Thread and Gone (13 page)

Chapter 28

I didn't know what else to say, and Pete didn't have any more questions. He volunteered to drive me to the rectory. I didn't want to be alone, and I didn't want to talk to the newspeople who knew where I lived and were staking out my house.

Rev. Tom had volunteered to work with the police. They were trying to locate Uma Patel's parents. Gram'd already heard I'd been the one to find Uma's body.

She must have been watching for me; she opened the door before I had a chance to knock. “Heavens, Angel, what a horrible day you must be having. Come in, sit down, and tell me what happened.”

I followed Gram into her kitchen. Food was everywhere.

“You've been shopping,” I said, looking around. “A lot of shopping.”

“Actually, no,” she said. She looked a little embarrassed. “It seems a clergyman belongs to his parish maybe even more than he does to his wife. All this food was here when we got home Friday night. He'd called his secretary to tell her he was coming home, and she must have alerted the Ladies' Guild. They left a note saying they didn't want us to worry about cooking for a few days.” Gram shook her head. “The freezer is full of enough casseroles to last us a month. You'd be doing us a favor if you took a few. We'll have to sneak them out, though, so no one thinks we're discarding food made for us.”

I looked around the room. A large box from the patisserie. Boxes of store-bought crackers. A platter of brownies. A plate of oatmeal cookies. Bottles of root beer, Tom's favorite nonalcoholic drink. A box of chocolates. Nuts. A chocolate cake lettered “Welcome Home!” in red frosting. And a basket of fruit wrapped in cellophane.

I picked up a brownie. Fudge and walnuts. Not bad.

“The refrigerator's full, too,” Gram said. “We brought cheeses home with us. But there must have been six pounds of locally made cheeses already in there. Plus milk and butter and fresh vegetables.”

“What are you going to do with all of it?”

“I told Tom we should take it to the food bank, but he said we couldn't—the ladies would be insulted. They'd think we'd rejected their cooking. So we'll eat as much as we can and return the dishes with thank you notes. We'll take the packaged food to the food bank and make a contribution with the money we would have spent on food ourselves.” Gram looked as flustered as I'd ever seen her.

Then we both started laughing. It felt good.

“I'll bet you haven't had anything to eat today, either,” she said, once we'd wiped our eyes.

“The brownie was good,” I admitted. “Before that? I had toasted cheese and a banana for lunch awhile ago.”

“Well, you came to the right place,” Gram said drily. “Sit down, and I'll find us something to eat besides brownies. Then you can tell me everything that happened today.”

Gram might be Mrs. Tom McCully now, but she was still Gram. Eat first, talk later.

It felt good to sit. I hadn't realized how uptight I'd been.

Gram put water on to boil, made us each sandwiches of herbed cheese and fresh sliced tomatoes and lettuce with thin slices of ham, put a bowl of potato chips on the table, and handed me a cup of tea. I took a sip. The tea wasn't made with just milk and sugar. I looked up at her.

“Figured you could do with a bit of brandy, after what you've been through today,” she said. “And I'm joining you. I may be a minister's wife, but I'm still me.”

I raised my cup to her, and we ate in companionable silence.

Gradually I explained what had happened. I hesitated about telling her about the sapphire necklace, but then decided that, knowing Haven Harbor, she'd hear the news from someone else. Tom might be hearing it as we talked. And she wouldn't pass the information on.

“Do you think this young woman killed Lenore and stole her jewelry and the needlepoint?” Gram asked.

“The evidence is there. How did the jewelry get into her room at the Wild Rose? But she didn't impress me as a murderer.”

“They don't all wear labels, you know,” Gram cautioned.

“I do know. But she seemed genuinely upset when she talked about finding Lenore's body. And why would she agree to go with Rob to Lenore's office if she'd already killed her?”

“She'd have to have been pretty tough and smart to arrange to discover her own victim,” said Gram.

“Plus, Lenore was wearing nightclothes when she was found. You knew her better than I did. Would she have opened her door late at night to someone she didn't know?”

“I wouldn't think so,” said Gram. “Although she'd be more likely to open it to a young woman than she would to a man.”

“True,” I agreed.

“But if Uma was smart enough to talk herself into Lenore's house close to midnight, and get Lenore to open her safe . . . wouldn't she be too smart to flaunt jewelry she'd stolen by wearing it? A sapphire necklace doesn't look like sea glass.” I shook my head. “The last time I saw her she was excited about going out on the
Little Lady
with Arvin Fraser to see how he lobstered. That was Friday, late morning. She was going to meet him Friday afternoon.”

“Did you tell the police that?' Gram asked.

“I did. I'm sure they'll talk to Arvin.”

