The Double Cross

by Clare O'Donohue

I loved the idea of journal quilting, even though this was only my second attempt. To make a small quilt, without any concern for durability or even beauty, but one that represented a thought—that was something I could really embrace.

  When we arrived, the plan had been to make three quilts: one for the world around us, one for our lives as they are now, and one for our future dreams. We’d only made the first before “our lives as they are now” became a murder investigation. As I sat in the empty classroom, I thought about what I would have made, not just for the second quilt, but, more importantly, for the third. What did I want for the future?

  Out loud I said, “I want the truth.”

  I had learned from Bernie and Rita that you pay a terrible price for holding back the whole truth. Maybe there was a truth about my own life that I hadn’t been willing to face.

  I took a piece of white felt and laid it down at a workstation. I took paints and colored the felt a soft blue and drew a sketch of the truth that scared me the most.

  “You’re early.”

  As I was finishing my sketch, I heard someone walk in behind me, but I was too busy to look up. When I did, I saw Helen holding a tote bag.

  “I’ve been trying to work out a few things,” I said.

  She nodded. “It’s nice to have a bit of peace and quiet.”

  She took the items out of her tote bag and lined them up at her workstation—a photograph of George outside of the inn, some pastels, scissors, several needles, and a book of poems. I picked up the book.

  “You love poetry,” I said.

  “I always have but I never had the time to read it. Frank isn’t a fan of such things, but maybe the grandchildren would like them. It would be nice to share my interests with someone.”

  “Where is Frank?”

  “He came with me but decided to go into the woods before class starts. If that man has twenty minutes free, he either wants to flirt with someone or kill something.”

  She looked down at her table and rearranged the scissors and needles so all her items were lined up from smallest to largest. As she did I noticed something on the scissors.

  “What is that?” I put my finger on the red mark.

  “Nail polish. It identifies the scissors as mine. That way they don’t walk out with someone else in the class.”

  “Good idea. You should have a seam ripper too.”

  She looked at her things then checked the tote bag. “I think I gave it to Frank. He’s always forgetting to bring his supplies. And what he manages to remember falls out of his pockets.”

  I took a step back. “I’ll let you get some work in. It’s going to be a while before the others show up, and I should probably get some breakfast.”

  “You do that, Nell. You look so tired. I think you’ve been trying too hard to solve George’s murder. I would think if you’re going to get yourself involved, you have to look at it logically. Who has the most to gain? And who had the time to do it?”

  “I suppose.” I wanted so much to ask her about seeing Bernie in the woods, but I couldn’t betray my promise not to. Not if I expected any more information from McIntyre. Instead I took a different tack. “You were very fond of George, weren’t you?”

  “He seemed to be a nice man,” she said calmly. “Of course, I didn’t know him that well.”

  It was clear that she was a liar, but whether she was lying to me, to Susanne, to McIntyre, or to all of us, and why, was beyond me at the moment.

  I cleaned up my space a little, I left my unfinished future quilt on the table and walked out of the classroom.

  CHAPTER 50

  Joi and Rita were sitting on the porch, enjoying each other and the morning air. Maybe it was only because I knew how sick Rita was that she suddenly looked so fragile, but I felt a concern and affection for her that startled me.

  “My grandchildren are coming up to see me,” she said as I walked up the porch steps.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  Joi smiled at her mother. “My husband is bringing them up tomorrow. They’ll stay for Dad’s funeral, and we’re going to spend the week. My husband is wonderful with his hands, so if anyone can take this from a dilapidated old Victorian house to a beautiful inn and school, it’s him. And maybe some of the neighbors will keep helping.”

  “I’m glad for you both.” As I said it, Eleanor walked out with Barney just behind her. Barney ran down the steps and sniffed at the trees for a moment, then sat on the lawn.

  “I think he’s finally put the woods behind him,” she said.

  “Or he’s gotten too lazy to bother.”

  “Either way he’ll be easy to find,” Eleanor said.

