The Lover's Knot (17 page)

“Look at you, Susie homemaker,” came a familiar voice.

I turned to see Amanda standing in the doorway.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” I almost knocked over a chair running to hug her.

She hugged me back and we stayed locked like that until another familiar voice broke the spell.

“I don’t remember you ever being that glad to see me,” he said.

It was Ryan, standing just behind Amanda.

“Did you know Amanda was coming?” I asked.

“No, she just showed up a few minutes ago.”

“I took the train up,” she said excitedly. “I tried to call you, but I couldn’t reach you, so I called Ryan’s cell. He picked me up at the train station. I can’t believe this house. It’s so cool.”

“Why did you come?” I said. “Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

“You seemed like you needed me,” she said as she sat on the kitchen chair. “Is that coffee for anyone?”

“Yeah, sure.” I poured a cup, then sat next to her and stared. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’ll bring the coffee in to the ladies,” Ryan said. “Don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”

“You think you’re so interesting.” Amanda winked at him in that flirtatious way she had with every man, even ones that were taken. Of course Ryan wasn’t exactly taken, and getting the story was why, I knew, she had really come to Archers Rest. As soon as Ryan was out of the room, Amanda turned to me and leaned in. “So . . . tell me everything.”

“There isn’t anything to tell. Not really. I mean there’s a million things, but nothing with Ryan.”

“Where did he sleep last night?”

“Upstairs in my room,” I said.

“Then there’s something to tell,” she said.

“I slept with my grandmother and her dog.”

“That’s not some creepy small-town tradition, is it?”

Amanda was anxious to meet my grandmother and the women I’d been talking—and complaining—about since I arrived in Archers Rest, so I led her into the dining room.

There the group was huddled over piles of fabric in every shade of the rainbow. They all seemed like solid colors until I got close and realized they were mottled, with variations of the same color in a cloudlike effect. Others seemed to have been tie-dyed in different shades. It seemed to me they didn’t need to be cut up and made into a quilt. They were beautiful just as they were. But the rest of the room’s occupants didn’t seem to share my view. They were already debating how to cut the fabric, in what order and by whom. And it was a lively debate. My grandmother sat in a chair leaning over so far to examine the fabrics that I thought she would fall out. Maggie and Natalie, the oddest of friends, yet always joining forces, grabbed fabrics and threw them on the floor to where Nancy sat with Bernie and Carrie. The three women would put each one next to fabrics that had already been chosen, while the others shouted out “yeahs” and “nays” to each new selection. Only Susanne didn’t seem to be interested in the free-for-all. She sat quietly next to Eleanor, staring into the pile of fabrics, a million miles away from the rest.

“Who’s this?” Eleanor suddenly noticed that Amanda and I were in the room.

“This is Amanda, my friend from New York,” I said. “This is my grandmother and her Friday Night Quilt Club.”

“And Ryan,” said Bernie.

Ryan was busy moving coffee cups out of the way of flying fabric and didn’t even look up.

“Amanda and Ryan and I work together,” I said.

“Well, Amanda,” Nancy held up a bolt of mottled light green fabric, “what do you think of this?”

“I think it’s lovely,” she said, clearly unsure of what answer she was supposed to give.

“I agree.” Nancy added it to the quickly growing pile of chosen fabrics.

“Don’t you have enough?” I asked as the bolts of fabric teetered over.

All the women laughed. Not just laughed, but laughed as if I had uttered truly the stupidest thing ever said.

“You can’t have too many fabrics, dear,” Maggie admonished sternly.

“Why not?” Amanda asked with just the right amount of naiveté and interest. They had her.

“This,” Nancy explained, pointing to the fabric, “this is our paint box. I use one green for, say, a leaf. But I shade it with a slightly darker green from a different fabric.”

“So the more fabric, the more depth,” I jumped in.

“Exactly.” My grandmother’s eyes lit up. “The more fabrics you use, the more you can say in your quilt. You can draw someone in, make it so their eyes move across it. Two fabrics in a quilt is fine, but it has to be a deliberate choice. And it can be tricky to create emotion in a quilt with two fabrics. But you can make even the simplest patterns seem complicated by using lots of different fabrics.”

