Purls and Poison Read online

  Anita glanced at Suzanne. Her flea market earrings—large golden circles etched with an Indian design—bobbed up and down. “Gosh, it’s weird to think that she was really murdered, right here in the office. Gives you the creeps, doesn’t it?”

  Suzanne met her gaze and nodded, feeling like a bobble-head doll on a car windshield. “Yes . . . yes, it does.”

  In an effort to hold her tongue, she squeezed the sponge so hard water dripped on her shoe. For once, she was not going to play the office know-it-all. If Lyle and Anita had just found out Liza was murdered, maybe they didn’t know that so far, she was the prime suspect?

  And she wasn’t about to tell them, either.

  “Talk about the creeps, Suzanne found her body, for Christmas’ sakes.” Lyle waved his coffee mug in her direction. “You’re the one who found her, didn’t you?”

  Suzanne nodded again. “I saw her car outside and came in to talk to her, to apologize about the fight we had in the staff meeting. And . . . there she was.”

  She was unsure how much detail to give. Lyle and Anita stared at her, Anita quietly munching the cookie.

  “Wow, that’s heavy,” Anita said.

  “Yeah, it was,” Suzanne agreed.

  “I wonder what she was doing here that late at night.” Anita brushed some crumbs off her blouse. “She was a real workaholic, wasn’t she? Just goes to show, life is short. You can’t postpone your happiness. You have to be in the now, and just enjoy it.”

  Suzanne wasn’t sure how to respond to this dose of coffee room philosophy. She glanced at Lyle. He looked amused. “I’d like to enjoy some of Liza’s commissions. I wonder how Harry is going to deal out her client list. I’d like a few of those plums.”

  Anita shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. It’s really up to Harry.”

  “Right, Harry will decide,” Suzanne said. Which was almost true. She didn’t want to admit that Harry had just offered her the whole basket of plums. She didn’t want to sound as if she was bragging, and she hadn’t accepted the offer either. She also wondered now if Harry might change his mind, as time went on and his thoughts were clearer. And why give her coworkers even the slightest reason to suspect she might benefit from Liza’s passing?

  Lyle lifted his chin and rattled the coins in his pocket, a nervous tic he had. “There’s a lot of ball game left, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “I think you’re right,” Anita replied. “And there’s a lot the police aren’t telling us. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not likely to hang around here after hours anymore.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. Someone was out to get Liza. The police probably know who it was already. They can’t keep something like this under wraps for long.” Lyle’s coffee had dripped through. He picked up the mug and slurped up a bit. “Believe me, it all comes out in the wash.”

  Suzanne wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. He always peppered his conversations with hackneyed expressions, announcing them in a meaningful tone: Takes one to know one. Empty barrels make the most noise. Don’t kill the messenger. And, don’t throw the baby out with the bath water. One of his favorites.

  “I’d better get back to my office. I have to make some calls.” Suzanne turned and left her coworkers, knowing they would immediately start talking about her.

  Nothing she could do about that. She sighed and headed back to her private, padded space. If they think they have something to gab about now, wait until “the other shoe drops,” she chided herself.

  She did hope the police had found more evidence by now, clues that made them see she was being framed by the real killer. But who could that be? She still had no idea and wondered how she could figure it out.

  Lost in her thoughts, she nearly walked right into Beth Birney, who was heading up the hallway toward the kitchen. Despite the near collision, Beth smiled, looking happy to see Suzanne. It took a lot to rub Beth the wrong way. Except wasting paper towels or using the printer for personal copies. Or, when someone dared to crank up the thermostat on a bitter cold winter day. “I have a sweater in my office if you’d like to borrow it,” Beth was likely to say with a pleasant smile.

  If Harry was the star of the production, Beth was the stage manager, who made the lights go on and the curtain rise every night, right on time. She was the glue that held the place together, Suzanne had often thought. Unfailingly loyal to Harry, who would probably go broke without Beth’s watchful eye.

