At precisely six-thirty I started the car and pulled it as close to the front door as possible. It was still raining and I had nightmares of my grandmother sliding on the pavement, but she managed to get to the car with me on one side and Barney on the other.
"Be careful," she said at least six times in the six minutes it took to drive to the shop.
"You want to drive, Bigfoot?"
"Didn't your mother teach you to be nice to your elders?"
"I don't believe she mentioned it," I smirked. "Maybe she wasn't raised right."
"Don't have too much fun or I'll tell the girls you want to make a quilt."
We pulled up in front of the store before I could come up with a ripping response. Outside the shop Bernie, Maggie, Susanne, Natalie and Carrie were all huddled under umbrellas.
"Get inside," Eleanor shouted.
"I have the key," I reminded her.
"Then hurry and open the door."
I left Natalie and Carrie to help Eleanor out of the car and ran to the front door of the shop. I tried the key. Strangely, the door wasn't locked, just difficult to open. Marc must have forgotten to lock it and now something was jammed up against the other side.
"Help me push," I said to Bernie, and we shoved ourselves against the door.
I stepped inside and reached for the light, nearly tripping on whatever had blocked the door. Eleanor was now standing just outside and getting wet. I turned on the switch and looked around to help her inside.
"Oh my God," I heard her say.
I looked down. There was a man lying at my feet. It was another second before I realized it was Marc.
"Call 911."
"See if he's breathing."
"There's blood everywhere."
One after another the women of the quilt club took action, checking Marc's pulse, calling for an ambulance, helping my grandmother to a seat. Bernie, a fan of crime shows, advised everyone not to touch anything. I stood there staring at Marc's body. He was on his stomach, with a pool of blood coagulating around him.
Sirens were wailing in the distance, then drew closer and stopped in front of the shop. Paramedics jumped out of the ambulance and raced in. They were frantic for only seconds before deciding there was nothing for them to do. A police car pulled up, and Barney's friend, Officer Jesse Dewalt, got out. Dressed in jeans and a dark sweater, and looking even less like a cop than the night we met, he stood talking with a officer who had also just arrived. He wasn't wearing a jacket, a foolhardy move on a rainy September evening, but he didn't seem cold. Or in much of a hurry. He talked with the paramedics. He made a phone call. Finally, he hung up and walked through the door into the shop.
He glanced down at the body.
"His name is Marc…," I started to say.
"We went to high school together," he interrupted without looking up at me. "You okay, ladies?"
"Jesse, dear, what happened?" asked Maggie.
Jesse put on latex gloves and moved closer, being careful not to step in the blood. He leaned over Marc. He seemed to be studying his face and hands. I could see there was a dark bruise on the side of Marc's jaw from where Ryan had hit him. But there was also a fresh cut on his cheek and scratches on his hands. The scratches had drawn blood, but they hardly seemed enough to cause death or create the pool beneath the body. Jesse grabbed Marc's shoulder and pulled it toward him. The source of the blood was immediately clear. A large pair of scissors lay under Marc's body and there was a dark wet hole in his chest. Near his body was Eleanor's favorite quilt, stained with blood.
"I think I'm going to throw up," I heard myself say. I ran down the stairs to the bathroom.
I leaned my head over the sink and waited. I waited to faint, to throw up, to burst into tears, but nothing happened. I just stood there.
Marc was dead. Not two feet from where we had been kissing, he was lying in a pool of blood.
Upstairs I heard footsteps. I heard my grandmother talking. She sounded strong and in charge. I heard her say my name. She wasn't calling to me, though. She was talking about me. But I couldn't quite hear what she was saying. As much as I didn't want to go back upstairs, I didn't want to be fragile and fall apart while my grandmother was upstairs handling things like a grown-up. I took one last deep breath and headed for the stairs.