Crewel Yule

by Ferris, Monica

  “But why would Belle do that? Had Lenore done something to make her angry?”

  Cherry sighed and didn’t reply right away. But Jill and Betsy held their tongues as well, so Cherry said, “This is hard to explain. Belle liked helping people, she really did. But if they shaped up better than she thought they would, you know, became actually successful, she was . . . like jealous, or something. Does that sound too weird?”

  “It sounds like something that might happen, I suppose,” Jill said doubtfully.

  But Betsy nodded and said, “Oh, yes.” She’d seen it in action once, long ago, in a college professor.

  Cherry continued, “It’s like she would bust her buns to help people, but it’s also like she wanted them to always be needing her help. And she’d find a reason to run them off if they didn’t need her help anymore.”

  “Not a nice person,” Betsy murmured.

  Cherry’s face twisted in pain and she said, “No, she was a nice person! I want you to understand, this hardly ever happened! People would take her help, and move on, grateful. Others . . . Well, most people who are a mess stay a mess, you know!”

  Betsy, amused at this hard truth baldly stated, said, “Yes, I know.”

  “So Belle could be patient and nice and helpful all she wanted, and they’d stay grateful and hopeful. It was nice of Belle, even though it was also kind of like a game she almost never lost.”

  “Nice of Belle, but not a very nice game,” said Jill.

  Cherry sighed. “Well, maybe not. But like I said, she didn’t end up running people off very often.”

  “Was Lenore a mess?” Betsy asked.

  “Yes, but not a bad one. She wanted to stay home with her kids, and the only talent she had that might let her do that was stitching. No one, not even Lenore, ever thought she could design patterns well enough to earn any money at it, not until Belle started encouraging her to think so. And then all of a sudden, Lenore comes up with this gangbuster idea. Belle told me it was a great idea but that Lenore would never be able to work it out, because it was too complicated. But she kept encouraging Lenore to keep trying. And then, what do you know, Lenore solves all the problems and finishes her charts of it. And it’s fabulous! Belle told her it needed more work, but Lenore sends it off to Bewitching Stitches and they like it. So then Belle says Bewitching might try to cheat her, that maybe she should take it back and try selling it to a magazine, but by then, everyone else was cheering her on. And Lenore was getting excited about another sampler idea.”

  “Did you think to warn Lenore about Belle’s little game?” asked Betsy.

  “No. Because I didn’t really realize she was playing it on Lenore until the model didn’t come back on time. The look on Lenore’s face . . . She, she was just . . . demolished. But the look on Belle’s . . .” Cherry rubbed her cheeks with both hands. “It was weird. It was sick.” She looked shamefaced at Betsy. “But I didn’t say anything, not to either of them. I couldn’t think what to say.”

  “If you knew how important this was, and you knew about this problem with Belle, why didn’t you call Marj yourself?” asked Jill.

  Cherry snapped, “I told you, I didn’t know Belle was going to do that to Lenore!” She took a calming breath. “And anyway, finishing was separate from Samplers and More. Belle kept the records, drew up the bills, and split the money it made with Marj. It was its own business, and not a part of Samplers and More.”

  “That’s funny, that isn’t the way it works in my shop,” said Betsy.

  “No? Well, I thought it was odd; but Belle said it was better for tax purposes, and anyway the old owner did it that way, too,” said Cherry.

  Betsy, making a note, said, “The name of your shop is Belle’s Samplers and More, and she kept a part of it separate from you. How much of a partner were you in the business?”

  “Fifty-fifty!” Cherry said sharply, almost angrily. “I told you, I put up the money, Belle brought the expertise!” She heard the tone of her voice and, with a visible effort, unclenched her jaw.

  “We went back and forth about the name. The original owner’s name for the store was Samplers and More. I thought keeping the old name would be a good thing, since she had a good customer base, but Belle wanted to call it The Silver Thimble. So we cut cards to see who got to name the store, and she won. And instead of a new name, she called it Belle’s Samplers and More. She called it a compromise, but my name didn’t go on the sign, only hers.”

  “Were you angry about that?”

