Thread and Gone (8 page)

Chapter 15

Mary was being more understanding about the loss of her needlepoint than I'd expected. But I was determined to get it back for her. It symbolized her family. She shouldn't have to lose any more than she already had.

On my walk home I called Sarah and Ruth and Nicole and left messages.

I kept wondering why Rob had gone to Lenore Pendleton's office to see the needlepoint. He'd already seen it. And he hadn't seemed interested in anything but its value. But then, Pete and Ethan had said he was with a friend.

Arvin Fraser and Josh Winslow were the only two friends I'd seen him with recently, and I couldn't imagine either of them being even remotely interested in needlepoint.

Jude and Cos had seen the needlepoint, since Mary lived with their family.

Of the three young men, Josh was certainly most familiar with embroidery. His dad was a Mainely Needlepointer, and Gram was teaching his mom to stitch. But I couldn't imagine Josh with a needle.

I called Pete Lambert.

He answered immediately. “Angie. Did you remember anything else about your meeting with Lenore Pendleton that might help us?”

“No. Sorry, Pete.” The cell connection wasn't strong. Pete's voice was almost drowned out by a chorus of “dee! dee!”s from several chickadees who seemed to be following me down the street. Maybe I was near a nest. “I wondered . . . you said Rob Trask and a friend discovered Lenore's body. Who was with him?”

Pete hesitated. “Now, you're not going to get involved with this case, are you, Angie?”

“Of course not,” I answered. I didn't tell him my fingers were crossed. “But I was just with Mary Clough, and she's very upset about her needlepoint being stolen. I'm wondering if you'd found out who was interested in it.”

“We're doing our best to recover Mary's needlepoint and the missing jewelry. But our focus is on finding Lenore's killer.”

“Right. But I assume one will lead to the other.”

“Likely. But the killer could have broken up the jewelry so it couldn't be identified, and the stones might have been sold several times by now. I don't know why he or she took the needlework.”

“It might be valuable.”

“But you don't know that for sure. Whoever killed Lenore probably thought more jewelry was in that padded envelope and just grabbed it. If that happened, he could have dumped it when he saw what it was.”

I winced. “I hope not. But I hope finding what was stolen will lead to the killer.”

“And vice versa,” Pete agreed. “Okay. I don't see any harm in telling you. Rob was with a young woman from Boston. Hold on a minute. I'll get you her name.”

I heard the sound of papers being shuffled. I'd seen Pete's office. The Haven Harbor Police Department was not a paperless operation.

“Here; I found it. Her name's Uma Patel.”

“An old friend of Rob's?” I was fishing, but I wanted to know more about this woman he'd taken to see the embroidery. And why.

“I don't think so. She's vacationing here. Staying at the Wild Rose Inn for a couple of days. I had a feeling she and Rob had just met. I don't think their relationship had anything to do with the robbery or murder, so I didn't press it. Do you recognize her name?”

“No; I've never heard it. I was just wondering.”

“Don't wonder too many things, Angie. Ethan has this in hand. Right now we're asking people who live near Lenore Pendleton's office whether they saw anything suspicious. We're waiting for the ME's report to see when he thinks Lenore died. That should narrow our window down a lot.”

“I understand. But thank you for sharing the woman's name,” I said, clicking my phone off.

By the time I'd finished talking with Pete I was back at my house. I sat on one of the porch chairs and thought through everything that had happened.

If Rob had just met this Uma Patel, why had he taken her to see the needlepoint? He was engaged, so I hoped the answer wasn't that he was trying to impress her.

But then, he'd been at the Harbor Haunts Café a couple of nights ago without Mary. Sarah had seen a young woman with the lobstermen there. And that same girl had been with them the next night, at the co-op. Could that have been Uma Patel? I didn't know.

If she was a visitor from Massachusetts, as Pete had said, finding Lenore's body had certainly made her vacation memorable.

I'd put my phone on vibrate when I'd been talking with Mary. Now it was buzzing again.

It was Nicole Thibodeau, from the patisserie. “Nicole! Thank you for getting back to me. Is Henri back yet? How is his mother?”

“His mother is not so well. He is staying another day or two. But I had time to look at that paper you left for me. The copy of the old note?”

“Yes. Could you read it?”

“With difficulty. I can't decipher who it seems to be addressed to. But the author thanks this person for her dear friendship and wishes her good health in the future. She is loved and remembered. It's signed ‘Marie.'”

