Thread and Dead--The Apron Shop Series

by Elizabeth Penney

  Maybe the murder was why Claudia had kept a low profile in the United States. She didn’t want to be dragged into the scandal. Or found by her fiancé. Without any real evidence, I sensed she’d been running away from him. Maybe it had been an arranged marriage.

  “And then she had a fairy-tale ending to her story,” Grammie said softly. “She met and married a handsome prince and had a darling daughter.”

  Eleanor greeted Grammie’s fanciful words with a snort, but she was smiling. “I’d like to think she had a happy ending. We all deserve that. Well, most of us, anyway.”

  On the other hand, I couldn’t help thinking, some of us deserved jail time, including Craig Brady. A gentle knocking sounded on the room door, and I went to answer, thinking it was a nurse. But Cookie Abernathy, attorney-at-law, stood there, holding a buttery leather tote. “May I come in, Iris?” she asked with a smile. Cookie had been Grammie’s attorney when Grammie was a murder suspect earlier this year. Not that Cookie’s practice was confined to criminal law. Like many rural attorneys, she served clients in a number of ways.

  “Please do,” I said, standing back to let her into the room. I closed the door again, figuring that other people didn’t need to know Eleanor’s business with Cookie. And in fact, Grammie and I should excuse ourselves so they could talk in privacy.

  “Eleanor. How are you?” Cookie shook her client’s hand gently. Grammie had risen from the chair and Cookie sat, setting the bag by her feet.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Eleanor said. “I got the word that they’re going to spring me from this place tomorrow.” She and Cookie laughed, but then fear flickered in Eleanor’s eyes. “I want to make sure everything is written in stone before I take a step out of this room.”

  “We can do that.” Cookie pulled a sheaf of documents from her bag. “I have what we discussed right here.” She handed a document to Eleanor. “If you’re happy with that, you can sign.” She glanced up at us. “Do you mind hanging around for a few minutes? We need two witnesses to Eleanor’s will.”

  “We’d be happy to do that,” Grammie said. “Why don’t we step out into the hall, Iris? Cookie, let us know when you’re ready for us.”

  * * *

  At home, I took a leisurely shower and dried my hair, then padded about in a robe getting my outfit ready. Curled in the middle of my bed, Quincy looked on. “What do you think, Quince?” I held up the vintage coral semi-formal dress I’d bought to wear tonight. The bodice was ruched and fitted, the skirt a froth of organza. A pair of matching T-strap pumps and a clutch bag completed the outfit.

  My phone rang, and expecting Ian or Bella, I picked it up to look. Lars Lavely? With a sigh, I answered. Otherwise he’d continue to call or worse, stalk me at the fashion show. I might as well get it over with.

  “Hello, Lars,” I said. “What’s up? I’m kind of busy getting ready for tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah, the fashion show.” Computer keys clattered. “I’ll only keep you a minute. I understand you were at the scene when Theo Nesbitt was arrested. How did you happen to be at the lab?”

  I plopped down on the bed, not wanting to answer his question at all. But if I blew him off, I would lose the opportunity to find out what he knew. The paper might have updates from the state police.

  “Well,” I said slowly, reaching out to rub Quincy’s chin. “Jamaica asked us to swing by because she got a security alert and we were closer to the lab than she was. She didn’t know if her new system was working. But it works great. Make sure to put that in the article.”

  He grunted. “You do get yourself right in the middle of things, Iris. Ever think about being a reporter?”

  “Not really,” I said honestly. But I probably would make a good one. I was nosy enough and yes, I did have a knack for finding trouble. “So, I have a question for you. Any updates on the BOLO for Patrick Chance?”

  “Bunch of unconfirmed sightings,” he said. “Both his truck and boat are missing, which is a neat trick when you think about it.”

  “He must have an accomplice,” I blurted. Then, realizing I’d said that out loud, I quickly added, “That’s off the record, by the way.”

  “It’s the obvious conclusion,” Lars said loftily. “Nesbitt was released on bail this morning. No one has seen him since.” Keys clattered again. “Want a preview of my article about the BOLO? I found a great picture of Patrick to use.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Send it over.” Now Lars was treating me like a colleague. Odd, but I ran with it. “I’m always impressed with your articles, Lars.” Though not always in a good way, Mr. Tabloid Man.