  Cherry laughed harshly. “Oh, yes! I was really, majorly angry. But a bet is a bet, and I lost. But in our Yellow Pages ad, I made sure it said ‘Belle Hammermill and Cherry Pye, proprietors.’”

  “Was she good at running the place?” asked Betsy. “You said she brought the expertise.”

  “I thought she was. I know business improved, we were taking in more money every year—almost every quarter, in fact, after the first year. But our bottom line wasn’t improving.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.” She did an elaborate shrug. “I couldn’t figure it out. Belle tried to explain it to me. Cash flow was a big problem, she said, because we were expanding our inventory. Property taxes had gone up, and of course there were two of us so profits got split in half. And there were other things. I didn’t understand all of it.” Cherry looked down and seemed surprised to find her hands closed into fists in her lap. She opened them to rub the palms on her thighs.

  A silence fell. Jill and Betsy exchanged “Are we finished?” looks, and Jill moved as if to stand, but Betsy said, “Wait a second,” and she settled back again. “Cherry, is there anyone else besides Lenore who was angry with Belle?”

  “I don’t think so. As far as I know, the only people who really knew her here are me and Lenore.”

  “Do you know an Eve Suttle?”

  “Why, sure! She used to work for us! But she quit and moved out of town, oh, months ago. Do you know her?”

  “Not really. But she’s here. She works for a shop in Savannah now.”

  “Savannah? That’s right, that’s right, she had family down there, someone told me. So she’s working for a store in Savannah? Well, good for her.” Cherry seemed quite pleased to hear about Eve.

  “Why did she quit working for Belle? Was she fired?”

  “No.” Again the rolling back and forward. “It’s complicated, a long story.”

  Jill nodded. “Tell us.”

  “Oh, God, it’s going to make Belle sound so . . . She was a sweet person, people liked her. When we only tell the bad things, it makes her sound evil.”

  “Was Eve another one of Belle’s people in need of help?” asked Betsy.

  “Oh, gosh, yes. She was a big, fat mess, who couldn’t get to work on time and who wore ugly clothes. She was an unwed mother whose kid was always sick, so she was always taking time off for the doctor, too. I thought we should fire her, but Belle said she’d help her get better. And she did. She was so nice and patient with her.”

  “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” asked Betsy. “The Eve Suttle I talked to wasn’t fat at all. And she was dressed very nicely.”

  “Was she kind of pretty? Dark red hair?” asked Cherry.

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  “Belle encouraged her to go on a diet, and dye her hair, and learn about makeup. She lost over fifty pounds and her skin cleared up when she quit eating junk food. Belle helped her get a new wardrobe and cleaned up her language, and you wouldn’t believe how Eve just bloomed. And so then she got this really nice boyfriend, Jack what’s his name? Something German, like Hauptman. Tall blonde guy. Belle pretended that she wanted him for herself, he was so handsome. She used to flirt with him every time he came into the store. But he married Eve. And so now Belle started picking at her, like in that pattern I told you about. Where before Eve was Employee of the Month just about year-round, now she can’t get through a week without being yelled at.

  “And it turns ou
t Belle wasn’t just pretending to be interested in Eve’s husband. The two of them really were screwing around. I think Belle was treating Eve bad because she wanted her to quit so she wouldn’t find out. But Eve did find out, and there’s this huge scene, where Eve storms in and trashes the store, throws things, breaks things. Then she goes home and kicks her husband out. Jack, it turned out, is some kind of jerk, because he moved in with Belle—and that lasted only until the divorce is final, because Belle doesn’t want a jerk for a boyfriend, and anyhow now I think she lost interest as soon as Eve threw him out. It wasn’t about him; it was about Eve.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “About six months ago, maybe more. So Eve landed on her feet, did she? That’s good.”

  “How angry was Eve?” asked Jill.

  “Angry. Damn angry. The day she came into Samplers and More and was turning over racks, Belle ran out the back because she was afraid Eve was going to attack her. Which I think she would have. She was seriously angry.”

  “But she got over it before she moved away,” suggested Jill.

