Clare O’Donohue - The Lover’s Knot

"What do you mean?" Jesse asked.

"Why pick that particular night?"

"Because he was in the shop alone?" Jesse suggested.

I turned to face him. "Okay. But let's say someone has had a problem with Marc for weeks, or months or years, or however long they've been building up to this moment. They must have gone to my grandmother's shop to confront him, and things got out of hand and Marc ended up with scissors in his chest."

"So what?" interrupted Ryan. "Things got out of hand. That happens."

"But why that night?" I asked, more emphatically.

"You think something happened that day to cause a confrontation? " Jesse leaned toward me. "That makes sense."

"Are we back to my having killed him?" Ryan demanded. "Is that where you're going with this, Nell?"

I ignored him. "I'm trying to think of anything that was different about Marc that day, and there wasn't anything. He was in a good mood when I left him."

"You put him in a good mood," Ryan snapped.

Jesse turned his body fully toward mine, so we were now facing each other on our side of the booth. Amanda and Ryan were shut out, but I didn't care, and it seemed, Jesse didn't either.

"He didn't mention any plans he had, any meetings, jobs… anything that was coming up that day or that week?" Jesse asked me.

"No," I replied. "Except he said something about a doctor's appointment. I don't know what kind of appointment. But it was supposed to be on Thursday."

"Hold that thought." Jesse picked up his cell phone and hit one button. "It's Jesse," he said into the phone. "Call the local doctors and Sacred Heart Hospital. Find out if Marc Reed had a doctor's appointment with any of them for last Thursday. Call me back." He hung up the phone and leaned back. "Let's see if that gets us anywhere."

But when his phone rang five minutes later, it wasn't with news about Marc. Someday Quilts had been broken into, and the officer on the scene was sure that the person was still inside.

When we arrived at the shop all four of us were breathless from having run the two blocks, which didn't say much about our level of fitness. But while Ryan and Amanda caught their breath, I followed Jesse to the door of the shop.

Tom had done an excellent job of covering up the large picture window. I tried, but I couldn't see anything that might be going on inside.

"Nell, stay back," Jesse directed, but I kept following. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. "I'm not kidding around," he said angrily. "You don't know who's in there. You don't know if they have a weapon."

"I'm not going to get hurt," I snapped, annoyed that he was literally pushing me around.

"Oh, yeah," he snapped back. "If you take one step from here, I'll shoot you myself."

I reluctantly stepped a few feet from the shop. Jesse went back to the officer standing at the door.

"Any movement inside?" Jesse asked him.

"None in the last few minutes," said the young officer, who seemed young enough to have gone straight from a Boy Scout's uniform to a cop's.

What were they waiting for, I wondered. My heart was beating a mile a minute. For the second time in a few days someone had turned my grandmother's shop into a crime scene, and I was ready to kill whoever it was that had violated such a happy place.

Ryan and Amanda walked toward me. While we waited, Ryan put one arm around me and the other around Amanda. She and I exchanged a look that said the same thing. As much as he annoyed me, I had to admit I did feel a little safer in his arms. But I didn't want to feel safe. I wanted in that shop. I pulled away.

Jesse moved for the door slowly, and as he did there was a noise from inside. He drew a gun that had been holstered under his sport coat. The minute I saw how comfortably the metal fit in his hands, I knew he was a real cop. Not a small-town bumbler happy to pick up the occasional drunk, but someone who could handle dangerous situations. Like this one was turning out to be.

Jesse pointed his gun toward the door and signaled the young officer to open it. The cop turned the knob and pushed. The door opened, and for a split second I could see shock on Jesse's face. Then a large hairy creature came running out of the shop and jumped on Jesse, knocking him to his knees. For maybe half a second my brain couldn't process what I was seeing. Then I realized-it was Barney.

The young officer pulled the dog off Jesse, who put away his gun, petted the dog and pointed him in my direction. Barney came running over with a goofy grin and a greeting that suggested he'd never been happier to see me.

But I left him behind and walked over to Jesse, who had already taken a few steps into the shop.

"There's no one in here?" I started.

"What the hell are you doing?" He turned to me. "Didn't I tell you to stay back?"

"Barney's not part of some international crime ring."

"Well, he didn't break into this place on his own," Jesse whispered angrily, pushing me back, "so until I know who else is here, get out."

I moved back. Not out, but out-ish. Jesse started walking toward the stairs. As he did, we both heard footsteps coming up.

Jesse pulled out his gun again just as Nancy came walking up with a large box. She saw Jesse and dropped it.

"Oh, for God's sake," Jesse muttered, lowering his weapon. "What are you doing here?"

"You gave me a horrible fright, Jesse Dewalt! Honestly, I'm not a young woman."

"I'm sorry," he said. "But this place is a crime scene. You aren't supposed to be here until tomorrow afternoon."

Nancy's eyes filled with tears. "We're going to applique flowers on the border for the quilt. I had a pattern I'd made here in this box. I hadn't had a chance to clean out the office."

"You had to get it today?" Jesse said through gritted teeth.

"Eleanor wanted me to start on it tonight."

"You should have called me and asked me to let you in," he said gently, though a hint of exasperation just made it into the tone of his voice.

"You try saying no to Eleanor," she sniffed. Then she looked around. "You've let that dog out. He's doesn't have the sense God gave a tree."

"He's okay," I said, stepping forward.

"Please remind Eleanor that no one is allowed in here until I say so," Jesse said. He leaned over, picked up the box Nancy had dropped and handed it to her. "You need a whole box for a quilt pattern?"

"It's not just one. There are lots of patterns, scraps of fabric, I don't know," Nancy stammered. "It seemed easier to take the whole box than search through it here."

"Can I look?"

"If you like," she said with an air of resignation. Then she opened the box for him to see.

I watched Jesse lift out exactly what Nancy had described-bits of fabric, scraps of paper with patterns drawn on them, thread. Nothing suspicious or even interesting. He took out what looked to be a small photo album, and began flipping through it.

"It's a quilt journal," she said. "I take pictures of each of my quilts."

"I didn't realize you had made this many," he commented.

"I don't have much else to do now that the boys are older," she admitted and smiled down at the photos.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vanderberg." Jesse closed up the box. "Just stay out of here until tomorrow, so we don't accidentally shoot you."

"You tell Eleanor not to send me here again, and I won't," she said and headed for the door.

Outside I could hear Nancy call for Barney, and I watched them as they passed the door on their way back to Eleanor's house.

"Well, that was, what do you call it, small-town fun," Jesse sighed as he took a deep breath.

"My grandmother doesn't always think the rules apply to her."

"Family trait, I guess."

"I really wish people would stop comparing us," I complained. "We're really nothing alike."