  “Lay it on, Iris, lay it on,” he muttered. “Sent it. Take a look.”

  The picture of Patrick made me bark a laugh. He stared wide-eyed into the camera, unshaven and his hair a mess, looking completely unhinged. Lars had framed it with BOLO—WANTED.

  “Wow. Where’d you find that?” I could hear the door and window locks clicking shut all over town.

  Lars gave a satisfied chuckle. “Social media. Taken during a binge, I reckon. I cropped out the beer bottles in both hands.” He chuckled again. “When are people going to learn?”

  Maybe after Lars featured their worst moments in the Blueberry Cove Herald. But tactful me didn’t say that, and I signed off, reminding him I had to get ready. My stomach clenched with anxiety again. I really didn’t like speaking in public, especially into microphones. Quincy butted my hand with his head, a signal to keep patting him. “But it will be over soon,” I told him. “Only a couple of hours and I’ll be off the hook.”

  CHAPTER 26

  As a judge, a parking spot had been reserved for me at the park, a perk I really appreciated. The evening was warm but I had grabbed a white mohair wrap for later. The dinner dance was also being held outside, and as I hurried along the sidewalk, heels clicking, I heard the strains of “I Only Have Eyes for You” drifting from the music stage. The band must be warming up.

  The models were getting ready in a large tent behind the catwalk stage, so I went there first. All was pandemonium inside, with people popping in and out of makeshift dressing rooms. I saw my grandmother’s hairstylist, Moriah, dashing around with a giant can of hairspray and a determined look on her face.

  “Iris, there you are.” Bella checked off my arrival on her ever-present clipboard. “You can go ahead and take a seat onstage, if you want.” A gaggle of teens pushed past us with their garment bags, yelling to one another. “It’ll be a little quieter.”

  “Okay,” I said. “See you soon.” I dodged a woman pulling a makeup case on wheels and got out of there. Bella had her work cut out for her, creating order out of that chaos. And she somehow would, I had no doubt.

  Besides me, the fashion-show judges included Ian’s mother, Fiona Stewart; Zadie Morris; and Sophie, who looked great in a blue sheath dress with a matching bolero.

  “Sophie,” I cried. “I didn’t know you were judging.” I hoped Jake would come tonight, and that they would finally make up and put the rest of us out of our misery.

  She laughed. “I didn’t either. But someone dropped out and I was recruited. You know how hard it is to say no to Bella.”

  “I sure do,” I said, pulling out a chair as I greeted Fiona and Zadie. We were seated behind a table at one side of the stage, where we would have an excellent view of the models. From here, we could also see the chairs filling up fast on both sides of the catwalk. “Looks like we’re getting a good turnout,” I said to Sophie.

  “We are,” Sophie said. “I heard they sold out.”

  “That’s great news.” Even though people could view the stage from different spots in the park, for a really good look they had to buy a ticket for a seat. Most people were happy to do so, since the five-dollar fee was benefiting the festival’s chosen charities.

  Horatio Morris bounced up the side stairs to the stage. “I came to wish the judges well,” he said. “We’ve broken our funding goals this year by quite a margin.” Horatio was on the finance commi
ttee for the festival.

  “We were just talking about that,” I said. “Awesome.”

  “It sure is,” he said, bending to give his wife a quick kiss. “I’ll see you after. Save the first dance for me, dear.”

  “You bet I will,” Zadie said with a laugh. “See you later.”

  Before leaving the stage, Horatio came over and hunkered down beside me, his expression serious. “Remember the matter we were discussing the other day, at the Grahams?”

  “I sure do.” Horatio had mentioned the biofuel investment Ruben was promoting, said he was looking into it.

  Horatio pressed his lips together as if reluctant to say more. Then he sighed. “I hate to say this, and it’s for your ears only, but the proposal is far from solid. Another group of scientists is planning to process seaweed using an almost identical process they’ve already patented. The two are similar enough that there will probably be legal challenges for Ruben if he goes ahead.”

