CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

Carl was being interviewed at the back desk by Detective Ohlsen, and the tech supervising the thimble fittings radioed for Fred to send in the next three witnesses. Jayne strode over to the first station, where she immediately began arguing with the tech. Her shrill voice reached all the way to the back of the room, where Matt and I kept Gil company while she waited to be interviewed by Ohlsen. The tech who had taken Gil's prints had told her that the processed witnesses were supposed to stay in the boardroom, so it would be easy to keep track of who'd finished the testing and who still needed to be printed. I suspected it was also so that no one would ruin the surprise of the thimble by spilling the secret to the quilters still waiting in the hallway.

"What was that thimble test all about?" Gil said.

"Probably nothing important." Until she gave her statement, I couldn't tell her anything substantive. "They're just being thorough."

"That's not what I wanted to hear," Gil said. "I was hoping you'd tell me they were going to pull some Perry Mason trick and identify the killer with absolute certainty by her thimble."

"Or his thimble," Matt said. "Carl and I just proved that men are capable of wearing thimbles too."

There was one other man to test, assuming he didn't insist on waiting for his attorney. "I wonder if Stefan knows how to use a thimble."

"As of about six months ago, Stefan hadn't done any more sewing than you have," Gil said. "But he's been spending a lot of time at his girlfriend's shop lately, so he might have picked up some new skills."

I watched Jayne and the next two quilters as they were tested, half expecting the tech at the thimble station to shout some code phrase after finding a match, so Fred would come running into the boardroom to take the suspect straight to Ohlsen for more intensive questioning and probably a Miranda warning. I couldn't seem to look away from the tech stations, until I caught a glimpse of Matt and Gil in my peripheral vision, one on either side of me. They too were mesmerized by the testing process.

There had to be something more useful we could do than to watch the testing. I forced myself to look away from the spectacle and then lightly elbowed both Gil and Matt to get their attention.

"What's the parallel saying to a watched kettle never boils, for forensics work?"

"How about slow and steady wins the trial?" Matt suggested. "Or perhaps fingerprint in haste, repent at leisure?"

Gil looked away from the techs and their subjects. "I just feel so helpless sitting here. How could someone get killed right here on the museum's property? And what are our donors going to think when it hits the news that there was a murder on the premises? They're going to think the museum is in a bad neighborhood, not the sort of place they want to be associated with or give money to."

I recalled Gil mentioning a new donor who'd made a sizeable contribution, one that had covered the expenses of today's event, as well as funding the local quilt registry. "Are you worried about your new major donor?"

Gil glanced at Matt, and he shook his head.

I'd seen that sort of exchange before when Matt hadn't wanted me to know he'd been a model before becoming a reporter. What was he hiding now? Was he the new major donor? If so, how had he found time to arrange it, when he'd been out of town for the last twelve weeks?

"I'm not worried about him reneging on his pledge," Gil said. "But other donors might, and the museum depends on them for our day-to-day expenses. We're a small museum, no real endowment to speak of. Losing even a few of our consistent donors could be the beginning of the end. Not just for my job and your contract for the quilt appraisals, but for the museum itself. When word gets out that longtime donors are dropping out, no one else will want to contribute."

My stomach was starting to churn in sympathy for Gil's obvious distress, but one thing I was trying to do better for controlling my stress levels was to not dwell on worst-case scenarios that might never happen. "They can't blame you for a murder you didn't commit."

"That's the thing about being the person in charge," Gil said sadly. "I'm ultimately responsible, so they can blame me for everything. You know how it goes: the buck stops here."

The room was filling up as more and more quilters went through the forensics gauntlet, trying on the thimble. As far as I could tell, none of them had come close to having fingers of the right size and shape. It was starting to look like it had belonged to one of the quilters who'd left before Alan did, and it had simply been dropped on his or her way in or out, rather than during the murder. Possibly whoever had parked in the far corner of the lot before Sunny did.

I consoled myself with the reminder that the thimble had been a long shot, something of a shortcut, but not the only way to find the killer. I had to believe that Ohlsen would find another way to close the case, clearing Gil and the museum of any responsibility. "Ohlsen is a good detective. You really don't have anything to worry about in the long run."

"Time isn't my friend here," Gil said, apparently too anxious even to find an appropriate bit of lyrics to sing. "If the arrest isn't in the same headline with the murder, it'll be too late. Charitable donors are notoriously fickle and easy to scare off. I was hoping to really impress the board and our donors with the holiday events this year. Looks like I'll be making an impression, all right, just not a good one. Even if the scandal doesn't land the museum in serious financial trouble, there will definitely be cutbacks. Probably starting with the quilt acquisition program. You and Stefan are going to feel the cuts."

