Deadly Threads Page 4

  “I feel miserable,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “Sad. Angry. Frightened. Shocked. Really shocked.”

  “Makes sense.”

  He hung my coat on the hook by the door and watched as I exchanged my work boots for pink fuzzy slippers.

  “I want to take a bath,” I said. “A very hot, very bubbly bath.”

  “Before or after you eat?”

  “Were you able to find anything?” I pressed my fingers against my forehead. I didn’t have a headache, but a faint throbbing behind my eyes made me think that I might be getting one. I couldn’t remember if there was any food in the house.

  He said, “We’re set. I borrowed salad stuff from Zoë and got a pizza out of the freezer. I added basil.”

  I touched his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome. All I need is ten minutes’ notice. Before or after the bath?”

  “After.”

  “Zoë sends love and says if she can do anything, call.”

  “She’s such a doll.”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Are you kidding me? I want two. I’m thinking I ought to have a Cherry Blossom.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a happy spring drink.”

  “You’re a very whimsical girl, you know that, right?”

  “Whimsical. I like that.”

  Ty brought me the frothy pink drink in a chilled plastic martini glass just as I was settling into the tub.

  “This defines decadence,” I said.

  “No. That would involve champagne, rose petals, strawberries, and chocolate.” He waved it aside. “Another day.”

  “Date,” I said, smiling.

  I leaned back, resting the glass on the tub’s edge, and closed my eyes to let the hot soak work its magic. After a while, I opened my eyes and sipped the drink until the glass was empty. Downstairs, wrapped in my toasty-warm pink chenille robe, I sat at the round kitchen table and watched as Ty poured me a refill. He dropped his empty Copperhook bottle into the recycling bin and pulled another from the fridge.

  “Want to make the dressing?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I whisked a cup of my mom’s Dijon vinaigrette, a recipe I knew by heart.

  We didn’t eat until after ten thirty, but it didn’t feel too late. It felt just right. After dinner, watching as Ty cleaned up, I realized my brain was more than half focused on the question of who’d killed Riley, and I was certain I’d have trouble sleeping. I was wrong. Much to my amazement, by eleven thirty, I was dead asleep.

  * * *

  Ellis, Chief Hunter, called at seven thirty the next morning just as I was pouring my second cup of coffee. Ty had already left for a day trip to Medford, Massachusetts.

  Ellis apologized for the early call, explaining that he wanted to fill me in on what would be happening that day at Prescott’s.

  “The technicians plan on taking another look at the tag sale room first thing this morning,” he said. “It’ll be off-limits for the foreseeable future, certainly for today, and maybe longer. I know that’s a hardship for you. I’m sorry for it—but the technicians need to take whatever time they need.”

  “I understand. To tell you the truth, I’ve already decided to cancel this week’s tag sale. It would just feel creepy to go ahead with it. Creepy and disrespectful.”

  “Understood. When does your staff get in?”

  “Nine, more or less. At least, Gretchen and Cara are in by nine. Fred usually comes in later, sometimes as late as noon or one or even later. Ava planned on working today from ten to three, if I’m remembering right. Eric usually starts about eight. His girlfriend is a teacher, so he’s up and about early.”

  “Can you call Fred and Ava and ask them to get in by nine, too? I need to talk to everyone who spoke to Ms. Jordan yesterday, and I’d like to do it as a group discussion.”

  “I’ll call them as soon as we’re done talking,” I said.

  “Thanks, Josie.” He cleared his throat. “One more question. Have you spoken to that reporter? Wes Smith?”

  My heart skipped a beat. Ellis had, in the past, asked me to talk to Wes, to pass along information that he’d hoped Wes would publish without attributing it to a police source. Ellis’s avowed goal had been to generate leads and tips and suggestions from the community, and maybe that’s all he was up to. I’d wondered at the time if he was trying a diversion, to get Wes focused on my tips in the hope that he wouldn’t notice other lines of investigation. From what I’d been able to tell, whatever Ellis’s strategy had been, it had worked. He’d gotten helpful leads from the community, and Wes hadn’t tripped him up.

