Gone with the Wool (20 page)

Gwen had left the door open so she could see into the store in case there was a sudden rush of customers. It surprised me to see how angry she was. She was usually so calm. “Talk about making a deal with the devil. I knew if I made her a partner, even if she was only a minority one, she'd try to run things. Since she owned the building, who knows what she'd threaten.”

There was a partially done scarf on some circular needles on the shelf next to her. She picked up the ball of royal blue yarn and the needles and began to knit as she talked. It was a complete aside from what was going on, but I watched in total amazement at how fast she worked without having to keep track of the stitches. Before I could blink she was on the next row.

“I certainly wanted to kill Rosalie. My mother started this store in this location, and that miserable woman was going to put me out of business. I knew what her game was. She was trying to make herself important to be like the Delacortes.” She turned to me. “By the way, I told her no deal on the partner business. I didn't know how I was going to raise the money for the higher rent. I'm embarrassed to say, I was relieved when I heard she was dead.”

When Gwen mentioned the Delacortes, I wondered if this was the time to tell her about the proof I had that Edmund Delacorte was really her father. I imagined the shock on her face if she realized Vista Del Mar was meant to belong to her. Of course, I didn't know what the outcome would be. Edmund
had been dead for a long time. I had no idea if the sisters would choose to honor their brother's wishes or fight to hang on to it.

She went on talking, having no idea what I was thinking about. “Hank said he needed to talk to me, but I wasn't to tell anyone. At first I thought that he was going to take over for Rosalie and try to make the same deal.” Her needles continued to click as she moved on to another row.

“But he didn't,” I said.

“The poor man seemed shocked at what his wife had done, but at the same time he wanted to preserve her memory for all the good things she'd done in town. He said everything would go back to the way it had been, but only if I'd give my word not to let anybody know about what Rosalie had tried to do, or even that we'd talked.” She suddenly looked stricken. “But I just told you.”

I waved off her concern. “I won't tell anyone.” I'd had a thought. “Do you think he was really trying to protect her memory, or the Hardcastle reputation?”

Gwen stopped knitting and put the yarn in her lap. “I never thought of that. Hank is very well liked, and the Hardcastle family has always had an impeccable reputation, which means everything in a small town. He kept telling me that he knew nothing about what Rosalie had done and how as soon as he found out, he knew he had to do something about it.”

It was as if Gwen suddenly heard her own words. “Could that mean that
he
killed her?”

I left the yarn store feeling uneasy. Gwen had been quick to accept that Hank might have killed his wife. Did she believe it, or was she trying to cover up the fact that she could be a suspect?

I still had some time before I met up with my group, so I headed for Maggie's. Now that I figured Rosalie had probably tried the same with her, I really wanted to talk to her. And I could use another cappuccino.

I had to pass back through the street fair area. Light was fading, and the cool breeze made me glad I had on the blue fleece. The whole area had gotten more crowded. I couldn't help myself from checking on Chloe. The line in front of her booth had gotten even longer. I passed Coach Gary, who appeared to be taking a break from his ticket-selling duties and was sipping a cup of cider.

“Those wings must get heavy,” I said.

“I'm used to them,” he said. He rolled his shoulders to demonstrate that the wings didn't weigh him down. “I keep getting the gig because I'm the only one who volunteers.”

Kory came by. “Hey, Coach, don't fly away with those wings.”

The coach gave him a mock salute, and Crystal's son kept going. “He's a good kid,” Coach Gary said. “He comes from a good family.”

It was hard for me not to smile at the last part of the comment. If he only knew what family he really came from.

From where we were standing, I had a good view of Chloe's booth. No surprise, she seemed to be a natural at face painting and applying the temporary tattoos.

“She's certainly raising some money to help the butterflies,” I said.

Coach Gary didn't look impressed. “I'm surprised that she's going through all the princess tests. I'd bet money she not only won't be queen, but won't be in the top three. And when Monday comes around and things go back to normal, I expect that Lieutenant Borgnine will do his job and arrest her.”

“You seem pretty sure she did it,” I said.

“I was there,” he said. “After what Rosalie said to the girl, and then kicked her off the court . . .” He put his free hand up with a shrug that made his wing move. “That certainly counts as motive. And on top of that, she did threaten Rosalie, and once Rosalie was out of the way, she put herself back on the court.”