  Her mild personality and Mother Hen looks fit the role well and she genuinely enjoyed her job, keeping the company humming along, like a well-oiled machine.

  “Oh, Beth . . . excuse me! I don’t know where my head is today.” The sponge had left a damp mark on Beth’s blazer, which looked new. A stylish change from Beth’s ubiquitous cardigans. Suzanne felt embarrassed. “Your jacket. I’m so sorry.”

  Beth patted the spot with her hand. “It’s just water. It will dry in no time. We’re all upset today about poor Liza,” she added in a quieter voice. She shook her head, her eyes going foggy a moment behind her glasses. Suzanne thought she might cry. “Such a shock. Right here in the office. I didn’t know her well. But she was so young. Too young to lose her life in such a senseless way. She was always nice to me,” she added in a wistful tone.

  Suzanne certainly couldn’t echo that last sentiment. Was it intended as a backhanded rebuke? Suzanne doubted that. Beth didn’t mean anything personal. She wasn’t that way.

  “I didn’t know her well either. And she was young,” Suzanne said finally.

  Beth looked down at the sponge and the spray Suzanne carried. “I know the police left the place a mess. Sorry about that. We’ll get the cleaning company in tomorrow. The computer towers should be back early next week. The network will be up again soon after that. I’ll get the technicians in here ASAP.”

  “Sounds like you have it covered. As usual.”

  Beth nodded and smiled at the compliment. She hugged some folders to her chest. The wet spot on Beth’s jacket was drying quickly. Suzanne felt relieved.

  Beth had upped her game in the appearance department lately. She had recently confided that she was trying online dating. Suzanne hoped it worked out. Beth was such a lovely person and had so much to give. She’d been divorced for many years and her children were grown, living in New York. Poor woman, she was lonely. But at least she was willing to be proactive, starting with a mini makeover, a new hairstyle and designer eyeglasses. Some new clothes, too. She’d never be a supermodel, but a lot of men would be happy with such a gentle, thoughtful woman, Suzanne thought.

  “Computer problems are easy to fix,” Beth promised. “It will take longer for everything else to settle back to normal. How are you doing, Suzanne? It must have been a terrible shock, finding her.”

  “Oh . . . I’m okay. Trying to process it all. Just like everyone else.” Suzanne shrugged and forced a small smile.

  “It’s good to see everyone back. I know it wasn’t easy to come in today. There’s no pressure to stay if you feel upset. Or uncomfortable.”

  “I have an appointment soon, to show a little cottage in the Marshes. I guess I’ll head home after that.”

  “Such a trouper.” Beth smiled and patted Suzanne’s shoulder. “One more thing, dear. I have something for you.” She opened the folder and Suzanne saw a stack of envelopes. Beth flipped through with fleet fingertips and pulled one from the pile. “With the computers down, I couldn’t do direct deposits this week. I don’t want you to leave without that.”

  “Thanks, Beth.” Suzanne glanced down at her paycheck. It was good of Beth to make the extra effort and get the checks out on time, all things considered.

  “We don’t want anyone to be stressed by this unfortunate situation any more than is absolutely necessary.”

  Stressed? Beth didn’t know the half of it.

  “You just do what you can today, Suzanne. Don’t push yourself,” Beth advised in a serious tone. “We can only do our best, rig
ht?” Beth nodded good-bye and continued down the hall, the firm’s friendly little paycheck fairy.

  Suzanne slipped into her cubicle and started to clean again. She wasn’t sorry she’d come to the office today. It had been a good thing to show up. She had no reason to hide, as her friends had reminded her.

  But she’d definitely felt a strange vibe around here. More than just the shadow of Liza’s death, casting a cold gray light.

  Suzanne couldn’t quite say what it was, but it was there, lurking beneath the surface, dancing in the shadows, slipping up behind her, with icy fingers that traced her spine.

