Tree of Life and Death (18 page)

From the other side of Matt, Carl raised one hand. "I'm still here. I didn't get picked off. I just wasn't paying enough attention to my medical condition. No one to blame except myself."

"Are you sure?" Matt turned to ask him. "You've been dealing with your diabetes for a while now, and you had some intense training with Rusty. So how come you didn't notice something was wrong before it was too late?"

Rusty poked his head out from under the table. Carl reached down to pat him. "It's okay, boy. He didn't mean it. It wasn't your fault." He told Matt, "I saw Rusty's signals, but I thought I could wait a few more minutes. He was doing his job. I was the one who messed up."

"I'm just saying the crisis seemed to happen awfully fast," Matt said. "Like it even took Rusty by surprise. Could someone have triggered the event somehow? Spiked your water bottle or something?"

Carl shrugged. "I suppose anything's possible. If there was a simple way to treat or monitor blood sugar and hydration, we wouldn't need service dogs."

"So someone
could
be trying to pick us off, one by one," Matt said triumphantly.

"But why?" I said. "What do Alan and Carl have in common that someone would target both of them?"

Matt wrinkled his nose. "See, this is why I leave crime reporting to the pros."

"I know. I know. You're just a simple arts reporter."

"Hey, that's right," Matt said, unfazed by my implied skepticism. "And in the arts, the second killing is usually to take care of loose ends from the first killing. Carl was outside near the time of the murder. Maybe he saw something incriminating."

"I wish I had seen something," Carl said morosely. "I'd have told Bud the minute he got here, and he'd have the suspect in custody by now. Except I didn't see anything. There was no one in the parking lot when Rusty and I were out there. Not even Alan Miller."

"You've seen too many movies based on Agatha Christie novels," I told Matt. "One person dying today is more than enough. And I really don't think Alan's killer was any kind of mastermind who would plot a whole series of murders. I can't see how any of this could have been planned in advance. Alan said he only heard about the event this morning, right before he came here, and apparently no one expected Carl to be here today."

Matt looked like he was going to argue with me, but I held up a hand. "And don't even think about mentioning the possibility of more victims if Stefan can hear you. He's already convinced he almost lost Sunny earlier today. He'll go into a total panic if he starts wondering whether the killer might be targeting her now because she saw something she shouldn't have."

"Maybe she did," Matt said. "Did you ask her?"

"She didn't see anything." I couldn't hide my frustration at how little we knew about what had happened. "At least not that she remembers."

"Isn't that the way it usually works?" Matt said. "The killer thinks someone saw more than she actually did."

"I'm not an expert in the mental processes of killers," I said. "What I do know is that Sunny is a lot stronger than Stefan is giving her credit for, and he's not going to let her out of his sight. So I think she's pretty safe unless the killer is prepared to take out two people simultaneously."

"Sunny's not the only one at risk," Matt said. "You and I are probably safe, just because we were both up here when the murder happened and couldn't possibly have seen anything incriminating. Everyone else is fair game."

Matt might appear laid back and less than serious, but he was also smart. I knew that he resented being dismissed as nothing but a pretty face every bit as much as I resented the way my syncope events gave people the impression that I was weak. He might just be right about someone having seen something incriminating without realizing it.

Carl had already claimed he hadn't seen anything, and he was a trained observer, so I believed him. He wasn't the only person who'd been out of the boardroom during the relevant time frame though. "I suppose Meg could have seen something on one of her trips to the ladies' room. Or Gil on her way down to the museum lobby."

Matt blinked. "Wait. Gil doesn't have an alibi? I thought she was up here all morning."

I shook my head. "There was some problem in one of the exhibit rooms. She went down to take care of it before Alan left. She was gone until after the murder. I expect the security cameras down there will exonerate her of the crime though."

"What about the cameras in the parking lot?" Matt blinked. "Wait, don't tell me. The museum got hit by the hooligans competing to knock out all the cameras in town."