  “I don’t see how. Y’see, she was pregnant, and when all this happened, she lost the baby. And you don’t get over that, not in a couple of months. When I heard she’d moved away, I was relieved, because she scared me when she came in that day. I was afraid she’d come back and do something like burn down the store or shoot Belle.”

  “Was Belle also afraid?” asked Betsy.

  Cherry lifted her arms in a shrug and assumed a chipper expression, moving her head from side to side, imitating Belle. “What, me worry? No, not a bit.” She dropped the pose. “I never saw Belle afraid of anything or anyone. Ever. She thought she had some kind of immunity clause on her life. Which she did, I guess. Until today.”

  “How angry were you at Belle?”

  Cherry looked alarmed. “For what?”

  “Well, for not having the expertise in running a business you thought she had.”

  Cherry became interested in her lap, but by now both Jill and Betsy had solid experience in waiting. At last, with a quiet sigh, Cherry said, “The shop was already established when we bought it, and so it shouldn’t have gone through a long period of losing money while it built a customer base. It still isn’t at the break-even point. I told Belle I wanted an independent audit after inventory in January.”

  Betsy asked, “Did anyone who knows you see you outside Kreinik Manufacturing’s suite when Belle died?”

  Cherry stared at her. “Now wait just one minute!” she said. “I was mad at Belle, but I was handling it. The audit was going to tell me if things were on the up and up, okay? There was no need for me to do something stupid.”

  Jill said, “So humor us, were you with someone you know?”

  Tightly, Cherry said, “No, I wasn’t. But there were other people around, lots of people who will remember the woman in a wheelchair. I was down on the sixth floor, just like I told you. It was too crowded in the Kreinik suite to go in. But I heard Doug telling a funny story about a woman who didn’t know she was insulting Kreinik Blending Filament to his face. I was just starting down the hall when I heard the scream, but I didn’t go look. I went down the hall to the elevator and when I looked down from the windows in the elevator, I could see a dead woman. It was Belle.” Cherry’s face was pale and set, and a tear broke loose and started down her face. “This nice young man came over and bought me a brandy and talked with me until I calmed down enough to go tell someone who I was and . . . who she was.” More tears spilled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t talk anymore. Please leave.”

  Eighteen

  Saturday, December 15, 5:05 P.M.

  “Whew!” said Betsy when they left Cherry’s suite. She moved her shoulders, turning her head from side to side; the tension from that interview had started a headache. “That was interesting.”

  “It sure puts Eve right in the crosshairs,” agreed Jill. “And you saw her just one floor down from the scene of the crime. Do you want to go right from here to talk to her? I’ve got her room number.”

  “No, first let’s go back to our suite,” said Betsy. “We need to talk.” She rubbed her forehead.

  “What about?”

  “What Cherry told us. Sort out the lies from the truth.”

  “Lies?”

  “Well, one was about her being friends with Belle. First she said she was, then it became pretty clear they weren’t friends at all.”

  “Well, I think they started out as friends, and maybe now she’s dead, Cherry would like to think of her as a friend once again.”

  “I don’t see how anyone could remain friends with someone who insults your intelligence by way of your handicap.”

  “Well, all right, no. But that doesn’t mean she’s a murderer.”

  “I know, I know. People put up with worse,” said Betsy. “But the way her mood kept shifting . . .”

  “I saw you write the word volatile and I agree. Made her hard to read, the way she went from pleasant to sad and then angry, all over the place. People like that make me nervous.”

  Betsy smiled. “Goddy’s volatile,” she said.

  “Yes, but Goddy’s fun. And not suspected of anything I could arrest him for.”

  “You don’t like Cherry? That’s funny, I kind of do.”

  “You can like a person without thinking they’re good people,” said Jill.

  “True.”

  They went into the stairwell and started down the iron stairs. “Her reaction to your question about suicide was interesting,” Betsy said, trying to speak clearly, because the depth of the hollow space, with its many hard surfaces, amplified and distorted their voices, already struggling with the echoing thunder of their feet.

  “Interesting how?”

  “She really liked it, jumped right on board with it.”