  * * *

  “Honestly, Charles. Do you really think Suzanne—our Suzanne—is capable of murder?” Maggie had not intended to get into the subject at all. Not even a tiny bit. Charles had Saturday night off and she’d planned a romantic evening at home, including his favorite dinner, grilled lamb chops with fresh rosemary and plenty of garlic, oven roasted potatoes, and string beans. He was not a hard man to please. Not in the culinary sense.

  They were having a completely lovely, relaxing evening. Sipping wine in front of the fire and talking more about Charles possibly moving in with her soon.

  Charles loved her home, often saying that everywhere he turned, there was something interesting or pretty to look at. He felt very comfortable there and she hoped he’d soon be sharing the space with her. Though she knew that living with someone after all these years would be a shock. But she was more than willing to make a go of it. She wasn’t sure how they had wandered into the quicksand subject of Suzanne, but when he’d asked about her day, she couldn’t help mentioning breakfast with her friends at the Schooner, and their main topic of conversation.

  “Between you and me—I’d never peg her as the type. But one thing I’ve learned in this job—never assume. You never really know about a person, what goes on deep inside.”

  She knew he was just talking in general. But his reply still got under her skin. “Come on, Charles. That answer is so . . . pat. You sound like a character in a film noir, for goodness sakes. Where’s the suit with the big shoulders?”

  Her question made him laugh, encouraging her. He would look good in that era of men’s wear. She’d have to tell him that later. For now, she stuck to Suzanne.

  “You know Suzanne as well as I do. She’s a good person, kind and generous, and loving to a fault. Sure, she’s emotional and has a temper at times. But she’s an open book. Not that she’s even capable of such a thing, but if so, she’d never be able to hide it. She’d be bursting at the seams with the secret.”

  Charles shrugged and sipped his wine, a smooth Pinot Noir he’d contributed to their dinner. “Everything you say about her is true. I’m not debating any of it. But it would be completely irresponsible—not to mention, sloppy police work—if we didn’t follow through on this lead. There’s just too much evidence pointing in her direction.”

  “Of course you need to do that. To eliminate her,” Maggie added quickly. “You’ll come to a dead end with Suzanne very soon. You’ll see that someone has planted all this evidence. I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

  “I expected that at first, too.”

  His reply was alarming, and Maggie tried to hide her reaction. “Why do you say that?”

  Charles tilted his head, the way he often did when he had something serious and maybe even confidential to say. “Unfortunately for your friend, the more we dig, the more we find.”

  Maggie was unhappy to hear that, but rallied quickly. “Someone has framed her, Charles. I think that’s obvious. And in a very clumsy, amateur way. If there’s a more polished way to do that sort of thing, I don’t know. But I’d think it would be clear to a seasoned professional, such as yourself, that she’s been set up. And she was a very easy, obvious target, considering her contentious relationship with Liza Devereaux.”

  Charles sat with his shoulders back, his mouth a straight, hard line. He waited a moment or two before speaking. “Are you done now?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Maggie nodded. She knew that she’d gotten too excited and maybe, gone too far. But how far is too far when the reputation, and possibly the very fate, of one of your very best friends is at stake? Charles wanted to say something, she sensed, but before he could, she felt compelled to continue.

  “What did you mean when you said ‘the more we dig, the more we find’? Have you found more evidence that implicates her?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  Maggie sighed. “I do know that. I just forgot for a minute, sorry.”

  “Forgot? Or thought you’d catch me off guard?” He was teasing her a bit, but also serious.

  She shrugged. “A little of each,” she admitted. She leaned toward him. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you should take yourself off this case. You know Suzanne so well, and she’s one of my best friends. Doesn’t that muddy the waters?”

  It certainly muddied the waters between them, she wanted to add. But she was afraid where that line of conversation might go.

  “I’d only do that if I was unable to be impartial and objective. But I believe that I am.”

  “What about doing it for my sake? It’s hard for me to see you investigate one of my very best friends in the world as possibly guilty of murder. Isn’t that a conflict of interest for you?”

