by Amanda Lee
“What aren’t you telling me?” Sadie asked.
“It’s more like what I haven’t told the Cantors . . . Adam Cantor, I mean. I’ve spoken with Mary and she gave the go-ahead for me to put out some feelers, but Adam doesn’t know anything about my idea. I’m going to tell him. I’m just . . . you know . . . waiting until the time is right . . . making sure Mr. Trammel wants to do the piece . . . that sort of thing.”
She shook her head. “How do you get yourself into these predicaments?”
“It’s not as difficult as you’d imagine,” I said. “By the way, did you notice anyone hanging around my office during class yesterday evening . . . maybe acting suspiciously?”
“Yeah, sure. There was the guy in the trench coat with the fedora pulled low on his brow who was standing near the door, asking people if they wanted a good deal on a watch. Or do you mean the cowboy with the six-shooters in each hand and a bandanna covering the lower half of his face? I think he was planning to hold up the stagecoach.”
“Oh, ha-ha. You’re so funny. I’ll take that as a no.”
“Why would one of your students be behaving suspiciously?” she asked.
I explained about the photos that had gone missing from my bulletin board. “What concerns me most is that Mary saw them and now thinks I’m a dirty, backstabbing opportunist who’s trying to profit from Chester’s tapestry.”
Sadie dismissed my concern with a wave of her hand. “Even if she had seen the photos and thought that of you—which I highly doubt—you’ll set the record straight when you talk with her and Adam about the documentary. Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re right.”
She smiled. “Wouldn’t it be incredible to have a film crew here in Tallulah Falls? I know you’re used to being around that sort of stuff with your mom, but I think it would be so cool.”
“Me, too,” I said. “It could bring a lot of extra business to the town, especially to MacKenzies’ Mochas and the Brew Crew.”
“It would, wouldn’t it? I hadn’t even considered that bonus. I was only thinking about how neat it would be to see Tallulah Falls on TV.”
“But, please, Sadie, keep this to yourself until I know something definite.” When Sadie looked down at the floor, I added, “Of course, you can tell Blake, but he’s absolutely the only one. And, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell him where Keira can overhear.”
She raised her eyes to mine, a smile lighting up her face. “Thanks, Marce. Let me know when you hear something, all right?”
I told her I would, and she left. She was practically running when she passed the window on her way back to MacKenzies’ Mochas because she could hardly wait to share the news with Blake.
There was a steady flow of customers that morning, but it wasn’t until Vera Langhorne came in that I realized how badly I needed to let the Cantors in on my meeting with J. T. Trammel. I’d failed to anticipate the impact the sight of a limousine would have on a small town like Tallulah Falls.
“The whole town’s abuzz with speculation about the limo that was sitting outside your shop this morning,” Vera said as she came in and sat beside me on the navy sofa facing the window.
Not wanting to divulge too much information, I told a half-truth. “That was a friend of my mom’s. He’s a filmmaker.”
She tilted her head, taking in my dress, shoes, and carefully applied makeup. “Is he considering you for a role?”
I laughed. “I hardly think so. I’d never met him, and I wanted to make a good impression.” Time to change the subject. “I’ll have to step up my stitching if I’m going to finish this Fabergé egg for Mom for Easter, don’t you think?”
Vera looked at the cross-stitch project I held in my lap. “If anyone can do it, you can. It’s starting to come together.”
* * *
Ted arrived around noon with Angus. He also brought chef’s salads for the two of us and a peanut-butter-filled chew toy for Angus.
“You’re spoiling him, you know,” I told Ted.
“Maybe a little.”
“You’re spoiling me too. I’m not used to having an actual lunch every day. I usually just have some crackers or baked chips and a soda.”
He frowned. “I don’t know how you do that. If I did, I’d have a killer headache by the middle of the afternoon.”
“I probably will the next time I skimp on lunch because you’ve gotten me used to having an actual meal,” I said.
“Good.” He smiled. “You need to be used to having a meal at lunchtime. That’s why everyone sets an hour aside out of the workday.”
