flopped on the bed, wrapping my quilt tightly around me. Eleanor always behaved as if she knew what was best for me. I suddenly realized Ryan had done the same thing. He’d introduced me to restaurants and people and a life that would be better for me than the life I’d been creating. I went along with him. Wasn’t it time I decided what was best for me? I was willing to admit, but only to myself, that slamming doors wasn’t exactly the best way to announce I could handle things from now on. But after everything that had happened, I was in no mood for rational discourse.

  I could hear noises from downstairs, but I didn’t know what was going on, and I wasn’t about to venture out of the room to find out. I just lay on the bed with my quilt watching the sun outside.

  I wasn’t going to stay in the house, I decided. I needed space, and if Eleanor didn’t understand that, then she could have Ryan as a houseguest, but she would have to live without me. I grabbed my cell and dialed my last loyal friend.

  “Hey there, stranger,” Amanda answered in her usual bouncy way.

  “Can I sleep on your couch?”

  “Anytime,” she said immediately. “I thought you were staying at your grandmother’s.”

  “I was. But I can’t anymore.”

  I launched into a long and overly dramatic retelling of the events of the last twenty-four hours. How I kissed Marc. How Ryan showed up, fists flying. How Marc was found dead and I wasn’t sure if Ryan had something to do with it. How I needed time and space and support, and was getting none of it from my grandmother, who had become Ryan’s ally in the fight to win me back. If that was what Ryan was trying to do. I didn’t really know what Ryan was trying to do.

  “Do you want to get back together with Ryan?” Amanda interrupted.

  Good question. Until yesterday, I had assumed the answer was yes. But I had also assumed it wasn’t an option. But now with Ryan here, I wasn’t sure.

  “Do you think I should take him back?”

  Amanda was silent.

  “Are you still there?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking,” she finally said.

  “Should I play some Jeopardy! music while you come up with your answer?”

  “I think that Ryan hasn’t been fair to you, and you should think about what you really want. If what you want is Ryan, you know I’ll be behind you one hundred percent.”

  There it was, the coded warning of girlfriends everywhere: “If it’s what you want (translated: it’s a huge mistake) I’ll be there for you (translated: I’ll still listen to you whin
e about his faults, even though—to be clear—you are making a huge mistake).

  “I need time,” I said.

  “Then take it.” Amanda breathed heavily on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re the one person who doesn’t owe me an apology.”

  She didn’t respond.

  CHAPTER 27

  From the hallway, I could see that Eleanor was alone in the living room, propped on her bed.

  In the few hours I’d been upstairs, things in the house had gotten quiet. Ryan was nowhere to be found, so it seemed as good a time as any to have the talk. I stood just outside the door and watched Eleanor sew quietly while the news played in the background. She was working so intently she didn’t seem to notice me standing ten feet away. Barney was lying at the foot of the bed and the rest was covered with squares of pastel fabrics as Eleanor appliquéd animals on each square.

  After several minutes and without looking up, she barked, “Are you going to stand in the hall or are you coming in?”

  I walked into the room. “I’m the one who’s angry, not you, so lose the attitude,” I said with as much strength in my voice as I could muster.

  The slightest smile crept on my grandmother’s face. “You used to look just like that when you were three and I wouldn’t let you play outside by yourself.”

  “I’m mad at you,” I said, losing steam.

  “Why are you angry?” she asked innocently.

  I almost laughed. “Are you pretending to be senile?”

  Eleanor put down her sewing and gave me a long, hard stare. “I’m not sure I’m pretending.” She winked. “Nell, I’m sorry. You’re a grown woman and I obviously have no right to tell you or Ryan what to do. It’s just when you’ve lived as long as I have . . .”

  I plopped on the bed. “Not the ‘I’m older so I know more’ line.”

  She patted my hand. “No. It’s the ‘I’m older so I’ve made more mistakes’ line.”

  “You haven’t made any mistakes. You’ve survived. You’ve succeeded. You’re an example to women everywhere.”