Thread and Dead--The Apron Shop Series

by Elizabeth Penney

  Sweet. Her car was named Marilyn. I’d have to introduce her to Beverly.

  “That’s another thing, Auntie,” he said. “I’m concerned about you overextending yourself by hosting guests.” How obnoxious for him to bring it up in front of Ruben and Lukas, who were sitting at the table with us. Theo was inside, talking to the police. “In fact—”

  Madison interrupted. “My mother doesn’t like to drive at night, either. And she’s only fifty.” She glanced around the table. “Maybe you’ve heard of her. Dr. Zadie Morris. She’s an orthopedic surgeon.”

  It wasn’t like Madison to pull the doctor card when talking about her parents, but I understood why she was doing it. And by the frown on Craig’s face, I guessed he got it too. Hopefully he would stop badgering Eleanor. He was treating her as if she wasn’t a competent adult, able to make her own decisions.

  “I have heard of Dr. Zadie,” Eleanor said. “And your father is Dr. Horatio Morris, right? He’s the best primary care physician around.”

  “Thanks, I think so too,” Madison said, with a pleased smile. Madison was close to her parents, which was a good thing since she was living with them right now. Her older brother and sister lived in Boston, somewhere in the process of becoming medical doctors themselves. As Madison said about herself, she had broken the family mold by refusing to go into medicine. Ever since her first lemonade stand, sales and marketing were her passion.

  As she and Eleanor chatted about Madison’s parents, I took the opportunity to text Grammie. I told her I was going to be late—and why—and mentioned the possibility of dinner with Eleanor. She expressed sadness about Hailey, told me to take my time, and promised to pull out a frozen homemade chicken potpie for dinner. One of my favorites. I sent back heartfelt thanks illustrated with tons of pretty emojis. Grammie was wonderful.

  Theo trotted back onto the terrace. “All done,” he crowed, seeming relieved. He pointed at me. “Your turn, Iris.”

  * * *

  After the morning’s ordeal, arriving at the shop felt like coming home. Quincy greeted me at the back door with plaintive moans. “It’s okay, Quince, I’m here.” I set down my handbag and tote and gathered him into my arms, nuzzling my nose into his soft fur. His purr rumbled in my ears.

  “Iris. There you are.” I looked up to see Grammie heading for me. She swept me into an embrace, cat included. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t need to elaborate. Both of us shed a few tears for Hailey Piper. I’d been running on adrenaline, but now emotions were starting to break through.

  I dried my eyes on a handkerchief, since Quincy objected to me using his fur, which was already quite wet. “Sorry, Quince,” I said, blowing my nose. “Is there coffee? I could use another cup.”

  Traffic at the store was slow this morning, so I filled Grammie in about Hailey between customers. We also priced Eleanor’s sheets and made up a display bed in the window. The tall walnut headboard looked wonderful with a pile of downy pillows, white sheets, and a rose-patterned duvet. Grammie had brought some pink and white beach roses from home and we put those in a vase, along with trailing ivy vines and sweet peas.

  I ran a hand along the plump duvet, wishing I could crawl in for a nap. That would be a sight to greet visitors to town, the proprietor of Ruffles & Bows sleeping in the store window. Quincy, free of any such reservations, jumped onto the bed and curled up.

  We both laughed. “That will drag ’em in,” I said, only half joking. We already had customers who came by just to see the cat.

  “Knock, knock.” Bella entered the shop, a slim cardboard box in her hands. “I have posters,” she sang out, setting the box on the counter.

  Posters? For a second I had no idea what she was talking about. Then it sank in. The fashion show and lobster bib contest.

  “Oh, he is so cute.” With that exclamation, Bella pounced on Quincy, who endured the attention with a smug smile. By her chipper attitude, I guessed she hadn’t heard about Hailey’s death yet, and for a moment, I was glad to pretend it hadn’t happened.

  I opened the box and peeked inside. The fashion show’s poster was colorful and eye-catching, especially the outlined square at the bottom announcing the lobster bib contest. A stack of entry forms was underneath the posters.

  “I’ve been passing the entry forms out all over town,” Bella said. “We’re going to get some great costumes, I can feel it.”