“Oh, cut out the baloney,” Bernie interrupted. “I use a lot of fabrics for one reason. Because I love to buy fabric and I need an excuse to buy a lot, and I’m not alone.”

“That’s okay too,” Eleanor laughed. “That’s what keeps me in business.”

“Well, I guess we should leave you to it, then,” I said. I nodded toward Amanda and we made a quick exit before we were drafted to help.

Amanda and I grabbed our coats and were heading out the front door when Ryan caught up with us. “Let’s all go out for coffee,” he suggested.

“Can Amanda and I have some time alone?” I asked. He looked toward Amanda. “Why are you looking to her for permission?” I demanded.

Amanda smiled. “Don’t worry, Ryan. I won’t give her any more ammunition to throw you out on your ass.”

I laughed, but Ryan looked back at me worried. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

“You’re the one who wanted to be here,” I reminded him as I got in the car.

Ryan stepped back, but I could tell he was not pleased, and— this surprised me—I really didn’t care.

CHAPTER 32

We parked in front of the bakery, but I’d run out of interest in coffee and pastries, so we walked down the block to Moran’s Pub. Inside it was dark and a little run-down. The sort of place where three or four rumpled old men sit continuously at the bar from opening to closing, drinking without getting drunk. But there were no such men sitting at Moran’s, just a cooing young couple at the bar and two college-age kids playing pool.

We ordered two beers and sat at a corner booth. I hadn’t even had a chance to take a sip before Amanda started.

“Ryan is trying to win you back,” she said.

“That’s the only thing that makes sense, except he isn’t exactly doing anything to get me back.”

“Like what?”

“Like telling me that postponing the wedding was a big mistake. Or telling me that he never wants to be with anyone else.” I took a breath. “And that’s just for starters. Where are the flowers, the candy, you know . . . the stuff?”

“Would that make a difference?”

That stopped me. I didn’t know. “It might,” I said. “But it doesn’t look like I’m going to find out.”

Amanda sat back and took a sip of her beer. Behind her the door opened, and Jesse walked in. He waved. I waved back, and Amanda turned around to see who had caught my attention.

“Who’s that?” she asked with an exaggerated smile.

“The local police chief.”

“He’s cute.” I could tell she was heading into flirtation mode.

“He’s not cute,” I protested.

He’d ditched his overcoat and was wearing jeans and a sport coat layered over a navy blue V-neck sweater and T-shirt. Between the clothes, the glasses, and the low light of the pub, he looked like he belonged with the college students playing pool. When he glanced up and saw me watching, I turned back to Amanda, but he was already walking over.

“Hey there,” he said and grabbed a nearby chair. “I thought you were all going back to Eleanor’s for the great quilt extravaganza.”

“We ran from that,” Amanda said, smiling. “I’m Nell’s friend Amanda. I’m up for the day from New York.”

“I’m Jesse.”

“Like Jesse James. Are you an outlaw, Jesse?”

It looked like he blushed a little.

“What are you doing in a bar in the middle of the day?” I changed the subject.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

“Drinking.” I held up the beer bottle as evidence. “But you don’t strike me as the kind of man who drinks in daylight or on duty.”

He shrugged. “It’s a nonalcohol brew.”

Amanda lifted her glass. “Well, here’s to hanging out in bars in the daytime, whatever you drink.” Jesse and I joined her toast, sipped our beers and stared at our glasses.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Jesse cleared his throat and asked. “He hasn’t decided to go back to the city, has he?”

“No. We ditched him at the house,” Amanda volunteered.

Jesse shot me a surprised look. “I thought you two were back together. Judging by the looks of things in your room the other day.”

I was embarrassed that Jesse knew Ryan had spent the night in my room. I was also aware of Amanda’s curious eyes boring into me.

“Amanda and I wanted to talk, so we left him at the house where he is probably being fussed over by half a dozen women as we speak,” I said quickly, and once again looked for a new topic. “How’s the investigation going?”

“We’ve sorted through the fingerprints on the scissors,” he said.

“So do you know who killed Marc?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“No. Unless you, Eleanor, Nancy, Carrie and the others all killed Marc together. There are at least half a dozen partial prints on that thing.”

