Cross-Stitch Before Dying

by Amanda Lee

  I glanced over at Mom. Alfred had placed a comforting hand over hers and was gently moving the swing back and forth. Mom looked pale and gaunt. She looked like she’d aged at least five years this week. She’d arrived in Tallulah Falls looking vibrant and healthy. She’d been lively and excited about the new movie. Now she looked tired and sad. And she wanted to go home to San Francisco. I could see it in her eyes. She wanted to go home and hide until this ugly situation had been resolved.

  Finally, Ted cleared his throat. When I looked up at him, he told me it was nearly five o’clock.

  I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Vera and Paul . . . and Angus.” I turned to Mom. “We need to go get Angus and close up the shop. We’ll still keep Angus away from here until the investigators are finished.”

  “It shouldn’t be much longer now,” Cam said. “This family has been inconvenienced long enough—actually, too long. Come back whenever you’re ready. If the investigators don’t like it, they can lump it. This is your home, and Angus is your dog. You aren’t even under suspicion for anything.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “We’ll be back soon. Call my cell if you need us.”

  Ted and I went through the house to the Jeep.

  I handed him my keys. “Do you mind driving? I don’t feel up to it.”

  “I don’t mind at all. In fact, it gives me something to do. I’ve been sitting and feeling helpless for so long, I could hardly wait to get out of there.”

  “Me too.” I got into the Jeep and leaned back against the passenger seat. “When do you think this will all go away?”

  “Soon,” he said. “The detectives aren’t going to find any cyanide in your house, are they?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s not a common ingredient in any household cleansers or anything, is it?”

  “No.” He squeezed my hand. “They won’t find anything, your mom will be let off the hook, and before long everything will be fine.”

  “Do you really believe that?” I asked.

  He pursed his lips. “It won’t happen that quickly, but I think it will happen.”

  “I should offer to buy Vera and Paul dinner for watching Angus and the shop,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” he said. “Plus, if we get takeout and eat in the park, we can keep Angus away from home for a while longer and give the investigators time to finish up. Despite what Cam said, I don’t want to antagonize the Tallulah County Police Department. They’re already looking at your mom pretty hard for the murder of Babushka Tru. Now, they’ve added Henry’s murder to the mix, so we don’t need to give them any other reasons to be suspicious.”

  Vera and Paul were receptive to the idea of getting takeout and eating in the park. It was a warm, partly cloudy afternoon, so the weather was great for a picnic, even if my mood wasn’t.

  “And hopefully, these media hounds won’t know about the park and won’t find us there,” Vera said. “No offense, darling”—this to Paul—“but once news of Henry Beaumont’s poisoning is made public, those people are going to be swarming like flies.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “There’s journalism and then there’s . . . whatever it is they do. I’m not offended, V, because I don’t consider myself one of those ‘media hounds’ as you call them.”

  “Good,” she said, “because you certainly are not one of them. Well, boys, why don’t you go get the food while we lock up here and take Angus on to the park?”

  “That sounds good,” Ted said. “Where should we meet?”

  “We’ll be near the dog park,” I said. “I know Angus will enjoy a good run. Get him something small that won’t ruin his dinner, okay?”

  That got a hearty laugh from all three of them, and I had to join in. There wasn’t much that could spoil Angus’s dinner. Supplement, yes. Spoil, no.

  On the drive to the park, Vera asked me about Mom.

  “How’s Beverly holding up?”

  “Not well,” I said. “I was noticing today how drained she looks. This ordeal has taken a terrible toll on her.”

  “I can imagine,” Vera said. “Do you think she’ll continue to design costumes after this?”

  The question blindsided me. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t she?”

  Vera shrugged. “I didn’t mean anything hateful by it, dear. I only meant that this might cause her so much distress that she won’t want to do it again . . . that maybe she’d want to do something else . . . start a clothing line or something.”

  “Huh . . . I’ve never considered Mom not designing costumes,” I said. “It’s what she does . . . it’s who she is.” I made a mental note to talk with Mom about what, if any, life changes this movie experience might have evoked. I had been thinking about her beating murder charges. I hadn’t thought about how the murders themselves had affected her and her career outlook.

  We got to the park and turned Angus loose in the dog park. He immediately made friends with a boxer, and the two romped and played.

  When the men returned, they had a bucket of fried chicken and a plan. According to Paul, we were going to “put our heads together” and figure out who’d want to kill both Henry Beaumont and Babushka Tru.

  “It can’t be a coincidence,” Paul said. “The victims knew each other and worked together. Now, what all did they have in common?”

  I’d brought Angus to the picnic table where Vera was using napkins to make a tablecloth. I looped the leash around the table leg and opened a small packet of wipes I keep in my purse.

  “Well, the main thing is the movie,” I said. “Maybe someone didn’t want the movie to be made. I mean, Babs was killed, but Henry had held a press conference saying he was still planning to move forward.” I cleaned my hands and threw the wipe into the trash can.

  “Okay, the movie.” Paul wrote The Movie at the top of a sheet of yellow legal paper. “What all do we know about the movie?”