I'd been taking notes as fast as I could. “Nothing about Scotland or France?”

“No countries. It is written in French, of course. The words are faded, and the spelling isn't as it would be today, you understand.”

“I do. Thank you for translating it.”

“Not a problem. I wish I could have been of more help.”

“You've helped a lot,” I assured her. “We wanted to know what the note said, and you've told us.”

What had I expected? That the note would say who'd made the needlepoint and how it had gotten to Maine?

That would have been nice, of course. Unlikely, but nice.

“Give my best to Henri. Tell him I'll be thinking of him and his mother.”

“I will tell him. He is not being successful so far in finding a place for her to live.” Nicole's voice dropped a bit. “He has been saying perhaps she should come to live with us.”

“But you said she had Alzheimer's, and a stroke.”

“
Oui
. It would not be easy for her, or for Henri and me if she were to come here. She needs so much attention. And we cannot afford to pay for a nursing home in this country, so if she comes here, it will be to us. It may have to be so.”

What more was there to say?

Thank goodness Gram was healthy. Some days she seemed to have more energy than I did. And now she had Tom to help care for her if she should be ill. Since Tom was almost fifteen years younger than she was, chances were he'd still be around if she got sick.

I shook my head. I shouldn't even be thinking of such things. Gram and Tom were both fine, and likely to remain so for many years. I certainly hoped so.

Inside the house I gave Juno a few scratches behind her ears and checked to see that she had enough water. She was fine, despite her plaintive cries. I suspected she was just missing Gram.

I was, too.

I got a beer from the fridge. Late afternoon wasn't too early for a drink. Especially on a day someone had been murdered.

Sarah would return my call after her shop had closed. Maybe by then she would've had time to read more about medieval needlepoint. Had she heard about Lenore's death? Probably. Haven Harbor was a small town. If she hadn't, I'd tell her.

I'd left the front door open and the screen door latched.

I couldn't miss the footsteps on the porch and the repeated knocking on the door.

“Angie! Angie Curtis! Where've you been?”

I put down my drink and walked to the door. Rob Trask's face was flushed and I could smell the beer on his breath through the screen door. “Finally. You're home. I must have knocked on this door four times today!”

“What is it, Rob?”

“Lenore Pendleton, that lawyer who was going to help you? She's dead. Dead!”

“Your brother and Pete Lambert told me.” He must have started drinking hours ago, but it wasn't every day he found a body.

That didn't mean I'd unlock the screen door. Drink affected people in different ways. “They told me you were the one who found her.”

“This morning.” Rob leaned on the door frame. His words were slurred.

“That must have been pretty awful.” Especially for Lenore.

“It was.” He paused for a moment, as though remembering. “Ethan says the needlepoint is gone. Gone! You promised to keep it safe.”

“I know, Rob. And I'm sorry.” Of course, if I'd known Lenore Pendleton was going to be killed and robbed I wouldn't have left the needlepoint in her care. “I'm sure your brother will find whoever killed her. I'm looking for the needlepoint, too. Mary's upset about losing it.” When a woman was dead, it seemed bizarre to be worrying about an old piece of cloth no one even knew existed until a few days ago. But Rob was focused on losing something he thought of as his. Maybe that was his way of not thinking about Lenore's body. “I'll do my best to find it. For Mary.”

“Right. Mary,” said Rob. Had he told her about Lenore's death? He hadn't when I'd seen her, only a couple of hours before. I suspected he hadn't talked to her today.

“Who was the woman with you this morning, Rob?”

He looked at me a bit sidewise. “How'd you know anyone was with me?”

“Ethan and Pete Lambert told me.”

“Oh, yeah. Her name's Uma something. Funny name, Uma. She was going to help Mary and me.” He looked at me and stressed Mary's name. He'd understood I was emphasizing her loss. He might not have been as drunk as I'd first assumed. “Help Mary and me find a buyer for the needlepoint. She works at that fine arts museum down in Boston. She said people there would know how old the embroidery was, and if it was valuable. If it was important, whatever that meant, she said the museum might find a patron to buy it for their collection.”

“How did Uma hear about the needlepoint to begin with?” The needlepoint I'd told Rob and Mary not to mention to anyone.

“I sort of told her. The guys and I were hanging out at Harbor Haunts, and she was at the bar by herself, and I just thought, her being an intern at a museum and all . . .”