  She watched Charles mull it over, spinning the sips of wine left in his goblet. She wondered what he’d say. She was used to these long pauses. He always considered his replies carefully, especially important questions, like this one. A trait she loved about him. Though tonight, it seemed darn right frustrating.

  “I really don’t think of it that way,” he said finally. “I don’t believe it’s a conflict for me. I don’t believe I’d cut her any slack even if she was your blood kin, Maggie. But I suppose, the connection might look questionable to an outsider. Especially if I let her off the hook when there’s enough evidence to make an arrest.”

  “An arrest? What in the world are you talking about? This is Suzanne. Zany, funny, big-hearted Suzanne. It’s very upsetting for me to hear you even talk that way.”

  Charles pulled back into his corner of the couch, turning to face her. “It’s upsetting for me to hear that you expect me to take a back seat and look the other way, because she’s your pal. Let me ask you something. If I were to take myself off this case, would you do the same?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Maggie stared back at him, honestly confused by the request.

  “I think you know what I mean.” He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.

  She did know. But she didn’t know how to answer. Not without fudging the truth a bit. “I have to be honest; if she’s in trouble, I’ll try to help her. Any way I can. That’s just who I am. I think you know that by now.”

  “Fair enough. I think you know who I am by now, too.”

  Maggie felt upset. She didn’t like where this conversation had led. It did not feel like a good place at all. But she knew it would not help to let the argument go further. He seemed to feel his honor was at stake. She knew she’d never persuade him to her point of view when that was the issue.

  “I think you misunderstand me. I know you’re totally ethical in your work, Charles. More than ethical. Let’s skip it for now. I’m sure this investigation will lead somewhere else, to the real killer. Did you know that Liza and her husband were probably not officially divorced? Even though they’ve been separated at least two years? Suzanne says the husband has a gambling problem and now he’s in line to inherit her estate.”

  Charles met her gaze, his expression even more displeased. She realized that he knew the lowdown on Liza’s marital status and all about Nick Sutton’s gambling, but didn’t realize that she did, too.

  “I wish you and your friends would stay out of these situations. I hope you’re not going to the memorial service tomorrow.”

  Maggie didn’t answer right away. She met his gaze a moment, then looked back at the fire.
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  “You are, aren’t you?” he said.

  She picked up her wine and turned to him. “I knew Liza. She was a customer at the shop and took classes with me all the time. I’ve even met her mother, Ruth. I want to pay my respects. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. And Suzanne has to be there, since Liza was a coworker.”

  “And your other friends, are they going, too?”

  “We want to give Suzanne some support, all things considered.”

  Since the police—my own significant other, in particular—is hounding her and making her miserable, Maggie thought.

  “Suzanne is a big girl. She doesn’t need her friends to hold her hand,” Charles said curtly. Then, in a softer tone, “I wish you wouldn’t go. You barely knew the woman. You say you want to pay your respects. But to me . . . Well, it seems more like sheer snooping.”

  Maggie bristled. He didn’t have the right to say that or judge her that way. “That’s a harsh thing to say. I told you honestly why I’m going. And I don’t need your permission to be there, either.”

  They sat in silence. A fire in the hearth that had started out full and bright had burned down to embers. The logs Maggie had set with such care and anticipation were crumbling into gray ash. No one rose to stir it back up to its former glory, though that would have been an easy task, Maggie thought.

  “You don’t need my permission. I know that.” Charles set his wineglass on the side table, taking care to use the coaster. He was always very neat. He sat back, his hands on his big knees, and suddenly stood up. “Well, guess I’ll get going. Early day tomorrow.”

  Maggie came to her feet, too, surprised at his announcement. He usually—practically always—spent the night, and if he was off on Sunday, they had a leisurely morning reading the newspaper, with the Baroque Hour on the radio, and then spent the day together, too. Taking a long walk or a relaxing drive out to Rockport.

  They both planned to attend the memorial service tomorrow, but Maggie thought they might find an orchard after that and pick some apples. She’d make a pie with Sunday dinner. She’d seen so little of him lately, she’d looked forward to this weekend together.