Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery (17 page)

I
wasn’t alone for long. At nine o’clock, Marnie arrived.

“Good morning, Marnie. I have a favor to ask. Would you mind keeping an eye on the store for a few minutes while I run to the bank?”

“Go,” she answered brusquely.

Ignoring her mood, I grabbed my jacket and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

“How did you ever get along without me?” she replied, sounding a bit mollified.

“And you’ll rub it in, no doubt,” I called as I hurried out.

I had Bunny’s check in my hot little hands, and it had been written on an account from the Briar Hollow Savings and Loans, which was where I also banked. I could deposit it and have the full amount credited to my account immediately, without the usual two or three days’ freeze on the money. That way I could pay for my yarn order up front and get a 5-percent discount. With an order as large as the one I would place, that 5 percent would amount to a lot of money.

I pushed through the door and went straight to the first wicket. The pretty young teller greeted me with a smile.

“Good morning, Della.”

I smiled. People were beginning to know me around here, and that felt good. I placed the check on the counter. “I’d like to make a deposit.” I pulled out my bank card.

She picked up the check and glanced at it. “Nice.”

I smiled. “And it’ll all be gone before you know it.”

She turned to her computer, punched a few keys, frowned, and punched a few more. She stared at the screen for a moment and then turned to me apologetically. “I’m sorry, but that account doesn’t have sufficient funds to cover the amount on this check.”

“What!” I picked up the check and studied it. Was it dated today? It was. Was it properly filled out and signed? Everything looked fine to me. I was astonished.

“Maybe the account holder meant to stop by and make a deposit before you cashed it?” the teller suggested.

I nodded. “That must be it,” I said, wanting very much to believe it. “I’ll give her a call and find out when I should come back.”

The teller smiled. “I didn’t stamp it, so as long as the money is in the account, you can use the same check.”

“Thank you.” I walked out, still staring at the check in my hands. Was this a simple mistake? Or was it something else? Bunny must have known I’d go straight to the bank to deposit the check. She wouldn’t have purposely given me a bad one. Or would she? Maybe she’d meant to date the check for tomorrow. Or maybe she’d meant to go straight to the bank from my shop. I searched for an explanation. Maybe her unexpected run-in with Margaret had unraveled her even more than I’d thought. That had to be it. As soon as I got back I’d give her a call and she’d fix the problem. Everything would be fine.

If I really believed that, why did I feel as if I’d just swallowed an anvil?

“That didn’t take long,” Marnie greeted me as I walked in. And then, noticing the look on my face, she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

I pulled out the check and waved it. “There wasn’t enough money in the account to cover it.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Bunny Boyd.”

She hurried over and glanced at the amount. Her eyes widened. “It’s a lot of money. But why is she writing checks she can’t cover? Unless she wrote it on the wrong account by mistake.”

That was a possibility I hadn’t thought of. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “Thank God I decided to make the deposit before placing the yarn order.”

“Call her. And demand that she replace it with a good check right away. If she thought she was going to get you to do all that work and then not pay for it, she’s got another think coming. She’s not dealing with a fool.”

I nodded, feeling uneasy at the idea of confronting someone who would likely be my biggest client ever. I stared at the phone.

“Go on,” Marnie insisted. “Call her. Or are you going to let her walk all over you?”

“You’re right.” I picked up the receiver and punched in her number. The phone rang once, twice and then her voice mail answered. I listened to her ten-second message and then left mine. “Hi, Bunny. This is Della at Dream Weaver. Could you call me back? I just stopped by the bank to deposit your check, but there seems to be a problem with your account.” I hung up.

Marnie was looking at me with a mocking smile. “Chicken,” she said. “Give me the phone. I’ll tell it like it is.”

“Don’t you dare. What if it was just a mistake? I don’t want to risk insulting her. She’ll call me back, I’m sure.”

She sneered. “Women like that don’t get insulted. They’re too busy manipulating.”

Marnie returned to her loom, throwing me disapproving looks, which I was ignoring. The bell above the door tinkled and my weaver friend, Lydia Gerard, walked in. Lydia was a shapely brunette a few years younger than me, with dark eyes and the kind of sultry looks most men find irresistible. What made her just as likable to women was that she never seemed to notice her effect on the opposite sex.

She called out a hello to Marnie and looked around, her eyes stopping at the loom. “Good gracious, that is a huge loom,” she exclaimed. “I’m almost afraid to try it. Are you sure it’s not too big?”

