Night of the Living Thread (A Threadville Mystery) Page 17

“Brianna’s with me. Where are you, Willow?”

  “At home. In bed. It’s . . .” I checked the time. “After one.” I didn’t mean to be rude and abrupt.

  Vicki laughed. “That hasn’t stopped you from wandering around before.”

  I had to smile. “I must be getting old.”

  Her voice became serious again. “I need to come over and talk to you.”

  “Um, okay. The patio door should be unlocked.”

  “Put a kettle on.”

  26

  Vicki disconnected the call, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief.

  She’d asked me to put a kettle on. At one fifteen in the morning. What an odd time for her to come to tea.

  At least she liked my animals. I let them into the great room and started heating water.

  Maybe pink and fuzzy wasn’t quite the right look for when a police chief came calling. I ran into my bedroom and threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. However, the dogs barked, someone rapped on the frame of the patio door, and I thrust my feet into the pink fuzzy slippers and shuffled out to the great room.

  Before I could reach the door, Brianna shoved it open. She appeared to be drenched, hair, shoes, and everything between. Her eyes looked bruised and angry. She clutched a thin, silvery survival blanket at her neck. It rattled as she walked.

  Behind her, Vicki ordered, “Wait!”

  “I live here,” Brianna snarled. “I can come and go whenever I want.” She marched toward her suite.

  In my slippers, I skated past her to help Vicki round up my animals before they could wander outside on their own.

  Vicki was doing a fine job of it by herself. Yipping with excitement, Sally and Tally licked her hands and wagged their tails. The kittens launched themselves toward her pant legs. By the time Vicki and I had convinced all four animals to stay inside, Brianna was about to shut herself in her suite.

  Vicki called out, “Brianna, hang on a second.”

  Brianna turned around and glared.

  “Take a hot shower, put on dry clothes, then come out here and warm up with some tea.”

  “I don’t want tea.” Brianna’s eyes glittered with brittle fury. What was wrong with her?

  “Then come out here after you’ve showered, anyway,” Vicki demanded. “We’ve got to straighten this thing out.”

  “What’s to straighten?” Brianna demanded. “You just do your job. Don’t tell me what to do.”

  By straightening her back only slightly and thinning her lips, Vicki became amazingly formidable. “Part of my job is looking after people, and that includes you. If you won’t follow my advice and warm yourself up, I’ll have to call an ambulance.”

  Brianna only glowered and slammed herself into her guest suite.

  Realizing I was gaping at where she’d last been, I closed my mouth and turned toward Vicki. “What’s happening?” I didn’t feel quite awake yet, which didn’t help me understand it, whatever it was.

  The music in the guest suite stopped.

  Vicki eased onto one of the stools at the counter and massaged her forehead.

  I grabbed a plastic bag of homemade molasses cookies from the freezer. “You need cookies.”

  “I need more than cookies.” She fished her digital camera out of a pocket. “Turn your face so you’re looking at your fridge again,” she said.

  “What?” But I did it.

  She took a couple of pictures.

  I put the cookies on an ovenproof platter and turned on the oven. “What’s going on?”

  She backed toward the sitting area of my great room. “Stay there. I want a picture of you in that outfit, complete with bedroom slippers.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Are you taking up blackmail?”

  She snapped more photos. “Nope. I’m looking after people. You, this time.”

  “Why?”

  She lowered the camera. “To prove my case.”

  “Your case? I’m beginning to think it’s mine.”

  She squinched her mouth to one side and nodded. “Don’t worry. It’s her word against yours, and I don’t think she’s telling the truth.”

  I slid the platter of cookies into the oven. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  Vicki took her place on the stool again. “Why not?”

  “For one thing, she waffled the other night about whether she’d gone outside, and only admitted it after you said you were going to have the door fingerprinted.” I held up a jar of dried chamomile. “Is this all right, or would you prefer something to keep you awake?”

  “Chamomile’s fine. I’m supposed to go off duty soon. Any other ways she seemed dishonest?”

