The Lover's Knot

by Clare O'Donohue

  “Hey there,” he said and grabbed a nearby chair. “I thought you were all going back to Eleanor’s for the great quilt extravaganza.”

  “We ran from that,” Amanda said, smiling. “I’m Nell’s friend Amanda. I’m up for the day from New York.”

  “I’m Jesse.”

  “Like Jesse James. Are you an outlaw, Jesse?”

  It looked like he blushed a little.

  “What are you doing in a bar in the middle of the day?” I changed the subject.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

  “Drinking.” I held up the beer bottle as evidence. “But you don’t strike me as the kind of man who drinks in daylight or on duty.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a nonalcohol brew.”

  Amanda lifted her glass. “Well, here’s to hanging out in bars in the daytime, whatever you drink.” Jesse and I joined her toast, sipped our beers and stared at our glasses.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” Jesse cleared his throat and asked. “He hasn’t decided to go back to the city, has he?”

  “No. We ditched him at the house,” Amanda volunteered.

  Jesse shot me a surprised look. “I thought you two were back together. Judging by the looks of things in your room the other day.”

  I was embarrassed that Jesse knew Ryan had spent the night in my room. I was also aware of Amanda’s curious eyes boring into me.

  “Amanda and I wanted to talk, so we left him at the house where he is probably being fussed over by half a dozen women as we speak,” I said quickly, and once again looked for a new topic. “How’s the investigation going?”

  “We’ve sorted through the fingerprints on the scissors,” he said.

  “So do you know who killed Marc?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “No. Unless you, Eleanor, Nancy, Carrie and the others all killed Marc together. There are at least half a dozen partial prints on that thing.”

  “What about Ryan?” I asked and held my breath.

  “Nothing on the scissors, but there were a few prints too smudged to identify.”

  “But if his prints weren’t on the scissors that means . . . ,” I started.

  “It doesn’t mean anything. Nell, it’s not that simple. He isn’t—”

  I stopped him midsentence. “I get it. He’s not out of the running.”

  “No one is yet,” he said.

  “Not even Nell?” Amanda interrupted.

  “Why would you think I killed anyone?” I stammered.

  Amanda looked embarrassed. “I just thought if he suspected Ryan, he must suspect you. I’m sorry. I was completely off base.”

  “No, you weren’t,” came Jesse’s flat reply. “Obviously she was on the short list of suspects right at the beginning. She knew the victim, had something of a relationship with him, and had access to the shop.”

  “But I didn’t do it,” I jumped in.

  Jesse nodded. “She has a pretty good alibi.”

  “Thanks to Eleanor.” I smiled wryly. I decided to ask about one of my suspects. “Why did you jump all over Natalie today?”

  He stared at the table for a moment, then asked, “Want another beer?”

  Without answering my question, Jesse was up and headed toward the bar. As he was ordering, Ryan walked in.

  “Well, I guess we had the same idea,” he said, trying to sound casual.

  “Hey,” Amanda said. “Why don’t you join us?”

  “Thanks,” I muttered and shot her a look, but she was playing innocent. Ryan took Jesse’s chair and looked from me to Amanda. “So what were you guys talking about?”

  “Nothing,” I said sharply. “I told you I wanted some time alone with Amanda.”

  “You weren’t alone. You were drinking with that cop.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “We were talking about the grisly murder.” I wasn’t interested in explaining any further, so I went up to help Jesse with the drinks.

  Jesse took two beers and left me with two, but I lingered just for a moment. “I’m Nell,” I said to the bartender. “Were you working here Friday afternoon?”

  “I own the place,” he said warmly. “I’m here every night.”

  “There’s a guy sitting at my table . . .”

  “You mean the guy who isn’t Jesse.”

  “Yeah. Him. Was he here Friday afternoon?”

  The bartender leaned toward me. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  I could feel myself turning red. “Humor me. It doesn’t look like it gets too crowded in the middle of the day, so if he was here, you might remember him.”