“What I heard was Rosalie didn't really have the authority to throw her out of the Princess Court in the first place.” I didn't know if it would do any good to try to defend Chloe to him, but I felt obligated to try.

“I'm sure you must know that Rosalie doesn't seem to have been well liked, or liked at all,” I continued. “I wouldn't
kill her over it, but she made a comment about my corn muffins making your players sick, and overnight my baking business hit the skids.”

“I thought you said your muffin sales had recovered.” I was surprised by his comment. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking to Dr. Sammy's parents.” His glance moved over the crowd—a woman was coming toward him with a fistful of long streams of tickets.

“It sounds like they just want the best for both of you. Sammy is a good guy. And I'm sure the opportunities for both of you would be better back in Chicago.” He smiled at me. “As the saying goes, you could do a lot worse.”

How did we go from talking about murder suspects to discussing who I should marry? I think Coach Gary saw my face and realized he might have overstepped his boundaries. “Sorry, but I'm so used to hearing the kids' problems and giving them advice, it's become automatic.” The woman caught up with us and handed him the tickets.

“Break time over,” he said, tossing the paper cup in the trash can. “The Lord of the Butterflies is back on duty.”

Life in a small town was certainly different. Everybody was in your business. I never would have expected to be getting relationship advice from the high school football coach.

I considered buying some tickets from him before he fluttered away, but what I really wanted was that cappuccino. I continued down the street to Maggie's.

Plus, in light of the new information I had, I wanted to talk to Maggie. Not that I was going to give her any specifics of what I'd been told. I wasn't sure how I was going to ask her about it without breaking my word. I didn't want to jeopardize Gwen's deal with Hank, particularly since I'd had the thought
that he might have killed his wife either to save his reputation or to save the town from her. Once someone had broken that boundary and killed once, killing a second time probably wasn't so hard. The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for anything happening to Gwen.

I hadn't planned on the mob in the coffee shop. Even with the extra help, there was no way Maggie could sit down with me.

She saw me over the crowd and beckoned me to the side. “The usual?” she said with a wink.

I nodded and quickly added that I had some news that might interest her. It was like I had dangled catnip to her.

“C'mon back. We can talk while I make drinks.”

It felt weird to be behind the counter, viewing it all from a different perspective. Apparently I spent too long admiring the faces turned toward me though, because they started yelling their orders at me. How did Maggie manage to keep them straight? By the time I'd heard decaf cap foam alone, extra hot chai latte almond, I was lost.

“What happened to your news?” Maggie asked. I was like a deer caught in the headlights, but she was able to juggle taking orders and handling payments and still notice that I hadn't started talking to her.

“I know she probably raised your rent and then tried to make a deal with you to be a partner. She told you not to tell anyone and gave you a deadline. I think you know who I mean.” I had made a point not to mention Rosalie's name.

Maggie froze. “How'd you know?”

“Because you're not alone.”

“That skunk,” Maggie said. “She made such a point that it was only me. She even tried to tell me she'd be a strategic partner.” Several people stepped up to the counter. “The
deadline for letting her know is up, but after what happened, I was waiting to see if there would be further instructions.”

“You mean from her husband?” I asked, and Maggie nodded.

“She said ‘we' in all our dealings, but I was only supposed to talk to her. Hank has always seemed to be pretty low-key, but you never know. I always thought that while she got to play the heavy, he might be pulling the strings.”

“I don't think so.” I checked the area around us to see if there were any ears I had to be concerned about. “I can't say who, but I know that her husband has approached one of the others and basically told them to forget everything she said. The one requirement is that whatever she did was never to be mentioned to anyone.”

“That seems kind of odd.” Maggie marked an order on a cup and passed it down.

“Maybe not. He's claiming he wants to keep her legacy intact.”

“Legacy?” Maggie said. Her eyes flashed with uncharacteristic anger. “What? That she was Butterfly Queen three times and tried to run everything she got involved with?”

She took the next order and marked it on the cup. “It must have been difficult being married to her. He could have found out what she was doing and been horrified. What if he tried to stop her and she wouldn't agree? Fishermen know their way around knives.”

“He said he wasn't at the event, but that doesn't really mean anything,” I said.

“He could have slipped in. I am sure he knows the script for the blessing service and knew about the lights going off. He could have stabbed her and been on his way out of the grounds before anyone even realized what had happened.”

“You have a point,” I said. The customers kept coming, and Maggie swiped another credit card.