  “At first, she said she didn’t wear my shoes, but then she retracted that, too.” I lowered a tea infuser into the pot. “And I just found out about another possible lie. Remember she said that she was on the phone with her boyfriend when Isis was killed?”

  Examining my face, Vicki nodded.

  I filled the teapot with boiling water. “After I went to bed this evening, Brianna’s music went quiet for a second, and I heard the patio door close.” I gestured to indicate my great room. “No one was in here, and my landline was in use. I couldn’t see anyone in my backyard, either, so I went upstairs to look out the front windows. Brianna was at the door of Edna’s shop, and she had her hand on the doorknob and her face almost against the glass, like someone trying the door to see if it was unlocked, or at least checking out the inside.”

  Vicki got out her notebook and began writing in it. “Did she enter Edna’s shop?”

  “No. She turned around and hurried down Lake Street toward the beach. So I thought it was my chance to turn down her music. While I was in her room, I picked up the phone and listened. A woman was droning on and on about the weather in Sydney. The woman had an Australian accent.”

  Vicki gazed toward Blueberry Cottage, dark in my backyard. “Mm-hm.”

  “Did you get my phone records from last night?” I asked.

  “The state police did. They didn’t warn you?”

  I shook my head.

  She frowned. “I’m sorry. I should have told you to lock up your phone. The so-called boyfriend was actually a number in Sydney, the number people call for a recorded weather report. That call lasted for over four hours.”

  I waved away her concern. “My number’s toll-free worldwide, incoming and outgoing calls.”

  She blew out a relieved breath. “Glad to hear that. Sorry none of us said anything about it to you.”

  “No problem. I saw something else odd in Brianna’s room, though. She had a checkbook, and I’m afraid I opened it.”

  Vicki tilted her head and pursed her lips.

  “I know, I shouldn’t have snooped. But as I told you, I’d seen her tear a page out of something that looked like a checkbook and hand it to Isis shortly before Isis was murdered. And now I’m sure that it was a check. Brianna’s checkbook is the kind that makes copies. She’d written a check for two hundred dollars to Isis Crabbe. Down at the bottom where you’re supposed to write a memo to yourself about what the check is for, she wrote, ‘Curse against WV.’ If those are initials, they could stand for me or for my mother.”

  Vicki was silent for a second, pondering her notebook. She raised her head and gave me the full force of her honest blue eyes. “We found that check among Isis’s belongings in Edna’s apartment.”

  “So that’s Isis’s last name? ‘Crabbe,’ with two bs and an e?”

  She nodded. “Her wallet was in her room, too, and that was the name on her driver’s license.”

  I turned from Vicki, both to pour the tea and to hide my gratification. Haylee and I wouldn’t have to confess that we’d searched Patricia’s computer and discovered Isis’s last name.

  My face in control, I hoped, I faced Vicki again and shoved a mug o
f tea toward her. “Are you going to tell me what this wee-hours visit is about?” Water was running in my guest suite.

  She shook her head. “Brianna will. In about two minutes. Even if we have to haul her out of the shower ourselves.”

  “We wouldn’t dare.”

  Vicki grinned, but it was a toothy, humorless grin that reminded me again that she was a tough police chief. “Yeah, you’re right. We wouldn’t.” She checked her wristwatch. “But if she doesn’t get out here pretty soon, I’m going in after her.”

  Maybe the smell of warm cookies would tempt Brianna into the kitchen. I removed the plate from the oven and set it on the counter in front of Vicki, then poured myself a mug of tea. I loved the flavor and the comfort of chamomile, but it often made me sleepy. With any luck, the evening’s festivities, such as they were, would end before my head fell face-first into the plate of cookies.

  We didn’t have to haul Brianna out of the shower. Her lower lip protruding in defiance and her hair even wetter than when she’d marched into my apartment claiming that she lived here, she slouched out of my guest suite, closed the door, and stood at the end of the counter, where she could see Vicki’s face.