  “I might,” he said, looking straight at Ryan. “Yeah, he was here. But if you’re going to ask me how long he stayed and what he drank and who he spoke to, I can’t tell you.” He hesitated for a moment. “But I remember he seemed kind of upset. I do remember he was on his cell, ’cause that irritates me. He kept telling someone he’d made a big mistake.”

  “Did he say what mistake?”

  “Not that I heard.”

  “Thanks,” I sighed. “Sorry to bother you.”

  The bartender smiled and shrugged and I turned back toward the table. I caught Jesse’s eye as I headed back.

  “Everything okay there?” he asked.

  “Perfect. I just had a question about the history of the bar,” I said as innocently as possible.

  Ryan had taken Jesse’s seat and Jesse was sitting on my side of the booth. Amanda had left plenty of room on her side for me to sit, but that would have put me next to Ryan. So I motioned for Jesse to get up and let me in on his side. Ryan took a long gulp and set his drink loudly on the table.

  “So are the three of you having fun?” Ryan asked.

  “Yes, actually,” I replied, trying to imitate Jesse’s flat, indifferent tone, but without much success.

  “Jesse has been filling us in on his hunt for the killer,” Amanda told him excitedly. “Apparently, everyone in town is a suspect.”

  “Everyone sure seemed to hate that guy,” Ryan said.

  “He was hated?” Amanda seemed fascinated by this new piece of information.

  Okay, I got it. No one liked him. No one but me. And apparently I was being played. Still, there’s a huge difference between wanting to kill someone and actually killing him. And killing him in my grandmother’s quilt shop—there was something about the location that seemed especially strange.

  “Okay, so he went around making enemies everywhere he went.” Amanda’s face lit up as she embellished what she knew, as if she were talking through the plot of a new movie, rather than the death of a real person. “So someone goes after him and knifes him?”

  “It was scissors,” Jesse corrected.

  “He was scissored, if that’s a word,” Ryan added.

  “Okay, so someone came into the shop and scissored him?” Amanda was playful now and Ryan seemed to be jumping in.

  “It was a real murder.” I admonished them both. “Someone is dead. It would be great if you could stop using that fact to entertain yourselves.”

  Amanda leaned back, looking chastised. Ryan just looked annoyed. But something in what Amanda had said stuck with me. Someone had come into the shop and scissored him. I leaned toward Jesse. “But why that night? Why in the quilt shop?”

  “What do you mean?” Jesse asked.

  “Why pick that particular night?”

  “Because he was in the shop alone?” Jesse suggested.

  I turned to face him. “Okay. But let’s say someone has had a problem with Marc for weeks, or months or years, or however long they’ve been building up to this moment. They must have gone to my grandmother’s shop to confront him, and things got out of hand and Marc ended up with scissors in his chest.”

  “So what?” interrupted Ryan. “Things got out of hand. That happens.”

  “But why that night?” I asked, more emphatically.

  “You think something happened that day to cause a confrontation? ” Jesse leaned toward me. “That makes sense
.”

  “Are we back to my having killed him?” Ryan demanded. “Is that where you’re going with this, Nell?”

  I ignored him. “I’m trying to think of anything that was different about Marc that day, and there wasn’t anything. He was in a good mood when I left him.”

  “You put him in a good mood,” Ryan snapped.

  Jesse turned his body fully toward mine, so we were now facing each other on our side of the booth. Amanda and Ryan were shut out, but I didn’t care, and it seemed, Jesse didn’t either.

  “He didn’t mention any plans he had, any meetings, jobs . . . anything that was coming up that day or that week?” Jesse asked me.

  “No,” I replied. “Except he said something about a doctor’s appointment. I don’t know what kind of appointment. But it was supposed to be on Thursday.”

  “Hold that thought.” Jesse picked up his cell phone and hit one button. “It’s Jesse,” he said into the phone. “Call the local doctors and Sacred Heart Hospital. Find out if Marc Reed had a doctor’s appointment with any of them for last Thursday. Call me back.” He hung up the phone and leaned back. “Let’s see if that gets us anywhere.”

