by Anne Canadeo
The architecture was acceptable; two- and three-story apartment buildings surrounded by pleasant landscaping, fountains, and gazebos. Bridges connected some of the structures. So that the occupants could still get around in the winter without braving the cold weather, she guessed. The roads had picturesque names, like Willow Walk and Canterbury Court.
“It’s not so bad. I mean, when one is ready,” she added quickly.
Lucy glanced at her. “Don’t worry, I know you’re not ready for assisted anything. You can barely tolerate an assistant in the shop.”
“Assistant manager, now,” she replied, reminding Lucy of Phoebe’s promotion. “But thanks for the compliment. I know I’m getting older but I still do everything I’ve always done. Just a little slower,” she admitted with a laugh.
Maggie hated talking about her age and getting older, being of the mind that if she didn’t pay much attention to it, the years wouldn’t catch up with her. Even though she saw the signs very clearly among her contemporaries. Lately, she had to admit the years were passing faster and faster; though her life was as active and full as ever, she often felt a little scared of what was to come.
Now, just when she’d expected to make a big, important move in her relationship with Charles, their romance had run out of steam.
As if reading her mind, Lucy said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Suzanne, but how are things with Charles? I know he doesn’t want you involved in any police business—no less, a case he’s working on.”
Maggie saw a sign for Ruth’s courtyard and turned into the parking lot. “We had words. I’m sure he thinks she’s innocent. But he just can’t admit it. Not even to me. He got all officious, spouting things about police policy and procedure. And his professional ethics.”
Maggie stopped. She felt upset just recalling it.
Lucy looked concerned. “You had an argument?”
“I guess you’d call it that. Not a shouting match or anything like that. That’s not our style.” She sighed and brought the car to a stop. “Let’s just say things have cooled off considerably. We were talking about Charles moving in. And right now, we’re barely talking.”
Maggie couldn’t hide her disappointment. Not in front of Lucy. “He is working long hours and I usually don’t get to see him when he’s on a big case. I asked if he’d take himself off this one. But he won’t. So why should I sit back when Suzanne needs our help? Especially now that she’s been singled out as a person of interest.”
Lucy met her gaze. “You’re a very loyal friend. But I’m sure Suzanne wouldn’t want you to lose Charles over this.”
“I know. But it’s hardly her fault. He’s being so stubborn. It’s just common sense. Suzanne is not a murderer. We all know that. I know Charles can’t just punch her ticket and give her a free pass. But I’m not sure the police have given any thought at all to the notion that someone has framed her.”
“And done a good job,” Lucy pointed out.
“Too good. That’s why it’s up to us now to find out who’s done this to our Suzanne. And killed Liza.”
Ruth lived in a ground floor apartment. Maggie rang the buzzer and they heard a voice call out, “Come in. It’s open.”
Maggie swung open the door and stepped inside, followed by Lucy. She paused a moment, her eyes adjusting to the light.
It was a spacious apartment, larger than Maggie expected, with one room flowing into the next. Still, elegant pieces of furniture and artwork looked a bit out of place, and spoke of a grander home. Maggie recalled Suzanne talking about a big house on Hickory Hill and she guessed these were a few of the furnishings Ruth could not part with.
Across a light-filled living room, she saw glass doors that framed a view of a man-made pond and bubbling fountain. Ruth sat in her wheelchair, a knitting project in her lap. Maggie greeted her, and Ruth watched as the two visitors walked toward her.
“What a lovely place. Liza told me that you haven’t been living here very long,” Maggie remarked.
“I’ve tried to make it comfortable. I left the big house right after Liza moved to Maine. It was too much for me. Then I had the stroke and the girls came back to help, with little Emma in tow. The house had never sold, so they moved in. We all could have lived there and never bumped into each other for days.” She shrugged. “But since I’m in the chair now, we decided I’m better off here. I didn’t want to burden them.”
“Thank you for having us,” Lucy said.
