Loom and Doom (13 page)

“B
y the way,” Marnie said, after Jenny had left. “I made two sales this morning.”

“That's good.”

“But one of them I suppose doesn't really count. Judy Bates came by to pay for the merchandise she borrowed yesterday. So technically that sale was yesterday. She says it looks amazing in her living room. In fact, she said your blanket and cushions pulled the entire decor together.”

“That's great. Let's hope the rest of the day brings more good sales.”

In between reorganizing my window display and waiting on customers, I couldn't help but notice the number of people going into Coffee, Tea and Destiny as the morning turned into the afternoon, and I wondered how Jenny was able to seat everyone.

“Marnie, do you mind keeping an eye on the shop for a minute? I'll be right back.” I crossed over to Jenny's shop and made my way between the café tables to the counter where Margaret was counting out a customer's change.

“And here are your cookies,” she said, handing the woman a bag, and turned to me. “Hey, Della. What can I get you?”

“I'll have a coffee,” I said, watching Jenny rush from table to table. “And I'll take one for Marnie too. Things are really swinging over here. That's good.”

“I know. Isn't it wonderful? Although, I doubt it'll be this busy once the mystery of the murders is solved.” She leaned closer to whisper, “This is the meeting place for the Briar Hollow Gossip Society.”

I laughed.

“There is no such club,” she said, “but there might as well be.” She pointed discreetly with her chin. “It's the same group of biddies who always get together whenever there's a tragedy to dissect.”

“I take it the tragedy is Syd Shuttleworth's murder?”

She handed me a cup of coffee, looked around the room. “Everybody is wondering what the link between the two murders is.”

“What's the consensus?”

“You wouldn't believe the theories. Swanson, it seems, was quite the lady's man. Some people seem to think his ex-wife might have killed him, and that Syd Shuttleworth was killed because he figured it out.” She rolled her eyes. “That's pretty lame if you ask me. Then there's this theory: Syd killed Swanson for God knows what reason and Swanson's wife killed Syd in revenge. And, of course, there are those that think they were both killed by organized crime.”

“But of course,” I said, jokingly. “Why didn't I think of that?”

“If I hear anything more, I'll let you know.”

I picked up the second coffee and left.

When I got back to my shop, Marnie was on the phone. “Here she is now,” she said, and covered the mouthpiece. “It's Mrs. Renay.”

“Oh, Della,” she said. “It's just terrible. I heard there was a second murder. What is this world coming to?”

“It's upsetting, I know.”

“And, of all people,
you
had to find the body. How traumatic for you. You were just recovering from the first murder and then you had to stumble onto this one. How are you feeling?”

“A bit shaken up,” I said. “But otherwise all right.”

“Do the police have any idea who did it?”

“Not that I know of,” I said, deciding on discretion.

“I still think Mona Swanson killed Howard,” she whispered. “But I can't figure out why she would kill that contractor—unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Do you think maybe he found out she did it and she had to silence him?”

“That's one theory,” I said. “But I got the feeling the police aren't taking that one too seriously.”

I could hear the disbelief in her voice when she spoke again. “They think she's innocent? I hope they checked to see if she has an alibi.”

“I would be shocked if they hadn't,” I said.

“But,” she said, “do you think it could be Ronald Dempsey? He had the opportunity. He was here when—” Suddenly there was another voice in the background. “Oops. I'd better go,” she whispered into the phone. “I'll call you later.”

I hung up, thinking about Ronald Dempsey. I looked at my watch. One o'clock. Still four hours till closing.

“Marnie,” I called, heading toward the back. She was measuring a warp, wrapping yarn around the rack I'd had installed directly on the wall. “Are you starting a new project?”

“I thought I'd try my hand at Native-style weaving too,” she said. “But since I don't have the right loom, I figured I could copy the design, using finer yarns, and maybe make some place mats to match the rugs and cushions.”

“That's a great idea. And once you finish the first set, I'll give Judy a call. She might like to get some to continue with her decor theme.”

“You were about to say something?”

“Yes. How would you like to go for a drive with me after work?”

Her eyes lit up. “Are we going to break into anybody's house?”

“That's not even funny,” I said. I'd once done exactly that, and had almost been caught. The experience had been terrifying and I was in no hurry to repeat it. “I just want us to visit Ronald Dempsey's development, Prestige Homes.”

“Sure,” she said. “I've always wanted to see how the other half lives. Does that mean you're going to do some detecting?”

“I just want to see the place, and get an idea of the prices. Since Swanson was planning to buy in that development, knowing how much he was spending will help determine the scope of his little extortion game.”

The phone rang and I returned to the counter. It was Matthew.

“I just heard there was another murder. I can't believe you didn't even call me.”

“I didn't want to disturb you while you were writing.”

“Sweetheart,” he said in a tone that made my knees turn to jelly. “There are times when you should call. I've been worried sick since I found out.”

“How did you find out?”

“The chief called. He wants me to come in to the station, so I can give him my opinion on some evidence they've got. He feels this latest murder might be linked to the city inspector's.”

I could have told him that. But all I said was, “They want you to join the investigation?”

“No, nothing like that. He only wants to show me something, hear what I have to say about it. I was worried it would take away from my writing, but he promised it was a onetime thing.”

“I wonder what he wants to show you.”

“He wouldn't tell me on the phone.” Being ex-FBI, I knew Matthew often missed the challenge of catching the bad guys. “I'm heading over now, so I won't be picking up Winston until later. I figure around seven or so. Want me to bring a pizza when I come over?”

“Sounds great,” I said. “See you then.”

