The Quick and the Thread (25 page)

“Nash,” he said.

“Ted, it’s Marcy.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I’ve . . . I’m seeing something on television about isopropyl, and I’m wondering whether Timothy Enright’s autopsy report showed signs of hemorrhaging in the trachea or bronchial tubes.”

“I don’t remember. But I’ll look first thing in the morning and see,” he said. “Are you sure everything is all right?”

“Yeah. I just . . . I don’t know. I have a weird feeling. I’m probably wrong, but . . . check that out, would you?”

“I will. And I’ll call or drop by and let you know as soon as I find out.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You want to share this theory?” he asked.

“Not yet. It’s too far-fetched.” I laughed softly. “I’m really good at far-fetched.”

“Sometimes far-fetched isn’t.”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “After you find out what the autopsy report says, we’ll talk about it.”

“You got it. Get some sleep.”

That would be easier said than done. The true-crime show had me thinking about how someone could have made Timothy Enright inhale, ingest, or absorb enough isopropyl through his skin to kill him.

After talking with Detective Nash, I went upstairs and changed into my pajamas. Angus stayed downstairs for the time being, but I knew he’d be up after the living room got cooler from the gas logs being turned off.

I lay in bed and thought about Timothy Enright. Who would want him dead? Four Square Development’s fifth partner would. Lorraine was a possibility, if she was lying about the fact that her husband was trying to make enough money for the two of them to start anew somewhere else. By all accounts, Timothy cared deeply for his wife; but arguably, he could’ve become tired of her manipulations.

Since that’s all I knew about Mr. Enright, I turned my attention to Mr. Trelawney. Who would want the poor old landlord dead?

Once again, by all accounts, Bill Trelawney had been heavily involved with Four Square Development. But Mr. Trelawney had escaped discovery during the audit that put the other four principals in prison. Why hadn’t they ratted him out?

It was shortly after coming to the shop and looking at the message Timothy Enright had etched into the wall that Mr. Trelawney was found shot to death in his car. Had that been a coincidence, or had he hurried to alert Four Square Development’s fifth partner, who had also previously escaped detection?

If the fifth partner had killed Bill Trelawney, then what was his motivation? Mr. Trelawney had apparently been the only person entrusted with the fifth partner’s identity, so why turn on him now? Was it that Mr. Trelawney realized the fifth partner had killed Timothy Enright? Maybe Mr. Trelawney was willing to put up with real estate fraud, but not murder.

I couldn’t think of anyone else who might want Mr. Trelawney dead. A crazed renter with a leaky faucet? But even that was a stretch.

Still, I’d been stretching my imagination like crazy lately. After seeing Mr. Langhorne in Portland, I’d deduced he was living a double life rather than that he’d been in a previous marriage. And, in my mind, I was accusing Blake of making frightening phone calls to me and breaking into the Trelawney house. There’s no way Blake would do that. Would he? I mean, he readily admitted to Manu that he’d allowed Mr. Trelawney to use his financial information, and he hadn’t gotten into trouble. Everything was fine. Whatever Blake did in the past was in the past.

I needed some sleep. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’d think about it tomorrow.

 

 

I was dreaming I was in a classroom. I was getting ready to take a test when the bell started ringing. In fact, the bell was getting on my nerves, badly. I was searching for a way to turn it off when I awoke and realized it wasn’t a school bell but the telephone ringing.

I clumsily took the phone out of its holder and pressed the Talk button. “Hello.”

“Marcy? Marcy, it’s Vera Langhorne. Something terrible has happened. John has been in a car accident.” She was sobbing.

“Calm down,” I said, pushing myself up in bed. “How bad is it?”

“The California Highway Patrol told me he’s in intensive care. I’m going to the hospital now. I wanted someone to know.”

“Is someone driving you?”

“N-no. I’ll make it all right.”

I thought it was odd that it was me she reached out to, but she really seemed in desperate need of help. “Let me get up and get dressed, and I’ll be right over,” I said. “I can drive you to California.”

