Free Thread and Gone by Lea Wait Page B

intending to show his friend the needlepoint. They found the door to Lenore’s house unlocked and Lenore lying on the floor of her office. Dead.”

Chapter 12

    Behold the Savior at thy door
He gently knocks, has knocked before
Has waited long, is waiting still
You treat no other friend so ill
Admit him or the hour’s at hand
When at his door denied you’ll stand.
    Â 
    â€”Hymn 326 from John Dobell’s Collection . Stitched on sampler by eight-year-old Martha Baldwin in 1820,
Newark, New Jersey

    â€œHow was she killed?” I had to ask.
    â€œWe won’t know officially until the medical examiner tells us. But, unofficially, she’d been hit on the head,” Ethan said. “Multiple times.”
    â€œHard,” seconded Pete. “Probably with a marble bookend. It had blood on it, so it’s going to the lab.”
    I cringed a little. How could anyone do that? Or, more correctly, why would anyone do that? “When did it happen?”
    â€œThe medical examiner will have to make that call. For now we’re guessing early this morning,” said Pete.
    â€œOr very late last night,” Ethan added.
    â€œHow was she dressed?” I asked.
    Pete and Ethan exchanged glances.
    â€œShe was wearing a nightgown and robe. An open box of pastries was in her kitchen. We’re thinking she might have been having a late snack when she had an unexpected guest. It may have been a robbery gone bad,” said Ethan. “Her safe was open, and empty.”
    â€œEmpty? Everything was gone?” I repeated.
    â€œNot everything. Files were scattered on the floor,” explained Pete.
    â€œWas a padded envelope among the files? Sarah’s embroidery was in a padded envelope.”
    Ethan shook his head. “Nothing like that. No padded envelopes. No needlepoint. Glenda Pierce, Lenore Pendleton’s secretary, has agreed to go through the remaining files to see if any are missing. But the needlepoint was gone, and so was jewelry Glenda said Lenore kept in the safe. Most of the jewelry was Lenore’s; a few pieces belonged to one of her clients. Glenda’s putting together a list of the jewelry that was there.”
    Glenda wasn’t having a relaxing vacation week after all.
    I tried to focus on Lenore’s death, but all I could think of was that the needlepoint I’d promised to keep safe had disappeared. It was my fault. I should have kept it in my own house.
    â€œWas the lock on the door broken? Or the window?”
    â€œNo,” said Pete, although Ethan looked at him sharply.
    I’d been able to help the police before, so Pete sometimes told me details civilians shouldn’t know. Ethan didn’t approve.
    â€œSo she knew whoever killed her. No woman would have opened the door wearing her nightclothes if she hadn’t known the person outside.”
    â€œAngie, we’re not asking for your advice on this case. We wanted to clarify your connection to Lenore,” said Ethan. “So, you didn’t see her or talk to her after you left her office at about ten-thirty yesterday morning?”
    I shook my head. “No. Did Lenore handle criminal cases?”
    Pete was more flexible about answering. But he wasn’t in charge. He was with the Haven Harbor Police. He might help out in a murder investigation, but Ethan, with the state police, was the boss on homicide investigations. “None I know of. Her specialty was family law—wills, divorces, settling estates, adoptions. She’d been in town for . . . how many years do you think, Ethan?”
    â€œShe was here when I was in high school. I remember going to her office to have her husband notarize a document for me. Charlie ran her office in those days.” Ethan paused, figuring. “So she’s been here close to twenty years. She must have opened her office right after she passed the bar.” Ethan had grown up in Haven Harbor. That’s why murders