Weave of Absence by Carol Ann Martin

you’re happy. You paid for it. I have to say, if I’m any good, it’s all thanks to Marnie. She taught me well, but I think I still have a ways to go before I can say I’m as good as she is.” She paused. “You didn’t come all the way out here just for that, did you?”
    â€œI had an errand in town and thought I’d stop by,” I said, trying vainly to think of some way to bring the conversation around to Bruce. “Also, I do have an ulterior motive. There was one kind of cookie you brought over, with butterscotch chips and nuts. They were so delicious. I’ve been dying to ask Marnie to make them, but I don’t know what they’re called.”
    â€œYou must be talking about my pecan rolls.”
    â€œWhatever they were, I loved them.”
    â€œThe only other cookies I brought were chocolate chip. If you give me a sec, I’ll write down the recipe for you in case Marnie doesn’t have it.” She went behind the counter, got a pad and pencil and returned. As she jotted down the ingredients, I cleared my throat.
    â€œI suppose you heard about Helen Dubois. Such a tragedy.”
    She gave me a blank look. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou don’t know? Helen is dead.” I decided not to mention I was the person who had found her body.
    She covered her mouth in horror. “You can’t be serious.”
    â€œI’m afraid so.”
    â€œHow did she die?”
    â€œIt’s not official yet, but the word is that she was strangled. The police have declared her death suspicious.”
    â€œYou mean she was murdered? How awful. Do the police have any suspects?”
    I shook my head. “They asked me if I noticed anything at the party. But I was so busy playing hostess, I didn’t. Were you and Helen close?”
    â€œI hardly knew her,” she said.
    â€œI’ve heard that she and Bruce Doherty argued that night. Did you witness that?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid he say anything to you that night about Helen?”
    She stopped and stared at me. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œI saw you two having a long conversation near the food table. I was wondering what you were talking about.”
    â€œHe and I shared a few words—hello, nice to meet you, that sort of thing. But I wouldn’t say we chatted for any length of time.” She gave me awary look as if she were trying to assess whether I believed her. I did not.
    â€œReally? How strange. I could have sworn you were carrying on quite a long conversation.”
    Her mouth tightened. “I don’t even know the man. I can’t imagine what I would want to talk to him about.” She picked up her pencil and resumed writing. “Let’s see. One cup of golden raisins. One cup of pecans.”
    â€œI’d never met her fiancé before that party. What was your impression of him?”
    â€œCan’t say that I got any impression one way or another,” she said curtly. “Why all the questions? Are you working for the police now?”
    I felt the blood rise to my face.
    â€œOf course not. It’s just that Marnie is my friend, and I have a bad feeling about this man. I want to know whether she’s making a huge mistake marrying him. Melinda, if there’s anything you know about him, please tell me. Marnie was good to you. Don’t you think you owe her the truth?”
    She seemed to debate with herself. Then suddenly she said. “I didn’t want to say anything, but . . . he and I did talk. At first it was just polite conversation, at least on my part. But he became very rude, making comments about my figure and suggesting that we get together. That’s when I walked away. If it had been anybody but Marnie’s fiancé, I would have slapped him in the face, but I didn’t want to make a scene at her engagement party.”
    My mouth dropped. Now that I had the