  “Well, maybe she was happy to think it was suicide rather than murder,” said Jill. “Especially since you hinted that someone with a motive to murder Belle might also want to murder Cherry.”

  Yes, thought Betsy, deciding against continuing the conversation amid all the noise, but Jill hadn’t said she thought it was murder until after Cherry eagerly agreed it might have been suicide.

  They came out the door onto the eighth floor, into a carpeted silence, and turned up the hallway.

  Jill said, “Do you think maybe she’s not as stuck in that wheelchair as she said?”

  “No, she was too specific about what she could and couldn’t do. But remember how you picked Goddy up in a way that looked like what I saw with Belle? You wouldn’t need to stand to grab someone by the lower legs and lift.”

  Jill thought about that, then nodded once. “I guess not. And she’s got a lot of upper body strength.”

  “Yes, I noticed that. So we can’t cross her off the list.”

  They fell silent as they turned the corner and started down toward their room on the short side. They stopped at their suite door, which was wide enough and inset deeply enough that both of them could stand between the bay windows while Betsy pulled the room key out of her name tag.

  “That’s clever,” said Jill.

  “What is, these card keys?” asked Betsy as a tiny green light on the latching mechanism lit up. She pushed the lever down to open the door.

  “No, putting your room key in your badge like that.”

  “I forget where I learned it, but it’s saved me probably a lot of hours, in total, of standing in front of a hotel or motel door trying to find the thing in my purse.”

  Betsy dropped her booklet onto the table and went into the bathroom. When she came out, Jill, now shoeless, was lying on the couch. “I wonder,” Jill said, “if Belle did Lenore any favor by encouraging her to try selling her pattern designs.”

  “Well, sure she did,” said Betsy. “I mean, look at the fabulous design she came up with.”

  “And it surprised Belle when she did, remember,” said Jill.

  “According to Cherry,” amended Betsy.
Splashing water into her eyes hadn’t helped; she rubbed her left temple, where the headache seemed to be concentrating.

  “All right, according to Cherry. But suppose Cherry is describing it correctly? If Belle didn’t think Lenore could do it, why did she encourage Lenore to keep trying?”

  “I don’t know. Why?” Betsy sat down at the table and opened the seminar booklet at random.

  “Because Belle was a piece of work, that’s why.”

  “You mean a witch with a capital B?” Betsy, paging back to find her notes, paused at a list of warning signs to look for in prospective employees. One read, Any negativity, especially in discussing people. She snorted. Sleuthing was about encouraging people to discuss the negative.

  “No, I mean suppose Belle was cooking the books, stealing from Samplers and More—and cheating Cherry.”

  “I think Cherry suspected her, that’s why she asked for that audit. That’s the big motive for her. After all, that settlement has to keep her going the rest of her life.” Betsy drummed her fingers on the booklet. There was something else connected to that, something Cherry said. She rubbed her forehead.

  The door made a clickety sound and opened. Godwin came in, laden with bags, in both hands and up his arms. He grinned broadly at Jill and Betsy. “What a great time I’ve had!”

  “Wow, it sure looks like it!” said Betsy, flicking the switch from sleuth to shop-owner. “But wait a second, Goddy; we should look through all the stuff we’ve got to see if there are any—God forbid—duplicates.”

  “I went mostly to the floors we agreed were mine this morning,” said Goddy.

  “Mostly?”

  “Okay, I strayed. But not far, just one floor. Did you see the beautiful crewel patterns BritStitch has?”

  Betsy groaned. For a counted cross-stitch market event, the prices in BritStitch were very high. “Yes, and I bought some—did you buy some, too?”

  “I thought about it, and decided to buy at least a pattern for myself, and while I was talking to the guy in there—he has the most gorgeous English accent—he noticed on my badge that I’m from Excelsior and he said someone else from that town was in there earlier today. So I told him that must be my boss from Crewel World. He says he remembered it because Excelsior is a charming name, so very American.” Godwin pronounced it “veddy” and assumed a lofty air, in imitation of the man, whom Betsy remembered as charming and not at all supercilious.