“She's an intern? Not on the staff?”

“Interns are on the staff, aren't they? Anyway, that doesn't matter. She knows about all that old material and stuff. I thought she could help Mary and me.” He glanced at me again. I had the feeling he was making sure I'd heard the name Mary again. “So I said I'd take her to see the thing. No harm, no foul, right? Maybe she could help you and Sarah figure out what it was.”

“I see. So you and Uma went to see Lenore . . .”

“I figured it was important, and Uma's only in town for a couple of days. Josh agreed to work the boat for me today. And . . . you know what we found.”

At first Rob had looked angry. Now he just looked disappointed. “We sure didn't think we'd find a dead person.”

“No.”

“So, how long do you think it'll take for the cops to figure out who killed that lawyer, and where the needlepoint is?”

I shook my head. “Talk to your brother. Ethan's the state trooper on the case. He'd know more than I would.”

“He's pretty busy. He went up to Hallowell to get Emmie and bring her back here. They're going to stay here so he can be in town for the investigation, and Mom and Dad can take care of Emmie. He doesn't talk a lot about his work, especially with Emmie around.”

Emmie was Ethan's three-year-old daughter, and the center of his life while his wife was with her National Guard unit in Afghanistan.

“But I need to know.” He looked at me, a sadness in his eyes that seemed more than the effect of the beer. “That needlepoint was my chance. My chance to stop living at home and being Arvin's sternman. To set up a business on my own.”

“Your brother's a good detective,” I assured him. “He'll find out what happened to the needlepoint.”

And I'll be trying, too, I added to myself.

I understood, in a crass sort of way, why someone would murder for fine jewelry or cash. But needlepoint?

It didn't make sense.

No sense at all.

Chapter 16

After Rob left, Juno and I were alone in the quiet house.

I hoped Mary had gone back to the Currans. This wouldn't be a good night for her to be alone in her house.

What she'd remembered about the history of her family hadn't solved the mystery of who'd stitched the needlepoint and how it had gotten to Haven Harbor. I checked the computer to make sure: Mary, Queen of Scots, died in 1587 in England and Marie Antoinette died in France in 1793—more than two hundred years later. One site said Marie Antoinette had done needlepoint.

So both Mary and Marie—two women with different versions of the same name—had left the countries they'd been born in and become queens of France. Both had been imprisoned. Both had been beheaded. And both were needlepointers.

Interesting. But those facts wouldn't help me figure out where Mary's needlepoint was. I'd managed to entrust it to the only person in Haven Harbor who'd been murdered yesterday.

None of it made sense.

I scrambled myself two eggs, added a little cheddar and parsley—parsley was a vegetable, right?—and found a couple of blueberry muffins in Gram's freezer from last summer's crop. I'd have to ask Gram how she made her muffins if I wanted any this year. She'd soon be baking muffins for her husband, not her granddaughter.

What should I do next?

I paced the living room (which was also the Mainely Needlepoint office) while I tried to sort it out. So many questions to answer.... How old was the needlepoint? How had it gotten into Mary Clough's attic? And, most important, who had it now and how could I get it back to Mary?

I couldn't do everything. But, after all, I was the director of Mainely Needlepoint. I could delegate.

I called Sarah and Ruth. Sarah'd heard about Lenore's death; according to her, everyone in town knew within an hour of Rob's calling the police. Ruth hadn't heard the news. She'd been at her home all day, writing. “Chastity Falls” hoped to get her next erotic novel up on the Internet later this week.

Both Sarah and Ruth agreed to meet at Ruth's house the next morning, before Sarah opened her shop, to talk about what we needed to do. I promised to bring croissants from the patisserie.

Then I called the Wild Rose Inn, where Uma Patel was staying, and left a message for her to call me back.

I realized I was on my second beer.

That wasn't going to help me think through what had to be done. Although it had relaxed me.

But people shouldn't drink alone, should they?

I decided to walk down to the Harbor Haunts to have one more beer. Just one.

The bar was quiet. Josh Winslow was the only person I knew there. Where was Jude? Despite what Mary had said, maybe they weren't a couple.

“Evening, Josh,” I sat on the stool next to him. “A Gritty McDuff's,” I said to the bartender.

Josh looked surprised to see me. “Hi, Angie.”

“Where're your friends tonight?”

“Friends?”

