The Lover’s Knot

by Clare O’Donohue

  For much of the night, with a nearly deaf dog snoring on the floor beside us, we made love underneath our wedding quilt. Just as I had dreamed we would.

  CHAPTER 24

  I woke up to the front doorbell ringing. Ryan was asleep, still half on top of me. The bell rang again. I knew it would be a struggle for my grandmother to answer it, so I jumped up, put on my clothes from the night before and ran down the stairs.

  Jesse was standing on the other side of the door.

  "You have a visitor." He pointed to Ryan's car.

  "My fiance," I said, accidentally leaving out the ex. "He came up last night." Jesse raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Do you want to come in?" I asked as if nothing strange had happened last night.

  He walked through the door and looked around. "Is your grandmother up?"

  "I don't know. I just got up. Let me check."

  "Oh, you were in bed," he said, surprised. "You're wearing what you wore last night."

  "It was the closest thing to me." I was suddenly embarrassed by his attention to detail. "Go into the kitchen. I'll get my grandmother."

  In the living room, Eleanor was not only awake but dressed and on the phone. When she saw me, she wrapped up her call.

  "Who was at the door?"

  "Jesse."

  A worried look crept across my grandmother's face. "Nothing else has happened, has it?"

  "I don't think so," I said, suddenly anxious at the thought. "How much more could happen?"

  She grabbed her crutches. "I'm beginning to wonder that myself."

  Barney, looking sleepy and confused, came walking down the stairs and joined us. He sniffed at my grandmother and walked behind her as she hobbled to the kitchen on her crutches. Then he turned his attention to Jesse, who got down on his knees and roughhoused with the old dog. Barney made it very clear he loved every second of it.

  I stayed out of the way, making coffee and looking for something I could serve. We had already eaten most of the pies, cakes, casseroles and pasta dishes that friends had brought by, but there were some brownies. Hardly breakfast food, but I put them on the table.

  "We're going to have to keep the shop closed for a few days, Mrs. Cassidy," Jesse said as he got up off the floor.

  "It was closed anyway," she answered.

  "He was remodeling the place?" Jesse asked.

  "Expanding," I broke in. "My grandmother is taking over the diner next door."

  Jesse looked at me. "I heard that. A big job for Marc." He turned back to my grandmother.

  "I don't know," she said. "He did good work around here. Repaired the floor in the dining room last year and that looks nice."

  "He loved the old houses," Jesse agreed. "And I know he loved that building your shop is in."

  "He was excited about the remodel," I said, and a wave of sadness fell over me.

  Jesse nodded and reached his hand out toward mine, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead he took out a small tape recorder and placed it on the table. "I've got very bad handwriting," he said almost apologetically, pointing to the recorder. He turned it on and looked at my grandmother.

  "Do you mind if we go over some details from last night?" he asked her.

  "No, I'd like to," she said. "I'd like to be able to make sense of it for myself."

  He nodded and turned to me. "It would be better if you weren't here."

  "I'll be in my room," I said, and got up from the table.

  Jesse nodded, turned to my grandmother and asked plainly, "Can you tell me what you saw last night, when you got to the store?"

  As she started to talk I stepped back into the hallway. I wanted to check on Ryan. There was no hiding that he was here-that had already been established. But it would be better if Jesse didn't see the cuts on his hand, didn't know about the fights.

  I went upstairs and into the bedroom as quietly as I could. Ryan was still asleep, draped across the bed as if he were passed out.

  I wasn't sure why I wanted to protect him. Maybe I didn't need to. If Ryan was telling the truth, then he didn't need my protection. The smart thing would have been to wake him up and send him downstairs to tell his story. But what if he wasn't telling the truth?

  "Hey." Ryan opened his eyes, a smile creeping across his face.

  "The police chief is here to take statements," I said.

  "I should get dressed." He jumped up and put his pants on just as there was a knock on the door.

  Jesse was standing in the hallway. "Is this your room, Nell?" he said through the open door. I nodded. He walked in, looking around, first at the unmade bed and then at Ryan as he finished dressing. "The fiance?"

  "Yeah," said Ryan, and automatically extended his hand. They shook, but Jesse didn't let go. He turned Ryan's hand over and looked down at the bruised knuckles.

  "Got into a fight?"

  "Yes." Ryan pulled his hand back. "Two, actually. Both with that guy."

  "The murder victim?" Jesse asked.

  "He was after Nell."

  Jesse nodded. "That was his style," he said. "Go after the vulnerable."

  "Excuse me?" I interrupted. "The vulnerable?"

  "The way I heard it," Jesse continued, "it was over between the two of you." He gestured at Ryan and me. "You came up here to nurse a broken heart, and Marc was helping you with that."

  "The way you heard it," I repeated his words, feeling oddly uncomfortable that Jesse was aware of my friendship with Marc.

  "It's a small-town, Nell," Jesse said quietly. "That's how I knew about the fight between your… fiance here and Marc."

  "Who told you?" I demanded.

  Jesse smiled. "That quilt shop is in the center of town. And it has a picture window. Normally there are quilts hanging all over it, blocking the interior. But with those gone, anyone walking down the street can get a clear view of people fighting… or kissing… or anything."

  Got it. Jesse, Ryan and everyone in town knew what I'd been up to yesterday afternoon. Suddenly I felt like the biggest fool all over again. I took a deep breath. "Then someone must have seen Marc's killer," I said.

  "Afraid not. It probably happened after dark, and downtown is pretty quiet in the evenings," he said. He turned back to Ryan. "Ryan, is it?" Ryan nodded. "First I need to get your fingerprints, then your statement if that's okay?"

  Ryan sat on the bed, and Jesse took out what looked like a blank index card and a small inkpad and put it on the dresser. "I'll need to get your prints, to compare against several we found in the shop," he said to Ryan.

  Then he put his tape recorder next to them. "And I'll need your statement. Is it okay if we do it here? I assume you wouldn't want to come to the station when it would be quicker, and quieter, here." Jesse looked up at me with a flash of sympathy in his face that made me feel he was trying to save me from being even more of a subject of local gossip. Then his expression changed to an unemotional stare. "You should see if your grandmother is okay."

  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 wer
e 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 fiance 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.