Thread on Arrival

by Amanda Lee

  “Anytime,” Reggie said.

  I wheeled the cart farther into the living room. “Mrs. Cantor, would you care to take a look at the books we brought for your father-in-law to choose from?”

  Mary stood staring at the door, watching Adam stride down the sidewalk. She raised her hand and waved slightly, but I doubt he saw her. When at last his vehicle roared away, she visibly relaxed.

  “I’m sorry,” Reggie said. “We thought he’d be gone before now. Are you in trouble?”

  Mary nodded. “A little. It’s probably not that bad, though . . . nothing I can’t handle. Besides, hopefully, I won’t be here to face his wrath when he gets home.” A metallic scraping sound from the kitchen nabbed her attention, and she hurried into the other room. “Coming, Pop. Let me help you.”

  “I don’t need any help,” Chester Cantor said, struggling to get his walker through the narrow door leading from the kitchen to the living room. He smiled when he saw Reggie and me. “Well, hello there. To what do I owe this honor?”

  I loved him on sight. He was short—almost as short as me—and rather square. He kind of reminded me of the elderly man in the animated movie Up.

  Reggie did a quick check over her shoulder to make sure Adam Cantor hadn’t doubled back on us. “We’re here to bring you some books. We’d also like to talk with you about letting us get you, Mary, and Melanie to safety.”

  He raised a hand and flicked his wrist as if he were shooing away a fly. “I’ve got a plan. Soon I’m going to be able to get us all somewhere safe . . . and then we’ll make Adam get some help so he won’t lose his entire family like I did once.”

  “I hear you have a tapestry you’d like for me to look at,” I said.

  His face brightened. “You’re the gal from the embroidery shop?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Seen many tapestries, have you?” His eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  “I’ve seen quite a few,” I said. “You might even say I’m an expert on old tapestries.”

  He grinned. “Come with me, young lady.” He looked around at Mary and Reggie. “You two stay here.”

  “Melanie and I have to leave soon,” Mary said, “or else she and I are going to be late for school and work.”

  “Well, you two go on and do what you need to do,” Chester said. “I’ll be fine with . . . What’s your name?”

  “Marcy,” I answered.

  “I’ll be just fine with Marcy here.” He jerked his head toward the door leading to the narrow hallway. “Let’s go.”

  I shot a look at Reggie, and she gave me a combination shrug-slash-nod that I guessed meant I should go with Mr. Cantor, check out the tapestry, and get the lowdown on his plan.

  As I followed Mr. Cantor down the tight hallway, Melanie burst through her bedroom door, kissed the man on the cheek, and said, “Bye, Grandpa! See you later! Bye, Marcy!”

  Mr. Cantor shook his head. “Always in a rush, that one. Oh, well, it’s good to hurry while you’ve got some hurry left in you, I reckon.” He opened a door at the end of the hall to reveal a small bedroom. The room had a full-sized four-poster bed, an oak dresser and the matching chest of drawers, a navy blue recliner that had seen better days, and a TV that was mounted in the corner of the room across from the bed and the recliner. The room smelled of menthol muscle rub, and I imagined Mr. Cantor spent much of his time in this tiny place. I looked around for the tapestry he’d spoken of, but the walls were bare with the exception of a few framed family photographs.

  He gestured toward the neatly made bed. “Have a seat there on the foot of the bed—or in the recliner if you’d rather—while I get the tapestry.”

  I didn’t want to mess up the bed, so I perched on the edge of the recliner. Mr. Cantor opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, emptied the socks, scarves, and gloves it contained onto the bed, and flipped it over. Taped to the bottom of the drawer was a large manila envelope. He carefully removed the tapestry from the envelope, unfolded and smoothed it out on the bed where I could see it.

  The tapestry appeared to be an ancient map of the Oregon coast. Besides Tallulah Falls, I recognized the names Lincoln City, Coos Bay, and Waldport. Near Tallulah Falls, there was the depiction of a schooner sinking into the ocean. Beneath the ship was the name Delia. And beneath the ship’s name was an X.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said. The background was dark brown wool. Dark wools were often indicative of textiles from the Civil War era. “It must be well over a hundred years old.” As I said it I realized Mary would be disappointed I had confirmed it was an antique. Still, I couldn’t deny the truth of that.