“From what you're saying, I should be expecting a visit from him soon. Maybe I can find something out. Just a thought though—if she was operating on her own and insisting no one talked, how did he find out what she'd done?”

With that thought I took my cappuccino and left. Maggie had her line, and I had my group.

Most of them were waiting when I got to our meeting spot. They were all talking, and I noticed that a number of them had visited Chloe's booth and were sporting all kinds of body decorations.

Lucinda came rushing down the street with a guilty look. “I know I said I wasn't going to do it, but I went to the Blue Door. I talked to the cook, and he assured me no calamari was ever added to the menu. What is going on with Tag?” I just gave her a hopeless shrug as an answer.

My retreaters were all energized by the afternoon adventure, and as soon as they got off the bus, they rushed directly to the dining hall while dinner was still being served. The rest of the evening was free for them to meet up in groups to work on their own projects or go to the screening of
The Butterfly Effect
in Hummingbird Hall. I would have been happy to do either one, but my day wasn't done.

I was going to go home for a little breather before heading back into town to bake. When I arrived, I saw that Sammy's BMW was parked in the driveway next to my Mini Cooper. His parents' rental car was parked on the street. They had been hinting about coming over again, and I guessed that Sammy had agreed. Poor Julius!

Seeing them once in a day was more than enough, but I had to get my baking supplies. It seemed crazy to have to sneak
into my own house. It was dark now, and light was streaming out from the glass on the top half of my back door. I grabbed a peek and saw a bunch of take-out containers on the table. Julius was pacing around with his tail in angry mode.

Could I slip in and get my stuff without being noticed? I decided it would be better if I knew what was going on and who was where. It seemed like every light was on in the house as I crept around the side. I popped up for a moment outside the bedroom that I used as an office. Estelle was in there, looking around. I watched as she picked up the worry doll. Sammy was in the doorway, and I got the feeling he was telling her I made it. She gave it a disparaging look and dropped it back down on the love seat, so that the doll's dress came undone and she flopped over on herself. It took all of my self-control to keep from knocking on the window and telling Estelle that was no way to treat my creation.

They went out of the room, and I slipped around to the front just in time to see them go into the small living room. Estelle looked around with disdain. Bernard ignored it all and seemed engrossed in some game on television. Sammy was playing host and offered them glasses of wine. I was glad to see he'd found some proper glasses in the things my aunt had left.

When Estelle sat down with her wine, I thought I was home free. I could easily get in and out of my kitchen without them knowing. I was backing away from the window when somebody grabbed me from behind.

You don't live in Chicago without being tough, and I pushed back with both elbows, hoping to hit a soft spot. Instead, the next thing I knew I was on the ground.

“Sorry! It was just an automatic reaction,” Dane said,
crouching over me. “You're deadly with those elbows.” I held up my finger to shush him.

“What's going on?” he whispered. I pointed upward, and he peeked in the window and returned to the ground next to me.

“It looks like they moved in.”

“I'm sure they trapped Sammy.” I was trying to get up.

“Did I hurt you? That move is supposed to disable an attack with no damage.” He brushed off my clothes as I stood.

“Don't worry, I'm fine,” I said.

“Do you mind telling me why you're playing Peeping Tom at your own home?”

I led him away from the window and around to the back. “I was trying to see what was happening without going inside. I took my group to the street fair, and Sammy's parents got me alone and had their way with me.” I shook my head, trying to get rid of the memory.

“That bad?” he said, fighting a smile.

“They seemed happy about the problem with my baking business, because they think it will make me want to run away from here.”

“You're not going to do that,” he said.

“Well, it seems like the worst is over, but I still feel like I'm a tarnished brand. I keep thinking if I could clear the muffins unequivocally, things might go back to normal.”

Dane put his arm around me supportively. “There just might not be any way to do that. Besides, I heard your supply sold out today.”

“Really?” I said, feeling encouraged. “I knew they did at Maggie's.” We were back by my kitchen door now, and I stopped.

“What is it?” he asked.

“They're all in the living room. I could probably just sneak in the kitchen and get my baking supplies. It's either that or go to the store and buy all new stuff.”

“Or maybe there's another way.” He grabbed my hand. “Give me your car keys.” I handed them over, and he crouched down and pulled me with him. He led the way to my car and opened the driver's side. He motioned to the other door. When I got to it, it was open, and Dane whispered for me to get in.