Forget Me Knot: A Quilting Mystery Part 15

"They're here. Whoever broke in to my house didn't find them." By now I was pacing the bedroom. "I'd like to keep them just a little longer-say until noon tomorrow? I need to test a hunch."

Siobhan's voice dropped to a whisper and I had to strain to hear her. "Have you found something?"

"Yes, Siobhan, I have. I think I know exactly how Claire sewed her story into her quilts!"

CHAPTER 20.

The pillowcases containing Claire's quilts sat next to my overnight bag on the floor in the corner of the bedroom. I pulled out one of them at random: Midnight Garden, the one with the navy blue background. No good. The background was too dark to see what I was looking for.

I pulled out another one: Mother's Asleep, the one with the white cloud background. This one was much easier to examine. I needed an expert to decode what I was looking at, but I was confident I was right.

I took the quilt out of the guest room and went looking for Lucy. b.u.mper jumped off the bed, followed me out of the bedroom, and made a beeline for the litter box. Lucy sat in the kitchen with a gla.s.s of wine reading the newest issue of Pieces magazine. She wore a white blouse with a sailor collar, blue capri pants, and red and white striped espadrilles (which kind of matched her hair). Little gold anchors hung from her ears. For a minute I wondered if this was Memorial Day.

When Lucy saw me, she got up, still holding her winegla.s.s, and gave me a one-arm hug. "Hi, hon'. Did you get a good sleep?"

"Not only did I sleep like a log, I had an incredible dream."

Lucy pointed to an empty chair. "Sit. Ray and I have already eaten, but I saved some dinner for you."

"Okay, but first I have to . . ."

She took the quilt out of my hand and put it on a chair. "Sit. Before you do anything, you're going to eat."

I sat obediently. "Are you sure you're not Jewish?"

"Italian by marriage. Same thing. If you're thinking about calling someone to fix your bathroom window, forget about it. Ray is over there now with Joey doing the repairs."

She poured me a gla.s.s of red wine and prepared a steaming plate of meat loaf and gravy, mashed potatoes, and spinach sauteed in garlic and olive oil while she talked.

Suddenly I was famished. "I can't thank you and Ray enough," I mumbled through a mouthful of spicy meat loaf, "but I have to go back to my house tonight."

"Are you kidding?"

"No. I have to get a phone number. I think I've figured out how Claire sewed her stories into her quilts."

"Get out! How? When?"

"Well, it actually came to me in a dream. Right now I need to talk to an expert who can read the code."

"Code?"

"Yes, Lucy. I need to talk to Dixie Barcelona. She's a Braille expert."

Lucy looked puzzled for a moment and then her eyes lit up. "I get it! You're brilliant." She stood and went for the quilt on the chair. "The code is in the French knots, isn't it? You think the French knots are Braille."

I smiled and nodded as Lucy spread out the quilt and fingered the b.u.mps in the background.

Lucy looked closely. "I see what you mean. These knots appear to be cl.u.s.tered in tiny groups and are oriented in even rows. To the casual observer, they'd just look like random embellishment."

Then Lucy got a funny look on her face. "Do you think the killer is blind?"

"No, of course not. Claire may have confided to the killer what she was doing. The killer wouldn't have to actually read Braille in order to want to destroy the quilts and the stories they tell."

"So you think anyone could be the killer?"

"At this point, yes. That's why I have to find someone who can actually read this stuff. I got voice mail from Dixie Barcelona on my landline last night. I need to play back the message to get her telephone number."

"Can't you access your phone remotely?"

"I never learned how."

"Well, you can't go home by yourself. I'll call Ray and make sure he waits for us. I don't like the idea of our being in your house alone at night."

"Okay, but let's hide the quilts before we leave. We can't be too careful."

"I've got the perfect hiding place." She picked up some plastic trash bags from under the kitchen sink. "Follow me."

We gathered the quilts and walked down the hall to Ray's office. A six-foot-tall cast iron cabinet stood against one wall, painted with s.h.i.+ny black enamel embellished with gold curlicues and a big golden eagle.

It reminded me of an old-fas.h.i.+oned bank vault. "What is this? This thing must weigh a ton."

