The Devil's Puzzle (31 page)

“And someone stopped him,” I said. “And then took the case so it would look like Winston went ahead with his plans to leave for South America. So why bring it back today after hiding it for so long?”

“Because they wanted to point a finger at Eleanor,” Jesse said.

“So, somehow, we’re getting close.”

“Maybe. Was anyone at your house today?”

“The mayor and some photographers,” I said. “But anyone could have planted it. You can walk over from next door, or if you stay by the river, you could come from the center of town if you wanted to without anyone seeing.”

“You could also drive up if no one was home. And it would be easy to see if Eleanor was at the shop. Or you were.”

“Or it could have been put there last night.”

“It does tell us one thing,” he said.

I nodded. “Winston’s killer is still alive.”

CHAPTER 49

“J
ohn Archer was a man with many secrets and few friends,’” I read to Jesse as we sat in his bed at three in the morning, both unable to sleep. “‘He took what talents he had and turned them into greatness, despite the obstacles that often stood in his way.’”

“This book is giving us one important piece of information,” Jesse said. “Glad’s father is no writer.”

I looked at the red leather history of our town and shrugged. “He meant well. He was trying to preserve the image of a man who mattered to him and to the town.”

“He’s saying he’s a devil worshipper.”

“He is not, actually. He’s saying,” I turned the page and began reading again, “‘Archer was rumored to have pagan beliefs that could, in his time, have meant jail or worse. This may have been the reason he came north to what is present-day Archers Rest. There was also some speculation that he was responsible for the death of his neighbor, or even that he had taken money that did not belong to him and was fleeing for his life. Whatever the reason, Archer’s life cannot be judged by a single action, however wrong it was. It is only in looking at the totality of his accomplishments that we come to know the man.’”

“Jeez, he makes it sound like Archer invented the wheel,” Jesse said. “He just did what probably hundreds, maybe thousands of other people did at that time. He went north of New York, claiming land for settlements. Half the towns on the Hudson River were founded around the same time as Archers Rest.”

“He obviously admired the man,” I said, “almost as much as his daughter does.”

“She’s transposing her father onto Archer.” Jesse chuckled. “I cannot wait to see what that statue looks like. Odds are John Archer will be wearing a three-piece suit and have a bank ledger in his hand.”

“I wonder why she didn’t have copies of the book,” I said. “Considering how much she admires her father, and Archer.”

“Because he was a devil worshipper.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Now you’re a member of the John Archer fan club?”

“No,” I said. “I’m just tired of innocent people getting painted with silly rumors. So what if he cast spells, or danced around trees, or did whatever it was he did. Who cares?”

“He could have murdered his neighbor. That’s what the book says.”

“Do you think that’s why the pages were torn out? Do you think it was a clue?”

“I think it’s three in the morning and I need to get some sleep.” He took the book out of my hands and put it on the nightstand. “And tonight you’re staying until the morning.” He turned off the light and pulled me toward him. I curled myself into his arms and listened to the rhythm of his breathing, growing steadier and calmer as he drifted off to sleep.

But I wasn’t sleeping. Somewhere just outside my grasp was an answer, and my mind wouldn’t shut off until I pulled it closer.

Five hours later, I stumbled from bed and into the kitchen, running straight into Allie as I was buttoning the last button on my blouse.

“You and Daddy had a sleepover,” she said.

“We did. Is that okay?”

“Sometimes I have sleepovers at Grandma’s,” she told me. “We read stories until I fall asleep.”

“You know something, Allie, that’s exactly what your dad and I did last night. I read to him about the history of Archers Rest.”

“It sounds boring.”

Jesse entered the kitchen. “It was. Get ready for Grandma’s, Allie.” As she ran out of the room, Jesse turned to me. “And where are you off to?”

“I’m picking up the poles to hang the quilts. Ed’s letting me store some of the stuff at the theater, since there isn’t enough space at the shop, so I have to go there, too. And somehow today I have to find the time to finish my own quilt. What about you?”

“I’m praying for a nice, quiet day.”

Allie came running back in with a twelve-inch-square piece of fabric. On closer inspection I could see it was a small quilt made from strips of brightly colored cottons, some of which I’d helped her pick out, and held together with small tied threads rather than stitched. An easier, and just as traditional, way to attach the three layers of a quilt.

“Can I enter this in the show, Nell?” She held up her work.

“I’m thrilled,” I said. “I’ll hang it next to my quilt.”

“Okay, but afterward you have to give it back so I can give it as a present when you and Daddy get married.”

“That’s really sweet,” Jesse said, “but you know Nell and I aren’t getting married anytime soon.”

“But Eleanor said . . .”

Jesse looked at me.

“I’ll say something to her. So you can stop panicking.”

“I’m not panicking. I’m just surprised Eleanor would say that.”

“Oliver’s ring,” I reminded him. “She thinks you bought it.”

I kissed him on the cheek, then did the same to his daughter. “Thanks for the quilt, Allie. It’s the perfect way to show everyone that quilting has a long future.”

I spent the day doing what I had told Jesse I would. I finished sewing the blocks of my devil’s puzzle quilt into one large quilt top, then readied it for longarm quilting. I went to the hardware store and picked up the poles that would hold the quilts up. It looked like a metal jumble to me, but when I brought them to the theater, Ed promised to help assemble them the night before the show.

