Four-Patch of Trouble (6 page)

"It's just that the cash drawers were empty when we arrived," he said, seemingly unperturbed by my irritation. "I don't suppose anyone decided to be a Good Samaritan and close out the register drawers before we got here."

"No one except me entered the shop area after Tremain's body was found and before Mr. Wolfe arrived. I came out front to greet the responding officer. I certainly wasn't thinking about the cash registers."

"I'm guessing you never worked in retail then," he said. "Is there anything else you can tell us, Ms. Fairchild?"

"I'm afraid there's nothing else I can think of right now."

"Very well. You can leave," he said, raising his hands onto his head, tilting the chair back, and closing his eyes. "If you wouldn't mind, would you tell Wolfe we'd like to see the reporter next. I'm a little short handed today."

I stood, and the young officer raised the hand holding his pencil as if he were asking for permission to talk.

"Oh, yes," the detective said without shifting his position, although I suspected he was peeking through the bottom of his eyelids to see my reaction. "I almost forgot. We're going to need your clothes."

"My shirt?"

The young officer jumped to his feet and pointed his pencil at my collar. "Blood."

The detective added, "It's just a small spot, and I'm sure it's nothing to do with the murder. Whoever killed Tremain would have gotten considerably more than a single spot on him. Still, we need to be sure. We'll need your shoes too. Standard procedure."

I wanted to ask how much blood the killer would have been spattered with, but now wasn't the time to indulge my curiosity. Maybe Matt knew something about forensics. He was a reporter, after all, and unlike the detective, he wouldn't find my curiosity suspicious.

I swapped my silk blouse, suit, and leather walking shoes for the generic white T-shirt, sweatpants, and flip-flops the young officer gave me, and then I was cleared to leave. In the hallway, I met Wolfe escorting Matt for his turn in the hot seat.

Matt quirked one eyebrow at my new fashion statement. "Don't let Stefan see you like that. He wouldn't consider murder an excuse for looking less than your best."

"Hey," Wolfe said. "No talking."

Matt shrugged. "The detective will find it difficult to interview me if I'm not allowed to talk."

The two men were still squabbling when the door to Alyse's office closed behind them.

I took advantage of Wolfe's absence to check on Dee and Emma. They were fretting over all the more-important things they had to do than sit around at a murder scene. Emma was supposed to be doing the preliminary setup at the quilt show's venue, and Dee was anxious to call the other quilters to spread the news Tremain had been taken care of.

If the detective heard that, he might start to give Wolfe's theory more credence.

"I only have a minute," I said quietly, "but I need you two to listen. It's important."

"Pay attention, Dee." At least Emma seemed to realize the gravity of the situation. In fact, she looked a little scared.

"Thank you, Emma." I kept my voice low, in case Wolfe returned. "I need you to remember two things when you're questioned."

"I'll make sure we do," Emma said.

"You both have to remember on your own, because they'll question you separately. First, don't volunteer anything. Just listen to what they ask and answer it simply, without any embellishment."

"Got it," Dee said. "Answer it like I'm in a rush to get back to my quilting. The sooner we answer their questions, the sooner we can be doing more-important things."

"Exactly. Tell the truth but in nice, simple answers."

Emma nodded her head as if she were memorizing the instructions. "What's the other thing?"

"If you feel the least little bit uncomfortable with their questions, you say, 'I want my lawyer,' and then you don't say anything at all until your lawyer's there."

Wolfe sauntered into the room and threw himself into the chair where Tremain had indulged in what had turned out to be his final temper tantrum.

I'd done all I could to prepare Dee and Emma. I had to trust them to follow instructions. Or not. Either way, it was their responsibility now. I might be able to get rid of Wolfe for them, though.

"Dee and Emma were just telling me about the quilts for this weekend's show," I told Wolfe. "I bet they have pictures in their purses, if you'd like to see them."

Wolfe stood with a grunt, favoring his right knee. "I'm going to go check on the forensics team. Much more interesting than boring old quilts."