  “Got it,” I said. Not that I was an expert in how technology start-ups worked, but whoever held patents held the power. Patent infringement was a big no-no. “Thanks for the info.”

  He rose to his feet and tapped the tabletop. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Thought you should know.” He strode away with a wave.

  Music blared as Bella and Rich walked out onstage. “Good evening, everyone,” Bella said into the microphone. “Welcome to the Blueberry Cove Fashion Show.” Spotlights danced across the stage as the music struck up again. The audience clapped and cheered.

  I pushed thoughts of Ruben’s investment away and focused on my judging duties. It was showtime.

  The fashion show was really fun, with great outfits in a number of categories. Models of all ages swung tennis rackets and golf clubs, carried tiny dogs in handbags, and clomped across the stage in hiking boots. Master of ceremonies Rich Hammond displayed a great sense of humor as he commentated, making the audience laugh. We tabulated votes, selected winners, and then it was time.

  The band struck up “Under the Sea” as the other judges slipped off the stage and Bella motioned for me to come forward. Praying I wouldn’t trip and fall flat on my face in front of hundreds of onlookers, I picked my way across the stage to her side. The lights were blinding, preventing much of a view of the audience, but I did see Grammie right by the stage. She was holding Quincy, who was leashed. She’d said she might bring him. The sight of those I loved best gave me a huge boost, and I was able to smile into the bright void straight ahead.

  “Don’t leave your seats yet,” Bella said. “We have a very special treat for you tonight. Our first annual Lobster Bib contest.” She paused for clapping. “As owner of Ruffles and Bows, which specializes in aprons, Iris kindly agreed to judge this portion for us. So please, sit back and relax.”

  Then she handed the mic to me. Eek. “Hel … hello everyone,” I said, not used to hearing my voice boom out like that. “I’m so excited to be here.” As if agreeing, my voice rose to a squeak. “We’ve got some very creative entries tonight. These are not your mother’s lobster bibs, folks. So without further ado, let’s begin.”

  There. I was done, for now. I handed the mic to Rich, who held a paper with information about our dozen entrants, and hurried back to my chair. A glass of water waited there for me, refilled by someone, and I took a sip. Then I almost spit out the water when the first competitor strolled onto the stage.

  The contestant wore a huge stuffed lobster attached to her front, and even stranger, a hat shaped like a lobster’s head, antennas and all.

  “Now that’s what I call a lobster bib,” Rich said, letting out a rolling chuckle. “Let’s give our first entry a big round of applause.”

  The crowd went wild as each contestant strolled out onstage. The man who wanted electricity wore lights that flashed in the shape of a lobster. “Don’t try this at home,” Rich said, to laughs. Another woman’s bib apron was trimmed with mini lobster buoys, which was very cute, and the clown, at least I think it was him, wore a hazmat suit, complete with booties. Another wore a doctor’s mask and carried a scalpel. They were ridiculous and over the top and really fun.

  After tabulating votes—the lighted outfit won hands down—and handing out prizes, my duties were finally done.

  I was climbing down from the stage when one of the contestants approached. “I want you to have this,” she said, thrusting the lobster-buoy apron at me. “Maybe you can display it in your store.”

  “Seriously?” I said. “A lot of work went into this.” It would go in the window on a mannequin, I decided, if she really wanted me to have it.

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s a gift.” She started to back away. “And I love your store by the way. So glad you opened it.”

  That was nice to hear. “Thanks,” I called. “Have a good night.” I glanced around the stage area, which was practically deserted. Everyone had moved over to the dinner tent. I didn’t want to carry the apron all night, so I decided to pop over to my car and leave it there. But before I went, I called Anton to tell him the latest about Ruben. He didn’t answer so I left a message. Maybe he was with Madison at the dance.

  I skirted the festival grounds, now quiet, and headed to the parking lot. On the way there, I heard the throb of an engine down near the wharf. Only a few boats used that part of the harbor since the ferries docked at the wharf.

  In the sodium glow of security lights I saw a lobster boat, one of the old-fashioned wooden ones. Like Patrick’s. But it was white, not pale green.

