Stitches in Time (37 page)

“My God, Pat, you sure can pick 'em. The sign is awful enough—”

“What's wrong with a few shamrocks?”

“They wouldn't be so bad without the Santa and the reindeer and those thousands of Christmas lights.”

“You said you wanted something vulgar. I aim to please.”

The bar was already crowded with people getting a head start on their celebration, but Joe welcomed Pat with a raucous shout and found a table for them.

“It's got everything,” Kara said happily. “Red checked plastic tablecloths, plastic flowers in a plastic vase, even a candle in a Chianti bottle. I haven't seen one of those since Mark and I were courting.”

“He'd love this place,” Pat said.

“Yes,” Kara said. “He would.”

Pat insisted on buying a bottle of wine and then a second—“At ten bucks a crack I guess I can afford it”—and by the time they finished the first bottle and a gargantuan plate of antipasto the atmosphere was a good deal more cheerful. In his wool plaid shirt, his hair rumpled and his glasses riding low on his nose, Pat looked like one of the
boys, instead of a learned professor. Rachel was sitting next to him; while the others were engaged in a spirited debate on Italian versus Irish cuisine, she caught his eye, which was fixed on her.

“This was a good idea,” she said. “You weren't thinking only of food when you suggested it, were you?”

“Elementary psychology. Prolonged tension leads to arguments, tears, and inefficiency. But there's nothing wrong with food,” he added, as Adam offered them a basket of bread.

He waited until they had finished eating before rapping on the table and calling the meeting to order.

“Okay, Rachel. I thought it the better part of wisdom to leave you out of the proceedings this afternoon, but it's high time we consulted you. I'm not going to ask you any questions and I don't want you to force it. Is there anything you want to say?”

“It was a waste of time.”

“Ah. Are you speaking in your professional capacity, or as…or otherwise? Shut up, Adam, she has sense enough to know when to stop.”

“I don't know,” Rachel said slowly. “It was something I felt. That it was a waste of time.”

“You were right.”

“Then why the hell did we spend the whole afternoon on it?” Adam demanded angrily.

“Because we had to try, you opinionated young idiot. Do you want coffee?”

“What?” Adam glared at the hovering waiter. “I don't care. Yes.”

“I'll have an espresso,” Kara said. “And add my curses, you should excuse the word, to Adam's. What are you going to do now?”

Pat leaned back and loosened his belt. “Honey, I've just begun to fight. We haven't got to the really serious stuff yet.”

“Such as what?”

“Such as dissecting the damned thing. Rip out every stitch, reduce it to a pile of scraps.” Rachel moved involuntarily, but didn't speak. Pat glanced at her and went on, “The methods that offer the greatest hope of success will result in the destruction of the quilt. Fire is the most favored counteractive, and we may have to resort to that, but not until after we've tried everything else. There are certain…dangers involved in burning it.”

“I thought we had tried everything else,” Adam said.

“Good God, no. I haven't tried Pennsylvania Dutch unhexing spells, or voodoo, or the peculiar methodology of the Trobriand Islanders. Drink your coffee. It's time you young folks went home to beddy by.”

Pat insisted on singing as they drove home. “Auld Lang Syne” had never been rendered with greater feeling. Rachel joined in; she knew the song well enough to be able to sing and think at the same time. She had to get to the quilt before Pat started his “serious stuff.” What she wanted to do wouldn't take more than ten or fifteen minutes, but she would have to wait until after Adam was asleep. She couldn't risk telling him, he was already antagonistic and suspicious.

They had almost reached the house before Pat returned to the subject with an abruptness that made Rachel wonder if he had somehow read her mind. “Try your milk routine tonight, Adam. It's probably not worth a damn, but a good researcher doesn't overlook anything. We'll be there bright and early tomorrow morning. With holy water.”

Rachel bit back an exclamation of angry protest. It would be almost impossible to do what she had to do after the quilt had been hung, dripping, on a clothesline in the backyard. She'd have to think of some way of getting Adam out of the house for half an hour. An errand of some kind…

“Aren't you coming in?” Adam asked, opening the car door.

“No. It's New Year's Eve, and I'm going to celebrate by checking a few more references and then taking my wife to bed.”

