Muffins & Murder (Sweet Bites Book 3) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) (12 page)

“Mary Ellen isn’t here yet. Odd, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Very.” Mary Ellen, as president, was usually there early to set up everything. “She is coming, isn’t she?”

“As far as I know.” Honey glanced back around the room. “Then again, there’s been a lot of gossip about Francine’s death. Maybe she’s afraid people are going to whisper behind her back or something.”

That made some sense, but I’d thought Mary Ellen was made of sterner stuff than that. I looked at the door just in time to see Kat walk in. She saw me and waved. I waved back and she joined us.

“How are the wedding preparations coming?” I asked.

“Great. You’re still going to help me set up, right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Your cookies are all done and packaged, and Lenny’s been working on the cake decorations for the past two weeks.”

She smiled so brightly I thought she might glow in the dark. “I still don’t know what he’s doing for the cake. It makes me nervous, but at the same time, kind of proud.”

“As it should.” I looked at the large crocheted bag she carried over her shoulder, which was near to bursting with fabric. “Haven’t given up on quilting, yet?”

“No, it speaks to my creative side.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Mary Ellen was going to show me an easy applique technique for the quilt I’m making for Lenny. It’s for Christmas. I figured she’d be here by now.”

“Ditto.” The room was getting crowded as people set up sewing machines or claimed table space for cutting out their fabric. Others had taken up chairs in the middle of the room for the meeting at the beginning. The clock said two minutes until time to start and still no president.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit. They’re about to start,” Honey said. She led us to a few chairs alongside her mother-in-law, Lorraine, and we slid into place as the vice president, Cheryl Mortimer, stood and called the meeting to order.

“Mary Ellen was sorry she couldn’t make it tonight, but she brought me the new quilt block, so I could demonstrate it for you.” She made general announcements, asked for donations so they could continue to purchase delicious desserts at future meetings, and then began the demonstration.

“Odd that Marry Ellen missed tonight,” Honey whispered to me. “I’ve been coming three years and the only other time she missed was when she was in bed so sick she couldn’t get up.”

I mulled that over. I had been counting on talking to her tonight to see if she knew anything useful. “I guess I’ll have to make a stop by her place to talk to her later.”

“We can go together after the meeting,” Kat suggested, leaning in on my other side. “She still has to show me how to applique.”

I nodded and pretended to pay attention to the front of the room again. Did Mary Ellen’s absence indicate her guilt, or was she just embarrassed to be the topic of speculation? She was a bit formal and status conscious, so maybe this was a reaction to feeling like people were watching her.

Cheryl finished showing off the block and everyone scattered to their respective tables and sewing machines. I wandered over to the main table to help Lorraine cut out the fabric for her next quilt. I don’t sew anything, ever, but I frequently help cut for the others, as I’m handy with a pair of scissors.

There was a low buzz of curiosity from the women gathered around us, some talked about the high school state football playoffs and upcoming basketball season, but a lot discussed the murder.

“I heard they found her face down in her own vomit,” one voice said.

“No, she was face up with the look of terror in her eyes,” another stated.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’d been lying there for a couple of hours. Her face was turning black from the blood that pooled above the wire they used to strangle her,” a third woman corrected.

I felt my stomach turn. All of those were worse than what I’d actually seen, and yet not nearly as bad, mostly because they were far from true. There hadn’t been a peep from the police about how she had died, which was clear enough from the rumors I was listening to.

“I think Mary Ellen not showing says she’s guilty,” someone said. “Clearly she’s the one who killed Francine.”

“She’s had it out for Francine for months now. I heard she threatened her in the middle of the grocery store earlier that day,” another woman said.

“Don’t be daft,” a Scottish brogue said in an overloud tone—Hetty McAllister’s voice stood out among her counterparts no matter where she was, and it wasn’t just the accent—the woman had an amazing set of lungs. “‘Tis grieving she is, and embarrassed that you all think she’d do such a despicable thing. She probably wonders if her own friends will support her. And you’re showin’ well enough that you won’t, aren’t you?”

There was a long moment of silence from the group. “She was pretty mad about the patterns,” a soft, hesitant voice said finally.

“Well until the detective arrests her, I’ll call her innocent,” Hetty stated. “And you all ought to get back to work, you should. There’s plenty of other things to discuss without telling tales on your friends.”

I liked Hetty even more in that moment than I had before. The gory speculations ended and attention turned to people’s projects again, though I still heard occasional murmurs about who might have done something so terrible to Francine.

I didn’t find any of it very useful.

After quilt guild ended, Kat and I headed to Mary Ellen’s house. She lived in a twin home in a neighborhood filled with cookie-cutter siblings of her place. The only distinguishing characteristic was the welcome sign hanging on the door with a quilt-block pattern painted in the background.

When I knocked at the front door, I could hear movement inside: footsteps on the floor, the clink of glass. There was a long pause, like she was trying to decide whether or not to answer before we heard the sound of the lock unbolting, and then the door opened a few inches. Mary Ellen stood on the other side wearing sweat pants, an over-sized T-shirt, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. I’ve never seen her wear so little makeup or such comfortable clothes, but her face was unnaturally pale and I didn’t think it was all due to the lack of cosmetics.

“What do you want?” she asked.

I was still trying to figure out how to respond when Kat, her voice bright as ever, piped up, “We wanted to make sure you were okay. We missed you at guild meeting tonight, and I know you said you’d help me with my applique, so we decided to stop by to see if there was another time when you’re available.”

The furrows between Mary Ellen’s brows loosened. She hesitated for a moment, then opened the door wider. “I can help you now. It doesn’t take long.”

