Looming Murder (18 page)

I nodded, sighing. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“Mike says the weapon was a.22, which hardly anybody uses anymore.”

I cringed. Marnie’s gun was a.22-caliber.

Matthew continued. “And there was no stippling, which means Jeremy was shot from at least six feet away, which also suggests that the killer had experience with firearms.”

I stared at him, confused. “You lost me at ‘stippling.’”

“‘Stippling’ and ‘tattooing’ are both terms used to describe the circular pattern of dots created around a gunshot wound when a firearm is discharged from a close distance.”

“Oh, and I always thought stippling was a painting technique.”

He laughed. “Getting back to your question—at this point, I have no idea who killed him. I couldn’t even hazard a guess.” He frowned, looking thoughtful. “The problem with this case is that there are too many people with too many motives. The man was a Lothario.”

I cleared my throat, but before I could speak, he cut me off. “I don’t want you going around playing detective anymore. You hear me? I wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you getting herself hurt.”

He’d just done it again. He’d said I was pretty. I felt my face redden as I scrambled for something to say. I was still trying to think of a snappy comeback when the phone rang and Matthew picked up. “Hey, how’d it go?” he asked, and then he covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s David.”

“Ask him if he heard anything about my offer.”

Matthew repeated my question and then shook his head. I felt a flash of disappointment. I so wanted that building. Oh, well, it wasn’t lost yet. I still had until tomorrow.

They talked for a few minutes, but Matthew’s part consisted mainly of one-word answers—yes, no, really— and “see you tomorrow.”

“What did he say?” I asked as soon as he put down the receiver.

“The police searched the whole house. They didn’t find a gun, but they grabbed a bunch of his clothes.”

“His clothes?” I said, frowning. “Why?”

“They were the clothes he was wearing the night of the murder. I suspect they want to test them for gunpowder residue.”

“But didn’t they already do that?”

“Yes, but he might have showered and changed into fresh clothes before meeting with you that morning.”

“He has nothing to worry about, right?”

“Not unless he’s fired a weapon lately,” said Matthew. Judging from the expression on his face, he wasn’t entirely sure whether David had done that or not.

T
h
e next morning when I was in my studio, the door to the shop swung open and Marnie Potter walked in. Today she wore a floor-length orange floral dress, which looked surprisingly lovely with her red hair falling in loose curls on her shoulders. In her arms she carried a large shopping bag much the way one might hold a baby.

“What a nice surprise,” I said, grabbing my crutches.

“Oh, don’t get up,” she said, approaching me. “I brought you something. Where shall I put it?” She looked around.

“How about right here?” I gestured toward a chair. She dropped the bundle on the seat with a thump and opened the bag.

“I’ve been so overwrought, I plumb forgot to bring you some of my pieces as I promised. Pretty stupid of me, considering I need the money.” She wiped away the beads of moisture on her forehead.

Without waiting for her to comment on the heat, I went to the window, propped it open, and turned on the fan.

“That’s better. Thank you.” She swept her hair off the back of her neck. “I don’t know why I wore my hair down. I get way too hot this way.”

“You look good with your hair down,” I said, returning to my chair.

She waved away the compliment. “At my age, I’d rather be comfortable.” She pulled an elastic band from her dress pocket and tied her hair into a loose ponytail. “There, that’s better.” She sat. “I’ve decided I should speak to Mercedes about my gun.”

I put my index finger in front of my mouth in the international sign for “be quiet” and pointed to the kitchen. “Matthew is here,” I mouthed.

“Do you think he heard? I wasn’t speaking very loudly.”

Actually, she had been, but all I said was, “He concentrates so hard when he writes, I’m sure he didn’t.”

She nodded with relief. Glancing toward the kitchen door, she opened her bag and pulled out a stack of beautiful handwoven items. Loudly, she said, “I know you like Jenny’s work. I hope you like mine as much. It’s very different from hers, you know.” Regardless of the twinkle in her eye, I knew exactly what was going on. This was a contest between Jenny and her, and I was the judge.

I measured my words carefully. “There’s room for all styles of weaving in my shop. Some customers will want modern, and others won’t look at anything other than traditional.”

She unrolled from a cardboard tube and tissue a beautifully woven linen bedcover, handing it over to me. “My work is most certainly traditional.” Leaning forward, she whispered, “I would like you to be there when I speak to Mercedes. Do you mind?”

“No problem,” I answered in a low voice. “When do you want to do it?” And then loudly I exclaimed, “This is gorgeous. You know, tourist season is just around the corner. I’ll probably sell everything you give me. Do you have any more?” Her work was magnificent. I ran my hands reverently over the fine fabric. It was perfect in every detail. I looked closer. The yarns were very fine and tightly spun, resulting in an exceptionally fine texture. “This is probably the finest traditional work I’ve ever seen outside a museum.” The smile on Marnie’s face told me I had said exactly what she wanted to hear.