I'd expected that reaction, although I firmly believed that he—along with the entire human race—would be a lot happier if they paid more attention to creative works like quilts than to violence. I didn't try to argue the point though. The likelihood of Wolfe ever successfully operating a sewing machine was even lower than my doing it.

*   *   *

Fred Fields came to escort Dee to her interview, and as soon as she was gone, Emma seemed to wilt. She looked pale and surprisingly fragile for someone with her sturdy build and take-charge attitude.

I decided to wait so she wouldn't be alone.

Matt returned a few minutes later, wearing a T-shirt, sweatpants, and flip-flops that matched my new wardrobe. The first thing he said was, "Are you all right, Em?"

She stopped staring at her hands and offered him a forced smile. "I'm fine. Just worried Dee will say something foolish. You know how she is. Gets all worked up and spills every thought she has. She doesn't really mean any of it, but the detective doesn't know her like we do."

Matt perched on the arm of the chair next to her. "I'll wait with you until she comes out."

"Thank you," Emma said. "I'd appreciate the company if you're not in a rush to go write up your story on the murder."

"Not my kind of story," he said.

"Still," Emma said. "I'm sure you don't want to babysit us all afternoon. Lindsay will be here at 3:00 to pick us up."

"I can stay until she arrives," he said, and I could have sworn his concern was genuine.

Before I could let his charm get to me, I threw the strap of my messenger bag over my head and said, "I'll go watch for Lindsay's car and make sure she isn't kept out of the shop."

Matt waved me off, and Emma offered up a strained smile.

On my way past, I heard the paramedics still trying to convince Alyse to go to the hospital. Outside, I saw Lindsay's car parked near the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery, and she was just slamming the door shut behind her. I needed to get to her before she panicked at the sight of the cruisers and ambulance.

Fred Fields was stationed in front of Monograms, keeping the curious passersby from congregating around the police tape blocking off the sidewalk. I went over to him and pointed at Lindsay. "She's here to pick up two of the women inside when the detectives are done with them. Is it okay if I go get her?"

"Sure, sure," he said. "I don't suppose you'd have time to nip into the bakery and get me a coffee, would you? Extra cream and sugar?"

"I'd be glad to." It would give me a chance to tell Lindsay what was happening, away from the actual scene of the crime.

I caught Lindsay just outside the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery. She nodded at the commotion in front of Monograms and said, "You fainted again, didn't you? Why aren't you in the ambulance?"

"Passed out, not fainted." If I couldn't convince Lindsay of that fact, I'd never convince myself.

I took Lindsay's arm and dragged her inside the bakery. As soon as I opened the door, it was like being inside a massive pastry, with the checkered chocolate-and-vanilla floor representing the slightly browned exterior and the pink walls representing the tender interior. The aroma of cinnamon swirled around us, reinforced by the clusters of cinnamon sticks tied with pink-and-white polka-dot ribbons that decorated the tables and gave rise to the bakery's logo.

Lindsay shook off my grip. "Whatever you call it, this time you hurt yourself. There's a cut on your forehead."

"Never mind my head." I went up to the counter and held up a hand to keep Lindsay from interrogating me while I placed Fred's order. The bakery's owner, Riley Spencer, wasn't behind the counter, or I'd have asked her if she knew what Fred's favorite dessert was. Instead, I settled for including one of the cinnamon cupcakes I'd seen him devour after one of the stress support group meetings. Lindsay had a similar fondness for sweets. "What would you like?"

She squinted up at the posted menu and finally shook her head. "I'm not hungry, thanks."

I paid for Fred's order and then said, "We need to talk in private."

"What's wrong?" Lindsay's eyes grew wide. "Where are Dee and Emma? I thought the cruisers were here because you fainted or passed out or whatever, but that's not it, is it?"

"No." I picked up Fred's order and ushered Lindsay over to a quiet corner of the bakery in the nick of time to claim an empty table. "Dee and Emma are fine, but Tremain is dead."

"Dead?" Lindsay's eyes grew even wider. "Really dead?"

"Really. His partner found him in his private office with his head bashed in and a quilt draped over him."

"My grandmother would never hurt anyone," Lindsay said firmly. "Not even Tremain."

"I know. The police are just doing their job, interviewing everyone."