“Really, Pat.” Ruth sounded more amused than offended.

“You're a disgusting old man, Pat,” Kara said, laughing.

“What's disgusting about being madly in love with your wife?”

“Nothing.” Kara leaned forward and kissed Ruth's cheek. “Good night, my dears. See you tomorrow.”

She started toward the house. Rachel was about to follow when Pat called to her. “Rachel.”

“Yes?”

“Happy New Year, kid.”

“Happy New Year.”

He meant it as a promise, and such was the force of his personality that she almost believed it—until Adam opened the door and she saw the man who was waiting for them.

Tony.

She had anticipated everything but this. The unexpectedness
of the disaster was as stunning as a blow against defenses that were too new and fragile. The crack was hairline-thin, but it was wide enough for what waited. First a trickle, then a sudden flood, it filled her as liquid fills a container, compressing her consciousness into a small area impossibly remote from the centers of speech and movement. Her parted lips never shaped the words they would have uttered.

“Tony!” Kara ran to her brother-in-law and threw her arms around him. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember?” Tony said. “I might ask what you're doing here. I thought you and Mark would be out tonight getting drunk with the hotshots of Washington.”

Kara's face went blank as she tried to come up with a plausible explanation. Fortunately for her, Tony didn't wait for an answer. “In fact, brilliant detective that I am, I deduced you were here when I went into what I thought was my room and stepped on unmistakable evidence of the presence of Alexander. I managed to limp away before he attacked.”

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry.” Kara sank down onto the floor next to his chair. “I was going to destroy the evidence and clean the room, but we didn't expect you till Monday.”

“Didn't you get my messages?” His eyes moved from her to the form that stood rigid and silent next to Adam. “I called twice.”

Rachel had unplugged the telephone in the workroom. They had spent the entire afternoon there, and no one had thought to check the answering machine. Another link in the chain
.

Standing behind her, one hand near but not quite touching her shoulder, Adam said, “Something has happened.”

“Yes. It's good news,” he added quickly, as Kara looked at him in alarm. “Cheryl and the kids are fine, this is something else. Why don't you two sit down and relax—you look like a couple of statues—and I'll tell you about it.”

She let Adam lead her to the couch. He sat down beside her. “They found the burglar.”

“You got it.” Tony's lips twisted wryly. “Calling it good news is rather callous, but it can only come as a relief to Rachel.”

“To all of us,” Kara said. “What do you mean, callous? We should break out the champagne. Where did they find him?”

“Less than twenty miles from here, in the woods. Champagne might be in bad taste,” Tony said. “He'd been there for a long time. We're not sure how long yet; the coroner's office is backed up because of the holidays.”

“Dead.” Adam made it a statement. “How—”

Kara didn't allow him to finish. “They dragged you all the way back here for that? I thought Tom was handling the case.”

“Somebody had to identify him as the alleged thief. I didn't want Rachel to do it, he was…not a pleasant sight.”

Lines of fatigue and strain marked his face. The hasty, unexpected journey must have been difficult for him. He had gone to all that trouble to spare a virtual stranger, a woman who meant nothing to him. A woman named Rachel, reduced to a faint flicker of awareness, helpless as a fly in a spider's sticky web.

The lips she no longer controlled smiled at Tony. “Thank you,” they said.

“All in a day's work.” The lines of strain smoothed out as he returned her smile, relieved she had taken the news so quietly. “To be truthful, I was glad of an excuse to get away. My mother was driving me nuts, shoving eggnog at me every half hour and smothering me with pillows.”

“You look terrible,” Kara said bluntly.

“Thanks. I could use a drink, at that. Why don't you break out the scotch, Kara? It's New Year's Eve and I think we're entitled to a modest, tasteful celebration. Unless you kids were planning to go out?”

He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Adam, who glanced at the woman beside him on the couch.

“No, we kids weren't,” she said pleasantly. “Sit still, Kara, I'll play bartender, and then Tony can have the floor. I have a feeling he hasn't told us the whole story.”

“Most of it. If you want details…The body was found early this morning by a couple of kids out hunting. They practically stumbled over the corpse, it was uncovered except by the brush into which it had fallen. Like good citizens they immediately reported the discovery, and one of them brought in the wallet they had found—lying next to the body, he said. When Tom saw the name on the driver's license, he called me.”