"Don't worry about us." I hadn't expected to make a profit with my appraisal business for another year or two, and I was actually doing a bit better financially than I'd anticipated, thanks to both Gil and the Danger Cove Quilt Guild enthusiastically spreading the word about my services. I was fortunate too, to still have a healthy nest egg from my years as a lawyer. I was more concerned about the toll it would take on Sunny if the investigation dragged on. I was certain the thimble wouldn't fit her, but unless it fit someone else, Sunny was likely to remain at the top of the list of suspects. "Stefan will be happy as long as Sunny isn't arrested, and I collected a number of leads on new clients today, so I'll be fine."

"Hey," Matt said. "How come no one's worried about me? I could lose my job as a reporter if I keep ending up at major crime scenes without getting much of a scoop."

I snorted. "You can always go back to being an internet sensation. It must pay considerably better than small-town journalism."

"It's not all about the money," he said. "I like being an arts reporter. Or at least I did until people started dying all around me."

"Maybe you should retire from journalism," I said. "The cops are going to start wondering if you're a serial killer, and you're too pretty to go to jail."

"I didn't think you'd noticed."

Oh, I'd definitely noticed back in August. But before I could do more than simply be aware of Matt, his pretty face and all the rest of him had disappeared without a word.

 

*   *   *

 

Jayne was bearing down on us, so I left to collect some blocks that needed ironing, Gil waited to be called up for her interview, and Matt loped over to claim the sewing machine next to Carl again and throw himself into the work. I didn't know why he was so anxious to avoid Jayne; he could charm any woman on the planet. And it wasn't just about sexual attraction. He could charm most of the men he met too.

Jayne caught up with me at the table where three women were layering blocks with batting and backing. "What's taking the cops so long? It's past the time when Meg planned to leave, and she's got a long drive home to the far side of Seattle. The guild can't afford to pay for her to stay another night at the Ocean View B&B, and we can't expect her to pay for it out of her own pocket. She's already been incredibly generous with her time, especially since she's doing this event for free instead of charging her usual rates."

"Some things can't be rushed," I said. "Think of a murder investigation as comparable to making a quilt. The work needs to be done right if a person's going to be sent to prison for life. That means it takes whatever time it needs to take."

She grimaced. "We all know there are only two possibilities. It's got to be either Carl or Sunny. The rest of us should be allowed to leave."

Jayne might be annoying, but she also had traits that would have made her a good detective. She was smart, and she paid attention to detail.

"Why those two in particular?"

"It's obvious," she said. "Carl's little medical incident was just too convenient, which makes me think he did it on purpose to avoid being questioned."

That didn't seem at all likely to me. Carl hadn't appreciated being the center of attention when Meg had praised him, and I knew from personal experience just how embarrassing it was to pass out in public. Carl would never have done anything to bring attention to his weakness, least of all when someone like Richie Faria was around to carry tales back to the rest of the police department. Besides, I'd seen how anxious Carl's service dog was before he passed out. I didn't think that could have been faked.

"And what about Sunny? Is it just because she found the body?"

"That was just what got me considering her initially," Jayne said. "Then the more I thought about it, the less it made sense that she'd been so freaked out by finding him. She's a nurse, so she must have seen dead bodies before. The hysterics had to have been an act. And why would she fake her reaction other than to cover up the fact that she'd killed him? She was fine when Carl needed help. If she were the type to panic, she should have been screaming then too."

I could have explained that the difference was that Carl's emergency was bloodless, but I wasn't sure how well known Sunny's blood phobia was, and it really wasn't any of Jayne's business. Besides, I only had Sunny's word for the blood phobia. Her reactions out in the parking lot had seemed real enough to me. Of course, as a nurse, Sunny would know exactly what the symptoms of shock were, so she could fake them, at least well enough to fool a casual observer like me. The paramedics might have questioned her condition, but they still probably would have recommended standard treatment for shock even in the absence of objective findings, just as a safety precaution. Otherwise they might find themselves in the witness stand with someone like myself—before I retired, of course—grilling them on standard practice for treating a witness to a traumatic event and why they hadn't followed it in this case.

Much as I hated to admit that Jayne could be right, I wasn't absolutely sure that neither Carl nor Sunny had killed Alan Miller.

 

*   *   *

 

When Jayne finally let me get back to work, the techs were packing up their gear, and I realized that everyone who'd agreed to be fingerprinted had completed the process. Meg was encouraging the quilters to keep making ornaments, Gil was reassuring anyone who appeared anxious, and Jayne was undoing all their work by making everyone tense again. As far as I could tell, only Trudy, Sunny, Stefan, Dee, and Emma were still out in the hall with Fred Fields, having apparently stuck to their decision to wait for a warrant before being fingerprinted.

At the interview desk, Ohlsen raised his phone to his ear. A moment later, he stood and left the room. Before the door closed behind him, I caught a glimpse of Fred Fields out in the hall, keeping an eye on the last few recalcitrant witnesses. As long as Meg didn't need to be escorted to the ladies' room again, Fred's presence in the hallway was sufficient to keep us all under lockdown. It wasn't as if anyone could really make a run for freedom—there were officers stationed at the two exits downstairs, and there was nowhere to hide from the surveillance cameras on the first floor. There were windows in Gil's office and the adjoining break room for employees, but even though we were only on the second floor, the building's high ceilings downstairs made the distance to the ground more comparable to being on a standard third floor. Anyone jumping out a window would be lucky to only break her arms and legs and not her neck and back. She certainly wouldn't be in any condition to run away.