  “It sure is.” Mr. Cantor tapped the X. “And look here. It’s a treasure map.”

  I was trying to humor him, but I didn’t see how he’d decided that this tapestry was a real treasure map. “It does remind you of a treasure map, doesn’t it? May I pick it up?”

  He nodded.

  I took the tapestry and held it closer to the light. There were no holes, little wear and tear on the bindings and edges, and only a couple of tiny stains. I turned the cloth over, but there was nothing on the back except the work that made the beautiful map on the front.

  “You don’t believe it’s a map, do you?” Chester asked. “Let me explain. My great-grandmother was a Ramsay.”

  I nodded slowly, still having no idea where he was going with his story and not sure he had a clue himself. I carefully placed the tapestry back onto the bed.

  He pushed his walker out of the way and sat down beside the tapestry. “The Clatsop Indians used to tell stories about Jack and George Ramsay. Jack had fair skin, red hair, and freckles. They were the children of an English sailor and a Clatsop woman.”

  “And you believe your great-grandmother was related to these people?”

  “Indeed I do,” he said. “Mother said Grandmother Wells—she was born a Ramsay, married a Wells—had the prettiest head of red hair you ever did see. And I believe she made this tapestry after years of hearing her parents talk about this shipwreck off the coast of Tallulah Falls.” He studied the delicate fabric. “They lived up in Vancouver, and I believe Grandmother made this tapestry in the hope that one day she or one of her children would return to the Oregon coast and find that treasure.”

  I reached over and gently placed my hand on his arm. “Mr. Cantor, don’t you think someone would’ve found it by now?”

  “Treasures are still being discovered every day, Marcy.” He looked up at me. “Oh, I see what you’re saying. You’re thinking I’m too old to be searching the seas for treasure.”

  “I’m not saying that at all. I just don’t think it’s the solution to your current problem.”

  “It couldn’t hurt. Adam and Mary are always fighting about money. There’s never enough. He thinks she mismanages it, but she does the best she can.” He smiled sadly. “I am old. And I’m out of ideas. But I’ve been in touch with a treasure hunter, and he thinks there could be something of the Delia left for us to find. As late as July of 2010, gold coins and a bronze cannon from a 1715 shipwreck were found off the coast of Florida.”

  “But, Mr. Cantor, you and Mary and Melanie need to get to safety now. You can still locate the treasure,” I said. “Take the tapestry with you.”

  “And let someone steal it from me at that homeless shelter? Steal the tapestry and the treasure?” He shook his head in obvious alarm.

  “Then give it to someone you trust to hold on to it . . . your attorney, maybe. Or put it in a safe – deposit box.”

  He sighed. “They want to leave, don’t they? Mary and Melanie, I mean.”

  I nodded. “They want to do it today . . . and they want you to go with them, Mr. Cantor. In fact, they won’t leave without you. They’re afraid for you to stay here with your son alone.”

  “I’m getting what I deserve,” he said, his rheumy eyes filling with tears. “I did Adam wrong all those years ago when I divorced his mother. Then his mother married a man who was harsh with Adam. I lat
er tried to make it up to him, but for the longest time, Adam wouldn’t have anything to do with me. And who could blame him?” He lowered his head. “This treasure could be the answer to my prayers. It could let me get my daughter-in-law and my grandchild to a safer place, and then Adam would see what he was missing. He’d understand what he’s been doing to them. And then I could convince him to let me get him some help.”

  I patted his hand. “I hope you do find that treasure, Mr. Cantor.”

  “Will you help me?” he asked, raising his eyes to mine.

  “If I can,” I said.

  “Will you take the tapestry somewhere safe for me? If you’ll take it to the bank, or to the police station—anywhere they’ll put it under lock and key, I’ll go. Then when Mary, Melanie, and I get to a safe place, you can get it back for me. What do you say?”

  How could I say no?