I chuckled. “I know how you feel. I was worried about the same thing when I first saw it. And then the owner showed me some of the work she’d done on it. She let me try it, and it’s no different from working any other loom.”

“Where did you find it?”

I told her about Margaret. “All I know is that she decided that weaving as a career wasn’t bringing her the financial security she needed. She sold off everything except one loom. Now she’s looking for a job.”

Lydia frowned. “Margaret? Is her family name Fowler? I know her. She’s young, right? In her early twenties? Lives in Belmont?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Did she tell you what happened, why she lost her business?”

“She didn’t say much and I didn’t want to pry. She mentioned something about a big contract that fell through and getting stuck with a lot of—” All at once, it hit me. The contract must have been from Bunny Boyd. That explained everything. No wonder Margaret had been shocked to see her in my shop. And no wonder Bunny wanted to avoid running in to her. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to call Margaret.

Lydia was looking at me quizzically. “What is it?”

“I was just wondering. Would you happen to know who that contract was from, or what it was for?”

“I have no idea. All I know is she is an excellent weaver and has a great reputation. I can’t imagine why she would have lost any contract.”

“She just rented my upstairs apartment.”

“Oh, so you’ll get to know her really well. She’s nice. You’ll love her.”

That was good to hear. It confirmed my own opinion of her. At that moment the bell rang and Mercedes walked in.

“Hi, Della,” she called out as she came through the door. And then noticing Marnie, she waved happily. “You’re here too? Does that mean you’re working for Della now?”

“That I am. I’m her store manager.”

“Mercedes, so nice to see you,” I said. “Come meet my friend Lydia Gerard.”

Mercedes smiled shyly. “Hi, Miss Gerard. What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mercedes. Della asked me to help her on a project. Are you into weaving too?”

“You two know each other?” I gave myself a mental head thump. “I keep forgetting, everybody knows everybody in Briar Hollow.” After living in Charlotte for most of my life, I still found that strange.

Lydia laughed. “That might well be, but I know Mercedes from school. She’s one of my best pupils.”

Mercedes smiled shyly. “That’s because Miss Gerard is one of my best teachers.”

I couldn’t help remembering how different Mercedes had been when I’d first met her. Instead of wearing her hair its natural blond, she had it dyed black. She’d worn black jeans, black sweaters and heavy black eye makeup. Even her jewelry had been the skull-and-bones variety. Her transformation was like night and day. Now she wore pretty clothes and soft makeup. She was beautiful. I wondered if her schoolwork had seen a similar transformation.

Marnie waddled over, putting an end to my musings. Together, she, Lydia and Mercedes studied the loom, discussing its similarities and differences to other looms on which they’d worked, until a short time later, Mercedes left hurriedly to join her mother. “She’s taking me shopping in Charlotte,” she said. “See you soon.”

She opened the door, stepping aside to let someone in. It was Matthew, dropping off Winston.

Standing next to me, Marnie elbowed me gently. “Remember what I told you. Bat those long lashes of yours.”

“Hi, Marnie,” Matthew called out. “Della, when you have a minute.” And then he noticed Lydia, and his serious expression melted into a grin. “Lydia, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

She beamed back at him and hurried over. “You look great,” she said and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Winston dropped onto his butt, staring up at Lydia adoringly. What the heck? Even Winnie loved her.
Traitor
. I threw him a dirty look.

Next to me, Marnie whispered, “Take a good look at Lydia. Now, that girl knows how to work what she’s got.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working,” I snapped back.

Matthew grinned down at Lydia, and my heart sank. She said something and he laughed, the little lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. And then he put his hand on her arm, and I almost had a meltdown.

“Maybe this is just the kick in the ass you need,” Marnie whispered. “Judging by the way those two are looking at each other, you’d better figure out how to get that man real soon, because he ain’t gonna stay single forever.”

Lydia and Matthew chatted on for a few minutes, which felt more like hours, and at long last, she left, calling out a friendly, “Give me a call sometime. I’d like that.”

Hopefully he’d forgotten about my blowup yesterday. I wandered over wearing my best smile. “Hi, Matthew. I’m so happy you dropped by.” I stopped and petted Winston.

Matthew looked surprised. “You are?”

“Yes,” I said, and then, not knowing what else to say, I added, “I have some interesting information.”

“Ah, that explains it. You want to talk about the investigation.”