  “Well?” Brianna demanded. She was wearing one of the warm fleece bathrobes I’d embroidered for potential guests. White, not pink.

  I poured another mug of tea and placed it in front of Brianna.

  “Well, what?” Vicki asked. She could be very cold, almost accusing, but I was used to the official police side of her personality, and I didn’t feel threatened.

  Without looking my way, Brianna snapped at Vicki, “Are you going to sit there having a tea party, or are you going to do your job and arrest her?”

  27

  I nearly spewed my tea. “Arrest me?” I repeated.

  Her mouth tightening, Vicki shot me a quick glance and gave her head a nearly imperceptible shake.

  Okay, I got it. I was supposed to let her handle this. I clutched my hot mug against my chest.

  “Drink your tea and warm up,” Vicki told Brianna in a calm voice. “And tell me why you want me to arrest Willow.”

  The corners of Brianna’s mouth turned down. “I already told you.” Like a petulant child, she still didn’t look at me. She also didn’t touch the tea.

  Vicki shoved the plate of cookies toward her. “Humor me, okay? Tell me again why you want me to arrest Willow.”

  Arms tight against her sides, Brianna muttered, “She pushed me into the lake.”

  I managed not to sputter, but my eyes opened rather wide for that time of the night—morning—whatever.

  Vicki asked, still in a deceptively sympathetic voice, “Do you have proof, Brianna?”

  Brianna exploded, “Proof? You saw me. I was soaking wet. I could have drowned.”

  “Willow says she was asleep.”

  “Well, she’s not going to confess, is she?” Brianna still avoided looking my way. I hoped that meant she was ashamed of lying. “She’s not going to admit she goes around trying to drown people. She’s probably the one who pushed that other woman in.”

  Dangerous sparks lit Vicki’s eyes. “Who says that other woman was pushed?”

  “Everybody. Anyone could figure that out.”

  “That woman was tangled in a heavy, um, contraption. You weren’t. She ended up in the river, which gets deep dangerously quickly. You told me you were on the beach when someone pushed you. The slope at the beach is gradual. If someone pushed you, you’d get your feet wet, but you wouldn’t be all wet like you were when you flagged me down. Did you resist your assailant?”

  Finally, Brianna did look at me, for less than a second, with frightening rage. “Okay, I get it. All you hayseeds stick together. She goes around murdering people and blaming others and you stick up for her. Your cases are solved and she stays out of jail. Nice little game you two have going.”

  “Just tell me the truth, Brianna,” Vicki demanded.

  “I am.”

  “Okay. Tell me where you were and who you saw and what happened.” Vicki’s exaggerated patience should have frightened Brianna.

  But Brianna only sulked. “I told you.”

  “Tell me again. With details.”

  Brianna heaved a dramatic sigh. “I was standing on the beach looking out at the lake, and she suddenly ran up behind me. I couldn’t hear her coming on the sand, and I didn’t know she was there until she shoved me into the water. I went right down on my face. If my head had hit a rock or something, I’d be dead now, thanks to your friend there.”

  How did I luck out with this houseguest? Even though she gave no sign of wanting to touch the plate of cookies, I wanted to yank it away from her.

  Vicki asked, “What part of your body did she shove?”

  Brianna scowled. “I don’t know. It happened fast, you know? My back, my shoulders, I guess.”

  Vicki didn’t raise her eyes from her notebook. “We’ll have a doctor examine your back and shoulders for bruises.”

  Pouting, Brianna picked at the edge of my counter.

  Vicki asked, “And your knees? Did they get skinned?”

  “You saw me. I was wearing jeans.”

  Vicki gazed at her face. “Show me the palms of your hands.”

  Brianna averted her eyes and slid her hands into the armpits of the bathrobe. “I don’t have to.”

  “Okay, fine.” Vicki was being extra agreeable, another danger sign that Brianna probably didn’t recognize. “Look at Willow’s face.”