  “Iris? Is that you?” a man’s voice said from up the path. “How are you tonight?”

  Great. I recognized that accent. “Ruben,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  The professor sauntered out of the dark toward me, a big grin on his face. “I’m on my way to the dance.” He snapped his fingers, moving his hips back and forth. “Hoped I’d see you tonight.”

  Oh, brother. “I have a boyfriend, Ruben. I thought you knew that.” I gestured toward the parking lot still a distance away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.”

  In a flash, his friendly demeanor dropped. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice a snarl.

  I yelped when I saw he had a gun, pointed right at me. “What are you doing?” My hands went up and my car keys and the apron fell to the pavement. Thankfully my tiny clutch, which held my phone and a lipstick, was in my pocket. Gotta love those pockets in ’50s dresses.

  “Move,” he said, gesturing me down the path. “We’re taking a little ride.”

  I moved as slowly as possible, trying to figure out how to get away from him. I thought of screaming, but he now had the gun jabbed right into my kidneys. A distance away at the park, the band struck up a lively swing tune with horns and drums. No one could hear anything over that.

  “Iris?” A soft voice called behind me. “Wait up.” Heels clattered along the pavement. Oh no. Sophie.

  “Welcome,” Ruben said. “Come along or your friend will die. Okay?”

  Keeping the gun trained on our backs, he forced us to walk down to the waterfront, where the lobster boat still sat, engines running.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked. Then I knew, the truth flashing over me like icy water. “You killed Hailey.”

  “Keep moving.” He prodded me with the gun again, hard. Sophie whimpered. “And the little witch deserved it. Threatening to ruin me and all I’ve worked for.”

  “But why go after me? I haven’t done anything.” I’d barely had a chance to digest what Horatio had told me about Ruben’s company, that it was on shaky ground.

  “Craig Brady,” was his answer. “He warned me about your nosing around. About your attempts to drive a wedge between him and his aunt so he won’t get his due.”

  Craig was a crook, complaining about me to try and justify how he was trying to cheat his elderly aunt. And so was Ruben. “You’re using technology from those other scientists, aren’t you? Your company is a fraud.”

  Ruben laughed.
“Amateurs borrow but professionals steal. Isn’t that the saying? Of course I used it, changed a few little minor details. Everyone does it.”

  Next to me, Sophie stumbled and I saw how scared she looked. I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. We’d get out of this somehow. Failure is not an option. The thought of one of Grammie’s favorite sayings heartened me.

  Surely people must be wondering where we were by now. Ian was expecting me to join him at dinner, for one thing. Horns blatted in the bandstand again and I tried to send him a telepathic message. Need you. Send help. If I could get to my phone somehow, I’d send a real message.

  We went down the ramp to the lobster boat. “I’ve got a couple of passengers for you,” Ruben called.

  Patrick stepped out from under the canopy, his grin wolfish. “Mission accomplished, huh? Climb aboard.”

  Another figure ducked out from the shelter, and my heart sank. Theo. He was in this up to his eyeballs, obviously making a bad situation worse for himself.

  I hesitated. Should we make a break for it? I could jump into the water and maybe Sophie could run … but the grip of Ruben’s hand on my arm defeated those thoughts. Patrick had gotten out of the boat and grabbed Sophie, and despite her struggles, he managed to push her over the gunwale. I was next, landing in a heap on my knees on the hard wood planks. I covertly patted my skirt, relieved that I still had my clutch, then crawled over to Sophie. She leaned against me and we huddled together.

  The engines spooled up as Patrick backed away from the dock. With a spin of the controls, we were facing out into the harbor. “Next stop, Canada,” he called. Theo whooped.

  They were taking us to Canada? But that spark of hope quickly died when Ruben spoke. “We have one stop to make first,” he said. “Two passengers are disembarking.”

  Uh-oh. Sophie’s body went rigid. “You can’t kill us,” I said. “They’ll chase you down until you die.” I knew Anton would. My fingers curled into claws. Before things got that far, I would fight for my friend’s life. I wasn’t going down without a battle.