  “He called me, but I haven’t called him back,” I said.

  He paused. “Okay, thanks, Josie. I’ll see you soon.”

  I didn’t know what Ellis had up his sleeve this time around, but I sure as shooting knew he’d be pulling something out from under his cuff.

  * * *

  Cara, Ava, Gretchen, Sasha, and Fred sat at their desks. Eric, Ellis, and I sat in a loose circle around the guest table.

  Ellis scanned our faces. He was a big man, tall and fit, with regular features and an appealing smile. He had a short, ragged dark red scar near his right eye. He wore a brown and tan tweed jacket, brown slacks, and an ivory shirt with a brown-and-gold-striped tie.

  “First off,” he said, “I’d like to hear about any interactions you had with Ms. Jordan yesterday. Let’s go around the room. If someone seems to be forgetting something, don’t wait, jump right in.”

  Cara, Sasha, and Fred reported that they’d said hello and chatted about little nothings, like the odd April weather, snowing one minute, then mild the next, and nothing else.

  “I ran into her in the parking lot at lunchtime,” Ava said. “We talked for a minute about clothes. I admired the Claire McCardell jacket she was wearing—I mean, wow, it was so gorgeous! I told her that since I design and make most of my own clothes, I’m always on the lookout for inspiration, and I often find it by looking at McCardell’s designs. Riley said McCardell was one of her all-time favorite designers.”

  “That’s when I came up,” Gretchen said. “You were saying how some designers use things like bows not as closure devices, but as decorations on shoes and handbags and to create or adorn jewelry, but that McCardell never did.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly right,” Ava agreed, nodding. “Riley said it was an example of staying true to your design ethos. McCardell believed that form had to follow function.”

  “Riley was incredible, wasn’t she?” Gretchen said sadly. “She knew so much, and was so generous with her knowledge.”

  “Thank you,” Ellis said. “Eric? How about you?”

  Eric said he hadn’t spoken to Riley at all. “I mean, not even when I went into the tag sale room to arrange the chairs. She was reading. She just looked up and smiled.”

  “When was that?” the chief asked.

  “About five thirty.”

  “When did you leave work for the day?”

  “Right after that. I normally work eight to four, but what with sweeping out the new boutique and starting to polish the Fallor estate furniture, I got behind schedule.” He looked down as if he expected to be criticized for poor time management. “I was late setting up.”

  I made a mental note to get him a temporary helper right away, while we assessed whether we needed to add a new permanent position.

  “And you, Josie?” Ellis asked.

  “Riley and I scheduled lunch. She was pleased we had her book in stock. She said she was on her way to an appointment. That’s it. I didn’t see her when she came back.”

  “Gretchen?” he asked, turning toward her.

  “Ava was on her way out to lunch when I was on my way in with Hank, our new cat. The three of us chatted for a minute, then Ava left and Riley and I came in. I heard Riley and Josie make the lunch date, and she talked about her book, just like Josie said. That was it for then. When Riley return
ed about four, she said her appointment had ended early, and she asked if she could sit somewhere and read. I said of course, and she went back out to her car. When she came in, she had a book with her, a Nero Wolfe mystery. I took her into the tag sale room, unlocked the outside door, and asked if she wanted any coffee or cookies or anything, and she said she didn’t.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “Why did you unlock the door?”

  “For students who come early and in case Riley wanted to stretch her legs or something.”

  “Did you check on her later?” Ellis asked.

  “No” she replied sadly.

  “What time did you see that car?” I asked her.

  “What car?” Ellis asked before Gretchen could answer.

  “A car leaving the parking lot,” Gretchen said. “I wouldn’t have thought about it at all except that when Josie and I wheeled the samples into the tag sale room and Riley wasn’t there, it occurred to me that maybe a friend had stopped by and she and Riley had gone out for coffee.”

