The Postman Always Purls Twice (27 page)

Charles nodded. “I'm sure you did.”

She met his glance, confused about what he was getting at. Or why he'd really come. “Aren't you able to read accounts of people who are interviewed . . . like me? I thought it was one big case, all the information shared.”

“I did read the report of your interview.”

“And?”

“Well . . . I'm wondering if you're really sure it was
her
bag. I think you told Craft that you weren't sure who had left the bag.”

“I did say that. I wasn't sure at first. But when I took a better look with Jen, she saw a note I'd made on her pattern sheet. That's how we knew it was definitely hers.”

“Oh . . . that wasn't in the report.”

“I just remembered. They only asked if I was sure, and I said that I had been very sure it was hers . . . and that there was nothing else in it besides the yarn, pattern, and knitting needles,” she added. But quickly regretted that.

His gaze narrowed. He was sharp; no wonder he was a detective. “Nothing else as in . . . what?'

Maggie shrugged again, trying to act as if she didn't know what he was getting at. “They asked me about the contents. It seemed important to them. I told them I'd put my hand in to feel for any personal belongings that could identify the owner. That's all I meant.”

Well . . . that was a lie. But she couldn't help it, she decided.

He sighed and leaned forward, then glanced at his watch.

“All right, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I was concerned about you, getting a visit like that. I wanted to call you to give you a heads-up, but—”

“—you weren't allowed,” she finished for him. “I know that. It's all right. I was glad to help.”

It was nice to know he'd been worried about her.

“You did help,” he assured her. “But I just need to say one thing. I hope you don't take offense.”

She braced herself, trying to look as if she was totally open to anything he might say . . . though she was suddenly deeply worried.

“Go ahead. I won't take offense,” she promised.

“We know things that you don't. That's all I can say. We see the players in a much different light. I know Jennifer Todd is a very charming woman. Absolutely charismatic. She could charm a dog off a meat wagon,” he said bluntly. “But she's an actress. An award-winning, professional actress. She's not your friend, Maggie. You'll never hear from her, or see her, again, once she leaves town.”

Maggie felt stung. “Are you trying to say that I'm . . . starstruck? That I'm trying to protect her?”

Charles looked immediately sorry for being so forthcoming. “I don't think that you're intentionally holding back any information. But I'm afraid if you did know something, you might not come forward with it. I'm sorry, I have to be honest with you. I know you have an interest in the investigation—you and your friends. But it does no good to meddle and poke around and try to figure things out, as if this was a parlor game. It's practically a double homicide,” he said, his voice rising a notch. “Trying to find out details of the case and interfering with the investigation doesn't help us. It can only help the person who is really guilty. Whoever that may be,” he added quickly.

Maggie sat for a moment, considering his words.

“I'm sorry, Charles. I know you're under a lot of pressure right now. I certainly don't want to add to that. The problem is, I'm just so curious about all this. It's only natural for me. Everyone in town is talking about it. But I hate to feel a certain tension when we're together, as if you're afraid I'm going to pressure you to tell me things you can't say . . . and then I'm all self-conscious and tiptoeing around it. And then there's a huge elephant in the room,” she concluded, her tone a bit more emotional than she'd hoped it would sound. “A poisoned elephant,” she added.

Charles sat back, looking surprised at her reaction. He frowned but didn't say anything.

Were they having their first fight? Seemed so.

“Yes, there is some tension about my work. I noticed that, too,” he said quietly. He glanced up at her, then looked down again.

“Maybe we should take a little break, until the case is over? You've already told me it was a problem for you to be on this case because of our relationship, after Nick was poisoned.”

That was the first time he'd mentioned it. He didn't say anything about her being at the party where Heath died, but that probably wasn't good, either.

He looked surprised at her suggestion. “I just had to disclose it to the chief and let him decide. He was all right with it. But if you're comfortable with this idea, I guess it's for the best.”

Now he was hurt, blaming it all on her. That wasn't fair. Had she not explained this clearly to him?

“I'm thinking of you. I don't want you to be . . . all uptight and on your guard when we're together,” she insisted.

But he still didn't seem to understand. She could tell from his expression. He looked even more upset.

“I didn't realize I seemed ‘uptight.' All I'm asking is for you to leave all this to the police. To sit back and be like everyone else in the world. Not so involved.”

Maggie shrugged. “I'm not doing anything on purpose.” She didn't like his tone now. Or his attitude. “I like you, Charles. I think you know that,” she reminded him. “But I don't like feeling that I can't exactly . . .be myself. That's not me.” She shrugged. “The case should be over soon. Let's talk then.”

She wasn't sure why she'd said that. It had just come out.

But she couldn't take it back now.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking. He seemed about to say something, then stopped himself. He stood up and quickly met her gaze.

“All right. If that's what you want.”

Maggie felt annoyed. It wasn't her, it was him. But she held her tongue.

“I like you, too, Maggie. I like spending time with you. But I'm working so much, it's hard to make plans anyway. I'll call you when the case is over.”

Maggie didn't answer. She felt like she might cry, but tried hard not to. Not in front of him.

She walked him to the door and said good night. He seemed about to lean forward and kiss her. Then he stopped himself.

She closed the door behind him and wondered if that was good-bye.