“Really? Are . . . are you sure?”

“Positive. You’re in no condition to drive.”

“Thank you, dear.”

I set the phone back in its charger and threw back the covers. Angus groaned.

“Me, too, buddy. I was hoping to sleep in. But this is important, and Vera would do the same for me.”

I schlepped to the shower and quickly bathed and washed my hair. I dried my hair as soon as I got out of the shower and returned to the bedroom to throw on a blue track suit with a white V-neck T-shirt underneath. I had a long drive ahead of me, and I decided I might as well be comfortable.

I hurried downstairs, fed Angus, and let him out into the backyard. The sky was still dark, partly because it was early and partly because there was a major storm heading our way.

I sighed, grabbed a granola bar, and headed for Vera’s house. Before backing out of the driveway, I called MacKenzies’ Mochas and left a voice-mail message.

“Hi, it’s Marcy. It was too early to call you guys at home, but I’m taking Vera Langhorne to California. The highway patrol called and told her John has been in an accident. Anyway, would you please check on Angus? He’s in the backyard, and it looks like it’s going to storm. He hates storms. I’ll call you back when I know more about Mr. Langhorne. Thanks!”

I dropped the phone into my purse and drove to the Langhornes’ house. The porch light was on, but otherwise, the entire neighborhood was dark. I envied those people still asleep, and immediately felt guilty for the thought.

I parked in the driveway beside Vera’s BMW. As I walked to the door, I thought about how strange this all felt. Tallulah Falls seemed like such a close-knit community. And yet the newest person in town was the one who two people had both turned to. Why was that? I understood that neither Vera nor Mrs. Trelawney had children, but one would think they’d lived in Tallulah Falls long enough to have made friends closer than me. Was it that Tallulah Falls wasn’t such a close-knit community after all? Had the recent criminal activity caused the people to shut themselves off from one another and become afraid to trust?

I rang the doorbell. Vera opened the door so quickly, I wondered if she’d been standing there waiting on me since she had first called.

“Come in quickly,” she said, moving aside just enough to allow me entrance.

I noticed she was trembling. “Vera, it’ll be okay.”

She shut the door and turned off the porch light before turning back to me with wide, frightened eyes. “No, it won’t.”

John Langhorne stepped from the hallway into the room. He was holding a gun. I had a sick feeling it was a .38 caliber . . . probably the same one used to kill Bill Trelawney.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Marcy,” Mr. Langhorne said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t bad enough for you to poke your nose into my business dealings, but then you had to follow me to Portland.”

“I didn’t follow you anywhere,” I said. “I went to Portland to visit Margaret Trelawney.”

“Still, it was bad luck for you to run into me, Emma, and the boys. When I got home, Vera said she hadn’t talked with you, but I knew it would be only a matter of time.”

So my worst suspicions were true—it wasn’t my overactive imagination. But I tried to play the innocent. “So what if you were having lunch with your ex-wife and sons,” I said. “That’s no big deal. Right?”

“She’s my current wife,” Mr. Langhorne said.

I looked at Vera, who had tears rolling down her face. She’d had a rough night.

“Whatever it is you plan to do,” I said, “leave Vera out of it. You’ve put her through enough.”

“How very noble. But she’s already into it. Too late to leave her out now.” He shook his head again. “I gave you every opportunity to be left out of it, as well, but you just kept on stirring up hornets’ nests.”

“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about your business life or your personal life. I just want to take Vera with me and go home.”

“Please, John,” Vera said. “Just let us leave. We’ll never tell anyone anything, and I’ll never ask anything of you.”

“And what will the fine residents of Tallulah Falls say when they see that we’ve separated, Vera? They’ll say, ‘Why did you two split up? You had such a wonderful marriage. You’d been together for so long.’ And you won’t be able to lie.”

“I will. I will, John. I swear.”