  Chapter Four

  We still had a little time before any of us had to be at work, so Reggie, Audrey, and I went to MacKenzies’ Mochas. Keira seated us—which made me uncomfortable since she despised me—and took our orders. I requested my usual low-fat vanilla latte with a dash of cinnamon, Reggie ordered a cappuccino, and Audrey went with Colombian dark roast coffee with cream and sugar.

  As soon as Keira had sauntered away from our table, I leaned in so I could lower my voice. “Do you think they’ll go through with it? I’m still afraid Mr. Cantor might back out at the last minute.”

  “Well, Manu said he’d send two plainclothes deputies in an unmarked car to pick Mr. Cantor up first,” Reggie said quietly. “The officers will take him to the men’s shelter before going to pick Mary up at work. From there, they’ll take Mary and collect Melanie from school.”

  “Mary did say she’d take an early lunch so she can come home and pack up some things for herself and Melanie, right?” Audrey asked.

  “Right.” Reggie sighed. “Mr. Cantor was supposed to start packing as soon as we left.”

  “I think he will,” I said. “He’s kinda like a little boy, though. He made me promise to hold on to that tapestry he had and not to show it to anyone. He thinks it’s a treasure map and that it’ll lead to enough money to fix all his family’s financial problems.” I looked up to see Keira standing there with our drinks.

  “So, where’s this treasure supposed to be?” she asked, distributing our coffees.

  I shrugged, wishing I hadn’t mentioned the tapestry here in public. Mr. Cantor had trusted me with his secret, and I’d already inadvertently revealed it to a woman who considered me her rival for Todd’s affections. And I had no idea whom she might tell. “I seriously doubt there is a treasure. The person who told me about it is simply a sad old man who’s looking for a miracle.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Audrey said. “Looking for a miracle, I mean.” She looked at Keira. “Could we get some extra napkins, please?”

  With a frown, Keira hurried to the counter, grabbed some napkins, came back and plunked them in the center of our table before flouncing away again.

  Audrey smiled at me. “Clearing rubberneckers away from crime scenes is one of my specialties. Did you know that?”

  “I do now,” I said with a grin.

  “As for Mr. Cantor,” she said, “maybe he’ll get his wish. I hope so. It really is an old tapestry. I’m not saying it’s a treasure map, by any stretch of the imagination, but . . .”

  “Hey, you never know,” Reggie said. “I’d love to see this whole situation—the family gathering the courage to leave—be a wake-up call to Adam Cantor so that he decides to become the husband, father, and son his family needs.”

  * * *

  I went home to get Angus before opening the shop. We’d just been at the Seven-Year Stitch for a moment—I hadn’t even had time to hang my jacket in my office—when Sadie rushed in.

  “What’s this I hear about a treasure map?” she asked.

  I groaned. “Oh, no. That ignorant, spiteful Keira! What did she say?”

  “She said you were talking about someone giving you a treasure map for safekeeping.” Sadie sat down on the sofa facing the street. “She said it’s rumored to be a treasure worth millions.”

  I let out a growl of frustration as I stormed into my office, hung my jacket on the coatrack, and put my purse and tote bag under the desk. Angus retreated to his bed under the counter in the shop.

  “Does that reaction mean it’s true?” Sadie called.

  “No!” I came out of the office and stooped by Angus’s bed. “I’m sorry, baby.” I stroked his head. “I’m not angry with you.”

  He wagged his tail but stayed where he was.

  I straightened and went to sit beside Sadie. “You know what this is, don’t you?” I asked. “This is Keira’s attempt to have me inundated with treasure hunters. I told her there wasn’t a treasure.”

  “Is there?”

  “I seriously doubt it.” I explained about my visit with Mr. Cantor, his showing me the tapestry, and his hope that it would prove to be a map that would lead him to a treasure that would help solve all his family’s woes. “It’s an old tapestry. His mother probably used to entertain him with stories of pirates and treasure when he was a little boy. And now that he’s . . . well . . . in his second childhood, he’s returned to those dreams because he sees no other alternative to his family’s money problems. I guess he figures it makes about as much sense—maybe more so—as the lottery.”

