by Amanda Lee
Hmmm. I wondered if that was something her husband should have repeated. “Do you think Tim had taken some of their money without telling her?”
“I don’t know, but it would serve her right if he did. Lorraine always has been greedy.” She checked her instructions. “It says here I’m supposed to make a half stitch. How do I do that?”
I moved over to the sofa to demonstrate a half stitch, and wondered what Timothy Enright had done with his and Lorraine’s money. I showed Vera how to make the half stitch by coming only halfway to the next point and placing the other half of the cross-stitch normally.
The phone rang. I’d forgotten to bring the cordless phone over, so I hurried to the counter to answer it.
“Can’t Jill get that?” Vera joked.
“Nope. She refuses to answer the phone, dust, or clean windows, but she does work cheap.” I picked up the phone. “Good morning. The Seven-Year Stitch.”
I was surprised—I’d almost go as far as to say shocked—to hear Riley Kendall’s voice.
“Good morning, Marcy. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
“I’m a smidge troubled that you and I got started off on such a sour note. I’d like to remedy that by buying you lunch today.”
“I certainly appreciate the offer, Ms. Kendall, but I can’t close the shop during the day.”
“I anticipated that . . . and, please, call me Riley. I’ll bring my mom along to watch your shop, and we can have lunch next door at MacKenzies’ Mochas.”
“Won’t that be a huge imposition on your mom?”
“Of course not. She’s happy to help. See you at noon, then?”
“Yes, I . . . I’ll be looking forward to it.”
When I turned the phone off and returned to the sitting area, Vera had placed her project in her lap and was looking at me with unabashed curiosity.
“Did I hear right?” she asked. “Are Riley Kendall and her mother on their way over here?”
“Not until noon. Why?”
Vera grimaced. “Let’s just say I’m one of the last people Camille Patrick—Riley’s mother—wants to run into.” She checked her watch. “I still have an hour, but I’ll leave in forty minutes to be on the safe side.”
I decided Vera’s nosiness about my phone call entitled me to a little nosiness of my own. “Why are there bad feelings between you and Mrs. Patrick?”
“Her husband fancied himself a womanizer back before . . . well, before he went to jail. He was involved in that Four Square Development mess I told you about. So a little over a year ago, we were at a party, and she overheard her husband making an advance toward me. I quickly put him in his place and forgot about it until one of my friends called me the next day and asked if it was true that I’d tried to seduce Norman Patrick.”
“How did you get blamed?”
“I have no idea. Camille heard him. She knew precisely what had happened and that I was not at fault.”
“My question is, why would she advertise it at all? I mean, no matter whom she felt was at fault, why would she want to spread gossip about it?”
“This all happened right before everything went down about Four Square. Camille nearly went crazy defending her husband over anything and everything. But in the end, he was still found guilty.”
The bell over the door jingled, and Vera froze mid-stitch.
Chapter Eight
Luckily, it was only Todd bringing Angus back. Angus greeted me enthusiastically. I smiled up at Todd. “Did you guys have fun?”
“A blast,” Todd said. “We even saw a puffin.”
My eyes widened. “He didn’t—”
“Angus was a perfect gentleman.”
“I hope he will be for Mrs. Patrick.”
This time Todd’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Riley Kendall called out of the blue and asked me to lunch. She said her mother would babysit the store. I’m not sure she knows about Angus.” I took Todd’s arm and propelled him toward the door. “I’ll stop in at the Brew Crew on my way home and tell you all about it.”
“Okay, but I don’t mind keeping Angus for a while longer if you need me to.”
“Thanks, anyway, but I’m sure he’ll be okay. See you later.”
Todd looked confused as he left . . . and maybe even a little hurt. But I’d explain everything to him this evening.
When Todd left, I returned to the red chair, Vera, and my cross-stitch project.
“You sure gave him the bum’s rush,” Vera said. “Did he do something to blow his chances with you at lunch yesterday?”
“Not at all. But I know Riley is coming and that you might need my help again before you leave. Those half stitches can be tricky. Besides, I know Todd has more important things to do today than keep an eye on Angus.”
“I don’t know. He seemed put out to me.”
The door opened and Vera gave me a smug smile, as if she expected Todd to come storming back in for the two of us to have a Rhett and Scarlett moment.
You need to be kissed, Marcy . . . often . . . and by someone who knows how.
The smile slipped away when Vera realized that, instead of Todd, Riley Kendall and Camille Patrick had walked in.
I stood. “Hi, there. I really hate imposing on your mother like this. We could order our food from Mac-Kenzies’ Mochas, and I could run next door to pick it up when it’s ready.”
“Nonsense,” Camille said. “You two run along and enjoy your lunch . . . unless you don’t trust me with your shop.”
“Oh, no, it’s not that.” Although it was a little that. “I just hate to bother you. Besides, you need to have lunch, too, Mrs. Patrick.”
“I’ve already eaten. But thank you anyway.”
Defeated, I gave in. Besides, Riley Kendall had to have an excellent reason for so adamantly wanting to have lunch with me, and I needed to find out what that reason was. “I wasn’t expecting you this early. Let me tidy up, and I’ll be right with you.”