“It’s nice to have some company. Take off your things, sit down. My aide made some tea.” She waved at a cart that held a china teapot, cups, and a plate of plain butter cookies, the type that came in a large, round tin and older people seemed so fond of. “She’ll be back in a while.”
Maggie took a seat on the couch and Lucy next to her. “This is my friend, Lucy Binger. She was at the memorial. There were so many people there, you probably don’t remember her.”
Ruth had picked up her knitting. She examined Lucy over half-rim glasses that were balanced at the tip of her nose.
“I’m sorry. I don’t recall. Too many introductions. Were you a friend of my daughter?”
Maggie could see that Lucy felt put on the spot. “Liza was so well known around town. We all wanted to pay our respects.”
Ruth seemed satisfied with the explanation. “There was an impressive turnout. It was a wonderful tribute to her.”
“Yes, it was,” Maggie agreed. “My knitting group has been inspired by all the good work she did for charity. We set a goal of one hundred knitted baby items by the holidays. I thought we’d make the donation in her name.”
“That would be a lovely honor to her.”
Lucy glanced at Maggie, but didn’t say anything. Maggie hadn’t cleared the idea with the group yet, but doubted anyone would object. Even Suzanne. In fact, she thought it might help Suzanne feel better. And she hadn’t said it just to butter Ruth up. She really did think it would be a fitting tribute.
Lucy nodded and held up her project. “Baby jacket number one. It’s almost done.”
Ruth nodded. Maggie could see she was impressed. “Do you have any children of your own, Lucy?”
Maggie saw color rise in Lucy’s cheeks. Too many people had been asking her that lately. “No, I don’t.”
“Don’t wait too long. Kira got in just under the wire, I’d say. But Liza missed out. Maybe that’s why she put so much time into her charity work, knitting for other people’s children.”
That thought had crossed Maggie’s mind, too.
“Liza would have liked to see your knitting circle involved. She got me working on the donations, too. I don’t think anyone knew what a charitable soul she really was. Until she died, that is.”
“She was very modest.” Maggie wasn’t saying this just to get on Ruth’s good side. She knew it was true. Maggie had taken out her knitting and started to work.
“Modest in the goals she set for herself, too,” Ruth said. “She could have been anything she set her mind to. She had brains and ambition and never shied away from hard work. Loved numbers. She had a knack for mathematics, even as a child. She started off with a big job in Boston, right out of college. Investments or something like that. How she ended up in a dinky real estate office in this backwater burg, I’ll never understand. Nick Sutton dragged her out here. He ruined her life. That was just the start.”
“So you blame him for that? For pulling Liza off track?” Maggie wondered if she’d answer.
Ruth’s mouth tightened, her eyes narrowed. “That’s certainly part of it. He’s a weak, self-centered man. Always blaming the world for his failings—a total narcissist. I never wanted my daughter to marry him. He was like a vampire, draining her energy. Liza wanted a family. But I was relieved that they never had children. It made the divorce easier.”
Maggie wasn’t sure how much she should say, but decided to take a chance. “Really? I heard the divorce was very complicated and even contentious.”
Ruth glance
d at her, but didn’t question her sources. “He dragged it out. Liza was the breadwinner in that household, even though he has that restaurant. It never made a dime. He’s a terrible businessman. Liza knew firsthand. She did his bookkeeping for years. He gambled away any profit and then some. So he demanded alimony.” She shook her head in disbelief. “A grown man. That’s pathetic, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for Maggie’s answer. “He has a gambling problem. And he’s in with the wrong class of people. A very low element. He always expected Liza to bail him out, even after they were separated.”
“But she drew the line,” Maggie added.
“Too little too late, if you ask me. But finally, she’d had enough.” Ruth turned to her knitting and took a deep breath. The conversation was upsetting her but she seemed relieved to share her opinion of her former son-in-law “He didn’t like that. It made him very angry.”
“Really? What did he do? Did he threaten her?” Maggie asked.