From across the room, Marnie rolled her eyes. “Actually,” I said, searching for something nice to say that wouldn’t be too embarrassing. “What I really want is to invite you over for dinner. You know that beef bourguignon
recipe of my mother’s that you like so much?” He looked at me warily. I continued. “Well, she sent it to me and promised to talk me through the steps while I prepare it for the first time.” Behind him, I could see Marnie nodding her approval and blinking furiously. Oh, she wanted me to bat my lashes. I blinked a few times.

“Do you have something in your eyes?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Oh, er, I’m fine.”
So much for fluttering my lashes
. I gathered my courage and prattled on. “So, what I’m trying to say is, I’d like to cook your favorite dinner for you.”

He laughed. “That’s sweet, kiddo. Tell you what. Let’s do that. You cook, and I’ll bring over a bottle of wine and—just in case the beef bourguignon
doesn’t turn out—I’ll bring a pizza.”

With that, he turned and headed for the door.

I called him back. “Hey, what did you want to speak to me about?”

Still laughing, he stopped with his hand on the knob. “Oh, right. I wanted to ask you if you planned to go to McDermott’s memorial service this evening.” And already knowing what my answer would be, he added, “I’ll pick you up at a quarter to seven. After the service, we can go over those pictures together.” And just in case I might mistake it for a date, he added, “Why don’t you ask Jenny to come along?” The door closed behind him, and I turned to Marnie.

“Well, sugar pie, I’ll give you an ‘A’ for effort.”

“And an ‘F’ for failure. Oh, Marnie, what am I going to do? You saw how awful I am at flirting. He laughed at me.”

“Keep trying. You’ll get better at it with time.”

Getting better
with
time was all very nice, but the question was, would I get better
in
time—in time to snare Matthew before some other girl did?

M
arnie returned to her loom, calling out to me that she’d have a few place mats finished by the end of the day. I set Winston’s cushion in its usual spot behind the counter and went through my drawer for the business card I’d put away a few days ago. I picked up the phone and punched in the number.

“Hi. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message,” her voice mail said.

I left my name and number and hung up. Damn it, I really needed to speak to her, and the sooner, the better. I still had Bunny’s uncashed check, and if Bunny was the cause of Margaret losing her business, there was a good chance I’d never get the money up front.

“Marnie, can you mind the store for a few minutes? I’ll just run upstairs and be right back.”

“Sure. I’m getting paid, so take your time.”

I ran up the stairs as fast as my four-inch heels allowed. I knocked. “Hello, Margaret? It’s me, Della.” A few seconds later, I heard footsteps and then the sound of the latch unlocking. The door opened.

“Hi, Della. Come on in. I just brought over a second carload. I’ve already started putting some of my stuff away.”

I stepped in and looked around. The kitchen counter was covered in pots and pans, dishes and glassware. On the floor were half a dozen boxes waiting to be unpacked. Good heavens, how I hated moving. Suddenly I noticed the French bulldog. “Well, hello, Clementine. And how are you?” The dog lumbered around me, sniffing at my hand as I offered it—the doggy version of a handshake. “She is so cute. How old is she?”

“She’s two years old.” Margaret frowned. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m already unpacking.”

I gave Clementine a head scratch. “Of course I don’t mind. I already told you to go right ahead.”

“It’s a mess right now, isn’t it? But don’t worry. I’ll have the place looking wonderful in no time. What’s up?”

I cleared my throat, wondering how I should broach the subject. I was never very good at roundabout ways, and as usual, I went straight to the point. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to know what happened between you and Bunny Boyd.”

Margaret turned away abruptly, but not fast enough to hide the emotions that played over her face: dismay, embarrassment, fear. She walked back to the kitchen, picking up a stack of dishes, and hefted them inside a cabinet. When she turned to me, she seemed to be struggling for words.

“Margaret?”

She stared down at her hands in silence.

“It was pretty obvious that you two know each other,” I said. “I couldn’t help but wonder whether Bunny had anything to do with you closing your weaving studio. The reason I’m asking is because I might be dealing with her for a large contract too, and now I’m concerned.” She raised her eyes, still saying nothing. “That contract you talked about, the one that was pulled away from you suddenly, was it from Bunny Boyd?”

Her sigh was full of misery, her voice so low that I guessed the yes more than heard it.

“But why? I saw your weaving. You’re incredibly talented.”

She shook her head. “My ability had nothing to do with it. It was for personal reasons.”

I searched her face, unable to bring myself to ask the details.

“Della, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I really don’t want to talk about it. This is a private matter.” And then, worried that I might get the wrong idea, she added, “Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything wrong, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t doubt that for one second. I knew you were a nice person the minute I met you.” I stood uncertainly for another minute. “I feel awful. Now that I know you had the contract—I just bought your loom, and—”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. If anything, I’m glad it’s you.”