"Half a ton, actually. Took six men to install. It's a gun safe, among other things." Lucy punched in a digital code and the small red light on the keypad turned green. She rotated a steel handle that looked like the spokes of a wheel and the heavy door swung open. Inside were several rifles neatly lined up, standing vertically on their stocks. Handguns rested on the shelves.

I stared at Lucy. This was a side of the Mondellos I'd never seen. "What is all of this for?"

"You're looking at Ray's collection. Kind of an investment. Some of these are antique, some rare, and some for personal use."

"When would you ever use these guns?"

"Hopefully never, but where we come from, guns are a part of everyday life. Living in Wyoming meant you owned guns for hunting and for protection against predators."

"Even the two-legged kind?"

"Especially them."

I peered inside. Several other shelves and drawers were filled with boxes. "What are these for?"

"Some are for ammunition, some for cash and doc.u.ments, and some for my jewelry. It'll be a tight squeeze, but I think we can stuff these pillowcases between the rifles. First let's put them in the plastic bags. We don't want any gun oil to get on the fabric."

Once the quilts were safely stowed, Lucy closed the heavy door and turned the wheel, locking them safely inside.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay. Let's get over to my house."

Lucy called Ray and told him we were coming. Just as she hung up, her phone rang. "Hi, Birdie. Yes, she's up. I'm taking her back to her house to get something. Listen. Martha discovered the secret of Claire's quilts!"

Lucy put her hand over the phone. "Birdie's coming with us. She wants to hear what you found."

From the backseat of Lucy's Caddie, I explained everything to Birdie.

"And the answer came to you in a dream?"

"Yes."

"Ah . . ." She tapped her head. "The little gray cells. They never rest, n'est-ce pas?"

We laughed.

When I opened my front door, Ray Mondello was waiting for us in his flannel s.h.i.+rt with the sleeves rolled up. Ray was a few inches shorter than Lucy. At sixty-six years old, he still had a full head of dark, straight hair. He smiled at me and winked, as if to say, "I've got your back."

I looked around and, even though I'd already seen the destruction, I was still shocked by the mess the killer made of my house. I walked over to Ray and he wrapped me in a big hug.

"How's my girl?" He patted my back. Good old Ray. Heart of gold and utterly dependable. "I hope you don't plan to stay here tonight."

"No. I just came to listen to my messages, then I'm going to drive myself back to your house."

"That's my girl."

I carefully picked my way through the debris in the kitchen. The floor was filled with breakable items that had shattered when they hit the hard brown ceramic tiles. Ray located my broom and began to sweep up the mess. I found my phone upside down on a pile of what used to be my white coffee and tea canisters. I picked up the handset lying nearby and miraculously heard a dial tone.

I pulled my notepad and a pen from my purse and replayed Dixie's message, writing down her number.

While Ray swept, Lucy and Birdie drifted into the living room. They replaced the cus.h.i.+ons on the sofa and picked up the books that the killer pushed out of the bookcases.

Then Joey walked into the living room. He was the only one of Lucy's five boys with light hair and blue eyes. The others all got Ray's dark hair and eyes. "Hi, everyone." Joey turned to his father. "I finished the window, Pops."

"Okay. We're outta here."

They waited for me while I picked up some clothes for the wake and funeral. As we walked to the front door, I hugged Joey. "Thank you so much for your help."

Joey was the only one of Lucy's boys who didn't finish college. Like his father, Joey was most comfortable working with his hands. By the time he was twenty, he was a licensed carpenter, and by twenty-five he owned his own contracting business.

"A piece of cake, Aunt Martha, but it sucks this happened to you. Dad and I agreed I'm gonna install an alarm system so you'll be safer. I'll have you hooked up by Friday."

Joey brushed off my offer to pay. "You're family."

I drove my car back to Lucy's. On the way, I punched in Dixie's number on my cell phone. I got her voice mail. "Dixie, this is Martha Rose. I really need to talk to you right away. I think I've figured out something about Claire's quilts, but I need an expert's help. This is urgent because I have to give the quilts back to the Terrys by noon tomorrow. I'm staying with friends at the moment, so please call me on my cell."

I gave her the number and then hung up. Now I just hoped she'd get the message before I returned the quilts tomorrow. While there was still a chance, I wanted to find out what secrets were hidden in the Braille-secrets terrible enough to kill for.

CHAPTER 21.