  Something bobbing along the sidewalk caught my eye. As the person reached for our door handle, I saw it was a huge stuffed lobster, worn on the head like a hat. “And here comes our first contestant, I’m guessing,” I said. Our festival often brought out the wacky in people, and I had a feeling that the bib contest would only inspire new heights of zany.

  CHAPTER 8

  One of my favorite ways to unwind was helping Grammie make dinner in our cozy farmhouse kitchen, a glass of white wine close to hand and my ever-faithful cat watching for stray scraps to fall. What made it even better tonight was that we were cooking for the gang. Chicken potpie was in the oven, and I was slicing and dicing for a huge salad while Grammie stirred homemade cranberry sauce on the stove.

  Someone knocked on the back door. “I’ll go,” Grammie said, turning down the burner and wiping her hands on her apron.

  “I’ve got to get me one of those Mini Coopers,” Eleanor was saying as she and Madison entered the kitchen. Madison had picked Eleanor up at Shorehaven. “Woo-hoo, can that baby crank.”

  “Madison,” I said, shaking a finger in mock scolding. “Did you take Eleanor for a joy ride?” She loved showing people what her little sports car could do.

  “Maybe.” Madison gave me a knowing smile. She set a paper bag on the counter. “For our contribution, we brought fresh shrimp and cocktail sauce.”

  “Yum.” I peeked inside and pulled out the tray of shrimp. “No seaweed?” I asked, tongue in cheek.

  Madison poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Eleanor. “Nope. But I do have sample energy bars from Patrick in the car. He wants our feedback.”

  I picked up salad servers and tossed the salad. “I can give him some right now. Yuck.”

  Madison laughed. “They’re not bad, honest.”

  While we were chatting, Grammie had taken Eleanor on a tour of the downstairs, glasses of wine in hand. Vehicle tires crunching up the drive announced Sophie and Bella’s arrival. When I’d called earlier to invite them, both had wanted to meet Eleanor—and see her face when we showed her the jewels found in her mother’s clothing.

  “I’ll go let them in,” Madison said. She grinned. “It will give me a chance to grab that box of energy bars.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” I pulled the lid off the shrimp platter and placed it beside a board holding cheese and crackers. We would have appetizers in here, standing around the island, and then eat the main course outside on the porch. The evening was warm and dry, perfect for dining al fresco. I grabbed plates, silverware, and napkins and set them on the counter by the porch door, ready to go out.

  The trio soon entered the kitchen, Sophie laughing, I was glad to see. “No, I’m not going to make kelp waffles,” she said to Madison. “I don’t care how healthy it is.” She held up a white paper bag. “Double-chocolate cheesecake brownies are more my style.”

  “Mine too. They’ll be perfect with the espresso I brought,” Bella said, setting down a tote. “Complete with Bialetti.” Bella’s prized Bialetti Moka Express was a classic stovetop espresso maker large enough to make six servings.

  “We’re certainly going to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tonight,” I said, laughing. My phone bleeped with a text. Ian.

  Hey, babe. Just got home. Long day. After helping with the recovery team at the cliffs, Ian had gone to his carpentry job up the coast. The poor guy must be pooped.

  Same here, I texted back. Dinner with the girls and Eleanor Brady. Then early night. Rest up yourself! He and I still hadn’t had our dinner date. Maybe tomorrow night. Then I remembered the Lobster Festival kickoff parade i
n the morning. I’d be busier than ever for the next week.

  Across the room, Sophie blurted an exclamation. “Lukas just texted me.”

  “What’d he say?” Madison asked, moving to look over her shoulder.

  “He wants to talk,” Sophie read. “Tonight, at the Captain’s Pub.”

  Bella tossed her hair. “Kind of short notice, isn’t it?” Bella was very protective of her friends.

  “Yeah, it is,” Sophie admitted, sounding wary. “But part of me wants to get it over with. We never really talked after I left Belgium.”

  “You want closure, you mean?” Madison filled glasses of wine for Sophie and Bella. Her eyes flashed with a wicked expression I knew all too well. “I have an idea. Iris and I will go to the pub too. We won’t interfere but we can hang out in case you need us.”