  “Well, gee . . . that’s sad,” Sadie said.

  “It is. You’d love this little old guy, Sadie. I wanted to adopt him and bring him home with me.” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. “He says he deserves for his son to mistreat him. But he doesn’t. He’s a dear, sweet man.” I blinked back the tears and sniffled. “I’m going to take another look at that tapestry, too. If there’s any way it is a treasure map, I’ll help him find that treasure.”

  Sadie sighed. “You started that class—what—last night?”

  I nodded.

  “I knew you’d get in over your head with this group before everything was said and done, but this has to be a record even for you.”

  * * *

  That afternoon I was in my office looking up Fabergé eggs on the computer. I wanted to make something unique for Mom . . . and that meant finding a good enough photograph that I could use to create a pattern. I learned that most of the famous Fabergé eggs were miniatures that could be worn on chains but that it was the larger ones created for Alexander and Nicholas that were the most popular. I lucked out and found a site that had a list of the Tsar Imperial Easter eggs and a link to photographs of some of them.

  The one I decided to make for Mom was the Rose Trellis egg. It had a pale green background with baby pink roses and golden branches sporting darker green leaves. The trellis was silver and inlaid with tiny diamonds. I could put glass beads on the trellis to make the piece sparkle like the original. I uploaded the image into my cross-stitch pattern-making software. The many minute color variations that had been undetectable in the photograph but that had been picked up by the software made the pattern far too complex. I’d need to figure out a way to simplify the pattern before embarking on the project.

  The bells over the door indicated I had a visitor.

  “Coming!” I called, getting up and hurrying into the shop.

  My visitor was Ted. Angus had already dropped a tennis ball at his feet, and Ted was scratching the dog behind the ears.

  I smiled. “Hi, there.” He looked handsome in his dark gray suit and crisp white shirt. My gaze traveled from his cobalt eyes to his unsmiling lips, and my own smile faded. “Uh-oh. I don’t like that look. What’s wrong?”

  He straightened, blew out a breath, and remained silent.

  “Ted, please. . . . It’s the Cantors, isn’t it? Did something happen?”

  He nodded. “When deputies arrived at the home to escort Mr. Cantor to the shelter, there was no response to their repeated knocking.”

  I started shaking my head. “No . . .”r />
  “Chester Cantor is dead, Marcy.”

  I let out a wail, and Ted quickly bridged the distance between us and gathered me into his arms. He walked me back into the office and sat me down in the desk chair. He knelt in front of me, holding both my hands.

  “How . . . ? How did they find him?” I asked. “Was it his heart? Had he fallen after we left? I knew someone should’ve stayed there and helped him pack. I should’ve stayed.”

  “No, Marcy. It wasn’t any of those things. He . . . The deputies found him lying on the sofa in the living room with a book on Oregon shipwrecks beside him.” His eyes shifted from mine to our clasped hands. “His neck was broken.”

  I gasped and then sobbed harder. “He . . . was . . . murdered?”

  Ted stood, lifted me out of the chair, sat back down, and settled me onto his lap. I clung to him and cried until my sobs had diminished into quiet tears.

  “This is my fault,” I whispered.

  “It’s not,” Ted said.

  “Yes, it is. I mentioned in MacKenzies’ Mochas that Mr. Cantor had what he believed was a treasure map, and someone killed him over it.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “Do you know that for sure?” I asked. “Do you have the person in custody? Did he say he killed Chester Cantor for some other reason? Did Adam come home and catch him packing? Had the house been robbed?”

  “We don’t have anyone in custody.” He shifted his eyes. “The house appeared to have been ransacked, but . . .”

  I cried out in frustration and anger. This was my own fault, but part of the blame rested on that bigmouthed Keira.

  Suddenly, we were moving. Ted was rolling the chair with us in it over to the mini-fridge. He opened the door, took out a bottle of water, and handed it to me.

  “Drink. You’ve cried so much, I’m afraid you’ll dehydrate,” he said.

  “Thank you.” I twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink. I immediately began to hiccup.