“But how will you feel if I take on the contract you lost?”

“I’d be happy for you. I promise.”

I turned to leave, and stopped. “Should I worry about her pulling the same kind of stunt on me?”

She didn’t even have to think about it. She shook her head. “No. As I said, it was personal. I’d be careful, but no more than with any other contract. I know she sincerely wants that order delivered, and her client has the money to pay for it.”

I was more confused than ever. “If only I didn’t need the money—”

She interrupted. “Don’t be silly. That kind of contract can be important, not only financially but for your reputation too. I’d feel terrible if you turned it down on my account.”

I nodded. “Thanks. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.” I was halfway down the stairs when I turned and ran back. “What about if I hire you to work on the contract? Do you think that would just be too weird?”

“I think Bunny might have a conniption.”

I grimaced. “I was afraid you might say that. Anyhow, for all I know Bunny might not even give me the contract. I’m asking for the deposit to be nonrefundable if she changes her mind.”

Margaret gave me a thumbs-up. “Good luck.”

Back in my shop, two ladies were looking at one of the cashmere afghans, debating whether the color would clash with the older woman’s living room sofa. Marnie stood by, ready to help. The younger of the two, a brunette, examined it closely.

The older woman standing next to her said, “Maybe I should bring in one of the cushions before I decide.”

“I have a suggestion,” Marnie said. “Why don’t you take it home and see if you like it. If you don’t, you can bring it back and choose another color. If we haven’t already got it in stock, we’ll make it for you.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not in the least.”

“In that case, I’ll take it.” She picked it up and carried it to the counter. I wrote out the bill, put the purchase on her credit card and wrapped the afghan carefully in silk paper, attaching one of my lovely Dream Weaver tags to it. “Here you go. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said, and together, the two women exited.

I turned to Marnie. “You handled that very well.”

“If a client is interested, you have to get them to buy right away. If they say they’ll be back and walk out without buying, nine times out of ten you’ll never see them again.”

“You have great sales techniques for somebody who never worked in sales.”

“I’m an old lady,” she said, grinning. “I’ve learned a lot over my lifetime. Now, how about a cup of coffee and a muffin?”

“Great idea,” I said. “I’ll get them.” I crossed the store and parted the beaded curtains. I was happy to see that three of the six tables were full. Jenny was doing good business. She spotted me and waved.

I reached the counter, and without preamble, she said, “Two coffees coming right up.”

“Gee, maybe you’re not just a card reader but a mind reader too.”

She smirked. “Very funny. One of these days you’ll take my gift seriously; you’ll see.”

I planted my elbows on the counter, looking through the glass top at the pastries below. “And I’ll have one of those and one of those.” I pointed to the caramel-pecan and the cranberry-lemon muffins. “And those. By the way, Matthew was wondering if you and Ed were planning to go to the memorial service tonight.”

“I’d feel weird going, seeing as he was a competitor and all.” She handed me the cups of coffee and the bag of muffins. “You can drop by my place after if you like.”

“I’ll take a rain check on that. Matthew has those photos we want to go over together.”

I hurried back to my shop, getting there just in time to answer the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

“I was just calling to chat,” my mother said. I didn’t believe that for one second. My mother never called to chat. She had something on her mind.

“Good timing,” I said. “I have a favor to ask. I want to make a beef bourguignon
,
and I was hoping you could give me the recipe.”

“
You
are asking me for a
recipe
?”

“Come on, Mom. It’s not as if I never cook.”

“Ha!”

I disregarded that. “And besides, if it looks too complicated, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind talking me through the steps when I make it.” From his mat next to me, Winston raised his head and stared at me, looking very much as if he understood I was talking about food. Maybe he wasn’t so dumb after all.

“You? Make beef bourguignon? What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t need an occasion to—”

She cut me off, suddenly excited. “You’re cooking for Matthew, aren’t you? That’s his favorite meal. Oh, I’m so happy. You’re finally taking my advice.”

“Mom, if you don’t stop this right now, I’ll cancel the dinner.”

She calmed right down. “No problem. I’ll be happy to give you the recipe. It’s actually very easy. And you should make it with mashed potatoes instead of roasted potatoes. That’s how he likes it best. And get a nice bottle of—”

“I have a pen and paper now,” I interrupted. “Can you give me the ingredients right away?” I wrote them down and then the instructions. Actually, it did sound easy. But if anybody could ruin a recipe, it was me.

