Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_03 (30 page)

“You're wrong, the attributes spell only Keane's name, that's all. Look at it, if you like.” Again she held out the folded white sheet draped over her arm.

Betsy persisted, “Do you know you were not his first affair? There might even be other children.”

Patricia's face reddened. “You don't know what you're saying,” she said in a flat voice.

“Howland Royce, a member of the old vestry, found evidence that Father Keane had been misappropriating funds for a long time, going back years, and that he admitted he'd been paying off a string of women.”

“I don't believe you,” said Patricia.

“It's true, Patricia,” said Jill. “I was there, too, and I heard him say Father Keane admitted it.”

Patricia coughed harshly. “Well, I still don't see how that involves me. I was a young married woman trying to put my husband through law school when Father Keane quit. I don't remember hearing why. But of course, back then I barely had time to come to Sunday service, much less stay after to hear the latest gossip around the coffee urn.”

“I'm sure you've noticed Brent has Keane's hazel eyes,” said Betsy relentlessly. “Just like his daughter Mandy.”

“Do you know what would happen to my husband if you—” She raked the hall with her eyes. “If
any
of you repeat any of this in public? Do you have any idea what my husband would do if he thought that was true?”

“What he'd do to us?” said Betsy. “Or to you? That's what this is all about, isn't it? Your son. Your marriage. Your place in this community. You were young and risked your future for what you thought was a glorious love affair. Was it because your lover swept you away with his ardor, his charm, his—what? His assurances that you were his first and only extramarital affair? But then you got pregnant. And Keane wouldn't leave his wife for you. If he did that, he would have had to give up his calling, wouldn't he? He couldn't continue being a priest after such a scandal. And at his age, it wouldn't be easy to build a new career, one that would support a wife and child. Plus his former wife and daughter. With the gauzy curtain of love ripped apart, you could see this wasn't going to work. So what to do? Your husband was still in law school and you'd agreed not to start a family until he finished. His wealthy parents disapproved of his early marriage to a woman beneath him and had cut off all aid. If any hint of the truth reached them, your bright future as wife of a wealthy attorney was dead. What a mess to find yourself in! And how sad that you're right back in it.”

It was as if the whole room held its breath. “You don't know,” sighed Patricia, her shoulders slumping. “It was so hard. Keane said he loved me. He said his marriage was a sham, that he had never loved anyone like he loved me in his whole life. I thought we had a special kind of love, one that excused anything. Like Abelard and Heloise, like Hepburn and Tracy. To sit in his office and hear him plan to steal—
steal!
—money to help me with the baby, was a kind of death. I wanted to say no, but Peter's part-time job paid so little, and babies are more expensive than I dreamed ...” Patricia's voice trailed off.

“It was just easier to pretend the birth control failed between Peter and me, rather than with Keane. And it worked. Then Keane had that stroke, I thought it was the stress of the theft, and I felt so guilty. But I didn't break, I just kept going, and at last things smoothed out for us. Peter's father died, and his mother came around. She bought our new house for us—it has
three
fireplaces! —and invited us to Phoenix for Christmas.

“And then, after all this time, after all I'd gone through, all the sacrifices, all the secrets—that
wretched
tapestry! And worse, there you were, writing down the little symbols, taking that book home to look them up...

“I
had
to do those terrible, horrible things to you, Betsy. It was harder than you'll ever know. You're a very nice woman, working so hard and bravely to pick up the pieces of your life, I felt just awful about it. I really didn't want to, and I kept hoping you'd leave town, but you wouldn't go. But then Father John said he had the tapestry, and told us where it was, and I ran and got it and hung it on the hook on the back of the door of that little rest room. And I took it with me to Phoenix in a big plastic bag, and though I treated it for mildew it still made my eyes water and my nose run and I had to pretend I had a cold. But that was fine, I was so relieved, everything was going to be all right, I'd destroyed the proof. And even though now it's all coming out, oh my God, Betsy, I'm so
glad
I didn't kill you!”

“I know you took that car course and knew about brake lines, and I suppose you must have plenty of firewood for those three fireplaces, but how did you get the arsenic without giving your name? When I went to eBay, they wanted my name and address.”

“I started a new AOL account under a new name. And there are places that will forward your mail. And when you buy a money order, you can put any name you like on it. I did that some while ago when Peter thought I was spending too much on antiques. I just did it for fun, buying those old medicine bottles. I suppose they had a different definition of medicine back then, because some of those old bottles have arsenic, mercury sulfate, even strychnine in them. Some come in little bottles shaped like coffins, isn't that amusing? I keep them in a locked cabinet, of course. Then when this happened, I read a book that said the thing murderers do is put just a little bit in the food to start a medical record of gastritis. I put it in the order of chicken salad and brought it up with the hot dish, and I couldn't believe how sick it made you. I was just horrified. I am truly sorry, Betsy.”

Betsy fought a rising sickness by getting angry. She said tightly, “It's possible you did these things with great reluctance. I think you would have come to my funeral and wept genuine tears. But I also think you would have gone home from the funeral sighing with relief.”

Patricia's smile came with sad eyebrows. “Well, yes, I suppose I would have.” She turned to Malloy. “I suppose you're going to arrest me now?”

