Lie of the Needle (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (22 page)

“So that solves the question of the hit-and-run, but who killed Roos? Did Frank think Roos had uncovered Nancy’s past and was going to blackmail him, too?”

“Who the hell knows, but the Fowlers were at a political event that night after the funeral. They didn’t leave until well after midnight, and then a driver took them home, so they’re in the clear for that one. Sounds like Fowler’s shelled out a fortune to Willensky already. I’d like to bring that son of a bitch in, too, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

“Was Frank doing favors for Beau Cassell to come up with the money to pay off Willensky? There’s another zoning meeting tonight, and I have a suspicion that Fowler is working behind the scenes to help our sleazy builder.”

Serrano sighed. A deep sigh. “I was so sure that Cassell was our guy, but he has an alibi. After I saw those pictures, I had a chat with Sally McIntire. Forensics think that the photographer was killed somewhere between 10 p.m. and midnight, at which point Cassell was apparently banging Sally. His prints are all over the tool chest and the truck, but then again, it’s his truck.

“And Daisy, there’s something else. We managed to get a couple of prints off the rope in the tool chest. They’re a match for Althea Gunn. And there was a green woman’s sweater in the cab. I still can’t figure out how she could have hauled a full-grown man into an attic, though.”

“Don’t lose hope, Detective. You’ll figure it out.”

Serrano gave a glum chuckle. “Yeah, just like you, Ms. Buchanan, I never give up.”

*   *   *

A
fter work, I closed up the shop and headed over to Doylestown Hospital. I would be cutting it close to get to the zoning meeting in time, but I couldn’t wait.

Althea had been moved out of intensive care and was in a private room. As nice as it was, there was still that weird smell that hospitals have, of disinfectant, of food left sitting out on trays, of desperation, sickness, and fear.

I stared down at the patient, who had been a tall, thin woman before, but was now incredibly gaunt, with a gray cast to her skin. She was hooked up to a mass of monitors, and her heartbeat was steady, but I wondered what was going on in that brain, if anything.

I set the vase of flowers I’d brought on the table next to her. There were no other cards or flowers, or any sign that anyone else had been to visit. I sat down at her bedside, and for the next half hour, I talked. I told her that her cat was fine and well–cared for and not to worry about him. I told her about finding the sampler at her house, and that I knew her secret, and it was okay.

Suddenly her eyelids flickered. An expression of abject horror spread across her face.

“Gah! No, tell me it isn’t so.” She squinted at me, as if trying to block out a horrible vision. “Save me, oh my Lord, save me from the depths of hell!”

“Jeez, Althea, it’s me. Daisy Buchanan.”

She moaned.

“You’re not in the Devil’s Kingdom. You’re actually in Doylestown Hospital, in rather a nice room.”

I rang for the nurse, who rushed in and checked her vital signs. When she was satisfied that Althea was stable, she hurried out again, saying she was going to page the doctor.

“Althea, did you hear any of what I said just now?”

She looked confused, so I decided to take it slowly from the beginning. I had no idea how much time I had before the doctor showed up and asked me to leave, and I knew I was pushing it with a woman who had just awakened from a coma, but this was important.

“I have to ask you some questions. Please think carefully.”
Or as much as you can.
“Did you take Beau Cassell’s truck the night that Alex Roos was murdered?”

She nodded slowly. “We had to move a piano for the church. Beau let me borrow his truck, but I returned it to the site that night.” Her voice was dry and cracked, and I poured her a glass of water, helping her to drink a little.

“Did you pick up Alex Roos on the road outside the pub?”

“Yes, I—ah—I needed to talk to him about something.”

“The sampler?” I asked gently.

She looked at me again with fear in her eyes.

“It’s all right, Althea. I know your family history. It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

She sighed. “Roos came here to write a book. The biggest story of his life. One that would have destroyed mine.”

She fell silent, and while patience wasn’t my strong suit, I waited for her to talk.

“Can I tell you how many nights I’ve woken up in a cold sweat? All those poor, wretched people that Otto Gunther chased down and brought back to a life of misery? They call to me in the dark, Daisy, begging me to save them, but I
can’t
.”

