Crewel Yule (27 page)

It was a little over an hour later before Betsy and Jill came back into the suite. Godwin was agog for details. “Tell me
everything!
” he demanded.

So Betsy began to describe the dramatic arrest. “Oh, I saw that, I came to watch,” said Godwin, “and I saw them take Cherry down in the elevator. Marveen should be an opera singer—what a voice!”

“I think she would have apologized if Lieutenant Birdsong hadn’t said she deserved a medal for it,” said Betsy. “She has a strong sense of decorum and the yell was her attempt to bring it back to her hotel.” Betsy smiled. “She wanted people to stop flinging themselves and others over her railings, and for the police to go away and take any riff-raff with them.”

“Did Cherry confess?” asked Godwin.

“Sort of. She said maybe the scream that had been going on inside her head would shut up now.”

“Oh, poor thing! Is Marveen mad at you and Jill for all this?”

“Probably,” said Betsy. “But she’s glad it’s over. She wanted us to talk to people, answer their questions, but I said that I’d had enough of questions from Lieutenant Birdsong. I wanted to come up here. I imagine everyone in the hotel has questions for us, and I’m not up to that.”

Jill snorted. “You mean people have all kinds of answers and theories. Most of them wrong.”

Betsy sighed. “You know something? I don’t care. I’m tired. I want to lie down in that bedroom with the lights turned off and not think about anything for a while.”

“Go ahead,” said Jill. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee. We’ll wake you in time for supper.”

Epilogue

It was a white Christmas in Excelsior that year, but then, it generally is. Betsy stayed open late Christmas Eve. Tomorrow Crewel World was closed, but it was a working day. All the Christmas lights must come down, the Christmas patterns, kits, and charts put away, except for a few in a special corner, up year round, and the Valentine stuff brought out. Betsy was getting used to working in advance of any holiday or season, but she didn’t much like it; so it was with a little sigh that she looked around a final time at the markers of her favorite season. Too bad the custom of celebrating Christmas for twelve days wasn’t followed in this modern world. And sad that it was celebrated many more than twelve days in advance—by the time Christmas arrived nowadays, trees and decorations were looking decidedly tired of the whole business.

Of course, up in her apartment, the tree hadn’t gone up until the previous Tuesday, so it was still fragrant and new to the eye. And it would stay up until Twelfth Night, January six.

Betsy turned on the Bose and a Christmas CD started, filling the apartment with angels heard on high singing,
“Glor, or-r-r-r-r, or-r-r-r-r, or-r-r-r-r, oria, in excelsis Deo!”
No more “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.” Tonight was the time for the real thing. Interesting how Christmas songs were about getting ready, and Christmas carols were about the event.

Under the tree were many bright packages hinting at lavish and luxurious things. Betsy smiled at them, and went to change out of her work clothes. She came out of the bedroom wearing a peacock-green jumpsuit, a very dressy outfit that looked fine with the boots she’d need to put on before venturing out for the midnight service at Trinity.

Meanwhile, she went into the kitchen to take the filo dough in its many paper-thin layers out of the refrigerator. She cut the dough into rectangles and strewed a thin layer of steamed spinach up its center, and embellished the spinach with a few crumbles of herbed feta cheese. She rolled the rectangles up, pressed the ends shut, and put them into a pre-heated oven for twelve minutes. Shelly arrived with Mayor Jamison just as the oven timer went off. Shelly was a part-timer in Betsy’s shop, an elementary school teacher the rest of the time. She was an attractive woman with masses of light brown hair done up in an elaborate way. Jamison was a confirmed bachelor; a narrow, slender man with dark hair and eyes, whose job as mayor was also part-time. Betsy put Shelly to work slicing the rolled filo into thirds while she arranged cookies on another cooking sheet. Jamison uncorked a bottle of wine and lit the candles on the table in the dining alcove.

Godwin arrived just as the cookies came out. His lover went home for Christmas, a place Godwin was not allowed to visit. He and John made up for it with a big blow-out at New Year’s.