  “Couldn’t it have been a customer leaving, or a vendor?”

  “Sure, except there hadn’t been anyone here.”

  He nodded. “When was that?” he asked.

  She pursed her lips, thinking. “About five thirty or quarter to six, I think … somewhere in there. I’m sorry I can’t be more exact.”

  “Was the room set up?”

  “Yes.”

  Ellis turned to Eric. “And you were done with the setup by five thirty?”

  Eric looked nervous, as if he wished he didn’t have to commit to a specific time. “I think so.”

  Ellis nodded again, then turned to Gretchen. “What kind of car was it?”

  “I don’t know. I only saw a flash of silver, and I only saw it for a second.”

  “Do you have a sense of the shape of the car?” he asked, his tone patient, almost uncurious.

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Keep thinking about it. Something may come back to you.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re doing fine,” he told her, smiling. He took us all in with a sweeping glance. “What impression did you have of Riley? Did you notice anything unusual about her appearance or manner?”

  “She seemed troubled,” Cara said without hesitation. “Several of us commented on it.”

  “In what way?” Ellis asked.

  “Her expression … and the way she nearly bit Josie’s nose off when she suggested they have lunch at the Blue Dolphin.”

  Ellis confirmed that Gretchen and I shared Cara’s opinion, then turned to Ava. “How about you?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know her well, so I’m not sure I would have noticed a difference in her manner. When I ran into her in the parking lot, she seemed fine—a little tired, maybe.”

  He asked if anyone had socialized with Riley outside of work. No one had except me. He told me he’d get the details about our relationship later in the morning. He also asked if anyone had any idea who killed her, but no one had, or at least, no one voiced an opinion. He thanked us as he handed out his business cards.

  “If you think of anything, even something that seems inconsequential or minor, give me a call. Rumors are good, too. We’re looking for leads, and the schoolyard rules about tattling don’t apply. If you think of something, tell me.”

  We all promised we would.

  “And I’ll see you, Josie, at ten, and you, Gretchen, at ten- thirty, at the station house, right?” he asked.

  We confirmed the appointments and then I walked him through the warehouse to the tag sale room, where the technicians were standing with their backs to us, talking. I paused before opening the door, my hand on the knob, and turned to face him.

  “I know you talked to everyone last night. Did anyone in the class see anything?”

  “Why would you think they might?” he countered.

  “I wouldn’t. I was just curious.”

  “Everyone was cooperative, which doesn’t always happen.” He smiled at me, then glanced at the doorknob. I got the hint and opened the door. Before entering, he called to a technician. “May I come in?”

  “Yeah,” one of the men replied. “We’re almost done.”

  He smiled at me again and nodded good-bye.

  I stood for a moment watching through the window, thinking that Ellis was more adept at tactfully avoiding answering questions than anyone I’d ever met, even Detective Brownley.

  * * *

  I kept my ten o’clock appointment at the Rocky Point police station and was led directly into Interrogation Room One, a dreary space with an old metal table in the center and a human-sized cage in the corner.

  Ellis sat across from me, thanked me for coming in, and turned on the video recorder, the department’s standard operating procedure.

  After reciting routine information about the date and time, my name, and the reason for the interview, he asked several questions about Riley, including how we met and what she was like. I repeated what I’d told Detective Brownley the day before.

  “Did she ever talk to you about the gossip surrounding her husband?” he asked.

  “A little. She said she and Bobby got a good laugh at the gossip sheets.” I shook my head, saddened as I recalled how her attitude had shifted in recent weeks. “That was at first. About a month ago, things changed. Riley and I were having lunch, and she seemed … I don’t know … off. I asked her if anything was wrong. She said that to tell the truth, she was fed up with all the gossip magazines asking her to comment on Bobby’s relationship with Ruby Bowers. She said there was nothing to it, and she just wished the media would let it—and her—alone.” I looked at Ellis directly. “Riley said that Bobby’s spending a lot of time with Ruby was just a publicity stunt, that he was milking her for all she was worth.” I shook my head. “I told her that was kind of icky.”