I stared at her. She had always seemed like such a formidable woman. Here, in this hospital bed, I saw the real, vulnerable Althea, who cared deeply about others and had suffered for the sins of her forefathers.

“Roos’s ancestor was a slave,” she said in a tortured whisper. “He escaped to this area, but was captured and killed. I’m not sure, but it may have been my ancestor who tracked him down. Otto Gunther performed some unspeakable acts, and if he was the one who got to him, I expect he was the one who did the killing. I can’t bear to think about it. I’m so ashamed to be related to that monster.”

“But Alex Roos didn’t look black.” Even as I said it, I realized how stupid I sounded. What I’d thought was a permanent tan was probably his natural skin tone.

“This was generations ago, Daisy.” Her voice was getting weary, and I glanced at the doorway. No one was coming yet, but I knew I was running out of time.

“So then you had to kill him to stop him from writing the book?”

“No!” She tried to sit up in bed, but fell back against the pillows. “I tried to reason with Alex when I dropped him off at the carriage house, but he was set on telling the story of his family. So I stopped in at the shivah for a few minutes. Then I took the truck back to the construction site, and Grace met me there and gave me a ride home. But I didn’t kill him, I swear. You have to believe me!”

“What time did Grace pick you up?”

“I think around 8 p.m.”

If Roos was killed at midnight, then she wasn’t the culprit. But who was? I’d run out of suspects without alibis. “Why on earth didn’t you say something earlier about giving Roos a ride?”

“I didn’t want to draw attention to myself and the reason I wanted to talk to him. Also, I’d forgotten the rope that we used to secure the piano. I’d left it in the tool chest, and I was worried that it might incriminate me. That detective is too smart, and you’re not too bad yourself.” A tear ran down her thin face and slipped onto the pillow. “Oh, Daisy, I’ve been so ashamed.”

“Althea.” I gently took her hand. “
You
didn’t do anything wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We can’t help our histories. All we can do is live in the present and try to make that the best it can be. And you’ve been wonderful, with your work for the church and your generosity to so many charities. I think it might be time to forgive. Yourself, especially.”

I had an inkling that there was another reason she hadn’t said anything before. “Were you also worried that Beau had something to do with it?”

She nodded, murmured something about cigar smoke, and then she closed her eyes and apparently fell asleep.

A tapping noise sounded down the corridor, and I turned to see Grace Vreeland hobbling into the room, a cast on her foot. “Daisy! What are you doing here? I just got back from Florida, and the nurse told me Althea woke up?”

She stared down at her cousin, who was out cold. I stood up so that Grace could take my chair.

“Yes, and she was talking normally. I’m no doctor, but I’d say she’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, praise the Lord!”

“Grace, I have to ask you something very important. Can you confirm that Althea borrowed Cassell’s truck
with
his permission? And that at eight o’clock you gave her a ride home from the construction site after she dropped it off?”

“Yes. I told her I’d give her a ride, but that I’d need to be home in time to watch
Law & Order
. What’s this all about?”

“Just wondering if Althea has been protecting Beau Cassell in some way.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. She thought the sun shone out of that man. She worked her butt off for him, but he never appreciated it and paid her peanuts. She’d be cooped up in that little trailer, bundled up in that old green sweater every day, freezing to death. I always told her to get another job, but she said she loved her ‘career.’ Humph. Some career.”

Seeing as Grace was Althea’s cousin, the story of Gunther the slave catcher was part of her family history, too. I’d hazard a guess that she didn’t know about it, but I could save the telling of the tale for another day.

I said good-bye to Grace and hurried down the shiny tile hallway back out to the parking lot. Althea wasn’t the killer, I was sure of it now. I called Serrano again as I got into my car.

“I got it all wrong, and you were right.” I quickly explained about her having permission to borrow the truck. “I bet it’s Beau who killed Roos. I know he has an alibi, but I’m certain it’s him.”

“So we arrest him on the strength of your gut feeling, do we, Ms. Daisy?”

“If Althea
had
been the killer, she wouldn’t have trashed the studio. She wouldn’t have wanted to damage property like that, and she’s so thrifty, she would have kept the camera equipment, too. There’s something missing here.”