  But when his phone rang five minutes later, it wasn’t with news about Marc. Someday Quilts had been broken into, and the officer on the scene was sure that the person was still inside.

  CHAPTER 33

  When we arrived at the shop all four of us were breathless from having run the two blocks, which didn’t say much about our level of fitness. But while Ryan and Amanda caught their breath, I followed Jesse to the door of the shop.

  Tom had done an excellent job of covering up the large picture window. I tried, but I couldn’t see anything that might be going on inside.

  “Nell, stay back,” Jesse directed, but I kept following. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. “I’m not kidding around,” he said angrily. “You don’t know who’s in there. You don’t know if they have a weapon.”

  “I’m not going to get hurt,” I snapped, annoyed that he was literally pushing me around.

  “Oh, yeah,” he snapped back. “If you take one step from here, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  I reluctantly stepped a few feet from the shop. Jesse went back to the officer standing at the door.

  “Any movement inside?” Jesse asked him.

  “None in the last few minutes,” said the young officer, who seemed young enough to have gone straight from a Boy Scout’s uniform to a cop’s.

  What were they waiting for, I wondered. My heart was beating a mile a minute. For the second time in a few days someone had turned my grandmother’s shop into a crime scene, and I was ready to kill whoever it was that had violated such a happy place.

  Ryan and Amanda walked toward me. While we waited, Ryan put one arm around me and the other around Amanda. She and I exchanged a look that said the same thing. As much as he annoyed me, I had to admit I did feel a little safer in his arms. But I didn’t want to feel safe. I wanted in that shop. I pulled away.

  Jesse moved for the door slowly, and as he did there was a noise from inside. He drew a gun that had been holstered under his sport coat. The minute I saw how comfortably the metal fit in his hands, I knew he was a real cop. Not a small-town bumbler happy to pick up the occasional drunk, but someone who could handle dangerous situations. Like this one was turning out to be.

  Jesse pointed his gun toward the door and signaled the young officer to open it. The cop turned the knob and pushed. The door opened, and for a split second I could see shock on Jesse’s face. Then a large hairy creature came running out of the shop and jumped on Jesse, knocking him to his knees. For maybe half a second my brain couldn’t process what I was seeing. Then I realized—it was Barney.

  The young officer pulled the dog off Jesse, who put away his gun, petted the dog and pointed him in my direction. Barney came running over with a goofy grin and a greeting that suggested he’d never been happier to see me.

  But I left him behind and walked over to Jesse, who had already taken a few steps into the shop.

  “There’s no one in here?” I started.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He turned to me. “Didn’t I tell you to stay back?”

  “Barney’s not part of some international crime ring.”

  “Well, he didn’t break into this place on his own,” Jesse whispered angrily, pushing me back, “so until I know who else is here, get out.”

  I moved back. Not out, but out-ish. Jesse started walking toward the stairs. As he did, we both heard footsteps coming up.

  Jesse pulled out his gun again just as Nancy came walking up with a large box. She saw Jesse and dropped it.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Jesse muttered, lowering his weapon. “What are you doing here?”

  “You gave me a horrible fright, Jesse Dewalt! Honestly, I’m not a young woman.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But this place is a crime scene. You aren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow afternoon.”

  Nancy’s eyes filled with tears. “We’re going to appliqué flowers on the border for the quilt. I had a pattern I’d made here in this box. I hadn’t had a chance to clean out the office.”

  “You had to get it today?” Jesse said through gritted teeth.

  “Eleanor wanted me to start on it tonight.”

  “You should have called me and asked me to let you in,” he said gently, though a hint of exasperation just made it into the tone of his voice.

  “You try saying no to Eleanor,” she sniffed. Then she looked around. “You’ve let that dog out. He’s doesn’t have the sense God gave a tree.”

  “He’s okay,” I said, stepping forward.

