Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery (21 page)

“D
on’t worry,” Marnie was saying. “I’ll help you every step of the way—except with the flirting,” she added. “You’re on your own with that.”

It was a quarter to three and we were in my kitchen.

Jenny had knocked on Margaret’s door herself, begging her to come back, and the girl had relented. Now she and Jenny were minding both shops while Marnie helped me prepare Matthew’s favorite meal. As soon as it was in the oven, we’d both hurry back to the shop.

“Preparation will take twenty minutes at most,” Marnie promised.

She lined up the ingredients and pointed to the onions. “The first thing you do is parboil the pearl onions so that you can peel them more easily.”

She might as well have been speaking Chinese. “Parboil?”

She stared at me, incredulous. “Oh, boy. I have a feeling this might take a long time. But don’t worry. I’ll be gone by the time Prince Charming shows up.”

“You’d better be gone earlier than that. Jenny will mind the store, but what if she has customers?”

“I have an idea,” she said. “I’ll call you from downstairs and walk you through the steps. If you have any problems, I can be here in a second.”

She threw off her apron and hurried back downstairs. A second later my phone rang. It was Marnie. “Okay, first thing you do is—”

Other than Winnie sniffing around and constantly getting in my way, things were going along great. I threw him a small piece of meat, which he gobbled up in one gulp, and placated, he retreated to his cushion. I cooked on.

An hour later, my beef bourguignon was braising in the oven and already filling the kitchen with a wonderful aroma.

“I can’t believe I did it,” I gushed. “And it wasn’t even that complicated.”

“Maybe for you,” Marnie grumbled at the other end of the line. “But I came pretty close to a heart attack about a dozen times.” I laughed. “I hope you know how to make mashed potatoes,” she continued.

“I know how to peel them. I know how to boil them and I know how to mash.”

“Thank God for small favors,” she said. I could almost hear the eye roll in her voice. “Then you don’t need me for that.” The phone went dead. It wasn’t a second later that it rang again. “Okay, here’s how you make perfect mashed potatoes.” She gave me a list of ingredients to throw in, salt and pepper, butter and chives. “And my secret ingredient, sour cream. The trick is to mash, add a bit of sour cream and mash again. Keep doing this until you get a nice and creamy consistency. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Then you do the seasoning—just a little at a time and then taste. Keep adding little by little until it’s just right. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Of course I can do that. Now, good-bye.” This time I hung up.

An hour later, the potatoes were peeled and ready to put on the stove. Marnie’s lava cakes were in the refrigerator, the instructions for preparing them on the counter. I had nothing to do for the next hour and a half but make myself beautiful.

“Want to help me pick a dress, Winnie?” He clambered to his feet and followed me to the bedroom. I pulled dresses from the closet, laying them out on the bed. “How about this one?” I held the sleek black knit dress in front of me.

Winston growled.

“You don’t like it? I agree. It’s way too fancy for a simple dinner at home. I don’t want to look as if I’m trying to seduce him”—even though that was exactly what I wanted to do. I put it back on its hanger and pulled out a blue wrap dress with a V neckline. “How about this one?” Winston stared for a moment and then barked. “And we have a winner,” I said. “You’re getting good at this.”

I hurried to the kitchen, checked on the dinner and then took a shower and dressed. At five o’clock Marnie popped in.

“I just want to make sure you’ve got everything under control.” She opened the oven, lifted the lid and put it back down. “It’ll be done by seven, seven thirty. Now, remember. You add the pearl onions and mushrooms no more than a few minutes before serving. Otherwise they turn to mush.”

“Got it.” I wished I felt as confident as I sounded.

“By the way,” she said on her way out, “Bunny Boyd called. She wanted to know if your order of yarn had arrived yet.”

“She what?”

Marnie smiled. “You told me to be nice in case you changed your mind, and that’s exactly what I did.”

“Great. The one time I think someone deserves a good talking to, you don’t.”

“Sugar pie, you have to learn to affirm yourself.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. I told her you left her a message yesterday, and when she pretended that she never got it, I repeated it to her word for word, without giving her a piece of my mind.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that unless you place that order today, you can forget about the contract.”

My eyebrows froze somewhere near my hairline. “She did, did she? Fine. I don’t even want her stupid contract.”

“Don’t get yourself all riled up. Right now you have to think nice thoughts so that you can be in a good mood when Matthew arrives.”

“You’re right. I can already feel my blood boiling.” Unless I put my mind on something else I would be tense all evening. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now, do you need any last-minute help with anything?”