“Do you really think so?” Her hunger for praise surprised me. How could someone with such talent doubt herself?

“Absolutely. I had no idea your work was of this quality. I think these are exactly what my shop needs. Your style and Jenny’s will complement each other perfectly.”

“I can’t see what you mean by that,” she said, sounding slightly offended.

“In the same way art galleries sometimes show modern art next to classic art, to underline the contrast.”

A light went on in her eyes and she grinned. “Yes, yes. I imagine you might be right about that.”

“Come help me display them,” I said, grabbing my crutches and heading for my desk.

For the next hour, she marked and tagged as I entered her pieces into my stock list. Meanwhile we carried on two conversations, the louder one for Matthew’s benefit.

She raised her voice. “I’m so happy you like my tablecloths.” And then whispering, said, “I was thinking of inviting Mercedes to come over tomorrow. I told her I already have three finished baby blankets and she asked to see them. It’ll be the perfect excuse.”

“What time do you want me there?”

“How about right after you close the shop—six thirty or so?”

I nodded. “By the way, did you ever go to the coffee shop up the street?” I said. “I stopped by yesterday and had one of their cranberry-lemon muffins. They do not compare to yours.”

Marnie beamed. “I just made a batch of blueberry muffins. I should have brought you a few.”

Actually, I did wish she had. “That’s sweet, but trust me, I don’t need the calories. I’m just telling you. You really could start a business with your baking, you know.”

“Speaking of business, what’s going on with your offer on the building?”

“If I don’t hear by the end of the day today, that means my offer is null and void,” I said. “I’ll probably have to look for another place.”

“That would be too bad,” said Marnie.

“It would be. I really like the idea of moving my shop to that space.” I was tempted to tell her about Jenny’s idea of sharing it to open a tea shop, but thought better of it. If and when Jenny opened her business, she should be the one to announce it.

Soon we had priced and tagged every one of her pieces. Under my direction she set them up in various places: draped over the open door of the armoire, folded on the table. By the time she was finished, the shop looked amazing.

“This place is beginning to look like a real store,” she said, standing back to admire the results. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but you really needed more merchandise.”

I laughed. “You’re right. But Dream Weaver looks like a fully stocked high-end shop now. All I need is more customers.”

“They’ll come.” She picked up the bag in which she had brought her wares, folded it and slipped it inside her purse. “Trust me, they’ll come.” And the door closed behind her.

I
looked at my watch—four o’clock. I hadn’t heard from David all day, which surprised me. After Marnie left, I’d called his office and left a message asking him to call me back. If the deal was off, I wanted to know so I could start making alternate plans. At the sound of the bell, I looked up to see Susan Wood walking in.

“Here it is.” She brandished a brown manila envelope.

She had no sooner said this than the door opened again and Jenny walked in. “Should I come back later?”

“No, no, come on in.”

Susan swung around and Jenny smiled. “Oh, Susan, I didn’t recognize you for a second.”

Susan waved her in. “Don’t mind me. I’m only here for a minute.”

“You can stay for quick cup of coffee, can’t you, Susan?”

She looked at her watch. “I wish I could, but I’m on break and I only get fifteen minutes.”

I started for the kitchen. “It won’t take long.”

Jenny called out, “Would you mind if I had a cup of tea instead?” As an afterthought, she added, “If you make it loose leaf, I can read your fortunes.”

“You read fortunes?” I heard Susan ask, and then the kitchen door swung shut and I lost the rest of the conversation. To my surprise, the kitchen was empty. Matthew was gone. He had left by the back door, God only knew how long ago, and during all that time Marnie and I had been carrying on our two-tone conversation unnecessarily.

I turned the kettle on and, not having loose-leaf tea, I tore open a couple of teabags and dropped the contents into a teapot.

“I told you it wouldn’t take long,” I said from the doorway. “Can one of you help me with the tray?” Jenny hurried. She passed the pot around and then helped herself.

Susan stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea. “I was just telling Jenny about our conversation yesterday afternoon.” She set her cup down and picked up the manila envelope from her lap, tore it open and handed me a sheet of paper. “I brought you that list you wanted.”

I took the sheet from her and looked at it. She returned to her tea, taking a few long sips.

“Don’t drink it too fast,” instructed Jenny. “You have to sip your tea slowly until only the tea leaves are left. And hold your cup with your left hand,” she added. Jenny continued her directives while I scanned the list.