“She didn’t tell me much. She didn’t want me to worry. But I wouldn’t doubt it. The man is a natural-born bully and desperate for money. It’s very clear. My daughter wasn’t even laid to rest when we got a letter from his lawyer, demanding her estate.”
Maggie tried to hide her surprise. And her pleasure at hearing their suspicions confirmed. So that was why Ruth kicked him out of the memorial gathering. One question was answered.
“How could he claim a right to her estate? Weren’t they divorced?” Lucy hadn’t said much so far, but Maggie knew she was particularly curious about confirming this point. Lucy’s research had hit a snag. The records were public but not available online, and there had been no time to visit the county clerk’s office.
“I honestly don’t know. My attorney is looking into it. Liza always spoke as if the divorce was signed and sealed. But he claims it was not.”
“That must be very distressing. On top of your great loss.”
“I try not to think about it. Kira is taking care of all of Liza’s affairs. She says not to worry. She told me that Liza’s estate is protected. My daughter was too smart to let a man like him get the best of her.”
Maggie didn’t doubt that, though she wasn’t sure what Ruth meant by “protected.” She didn’t want to seem too nosy. She certainly seemed snoopy enough already, she thought. She did have one more prying question and wondered if Ruth would answer.
“You say Nick Sutton was desperate for money. Desperate enough to have harmed Liza?” She waited, wondering if she’d gone too far.
Ruth raised her chin but sat silent for a long moment. Maggie wasn’t sure she would answer. Finally, she said, “The police think it was someone in her office—Suzanne Cavanaugh. Liza spoke about her.”
Ruth had obviously forgotten that she’d met Suzanne at the memorial service. Maggie was not about to remind her.
“She sounds like a ruthless woman, willing to do anything to get ahead, or beat my daughter out of a sale. That’s how Liza described her to me.”
Maggie’s heart sank. Ruth must have told the police the same thing. “They were office rivals. Very competitive with each other. But we know Suzanne well. We’d never describe her as ruthless.”
“She’s just the opposite, honestly,” Lucy said.
Ruth did not look convinced “So, she’s your friend?”
Maggie nodded. “A good friend. She did not harm Liza. We’re sure of it. No matter what the police say. I hope you can believe me.”
Ruth sighed. “Frankly, I was expecting the police to tell me Sutton did it. Expecting and hoping, too. What does it matter what I believe? It’s what the police decide.”
“Not necessarily.” Lucy put her knitting down. “Somebody is trying to make it look like Suzanne killed your daughter. But the police haven’t investigated that possibility. Not that we can see.”
“We hoped you could help us,” Maggie admitted.
Ruth looked surprised. “To clear your friend’s name? Why would I do that?”
“Because she’s innocent.” Maggie couldn’t help the sharp note in her voice. “Would you rather an innocent person went to jail for this crime and the person who really killed your daughter went free?”
Ruth bowed her head. When she looked up again, Maggie was sorry to see the older woman’s eyes glazed over with tears. But under the tears, a steely resolve, too. “I want to see whoever did this put behind bars and have them throw away the key. Though there’s nothing that can ever make up for losing her.”
“I understand,” Maggie said quietly. She would feel the same way, heaven forbid, if she’d been in Ruth’s place. “It wasn’t Suzanne. She’s a good person. A loving mother and friend. She has three growing children. She’s just not capable of such a thing. I would stake my life on it.”
Lucy leaned forward, clutching her knitting on her lap. “Can you think of anyone, besides Sutton, who had a grievance with Liza? Someone who would have benefitted from her death?”
Ruth dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “No one besides that dreadful man comes to mind. Liza always put on a brave face, though I’m sure she had her ups and downs. She didn’t want to worry me. Especially after the stroke.”
“Anyone could see she was independent,” Maggie agreed. “But mothers have an instinct about these things. You never felt she was hiding something? Something worrisome going on in her life?”
Ruth put her cup aside. “She was upset last week, when her car was damaged. She told me about it over the phone. A little more upset than I’d expect, to be honest. Someone ran a key along the driver’s side and scratched the finish. It was a simple repair. But she seemed very . . . rattled.”