“Some of us don’t have an entire hour to spare out of the workday.”
We sat down in my office and dug into our salads. Angus remained in the shop, content to amuse himself with licking the peanut butter out of his toy.
“J.T.’s limo apparently attracted a lot of attention this morning,” I said.
“Tell me about it. Even Manu wanted to know what was going on.”
“Vera asked me about it—well, she more or less asked when she told me the town was abuzz over the limo. I told her it was a filmmaker friend of Mom’s.”
“I told Manu the truth . . . in confidence,” Ted said.
“What did he think?”
“He didn’t say much other than to impress upon me—unnecessarily—the fact that you don’t need to talk with the Cantors about this alone.” He took a drink of his soda. “I don’t want you to ever find yourself alone with Adam Cantor. If you do, call nine-one-one.”
“Yet you don’t believe he killed Chester.”
“The man might not be a murderer, but we know he’s abusive . . . and potentially dangerous.”
“I know. Who do you think killed Chester?” I asked.
“I don’t have a clue, sweetheart. I wish I did. We’re still pursuing every lead, but they’re drying up pretty fast.”
I wiped my mouth on my napkin. “Here’s something I don’t understand. Chester had talked with Jack Powell about searching for the Delia wreckage, right?”
“That’s what Powell says. Why?”
“Jack told me that Chester was paranoid and had refused to let him see the tapestry. But Ed, the guy we met at Captain Moe’s, said that he’d seen the tapestry. What do you make of that?”
“Without having the whole story, I can’t make much of it at all. Either Ed lied, or Chester did show him the tapestry but then something happened that made Chester regret it,” Ted said. “Maybe Ed told other people about the tapestry and Chester’s belief that it was a treasure map.”
“Maybe so. You should talk with Ed to see where he was at the time of Chester’s murder,” I said.
“We did that on Monday,” he said with a grin. “And we’re currently following up on his alibi.”
I blushed. “Sorry. I know I get carried away.”
He smiled even wider. “I like it when you get carried away.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, I was once again hard at work on Mom’s Easter present. I was a little surprised she hadn’t called yet to see how this morning’s meeting had gone. Knowing Mom, though, she was probably more aware of what was going on at this point than I was.
A deliveryman brought a shipment of embroidery floss and yarn, so I had to set my work on the table and put the supplies away in the storeroom. While I was putting the yarns and flosses in their proper places, I heard someone come in. I could hear a somewhat familiar voice greeting Angus, but I couldn’t put a face to the voice until I stepped out of the storeroom and saw Audrey Dayton.
Audrey was in uniform and had placed her hat on the counter. She was bent over petting Angus with both hands.
“What a sweet dog,” she said when I entered the shop area. “What’s his name?”
“Angus. Angus O’Ruff, to be precise.”
“Cute.” She laughed. “I was on my way to MacKenzies’ Mochas to get a coffee and thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
I invited her to sit
down in the sit-and-stitch square. After we were seated, I confessed that I was beginning to regret getting so involved with the Cantors. I told her about Mary’s questioning me as to whether or not the police thought her husband killed his father.
“I had no idea what to tell her, other than to honestly say that I’m not privy to the police investigation.”
“She should never have put you in that position,” Audrey said. “I mean, even had you been a witness to the murder, she shouldn’t be asking you about it. She needs to be talking with the police. And if she’s honestly afraid that her husband is a killer, then she needs to get her daughter and get out of that house.”
Angus had followed Audrey to the chair where she sat, and he dropped his tennis ball at her feet.
“Ah, you want to play now, huh?” She lobbed the ball into the shop, and Angus scrambled after it. “I’ve made it crystal clear to Mary on several occasions—and so have others, including Manu and Reggie—that we’ll get her and Melanie out and protect them if she’ll let us. Chester’s death is merely another of Mary’s reasons in a long line of excuses to stay with Adam.”
“Do you know the Cantors well, then?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Angus returned with the ball, and she threw it for him again. “I’m not sure anyone knows them well. In a household like that, there are more secrets than you can imagine.”