"They're questioning Grandma? And Emma?" Lindsay jumped up, and I dragged her back into the seat.

"You can't go barging in there. You need to stay calm if you want to help them."

"Okay." Lindsay took a deep breath. "Who killed Tremain?"

"I have no idea." I wasn't any more inclined to share the details of my syncope event with Lindsay than I'd been with the detectives. "There are plenty of people who disliked him, and it happened when I was in the ladies' room."

"Where you fa—passed out." Lindsay peered at my forehead again. "You really need to go see a doctor. I can take you to the hospital after I get my grandmother and Emma back home."

"I'm fine." I reached up to see if my forehead was as bad as Lindsay implied. There was a definite lump now, and it felt raw when I touched it. I hadn't realized until now how sore it was. "I'll put some ice on it when I get home. There's nothing else the doctors can do for it."

"Hitting your head is sort of serious." Lindsay seemed to have picked up on the mulish attitude that had infected everyone around me today. "You need to go see a doctor."

"I will. Later. First I need to do some damage control. The museum's board of directors won't want to have anything to do with me if I'm even remotely affiliated with a murder."

"It's sort of my fault if they're mad at you, isn't it?" Lindsay said. "You wouldn't have been here if I hadn't asked you to help the quilt guild. But why would the museum's directors be mad? They can't blame you for Tremain's death."

"They won't think of it in terms of blame. More like an uneasy feeling that it won't reflect well on them when it hits the news that three people affiliated with the museum were at the scene of a murder."

"I guess it will be okay if you take care of that before you go see your doctor," Lindsay said. "Just promise me you'll keep your cell phone in your pocket all the time, in case you pass out again."

"I promise."

"My grandmother will be so disappointed that Tremain never got publicly discredited," Lindsay said. "I've been collecting a bunch of information for when the prosecutor was finally convinced to file fraud charges, but I suppose there's no point in keeping it now."

"Hang on to your notes for a while longer." I didn't want to mention the possibility of homicide charges being brought against Dee and Emma, but if that did happen, having information about Tremain's other victims might be useful. "Perhaps you could make a copy for me too."

"Sure." Lindsay spoke a little too fast, as if she'd been hoping I'd want to see them. "Do you think the killer's name is in there?"

"It's possible."

"And don't forget his partner," Lindsay said. "She was mentioned in some of the articles. I bet she did it."

It was a better theory than Wolfe's. Today's meeting could have been what had opened her eyes to her partner's frauds, and she'd confronted him before everyone else returned to the shop. Of course, that was assuming she hadn't known what Tremain was doing all along. What if the fake quilts weren't even his idea but were Alyse's? For all I knew, her silver items weren't any more legitimate than the quilts.

"I don't suppose you have a file on the partner too?"

Lindsay shook her head.

"Do you have time to check her out? And see what you can find on collecting silver, and maybe whether there are any other dealers in antique silver around here."

"I'll have it for you first thing tomorrow."

"I'm not in that big of a rush. You must have other work on your desk, with a higher priority."

Lindsay looked away. "I'm sort of on vacation. Taking some personal days to help with the quilt show."

Lindsay was lying, but I knew from past experience that I wouldn't get the truth out of her until she was ready to talk. I had to wait until Lindsay was ready to share her problems voluntarily. I just hoped she was ready before she got fired.

I stood up to leave. "Just get me the information whenever you have the time."

Lindsay blocked me from leaving. "First I want to see where your cell phone is and that the battery is fully charged."

As an only child of distant parents, I'd never really experienced anyone hovering over me, so my first instinct was to push Lindsay away. I knew Lindsay was only trying to help, though, and she didn't need any more anxiety right now, so I went along with her demand. I unzipped the messenger bag. There wasn't much inside. When I'd left home this morning, I hadn't planned to do any appraisals today. Otherwise, it would have held hefty reference books by Barbara Brackman and Eileen Jahnke Trestain, possibly even a few of the more obscure ones that the elderly local book store owner had found for me shortly before her recent death.

I retrieved the phone from a zippered inner pocket and waved it at Lindsay. "Satisfied?"