“I’ll help her,” I said. “We’ll say the two of you simply grew apart. You could leave here and go to your family in Portland.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked. “They’d drive me insane if I had to live with them all the time.”

Too late
, I thought.

“Then start somewhere fresh,” I said.

“I can’t do that, Marcy. My life is here. I’ve built up a successful business in Tallulah Falls. I’m on the city council. I’m important in this community. A man simply doesn’t throw all that away on a whim.” He waved the gun. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“California. You’re taking Vera to a hospital there, remember?”

I frowned and looked at Vera. She shook her head wearily.

“I don’t understand. I—”

“Just go. You’re driving. We’re all going to hurry outside and get into your vehicle. Vera, make sure there’s no one out there.”

Vera opened the door and peered outside. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Good,” he said. “Go.”

We went out and got into the Jeep. I got in the driver’s side, Vera sat on the passenger’s side, and John got into the backseat, where he could continue threatening us with the gun.

“This is ridiculous,” I said. “No one will believe I took Vera to a hospital in California because you were in an accident if you were never in an accident in California.”

“Of course they will. My wallet was stolen, and the thief was the man in the car accident. Unfortunately, on your way to see about me, you and Vera had fatal accident yourself. It’s tragic; it’s poignant. All the neighbors will bring wonderful food, and I’ll grieve my heart out.” He looked all around. “Drive slowly, Marcy. I don’t want you raising the suspicions of anyone who might be about. Although, I suppose it’s reasonable that you’d be driving too fast . . . just as long as you don’t get stopped by law enforcement.”

I glanced at Vera from the corner of my eye. “Are you all right?”

“Not really.” Her voice broke, and she rested her head against the glass.

“You know,” Mr. Langhorne said, “I really will grieve over you, Vera. No man could’ve asked for a better wife.”

Vera closed her eyes.

I drove slowly down the street where the Seven-Year Stitch was dark and abandoned.
Good-bye, Jill
, I thought. I almost cried in a fit of self-pity at that point, but I refused to believe this was it for me, that I was going to die at the hands of some psychopathic old man.

We met Blake’s van. He was coming in to work early. I was glad. That meant he’d get my message and go check on Angus when he had time.

“Why Mr. Trelawney?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Langhorne asked politely.

“Why did you kill them?”

“Oh, well, Tim was a blackmailer, and Bill had a real problem with Tim’s death. I didn’t think he could live without telling someone what I’d done. I couldn’t risk that. Did he ever tell Margaret about my involvement with Four Square Development?”

“No. She told me she had no idea who the fifth partner was.”

“Well, that’s good. It’ll save me an unpleasant task in Portland next week. Mark has a football game, you know.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Wish him luck for me.” I slammed on the brakes. “Let’s just stop this. We can work this out.”

Mr. Langhorne cocked the gun. “Drive, Marcy. Or else I’ll have to kill you and then wreck the Jeep myself. Take this time to pray or something. It’ll make you feel better.”

I resumed driving. It was all I could do until I figured a way out of this.

“
C
an I ask you a question?” I asked Mr. Langhorne. “I mean, it’s a long way to California. We might as well chat.”

“Sure. Ask whatever you’d like.”

“What happened to the money Timothy Enright took out of his account?”

He laughed. “He never took any money out of the account. He intended to, but there was no money to take.”

“How could there be no money to take?” I asked. “Lorraine said Timothy was going to close out the account. How could he do that if there was no money?” I looked at Mr. Langhorne in the rearview mirror. He chuckled and shook his head as if I were a simpleton.

“When he entered the bank that afternoon,” Mr. Langhorne said, “there was money in the account. He told me his plans, and I invited him to have a cup of my Café Cubano. Have you ever tried Café Cubano?”

“No. What’s that?”

“It’s Cuban coffee. Very strong. It’s not a sipping coffee. You shoot it, like tequila. And it will disguise the taste of anything.”

“Like rubbing alcohol,” I said.

“You’re quite bright, Marcy. I think under different circumstances, you and I would have been great friends.”