"It's possible," I said, since I couldn't betray what Gil had confided to me in private. "But if so, the killer wouldn't have known the cameras were out. The museum certainly wouldn't advertise the fact. Maybe the police are right, and the killing really was just a matter of Alan's past catching up with him. If it was one of us who killed him—one of the quilters, I mean—they would have thought there was surveillance footage of the crime, and they'd have run away instead of coming inside and pretending nothing had happened."

"People live in denial all the time," Matt said. "Maybe the killer thought he'd stayed out of range of the cameras. The body was in an isolated corner of the lot, after all."

"You're determined to make me feel like I'm in a horror movie with a killer lurking around every corner, aren't you?"

"Don't worry," he said with a grin. "I'll protect you."

I almost believed him.

Trudy apparently noticed that I'd stopped gophering and came over to our table. She reached hesitantly toward the chain of five or six finished blocks that were still attached by threads to each other and to Matt's sewing machine. Without taking her eyes off the blocks, she said, "May I take these over to the ironing board for you?"

Matt used a seam ripper to disconnect the chain of blocks from the one under the sewing machine foot and then from each other, since Faria had confiscated all the scissors.

As Matt tossed each one to Trudy, she smoothed it, almost as if she were patting a favorite pet, and then stacked them. She looked down at her hands as she said, "If there's anything else I can do to help you, I'd be honored."

"The honor is all mine, Trudy," he said. "I hear you're a natural-born artist with a needle, and your applique work is brilliant. I hope to see it at next year's quilt show."

"Thank you." She blushed and then finally found the nerve to look Matt directly in the eye. "I can't believe you know who I am."

"Dee and Emma have told me all about you."

"But you're
Matteo
. The face that launched a million trips."

"That's not really me." Now it was Matt's turn to blush, although his skin was much darker than fair Trudy's, so it was less visible. "I prefer to think of myself as an arts reporter."

"Oooh. Gorgeous and humble," Trudy whispered. "Just like in the ads."

"Time to get back to work now," Matt said, sounding a little more anxious than I'd ever heard him before. He didn't look at me as he picked up two pieces of fabric and stuffed them in front of the foot of the sewing machine.

I must have looked as confused as I felt, because Trudy explained, "You know. His videos were a viral sensation."

"I must have missed it." I'd been the epitome of someone living under a rock for the past ten years or so before I was forced to change careers, working eighty-plus-hour weeks and spending whatever free time I had studying quilts and hanging out with friends who apparently were living under their own rocks. Or perhaps it was just that we'd had so little time to spend together that we barely had time to share important things, let alone ephemera like internet celebrities. "I've never spent much time online except for checking court dockets, and those websites don't have any ads."

"But his face is
everywhere
," Trudy insisted. "He's the spokesmodel for an online travel agency that figured out that women make the majority of travel decisions, and they enjoy looking at a pretty face as much as men do. The agency went from obscurity to the top of the heap as soon as Matteo appeared in their advertising."

I stared at Matt. "Is that true? You weren't just a model, but a full-fledged celebrity?"

He shrugged, still not looking at me but keeping his attention on the fabric he was manipulating. "It's not that big a deal. It was an interesting experience, but I've moved on mostly. I only do the occasional special appearances now."

"I'm sorry," Trudy said, her face turning red and tears filling her eyes. "I didn't know you didn't want to talk about it. I'm so stupid. I should never have come today. I'm just making a mess of everything."

Matt abandoned his sewing and spoke gently. "You haven't made a mess of anything."

"Then why didn't Keely know all about your being a celebrity? You two are together, so if she didn't know, it's because you didn't want her to know. You were probably waiting to make sure she loved you for who you really are, not for being famous, and now I've ruined it."

"You didn't ruin anything." Now I was blushing at the thought of the entire quilt guild keeping tabs on my supposed relationship with Matt. "We only met recently."

"But we spent some real quality time together," Matt said, eyeing me defiantly. "Murder investigations tend to speed up the process of getting to know a person. At least the things that matter. We didn't talk much about my video work, because it wasn't that important."

"I'm so sorry." Trudy's tears began to fall.

"You really don't have to be," I said. "You didn't tell me anything that matters. I promise not to hold Matt's other life against him."