Seven o'clock was perfect. It gave me time to check out Prestige Homes and be back before Matthew showed up. “Did you hear that, Winnie?” He opened his bleary eyes and stared up at me. “You're going investigating with me, big boy.” The prospect did not seem to excite him in the least. He closed his eyes and went right back to sleep.

•   •   •

By the end of the afternoon, we'd sold a few more pieces, making for an excellent day. I counted the cash and checks, and slipped them into the overnight-deposit bag.

“Ready when you are,” I called out to Marnie in the back. She hurried forward, slipping on her jacket.

“I was just waiting for you.”

We locked up and climbed into my Jeep. “Come on, Winnie.” He jumped in. After a quick stop at the bank, we headed for the highway with Winston riding shotgun on the console between the two front seats.

“Get back, Winnie,” I said. “That's dangerous.” He threw me a dirty look and resentfully hopped to the backseat.

“Where is this development?” Marnie asked.

“On the outskirts of the other side of Belmont. I looked it up on Google Maps.”

“Tell me again why we're going there?”

“I'm just curious. If Mona was responsible for her husband and Syd's deaths, the only question I still have is how lucrative was Swanson's extortion business. And how much would she have to gain by offing her husband?”

“He could have been doing it for years,” she said.

“And if he was, he could have been hiding a lot of money.”

“And what better place to invest it than in a brand-new home?”

“I doubt he would have done that. Paying cash for a house would be a sure way to attract the attention of the IRS.”

•   •   •

Twenty minutes later, Marnie and I pulled up in front of an imposing black iron gate. Above it in large letters read
PRESTIGE HOMES, EIGHTY PERCENT SOLD
.

“He built it as a gated community,” she said. “That was smart of him. It adds another level of status to the place.”

We drove through the entrance and followed the signs to the sales office, passing a dozen homes, each larger than the other.

“Now
that's
what I'd call a McMansion,” she said, looking at a huge two-story home with two chimneys and an attached garage. “Can you imagine how long a place like that would take to clean?” She clucked her tongue. “I'm happy in my tiny little house.”

“It's hard to believe there are enough people around here with the money to pay for such houses,” I said.

“How do we know eighty percent are really sold?” she pointed out. “He could be posting those numbers just so it looks good.”

I peeked at the windows of the houses we drove by. Cars were parked in the driveways, curtains in the windows, perfect landscaping. I even spotted a swing set in one of the backyards. “Most of them look like people are living there.”

We followed the arrows marked
SALES OFFICE
until we got to a large white-stone house. We stepped out of the Jeep and took it all in. There must have been a dozen windows on the facade alone, every one of them with black shutters. The effect was almost overwhelmingly elegant.

“I think we'd better leave Winston in the car,” she said. “They'd probably frown on bringing a dog into that fancy place.”

“Good idea,” I said.

We made our way to a tall black wrought-iron door.

“Well,” Marnie said as we climbed the steps. “So far, I gotta admit I'm impressed.”

So was I. Everything in this development screamed expensive. “From what I've seen so far, it looks as though Dempsey spared no expense.” I'd secretly harbored a suspicion that Dempsey might have also been extorted. If he'd been cutting corners on his project, Swanson could have milked him for a bundle. So much for that theory.

We stepped inside to a magnificent foyer that opened onto a second-floor mezzanine. I looked down to a brown marble floor edged with a narrow trim of black marble. Farther in, I caught a glimpse of a ballroom-sized living area with plush white sofas and mirrored furniture.

“Wow,” Marnie whispered.

From an area right of the living room, came the sound of voices. We headed in that direction, and as we rounded the corner, a young woman came forward.

“Hello,” she said. “Welcome to Prestige Homes. My name is Karen. Is this your first visit to our community?”

Marnie nodded, looking tongue-tied.

“It is,” I said.

“Are you looking to buy in the near future?” she asked.

“My fiancé and I are getting married in the fall,” I said, deciding to play the role of a prospective buyer. “I'm just starting to look. I wanted to get an idea of what's available in the area.”

“That's very wise of you,” she said. “Why don't I start by telling you about this development?”

She guided us to the dining room, where the long elegant table was being used as a desk. Behind it was a man dressed in a business suit—another sales person no doubt. I looked around the walls covered with floor plans. On an easel was a map of the development, with dozens of tiny squares. Each represented a house. I noticed that most of them had a small round sticker.

“What do those dots mean?” Marnie asked.

“The red ones are properties that are already sold. The blue ones are reserved by clients, pending financing.”

“You don't have very many left,” I said.

“That's true, but phase two is scheduled to begin this summer, with the first properties due to be finished by Christmas. The timing might be perfect for you. Would you like to look at the floor plans? We have three bedrooms, four bedrooms and five bedrooms.”

“Maybe I can take some brochures home, so I can show them to my fiancé,” I said.

“Certainly.”

“A friend of my family was buying in this project. Unfortunately he just passed away.”

She frowned. “Who was that?”

“Howard Swanson.”

“Yes, I heard about that. Such a tragedy. I feel awful for his poor wife.”

“It's very sad,” I said. “What's going to happen to that house? He told us all about it. It sounded wonderful. I was wondering if it's going to go back on the market.”

“I have no idea. Until we get instructions from his widow, we can't do anything.”

She picked up a stack of glossy brochures, and after going through them for a few minutes, selected one. “This is the model Mr. Swanson was buying.” She handed it to me.

My eyes went straight to the price. “Wow. I never imagined he was buying such an expensive house.”

“Well, he got a very special price,” she said. “He and the builder were very good friends. Also he was the first person to buy.”

I could tell, from the information she had just revealed, that she loved to gossip. I leaned in. “How much did he pay?”

“I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to give out that sort of information,” she said, looking chagrined. I knew that she'd spill the beans at the slightest encouragement.

“But now that he's deceased, doesn't that change things?”