It consisted of a dozen or so names, only two of which I recognized—Marla Jean Potter, Marnie’s legal name, and Matthew Baker. This was disappointing. Under each name were dates, amounts and other details. I calculated quickly. “This adds up to a lot of money. But there are only two names I know.”

Jenny leaned in, peeking at the list. “Is that the list of people who invested in Jeremy’s project? How did you get it?”

Susan smiled. “Turns out that Jeremy never changed the password on his office computer. I went in and printed it off. Mind you, I could have given you my old list. It turns out he didn’t have any new investors since I quit working for him. That was around the time the contamination report was leaked.”

I chuckled. “And guess who did the leaking?”

Jenny glanced from me to Susan. Her eyes grew wide. “You?” Susan didn’t reply. “Well, good for you.” She looked full of admiration. “You saved countless people from losing their money.”

“I wish I’d gone looking for that report sooner. Then I could have helped even more people.”

I looked at the figures again. “I can’t believe how many people he persuaded to part with their money.”

“He could be a real smooth talker when he wanted to.” She tilted her head and studied me. “You think Jeremy might have been killed by one of those investors, don’t you?”

“I have no idea who killed him. But I do think there are lots of people here, all of whom had a darn good reason to want him dead.” I took a sip of tea, wishing it were coffee, and set the cup down. “I never saw the project. I imagine it must have looked pretty impressive.”

“I’ll drive you by for a look if you like.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” I picked up the list of investors again. “Some of these people lost a huge amount of money. Do the police have a copy of this?”

Susan shrugged. “Probably. But it won’t do them any good. I don’t think Jeremy’s murder had anything to do with his condo project.” Looking at the list in my hands, she said, “You’ve only got one page? Where’s the second sheet?” She picked up the manila envelope and looked inside. “Here it is.” She handed it to me.

“How can you be so sure it had nothing to do with his project?”

“I think I know who did it,” Susan announced as casually as if we were discussing the weather. She had already told me as much at the coffee shop, but I’d figured she was only bragging. She took another sip of tea and set the cup back in its saucer. She tightened her lips and made a locking movement with her fingers, pretending to throw away the key. “I told you, I can’t talk about it until I’m sure.” She turned to Jenny. “I finished my tea. Can you read my fortune now?”

Jenny put a hand on her arm, looking worried. “If you know who killed Jeremy, you have to tell the police. You could get in serious trouble if you don’t.”

Susan took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I can’t, at least not yet. First I have to get the proof. If everything goes right, I should have that by tomorrow night. Then I can go to the police. But enough about that.” Grinning excitedly, she held out her cup. “Tell me what you see.”

For a moment Jenny seemed reluctant to drop the subject, and then she pulled herself together. “Turn your cup upside down on the saucer and spin it around three times. And while you do that, think about the questions you’d like answered.”

Susan was almost hopping in her seat in anticipation. “Oh, this is so much fun!” She spun the cup, closed her eyes briefly, and then handed the cup back.

Jenny gazed into it silently. She turned it this way and that, studying the inside from all angles. “I see a snake near the rim. Look here. Do you see it?”

Susan nodded nervously. “Yes. What does that mean?”

“A snake is usually a warning, something you should be careful about. And see here?” She pointed near the head of the snake. “It seems to have something in its mouth.”

Susan peered closer. “It looks like a dagger.” She glanced up at Jenny. “What does that mean?”

“Generally a knife or a dagger means that somebody wishes you harm and that you should watch your back.”

At that moment the telephone rang and I hobbled away, missing the rest of Susan’s reading. It was David.

“Sorry I didn’t call you sooner,” he said. “I’ve been pretty busy.”

“Hi, David. I guess you didn’t hear from the seller?” I dreaded the news. “Maybe I should start looking at other options. I wouldn’t mind looking at Mrs. McLeay’s house again.”

“Actually, I was planning to call you and suggest that, but . . .” He paused, and my heart pounded in nervous anticipation. “I just got a counteroffer from the seller. Are you free later?”

My hope deflated. A counteroffer? I couldn’t afford more than what I’d already offered. Still, I said, “Sure. Around what time?”

“I can stop by after dinner. Say, sevenish?”

I hung up and returned to the studio in time to hear Jenny say, “Promise me you’ll be very careful, Susan. You are in serious danger.”

Susan looked stricken for a moment, and then she hooted. “Oh, my goodness, you are so good,” she said between hiccups of laughter. “You really had me going for a second.”

“That was David Swanson,” I said, interrupting. “Turns out the owner of that building just made a counteroffer. He’s coming over later to present it.”

Susan jumped out of her chair. “Oh, shoot. What time is it? If he notices I’m gone, I can kiss my job good-bye.” She raced out. A second later the door swung shut behind her.