She eyed me as we walked in. “You don’t sew at all, do you? Why did you come along?”

“I was curious,” I said. About so many things. The way she narrowed her eyes stated that she suspected what I was curious about.

 Mary Ellen’s living room was exactly as I’d expected: everything in place, with a few cutesy crafty things on the walls and surfaces, but not cluttered. The furniture was inexpensive, but tasteful and in good condition, and she had an unfinished pink baby quilt on a set of frames in the corner of the room.

“You want to know if I killed Francine,” Mary Ellen said flatly.

I turned back to face her. “Of course not. I know you didn’t kill her.”

Her mouth dropped open for a few seconds before she spoke. “How do you know that? You
are
investigating again, aren’t you?” Hope brightened her eyes.

“Yes, I’m checking into it. And I suppose you could say I don’t
know
that you’re not the killer, but I think it’s highly improbable. I know what it’s like to be a murder suspect even though I had virtually no motive. You weren’t happy with Francine, but that doesn’t mean you’d hurt her.”

Mary Ellen’s shoulder’s sagged. “Thank you. I’ve been getting so many questions yesterday and today. People won’t let me alone. I don’t understand how they can think I’d do something like that.”

“Well, rest assured that I don’t think it’s you—no matter where the evidence points.” I took the seat she offered.

She grew wary again. “What evidence?”

I paused for a moment, wishing I hadn’t said that much and trying to decide if Detective Tingey would arrest me for interfering in an investigation if I mentioned the murder weapon—which hadn’t been released to the press. “The weapon used was related to quilting,” I finally said. “But it appears that Francine had the item with her at the time and it was just a matter of convenience that it was used to kill her.”

More color slipped from Mary Ellen’s face. “Are you serious? But then everyone’s bound to think it was me. And I wasn’t even at the school that night. I was here, working on that baby quilt.” She pointed to the one in the corner. “My sister’s baby came three months early, and she didn’t even tell us about the pregnancy until about a month ago. I’ve been putting in a lot of extra hours on it lately.”

I ignored her rambling—nervous people did that when they were being questioned, right?—and focused on her face. “I’m sure Detective Tingey has already been by to speak with you.”

“Of course. He came the morning after the... Francine was found. He seemed to believe me, so I thought it would be fine. Then I went to the office and the whispers were so bad I just couldn’t go to guild meeting tonight. I know people think I did it.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Not everyone is going to jump to that conclusion.” I squeezed her shoulder in support. “Hetty McAllister stopped the conversation short when your name came up, said you were innocent until proven otherwise and that people should lay off you.”

Tears shone in Mary Ellen’s eyes. “Really?”

Kat finally joined the conversation again. “And Lorraine said it was a bunch of nonsense when someone brought it up with her. I agree.” Her hands curled the edge of the bag she was using to tote her quilt supplies. “You still have some friends, no matter what a few mean old gossips say. And soon Tess and the detective will find out what really happened that night and the world will know that you’re innocent. They already have a likely suspect. Just hold your head up and show people that you’re not scared and it’ll be okay.”

By now there were wet trails on Mary Ellen’s face and she sniffed. “Thanks, you two. I was starting to think no one would believe me.”

I gave her hand a couple of perfunctory pats. “Don’t you worry about it. Now, you said you could help Kat with her applique?”

“Yes.” Mary Ellen brightened and stood. “Come on back to my sewing room and I’ll show you.”

Though I never intended to use the technique myself, I was rather curious to see what “the easiest way to applique” was, and it was good to see the bright happiness return to Mary Ellen’s gaze.

I stood near the door and watched Mary Ellen demonstrate, then listened as Kat asked a few questions. I studied the room, stopping at a piece of fabric on a wall hanging. I’d seen that red and green swatch before. I walked closer and studied the wall hanging—or rather, the squares inside it made with the fabric I swear I’d see in my nightmares until I was eighty-five. If I lived that long.

“Cute isn’t it?” Mary Ellen asked me. “It’s easy, too—perfect for a beginner like you. I think I might still have a kit around here somewhere leftover from when we made it in guild meeting.”

I turned to her. “I really like that fabric.” I pointed to the one in question. “Where can I get some for window curtains?” I improvised, not wanting to admit where I’d seen it before. Or that I thought it was tacky. “Kat offered to sew me some for my spare room when she gets back from her honeymoon.”

Kat’s brows lifted at my lie, but she didn’t argue with me.

“I don’t think the fabric store has any more. We used it for a couple of projects last winter. This one, plus a table runner for Christmas. We went through the whole bolt and they replaced it with something different.” She pursed her lips. “But they might be able to recommend another store in Prescott that could have it, or they might have something else you like as well. You should go chat with Leann in the shop.”

“Oh,” I allowed my face to fall. “So practically everyone in quilt guild has used the fabric, then?”

“Yes.” She seemed to agree that this might be a problem. “Maybe another pattern would be a better choice for you. There’s a lovely one they just got in.”

“I’ll check it out. Thanks.” Half the guild had table runners using that fabric. That was a dead end. I turned to Kat. “Do you think you have the hang of it?”

“Yes, no problem.” She turned to Mary Ellen. “I won’t have time to do this until after Lenny and I get back, but I’ll bring my blocks by when I finish so you can see them.”

“I’d like that.” Mary Ellen smiled for the first time since we arrived. “I’ll see you Saturday at the reception. I hope everything goes perfectly for you between now and then.”

We stood and Kat slid her supplies into her bag.

“You missed out on some yummy cookies tonight,” I said. “Stop by sometime this week and I’ll find something yummy to take its place. On me.” I didn’t think she was responsible, but I did want to mull over what she said and then have another chance to talk to her.