  “Where’s Jesse?”

  “He’s in the shower. He’ll be down in fifteen minutes.” Eleanor smiled. “You two can’t bear to be separated. Two minutes ago he asked me where you were. It’s nice to be in love, isn’t it?’

  “I wouldn’t know. Jesse told me he ‘really likes me.’ ”

  “And what do you feel?”

  I thought about my future quilt: a sketch of me and Jesse and his daughter, Allie, with the Main Street of Archers Rest in the background. “I’m scared. His life is so fully formed and mine is so . . . not. If I love him, maybe I’ll find myself fitting into his plan, when I really need to make my own.”

  “You can be no one other than who you are, Nell. It seems to me that Jesse has figured that out. As soon as you do, you’ll be okay.” Eleanor nodded toward the dog. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands. I need a cup of tea.”

  As soon as Eleanor walked back into the inn, Barney stood up. He looked for a moment as if he was going to follow my grandmother, but instead he turned and ran toward the woods.

  “Oh, that nut,” I said. I ran down the steps after him.

  “I’ll help you,” Joi called out, and the two of us headed into the woods to find Barney.

  “Barney,” I called out as we headed toward the spot where I thought I’d seen him digging in the past. I knew he wouldn’t hear me—his deafness was nearly complete—but I didn’t know what else to do.

  The woods seemed darker than ever before. The sky wasn’t overcast, and it was very early in the day—not yet eight in the morning—but I felt myself getting confused, as though the light was fading and I was being trapped.

  “I’ll check over there.” Joi pointed to another path. Before I had a chance to respond, she was gone.

  “Be careful,” I shouted after her.

  There could be traps, or rabid animals, I worried, and somewhere among the trees Frank was wandering with a gun. I stood for a moment, hoping Joi could take care of herself, and then I wondered if I could.

  “Barney,” I yelled. There was rustling and I thought I heard something else. “Barney,” I said again.

  I turned in the direction of the sound and realized that I was walking toward more darkness, but at least now I had figured out the reason. There were evergreens throughout the woods and in this section they were particularly dense. Just knowing why made me breath a little easier. It even looked a little familiar.

  “I’ve seen this before,” I said to myself as I noticed a slightly mounded area of dark earth.

  And then I knew. Seconds before my biggest concern was a missing dog, but now that I knew the truth, I could feel the blood drain from my face. I’d been wrong. I’d been wrong about everything.

  CHAPTER 51

  Just as I was about to turn and run, I saw Barney sniffing at a nearby tree. When he saw me, he came over and licked my face.

  “We’re leaving, sweetie,” I said. “Grandma will be mad if you keep her waiting.”

  But he didn’t want to leave. Once he’d sniffed at the dark mound of earth, he wouldn’t let me pull him away. He started to dig. I tried to pull him off the hole but I couldn’t. In just a minute, his digging had revealed the thing I knew was there but I’d dreaded seeing: a woman’s hand.

  “We have to go now,” I told the confused dog. He pulled away from my
grip. “Now!” I shouted.

  Then I heard a shot.

  “You and that dog are exactly the same,” I heard. “Stubborn. Too stubborn to live.”

  Another shot. I pulled Barney toward a tree. “Run,” I whispered to him. “Get Jesse.”

  Barney licked my face as if he was trying to play, but I put my hands on his jowls so we locked eyes.

  “Get Jesse,” I said again, then let him go.

  For a second he seemed confused; then suddenly he took off toward the edge of the woods. And away from Pete, and me.

  I ran the opposite way, hoping the noises going in two different directions would confuse Pete. I saw that I was heading toward the hiking path that would take me toward Pete’s house, and that was the last place I wanted to go. I turned right and ran through the trees.

  When I couldn’t run anymore, I crouched behind the largest tree I could find and tried to steady my breathing. It’s startling how loud breathing can be when you’re trying to be quiet. My hands were shaking and I didn’t know how long my legs would hold, but my life depended on it. The thought made my hands shake more.