Shortly after the doors closed, they opened again, and Fred appeared to call me out into the hallway. I dropped off the freshly ironed blocks I'd been transporting and went into the hall. I'd been right. Only Trudy, Sunny, Stefan, Dee, and Emma were still out there, seated on the floor in the far corner of the hallway, holding hands to demonstrate their solidarity. Ohlsen was nowhere in sight.

Fred silently walked me away from the remaining witnesses, past the stairwells, in the direction of the restroom until we were out of casual hearing range. He turned so he could keep an eye on his charges and then spoke, his voice low and worried. "I don't like the way things are going here. I think Ohlsen's stumped and just going through the motions."

"I assume the thimble didn't fit anyone."

"Too big mostly," he said, nodding. "A few times they thought they might have had a match in terms of circumference, but it was lumpy in the wrong places. They didn't even have enough to hold anyone for further questioning, and now they've got a new theory. They're taking another look at Sunny, since she's refused to be printed, and she was of interest anyway as the person who found the body."

Damn. Stefan had been right to worry. "She wasn't the only one who refused."

"The others aren't likely suspects. Dee and Emma have alibis, credible ones, not just vouching for each other. Besides, I think Bud's a little bit nervous about going after either of them after the uproar the last time."

"What about Trudy?" I didn't want to cause her any trouble, but she didn't have an alibi, and she'd admitted to being in the parking lot during the time after Alan left. The police needed to consider all the possibilities, even though it was hard to imagine the easily cowed young woman stabbing someone. Then again, Trudy had been much more assertive when she'd refused the fingerprinting. If Alan had provoked her sufficiently, who knew what she might have done? "It's not often that someone has the courage to say no to the police, which makes me wonder if she's got something to hide."

"Oh, we know why she refused," Fred said dismissively. "She told me she's got psoriasis, and she's afraid the fingerprinting process will cause a painful flare-up. She even showed me a prescription ointment in her purse, and I looked it up. The only thing it's ever prescribed for is psoriasis. She can't be exposed to the scanner or the gloves we're using. We've got special equipment and allergy-free gloves at the station for that sort of thing, and she agreed to go there after we're done here. That just leaves the woman who found the body as the prime suspect."

Stefan was going to blame me for this development, and there wasn't much I could do about it. Butterflies started flitting around my stomach. Feeling helpless was a major cause of stress, worse than outright conflict.

"Sunny Kunik didn't kill anyone," I said.

"You sound awfully certain."

"I am." Or at least I was trying to convince myself that I was certain. "For one thing, she doesn't have a motive, unless it was self-defense, and in that case, she didn't have any reason to lie about stabbing Alan. The fact that the victim had been harassing her was well documented, so it wouldn't have been difficult to prove self-defense. For another thing, she's got a blood phobia. She'd have passed out if she'd cut him, but she was fully conscious when Matt and I got out to the parking lot."

"I was hoping you'd say she had an ironclad alibi," Fred said.

"Hardly any suspect truly has a solid alibi that can't be challenged in court," I said. "It's too bad the thimble didn't fit anyone. That might have given Ohlsen a solid lead. The only other useful piece of evidence is the missing Tree of Life quilt. If you could find that, I think you'd know who killed Alan. He was carrying it when I saw him leave, and it had considerable sentimental value for him. He wouldn't have simply tossed it away or given it up easily."

"You think he might have been killed for it?"

I headed off the question of the quilt's value. "I was thinking more in terms of the killer using it to clean the blood from his hands and then hiding it in case there was forensic evidence on it that would identify the killer. Maybe he got cut too, so some of the blood belongs to the killer. Find the quilt, and you'll find the guilty person."

"All I know is that the quilt wasn't anywhere in plain sight," Fred said. "To really look for it, Bud will need a warrant to search the museum and the vehicles in the parking lot."

"He'd better get working on it then." Ohlsen had probably started the process already, to go along with the warrant to gather the remaining fingerprints. "No one's going to complain too much about being cooped up in the boardroom as long as they've got the ornaments to keep them busy, but the event was supposed to be over in about an hour, and people probably have plans for the evening. It won't be long until people start demanding phone calls and legal representation."

"I'll see if the warrant's on its way." Fred stuck his hand into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone and came out with only a napkin from the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery. He sighed before using his free hand to pat down the rest of his jacket and pants pockets, which fortunately weren't as numerous as Matt's.

Fred finally found his phone, but instead of dialing it immediately, he took a moment to stare at the pink-and-brown napkin. Finally, he stuffed the reminder of his addiction to sweets back where he'd found it. "I need a break."

"Not as much as Ohlsen needs a break in this investigation."