C
HAPTER
31
As soon as Beavers left, I ran to the phone and called Lucy. Three o’clock. She’d be home from her grandson’s soccer game.
“Lucy, guess what?”
“Hi, hon’. How was your first night at home?”
Just then Arthur nudged me with a desperate look. As I told Lucy about the Eyes of Encino leading the police to Carlotta Hudson, I opened the back door for the dog, who immediately ran out and anointed the trunk of the peach tree. Then the cat scooted past me for a friendly game of catch the cat. Arthur and Bumper hardly knew each other, yet they were fast friends.
Why not? Arlo Beavers and I met less than two weeks ago and yet we had already kissed for the first time. I had to admit I hoped it wouldn’t be our last.
“You mean Carlotta Hudson admitted pulling a dirty trick on us and they won’t throw her sorry self in jail?”
“I know. When Barbara North gets back from her vacation, I’m going to petition the board to ask Carlotta to leave the guild. That’ll be a worse punishment for her than jail.”
“You’re right. I’ll tell Ray he can dismiss the boys from guard duty. By the way, did the bodyguard Detective Beavers talked about ever come to your house?”
“Yes. He’s retired from the police force and he’s outside right now peeing in my yard.”
“You should call nine-one-one right now, Martha!”
“Relax, Luce. Arthur’s a German shepherd.”
Fifteen minutes later I was in Lucy’s living room downloading Claire’s files from her flash drive onto my laptop. “It’s more important than ever we have these files. The Terrys aren’t about to hand over the actual quilts, and who knows, maybe they’ll even destroy them. So, whatever I can read from the file photos may be all we ever get to know.”
Birdie came over with a freshly baked loaf of pumpkin-walnut bread, and Lucy made a pot of strong Yorkshire tea served with milk and sweet agave syrup. “Much healthier than sugar.” Then she helped herself to a large slice of cake.
Birdie sipped her tea. “So I no longer have to worry about the threat on my life? Those nasty notes and the dog doody were just Carlotta’s way of getting even for only getting a third-place ribbon at the quilt show?”
I nodded.
“Well, the fact I’m not going to be killed after all will be small consolation to Russell. He bought a new pair of shoes because I refused to clean the ones he wore when he stepped on the bag, and you know Russell. He gagged just carrying them to the trash.”
We laughed hard enough to wipe away tears.
When we were quiet again, I looked at them. “He kissed me.”
Both their heads snapped in my direction.
“What?”
“When?”
“Today, after lunch.” I looked at my teacup. “I kissed him back.”
Lucy slapped her knee. “I knew it! I just knew it. I could feel the chemistry between you two almost from the beginning.”
Birdie smiled. “He seems like such a nice man, Martha. I hope everything works out for you, dear.”
“It’s way too soon to tell. I hardly know him.” I told them what little he’d revealed about himself. “I know nothing about his history as a grown man—marriage, kids, divorce, girlfriends. . . .”
“Well, you should have fun finding out.” Lucy winked.
She and Birdie were always pushing me to get out there and date. They even tried fixing me up a couple of times.
“I don’t know, Lucy. Remember the car salesman you and Ray fixed me up with two years ago?”
Lucy waved her hand. “How were we supposed to know he liked to dress up in women’s clothes?”
I turned to Birdie. “Or the schizophrenic podiatrist in your garden club you insisted I meet?”
“I admit he turned out to be a little peculiar, but he did have splendid azaleas, poor man.”
Around five I declined Lucy’s dinner invitation because I was anxious to go home and examine Claire’s files. As we said good-bye, Lucy and Birdie offered to come over in the morning and help me put my sewing room back together.
As I pulled into my driveway Sonia peeked out her window at me. She waved and mouthed “Thank you.” She must have received the flowers.
I smiled and waved back, then hurried inside in an effort to avoid conversation. I fed the animals and nuked a container of leftover mashed sweet potatoes for myself. Between bites of steaming comfort food, I printed a copy of the Braille alphabet from the Internet and pictures of all of Claire’s quilts from her files. I wasn’t sure what Beavers would do if he knew the photos of Claire’s quilts were in my laptop. No one actually gave us permission to copy those files. Still, we weren’t withholding any evidence since Claire’s computer was at the police station with all the same evidence on it. Was it my fault I was the one who figured everything out?
I started searching for Claire’s last quilt, the one that was stolen. What was the name again? Ascending? There was nothing in her computer. No photos. Darn. Without clear photos to read, how would we ever know why it was stolen?
I thought back to the day of the quilt show and tried to picture the quilt in my mind—pink, red, and purple roses on a gray background covered with hundreds of red French knots. I remember thinking the hearts and flowers reminded me of Valentine’s Day. Maybe the quilt was all about the romance between Claire and Godwin, a romance that made her heart soar, or ascend. Jerry told me she’d been noticeably happier lately. Maybe Godwin stole it to destroy any evidence of their relationship.
So why would he steal mine and Birdie’s quilts, too? With a sinking feeling, I became almost certain we’d never see our quilts again. I was glad I’d taken so many pictures of them right before they were stolen. I hoped the red knots on the gray background of Claire’s quilt would show up clearly in those photos. With any luck I’d find the evidence I was looking for right in my digital camera.
I wasn’t sure where to start searching for my camera. I remembered putting my fanny pack in my sewing room after the quilt show, but the killer made an awful mess in there. The night of the break-in he raked through my fabric and tossed it all over the room in a futile search for Claire’s quilts. Richie and Joey put everything in cardboard boxes for me to sort through when I was ready.