Gram sat back. “I don't want to think ill of anyone, but I'm disappointed in Arvin Fraser. I don't know the man well. I do know his wife's mother, though, and I've heard he's having marriage issues. Married too young and a father too soon. He's not the only one ever to be in that position. But to invite a young woman he hardly knew out on his boat doesn't sound smart to me.”

I shrugged. “I don't know his wife. But I have heard they're having problems. Sarah and I saw Uma with Arvin, Josh, and Rob down at the Harbor Haunts after the fireworks. Jude Curran was there, too. And the same group was together the next night at the co-op.”

“That was the night Lenore was killed, right? The night they were at the co-op?”

“Right.”

“What time was that?”

I thought back. “I told Pete about eight or so. Rob, Josh, and Jude were still there when we left. I don't know where Arvin or Uma were. I don't remember seeing them out on the pier.”

“And about four hours after that Lenore opened her door to her killer.”

“That's right.”

“So the question is, where did all those people go after you saw them at the co-op?” said Gram.

A good question. The same one Pete had asked.

Along with finding out how Lenore's jewelry had gotten into Uma's room. And around her neck.

Chapter 29

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Gram. We chatted about her trip, she showed me dozens of pictures she'd taken in Quebec, we watched Juno race around the house and make herself at home, and most of all, we tried to think about things other than death. Tom stayed at the police station.

They'd called Uma's family, he told us when he checked in with Gram. Her parents were on their way to Maine from their home in Connecticut. Tom had arranged for them to stay at the Wild Rose, and made other telephone calls for them. He and Pete had also promised to try to keep the press away.

That wouldn't be easy. Word had already gotten out about the sapphire necklace Uma'd been wearing. The only thing worse for parents to hear than that their daughter was dead would be that their daughter might have been a murderer and thief. I couldn't imagine how they must feel.

Welcome to quiet, peaceful Haven Harbor.

I went back to my own house for the night (taking backyard routes to avoid the media), but sleep didn't come easily.

I kept seeing Uma Patel's body on the rocks, sapphires sparkling through the seaweed that partially covered her.

I still couldn't believe she'd killed Lenore, even with that evidence.

Could she have been with whoever had killed Lenore?

She'd said she didn't know anyone in Haven Harbor except Arvin, Josh, and Rob. And Jude.

But if she'd met someone else, would she have told me? I'd only asked her about finding Lenore's body. I hadn't asked her the names of everyone she'd met in Haven Harbor.

How had Uma ended up dead, her body cast ashore on the rocks?

I thumped my pillow and turned over. My thoughts shifted between Uma, and her death, to Lenore, and hers. Two people who didn't seem to have anything in common—except a sapphire necklace.

And why hadn't the needlepoint been with the jewelry Ethan found in Uma's room?

What did that mean? Uma wouldn't have tossed it out as not important. She'd have put it in a safe place.

Finally I sat up and started a list. Making lists was an old habit. If my mind was too churned up to let me sleep, I wrote down what was bothering me. That got the problem out of my mind and let me relax.

As a teenager I'd made lists of the boys I'd liked and the ones I hadn't. The girls who were mean, and the ones I trusted. The places I wanted to visit someday. My favorite colors. What clothes I'd buy if I had a million dollars.

Lists helped me focus.

I wrote the word “Motives” at the top of the page.

The person with the strongest motive to kill Lenore seemed to be her almost-ex-husband, Charlie. He might inherit, if she hadn't changed her will. As her husband, he might get something, even if she'd rewritten her will. He had a history of drinking and violence. Would Lenore have let Charlie in?

She might have. He had been—was still, legally—her husband, after all. And Glenda had said that, despite Charlie's annoying her, Lenore hadn't been afraid of him.

But, on Charlie's side, if he'd killed his former wife he would have taken her jewelry. He knew how much it was worth. He wouldn't have given the jewelry to someone else, like Uma. He wouldn't have cared about the needlepoint.

That jewelry again. How had Lenore's jewelry gotten into Uma's room?

I couldn't imagine anyone who would give her the jewelry except Lenore, under duress.

What if I forgot that the jewelry was ornamental? What if I only considered its value?

Plenty of people I'd spoken to wanted money. Rob, of course, wanted to buy a lobster boat. According to Cos and Mary, Jude wanted to start over, in another place. So did Josh. Arvin was having marital problems and was still paying off his boat. He might have been tempted by easy money. It would give him other options.

But, then, who wasn't interested in money? Even Henri and Nicole were worried about not having enough money to move his mother to Maine.

Usually making a list kept my mind from racing. Tonight's list kept me awake. I turned off my bedside lamp and tried, again, to sleep.

I'd finally fallen into a deep sleep when my telephone rang at seven-thirty. Groggily I reached out to where I'd left my phone, on my nightstand. It was Ruth.

“Angie? I hope I didn't wake you. I heard about your finding that poor girl's body yesterday.”