Serrano cleared his throat. “I gotta go.”

I blew out a breath.
Okay, class. One, two, three, eyes on me.
“Did the woman’s sweater that you found in the cab of the truck smell of mothballs?”

“Excuse me?”

“The sweater. If it
had
come directly from Althea’s house, it would have smelled of mothballs, like the rest of her clothes. I bet she left it in the construction trailer when she retired, in which case, it’s had a few years to air out. I think Beau planted it in the truck.”

“Daisy—”

“Look, no one expected Althea to wake up,” I said, desperately trying to hold his attention. “It’s easy to pin everything on someone who can’t defend herself. Beau never mentioned about her borrowing the truck because he wanted us to think she stole it, and he also didn’t want to draw attention to the time line of when Roos was killed. I bet if you check Althea’s house you’ll find where he planted the cameras, too.”

Serrano laughed. “You need to sign up for the Olympics. There’s at least a triple jump in your logic.”

I snapped out a good-bye and hung up on him first.

O
utside it had started snowing again. I’d planned to pick up Joe before the meeting, but there wasn’t enough time now. I’d be lucky if I made it in time as it was. I called the house, but got the answering machine and had to leave a message.

As I drove out of the hospital parking lot, the tires locked up on the ice, and I shuddered to a stop. I started off again, more carefully this time on the untreated roads.

My knuckles were white as I drove up Sheepville Pike, the windshield wipers making ridges of icy snow at the edges of my field of vision. A salt truck pulled out in front of me, and I followed it the rest of the way into town, hugging its gritty path.

“Thank you,” I whispered to the charcoal sky.

When I finally made it to the town hall, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. In spite of the fact that I was already late, I sat there for a minute, waiting for my heart rate to calm down and the shaking in my arms to subside.

Martha and Eleanor hurried up to me as I walked into the meeting.

“Daisy, I was worried about you.” Martha enfolded me in her arms.

“I was worried about me, too. It’s no fun driving out there tonight.”

“Tell me about it,” Eleanor said. “I drove with this maniac in the Death Mobile. I’m about ready for a stiff martini, or three.”

I looked around the empty room in dismay. “Doesn’t look like many people made it, does it?”

Eleanor shook her head, her expression glum.Beau Cassell was already seated at the front, laughing and chatting, and I gritted my teeth at his cocky attitude.

The meeting got underway, minus Frank Fowler. As they went through the usual routine of the agenda, reading the minutes from the last meeting, I whispered to my compadres about my visit with Althea and how now I was sure Cassell was the guilty party, but we still had no real evidence.

“Hey! Isn’t that the creepy foreman guy?” Eleanor nudged me and pointed to where a figure in a long black coat was slinking along the back of the room. He surveyed the crowd and then disappeared into the hallway.

“My God, yes! Hold on, I’ll be right back.” I walked as quickly as I could without drawing too much attention to myself toward the doorway where he’d slipped out. The long hallway was empty. I ran to the end of it and down the next one, but there was no sign of him.

I called Serrano. “Willensky must have shown up tonight to try to collect more money from Fowler, not realizing that Fowler’s in prison.”

“Daisy,
do not
try to approach this guy. I’ve got men on the way. I’ll be there in seven minutes.”

“Hurry up!”

Eleanor appeared at my side. “Where’d he go?” She brushed snowflakes off her hair.

I shook my head. “Disappeared like a rat up a drainpipe. Serrano’s on his way, but I don’t think he’ll get here in time. Willensky will be long gone by then.”

“That weasel’s not going anywhere,” Eleanor said. “At least not in a car. I knew who all the vehicles out in that parking lot belonged to, except for one.” She held up a distributor cap.

I grinned at her. “Nice going, E.”

We walked back into the room to find a triumphant group of Historical Society members.

“The variance was defeated,” Martha proclaimed. “Something about the added load on the sewers. I didn’t really understand it all, but the end result is a no-go on the development.”

Cassell was red in the face and threatening that this wasn’t the end of it to anyone who would listen, but considering that the majority of those in attendance besides the board were society members, no one was paying much attention.

