“I met Helen the day I started working at Crawley’s Crafts. Bob, the manager, was in a hurry when he showed me around the shop. He pointed to different drawers, saying where the various supplies were kept: beads, hooks, dried flowers, yarns, craft-making tools. There were hundreds of items. Thousands! ‘Everything’s labeled, along with their prices,’ Bob told me as he slid open drawers and cabinets. ‘When a customer comes in, give her what she wants.’
“He looked at me fiercely. ‘Under no circumstance are you to let them touch these drawers or what’s inside them. Got it?’ I said I did. ‘Good!’ He led me to the cash register, made sure I knew how to handle charges, figure out tax. Then he said he had to run out for a few minutes.
“Well, Bob was gone for more like half an hour. A customer came in wanting some rope and beads for a macramé project. She pointed to the cabinet where they were kept. I brought out several samples of beads, and she picked out what she wanted. So that was easy. But the next customer was a different situation entirely.” Sheila paused to finish off her wine.
I sat back, marveling how she’d remembered every detail of that day. A glance around the table told me everyone had stopped eating and was waiting for her to continue.
“This customer was a large woman at least ten years older than I was. She wanted to start a new jewelry project but wasn’t quite sure what. First, she asked to see some chains. I brought out a tray of them. She examined each in turn, but nothing was just what she wanted. She asked to see more. Soon she had chains scattered all over the counter. I suggested putting some of them away. Instead, she told me to bring out trays of blue and green beads. She felt certain that finding the right beads would give her a sense of what her next project should be.
“I was beginning to panic. There was something off-putting about this woman. Actually, she frightened me. What if she started grabbing whatever she liked and ran out of the store? I’d lose my job or worse.”
“How awful!” Aunt Harriet exclaimed. “What did you do?”
“The customer started walking toward the drawers,” Sheila said. “‘You’re wasting my time,’ she said. ‘This will go faster if I search for what I want.’ I chased after her. ‘No! You can’t do that! Customers can’t rummage through the inventory.’ She drew back and told me she wasn’t rummaging. She didn’t rummage.
“‘What’s going on here?’ We both spun around to stare at the newcomer we hadn’t heard enter the shop. She was tall and statuesque, with long auburn hair. And beautiful. For some reason she reminded me of Wonder Woman.
“‘I’m trying to choose supplies for a new project and this saleswoman isn’t very helpful. Not that it’s any of your business, miss.’
“‘I’m Helen Stravos, and it happens to be my business because I work here too.’ Her glance took in the array of chains and beads spread over the counter. ‘From what I can see, you were shown a variety of items, many more than our manager allows to be shown at one time.’ And with that, she started putting the inventory back in their respective trays and packed them away.”
Sheila smiled. “The woman huffed with indignation. ‘Well, I never! You can tell your manager he’s lost a good customer.’ She made a quick getaway, slamming the door behind her.
“I was terrified. I’d been working there less than an hour, and I’d already chased away a customer. But when I turned to Helen, I saw she was laughing. Soon I was laughing, too. When I could speak again, Helen told me that Bob often took off for hours at a time and that she’d meant to come in earlier, knowing someone new was starting.”
Sheila glanced around the table at each of us. “And that was how my relationship with Helen Stravos began.”
In the silence that followed, I considered what Sheila was really telling us. The person she’d been romantically involved with twenty years ago was a woman! A woman named Helen Stravos. A woman none of us had ever heard of before today. My mind was churning with questions. Before I could open my mouth to ask Sheila if she’d seen Helen Stravos kill her husband, Aunt Harriet stood. In her warm but practical way, she said, “As curious as we are to hear the rest of her story, I’m sure Sheila could use a well-deserved recess. Carrie and I will clear the table, bring out the desserts, and get the coffee and tea started. How many for coffee?”
Everyone but Sylvia and Sheila raised their hands.
“Tea, Sheila and Sylvia?”
They both nodded as Sylvia and I helped my aunt gather up plates and cutlery. In the kitchen, Aunt Harriet drew me aside. “I hope you aren’t angry at me for taking over like that, but the poor woman needed a break.”
I hugged her. “Don’t think that for a minute. Sheila’s been through hell. And reporting it to all of us has to be very difficult.”