  I listened. There was nothing but the sounds of a few birds. I knew it was probably pointless but I took my cell phone out of my pocket. There was one bar, so I took a chance and dialed Jesse. Just as it started to ring, the call was dropped. No signal, only the quiet of country life that my grandmother had been extolling a few days before. I wrapped my fingers around the phone, just in case.

  I heard leaves rustle. I tried to think. Was it thirty or forty feet away? Did I have time to run or should I just hope for the best and stay hidden behind the tree? I thought about every action movie I’d ever seen, trying to figure out an escape plan, but nothing came to me. All I could think of was my unfinished journal quilt—the one that was supposed to depict my life as I hoped it would become.

  My heart was pounding. I looked around for a possible escape route. I wasn’t sure my feet would move even if I wanted them to, so I waited. More noise. But this wasn’t birds. This was something else. Footsteps. I held my breath and prayed they would move in the other direction.

  Then nothing. The noise, the footsteps, had stopped. I realized I’d been standing in tangled vines and my ankle was itching. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on the footsteps. I’d have plenty of time to scratch my ankle once I got out of this. If I got out of this.

  The footsteps started up again and for a moment moved toward me. I held my breath. Then, just when they seemed on top of me, they stopped and seemed to move in the other direction.

  “Keep going,” I thought. “Just let me get out of here and I will never again stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I will live a long life making quilts and drawing pictures and staying out of trouble.”

  The footsteps were gone. Definitely gone. I stood up, took a deep breath, and ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I didn’t care that tree branches were slapping me across the face as I ran. I didn’t care that my feet kept getting stuck in mud. Or that I had bitten so hard into my lip that it was beginning to bleed. I just wanted to get out of the woods and back to the inn as fast as I could.

  I was heading toward the edge of the woods when my cell phone rang. The sound was so startling that I nearly dropped it.

  “Nell?” I heard Jesse’s worried voice on the other end.

  “Jesse,” I whispered. “I’m near where we found the body. I’m in trouble. I’m heading toward the inn.”

  “I’m coming to get you,” he said. “And Nell, I . . .”

  The signal was lost, and with it Jesse’s comforting voice. My heart sank.

  “Don’t let that be the last time I talk to him,” I silently prayed.

  Then I saw the gun.

  “Jesse’s on his way right now,” I called out as defiantly as I could, but even I could hear the fear in my voice.

  “Well, he’s going to be too late,” was the response.

  I looked at his face. The gentle man who had become a friend, and who I’d thought might be a nice match for Bernie, was George’s killer—and was ready to kill me.

  The gun was pointed directly at me. I made a choice. I turned and ran back toward the trees. I’d taken ten steps when I heard a loud sound.

  After that all I could feel was pain.

  I fell to the ground. I could feel Pete getting closer. In seconds he was standing over me with his gun pointed directly at me.

  “Your first quilt,” I said. “It was a grave.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that. Susanne was right about forgetting yourself when you make one of those quilts. I thought you had figured it out, that day in the classroom. I was scared. But you didn’t.” He laughed a little. “It was reckless of me but it was funny too. You think you’re so smart, and you didn’t see it.”

  “I see it now.”

  “I know.” There was sadness in his voice. I hoped it would translate into a reluctance to shoot me. “I tried to keep you out of here, but you wouldn’t listen. I don’t understand why you just couldn’t mind your own business.”

  The gun was getting closer to my face.

  It was stupid, but it was all I could think of. I kicked his knee as hard as I could. I expected the rifle to go off, but instead Pete stumbled, dropping the gun.

  “What the hell?” he said, as startled as I was.

  I jumped up and grabbed the gun. I could feel a searing pain in my shoulder and I knew the wetness I felt against my skin was blood, but I was the one with a weapon. That was all that mattered.

  I took the butt of the gun and hit him. Pete fell back for a moment but came after me. I knew I wouldn’t have time to run.