Eleanor bit her lip. “Not so fast with the celebrations, gang. Cassell won’t give up this easily. He can still appeal. The war’s not over yet.”

“Well, we won the battle tonight,” I said.

As we were walking out to the parking lot, Serrano strode up to us. “We’ve got the building surrounded, but there’s no sign of Willensky.”

I told him about Eleanor putting his car out of commission, and Serrano barked out orders to search the area street by street.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Martha looked around in panic. “Where’s
my
car?”

The huge old Lincoln Continental was hard to miss, especially in an almost deserted snow-covered parking lot.

“Damn it,” Eleanor said. “Willensky must have hot-wired it to escape.”

“Don’t worry, ladies, we’ll get him.” Serrano barked some rapid-fire orders into his cell phone and then turned his attention back to us. “Not only is that car easy to spot, but there aren’t many ways to get there from here in these parts. We’ll grab him at a roadblock.”

He was right. Some areas around Millbury and Sheepville were so heavily wooded or bordered by acres of farmland that we usually had to go the long way around.

Serrano gestured to a hunky police officer. “I can have one of my men drive you home.”

“Or we could ride with Daisy?” Martha suggested.

“Come
on
.” Eleanor grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the cruiser. “Don’t be daft.”

After they left, Serrano stood in front of me with his hands on his hips, wearing his sternest expression. “Now, Daisy, you must promise me that you will go straight home and stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and I heard there’re some trees down on River Road. You may want to take Grist Mill instead.”

Great.
Just what I needed on a night like tonight. An even longer trip to Millbury.

“Are you sure you don’t want to leave your car here and we could take you home?”

I toyed with the idea of accepting Serrano’s offer of a ride, but Joe and I only had the one vehicle, and I didn’t like the idea of being stuck at home with no transportation.

I assured him I’d take it slow, and I called my husband again, but he must have been in the basement, working on his miniatures. He never bothered to answer the phone when he was down there, reasoning that by the time he climbed the steps, whoever was calling would have hung up, anyway. I sighed and pulled out onto Sheepville Pike, heading south and bracing for the challenge.

The snow came straight at the windshield, and I blinked to shake my brain loose from the hypnotic kaleidoscope of white dots. My Subaru might be old, but I blessed the car over and over for the way it trundled reliably over the thick layer of snow, carrying me ever closer to safety. When I got home, I was going to pour myself a stiff vodka, à la Eleanor. Never mind the wine tonight.

I comforted myself with thoughts like this as I counted down the miles. Dreams of a hot bubble bath, preferably one that included Joe, helped to push the fear and anxiety down to a level that allowed me to keep going.

When I passed Ringing Springs Park, I thought of one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Not too many more miles, though, thank God. I recited more of my favorite poems to myself until finally I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Glory Farm. A left turn up the road onto Main Street and I would have made it. But as I passed the farm, I saw a familiar figure hurrying from the house to the barn.

Cyril!

Forgetting my resolve to drive carefully, I slammed on the brakes and fishtailed into the driveway. I was determined to bring him home. Enough of this subterfuge, already.

I powered over the drifts, standing on the accelerator to keep the car moving until I reached the barn, where the snow was not as deep on the leeward side from the wind.

I jumped out of the car. “Cyril!” I yelled into the storm. “I know you’re there. It’s okay to come out now.”

Snow tangled in my hair, and I peered into the darkness, about to yell for him again, when suddenly he was in front of me, and I grabbed him, clutching him as if he were an apparition that might disappear at any minute.

“Steady on, lass. Don’t get yer knickers in a twist.”

I laughed and cried and punched him in the arm all at the same time. “Goddamn it, Cyril, you’ve had us so worried. Martha’s been in absolute mourning ever since you disappeared.”

A shadow crossed his face. “I feel terrible about that, I do, but I had no choice. I love that woman more than life itself. I’d never forgive meself if anything bad happened to her on account of me.”

“Why the hell have you been hiding out like this?”

He drew me into the barn where there was blessed respite from the driving snow.