I glanced around. Everything in the kitchen was done. The dining room table was set. Cheeses were already mellowing on the counter for appetizers. I shook my head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no. Everything is done. I made dinner, and it’s all under control.”

Marnie nodded. “Just don’t forget how to flirt, and you’ll be perfect.” She headed toward the foyer. “See you tomorrow, cupcake.” Suddenly I had nothing more to do but wait—and be nervous.

At six o’clock, Matthew buzzed from downstairs, and I let him in. He came up, taking the steps two at a time and carrying a bottle of red wine in one hand and flowers in the other. He handed me the bouquet.

“Pink roses. Oh, Matthew, I love them.”

“There are lilies and asters in there too,” he said. “I thought you’d like them. They reminded me of you somehow.”

“They did?”

He didn’t answer, bending down to pet Winston. “Hey, boy. Did Della spoil you too?” He stood back up. “Where do you want the wine?”

“How about you open the bottle in the kitchen.” He trailed after me and made appreciative noises as I checked on dinner.

“It’s not every day I have a beautiful woman cooking me my favorite meal,” he said, rummaging through the drawer for a bottle opener.

I had already cooked and mashed the potatoes following Marnie’s directions. I had tasted them and they were perfect. They were now sitting in a pot on top of the stove. All I would need to do was pop them in the oven to warm up at the same time I added the pearl onions and mushrooms to the stew.

“Everything will be ready in an hour. In the meantime, we can have wine and cheese in the living room.”

He looked around. “I’m impressed. You don’t even look nervous.”

“Why should I be nervous?” I said, thankful he couldn’t hear my heart thumping against my ribs. I opened the cupboard, grabbed two glasses and handed them to him. He poured and carried them to the living room. I followed with the tray of crackers and cheese.

I checked my watch. I’d planned everything down to the details. I had forty-five minutes to relax. Then, at six forty-five, I would complete the last step and serve dinner at seven. I would pop the lava cakes in the oven at seven thirty and serve them at seven forty-five. At eight thirty we would move to the living room again and sip our wine until around ten. With any luck, there might be a bit of canoodling during that time. And then I would have to make some excuse—exhaustion or something—and Matthew would leave early enough for me to change into jeans and make it to the park before eleven.

We sat. “How’s your book coming along?” I asked, determined to take Marnie’s advice and get Matthew to talk about himself. Easy enough since I was interested in his life.

“It’s coming along. I’ve been working on inserting anecdotes, the way my editor suggested, and I have to admit, she knows what she’s talking about. The book is a lot less dry. I think even people in the industry will like it better.”

“That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to read it. You’ll have to sign my copy.”

He laughed, and the way he looked at me told me Marnie was right. The more interest I showed in him, the more he seemed to like me.

Soon, the timer I’d set for the beef bourguignon rang, and I excused myself, added the pearl onions and mushrooms, put it back in the oven for a few minutes, along with the mashed potatoes. Fifteen minutes later, we sat down to eat.

“This is every bit as good as your mother’s,” he said between bites. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was hiding in your bedroom right now after having cooked it herself.”

I laughed. “Go check for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Lava cakes were the perfect dessert. By the time dinner was over, I was basking in the glow of success, made all the more pleasant by the two glasses of the smooth merlot Matthew had served me. Everything had gone perfectly. I had even flirted. Marnie would have been proud of me. Now we were back in the living room. Matthew sat across from me, studying me through golden eyes.

He got up and refilled both our glasses and then walked around the coffee table toward me. For once I hadn’t put my foot in my mouth. I dared believe that he was going to sit close to me, maybe even wrap his arm around my shoulders. In a few minutes we would be kissing.

Suddenly he tripped. “What the hell?” He had regained his balance. Now he stared at the object on the floor—my purse. Uh-oh.

It lay open, with a pile of hundred-dollar bills—ten thousand dollars’ worth of bills—spilling onto the floor.

He tore his eyes away from them and looked at me. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

I scrambled for an answer. “I—I was going to tell you.” That was a complete lie, and from the tightness of his mouth, I could tell he already knew as much. “It’s not mine. It’s blackmail money. Mrs. Anderson’s payment in return for those pictures of her with Mr. Whitby.”

He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I told him. “Please don’t be mad at me. She was so desperate, Matthew. I felt sorry for her. I couldn’t say no.”