“Wait a minute,” Adam exclaimed. “You knew his name?”

“We were pretty sure he was the guy we wanted, yes. It was mostly a process of elimination; there were several
possibles, but when we called on one Eddy Whitbread, we found he hadn't been heard from for over a week: His family hadn't reported him as missing, since he had a habit of disappearing for days at a time. There are several other children, and Tom got the distinct impression the parents were relieved when Eddy took himself off. He'd been in trouble before. Anyhow…” He paused, drank, and grinned. “You have a generous hand with the booze, Rachel. Anyhow, his disappearance confirmed our hunch that he was the man we wanted. We assumed he'd skipped town, but he may have been dead all this time. A couple of weeks, from the condition of the body.”

“How did he die?” Adam asked. The glass of wine he held was untouched.

“Impossible to tell without an autopsy. I gave myself the pleasure of inspecting the body fairly closely, though, and I didn't see any bullet holes or deep wounds. Most of the damage seemed to be postmortem. Could have been an accident.”

He let his head rest against the back of the chair. The position bared his throat—he was coatless and tieless, his shirt open—and Rachel's eyes were drawn to the stretched tendons and smooth skin.

“That's too much of a coincidence,” Adam said, frowning.

“They happen.” Tony sat up. “There is another guy involved. We think we know who he is, but we've got no proof, and with his presumed accomplice dead, we may never get it. However, our suspect is not the violent type—no previous record except the usual juvenile pranks—and right now he's probably scared out of his socks. If he sits tight he may get away with this, much as I hate to admit it.”

“Unless he killed Eddy,” Adam muttered.

“I don't think he did. There's been very little violence in this business when you stop and think about it; they didn't
intend to kill the old lady, and Eddy turned and ran when Rachel caught him in her room that night. I don't believe she was ever in serious danger.” Tony finished his drink. “So,” he said amiably, “what have you guys been doing for entertainment?”

 

The interlude had given Kara time to come up with an explanation for her presence that sounded reasonable—the sale, the end-of-year inventory, the fact that she hadn't expected Mark back so soon. Tony's raised eyebrows indicated that he wasn't entirely convinced, but she didn't give him time to ask questions.

“I think you ought to go to bed, Tony, you look exhausted. Do you want another drink?”

“One more and I'll fall flat on my face,” Tony admitted. “I guess I will hit the sack. But I refuse to sleep with Alexander.”

“I'll move him, and my things,” Kara said.

“There's no need for that, I can sleep upstairs. I'm not that helpless.”

Kara gave the others an agonized look. “No, no, this is the simplest way. I didn't bring much with me, it will be easier for me to change rooms. Give me a hand, Adam?”

“Sure. Relax, Tony, it may take a while to swab the deck. Alexander has been shut in there for hours. Coming, Rachel?”

“Don't bully the girl,” Tony said. “They don't need you, Rachel. Maybe I will have another drink, if you'll do the honors.”

The mouth of the woman he addressed curved gently.
It was easier now, the muscles answered to her will, the memories were accessible, almost part of her—and so useful
.

She prepared his drink as she had the others, strong and undiluted except by ice. When she offered him the
glass, Tony shook his head. “I don't want a drink, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you alone.” She stepped back, and he said angrily, “Don't look at me like that! Sit down—please. I don't blame you for despising me, but all I want to do is set things straight.”

“I don't despise you,” she said softly.

“You have every right to. I've been thinking about what I said to you the day we left—about you moving out—and feeling like a louse. I couldn't discuss it on the phone, there was always somebody around. I still can't imagine what came over me that night, but pinning the blame, even pan of it, on you was unconscionable. You don't have to leave. I don't want you to leave. Cheryl is crazy about you, the kids like you, and I…I think we could be friends if you'll give me a chance. Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks. You won't regret it, I promise. I—oh, for God's sake, Kara, I thought you were going to take that damned dog upstairs.”

“He has to go out and then have his din-din,” Kara said indignantly. “I don't know why you are all so mean to poor Alexander.”

The dogs retreated, cringing, into the pantry and a flurry of cats soared up from the floor to the tops of various pieces of furniture. Adam came in carrying a wad of reeking newspapers, and Tony burst out laughing. “I rest my case.”

