Free Thread and Gone by Lea Wait Page A

waiting to hear bad news. It never occurred to me it would be about Lenore. “I saw her . . . yesterday.”
    â€œThat’s what we’re here to talk to you about,” said Pete. “We found a note on her desk with your name on it.”
    â€œWhat did it say?”
    â€œNothing. Just ‘Angela Curtis,’” said Ethan. “Almost a doodle. The kind of note you write to yourself to help you jog your memory. We’re here to find out when you last saw her, or talked with her, and why.”
    â€œShe didn’t die of natural causes, did she?” I said, looking from one of the men to the other. Neither of them said anything. “Ethan, I’m not stupid. The State of Maine doesn’t send a homicide detective to investigate a natural death.”
    He hesitated, clearly debating what to tell me.
    â€œNo, we don’t think she died of natural causes. But it won’t be official until after the medical examiner’s report. Now, when did you see her last?”
    â€œYesterday morning, at her office. I got there a little after ten o’clock.”
    â€œWas she alone?”
    â€œA man was leaving as I went in,” I remembered. “Her secretary, Glenda, wasn’t there. Lenore said she was on vacation. So, yes. She was alone.”
    â€œWho was the man who left?”
    â€œI didn’t know him. He was middle aged, graying, with a bit of a potbelly. Wearing a cheap suit. What I remember most was that he didn’t look happy. He slammed the door as he left, and then stomped down the stairs and the walk.” I tried to remember. “He drove off in a beige car. Fast.” I mentally thanked the years I’d spent doing surveillance in Arizona.
    Pete and Ethan exchanged looks.
    â€œDo you remember what make the car was? Or its license plate number?” Pete asked.
    I shook my head. Unless I was on a “follow and photo” assignment I didn’t write down every license plate number I saw.
    â€œHow long did you stay at Mrs. Pendleton’s office?”
    Today Ethan’s eyes were even bluer than usual, reflecting his blue shirt. “Fifteen, twenty minutes. Not long.”
    â€œLawyer-client relations are private. But would you mind telling us why you were there?”
    â€œIt wasn’t private or personal. I’d been given a piece of antique needlepoint by a client. You know about that, Ethan; you were the one who referred Rob and Mary to me.”
    â€œMary Clough’s needlepoint?”
    Pete looked up from his note taking.
    â€œYes. I thought the stitching might be valuable. I asked Lenore to keep it in her safe while I was investigating it.”
    â€œDid she agree to do that?”
    â€œYes. She agreed to put it in her safe.”
    â€œDid she know it belonged to Mary Clough?”
    â€œI told her it was Mary’s. Lenore promised she wouldn’t let anyone have it except Mary or me.”
    â€œSo if anyone else came to her office and asked her for it, she wouldn’t have given it to them. She wouldn’t have opened her safe.”
    â€œNo. She wouldn’t have.” I looked from one to the other. “What happened to Lenore? What has this to do with Mary’s needlepoint?”
    â€œHow many people knew you were taking the needlepoint to Lenore’s office?”
    I tried to be patient. “Mary Clough, and your brother, Rob. Sarah Byrne. Ruth Hopkins and Dave Percy. Oh, and I told Gram when I talked with her on the phone yesterday morning.” I hesitated. “Of course, any of those people could have told someone else.” Like Rob had told his buddies. But Rob was Ethan’s brother. No reason to call attention to him.
    â€œNo one else?”
    â€œWho else would care?” I said. “Now, would you tell me what happened?”
    â€œWe don’t know exactly,” said Pete. “This morning Rob went to Lenore Pendleton’s office with a friend,