Free Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery by Carol Ann Martin

but by the time it was over, I was drained.
    “I’ll call you if I think of anything else,” I said and hurried out, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the gathered crowd. I was in no mood to talk to anyone. I hoofed it over to the shop, where Winston greeted me with his usual overexuberance. I wasn’t even in the mood for a doggy kiss.
    “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up today,” Jenny said. “Matthew just dropped Winston off.” She stared at me, tilting her head sideways. “Are you all right? You look as if you just saw a ghost.”
    “Close enough,” I said, collapsing into a chair. “Mr. McDermott is dead—murdered.”
    She blanched. “Oh, my God. That’s terrible. Ever since I got up this morning, I had a feeling something bad was going to happen. Didn’t I tell you? And you never believe me.” She studied me again, her eyes softening. “Let me get you some coffee, and then you can tell me what happened.”
    “Thanks. I could use a cup right about now.”
    She stepped toward the back, and Winston wandered over to me. He rested his head on my knees, staring at me with big, doleful eyes.
    “Oh, Winnie,” I said, throwing my arms around him. “It was terrible.”
    He whimpered sympathetically, and I pulled myself to my feet. “Okay, come.” He followed me to the counter, from under which I pulled out his cushion. “Here, Winnie, sleep.”
    I opened the drawer to put away my purse and stopped. “Oh, shit.” Of all the stupid mistakes. I still had Rhonda McDermott’s purse. We’d never exchanged them. I was about to drop it in the drawer when it slipped out of my hands, its contents scattering all over the floor. I bent down to pick them up.
    A moment later, Jenny was back with a steaming cup of coffee and a warm cranberry-lemon muffin. She frowned. “What are you doing?”
    I was slipping credit cards back into the purse. “I dropped it; just putting everything back.” I paused to look at a wallet-sized photo of her husband. It brought a fresh wave of sadness.
    She gasped. “Why are you looking through her stuff?” From the expression on her face, I might as well have been stealing her money.
    “Don’t worry. It’s just a picture of Mr. McDermott. See?” I showed her. “I promise not to take her social security number or any of her credit cards.” Seeing the disapproval in her eyes, I chuckled. “Oh, all right. Here, I’m putting it a—” I stopped. “Hold on. What’s this?” I was looking at a small piece of paper that had been folded into the size of a card and slipped into the protective window meant for a driver’s license. The only reason a person might store away a paper that way was to hide it. Being the nosy person that I am, I unfolded it.
    Curiosity got the better of Jenny too. She came closer, trying to read it over my shoulder. “What is it?”
    “It’s a name and phone number.” I showed her.
    She moved closer, squinting. “Emma Blanchard,” she read. “Why would Rhonda McDermott have Emma Blanchard’s phone number?” she said, puzzled.
    “Why wouldn’t she?”
    “For one thing, Rhonda can’t stand the girl.”
    “How would you know that?”
    “Whenever she shopped at Frannie’s, she would let anybody
but
Emma wait on her. There was one time Rhonda said something that sent Emma running to the storage room in tears. She wouldn’t come back out until she was sure Rhonda had left. When I asked her what happened, all she said was that Mrs. McDermott was a certifiable bitch.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm, Emma has been getting crank calls lately. I have a feeling I know who was making them.”
    “You think it was Mrs. McDermott?”
    “I wouldn’t be one bit surprised.” She pointed to my cup. “Want some cream?”
    “Yes, please.” I copied Emma’s name and number onto the back of one of my business cards and stuffed it into my pocket. And then I refolded the paper and slipped it back inside the wallet just