  “It was about an Indian film star named Sonam Zakaria,” I said. “I’d never heard of her—and in fact thought it was a man—before Mom explained that she’d been a big deal in Bollywood. Manu and Reggie had heard of her. They thought she was great too, but I don’t know that many other Americans would have been familiar with her . . . at least not until the film came out.”

  Paul was nodding. “Okay . . . okay. . . . What if someone didn’t want the American public to become familiar with Sonam Zakaria?”

  “I guess that’s possible,” I said. “But wouldn’t they just do like other famous people and simply denounce the movie as a pack of lies?”

  “Let’s move on from Sonam Zakaria,” Ted said. “Is there any other reason that someone would want to keep this movie from being made?”

  I gave him a grateful smile. I knew him well enough to realize that he was merely placating Paul. Ted didn’t think the movie was the link Henry and Babs shared that got them both killed, and I agreed with him.

  “I can’t think of a single reason anyone wouldn’t want the movie made,” Vera said. “It was BTru’s big chance at a comeback; there was already some Oscar buzz about it. . . . In fact, I think it’ll still get made. It’ll just be delayed until they find a new producer and star.”

  “Vera’s right,” I said. “Too much has been invested in this movie for it to be abandoned altogether. Let’s look at other angles . . . like the fact that Henry had just learned prior to casting Babushka in the role that he was her biological father.”

  Vera’s and Paul’s almost-identical reactions were comical. Their lower jaws nearly bounced off the picnic table.

  I laughed. “Close your mouths, guys, before a mother bird comes and feeds one of you a worm.”

  Vera was the first to sputter back to life. “Is that true? Says who? When did you find that out? Were you holding out on me?”

  “I didn’t find it out until yesterday morning when Henry to
ld me,” I said. “I went to his hotel room because Mom was so upset because she thought he was having an affair with Babs. He said he wasn’t having an affair with her and that she was his biological daughter. Mita Trublonski had told him a few months ago.”

  “Well, this changes everything,” Paul said. “How did Babs feel about Henry being her father?”

  “She didn’t know,” I said. “Henry said that he and Mita had decided to keep it from Babs at least until the movie was finished. They didn’t want her to think Henry had given her the part because she was his daughter.”

  “How did Henry’s wife feel about his having a daughter?” Vera asked.

  “He said she’d been hurt at first, but that she quickly adapted to the news,” I said. “They’d been unable to have children of their own. Henry seemed to cling to Babs as if she were some sort of miracle, and I believe he hoped Eileen would come to feel the same way.”

  Vera snorted. “Fat chance.”

  “Speaking of Eileen, she was supposed to be coming in today,” I said. “Surely, after the police called her with the news of Henry’s death yesterday, she decided not to come.”

  “Or she might be coming to take his body back home,” Ted said.

  “I should check and see,” I said. “Maybe she didn’t get over those hurt feelings as easily as Henry had thought. She could’ve slipped something into his shaving kit that he hadn’t used until this morning. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Ted said.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Once everyone had left to give Mom and me some time alone on Saturday evening, I put on soft classical music and made us mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Mom added a splash of Irish crème to hers. Then we sank onto the sofa in the living room.

  “So, how are you?” I asked. Before she could answer something flippant, I added, “I know it’s rather like asking Mary Todd Lincoln, ‘Other than that, how was the play?’ but, seriously, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling overwhelmed,” she answered. “And scared . . . no, make that terrified . . . and sad. Henry had been a close friend for so long. . . . You know, when I first stepped into that room, I never dreamed he’d been murdered. I was thinking heart attack, aneurysm . . . anything but murder.”

  “And yet you knew not to touch anything even before Ted warned you not to, didn’t you?”

  “I haven’t been in the movie business for as long as I have without picking up something from police procedurals.” She sipped her chocolate. “Everyone liked Henry. He was good to cast and crew members. He was thoughtful. I can’t imagine anyone wanting him dead. Babushka, yes. I understand why someone would want to push her off a ledge or bash her head in. But Henry? No.”

  “Mom! I’m surprised at you. That’s a horrible thing to say about Babs.”

  “You asked me how I’m feeling,” she said. “I thought you wanted me to be honest.”

  “I do,” I said. “I’m sorry. I know Babs treated everyone horribly. But if Henry really was her father, then there must’ve been something good about her . . . even if it was buried way below the surface . . . right?”

  “I guess.” She sighed. “I feel so sorry for Eileen.”

  “Do you think she’ll come to Tallulah Falls, or do you expect her to have Henry’s body sent home with a police escort?” I asked.

  “Knowing Eileen, she’ll be here, if she isn’t already. She’ll want to talk with the police and determine exactly what happened to Henry. And she won’t go back home until they release the body to her.” She studied her mug for a second. “I’ll call her cell tomorrow. If she’s in town, maybe I can offer her a meal . . . a shoulder to cry on . . . my condolences.”