  “Go ahead and shoot that thing,” Pete taunted. Whatever kindness there was in him was buried under desperation. “You need to know what you’re doing with a rifle and, trust me, city kid, you don’t.”

  He started to get up. I pointed the rifle at him, awkwardly, wincing at the pain that shot up my arm.

  “Do you really want to take that chance?” I yelled.

  Pete nodded. “Yeah, Nell, I think I do.”

  I tried to remember everything Frank had taught me. Then I pulled the trigger.

  “Damn!” Pete fell to the ground in what seemed like slow motion, gripping his right leg.

  My whole body began to shake and I found the rifle slipping from my arm. I held it at my side, watching Pete writhe in pain.

  “Great shot.”

  I turned and saw Jesse, Frank, and McIntyre running toward me, led by Barney.

  “Thanks, Frank,” I said, and handed him the rifle. Jesse grabbed me and I collapsed in his arms.

  “I’ll get an ambulance,” Frank said, and ran from the scene while Jesse wrapped his arms protectively around me.

  McIntyre stepped over to Pete. “This is probably pretty obvious, but you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Nell Fitzgerald.”

  “And the murder of George Olnhausen,” I said.

  McIntyre nodded toward me, then turned his attention back to Pete. “That too. Now, if you will just tell me why you did it.”

  Pete scowled at him but said nothing.

  “I know why,” I said. “His wife’s body is buried twenty feet from where we found George.”

  McIntyre turned back to Pete. “You killed Siobhan?”

  Pete grimaced. “I’m not saying anything. If you want answers, you’ll have to ask the busybody from out of town.”

  McIntyre looked at me. “I will, Pete. Thanks for the advice. It’s nice when we’re all working together.” He reached down and hand-cuffed Pete’s hands.

  CHAPTER 52

  My shoulder wasn’t as bad as the initial pain had led to me to believe. The bullet had gone right through, and once the doctor had patched me up at the hospital and given me a very welcome pain reliever, Jesse took me back to the inn.

  “And you’re going straight to bed,” he said.

  But much to Jesse’s annoyance, that didn’t happen. As soon as o
ur car pulled up, McIntyre stepped forward to thank me for my help, and then my grandmother, Bernie, and all the students from Susanne’s class ran out to greet me. Joi and her mother were on the porch but came down to welcome me. Barney, who had his nose in a flower bed, looked up and came running, pushing past the others.

  “You solved the case,” I said as he jumped all over me. “If you hadn’t insisted on digging in those spots, we wouldn’t have found out what happened.”

  “That’s probably why Pete killed Frank’s dog,” McIntyre said. “If he was hunting on the property with Frank, he probably sniffed at the body and started digging. Pete didn’t bury her very deep.”

  “Barney must have discovered the body that day,” I said. “And when Bernie left, George went looking for her. I think he must have left the picnic basket but taken the quilt because it was too nice to just leave it there.”

  “That’s why George wasn’t where I left him,” Bernie said. “I thought I’d walked back to the wrong tree.”

  “While he was looking for you, he probably found Barney, and what Barney was digging up, and went looking for help.”

  “And found Pete instead,” Jesse said. “All this time Barney’s been going back into the woods, looking for that spot. He was trying to uncover a murderer.” Jesse stroked Barney’s head. “I guess you’ve been hanging out with these detectives long enough to want in on a case.”

  “He nearly got Nell killed,” my grandmother said. “I don’t know what I would have done . . .”

  I reached out and hugged her with my good arm. “I’m fine. And Barney didn’t almost get me killed. He saved my life. He ran to get Jesse.”

  “It’s true,” Jesse said. “Barney found McIntyre and me and brought us right to her.”

  “How did you get there?” I asked Frank.

  “I heard shots. Then I heard you yell out. I knew if you kept wandering in the woods you’d get yourself in trouble, so I came to help.”

  I hugged him. “You’re a difficult man to like,” I said, “but you’re a good man.”