I took a sip of my Gritty. Maine brews were one of the things I'd missed in Arizona. Not that I'd been a legal drinker when I'd been in Maine. But it had never been hard to get an older person to buy you a six-pack, especially if you shared the purchase. “Arvin and Rob. And Jude Curran.”

“I don't keep track of where everyone in Haven Harbor is.”

“I heard you went out with Arvin today.”

“No secrets in this town. Rob called in sick or hungover, and Dad didn't have a full boat today, so he said I could go.” He looked at me closely, as though I had a message written on my face. “You checking up on me?”

“I saw Rob earlier. He mentioned you'd been sternman today.”

“Right.”

“So you'd rather lobster than work on the charter.”

He shrugged and drank again. “Taking rich folks out fishing every day's no fun. Some of them are okay. Others don't have a clue. Dad's always telling me to be nice. Set up their hooks. Help them pull the fish in. Scrub the head when they're seasick or drink too much beer. Clean their fish for them. I'm not their servant.”

“So, what would you like to do?” I was curious. “What's your ideal job?”

“Not working for anyone. Be my own boss.” I hoped Josh had a ride home. His words were beginning to slur. “No one to tell me what to do or not do. Be my own man.”

“Good luck with that,” I said.

“Don't worry about me. I've got plans. Big plans. I'd like one of those jobs where you sit in a fancy office and have a pretty girl bring your coffee and answer your calls.” He grinned. “Then I could go on vacation and pay some other guy to clean the fish I'd caught and never get my hands dirty.”

I finished my beer and put money on the bar. “I'm heading home.”

Josh had already turned to talk to another woman at the bar.

I was beginning to feel those three beers.

Sounded as though Josh was getting restless again, just as Ob and Anna said he did. His ideal job had disappeared fifty years ago, if it ever existed. I had a feeling he wouldn't be sticking around town for long. Jude Curran might be disappointed if he left town, but I wondered if anyone else would miss him. In addition to his parents, of course.

Ob and Anna Winslow were good people. I hoped Josh would get his act together soon. For his parents' sake if not for his own.

It had been a long day. I took a hot shower and turned off my light about ten o'clock. I hadn't gone to bed that early since I was in junior high school and Gram had checked to make sure I got eight hours of sleep.

The night was dark, but I could hear cars and people in the street below my bedroom window.

Juno yawned and curled up at the bottom of my bed.

I tried not to think about Lenore Pendleton. Had she been killed for the jewelry in her safe, or was there another reason someone wanted her dead?

Tomorrow I'd check with Glenda, her secretary, and see if she'd discovered any of Lenore's files missing, or anything else out of place in her office. No one had told me not to talk to Glenda. And Uma. I hoped she hadn't gone back to Boston. I wanted to talk to her, too.

The next thing I knew Juno was kneading my shoulder.

I opened my eyes. Had I really slept until six in the morning?

By six-thirty I was at the patisserie. During the summer Henri and Nicole opened early. Nicole opened the door. “
Bonjour
, Angie! You're up early.”

“You're up early every day.”

Nicole shrugged. “Baker's hours. I've been here since four. But I get to sleep early.”

I didn't volunteer that I'd gotten to sleep early the night before. Six-thirty still seemed too early for me. “Thank you again for translating the note,” I said.

“You're welcome. I wish I could have been more help. I tried to read the name of the person it was addressed to. It says ‘Ma chère' . . . but the name is blurred. Last night I looked again at the copy you left for me, and even used a magnifying glass. If I had to guess I would say the name begins with an
S
, but it is
très difficile
to decipher. Very hard.” She shook her head. “Did you hear about poor Mrs. Pendleton? Killed in her own office.”

“I heard. Very sad.”

“I hope the police find the person who did that. Until then it is hard to feel safe. When Henri and I moved to Haven Harbor we thought we had left crime behind in Quebec.” She sighed. “Now, not so much.”

I nodded. I hoped I looked more confident than I felt. “In the meantime, could I have three of your croissants?”

“Of course, of course,” she said, moving to the case where the day's baked goods and pastries were displayed.

“And three almond-cinnamon buns,” I added. Starting the day with sugar would be good. “Is Henri home yet?”

“Later today, he'll be here. He left Quebec early this morning,” Nicole said, ringing up my purchase. I handed her a twenty-dollar bill.

“How is his mother?”

She shrugged. “A little better. He'll tell me more when he gets home. For now, she's staying in Canada. We will be looking for a place for her here,” she added. “And looking for the money we'll need to take care of her.”

