A Drunkard's Path (11 page)

“I don’t think it should be Carrie’s,” she said. “That seems a bit too arrogant, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s cute. In fact the whole place is cute.”

Carrie had been making quite a lot of progress on the shop. Now that it was painted, she was slowly bringing in furniture. It was all mismatched, bought from yard sales and secondhand shops. She arranged the chairs and tables toward the back, leaving the front open for the counter and a large couch. Maggie had given her an old sofa from the seventies that was ugly but still in good shape. Carrie reupholstered it in bright purple velvet, which gave the place exactly the funky East Village coffee shop look she wanted.

It must have seemed that my time was completely taken up with work, school, and the mural. And it was. But that was only because I was completely stuck on what to do next about the murder of Lily Harmon. Jesse wasn’t going to let me tag along on his investigation, and my grandmother would put me in the morgue if she thought I was out chasing a killer. But I knew I had to do something. Rich had seen a photo on the ground, and if it meant nothing, it would have been in evidence. So either it had been taken by the killer, lost somehow, or—and this nagged at me—Jesse was lying about it.

On Thursday I drove with Kennette to class. I wasn’t much in the mood to talk, which wasn’t a problem since Kennette tended to go on and on about Oliver—what he might say, what we might learn, even what he might wear.

“Does Eleanor have competition in you?” I asked, only half joking.

Kennette blushed. “Do you think he’s called her since their date? She hasn’t said anything.”

I noticed she hadn’t answered my question, but she had raised an interesting, and embarrassing, point.

“It’s going to be awkward if he hasn’t,” I said, almost to myself.

“He must have,” Kennette said firmly. “He’s too good a person to hurt Eleanor.”

“He’d better be.” I felt like I had another mystery to uncover. What was going on with my grandmother and my teacher?

Once in class, I didn’t have to wait long. Oliver came over as I was setting up my easel and smiled.

“I’m so looking forward to dinner on Saturday,” he said. “I have a feeling your grandmother is a wonderful cook.”

“She is,” I stumbled. My surprise was obvious.

“You should ask your young man,” he said. “Eleanor told me that the two of you make a fascinating couple.”

“She used that word?”

He laughed. “Not exactly. She said she thought you would be good for each other if you got out of your own way.”

“That sounds more like her.”

Oliver smiled again then moved on to another student. I turned to Kennette, who had been pretending to arrange her pencils during the entire conversation.

“Dinner on Saturday. That’s cool, huh?” she said.

“Why wouldn’t she mention it, though? Do you think she doesn’t want us to know?” I asked.

“Should we be there?”

“I don’t want to be there. You, me, them. We would be sitting there while they giggled and stared at each other.”

“They won’t giggle. They’re in their seventies,” Kennette whispered.

“I don’t care what they do,” I told her. “I’m going nowhere near the house on Saturday.”

Kennette looked disappointed but smiled. “I could hang out at the shop. I’m only half finished piecing the top for my drunkard’s path.”

“I’ll help,” I offered. “Anything not to be at the house when Oliver arrives.”

I was emphatic with Kennette, but as class went on I started to lose my certainty. Once again Oliver spent just a little more time with Sandra than he did with anyone else in the class, and once again he praised her a little more than she deserved. Worst of all, once again as he walked to his office after class Sandra followed him.

If he really was getting involved with Eleanor, he had better be worthy of her. And as he let Sandra into his office and closed the door behind him, I felt more and more sure that he wasn’t.

“I have to do something,” I said to Kennette. “Can you wait for me to drive to the shop?”

“What do you have to do?” Kennette had become like my little sister. Always tagging along, both a welcome friend and a tiresome pest.

“Nothing special. I just want to talk to Oliver.”

“You want to ask him about your work?” she said. “It’s really good, you know. Especially when you paint on fabric. You are freer on fabric than you are on canvas.”

I looked at her. “How do you do that?” I asked.

She blushed. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out what’s wrong with my work and you nailed it. I’m trying too hard in class. When I paint on squares to make a quilt, I figure if I make a mistake, who cares? I’m learning.”

“Aren’t you taking this class to learn?”

“Yes but when I work on fabric I don’t have Oliver White standing there judging me.”

“I don’t think he’s judging you. I think he’s guiding you. He’s trying to make all of us better. Just like when Maggie helps me with a seam or Bernie suggests a color. They’re all so excited to have other people interested in the thing they love.”

“But they’re not Oliver White,” I insisted. Except, I wondered, who is Oliver White anyway?

And then his office door opened. I grabbed Kennette and pushed her against the wall around the corner.

“Shh,” I instructed. She nodded.

Sandra walked out first, with Oliver right behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against him for a long time. It seemed as though she had been crying. She said something to him but I couldn’t hear it. His voice was louder, deeper, and slightly easier to hear.

I thought he said, “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

Then he reached into his pocket and took something out. It looked like money. She took it and nodded. Then she walked down the hallway and he went back to his office.

“Give me a minute,” I whispered, leaving Kennette in the hallway.

“Oliver,” I stood in the doorway. Oliver was sitting at this desk just a few feet away, but it seemed as if he didn’t hear me. “Oliver,” I said again.