  Brianna didn’t. Instead, she complained, “Why should I look at her after what she did to me?”

  Vicki answered easily, “You don’t have to, but when we first got here, she had a crease on her cheek.”

  I clapped my hands to my cheeks, but couldn’t feel any creases. Not that being Brianna’s hostess wasn’t enough to give anyone wrinkles. My hair was probably going gray that very minute.

  Brianna stood a little straighter, slumping less. “So maybe I did get a swing in at her. It was self-defense.”

  Vicki shook her head. “No, it’s the kind of crease she’d have gotten from sleeping in one position for a while.” She tapped her pen on the counter. “So you didn’t see the person who pushed you, but you know it was Willow. How?”

  Brianna stared at her hands. “She was following me down Lake Street.”

  This was too much. “What was I wearing?” I asked.

  Vicki frowned at me but didn’t object.

  Brianna continued to speak as if I weren’t there. “What she has on.”

  “I guess you didn’t splash her when you fell in.” By this time, Vicki’s polite and encouraging tone barely masked a challenge.

  Brianna’s face turned red. “How would I know? I had my back to her. She probably jumped out of the way. You’re not going to arrest her, are you.” It was an accusation, not a question.

  Vicki maintained her calm equilibrium. “Not tonight,” she said.

  I said to Brianna, “What were you doing at Edna’s shop, Buttons and Bows? Trying to enter?”

  Vicki cautioned, “Willow . . .”

  Brianna glared at me. “Nothing.” She turned to Vicki. “See? She was following me.”

  I retorted, “I was looking out the window of In Stitches.”

  Vicki reworded my question to Brianna, “Why were you peeking into Edna’s store at that time of night? Had you, perhaps, given Isis something that you wanted back?”

  Brianna answered with an abrupt, “No.”

  “That’s good,” Vicki went on, “since the police have taken away everything that was Isis’s, including a check you wrote her.” Vicki shook her head as if to clear it. “For a curse, of all things?”

  Brianna mumbled, “Not a real one.”

  Vicki pressed her, “A fake curse that cost two hundred dollars?”

 
Brianna changed the subject. “I guess I did look into that store for a moment. To see if she sold thread.”

  “You could have asked,” I pointed out.

  Brianna only shrugged.

  Vicki said slowly and clearly, “In the morning, I’ll get the surveillance tapes from the bank down the street, and we’ll see where all you went and who was following you.”

  Brianna’s face turned redder. “She started following me later, way past the bank. I think she came along the hiking trail.”

  Vicki grabbed a cookie and stood. “And I think your story keeps changing. I don’t know who pushed you, if anyone, but I’m almost certain it wasn’t Willow. But after accusing her, you probably don’t want to stay here, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. I’ll wait for you to pack up your things. I don’t think you need an ambulance, so I’ll take you to Emergency myself and you can be examined for signs of an assault.”

  “I have a car,” Brianna said.

  “I’ll take you, or a state trooper will. It’s policy.”

  “I don’t need to go to any hospital.”

  “I’m not charging anyone with assault without evidence of an assault or a witness to the assault.”

  Finally, Brianna must have recognized the steel hidden in Vicki’s exaggerated politeness. Brianna pointed at me. “She did it! You’re letting her get away with murder!”

  Vicki took a step toward her. “Do you need help packing?”

  Instead of answering, Brianna swore, flung herself into my guest suite and slammed the door.

  Vicki sat again and bit into the cookie. “These are delicious. Don’t worry, Willow, I’m not leaving here until she does, and then I’m telling the state trooper who takes over after my shift to swing past on Lake Street often after Brianna leaves the hospital. That is one angry young woman.”

  I grasped my mug by its handle. “I don’t know why, either. I’ve tried to be a good hostess, and she’s been like this—well almost like this but not quite as bad as tonight—ever since my mother foisted her on me.”

  “Maybe she feels like your mother foisted you on her?”

  “Well, she can just get herself unfoisted. I’ve had enough.”