“Yes,” I said, struggling to wake up.

“What an awful thing that must have been. How are you doing?”

“I'm all right,” I said. “I spent yesterday afternoon and evening with Gram.”

“I'm so glad you weren't alone,” Ruth continued. “If I'd known earlier it was you who found that girl, I would have invited you over here.”

“Thank you for thinking of me. But I'm all right,” I said. I hoped that was true.

“I know you have other things on your mind. But when you get a chance, maybe you could stop in. I've been working on that research you asked me to do—to connect Mary, Queen of Scots, with Marie Antoinette? And I think I've got it.”

By then I was wide awake. “What is it?”

“It's a little complicated. But I've written it all out. It would be easier to explain in person.”

“In about an hour?” An hour would give me enough time to shower and drink coffee.

“An hour will be fine. I'll see you then.”

I dragged myself out of bed. Lenore's jewelry had been found, but not Mary's needlepoint. Maybe I shouldn't even still be trying to trace its provenance. But I'd promised Mary I would. I wanted to honor that promise.

I'd also promised to get her needlework back to her. I hadn't gotten very far with that. But I hadn't given up.

One hot shower, two cups of coffee, and three pieces of French bread slathered with brie later, I was on my way to Ruth's little white house in the shade of the Congregational Church's steeple. I passed the rectory on my way. I hoped Tom had finally gotten home last night. If he hadn't, at least Gram had Juno to keep her company.

But she wouldn't mind being alone. She would've supported Tom's decision to be where he was most needed. She was going to be a great minister's wife.

Chapter 30

Ruth was waiting for me in her dining room/ study. Pieces of paper, some she'd written on, and some she'd printed out from the computer, covered her dining room table. I looked, aghast.

“Ruth, I hadn't realized I'd asked you to do this much research!”

She patted a chair seat for me to sit on. “Don't worry. It was fun. I used to do research for all my books because they were set in different periods in history—usually English history. That was in the old days, when I wrote romances that had ‘erotic components.' Now my books have more sex and less history. Got to please the market, you know. I enjoyed the excuse to stop focusing on sex and go back to thinking about history.”

I sat down next to her. “So—what did you find?”

“Mary of Scotland and Marie Antoinette both went to France from other countries because of international alliances. They were both queens of France. Marie Antoinette, of course, was queen of France when she was executed. Mary of Scotland returned to Scotland and then ended up in England, where she also had a claim to the throne. She was executed there.”

“Yes?” I said. So far I'd known all that, although I hadn't pulled the details together the way Ruth had. I hoped she hadn't gotten so fascinated with historical minutia that she'd forgotten what she was looking for. “And . . . so?”

“The note with the needlepoint was written in French, so I decided to focus on French connections.”

I half smiled. I might not know much about history, but I'd seen the movie
The French Connection
. I didn't remember any needlepoint involved in that story.

“I won't bore you with the details,” Ruth went on, “but one of the reasons Mary of Scotland ended up in France was that her mother, Mary of Guise, was French. She'd left France to marry James the Fifth of Scotland. James died only a week after their daughter Mary was born. Mary of Guise was the one who arranged for her young daughter, Mary, who was now the queen of Scotland, to go to France and marry the heir to the French throne. Mary of Guise was a staunch Catholic. One of her sisters, in fact, was the abbess at the Convent of Saint-Pierre-les-Dames in Reims.”

“Another Mary,” I said, thinking of what Mary Clough had told me. “Mary, Queen of Scots, and her mother were both Marys.”

“And they weren't the only ones,” Ruth said, nodding. “Of course, while she was in France Mary Stuart was called Marie, as was Marie Antoinette, two centuries later. She and her ladies received part of their education at the abbey in Reims, where her aunt was the abbess. They also visited the abbey after Mary's husband, Francis the Second, died.”

“That would make sense. The abbess was her aunt, and Mary and her mother's family were all Catholics,” I said. I was beginning to understand the history a little. But I still didn't know how it connected to the needlepoint. And it was hard to keep all the Marys straight. Hadn't Elizabethans used any other names? I must have started to look restless, because Ruth reached out and touched my arm.

“Don't be impatient. I'm almost to the key part.” She pointed at a printout of an English folk song. “There were other Marys. Four others, to be exact. When five-year-old Mary Stuart was sent to France to prepare to be the French queen, her mother wanted her to retain ties to Scotland. She chose four other girls, all named Mary, from families in Scotland that she knew and trusted, to be Mary Stuart's ladies-in-waiting.”

I shook my head. “So Mary Stuart and four other Marys went to France. Weird. You'd enter a room and ask for Mary—and five girls would answer!”