“Sorry. Yes, Nell.” He stood.

“Is everything okay?” I had no idea how he would react but I was going to say it anyway. “I saw Sandra leave your office in tears.”

“She does cry a lot,” he sighed. “Poor girl.”

“It’s just that she has so much attitude with everyone except you.”

Oliver’s face was a blank. I tried to read a little guilt or fear or something in his eyes, but there was nothing but a pleasant and empty smile. He reached into his pockets but came out empty-handed. Then he looked around his desk, confused.

“Missing something?”

“A pack of cigarettes. Not important.” He sat back and looked up at me. “Your grandmother is quite a woman. She seems to have overcome a lot and with such grace.”

“Yes,” I said. “She believes in doing the right thing. No matter how tough it is.”

“I imagine she’s instilled that in you.”

“She wouldn’t want to be around someone who wasn’t good and decent and responsible.”

I wondered if he heard my warning. He just smiled. Then he placed his hand on my back and walked with me out of the office, locking the door behind him.

Kennette had disappeared, so I walked down the hallway to find her. I was about to give up when she came walking out of the ladies’ restroom.

“Ready?” She smiled.

I nodded. “Give me a minute.”

I was surprised to see that my hands were shaking. What was it about Oliver that so unnerved me? It made me admire my grandmother more that she seemed able to hold her own with him. I walked into the ladies’ room to wash my face, but before I had a chance, I saw Sandra at the mirror.

“What do you want?” she shouted.

“It’s a bathroom. What do you think I want?” I snapped back. Oliver might intimidate me, but she didn’t.

I turned on the sink and washed my hands, but I kept my eyes on the mirror. Behind me Sandra was smoking a cigarette and staring at the ceiling, anger all over her face.

“Oliver is really getting to you,” I ventured.

“Meaning?”

“You always seem to be upset around him.”

She shifted her weight. “Screw you.”

Charming. I wasn’t going to be able to match her attitude so I went a different way. “I’m just saying that if Oliver is doing something he shouldn’t . . .”

“He’s not.”

“He’s doing something.”

She threw her cigarette in the sink. “Jealous?” She swept passed me and out the door.

It was a dramatic exit, to be sure. But as far as I was concerned the conversation wasn’t over. Next class, and every class, I was going to push them both until I found out what was going on.

“He’s paying her to be his lover,” I said on the drive to the shop.

“That makes no sense,” Kennette said. “He’s not like that.”

“Okay, so she’s in trouble and he’s helping.”

“Much more likely.”

“What if she’s pregnant with his child?”

“Gross!” Kennette shouted. “He’s not going around getting some student in . . . that way.”

“Come up with a good reason why he keeps having these secret meetings with a student, then hugs her and gives her money.”

“He’s nice,” she sounded exasperated. “He’s just nice.”

“Well even if he is the nicest man on the planet, I am not leaving him alone with my grandmother. I’ll tell you that.”

“So we’re going to be there on Saturday?” Kennette smiled.

“You, me, and the chief of police.”

 

 

 

 

I
f Eleanor was annoyed to have her romantic dinner for two turned into a family meal for five, she didn’t show it. She stayed home on Saturday to cook, which left the shop entirely to Kennette and myself.

And it was probably a good idea. About once an hour a member of the quilt club came in to get the scoop on the plans for the evening. I had no news to tell them, but at least we could talk openly on the subject. The night before, at our regular Friday meeting, we’d all stepped around it. Instead we spent the evening finishing Kennette’s quilt top and discussing the importance of an accurate seam allowance.

The only subterfuge was when we arranged for Carrie’s husband to call with a crisis at home, entirely false, so that she would leave early. Her shop was opening in a month, and we were planning a large group quilt for the blank side wall. As much as we were keeping it a secret, I was pretty sure Carrie knew. After all, she had me painting a mural on the back wall. She had cool mirrors and paintings ready for the area behind the counter. But one large wall was left blank, and Carrie was quiet about what she planned to put there. I assumed she was holding the space for her “surprise” quilt.

We had decided on something modern and abstract, and Susanne was putting together sketches for approval. She had said it might take her a week to get truly inspired, but she showed up Saturday afternoon with three beautifully realized ideas.

“These are gorgeous. I’d vote for any of them,” I said.

“Keep them with you and make sure everyone gets to look at them,” Susanne told me. “And take notes.”

“On the sketches?”

“On what happens tonight.”

I leaned in so Kennette, who was straightening fabric, would not hear. “I don’t think I trust him.”

“You don’t have a reason, do you?”

I did. At least I thought maybe I did. But I couldn’t say anything. If I mentioned Sandra to anyone without first telling Eleanor, I would be a bad friend to the one person who had been there for me when my life had fallen apart. So I shook my head.

“I guess I’m just annoyed that her love life is moving along more smoothly than mine,” I said.

“Maybe having dinner with Oliver will teach Jesse a thing or two about romance.” She smiled. “Besides, I hear we’re up for a big snow storm this evening, so maybe they’ll both have to spend the night. That will be cozy.”

I smiled but the thought made me a little sick.