  “Icky?” Ellis repeated.

  “Yes. Icky. Riley said that it wasn’t icky at all since Ruby was doing exactly the same thing for exactly the same reason. By letting the paparazzi think there was something going on, they each got more media coverage than they would have without the ploy. I understood and couldn’t really argue. That’s how it works, you know? I mean, forget the ethics of trying to manipulate the press and just evaluate the tactics—to me, it definitely makes it less icky knowing they were in it together, but it’s still pretty icky.”

  “Did she ever talk about Bobby and other women besides Ruby?”

  “No,” I replied.

  “What about the Blue restaurant business? Did Riley discuss it?”

  “Not really. At some point, she mentioned that she’d invested in Bobby’s business. She was excited that his expansion was going so well. I didn’t think anything about it. I mean, along with everyone else in town, I knew she was well-off—you know that her grandfather founded the Marshall Soup Company, right?—so it just seemed natural that she’d put money into his restaurants.”

  “Did she ever mention any concerns she had about the business?”

  “She didn’t like it that Bobby traveled so much, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean, she knew he needed to travel for business, but I got the impression that she wished he was a little less into the celebrity chef see-and-be-seen thing.”

  “What gave you that impression?”

  I looked away, recalling her frank comments, then turned back to Ellis. “It wasn’t an impression—she said so.”

  He nodded. “What other concerns did she express?”

  “Bobby talked about relocating to New York City, and she didn’t want to go.”

  He nodded again. “What else?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Why do you think she wanted to have lunch with you?”

  I shrugged. “We were friends. She didn’t need a special reason.”

  “So you don’t think the timing meant anything?”

  I recalled her frazzled deportment. “I don’t know.”


  Ellis pecked away at me for several more minutes, asking for details I didn’t have about Riley and Bobby’s relationship and Bobby’s business. Then he thanked me and told me he’d be in touch.

  When I left at ten thirty-five, Gretchen was just getting started.

  * * *

  Wes called again as I was getting settled at my desk, and this time I took the call.

  “Why didn’t you call me back?” he asked, sounding hurt, skipping saying hello, as usual.

  “Hi, Wes. How are you?”

  “Good, good. Didn’t you get my messages?”

  I swiveled to face my old maple tree. Lawn-green clusters of small leaves seemed to have appeared overnight.

  “I didn’t want to talk about it, Wes. I was pretty upset. I still am.”

  “We need to meet. I have questions—and I have an info bomb.”

  I didn’t hesitate. I could only tell Wes a little about Riley, but Wes could tell me a lot about the investigation. If he had information, I wanted it. “Okay,” I said. “Fifteen minutes. At our dune.”

  I told Cara I was leaving and was out the door in nothing flat.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I stood on the shifting sand watching the tide roll in. The April sun was bright, but weak. It was sixty-six degrees, way above average, and it felt downright balmy. The ocean was calm, the water midnight blue and glittering with golden sparkles. The beach was thick with bottle-green ribbons of seaweed and littered with pebbles and rocks and shells and driftwood.

  I heard the rumbling of Wes’s old car and turned in time to see him jerk to a stop and jump out. He looked good, still a little pudgy, as if he never exercised, but less so than the last time I’d seen him. More surprising, he appeared to have color in his face. His normally pasty white complexion was definitely less ashen than I’d come to expect.

  “You look great, Wes! Do you have a tan?” I asked as he scampered toward the top.

  “Not really,” he said, and from his tone, I could tell he was embarrassed.

  While Wes and I weren’t close like buddies, I wasn’t worried that he’d find my curiosity impertinent. I suspected he thought of me like an older sister. I knew I thought of him as a younger brother, half annoying and half a really good guy I trusted and cared about.