I took the white box she'd tied with a string and headed up the hill to Ruth's house. She lived next to the church, not far from anywhere in downtown Haven Harbor, but a distance she was having more trouble navigating every month. Arthritis wasn't fatal. But it wasn't kind.

She answered the door right away. She'd been waiting for me.

“Coffee's hot,” she said, looking at the box I was carrying. “And I see you've brought treats. What fun! Plates are in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. I left cups on the counter next to the coffee.” Ruth walked slowly into her living room. She already had a cup of coffee on the table next to her usual chair.

“Your coffee smells wonderful!” I called back to her. “I'll bring the pastries into the living room.”

I'd put them on her coffee table when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it so Ruth wouldn't have to get up again.

“Do I smell coffee?” Sarah asked as she walked in the door. “Good morning, Ruth.”

“Ruth has coffee all ready in the kitchen.” I held up my cup.

“Go on into the kitchen and help yourself,” Ruth added.

Within a few minutes we were all in the living room. No one said anything for a few minutes as we devoured the pastries.

“These are almost worth getting up this early for,” said Sarah, who'd finished her croissant and was starting on her cinnamon bun. “Now, explain exactly why we're here.”

I put my cup down. “You both know about Mary Clough's needlepoint, and you know Lenore Pendleton was murdered. Yesterday I talked with Mary and Rob. Of course they're upset that the needlepoint's disappeared. Whoever killed Lenore stole the needlepoint and the jewelry that was in her safe.”

“Strange that they took the needlepoint,” Ruth pointed out. “Stealing jewelry makes sense. And the killer must have known it was there. I wouldn't think of a law office safe as a place to find jewelry. It's more likely to be kept in a home safe. Or a safe deposit box, if the jewelry is valuable.”

“True,” I said. “I hadn't thought of it that way. Ethan said most of the jewelry was Lenore's. Lenore's secretary is making a list of everything that's missing.”

“I wouldn't think a family lawyer in Haven Harbor would have much jewelry,” said Sarah. “Unless Lenore's family had money.”

“Oh, she had plenty of money for a while,” said Ruth. “Her husband, Charlie, used to buy jewelry for her when the stock market was doing well. And it did very well for quite a few years. I remember Lenore showing me a ruby ring he'd given her, all set with pearls. A big thing. What we called a cocktail ring back in the day.” Ruth shook her head. “Few people dress for cocktails anymore, and Charlie certainly isn't buying Lenore jewelry now.”

“Lenore said they were separated,” I said.

“For at least a couple of years. Way I heard it, he fell apart when the stock market collapsed a few years back. His investments disappeared, and so did his bank account. He started drinking, too.” Ruth shook her head and lowered her voice. “There were rumors he got nasty with Lenore.”

“Then why aren't they divorced?” I asked.

“Only Lenore and Charlie know that for sure,” said Ruth. “I heard he was looking for alimony. More alimony than she wanted to pay.”

Sarah and I exchanged glances.

Interesting. But we were together for another reason. “I'm sorry about Lenore's problems. But the reason I called you both is that Mainely Needlepoint has three jobs related to Mary's embroidery. We have to figure out how old that needlepoint is—or was. We have to come up with an educated guess as to how it got into the attic of Mary's house. And I told Mary and Rob I'd try to find it and bring it back to them.”

Sarah shook her head. “Are you sure we should continue investigating the needlepoint when it's missing? Mary may never see it again.”

“But you've already made a good start in finding out about its age. You both”—I looked from one of them to the other—“suggested that it looked Elizabethan. But I'd like you to keep reading those books you have, Sarah, and focus on figuring exactly what that needlepoint is.”

Sarah nodded. “Okay. If you think we should keep working on that.”

“Ruth, you started doing computer searches the other day and came up with Mary, Queen of Scots. Nicole, at the patisserie, tried to translate the note that was with the needlepoint. She says it's signed ‘Maria,' and is addressed, she thinks, to someone whose name begins with an
S
. Here's her translation.” I passed the paper on which I'd scribbled down what Nicole had said. “I talked with Mary yesterday. She told me her house may have a connection to Marie Antoinette.”

“I remember that old story,” said Ruth. “I always thought it was a legend. That a captain who lived in that house tried to help Marie Antoinette escape from the Bastille, but failed. What has that got to do with the embroidery?”