“When are you planning to make it?”

“I was thinking of tonight, but seeing as it takes four hours in the oven, I guess I won’t have time. Maybe I’ll make it tomorrow, or the day after.”

“If you want an easy recipe for tonight, you could always make—”

“No, I think I’ll stick to takeout pizza tonight. One evening of cooking is enough for one week.”

“Oh, all right.” She hesitated, and I guessed that what she would say next was the real reason for her call.

“Della, please tell me you’re not getting involved in the investigation of that poor man who was murdered.”

“If you’re asking because you’re worried for me, don’t be. I would never do anything to put myself in danger.”

“I seem to remember not so very long ago, somebody was shooting at you.”

“He never fired, just aimed.”

“Oh, Della, don’t you see? That’s the same thing. Another second and you could have died. Please don’t get involved. Back off. Let the police take care of it. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Oh, Mom, you’re so sweet,” I said, deciding the nice approach was the better one. “You’ve been worrying about me my whole life. I think that’s probably why I’ll never have children.”

This shut her right up. “What do you mean?”

“I see you worrying all the time. If that’s the price of motherhood, I think it’s not for me.”

“Oh, I don’t worry so much. In fact, I don’t worry at all. I know you’re an intelligent woman and that you can take care of yourself.”

“Really? Thanks, Mom. I’m happy to hear that.” And before she figured out that she had totally been played, I told her I loved her and hung up.

“That was cute,” Marnie said, laughing. “I take it your mother is a tiny bit controlling.”

“To put it mildly. She’s been on a campaign to get Matthew and me together practically since we were toddlers. And recently I found out that Matthew’s mother has been playing the same number on him.”

“Ohhhh.
That
explains it.”

“That explains what?”

“What self-respecting man will date the woman his mother has chosen for him? No wonder Matthew is immune to your charms.”

“That’s not good. In that case, no matter what I do, I won’t stand a chance.”

“The situation is not entirely hopeless. You’re just going to have to try even harder. As for your beef stew, you could have asked me. I’m a pretty good cook, in case you forgot. If you want to use your mother’s recipe, I’ll be happy to give you a hand all the same.”

“You really want Matthew and me to get together, don’t you? Why?”

“I must be an incurable romantic.” She winked. “If you have to contend with his mother, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

I was looking around for something to do when, all at once it seemed, the shop was full of customers. Marnie left her loom to help. By the time the rush was over, I had made four sales, two of Margaret’s pashminas, four of her place mats—she’d be happy to get the money—one of Marnie’s afghans and a set of tea towels from another of my weavers. I added up the total. The amount wasn’t huge, but it was at least double what I used to sell on a typical day before I moved to this new locale. Business was definitely improving.

“How did we do?” Marnie asked.

I told her. “Not bad. Not bad at all. But there’s still room for improvement.” She came over to the counter, took a pair of scissors from the drawer and returned to her loom. “I have eight place mats just about ready. I’m taking them off the loom now.”

The phone rang and I glanced at the display—Bunny Boyd. I gestured to Marnie frantically. “You take it. Tell her I’m not here.”

Marnie waddled over, looking at me as if I had just sprouted a second head. “One minute you want to talk to her and the next you won’t even take her call. I don’t get you.”

“Be polite,” I whispered just as she picked up the receiver.

“Dream Weaver, Marnie Potter speaking. How may I help you?” She listened a few seconds. “Della is out at the moment. May I take a message? Yes. No. That’s right. I’ll tell her.” She hung up and returned to her loom.

I chased after her. “What did she say?”

“You know what she said. She asked to speak to you. I told her you were out, and she said to ask you to call her back.”

“That’s all?”

“Oh, and she might have mentioned something about the money now being in her account and that you wouldn’t have any problem when you make the deposit.”

I stared at her. “She might have?”

She ignored my little barb and added, “Why aren’t you already on your way to the bank?”

I gave her a half smile. “I know. I should be. Maybe I have rocks in my head, but I seem to have lost my excitement for that project.” Knowing that Bunny was behind Margaret’s losing her business had dampened my enthusiasm.

For once, Marnie had the grace to not say, “I told you so.”

The next customer to walk in was Emma, looking as if she’d just lost her best friend. “I thought I’d say good-bye before I left.”

“You’re going to New York?” I asked.

She nodded. “I am.”

Marnie waddled over. “Good for you. I’m sure you’ll take the city by storm.”

Emma smiled, but a tear glistened at the corner of one eye. “It’s not easy saying good-bye. I won’t know a soul in New York.”