“Precisely. Which is why they all had informal names, too. Mary of Scotland was, of course,
the
Mary or Marie. Mary Fleming was nicknamed La Flamina. Mary Beaton was called Beaton, and Mary Seton was called Seton. Mary Livingston was known as Lusty, because she was strong and athletic. All four grew up with Mary Stuart. After Mary's husband died they all went back to Scotland with her. Mary Livingston, Mary Beaton, and Mary Fleming all married men loyal to Mary Stuart.”

“What about the fourth Mary?”

“Mary Seton was the closest of the four to Mary Stuart. After they returned to Scotland she was put in charge of the queen's household, and she stayed with the queen, and even went into captivity with her.”

“Never married?”

“She was asked, so history says, but she chose to remain single. And she may be the connection with Mary Clough's needlepoint.” Ruth looked very pleased with herself. But I still didn't get it.

“Mary Seton? How?”

“As I said, she went into captivity with Mary Stuart. She arranged Mary's hair and wigs, did needlepoint with her, and looked after her wardrobe. But after fifteen years she became ill. Her family, and Mary Stuart herself, advised her to leave England and its drafty castles and go somewhere more comfortable, and better for her lungs.”

“And so she left?”

“She did.” Ruth nodded. “In 1583 she returned to France, and went to live at Saint-Pierre-les-Dames at Reims—the same abbey she'd visited as a child, where Mary Stuart's aunt was the abbess. Mary Seton lived there for the rest of her life.”

I was waiting for the needlepoint connection. “And?”

“Mary Stuart was known to be generous with her friends and staff. Even in the hectic days before she was executed she made provisions for her servants, her friends, and her relatives. She had little money, but she left instructions as to which of her needlepoint pieces should be given to each person. Mary Seton was a close friend. I'm wondering if that note in French was from Mary Stuart . . . who would have called herself Marie in French . . . to Mary Seton. And if it accompanied a piece of needlepoint she stitched as a remembrance for Mary Seton to take with her to France.”

“When Nicole translated the note she did say it looked as though it was addressed to someone whose name began with an
S
,” I said, remembering. “So, okay, the needlepoint could have been done by Mary, Queen of Scots, and taken to France by Mary Seton. But that still doesn't connect with Marie Antoinette!”

“No. But if the abbey of Saint-Pierre-les-Dames had a piece of needlework stitched by a queen, I would think they would value it highly and preserve it,” said Ruth. “And there was a connection between Marie Antoinette and the abbey. Marie Antoinette's lawyer, who defended her at the trial where she was condemned to death, was Guillaume Alexandre Tronson. He was from Reims.”

“And obviously closely connected to the court of Marie Antoinette,” I said.

“Exactly. At that time the archbishop of Reims was Alexandre-Angélique de Talleyrand-Périgord. We remember him just as Talleyrand. He left France during their revolution and spent time in the United States. In 1794 he even visited Maine. Later, of course, he went back to France. But he knew Tronson du Coudray. By the time of the French Revolution the abbey where Mary Seton had lived was gone, and its treasures had been incorporated into those of the cathedral at Reims. Given the destruction that took place during the French Revolution, wouldn't it have been reasonable for the archbishop at the cathedral, Talleyrand, to entrust the church's treasures to someone leaving the country? Perhaps he was protecting the church's assets. Or perhaps he gave them away as bribes.”

“And you're suggesting that Mary Clough's needlepoint might be one of those treasures removed from the cathedral by Talleyrand.”

“And perhaps given to du Coudray, and passed on to Captain Clough,” Ruth continued.

“Wow,” I said. “I'm going to need you to write that all down—the names and the dates especially.”

“I've already done that,” said Ruth, handing me a sheet of paper. “Now all we have to do is connect the Clough family of Haven Harbor to Talleyrand or du Coudray. James Swan, the Boston investor who connected Captain Clough to royalists in France, knew Talleyrand. And in 1794 Talleyrand visited Henry Knox, in Rockland, and also went to Gardiner and Augusta, here in Maine, so he's the likeliest to have visited Haven Harbor. Du Coudray died in Africa. He never made it to the states.”

“The papers in Mary's house might have clues,” I said. “I need to talk to her.”

“And, of course,” Ruth added, “we still don't know where that needlepoint is. I heard Lenore's jewelry was found in the room where that poor girl who drowned was staying.”

Word had gotten around town quickly.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“But not the needlepoint?”

“No. Not as far as I've heard,” I answered. “And if Uma had it, I don't think she would have discarded it. She'd have left Haven Harbor immediately and gone back to Boston. She wouldn't have stayed around to go lobstering with Arvin Fraser.” Or die in Haven Harbor, I added to myself.

“I hope the police are talking to Arvin,” Ruth said. “He may have been the last person to see her alive. He might know her plans. Or what she'd already done.”

I nodded. “I'm sure they'll talk to him. The question is, what will they find out?”