Clare O’Donohue - The Lover’s Knot

Two sets of boots could be heard walking down the stairs, but only one person came into the kitchen.

"Can I talk to you now?" Jesse's tone was still flat but it was clear that he wasn't asking me a question.

"I guess," I said and left my pile of red fabrics. "What do you want to know?"

"How about a walk?" Jesse seemed determined to take each of us out of earshot of the other.

We walked outside without speaking, crunching the leaves underneath our feet. I had nothing to hide, but I was unnerved anyway.

"Ask me," I quietly demanded after a minute or so of silence had passed. I couldn't take his patience, his quiet demeanor anymore.

"Ask you what?"

"If I killed Marc."

"You didn't."

"I know I didn't," I said immediately, then stopped and turned to him, realizing what he'd said, but his caramel eyes betrayed nothing. "How do you know I didn't kill Marc?"

"The coroner puts his time of death at around six p.m. You were with your grandmother at that time," he said with a slight smile. "And Eleanor wouldn't lie about that, even for you." His eyes stared directly into mine. "Besides, you had no motive to kill him. You didn't know him well enough."

If he was being sarcastic, I couldn't tell. "All right, what is it that I'm missing about Marc? Everyone in town seems to know something about him that I don't."

Jesse was looking straight at me, his voice calm and even. But I was struggling to stay composed. "Did your fiance ever explain why he punched Marc?" he asked.

"Over me," I said quickly, but I realized I'd never asked Ryan exactly why a normally nonviolent man had gotten into two fights in the same day. "No, he didn't tell me." I felt exhausted by my confusion. "Why did he?"

"Marc apparently made some comments about you."

"So what?"

Jesse hesitated, clearly unsure of how much he should tell me. "About how Ryan had gotten you primed for Marc to go in for the kill." Jesse hesitated again and looked back toward the house. He took a breath and finished his thought. "Marc liked women who were vulnerable."

"You keep using that word. What do you mean exactly?"

He nodded. "He helped himself to their affections… and to their bank accounts."

I stared at him in disbelief. "I have a hundred and forty eight dollars in my bank account," I stammered.

"You have access to the shop. And to the house. And what's in it."

I wanted to laugh. I wanted it to be a joke, but Jesse didn't seem like a guy who would joke about such things. All I could do was stand there.

"I'm not saying he was only interested in getting his hands on Eleanor's stuff," he said quickly, "although I'm sure it crossed his mind. But Marc liked to play all angles. Maybe he thought he could get some money out of your grandmother if he left you alone. Or maybe he thought there was something valuable in the shop he could take if he had access to the place without your grandmother being here."

"And I'm that much of a sucker? Some guy smiles at me and I give him the keys to the place?" I said the words as sarcastically as I could, but as I was asking Jesse, I was also asking myself.

"Marc didn't go after just anyone." Jesse moved closer, a look of concern on his face.

"Just the really stupid ones."

"No. Smart, actually. He liked his women smart. He was a bit of a con artist, but he had good taste."

I knew he was trying to give me a silver lining for my cloud, but it seemed like insult upon insult. A smart woman would have seen through the flattery and puppy dog eyes.

"Maybe," I said, "one of the other… women found him at the shop."

"Maybe." He locked his eyes on mine, but they revealed nothing. "It's too early to tell."

"Officer Dewalt, you don't think Ryan killed Marc, do you?"

"It's Jesse."

"Okay, Jesse, do you think Ryan killed Marc?"

Jesse looked down at the ground, moving his boot in a circle in the dirt. It took only seconds for him to look up again, but it felt like hours.

"I think," he said slowly, "he had motive and opportunity. But I don't know yet what that really means." His eyes met mine but offered nothing but a slight amount of sympathy. "Do you think Ryan killed Marc?" he asked flatly.

I knew if I opened my mouth the words "I don't know" would have come out, so I slowly moved my head from left to right and back again. If I could get Jesse to believe Ryan wasn't hiding anything, maybe I could believe it myself.

Ryan and Eleanor were huddled together at the kitchen table, deep in discussion, when Jesse and I came back inside. Eleanor had her broken leg up on one of the chairs and Ryan was eanor had her broken leg up on one of the chairs and Ryan was adjusting a red and white quilt over her. The pattern looked exactly like its name, a bowtie.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

Eleanor looked up as if she had been caught doing something wrong. "Fine," she said stiffly. "Just waiting for you."

I looked at Jesse to see if he noticed the chill in the air, but he was looking through his wallet. He took out a piece of paper and put it on the table in front of Eleanor.

"That's a guy over in Nyack who does great remodeling work. He can probably start for you as soon as we're finished at the shop."

Eleanor studied the name on the paper. "Doesn't your brother-in-law do remodeling work in Nyack?"

"Yes, that's my brother-in-law… my ex-brother-in-law, I guess. He's a good worker."

She nodded. "Thanks for this. I'll give him a call."

Jesse turned his attention to Ryan. "You'll be available if I have any questions?"

"I'll be here."

"Here?" I said.

"He's staying with us for a few days," Eleanor said.

"In the house?" I said, now very confused.

"Your grandmother suggested I stay while this gets straightened out."

"Why? Jesse can always call you in New York if he has questions. " I looked to Jesse for confirmation.

"Absolutely," he jumped in. "As long as you're available at the number you gave me in New York, I can call with any questions. I'm sure you have to get back to work on Monday."

"It's fine," said Ryan, a little too insistently. "I can take a few days off to help around here and answer any questions you have."

"But…," I started.

My grandmother shifted in her seat. We had been talking over her head and it was clear she was making her presence known. "It's settled. It's my house and I've invited Ryan to spend a few days, which he agreed to."

She had spoken with the finality of a mother to her wayward toddlers. All three of us stood silent-unable to compete with her authority. Both Jesse and Ryan were looking to the floor, and I clenched my jaw and literally pressed my lips together so I wouldn't say anything I would regret in front of Jesse.

Eleanor just straightened the quilt on her lap and waited for one of us to challenge her. Finally, Jesse spoke.

"I need your prints, Nell," he said quietly, with a hint of apology in his voice.

I rolled up my sleeves, pressed my fingers one by one into the black ink and with Jesse guiding my hand, rolled each finger onto a blank piece of paper.

"I guess that's it, then," Jesse said. "I appreciate your cooperation."

"There was a quilt next to Marc's body," Eleanor said. "When can I get it back?"

"I don't know," Jesse said. "It had some blood on it. We'll need to keep it as evidence. Is it valuable?"

Eleanor shrugged. I knew that she was speaking of Grace's quilt, and I knew to my grandmother it was priceless. "Bring it back when you can," she said.

Ryan shifted his feet and looked up.

"I'll walk you out," he said to Jesse.

Jesse took the cue, nodding good-bye and walking toward the front door with Ryan.

Now that we were alone, I unclenched my jaw. As I opened my mouth to yell something clever about meddling grandmothers, Eleanor moved her broken leg and made an exaggerated groan.