I looked around the room and when I didn’t see my fanny pack on any of the shelves, I started dumping the contents of each carton on the floor. Some of the pieces of fabric were twisted and bunched, but others fluttered to the floor like rainbow-colored flags. My fanny pack tumbled out of the third carton. I jerked open the zipper, pulled out my camera, and was soon downloading the pictures onto my computer.
After scrolling through the images from the quilt show, I selected two that clearly showed the knots on Claire’s quilt and clicked on the print icon. If only I’d known what those knots really were, I would’ve taken more photos.
I found a place to start, positioned the ruler under the line of text, and began the slow process of writing the translation on my notepad one letter at a time.
ddy stay away
.
I was pretty sure
ddy
meant Daddy. Was Claire saying her father was still forcing himself on her?
A help me stop
The text ended at the edge of the photo, thwarting any further attempt to translate the rest of the line. However, I was pretty sure
A
referred to Alexander Godwin, who helped Claire cut her father off. Didn’t Will Terry say that happened about a year ago? This proved Will was telling the truth. I hurried on because goodness knows I didn’t want such unwelcome pictures lingering in my head.
I laid out the second and only other readable photo, hoping for the best.
my new meds
The rest of the section was unreadable. Well, this only proved she was taking meds at some point, but she probably stopped taking them because of her pregnancy. If they were the same drugs used to kill her, how did the killer get her to take them?
There was more text at the bottom of the photo.
A my secret
The next letters were
lulr
. What in the heck was that? After wracking my brain for words that might fit and coming up with nothing, I decided to recheck the photo. Sure enough, I’d missed a knot. The word was actually
luvr
—probably shorthand for lover. By now I knew
A
stood for Alexander. Here was the proof Godwin was Claire’s lover.
Big money 4 BCA. 4 r futur
This was the clearest string of text yet. Claire was going to give a large donation to BCA, Godwin’s nonprofit. However, I didn’t recall seeing a recent large donation in the BCA file in Claire’s office. I wonder if she ever followed through?
The clock read eight. I thought about calling Detective Beavers and telling him what I’d just discovered, only I wasn’t sure I was ready for another encounter. In fact, I was terrified. What if he kissed me again? I was so out of practice, I didn’t know if I could handle an actual romance.
I let the animals out one more time and when they came back in, I set the alarm. Then I got into my pajamas and made a pot of tea, preparing to read long into the night if necessary to get the answers I was after.
The next quilt I wanted to examine was the baby quilt, to find out why Alexander Godwin tried to get rid of it, although I was sure I knew—the message would confirm he was the father of Claire’s unborn baby.
The pictures in Claire’s files were so much clearer than the ones I took. I suspected Claire hired a professional photographer to take them. This crib-sized quilt featured yellow baskets with bright gold French knots on a white background. Almost every knot was clearly visible. I began with the photo of the upper left-hand corner of the quilt and laid a ruler on top to find the line of text.
4 my baby but A doesn’t want
.
So I was right. Godwin was the father of Claire’s baby. I was starting to get used to Claire’s shorthand.
not leave wife
.
Claire must have been devastated when she didn’t find her happy ending after all. Did she know about Godwin’s wife also being pregnant?
I picked up the next photo in the series.
A 4 abort. My heart brokn. All re money
.
A whole hour had passed while I deciphered that little bit, but I wasn’t about to stop.
I say no more losing babies
.
Poor Claire. Did Godwin panic and kill her because she was determined to keep their baby?
The final entry was the most shocking.
Cancel big money. Tell board. Baby name will b Godwin
.
Oh my God. Claire signed her death warrant. If she really intended to expose Godwin, he stood to lose everything. The large donation Claire planned to give to BCA, his career, his reputation, and maybe even his marriage. No wonder he threw this quilt in the Dumpster—the message gave him a strong motive to kill her.
I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to call Beavers.
He picked up on the second ring. “Beavers.” There was a television in the background.
I realized I didn’t know what to call him now that we’d kissed. Detective? Arlo? Honey? “Hey.”
His voice was smiling. “Is this a social call?”
“No. I figured out who the murderer is.”
He chuckled. “Who’s the killer this time?”
I ignored the sarcasm. “It’s still Alexander Godwin.”
“Can’t be. Godwin was with his wife the night of Claire’s murder.”
“Well, duh. Why wouldn’t she lie for him? I have new evidence pointing straight to Godwin as the killer.”
“What new evidence?”
“I read the quilts.”
“What quilts? Are you saying the Terrys handed over the quilts to you?”
“No. I have photos of them.”
The sarcasm left Beavers’s voice. “Photos? What photos?”
“Don’t ask. I just translated the baby quilt and part of the stolen quilt, and—”
“The stolen quilt? You have a part of the stolen quilt? Where’d you get
that
?”
“Not the quilt itself. I took pictures of it.”
“Don’t you ever listen, Martha? Didn’t I ask you this afternoon to tell me if you knew anything more?”
“That’s why I’m calling. I’m telling you now.”
“Anyone else know?”
“Not yet.”
“Have the photos and the notes ready for me. I’ll be right over, and try your best this time to keep all this to yourself, just for now.”
“Okay, but
no kissing
!”
Strange sounds came over the phone. Wheezing. Choking.
“Don’t worry.” He swallowed his laughter. “If you’re right, I’ll be too busy closing this case, and if you’re wrong, I’ll be too busy yelling at you.”