  Sophie picked up her glass and took a sip, thinking. “That could work.” Her face cleared. “I’ll do it.” She set down her glass and sent a text.

  Oops, spoke too soon, I wrote to Ian. Will be at the Captain’s Pub later, if you want to meet me. Will text when we head out.

  Sure. Sounds good. This was great. I would get to see my sweetie while providing backup for my friend. “All right, everyone. Eat up.” I put the phone aside and picked up a shrimp by the tail, my mouth watering as I dredged the crustacean through spicy sauce.

  Grammie and Eleanor strolled back into the kitchen, laughing about something. While Grammie went to the stove, Eleanor stood by the island with her wine glass, beaming as she listened to us banter. “What a bevy of smart, beautiful women,” she said, glancing around at us. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

  I put down my third shrimp tail and wiped my fingers. There wasn’t any way I could make it all the way through dinner without telling her. “Eleanor,” I said. “Remember that trunk of clothes you gave me to sell? We’ve got some very good news.”

  * * *

  When we showed her the jewelry hidden in the clothing hems, Eleanor gasped, swore, and burst into tears. “I can’t believe it,” she said, accepting a second handkerchief from Grammie, who was sitting beside her on the sofa. “I had no idea. Where on earth did Mother get diamonds and pearls?” Confusion puckered her brow. “And why did she leave them in the attic all those years?”

  “Do you know much about her background?” Grammie asked. On the coffee table, Claudia’s jewelry winked and twinkled in the lamplight, mute testimony to a nursemaid’s mysterious past.

  “Not a lot,” Eleanor admitted. “She never liked talking about herself.” She balled up the handkerchief. “I’m starving. Why don’t we continue this discussion over dinner?”

  We didn’t need to be asked twice, and within five minutes we were seated around the porch table, candles flickering. Grammie served heaping spoonfuls of chicken potpie onto each plate, and we passed around salad, dressing, and cranberry sauce. Quincy was on the floor next to me, enjoying a shrimp I’d cut up for his dish.

  “Before we begin,” Eleanor said. “I’d like to say grace, if that’s all right.”

  “How nice,” Grammie said. “Please go ahead.”

  We set our forks and napkins down and bowed our heads while Eleanor said a short and heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving. After she said amen, she gave a huge sigh. “I have to admit, until this … this miracle happened, I was really in a pickle.”

  “You mean with Shorehaven?” I asked, pouring tangy homemade Catalina dressing on my salad. I handed the pitcher to Madison, sitting on my right. “A house that big must require tons of maintenance.”

  “It sure does.” Eleanor sighed again. “I’m sure you noticed that the old gal is getting a little shabby around the edges. Craig is always on me to sell but”—she blinked back tears—“Sorry, here I go again.” She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “The only way I want to leave that house is feetfirst. I was born there and I want to die there.” She punctuated this last by banging her fist on the table. But softly, as suited a lady of her refined upbringing and good manners.

  “I don’t blame you a bit,” Grammie said. “It’s your home.” She leaned forward, her gaze intent in the candlelight. “So what can we do to help?”

  I held my breath waiting for Eleanor’s answer, determined to do whatever she needed. She was such a sweetheart and an inspiration too. The expressions my friends wore told me they felt the same way. Eleanor now had a posse at her back—us.

  “I’d like to know more about my mother,” she finally said. “Who was she, really? What was her life like in Belgium? Why did she come to the United States?” She paused. “Was she running away from something, maybe?” She lifted a hand and let it drop. “Nothing seems to add up. Your average nursemaid doesn’t travel with couture wear and jewelry.”

  “And oh, that clothing,” Bella said, hissing in a breath. “Your mother had exquisite taste, that much is certain.”

  “Thank you, Bella,” Eleanor said. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

  Madison turned to me. “You’re our resident research expert. Any ideas?”

  “Well,” I said slowly. “We have a couple of challenges. Not that I mind those. First of all, we’re looking for records and information from almost a hundred years ago. And second, most of our sources are probably in Belgium, which means a language barrier.” Then I thought of a possible solution. “But maybe Lukas can help us,” I said. “He’s from Antwerp, he told me. He can look for information about Claudia and her family and translate it too.”