“Oh, yes, you are definitely under arrest,” said Malloy. “You have a right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be taken down and used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you wish an attorney, but can't afford one, one will be supplied to you at no cost. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Malloy took the tapestry and handed it to one of the uniformed officers, saying, “Tag this and bring it to the station.” Then he cuffed Patricia's hands behind her back. She took it with grace and walked out ahead of him, her head high, her face settled into a withdrawn calm.

Betsy turned away, covering her face with her hands. She said through her fingers, “Can I go home now?”

Jill replied, “I'm sorry, but you have to come with me to the station. You would not believe the paperwork we have to fill out.”

 

“My God,” said Godwin the next morning. “That is ...
terrible
! Who would have thought Patricia was doing this? Betsy, that is just
terrible!
”

“I know, I know,” said Betsy, turning her chair away from the library table to face Sophie. She stroked the cat, who lifted her head to accept the caress, exhaling a pleased purr.

Godwin continued, “How did you figure it out?”

“A collection of little things. First, she was the one who had a source for arsenic. She's an antiquer, and she uses eBay. I was amazed when I looked in the collectibles section of eBay and saw what was in some of those old bottles.

“Also, this whole thing was about the notes I made on the attributes. She stole the notes I typed but couldn't get at the originals—and only Patricia knew about them; she saw me making them on the back of my checkbook. She visited me in the hospital after the poisoning, and there I was with the original notes and the book on Christian symbology. She must have been sick with fear that I'd figure it out.

“It was the day she came to confess to Father John that Keane was the father of her oldest child that she got hold of the tapestry.”

“Father John
knew?
” exclaimed Godwin.

“No, she didn't tell him. I saw her waiting to see him, looking very miserable, which I imagine she was. I thought perhaps she was worried about me, and in a way I was right. She'd tried three times to kill me, without success. She was afraid that tapestry would turn up while she was in Phoenix and that I'd see the whole set of attributes in its correct order and figure out how they spelled out an accusation against her. Her comfortable life was going to pop like a messy bubble. But then Father John came out of his office and said the tapestry was wrapped in a sheet and laid safely away in the sacristy. So she ran ahead to remove it from its drawer and hide it in the rest room, and then say she couldn't find it. She even encouraged me to take Jill along to help search for it, a very risky thing to do. But she had to convince me it hadn't been there when she went to look for it.”

“Cool head.”

“Oh, yes, that's why I really don't think she was trying hard enough to kill me. She's far too organized not to have gotten it right in three attempts. She really didn't want to kill me, she wanted me to stop fooling with those attributes so she could go on being the cool and competent wife of a rising politician, the respectable mother of his three children. But her boy isn't her husband's, he's the result of a passionate love affair. It's a shame it was only true love on her part; Keane was an experienced adulterer. Not that it mattered; what was important was that the secret be kept, both so her husband wouldn't find out and because Brent is the only remnant of that affair she could openly brag about and show off. I suspect Peter Fairland is not happy to learn his wonderful son is in fact not his. It may change the boy's life profoundly. Patricia did all this to prevent that happening. Having to choose between Brent or Betsy—well, out goes me.”

“Bitch,” remarked Godwin.

“No, she's not a bitch. She may be what my mother called a toom tabbard, an empty shell. She came from a very different background from the one she married into, and she had to rebuild herself from the ground up, casting off attitudes, behavior, and opinions that revealed her real self. Possibly there is no real self anymore, only that remade surface. So she was willing to go farther than most to retain that surface, which is all she has.”

“You really do feel sorry for her!”

“Yes, I do.”

“What are you, a saint?”

“No, of course not. But I can't feel as pleased over this one as the others, Godwin. I just feel a little sick.” She stroked Sophie some more. “I hope Mandy is right, that there is some awareness in her father, that those tears he keeps shedding in that nursing home are not for himself but for his victims.”

The door made its annoying
bing
sound and Joe Mickels came in. He marched up to the table. “Ms. Devonshire,” he said in a clear but very quiet voice, “when this mess you are in is over, may I take you to dinner?”

Betsy, surprised, very nearly replied, “Whatever for?” but bit her tongue in time. “Why don't you wait until this mess is over and ask me again?” she said instead.

“Very well, I will,” he declared and walked out again.

Godwin gaped after him, then at Betsy.
You
are going on a
date
with
Joe Mickels?
”

“I may,” replied Betsy. “Though it's more in the way of a business meeting.”

“What kind of business are you in with Joe?”

“Well, I'm buying this building from him—”

“
Strewth!
” exclaimed Godwin, grasping the front of his beautiful sweater with a splayed hand. “How did you get him to agree to that?”

“Let's just say I made him an offer he couldn't refuse.” And she would say no more, which is possibly why there was a rumor flying all over Excelsior the next day that Joe Mickels had gone out of his mind.

This counted cross stitch snowflake can be worked on any dark-colored evenweave fabric or canvas in white or metallic. The designer, Denise Williams, worked it on 14-count navy blue canvas with Balger #8 floss, for an interesting, sparkly effect. On that count, the snowflake is 3.5 inches across.

Directions: Find the center of the pattern and mark it. Find the center of the fabric and begin there, making Xs as the pattern indicates. It may be helpful to grid the pattern by drawing a line with see-through marker every five or ten squares. A corresponding line may be stitched with a single thread on the fabric. (Beginners like Betsy find this very helpful!) Then pull the marker threads out when the pattern is finished.