“When that devil Willensky showed up at the pub, I ran out the back door, praying I hadn’t been seen, but I couldn’t be sure. After the accident at Bonny Castle, I was the one who led the effort to make sure he would never set foot in a mine again.” Cyril ran his thumbs over his closed eyelids. “Those were some real good lads, Daisy. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

I touched his arm, and he blew out a breath.

“He deserved a whipping for the way he pushed those workers, ignoring the danger signs and then lying to cover up the truth. The owner were to blame, too, but Willensky took the brunt of it with the authorities, thanks to the lawyer, Fowler, who threw him under the bus. Randy swore that he was going to kill me and anyone close to me for destroying his life. One night I came home to find my house on fire. I rescued me cat and took off.”

Cyril ran a hand across his eyes again.

I swallowed against the tears building in my own. “Well, I guess it was better to put Martha through hell to protect her than because you were
really
dead. And yes, I took care of His Nibs for you. You’re welcome.”

A tired smile spread across his face. “I knew tha would, Daisy. You were the only one I could trust.”

“What about Serrano? Couldn’t you have gone to the police?”

Cyril sighed. “Serrano’s a good bloke, but he can’t be everywhere at once. Willensky were the type to hurt her to get to me.”

I looked around the barn. “Is this where you’ve been hiding out all this time?”

But before he could answer, headlights lit up the driveway, and the unmistakable shape of a massive Lincoln Continental swung up toward the house.

Cyril ran joyfully toward the car even as I screamed, “No!”

Shots rang out, and, dodging bullets, Cyril sprinted back across the farmyard. He grabbed my hand and dragged me away from the open doorway of the barn toward the root cellar set into the side of the slope behind the outbuildings. He pushed me inside and slammed the door behind us. A shot pinged against the ancient wood, and I screamed again. I huddled against Cyril’s back in the pitch black, praying that the thick door would hold, but knowing it was a feeble hope.

Memories of facing down another gun in my past threatened to overwhelm me, and in my mind I said good-bye to Joe and Sarah and Jasper while I heaved for breath, clutching the folds of Cyril’s jacket, which was the last thing I would probably ever touch.

Suddenly sirens wailed in the distance. Then came the unmistakable sound of a padlock snapping shut. A minute later there was the roar of the Lincoln’s powerful engine as Willensky sped away.

A long, dark silence ensued.

Finally Cyril’s voice, rich with disgust, broke the spell. “Well, that’s just brilliant. I’ve spent all this time staying out of trouble, and now you’ve gone and landed us right in it.”

I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was shaking his scraggy gray head. I dropped my hands from the death grip on his jacket.

“Hey, I only stopped by because I was trying to rescue
you
.” My voice quavered a little, but the injustice of his attitude was spurring my heart back into action.

“I were doing fine by meself.”

I snorted. “Oh, really? And guess what? Willensky wasn’t here for you, anyway. He was after Fowler, looking to blackmail him about Nancy’s colorful past.”

There was another long silence.

“Well, we’re buggered now, anyway. Like mice in a trap.”

“Look, this attitude is getting us nowhere, Cyril. At least he didn’t kill us.”

I started yelling for help, but without much hope that anyone would hear us from within this vault set so deep into the ground and far away from the main road.

“Simmer down, lass. Eventually someone will see yer car parked outside.”

The complete absence of light was getting to me. I concentrated on my breathing, but the dreaded sweat was already prickling up my back. With my internal temperature zooming in spite of the cold, I didn’t know how long I could take being in this small dark space with a cantankerous old man.

Think, Daisy.
As it always did when I was in serious trouble, Serrano’s cool, sardonic voice seemed to speak inside my head.

I fished around in my pocketbook, searching for the familiar shape of my cell phone. That would give us some light, plus maybe I could get a message to someone. I groaned as I saw the red signal that the battery was about to die. It didn’t look as though there were any reception bars either, but I sent Serrano a text with shaking fingers, telling him to look in the root cellar.

I tried to send a text to Joe, too, but then the phone went dead.

“Oh, God. I tried to tell Serrano we were in here, but I’m not sure the text made it through. And would he know what I meant? Jeez. I didn’t even say the root cellar at Glory Farm.”