I filled the twelve-cup coffeemaker, knowing some people would want refills. Sylvia boiled water for tea, then got out the desserts, while Aunt Harriet covered the platters of uneaten food and put them in the refrigerator. By the time we brought out the dessert plates, cups, spoons, and forks, the mood in the dining room had changed. Sheila, along with the others, was listening avidly as Dylan recounted the story of one of his stolen art recoveries. I was filled with love and admiration for the people I’d chosen to invite here tonight to spend the evening with Sheila Rossetti.
When we were all seated once again, filling our mouths with sweets, John turned to Sheila. “Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”
Sheila suddenly looked nervous. Billy put his arm around her shoulders. “Only if you want to, Mom.”
“I know,” she answered softly. “I do want to. I’ve wanted to all these years, but I was afraid. I still am.”
“Afraid of what exactly?” John asked softly.
Sheila looked at him. “Everything. Of discovering I was falling in love with a woman. Of Chet finding out. Of anyone finding out. I was so ashamed, but I couldn’t help myself. Helen made me laugh. She listened to me. She cared.” She drew a deep breath. “At least, it felt like she cared about me.”
“You don’t think her feelings for you were genuine?” John asked.
I stared at him, marveling at his questions. They were much—kinder was the best word I could think of—than I’d expected. John Mathers was proving to be more sensitive than I’d ever imagined.
“I thought so at the time. Helen must have been ten years younger than I was then, but she took me under her wing. She saw to it that I knew my way around the craft store and could deal with customers if I was ever left on my own. I discovered she was a talented craftswoman herself, and sold her work to various galleries. Her specialty was beautiful macramé wall hangings.”
Sheila glanced at me. “Helen also made items using cord and small beads, like the picture frames you saw hanging in my living room. When she caught me admiring them, she sat me down one day and taught me how to make them.” She laughed. “But mine never turned out as good as Helen’s.”
“Did you tell her how Chet was treating you and the children?” John asked.
Sheila frowned. “She saw a bruise on my arm and asked me how I got it. At first I wouldn’t say, but Helen was persistent. I never talked about my family situation, but somehow people in Clover Ridge knew. In fact, a lawyer in town had been offering to help me get a divorce.” She shuddered. “But whenever I thought about Chet finding out, I imagined he’d try to kill me.”
“How did Helen react when you told her Chet was beating you?”
“She got angry. She said I didn’t have to put up with that crap. From the way she spoke, I got the feeling she’d had to deal with an abusive husband herself.” Sheila drew a deep breath. “As things between us got more involved, she tried to convince me to leave Chet and move in with her. I told her I couldn’t leave Daphne and Billy. Helen said they were old enough to fend for themselves. That really upset me.”
“Did you ever consider ending it with Helen?” John asked.
Sheila nodded. “Often. My life was a total mess. I hated myself for all the bad choices I’d made—marrying Chet when I knew he had a drinking problem, turning to the first person who showed me warmth and kindness.” A small bitter laugh escaped. “Not that there weren’t plenty of men in town who had been willing to do the same. At least I’d been smart enough to avoid them. Only to end up with someone as controlling as Chet. I was numb. Too frightened to end things with Helen. Too frightened not to.”
“Did Helen notice the change in you?”
“Yes, but she had no idea that she was starting to frighten me—almost as much as Chet. She thought I was afraid to tell Chet and the children. She threatened to talk to Chet herself. I begged her not to, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Each conversation we had got worse and worse. Finally …”
We waited.
“I came home late one night from working at the craft shop and ran into Helen on the stairs. I asked her what she was doing there, but she only put her finger to her lips and rushed past me. When I walked through the open door, I saw Chet lying on the floor with a knife sticking out of his chest.”
“What did you do?” John asked.
“I ran through the apartment, looking for Daphne and Billy, but neither of them was there. Then I called the police and told them I’d come home from working at the craft store and found Chet stabbed to death.”
“And never mentioned Helen,” John said.
Sheila shook her head. “I couldn’t. I knew she’d done it for me. For my sake, so we could be together.”
“But you didn’t remain in a relationship with Helen.”
“Of course not. The police questioned me that evening, and Daphne and Billy when they came home. We couldn’t even stay in the apartment but had to spend the night with neighbors, where I finally fell asleep close to dawn. The following day, I went to Helen’s apartment and confronted her for killing Chet.