  “Please remind Eleanor that no one is allowed in here until I say so,” Jesse said. He leaned over, picked up the box Nancy had dropped and handed it to her. “You need a whole box for a quilt pattern?”

  “It’s not just one. There are lots of patterns, scraps of fabric, I don’t know,” Nancy stammered. “It seemed easier to take the whole box than search through it here.”

  “Can I look?”

  “If you like,” she said with an air of resignation. Then she opened the box for him to see.

  I watched Jesse lift out exactly what Nancy had described—bits of fabric, scraps of paper with patterns drawn on them, thread. Nothing suspicious or even interesting. He took out what looked to be a small photo album, and began flipping through it.

  “It’s a quilt journal,” she said. “I take pictures of each of my quilts.”

  “I didn’t realize you had made this many,” he commented.

  “I don’t have much else to do now that the boys are older,” she admitted and smiled down at the photos.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vanderberg.” Jesse closed up the box. “Just stay out of here until tomorrow, so we don’t accidentally shoot you.”

  “You tell Eleanor not to send me here again, and I won’t,” she said and headed for the door.

  Outside I could hear Nancy call for Barney, and I watched them as they passed the door on their way back to Eleanor’s house.

  “Well, that was, what do you call it, small-town fun,” Jesse sighed as he took a deep breath.

  “My grandmother doesn’t always think the rules apply to her.”

  “Family trait, I guess.”

  “I really wish people would stop comparing us,” I complained. “We’re really nothing alike.”

  Jesse smiled a very broad and very relaxed smile. “Okay, Eleanor. That’s your real name, right?”

  Just as I was about to think of something clever to say in return, the young officer came inside.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir, but I got a call from the station.”

  “What now, a domestic disturbance between two squirrels?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “No sir, I didn’t hear anything about that. It was Betty about Marc Reed. His appointment was with a Dr. Parnell, but he didn’t show up for the appointment.”

&nbs
p; “What kind of doctor is Dr. Parnell?” Jesse asked.

  “A gynecologist, sir. He’s not in his office until tomorrow, but I can try to find out his home number.”

  “That’s okay. How did Betty find out so quickly on a Sunday afternoon?” Jesse asked.

  “Betty’s sister-in-law has a neighbor who works over at the medical center.”

  “Gossip makes detective work so much easier.” Jesse smiled a weary smile. “I’m heading home to my daughter.”

  He walked past me out into the sunshine. “Close up the shop, and put police tape over the lock,” he instructed to the young officer. “And write a report that we apprehended a quilter and her canine partner.”

  “Yes sir,” the officer said in a serious tone, as if he hadn’t realized Jesse was kidding. Jesse just shook his head.

  Ryan and Amanda walked toward us. “So everything’s okay in there?” Ryan asked.

  “I guess so,” I replied. “I guess it was just wishful thinking that Marc’s killer would show up and wait to get arrested.”

  “Ryan,” Jesse said. “Can we talk for a second?”

  “What about?” I asked.

  Jesse ignored me and walked a few feet down the street, with Ryan following. I couldn’t hear them talking, but it didn’t appear to be confrontational. In fact, it seemed pretty friendly. By their body language, Jesse could have been getting a football score, but I doubted it.

  After a minute or two, Jesse waved good-bye to Amanda and me and walked away. Ryan came back and shrugged his shoulders.

  “What was that about?” I asked quickly.

  “Nothing. He just had some questions about the fight that guy Marc and I got into.”

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing important. He’s just hammering out the details.”

  “And you told him the truth, right?”

  A flash of anger crossed Ryan’s face. “What else would I have told him?”

  CHAPTER 34

  We walked away from the store with no particular direction in mind. At first we tried to walk together, with Ryan between Amanda and me, but something kept getting in the way—a tree or a light post. One person would get out of step and awkwardly try to keep up. So we alternated pairs. For a while Amanda and I walked next to each other with Ryan slightly ahead, then Ryan and I walked side by side, then Ryan and Amanda.