“Kind of sad not to have Jill here,” said Godwin.

“It’s Lars’s year,” said Betsy. Lars was a Lutheran, and Jill an Episcopalian. They alternated years of Christmas and Easter at one another’s church.

They ate the spinach hors d’oeuvres with the wine, then tackled the cookies. Jamison wandered the apartment, looking at Betsy’s tree and other ornamentation—he hadn’t been able to come to her big Christmas party last week. “Say, what’s this I hear about you and Jill solving a crime down in Nashville?” he asked in his decidedly midwestern twang.

“Yes,” said Shelly. “You haven’t told us about it.”

“That’s because the person I thought should have done it turned out to be innocent,” said Betsy. “That was kind of depressing.”

Godwin said, “But you put the clues together very cleverly. It wouldn’t have been right if the wrong person got arrested.”

“Tell us about it,” said Shelly. “We’ve got plenty of time before we have to leave for church.”

“All right.” So Betsy related the events of eight days ago, making little of her efforts. Godwin kept interupting to correct the record, perhaps going a little far in the other direction. It felt strange to be talking about jealousy, theft, insane hatred, wickedness, and murder on Christmas Eve, but the listeners were enrapt. When she finished, Shelly said, “Did Cherry ever explain what led her to murder Belle? I mean, I would think an audit would expose Belle’s shenanigans with the cash register, so why did Cherry have to kill her?”

Betsy said, “Lieutenant Birdsong took Cherry downtown to police headquarters and once there, Cherry confessed the whole thing. It was taken down as a statement, and he sent Jill a copy of it, which she let me read.

“What happened was, Cherry went to talk to Belle in her suite after breakfast. Belle was angry that Cherry was going to order an independent audit and tried to talk her out of it. But the more she argued, the more Cherry was sure Belle was stealing money from the store. And at last Belle said yes, she had been taking money—and so what? The store was half hers, she could take money out of it if she wanted to. If Cherry liked, Belle would save her the cost of the audit and give her a list of when and how much she’d taken. Cherry left in a rage. She was so angry she had to stop for a minute to regain control of herself. She heard a door open and pulled back into a doorway—the doorways were recessed deeply enough to get her mostly out of sight. She didn’t want anyone to see her the way she was feeling.

“And out came Belle, all happy and smiling. She walked up to the railing and stood there like the Queen of England after the defeat of the Armada—those were Cherry’s own words. And Cherry simply rolled up behind her, grabbed her by the lower legs, and tossed her over. It wasn’t planned or premeditated. It was a combination of rage and opportunity. She was sorry the instant it happened. But it was done, with no way to undo it. She really didn’t look down at Belle on the floor until she got in the elevator, and it just made her sicker.” Betsy looked at Godwin. “She said that if you’d asked her, she would have told you she did it.”

“Like I was even
thinking
something like that!” exclaimed Godwin.

“She described you in her statement as a kind gentleman who was a comfort to her.”

“
Brrrr
and bosh!” said Godwin, shaken to think he had given comfort to a murderer.

Jamison checked his watch. “If we want a good seat, we’d better get over there,” he said.

And so out they trailed into the deep and frostbitten night, with lights glowing softly from nearly every window, lighting the way to the church, where the choir was already warming up the congregation with “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful.”

But Betsy found it hard to sing at first, lost in thoughts of the three suspects. Lenore, she considered, would be fine; she could stay at home with her children while she built a career in design. Poor Eve was more problematic. Perhaps her tears could actually water her soul back to life. But Cherry, who she’d really thought of as sweet and down-home—Cherry’s future was winter-dark indeed.

Crewel Yule Tree Ornament

Designed by Lenore Fischer of At River’s End

FABRIC:
Zweigart 28 ct. Cashel Linen—Dark Teal Green (3281-641-55)

 
STITCH COUNT:
58 wide × 63 high

FINISHED SIZE OF ORNAMENT:
4 1/8 w × 4 1/2 h inches

DESIGN SIZE: 28 COUNT (OVER 2):
4 1/8 w × 4 1/2 h inches