“‘That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘Of course not!’ I said. ‘I never told you to come to my apartment and stab my husband.’
“‘I didn’t go there intending to kill Chet,’ she said, ‘but he went crazy when I told him we were in love and came after me. I wasn’t going to let him knock me around like he did you and the kids, so I jabbed him a few times. It was self-defense.’
“‘Where did you get the knife?’ I asked. Helen said she always carried one for protection.” Sheila bit her lip. “When she saw how horrified I was instead of showing my gratitude for taking care of our problem, she turned ugly.
“I’d seen her like this once before, but never directed at me. This time she went on the attack. She said if I ever told the police or anyone that she’d killed Chet, she’d say she did it because I’d begged her to finish him off once and for all. Then I’d go to prison, same as her.”
Sheila lowered her gaze. “I couldn’t bear the thought of standing trial, of spending years behind bars, and so I flew out of her apartment, ran home, and gathered up some clothes and my money and left. Not very admirable, I know.”
The sound of shattering glass startled us. I raced to the living room and gaped at the smashed window that faced the river. I started for the door, but two pairs of strong arms held me back.
“Are you crazy?” Dylan asked. “Whoever it is could still be out there.”
John released his grip on me and ran outside as a car took off at top speed. When Smoky Joe entered the room to investigate the commotion, Sylvia swept him up and shut him inside my bedroom.
Dylan peered out the front door. Outside, John stood staring at the road when his cell phone rang. He said a few “Uh-huhs,” then disconnected.
“That was Danny Brower,” he told us. “He was parked halfway between here and Dylan’s house when a vehicle drove up. Not five minutes passed before it came speeding like a bat out of hell from this direction. He gave chase but lost whoever did this.”
My mouth fell open. “You had Danny watching the cottage because Sheila was coming to dinner?”
“I did.”
I noticed that neither Dylan nor Billy seemed surprised by his news.
“They knew!” I said.
“Uh-huh. A lot of good it did.”
“Did Danny get the number of the plate?” Dylan asked.
“He’s running it as we speak.”
Sheila huddled into herself. “Even now I’m bringing trouble to everyone.”
“No, you’re not!” Aunt Harriet said.
“She’s still here! I never should have come back to Clover Ridge,” Sheila said.
“You came back because you’re courageous and want to do what’s right,” John said. “The fact is she’s frightened and trying to drive you away.” He exchanged glances with Billy. “I think it would be best if you and your mother spent the night at a hotel.”
He turned to Sheila. “I’d like you to come down to the precinct tomorrow morning and go over everything you told us tonight. Meanwhile, I’ll start searching through data files. There has to be a clue somewhere that leads us to this Helen Stravos.”
John looked at each of us in turn. “And I’m ordering you not to discuss what Sheila has told us with any living soul. I’ll get to the bottom of these homicides if it’s the last thing I do.”
We all nodded solemnly. The evening was over. John got into his car and followed Billy and Sheila to Billy’s apartment; they would pick up a few overnight items, then drive to a local motel. While Aunt Harriet, Sylvia, and I cleared the table, Dylan called Jack Norris, the property’s handyman, and arranged for him to remove the broken glass and call a glazier first thing in the morning.
Uncle Bosco and Aunt Harriet left to drive Sylvia home. I gathered up some clothes, cat food, and Smoky Joe’s litter box, slipped the unwilling cat inside the carrier, and went to spend the night at Dylan’s manor, as I privately called his large house.
“That was some story Sheila told us,” I said as Dylan and I were getting ready to go to sleep. “I only hope she doesn’t decide it’s too dangerous to remain in Clover Ridge and takes the first ferry back to Long Island.”
“Now that she’s told us about her involvement with this woman, I’m pretty sure Sheila will do all that she can to help John track down Helen Stravos through various criminal databases.”
“But what if she doesn’t have a record?” I asked.
Dylan stared at me. “Are you kidding? A woman tough enough to carry a knife for protection? I can’t imagine that Chet Harper was her only victim.”
I shrugged. “Just sayin’. She wasn’t a thief. At least, she was working in the craft store when Sheila knew her. And selling to various galleries.”
“She’s volatile and she wasn’t afraid of confronting a known abuser.” Dylan kissed my cheek. “John’s getting closer, babe. This Helen’s running scared.”
“And I’m scared that she’s on the loose.”