I noticed right away that his mood seemed changed. I also noticed that, for once, everything in the theater, from the soda machine to the ticket counter, was operating perfectly.

“Something’s going your way,” I said.

“Things have improved, Nell. Sometimes even a guy like me catches a break.”

“You deserve it, Ed,” I said. “Were you able to get a loan?”

“No. Bankers don’t have vision. They look at this old place and see worn carpet and broken equipment. They don’t see what I see.”

“Which is?”

“Rainy Saturdays made fun, first dates made easy, difficult afternoons made bearable. That’s what a movie theater is, Nell. It’s a place anyone can go to—alone, on a date, with a crowd, and, just for a little while, escape,” he said. “You know what I mean?”

“I do,” I admitted. “And it sounds like you’ve convinced someone else, too. A buyer?”

“An investor,” he said. “An opportunity that needed just the right nudge to make it happen.”

“It wasn’t Glad, was it? I heard you two had a few words outside Jitters.”

He looked down at his feet for a moment. “I’m sorry that’s getting around. It was a bit of a misunderstanding, that’s all. Glad thinks that she knows what’s best for everyone, but sometimes she doesn’t.”

“She’s certainly gotten everyone under her thumb for the anniversary celebration,” I said.

“You know, I was thinking about that. I know she’s got some fancy reception planned at the library for before the fireworks, but I was hoping maybe we could do something here. Something simple, in the afternoon, to celebrate the quilts.”

“I’d love that.” I was a little uncomfortable broaching the subject, but I knew I had to. “I talked with Glad and Mary. They remember the fight you had with Winston a little differently than you do.”

He seemed to blush. “It was a long time ago. I’m surprised they remember it at all.”

“You said something about Winston buying someone off.”

“That’s what the rich do, Nell. They buy loyalty, silence, love . . .”

“Is that what Winston did?”

“That was what I thought at the time. But maybe I was hard on him. I didn’t know everything. I couldn’t know everything about what he had to do, what sacrifices he made. But I’ve been learning a lot lately.”

“Like what?”

He smiled. “I know, for example, what my father and Winston were fighting about when Winston came into the theater.”

“Which was?”

“It wasn’t actually a secret. I just didn’t know about it. But you’ve inspired me to investigate this old place. I looked through all the old papers, making sure there weren’t any debts I didn’t know about—like the money owed to your grandmother.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t care about that, Ed.”

“She probably doesn’t, but I will pay her back. And I can now, with things looking up. I mentioned it to Eleanor the other day, and she said she was just happy to see the theater in the hands of someone who loved movies. It was ‘an investment in Archers Rest,’ she called it. And in good people like my father.” He seemed about ready to cry.

“She’s right,” I said. “But you were talking about the fight.”

“I was, sorry. I get off track sometimes. My father had some papers with Grace’s name on them. She’d hired the theater for the whole day on July 1st of ’75. Then Winston came in and canceled it. It must have been what the fight was about, because my father had written
jerk
across the contract,” he said.

“No idea why she hired the theater?”

“Can’t help you there. But whatever the reason, I think she had a lot of nerve trying to hire the whole place, knowing how I felt about her son.”

“Wouldn’t that have brought in a lot of money?”

“I don’t need Roemer money, and neither did my dad.”

“So you can’t be bought like Winston apparently was?”

He looked at me, sort of angry and sort of puzzled, but then he grinned. “Not by the Roemers, anyway.”

CHAPTER 50

“I
t’s a beautiful evening,” Oliver said as we sipped wine on the back porch of Eleanor’s house.

“It is,” Eleanor agreed.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. There was such love between them that I wanted to propose for him right then and there. It was only the dug-up rose garden a few feet away that stopped me. That, and the fact that granddaughters shouldn’t propose marriage to their grandmothers.

I hadn’t asked Oliver what he had been doing at Mary’s, and he hadn’t offered an explanation. I was trying, in my own small way, to learn the difference between being concerned and being intrusive. Even though it was killing me.

And I was enjoying a rare quiet evening at home.

It wouldn’t last. Molly came down the stairs, with Jesse’s favorite detective, Greg, right behind her. Barney followed, and then Jesse rang the doorbell. None of us had spoken of Winston’s suitcase since Molly had found it almost a week earlier. Everyone agreed it had been hastily planted in Eleanor’s yard for the purpose of being discovered, so it seemed pointless to do anything but wait for fingerprint results and hope for the best.

“There were none,” Jesse reported when he joined us on the back porch. “The case was wiped clean inside and out.”

“But it was Winston’s?” Molly asked.

“Yes. And the DNA results came back. The lab was able to determine that the skeleton was a close relation to Winston’s sister.”

Eleanor sighed. “So it’s certain now. He’s dead.”

“It’s certain.”

We all, without meaning to, turned our attention toward the makeshift grave and stared into the night. I’d never met him, and based on all that I’d learned, I wouldn’t have liked him, but the confirmation of his death still saddened me. He had mattered—to Grace, to his sister, and to Molly. And because of that, he mattered to me.