I began gathering my embroidery supplies. Vera followed suit.
“I realize we’re terribly early,” Riley said, “but I thought that since time seems to be an issue for you today, we’d eat early and avoid the lunch rush.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
“Vera.” The contempt-laden word was uttered by Camille Patrick. I stiffened.
“Camille,” Vera said.
“I didn’t realize you were a stitcher,” Camille said.
“I’ve only just begun.”
White lace and promises. Lovely. Now Karen Carpenter’s voice would haunt me the rest of the day.
“John loves it,” Vera continued. “He enjoys my creativity.”
“I somehow doubt he’s the only one,” Camille said.
I felt I had to intervene. A catfight between these two could completely destroy my shop. A flash of Vera and Camille snarling at each other while wielding sewing scissors like two samurai warriors while yarn, thread, and patterns died painful deaths plowed through my mind and left a dull throbbing behind my right eye.
“Vera’s doing really great,” I said. “All my students are. We’re currently making tote bags in the cross-stitch class.”
Vera and Camille still glared malevolently at each other.
Riley clapped her hands twice. “Ladies, draw in your claws. We don’t have time for this. Marcy and I need to get next door, and I know she doesn’t want to leave her store with this sort of nonsense going on.”
“I was just leaving,” Vera said.
“Good.” Riley headed for the door. “We’ll walk you out.”
“Thank you for watching the store, Mrs. Patrick,” I said. I showed her how to ring up a purchase on the cash register, though it wasn’t extremely likely I’d miss a customer as long as we kept lunch fairly brief. “I think everything else is pretty self-explanatory, but if you need anything, I have business cards to the right of the cash register. Besides the store phone, my cell phone is on there, as well.
Oh, and Angus is in his bed behind the counter. He had a big morning and will probably nap all afternoon.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Patrick said. “I’m sure Angus—whatever that is—will be fine. And I’ll call your cell should I need anything else.”
We walked outside. Vera and I exchanged good-byes, but Riley seemed eager to get to MacKenzies’ Mochas. I wasn’t eager to get there at all. I had an idea that my visit to her father had prompted this meeting, and although Riley seemed to be playing nice at the moment, I wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d suddenly decided to be my best friend.
I opened the heavy wooden door to MacKenzies’ Mochas and allowed Riley to precede me inside. I took a second to breathe in the coffee-laden aromas.
The shop had been a bar before Sadie and Blake renovated it. They kept the long, polished bar down the middle of the floor, and placed wooden tables and chairs throughout the rest of the shop. On shelves behind the bar, there were McKenzies’ Mochas mugs for sale (logo mugs and plain mugs that were replicas of the cup in the logo). I had a set of each.
The shelves also contained house-blend coffees for sale, chocolate-covered coffee and espresso beans, biscotti, and other packaged goods. Covered cake plates situated along the bar displayed the day’s muffins, pies, and other pastries. The counter behind the bar was where the coffeemakers, cappuccino machines, and espresso machines were located.
Sadie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she saw me walk in with Riley. She reminded me of Ricky Ricardo, and I imagined I’d have some ’splainin’ to do.
Sadie handed us menus and asked what we’d like to drink. I opted for a diet soda, and Riley ordered a latte with a glass of ice water on the side. Sadie invited us to take a seat and said she’d bring our drinks over.
Riley chose a table in the back corner. “Is this all right?”
I nodded and took my seat.
“I thought it would afford us some privacy so we can chat,” she said.
“Great. What would you like to chat about?”
“I think you know.”
She was mistaken if she thought I was taking the initial plunge off that particular diving board. Rather, I remained silent, smiled slightly, and gazed around the café as if I had never seen the decor before. Antique skis and ski equipment adorned the walls, along with pictures of people who appeared to have been living in the 1920s and enjoying skiing and various other outdoor sports.
“I understand you paid a visit to my father yesterday.”
I met Riley’s straightforward stare. “I did. He’s charming.”
“He can be when it suits him.”
Sadie brought our drinks, and then asked if we were ready to order. Riley and I both ordered the chicken salad on croissants with a side of sea-salt chips.
Sadie departed, and Riley sipped her latte, gazing at me over the rim of her cup.
She lowered the cup. “Dad was impressed with you. He said you were gutsy.” She inclined her head. “It did take guts for you to go visit Dad. Why did you?”
“He seemed like one of the last resources to provide me with some answers. I’m very upset that two men have visited the storeroom in my shop and were later found dead, and I’m really worried that the police apparently think my friend or I might have something to do with it. I’ve lived in Tallulah Falls for less than two months, Riley, and I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake in coming here.”
Sadie returned with our croissants and left reluctantly, after we assured her we needed nothing else.
“So what did Dad tell you?” Riley asked.
“He basically told me to be careful. What did he tell you?”
“He basically told me to help you. I think the possibility that Bill Trelawney was killed by the fifth member of Four Square—the one only he knew about—has Dad on edge.”
Once I was back at work, I phoned Todd at the Brew Crew.
“Hi, Marcy. Are you still planning on stopping by after work?”