He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring down at me, his eyes ablaze. “I can’t believe—I take that back. I am not in the least surprised. I should have known you would do something like that.” He shook his head in frustration. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’d be putting yourself in? If the blackmailer also happens to be the killer, you could end up with a bullet through that pretty head of yours.” At least he’d called me pretty—sort of. “I absolutely forbid you to go.”

My eyebrows bobbed. “You
forbid
it?” Now
I
was starting to get angry. “You have a lot of nerve thinking you have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do. Who do you think you are?”

His jaw hardened, and his eyes darkened. “You’re right. Only somebody close to you would have the right to worry about your safety. And God knows you and I are anything but close.” He turned to Winnie, who was watching, puzzled, from the corner. “Let’s go, Winston.”

Winnie jumped up and scampered after Matthew. The door slammed shut behind them.

Stupid, stupid, stupid
. I had done it again. I had spoiled the perfect opportunity to set this friendship on fire. Judging from the way he’d looked at me before leaving, I wasn’t sure I even had his friendship anymore.

T
he streetlamps threw golden pools of light along the dark street. For the second time in days, I was wearing running shoes. I hurried toward the church, uncomfortably aware of the ten thousand dollars in cash inside the envelope stuffed in my Windbreaker’s pocket.

People get killed for much less
.

I looked around. The street was quiet, not a soul around. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or not. I wished Matthew were here. Hell, I’d even be happy to have Winston with me.

I reached the church and followed the walk to the back, where the park and cemetery were. It was one thing to come here during the day, but it was entirely different at night. There were no streetlights here, the only lighting from the moon. I squinted and spotted the park bench. I rushed over and settled into the wait . . . and wait . . . and wait . . . hoping that I was right and that the blackmailer was Rhonda McDermott. Otherwise, I might be in as much danger as Matthew had warned.

All around me shadows loomed. They seemed to grow larger, closer with every advancing minute. Every crack, every snap startled me, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that somebody was watching. I couldn’t be certain—it was too dark to check my watch—but I thought I’d been waiting for a long time, much longer than I should have. I suddenly remembered the light at the end of my key chain. I fished through my pocket for it and flicked it on—eleven thirty. He was half an hour late. How long was I supposed to wait?

Maybe he was watching now, making sure there was nobody else around. I’d wait another few minutes, I decided, already imagining how disappointed Mrs. Anderson would be if the blackmailer didn’t show up. I’d return her money, of course. In fact, I felt so uncomfortable carrying such a large sum that I couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

Suddenly a shadow appeared. This one was definitely moving toward me, and quickly. Hold on. Hadn’t Mrs. Anderson said that the blackmailer would keep his distance? That seeing his face would put me in danger. He was now no more than ten feet away and still advancing. I sprang to my feet and ran.

“Wait, Della. It’s me.”

I stopped and turned. “Matthew?” The figure came closer. It
was
Matthew. “What are you doing here? You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry, kiddo. After I left your place, I decided I couldn’t let you come here by yourself. If something happened to you, I would never forgive myself.”

Luckily it was dark, so he couldn’t see the blush rising to my face. “You were worried for me? That’s so sweet.” I looked around. “Do you think the blackmailer saw you?” I whispered. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t show up.”

“He couldn’t have. After leaving your place, I went straight home, dropped off Winston and came here. I’ve been here for nearly two hours. If anybody had come anywhere near this place, I would have seen them. You were the only person the whole time.”

We locked eyes, and the gaze held.

I cleared my throat. “I’m glad I don’t have to walk back home on my own. I don’t like carrying all that money.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the street. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry at you,” he said.

Was that an apology? Was Matthew actually apologizing? “I guess I shouldn’t have tried to keep a secret from you.”

He chuckled. “What you should have done is turn down this stupid errand in the first place.” He squeezed my shoulder affectionately, and my heart skipped a beat. “Every time I turn around you’re doing something else that keeps me up nights worrying about you.” A lump settled in my throat. This was as close to an admission that he cared as I’d ever heard.

“I guess I’m just a sucker for people in distress. She looked so miserable that I couldn’t turn her down. But you’re right. It was stupid of me.”

A few minutes later, we were at my door. He turned me around until I faced him, and our eyes locked again. I was fed up with our eyes locking. What I really wanted was for our lips to lock. He tilted my chin up with a finger, bent down, and my knees nearly buckled. And then he
kissed
me—on the cheek, damn it. But it was a kiss nonetheless. And it made the whole scary evening totally worth it.

“Good night, gorgeous,” he said, and then he walked away.