Suzanne had mentioned that. Maggie thought it was probably random vandalism, unconnected with the murder, but now she wondered.
“Did she have any idea who did it?” Lucy asked.
“Nasty teenagers, she told me. But I think she did know who was responsible. And why. I just got a feeling from the way she talked about it. A mother’s instinct, I suppose.” She cast a meaningful glance Maggie’s way.
“Who do you think it was?” Maggie had some theories but wanted to hear what Ruth thought.
“I’m not sure. Competition in the office came to mind. Frankly, I thought your friend was probably the vandal.”
Maggie cringed. Poor Suzanne. Liza had given her the same bad press that Suzanne had given Liza.
“It wasn’t Suzanne. She was covering appointments far from the village at the time it was damaged. She has proof.” Lucy had put her knitting aside and walked over to the tea cart. She’d fixed a cup of tea and served it to Ruth.
Ruth nodded her thanks. “Well, it must have been someone else. Nick Sutton. Or maybe someone who was just jealous of her.”
“Maybe.” Lucy nibbled on a cookie. Maggie could see she didn’t believe that. She thought there was something more going on. Maggie did, too.
She wondered if they’d worn out their welcome. She didn’t want to make Ruth tired and their questions were not yielding much information.
“The detectives seem to think your friend is guilty. But I can see you really believe she’s not.” Ruth paused and shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe. My daughter always spoke well of you, Maggie. She always enjoyed spending time in your shop.”
“I enjoyed her company. Very much. She had a wonderful way with people. Very warm and charming.” Maggie was not able to praise Liza this way when Suzanne was in earshot. But she meant the words sincerely. She knew it wasn’t much, but maybe some small comfort to her mother. “I’m sure you miss her very much.”
“I do. She came here often. We’d sit and knit together. She’d usually bring Emma, to give Kira a rest and some time to paint. It was nice company for me.”
“Did she have plans to visit the night she died?” Lucy asked.
“Yes, she did. But she called around seven o’clock and said she couldn’t make it. She said that she was caught up in something at the office and had to stay late, until it was finishe
d.”
Poor Liza. She had no idea that she’d be finished by the end of the night. “Did you hear anyone in the background?” Maggie asked.
“Not a sound. I assumed she was alone.” Ruth paused. “It makes me so sad to realize that was our last conversation.” She sighed and sipped her tea. “Early that morning, she’d sent some photos of yarn she’d picked out for me. I needed a dark blue merino to trim a sweater I’ve been working on. She wasn’t sure it was the right color and said she’d change it at your shop if the shade was not right. She wanted to make sure I got the photos, and reminded me to save them, until I saw her. I did wonder about that.”
“I remember her buying some blue yarn. Why did the request seem odd to you?” Maggie asked.
“Well, the next time she stopped by, she could bring the skein of yarn with her, couldn’t she? I didn’t need the photos to check the weight and color.”
The logic made sense to Maggie.
“Do you still have the pictures?” Lucy asked.
“I do. I think I can find them.... I’ll try.”
Ruth turned and picked up her phone, then frowned down at it a few moments, pressing her finger to the screen. “So many pictures of Emma on here. It’s hard to find anything else.”
She finally found the photos and passed the phone to Maggie. Lucy was quickly peering over her shoulder.
The pictures were just as Ruth had described. A strand of blue yarn, stretched across what appeared to be a desktop, in Liza’s office, Maggie assumed.
There were some papers on the desk, under the yarn, a spreadsheet with what looked like accounting information. There were several photos of the yarn, many close up and some from a distance. Maggie didn’t think the task required so many pictures, but maybe she had done some with a flash and some without, to show the color better?
Maggie glanced at Lucy, but didn’t say anything. Lucy handed the phone back to Ruth. “Did you show the photos to the police?”
Ruth shrugged. “They didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure if they even took copies.”
“Would you send me the photos?” Lucy asked politely.