Trudy's tears only fell faster, and I didn't know how to convince her that she hadn't done anything wrong. If anyone was to blame, it was Matt for keeping secrets. He and I could straighten everything out between us later. For now, we needed to distract Trudy.

"Forget about Matt," I said, ignoring his anxiously affronted expression. I didn't mean it literally, but he deserved to stew a bit like I'd done for the past twelve weeks. "I've been meaning to ask to see your charm bracelet. Dee and Emma told me you've got quite a collection of thimbles on it."

Matt caught on right away, proving once again that he was more than just a pretty face. "How many different types of thimbles are there anyway?"

Trudy sniffled. "I'm still collecting them, but so far I've got twelve." She held out her wrist and started at the clasp, describing each charm in order. There was the standard thimble that everyone remembers from playing Monopoly. And then there were several variations on the same shape, but with openings at the tip for air circulation or on one side so the fingernail wouldn't be covered. There was a spoon-shaped one for using on the underneath finger to avoid pricks. And then there was one that looked a great deal like the one that had been found in the parking lot.

"Wait," I said. "Tell me more about that one."

"It's a leather thimble. Usually used on the bottom hand for the same protective reason as a spoon." She moved to the next thimble on her bracelet, which looked very similar, except there was a little circle where it would cover the pad of the finger. "If it's going to be used on the top hand, there's usually a metal reinforcement like this one has."

"I don't suppose you know anyone in the guild who uses a leather thimble," I said. "I'd love to see a demonstration of how it's used. I've never seen one before."

"Sorry. I've only been to a few guild meetings, and no one was doing any hand quilting during them, so I don't know who uses which thimble." Trudy brightened a little. "I can ask around for you."

Trudy's eagerness to help might bring a little too much attention to our interest in leather thimbles. "No, there's more-important work to do today. I'm sure Dee and Emma can arrange a demonstration when we're not so busy."

"Besides," Matt told her, "I need you to do something for me. You did say you'd help if I needed anything, right?"

She nodded.

"Good." Matt started explaining that he needed some fabric pieces that were slightly different from the standard sizes in the cutting table's baggies. It didn't make much sense to me, but Trudy nodded with obvious comprehension.

I tuned out their conversation while I reflected on this latest revelation. Matt had obviously left out a few little details when he'd first told me about his modeling career. He'd only shared the barest information, saying he'd quit at the peak of his career. I'd gotten the impression he had been a big deal within the fashion industry, but he hadn't said anything about being recognizable outside of it. A fashion model was a whole order of magnitude less recognizable than what he'd actually been, someone apparently famous enough to be known by just one name: Matteo.

I had to wonder what else he hadn't told me. Perhaps if he hadn't disappeared right after the quilt show, I might have found out before Trudy spilled the beans.

Still, it wasn't like I'd just found out he was a serial killer. It would take some time to get used to the idea of him as a celebrity, but I'd mingled with famous people before at bar association events. Of course, none of them had asked for a tour of my bank vault.

*   *   *

I realized Jayne was giving me the evil eye, so I decided I'd better get back to my gophering duties. On the way to the cutting table, I saw that Gil had finished chatting with Fred and had returned to mingling with the volunteers.

I thought about going over to see if Fred had heard anything new about the investigation, but just then he turned to peer out into the hall. A moment later Faria appeared with Stefan and Sunny, who headed straight for the back of the room and the ironing board they'd been assigned to earlier. They were wearing cheap, one-size-fits-many slippers, and Sunny's appliquéd smock had been replaced with a basic white T-shirt. Presumably, the confiscated clothes and shoes were being tested for blood spatter.

I made a quick tour of the room, delivering baggies and picking up blocks that needed to be ironed and then quilted. As I dropped some blocks on Stefan's ironing board, I saw Faria leaving again, this time escorting Matt out of the room. He was usually quick to assure people that he was just a simple arts reporter, but that didn't stop him from doing a good job when a more serious story fell in his lap, and he was probably going to ask at least as many questions as he answered.