He did finish his drink, and Rachel persuaded Kara to join him while Alexander ate his din-din and Adam trudged back and forth with mops and buckets and clean sheets and towels. Tony's mood had relaxed; he exchanged friendly insults with Kara and kidded Adam about his talent for housework. He kept smiling at Rachel. She kept smiling at him.

Finally Adam announced that the room was fit for
human habitation, and Tony reached for his crutches. Adam hurried to support him as he swayed, and he shook his head ruefully. “I shouldn't have had that last drink. Thanks, Adam. I won't need any pills tonight, I'll sleep like the dead.”

A shiver ran through Rachel's body. She looked down at her clasped hands.

“I'll go with our drunken friend and make sure he doesn't fall over,” Kara said. “Back in a minute.”

After they had gone out, Adam collapsed onto the sofa. “God. Now what are we going to do?”

“About what?”

“What do you mean, about what? The bed canopy is still lying on the floor, we've ruined an expensive piece of merchandise belonging to his wife, and we were planning to spend the whole day tomorrow carrying out mystic rites, complete with chanting. You can hear Pat chanting half a block away.”

“Maybe you should call Pat.”

“I already did, from the bedroom extension. He said not to worry, he'd think of something.”

“I'm sure he will.”

“Are you okay?” Adam reached for her hand. “You've been sitting around like a stuffed doll all evening.”

She let her hand rest in his, neither responding nor rejecting. The others hadn't observed anything unusual in her behavior. She should have realized that Adam might. She had to reassure him, he was the only one who presented a threat. He hadn't drunk as much as Tony and Kara.

She shifted position, leaning back, kicking her shoes off and tucking her feet under her. The movement brought her head closer to his shoulder. “I'm so confused I can't think straight,” she murmured. “Seeing him here was such a shock, and then he kept asking questions. I was afraid to
open my mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing.” She laughed. “I almost lost it when he asked what we'd been doing to amuse ourselves.”

Adam's worried frown smoothed out. “I know what you mean. My worst moment was when he said he'd sleep upstairs. I was remembering that bed canopy, which is still on the floor, and wondering how in God's name we could explain what happened. Thank God, Kara is a quick thinker.”

“You weren't so slow either,” she said softly. She drew her thumb slowly across his palm and felt his fingers tighten.

She had thought she would have more time, but Kara wasn't gone much longer than a minute. She threw herself into a chair and let out a long sigh. “So far so good. He's all tucked in and dead to the world, poor guy. He thinks my marriage is breaking up, which has him all upset, but he was too tired to lecture me tonight.”

“I'm sorry,” the other woman said.

“Stop apologizing and think. We need a plan. Pat was no help, he kept saying leave it to him. Smug son of a gun.”

“My mind is an absolute blank,” she said. “Maybe we should sleep on it.”

“You do look tired,” Kara said. “Go to bed. Adam, you'll have to take the rap for ruining the canopy; you could say you tripped and fell against it…No? I guess it isn't very convincing. Oh, hell. Maybe we can come up with something brilliant tomorrow. I'm going to bed too. Alexander, where are you?”

Adam dragged him out from under the table and handed him over. “Where's the key to the workroom?” he asked.

Kara looked at him in surprise, and then laughed. “I forgot. Are you really going to give that quilt a milk bath?”

Adam stared back at her, his mouth set in a stubborn line. Kara shrugged. “I left the key in the lock. Maybe I'd better come with you.”

“No need. I'll be careful.”

“See that you are. And for God's sake try to get it off the line before Tony gets up, in case he looks out the window.”

“I will.” Adam's stiff pose relaxed. When he went on, Rachel knew he meant the words for her. “It won't do any harm, as we keep saying. Don't worry. We'll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

She
wasn't worried. There was no need to think about tomorrow. By tomorrow it would be over.

 

She lay still in the darkness, waiting. Waiting quietly, without impatience or urgency.

She had heard Adam come upstairs a short time ago. He had paused outside her door; seeing the light was out, hearing no sound from within, he had moved on. Give him an hour, she thought calmly. Or perhaps two hours. Long enough to fall deeply asleep. She was in no hurry.