  “That is a great idea,” Sophie said. “Lukas speaks French, Flemish, and German, as well as English. I’ll ask him tonight.” Sophie had been quieter than usual this evening, often seeming to be lost in thought. But she’d obviously been listening.

  “Don’t say why,” I cautioned. “Until we know more, the jewelry should remain our little secret.” Maybe I was paranoid, but valuables with a murky past often lured claimants out of the woodwork. Eleanor didn’t need that complication.

  Grammie helped herself to a little more salad then passed the bowl along. “Speaking of which, what do you want to do with the jewelry right now, Eleanor? I think it should go into a safe deposit box right away.”

  “Agreed,” Eleanor said. “But not under my name.” She cleared her throat. “It pains me to say this, but I don’t trust Craig. He keeps trying to get me to sign over power of attorney.” She bit her lip. “It’s getting so bad lately, I’m thinking about changing my will.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Later, on our way to the Captain’s Pub in Madison’s Mini, Eleanor’s words about Craig kept echoing in my mind. I’d witnessed his attitude toward his aunt and hadn’t liked it. But trying to get power of attorney? Pressuring her to sell her home? Surely that was verging into criminal territory. “And we’re not going to stand for it,” I said.

  Madison glanced over at me and laughed. “What are you talking about?” She braked as traffic on Main Street slowed to a crawl. Blueberry Cove was jamming on a warm summer night, with groups of visitors strolling along the sidewalks. Restaurant doors and windows were open, their warmly lit interiors beckoning.

  “Craig trying to get control of Eleanor’s money,” I said. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like him.”

  “He’s a bully, plain and simple,” Madison said. “I could read him like a book.” She muttered under her breath as a car with out-of-state plates pulled out of a parking spot a little too slowly. Once they finally exited, she whipped the tiny car into the spot and shut off the engine.

  “Good job,” I said. We had ended up right in front of the pub, a clapboard storefront with an inset entrance. A hanging sign above depicted a bearded and wincing captain with an eye patch and a frothy mug of beer in his hand. Patrons on the day after, we often joked. Besides a selection of locally brewed beer, the pub offered great fried seafood, burgers, and chowder.

  After locking the Mini, Madison paused to adjust her short jean skirt, worn with a loose white peasant blouse and tied espadrilles. She looked
adorable, and judging by the admiring glances from passersby, they thought so too. As we crossed the sidewalk to enter the pub, I couldn’t help but notice that I got a few looks as well in my retro print sundress topped with a light bolero sweater. I fluffed the full skirt, my heart skipping a beat. Maybe Ian was already here, waiting for me. He liked this dress.

  But no, he hadn’t arrived yet, I discovered when I scanned the packed room. The roar of chatter and laughter was almost loud enough to drown out the nasal wails from the guitar-strumming vocalist in the corner. Servers sidled through the throng, holding trays of drinks and steaming plates aloft.

  “Sophie and Lukas are over there,” Madison said into my ear. She tipped her chin toward a small booth where the couple sat. She tugged on my arm, guiding me toward the bar, where two stools had opened up.

  Madison ordered glasses of wine, and we perched and sipped, people watching since it was too loud to chat where we were seated. Over at the booth, Sophie and Lukas looked pretty intense, both leaning across the table as they talked. After ten minutes, I texted Ian. At the pub. See you soon?

  The answer came back immediately. Sorry. Dad asked me to help him. Be right down. Ian’s parents operated the Farmhouse B&B here in town, and he lived for free in the garage loft apartment, in exchange for doing chores and repairs around the inn.

  No prob. Ian’s helpfulness was a wonderful trait. Plus, there was nothing hotter than a guy wearing a tool belt. I adored competent men.

  Sophie half rose in her seat, waving her hand in a gesture indicating we should join them. Grabbing our glasses of wine, Madison and I made our way over to the booth. By the time we reached them, Sophie was sitting beside Lukas, leaving the other bench seat for us.

  Hmm. Seems like the convo had gone very well. “Hey,” I said, sitting on the outside so I could watch for Ian. “How’s it going?”