“What about Ryan?” I asked and held my breath.

“Nothing on the scissors, but there were a few prints too smudged to identify.”

“But if his prints weren’t on the scissors that means . . . ,” I started.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Nell, it’s not that simple. He isn’t—”

I stopped him midsentence. “I get it. He’s not out of the running.”

“No one is yet,” he said.

“Not even Nell?” Amanda interrupted.

“Why would you think I killed anyone?” I stammered.

Amanda looked embarrassed. “I just thought if he suspected Ryan, he must suspect you. I’m sorry. I was completely off base.”

“No, you weren’t,” came Jesse’s flat reply. “Obviously she was on the short list of suspects right at the beginning. She knew the victim, had something of a relationship with him, and had access to the shop.”

“But I didn’t do it,” I jumped in.

Jesse nodded. “She has a pretty good alibi.”

“Thanks to Eleanor.” I smiled wryly. I decided to ask about one of my suspects. “Why did you jump all over Natalie today?”

He stared at the table for a moment, then asked, “Want another beer?”

Without answering my question, Jesse was up and headed toward the bar. As he was ordering, Ryan walked in.

“Well, I guess we had the same idea,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“Hey,” Amanda said. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Thanks,” I muttered and shot her a look, but she was playing innocent. Ryan took Jesse’s chair and looked from me to Amanda. “So what were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said sharply. “I told you I wanted some time alone with Amanda.”

“You weren’t alone. You were drinking with that cop.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “We were talking about the grisly murder.” I wasn’t interested in explaining any further, so I went up to help Jesse with the drinks.

Jesse took two beers and left me with two, but I lingered just for a moment. “I’m Nell,” I said to the bartender. “Were you working here Friday afternoon?”

“I own the place,” he said warmly. “I’m here every night.”

“There’s a guy sitting at my table . . .”

“You mean the guy who isn’t Jesse.”

“Yeah. Him. Was he here Friday afternoon?”

The bartender leaned toward me. “Why don’t you ask him?”

I could feel myself turning red. “Humor me. It doesn’t look like it gets too crowded in the middle of the day, so if he was here, you might remember him.”

“I might,” he said, looking straight at Ryan. “Yeah, he was here. But if you’re going to ask me how long he stayed and what he drank and who he spoke to, I can’t tell you.” He hesitated for a moment. “But I remember he seemed kind of upset. I do remember he was on his cell, ’cause that irritates me. He kept telling someone he’d made a big mistake.”

“Did he say what mistake?”

“Not that I heard.”

“Thanks,” I sighed. “Sorry to bother you.”

The bartender smiled and shrugged and I turned back toward the table. I caught Jesse’s eye as I headed back.

“Everything okay there?” he asked.

“Perfect. I just had a question about the history of the bar,” I said as innocently as possible.

Ryan had taken Jesse’s seat and Jesse was sitting on my side of the booth. Amanda had left plenty of room on her side for me to sit, but that would have put me next to Ryan. So I motioned for Jesse to get up and let me in on his side. Ryan took a long gulp and set his drink loudly on the table.

“So are the three of you having fun?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, actually,” I replied, trying to imitate Jesse’s flat, indifferent tone, but without much success.

“Jesse has been filling us in on his hunt for the killer,” Amanda told him excitedly. “Apparently, everyone in town is a suspect.”

“Everyone sure seemed to hate that guy,” Ryan said.

“He was hated?” Amanda seemed fascinated by this new piece of information.

Okay, I got it. No one liked him. No one but me. And apparently I was being played. Still, there’s a huge difference between wanting to kill someone and actually killing him. And killing him in my grandmother’s quilt shop—there was something about the location that seemed especially strange.

“Okay, so he went around making enemies everywhere he went.” Amanda’s face lit up as she embellished what she knew, as if she were talking through the plot of a new movie, rather than the death of a real person. “So someone goes after him and knifes him?”

“It was scissors,” Jesse corrected.

“He was scissored, if that’s a word,” Ryan added.

“Okay, so someone came into the shop and scissored him?” Amanda was playful now and Ryan seemed to be jumping in.

“It was a real murder.” I admonished them both. “Someone is dead. It would be great if you could stop using that fact to entertain yourselves.”