She spoke as if by experience, but I knew it wasn’t proper for me to ask her about it. Instead, I told her about this morning’s meeting.
“How should I approach the Cantors with this news?” I asked.
Angus came back and dropped the yellow tennis ball by Audrey’s left foot. This time she ignored him. “Just pray the deal falls through.”
“But why? This documentary could be a wonderful opportunity for them,” I said.
Angus whined, but Audrey still paid no attention. “It could also be a nightmare. They’ll have cameras shoved in their faces . . . their actions will be scrutinized. . . . That sort of thing is stressful for people living a happy life together. But for people like Adam and Mary Cantor . . . like Melanie . . .” She finally picked up the ball and rolled it toward the office. “Like I said, pray that the documentary doesn’t happen. It’ll be better for everyone involved . . . including you.”
After Audrey had left, I reflected on the fact that Audrey and Sadie had said basically the same thing about the Cantors’ reaction to the documentary. Still, I felt that Adam, Mary, and Melanie might benefit from the documentary. Even if the cameras were a bit intrusive, maybe seeing himself behaving like a jerk would be a wake-up call to Adam. Or, at least, knowing he and his family were being watched and filmed, Adam would be on his best behavior toward his wife and daughter, wouldn’t he? Besides, how long would the camera crew be around? After all, it was a documentary, not a reality show.
That’s what I honestly thought right up until the moment that J.T. called.
“Marcy,” he said, “I’ve talked with the rest of the folks at Explore Nation. And after our conference call, they talked about it, and then they called other people and talked about it, and now I’m calling to let you know that they passed on the documentary.”
For a moment, I was almost relieved. I wouldn’t have to worry what effect the filming would have on the Cantors’ already volatile home life. Granted, they wouldn’t profit financially now, but they wouldn’t realize they were missing out on something they never knew about . . . or, in Mary’s case, hadn’t really expected to come to fruition.
“They want to do this thing as a reality show,” J.T. said.
Not sure I heard him correctly, I asked, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, darlin’. We’re thinking of calling it Treasure Oregon. What do you think?”
“I . . . um . . .”
“You see, we’ll be investigating not only the Delia’s wreckage and, hopefully, salvageable booty but also the rest of the legends you and Ted presented us with.” He gave a hoot of laughter. “We believe we’ve got at least enough fodder for a couple of seasons.”
“But what if you don’t find anything?” I asked.
“Aw, don’t you worry about that,” he said. “We’ll find something, even if we have to bury it ourselves first. Now we want you to be our expert on tapestries. Look up everything you can about them: history, how they’re made, that sort of thing. Also find out if any—other than this one—have been believed to contain treasure maps or any Da Vinci Code–type secrets, all right?”
“Okay.”
“Also, can you give me the names of some locals who might be in the know?” he asked.
“There’s a treasure hunter named Jack Powell who’d be interested in helping you,” I said. “I know that Chester had spoken with him about helping him find the Delia, but neither had the money required to pursue it.”
“Good. I’ll want to talk with him. But most of all, I want to meet these Cantors. Set that up for me, will you, dear?”
I gulped. “Of course.”
Chapter Fifteen
Remember those baked chips I mentioned to Ted earlier? Well, after talking with J. T. Trammel, I paced and ate about a blue million of those things. Then I sent Ted a text saying, J.T. doesn’t want to do a documentary. Instead, he wants to do a REALITY SHOW!
After I sent that text, I paced a few more lengths of the office before sending him another text saying, J.T. wants to meet with the Cantors ASAP. Should I cancel tonight’s class?
My phone rang. It was Ted. He probably wished I’d stop texting him every couple minutes. I should’ve sent him a text before he called asking him, Do you want me to stop texting you? Please, reply A for yes or B for no.
I answered the phone with, “Ted, I don’t know what to do.”