Back at the Mondello house, I installed myself in front of Lucy's computer and downloaded Claire's files from the flash drive. Little pieces of paper flew from one folder to the next on the screen when Lucy came into the room. She handed me a steaming mug of French roast with milk. "There's a fresh pot of this in the kitchen, and the quilts are back in your room."

"Thanks, Luce. I'm going to be up for a while."

"So, what are you looking for?"

"While I'm waiting for Dixie's call, I'm going to dive into Claire's files and see what I can dig up."

Lucy yawned. "Well, unlike some people we know, I didn't sleep all day. Ray and I are going to turn in now. Feel free." She gave a generous wave toward the house. I knew this was Lucy's shorthand for Take what you need. Mi casa es su casa.

A melodic prompt from the computer told me the files were downloaded. Scrolling down the list I stopped at the James Trueville folder. Would Claire's ex-husband have a reason to want her dead? I double clicked on the folder and read the most recent doc.u.ment first.

March 13 James: I trust the enclosed doc.u.ments will finally put an end to all the wrangling of the past. I'm glad you've found happiness. I, too, have finally found a measure of my own.

Claire Cc: John Doud, Will Terry The happiness she was talking about must have been her pregnancy and her love affair. According to the gossip at the board meetings, the wrangling of the past was over her divorce settlement.

I took a sip of caffeine and looked at an earlier message.

February 2 James: I'm glad you've reconsidered your demand for Palm Beach. I've already signed over Aspen and I'm prepared to sign over your choice of either the villa in Ha.n.a.lei or St. Feliu-if that means we're finally done.

Just call John Doud and let him know your decision. He's prepared to execute the doc.u.ments.

Claire Cc: John Doud, Will Terry Holy c.r.a.p. Claire owned places in Aspen, Palm Beach, Hawaii, and somewhere called St. Feliu? Where the heck was St. Feliu?

Three clicks into Google and I stared at a medieval town with sunny beaches on the Costa Brava, the Mediterranean side of Spain. Must be nice.

Their earlier correspondence was full of posturing and demands. Eventually they'd settled the last of their financial differences. Jamey boy walked away with at least two luxury houses, a wad of cash in the eight figures, and a smile on his face. Somehow I couldn't see this guy needing Claire dead.

Since I was logged into Google, I typed in Braille alphabet and got tens of thousands of hits, all revealing the same thing. A Braille cell was the basic unit, oriented like a tall rectangle made up of two columns. The first column had s.p.a.ces numbered from one to three top to bottom. The second column had s.p.a.ces four to six numbered top to bottom. Each letter of the alphabet occupied one cell and had a unique pattern of one to five dots arranged within the six s.p.a.ces.

Could I decipher the quilt on my own? I'd have to choose a quilt with dots that were easy to see, like the one with the white cloud background. I printed out a copy of the alphabet and took it along with a ruler from Lucy's desk and the Mother's Asleep quilt to Lucy's kitchen.

I spread out the quilt on the table and peered closely. Where was the beginning? I used the ruler to help me find the line of text and started in the upper left-hand corner with the printout right alongside for easy reference.

The first dot was in the number six position, which meant, according to the printout, the next letter should be a capital letter. After painstakingly searching the printout, I discovered the first letter was an m, so I wrote a capital M in my notepad. The second letter was a y. It took five minutes to read the first word, My.

Oh my G.o.d. I did it. I cracked the code! I leapt up and dislodged a ginger-colored fuzz ball sleeping in my lap. b.u.mper looked at me scornfully while I did a little victory dance with a lot of hip action.

At this rate, it would take three weeks to read the quilt, but I was almost out of time. I needed Dixie. I looked at my watch. Midnight. Darn! Why hadn't she called?

I sat back down and b.u.mper jumped up in my lap again. With the help of a ruler to keep track of the lines of text, I got better at reading. Thirty minutes later I'd written on my notepad: My mother alcoholic.

Whoa. This wasn't what I expected. What kind of story was Claire telling here, and did I really want to know more? The elegant Siobhan didn't strike me as a drinker. She looked pretty well put together for a woman in her seventies. There was no sign of booze when she served tea on Sunday. She must be sober now.

I pressed on. In another thirty minutes I came up with: M never there 4 me when I child.