  I patted Mom’s arm. “Just keep in mind I’m here for you in case you need a shoulder.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  “What do you think you’ll do when you get home?” I asked. “Will you want to take some time off before taking on a new project, or do you want to dive right back in?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Whether I’m arrested or not, if a cloud of suspicion is hanging over my head, I doubt anyone will want to hire me.”

  “You know that’s not going to happen,” I said. “You did nothing wrong, and you’re going to be exonerated.”

  “Yeah . . . I hope so.”

  “Vera is afraid this nightmare will put you off costuming forever,” I said lightly. “She thinks that if it does, you should start your own clothing line.”

  “Does she now?” She took a drink of her chocolate and licked the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. “Creating my own clothing line, huh? That does sound intriguing.”

  • • •

  The next morning, I got up early and made a double batch of oatmeal raisin muffins. I packed up half the muffins and put the rest under a lidded cake plate. I kissed Angus’s nose and left Mom a note telling her I had to run an errand and would be back as soon as possible.

  I was on my way to the hotel to see Sonny Carlisle to determine what I could learn about his visit to Henry yesterday morning. I felt he was a more viable suspect than anyone else who’d been in Henry’s hotel room, but I wasn’t sure he’d killed Henry either. I had my cover story worked out, and I called Sonny from the lobby to ask if he could see me. I said I had muffins but that if it was too early for a social call, I’d leave them for him at the front desk. He told me to bring them up.

  Sonny was dressed and looked as if he’d been up for a while when he opened the door. He had on a tracksuit, and I guessed he’d been in the fitness room.

  “Have you had breakfast yet?” I asked.

  “Just a glass of OJ on the way to walk on the treadmill for two miles,” he said. “Those smell awfully good. What kind are they?”

  “Oatmeal raisin.”

  “I love oatmeal raisin! Come on in and have a seat,” he said.

  I knew he liked oatmeal raisin cookies because I’d seen him taking some from the food cart once when I visited Mom on set. I was hoping that meant he liked oatmeal raisin muffins too.

  We sat down at the table. Sonny had opened the curtains, and we had an excellent view of the town.

  “Want some coffee?” he asked. “I made some in this little pot this morning, but it’s probably too cold and strong to drink. But I can have room service bring up a pot.”

  “I’m fine, but if you want some, please go ahead.”

  He grinned. “I definitely want some.” He called room service and requested a coffee tray. Then he sat back down across from me. “So, what brings you by, Marcy?”

  “I figure you and Mom are pretty much in the same boat,” I said. “I know she’s upset right now and in need of comfort food. I guessed you might be too.”

  “I am,” he said. “Henry was a good friend.”

  “Well, not only that, but now the movie is kaput, right?” I asked.

  “I suppose it is. I hadn’t stopped to give it much thought, but I don’t know who’d take it on after all this.”

  I plunged on ahead. “Sonny, I know you were one of the last people to see Henry alive.” At the sharp rise of his brows, I added, “The Tallulah County Police Department had us watch the surveillance tape to see if we could identify anyone, and we saw you arrive just a few minutes before Mom did.”

  There came a knock at the door. “Let me get that,” he said. He got up and held open the door while the room service waiter rolled the cart in with the coffee tray. He then tipped the waiter and shut the door.

  He poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table. He put the baskets containing sweetener and creamer on the table too, and then he sat down. He didn’t look back up at me until he’d put sugar and creamer into his coffee.

  “Are you accusing me of something, Marcy?” he asked.

  “Not at
all,” I said. “I’m just thinking that if we put our heads together on this, maybe we can figure out what happened.”

  His face was still hard and untrusting.

  “Henry told me yesterday morning that Babushka Tru was his daughter,” I said.

  That got Sonny’s attention. His eyes widened, and once again, his eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”

  “Completely. I saw him before I went into work yesterday,” I said. “He was so upset over Babs’ death. Mom had been angry with him because she misconstrued his affection for Babs—she thought they were having an affair—and I came to talk with him. That’s when he told me she was his daughter. He said Mita Trublonski told him a few months ago, but they hadn’t told Babs yet.”

  “Why wouldn’t they tell her?” he asked.

  “Henry said that he and Mita didn’t want Babs to think her comeback was all because of their relationship.”

  “But it was.” Sonny took a muffin and tore it in half. “I can’t imagine keeping a secret like that. Did Eileen know?”

  I nodded. “Henry said she was upset at first but came to accept it. Once the police determined that Henry had been poisoned, I wondered if she really had accepted it.”

  He’d bitten into the muffin but couldn’t resist speaking with his mouth full. “What? You think Eileen poisoned Henry?”

  “She had both the motive and the opportunity,” I said. “She could’ve put the cyanide into his shampoo or mouthwash or something before he even left for Oregon.”

  Sonny swallowed while shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. He’d have died a lot sooner then, wouldn’t he? I mean, we all use that stuff every day.”

  “Maybe she put it in a new bottle, and he finished up his old bottle first,” I said.

  Again, Sonny shook his head. “No. Not Eileen. Besides, if the police had found the cyanide in Henry’s stuff here, why would they have kept looking?”

  “To see if you or Mom had something similar,” I said.