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

was so convincing. He said that if I wanted to break into the New York market, I would need nude shots for my portfolios.”
    I was pretty certain this was not true—on the part of McDermott, not Emma. I suddenly remembered what Jenny had told me about Rhonda hating Emma. “Is that why his wife doesn’t like you?”
    Emma’s eyebrows jumped up. “No, thank God. If she’d known, she probably would have killed me. Did you see the way she dragged him out of the party when she spotted me last night?”
    I pictured the way Rhonda had blushed and the hateful look she’d launched in our direction. At the time I’d thought it was meant for Marnie, but as I remembered, Emma had been standing right behind us. So she was the person Rhonda had been looking at.
Interesting
. “I noticed,” I said sympathetically. She seemed so nice; it was difficult to imagine anybody hating her.
    The girl’s eyes widened. “She really hates me. Do you know what she called me? A whore—just because I phoned her husband at home one time. All I wanted was to find out when I could pick up my new pictures. Any girl who so much as glanced at her husband was a whore in her books. It’s a wonder that shop of theirs ever made a profit. With the way she treated the female clients, I can understand why so many of them prefer coming to Jenny’s shop.” And then, looking worried, she added, “Believe me; I never, ever had sex with him.”
    I was surprised that Emma was sharing all this with me. “I never imagined you did.” At least I was pretty sure she hadn’t. On the other hand, I knew that young girls sometimes did desperate things to become fashion models.
    “She was crazy,” Emma continued earnestly. “She even called me at home and left me the bitchiest message. I wish I’d kept it, but I was afraid Ricky might hear it.” Her voice lowered. “He doesn’t know about the nude shots. He’d kill me if he ever found out.” And then, as if realizing what she’d just said, she blanched. “Oh, I don’t mean that he . . . He would never.”
    “We all say things we don’t mean literally,” I said, as I tucked that little bit of information into my mind.
Well, well, what do you know?
I already had a suspect.
    “One time I stopped by the shop for coffee and Mr. McDermott was behind the counter. All I did was say hi and give him my order and Mrs. McDermott had a fit. She was screaming that if she ever caught him talking to me again, he was as good as dead. Everybody in the shop overheard. It was so embarrassing.”
    My suspicious mind reared up. Mrs. McDermott sounded as if she was obsessively jealous. Another interesting tidbit, one that conjured up an entirely new possibility.
    I wanted to hear more about the McDermotts. “How odd,” I said. “Why would she be so jealous?”
    She shrugged. “Maybe because he
was
having an affair, only not with me. I had an appointment to meet him at his studio one night, and when I showed up about half an hour early, he was in his darkroom with the door partly open. I didn’t see much, but I saw enough to know he was with another woman and that his hands were all over her. I got out of there before he saw me.”
    Within minutes, I had gone from no suspects to three suspects—Ricky, Rhonda and McDermott’s mistress. “Did you happen to see who the woman was?”
    “No,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I wish I had. I would have been more than happy to tell the bitch who her husband was really screwing.”
    “Maybe you should tell the police what you know.”
    “Oh, no.” Her mouth twitched. “I could never do that. I don’t want anyone to find out about . . . you know.”
    By “anyone,” I figured she meant Ricky. Otherwise, why would she be telling me?
    Emma hesitated. “He rented an apartment in Belmont. He wanted to keep it a secret, which I thought was really weird.” She scowled. “He said he couldn’t have it in Briar Hollow without half the town knowing about