M
aggie felt terrible after her fight with Charles. She couldn't stop herself from going over and over it in her mind. The argument had seemed to bubble up from nowhere. But it must have been simmering under the surface for some time. That's the way these things worked, gushing up when you least expected it. Why hadn't she been calmer and not so easily upset? Why hadn't she stopped herself from saying all those stupid things? She wished now she could hit some invisible rewind button and get a second chance to act calm and wise . . . and not nearly so touchy. But of course, she could not.

She wanted to talk it over with her friends, and hear their advice. And sympathy. But for some reason she wasn't ready to confess her troubles. It felt like such a defeat. She felt so sad . . . and embarrassed. She'd been so hopeful about this relationship, and what had happened? She'd somehow tangled it all up . . . like a ruined knitting project. She was the champ at repairing mixed-up stitches, but wasn't sure if this situation was could ever be sorted out.

After dinner, which she hardly ate, she sat in front of the TV with her knitting, as usual. Is this all she had to look forward to?

The thought was depressing, even with complete control of the TV remote.

There was some news about Jennifer Todd being questioned by the police and released. Video clips of her going in and out of the station, in her big sunglasses and head scarf. Just as Lucy had described her.

“Ms. Todd would not speak to reporters directly,” the newscaster said, “but a statement issued by her attorney, Richard Novak, emphasized the movie star has not been named a person of interest in the case. She was interviewed by the police in regard to information that may help the investigation of the poisoning of her husband, Nick Pullman, and close friend, the actor Heath O'Hara . . .”

Well, that wasn't entirely true. The police were looking for more than mere information. But Maggie guessed the police department would not rebut this account. They had bigger things to worry about and had to walk a fine line when building a case against a celebrity. They'd be sued into the next galaxy if they made a misstep. That was for sure.

“Heath O'Hara's body was released today by the Essex County Police,” the newscaster continued. “A private memorial service will take place at his Beverly Hills estate on Saturday.”

Maggie wondered if Jennifer would attend the service, or if she had to stay in the area. Perhaps she would remain near Nick, who was still too sick to be moved.

Was Charles right? Was she just dazzled by Jennifer Todd's attention and didn't want to see that she could be the guilty one? Maggie had to wonder about that now.

If Jennifer was not behind these poisonings—and it wasn't Jerome Nesbit—who could it be? Someone in the cast or crew who the police had overlooked so far?

Maggie guessed the movie people were all free to leave by now, or would be very soon. The police could only keep them in town for so long. They would all disperse, making it even harder to find the culprit.

As Maggie puttered around the shop Thursday morning, she was looked forward to seeing her friends that night, so she could tell them all at the same time what had happened with Charles.

She would be deluged with opinions and advice, she was sure. All well meaning. She'd just have to weather it. She had not slept well, feeling blue about the situation, as if she was the one who had derailed such a promising start.

Was this some unconscious wish to remain alone, to avoid a close relationship with a man? Did she feel a threat to her independence? Or was she afraid that if someone got close enough, they'd reject her? So she did it to them first?

Maggie decided to leave those questions to Dana. She knew best about such things.

She heard a light tap on the door before nine and suspected one of her friends had dropped by. Certainly not Charles . . . dare she even hope?

She opened the door to find Jennifer Todd, wearing her incognito glasses and hooded windbreaker again. The shiny black car waited by the sidewalk, just like the last time.

“Jennifer . . . good morning.” Maggie couldn't hide the surprise in her tone.

“May I come in, for just a minute?”

“Of course.” Maggie stepped aside to let her in, then shut the door. Jennifer seemed relieved to slip off her hood and took her sunglasses off, too.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said. “My attorney heard that you confirmed what I told the police. About the tote bag.”

“I just told the truth. You don't have to thank me for that.”

“I know it was the truth. But you never know what some people will do or say when they're confronted like that. There are people who would take advantage of the situation. I know you're not like that. I don't mean to say I
ever
thought you would do such a thing,” she rushed to add. “But it's just the way the world is.”

Her world, perhaps. Maggie did realize that. There were unscrupulous souls, lying in wait to take advantage of someone rich and famous.

Expecting money to give the “right” story. Expecting some money now, perhaps. Maggie thought that's what she was getting at. But didn't want to go there.

“The thought never occurred to me,” she said honestly. She quickly tried to change the subject. “Are the movie people able to go back to California?”

“Oh yes. Many gave their statements and left. Practically everyone else is leaving today. There's a memorial service for Heath in California on Saturday,” she added.

“I heard that on the news. Are you going, too?”

Jennifer looked away and shook her head. Maggie saw a flash of sadness cross her eyes. Whatever she and Heath had been to each other at the time of his death, they had been lovers once, and she clearly had deep feelings for him.

“No . . . I can't make it. I feel very badly about that. I have to stay here, with Nick. There are complications. He's still in ICU. I'm planning on moving to a hotel in Boston. Probably tomorrow.” She paused and sighed. “The police have asked me not to leave the area yet. They haven't told me I can't, but my attorney thinks it's better if I cooperate. I can't believe they suspect me . . . of all people.” She gave an incredulous laugh. “It's a nightmare, from start to finish—Nick being poisoned, Heath killed . . . And now I seem to be the prime suspect.”

“The police haven't said that exactly, have they?” Maggie asked in alarm.

“Not in so many words. But they don't seem to be talking to anyone else.” Jennifer looked up and met her gaze. “Someone is trying to frame me. I don't know who,” she said quickly, her voice distraught. “And I don't know why. I told the police that. They don't believe me.”