“I am, but I may be a few minutes later than I’d anticipated. I’m expecting Sadie to be here to ask a thousand and one questions later this afternoon.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“When Riley called this morning and invited me to lunch, I figured it had something to do with my visit to her father.”
“Did it?”
“Oh yes. That’s why I rushed you out of the shop this morning. I didn’t want Vera to know we’d visited Norman Patrick.”
“No, I can’t blame you there. Vera means well, but she can be Tallulah Falls’ one-stop news outlet.”
“I’m glad you understand. I was so afraid that either you or I would give away too much information, and Vera would figure it out. I suppose it’s not that big a deal if Vera knew, but . . .”
“You don’t want everyone knowing.”
“Exactly. As a matter of fact, I’d have preferred Riley not knowing. Of course, Mr. Patrick is her dad, so I really shouldn’t have been surprised that he called and told her about our visit. But when she phoned me this morning, I half expected her to slap me with a restraining order or something.”
“Nah. I think she’s pretty tough, but Riley’s fair.”
“Oh. Do you know her well, then?”
“I suppose. I’ve known her for years.”
Detective Nash walked into the shop. He was dressed in a dark suit with a light blue tie, and I thought the blue brought out his eyes. Then I wondered why I was thinking about his eyes.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I said. “I’ll talk with you later this evening.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
I turned the phone off and smiled at Detective Nash. “Good afternoon, sir. May I interest you in some yarn?”
He grinned. “Depends. What kind of yarn are you going to tell me?”
I bit my lower lip. “What kind do you want to hear?”
With a crook of his index finger, he beckoned me to leave the counter and join him in the sitting area. We sat on the navy sofa that was facing away from the door.
“I’d like you to tell me the story in which common sense prevailed and you changed your mind about going to the prison yesterday,” Detective Nash said. “But since I know that didn’t happen, why don’t you tell me how your interrogation went?”
“Mr. Patrick admitted he’d worked with Timothy Enright, though not through Four Square Development. He said he’d done legal work for Mr. Enright.”
“Makes sense. Norm Patrick did legal work for most of the town.”
“He also told me Timothy didn’t go bankrupt like Lorraine led me to believe.”
“Anything else?”
“Riley Kendall bought me lunch today.”
Detective Nash raised his brows.
“It seems her dad called and . . . he . . . um . . . asked her to help me out.”
He chuckled. “You have quite a way with people, you know that? Either you beguile them to the point where they’d do anything to protect you, or you frustrate them to the point where they want to kill you.”
“So which way do you feel about me?”
He looked at me for a long moment, seemingly not willing to answer. I realized that my heart was pounding in my chest.
He jumped up like he suddenly remembered he needed to be somewhere, told me Chief Myers would fire him if he knew he was visiting me, and left.
That afternoon I sat in my favorite red chair with Angus softly snoring at my feet. Luckily, no customers had come by during the lunch hour when Camille was watching the shop. But after lunch business had picked up and Sarah Crenshaw had come in, followed by a carful of cheery Chicagoan tourists who told me they were on an “antiquing-adventure road trip.” They also happened to be enthusiastic needlecrafters and were very pleasantly complimentary about the Seven-Year Stitch. They had gushed over everything—the layout, the selection, the cozy chairs, even the shaggy shop mascot, Mr. O’Ruff. I was blushing by the time they were done, and also happy that they’d each wal
ked away with a few kits and had decimated my basket of perle flosses. I’d had to run to the storeroom to restock. Fortunately, the perle flosses weren’t near where Mr. Enright had been found, but the storeroom still gave me the creeps. I was sure the feeling would subside in time, but for the moment . . .
Now the afternoon was almost gone, but Sadie hadn’t been over yet. I found that a bit odd. I found a lot of things odd these days. Mostly, though, I kept going over my lunch conversation with Riley. She had said her father had called last night and asked if she’d met me.
“I’ve met her,” Riley had said.
According to her, their phone call had progressed like this.
“You don’t seem to like her much,” Mr. Patrick had said.
“I barely know her. I’ve only met her once.”
“Well, maybe you should get to know Tinkerbell, Ri. I think she’s probably a good kid.”
He’d gone on to tell her about our visit and had finished with, “Sounds like she could use a few more friends, what with people in Tallulah Falls dropping like flies off a bug zapper.”
Riley implied he’d wanted her to be one of my new friends. But I was skeptical. Maybe he’d merely called and asked Riley to keep an eye on me . . . to find out what, if anything, I was learning about Four Square Development. Or maybe to set me up.
I wanted to learn more about the other men involved in the Four Square Development scandal. I needed to know the identity of Bill Trelawney’s crony. Surely someone else knew.
Chapter Nine
When I got home, I took Angus inside and we went straight upstairs to the bedroom. My plan was to get into my pajamas, prop up in bed, and watch TV for a while. There was a message on my answering machine. I expected it to be either Sadie or Mom. I was wrong. It was Margaret Trelawney. She must have gotten my landline number from my lease.
“Marcy,” she said. “Can you help me? I think somebody is trying to kill me.”