“Try to set up the meeting for after class,” Ted said, with the calm authority of an excellent police detective. “Given Adam’s reaction to me at his home Saturday evening—and the fact that his father’s murder is an ongoing investigation—I shouldn’t be there.” He paused. “I’ll send that young officer, Andrew Moore, to be there undercover in case there’s any trouble. You can meet there at the Seven-Year Stitch. It’s a nice, neutral place, and everyone involved knows where it’s located.”
“That makes sense.”
“So that the limo doesn’t attract too much attention this time, call J.T. and ask if Andrew can pick him and Stacey up at their hotel and bring them to the meeting,” he continued. “If he asks why, tell him it’s to free up parking space since there are several people coming. I’m afraid that telling J. T. Trammel not to arrive in a limo because it would draw too much attention would do about as much good as telling Lady Gaga to dress conservatively.”
“I see your point. Who besides the Cantors should be there?” I asked.
“I’m going to ask Manu to see if Reggie can be there. As the sheriff’s wife, maybe she can bring documentation informing J.T. of all the regulations and permits his team will need to have in place before filming begins.”
I was impressed. “That’s smart. I’d have never thought of that.” I knew Ted’s real reason for having Reggie there would be to alert him and Manu to any signs that Adam Cantor was getting ready to throw a tantrum.
“I’m not really that concerned about regulations at the moment,” Ted said. “I just think it would be wise to have Reggie on hand.”
“You mean, if Adam Cantor gets out of control,” I said.
“That, or anything else unexpected,” he said. “Andrew will be undercover, but I’m hoping having the sheriff’s wife in attendance will help keep Adam’s temper in check. Plus, I think it would be a good idea for you to invite Jack Powell. For one thing, he can tell J.T. more about Chester’s plan to search for the wreck.”
“And for another, he can back up to Adam what Chester told me about the tapestry,” I added. “Somehow, I doubt Chester shared much about the tapestry or anything else with Adam.”
“I imagine you’re right about that.”
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“What about that other treasure hunter guy Chester had spoken with . . . Ed?” I asked. “Should I ask him to come?”
“I don’t think he’s a good fit for this meeting. J.T. might want to talk with him sometime later on, but Ed didn’t seem to believe Chester’s contention that the tapestry was a treasure map.”
“Is there anyone else you can think of that I should invite?” I asked.
“No, I think there will be enough excitement with the gang who’ll be there as it is.”
“Yeah, that’s what worries me. I’ll start with the Cantors and let you know what happens.”
After talking with Ted, I had a plan of action. Instead of eating chips and pacing, I had calls to make. I started with Mary Cantor.
“Hi, Mary.” I kept my voice upbeat and cheerful. Maybe if I didn’t convey my anxiety about the meeting to Mary, she’d be okay with it. “Remember my asking your permission to get in touch with a producer about the tapestry and the Delia treasure?”
“Yes,” she said. “Don’t tell me someone was actually interested.”
“Sorry. I’m going to have to tell you that. Not only is he interested—he’d like for you and Adam to come by the Seven-Year Stitch at seven o’clock this evening to meet him.”
She was silent for several long seconds. “I didn’t mention your call to Adam. I didn’t dream anyone would take you seriously about the tapestry being a treasure map. I’m not sure how he’ll take the news.”
“I can break it to him, if you’d prefer. I’ll tell him how this show could be the legacy Chester wanted to leave his family . . . how it could allow the family to do things they’d never have been able to do otherwise, you know, from a financial standpoint. . . .” I struggled to come up with other benefits.
“No,” Mary said. “I need to be the one to talk with Adam. Then if he wants to come, we’ll be there.”
I thanked her and ended the call. Mary sounded nervous. I wondered if I should’ve been more adamant about being the one to speak with Adam. Of course, the prospect of being in the same room with both me and Adam could be the very thing that was making her nervous. After all, I knew about her secret plan to leave Adam and that the plan was thwarted only because the police officers sent to get Chester found him dead. Did Adam even know that Chester and I had spoken about the tapestry? Mary could be terrified that I’d inadvertently let something slip.