by Amanda Lee
“So the partner didn’t have to buy out the man’s share or anything?” I asked.
“Nope. Apparently, the two men went halves on everything, and their partnership agreement stated that upon the death of one, the other partner would inherit the business as a whole—revenue, expenses, capital, everything.”
“You said the victim was a cheater and an abuser,” I said. “It sounds like maybe he cared more about his partner than he did his wife.”
“Funny you should say that. I’ve been mulling over the same thing. The conclusion I drew was that the victim could never be sure if and when his wife might get tired of his behavior and leave him,” Ted said. “I don’t know if he and his wife had any sort of prenuptial agreement, but I’m guessing—based on the partnership agreement—that they did. The men had arranged their business in such a way that only the two of them could ever control the business.”
“In other words, if the wife divorced the victim, she couldn’t make him give her a share of the business or sell his share and split it with her.” I burrowed against Ted’s muscular chest. “What about the partner? Was he considered a suspect?”
“He was. But, like the wife, there was insufficient evidence against him to make an arrest.”
“Any other suspects?” I asked.
“Only the victim’s mistress at the time of his death . . . but she was dismissed fairly early on.”
“Why was she discounted so quickly?”
“She had nothing to gain,” he said. “Her only benefit from the relationship was gone as soon as he died. She had to start paying her own bills. There were no more expensive gifts.”
“You don’t think she loved the guy?”
“It’s a little hard to believe after seeing the photographs of the two of them. He was old and paunchy; she looked like a model.” He shrugged. “Maybe she did love him. Or maybe his death was a sad inconvenience that forced her to find another sugar daddy.”
“Either way, I wouldn’t be hasty in taking her off the suspect list,” I said. “If she loved him, she might’ve been angry that he wouldn’t leave his wife for her. If she was only using him, maybe he was ready to move on to someone else but she wasn’t.”
“Could be,” Ted said. “But I don’t think she’s our killer.”
“Who do you think is our killer?”
“I’m leaning toward the wife. She had the most to gain. She got two million dollars and stopped being humiliated and slapped around.”
“When you put it like that, it makes thinking she might’ve gotten away with murder seem not so bad. But it is . . . I know it is,” I quickly added. “Did they have children?”
“Yes, three daughters,” Ted said. “Since his death, the wife has made wise investments and appears to be doing well.”
“And the partner?”
“He seems to be doing great. He has tons of business, and he’s—”
Ted was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Angus beat us to the door to greet the pizza delivery guy. I took the pizza while Ted paid the bill.
I put the pizza on the kitchen table, and then I put Angus outside.
“We’ll save you some,” I promised.
Then I washed my hands and got us plates and napkins.
Ted came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my neck.
“If you keep doing that, our pizza is going to get awfully cold before we eat it,” I warned.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “But I know you have to get back to the Stitch soon.”
“Did talking about the case help you any?”
“Yeah . . . some.”
I knew he was lying, but I didn’t call him on it.
“So how was your day?” he asked.
I put pizza on the plates, got us two bottles of water from the fridge, and we sat down to eat. While we ate, I filled him in on the episode with Clara and her bunny, Clover.
“She seems to be even more off her gourd than Nellie is,” he said. “Did she think you came to her shop in stealth mode to steal her rabbit and give it to Angus?”
I giggled. “Apparently so. And, oddly, now I feel like doing just that! When Clara came after it, the poor thing tried to hide between Angus’s paws!”
He laughed and then tried—and failed—to give me a serious look. “Darling, should we consider getting the boy a pet of his own?”
“No! It’s all I can do to keep up with him!”
We both laughed.
“And, besides, who gets their dog a pet?” I asked.
“Who knows? Stranger things have happened, I guess.” Ted shook his head. “But there’s no fear of Angus being lonely.”
“No, there’s not. I’m leaving him home tonight, though. That blackwork class has a lot of students, and I think it’s best not to bring him.”
“Mind if I stay with him?” Ted asked. “We can watch the baseball game until you get back.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said. “Two handsome guys waiting for me when I get home? Score!”
* * *
I knew I was leaving Angus in good hands as I drove back to the Seven-Year Stitch. He would have been fine had I left him home alone, but he was happy to be spending time with Ted. Before I left, Ted told me that he and Angus were planning on watching the Mariners play the Angels.
Interest in the Ren Faire had brought a lot of new students in for the blackwork class. That was really good, but it was hard to get to know everyone and to keep the class running smoothly when there were twenty-five students on the roster. My classes were typically ten and under. I probably should have set a cap on the number who could attend, but I didn’t have the heart to turn anyone away. As it was, the sofas, the chairs, the ottomans, and the floor were filled with stitchers.
I unlocked the door and barely had time to restock the minifridge with bottled water before the students began arriving. Some of the regulars were present, of course—Vera, Julie, Amber, and Christine—as well as many people I’d never seen before I posted the class announcement at the library and the museum.
Once everyone was settled in, I handed out an artichoke border pattern.
“Artichokes were a recurring theme in Renaissance embroidery,” I explained.
“Why?” teenaged Amber piped up. “I hate artichokes.”
I smiled. “You remind me of an old joke. It might choke Artie, but it ain’t gonna choke me!”
Amber laughed. “It’s not gonna choke me, either. It is a pretty pattern, though.”
“Since this pattern has both linear and diagonal elements, we’ll break it down into runs to make sure it’s clean, neat, and reversible,” I said. “Be sure and keep your tension on the cloth even.”
Rather than sitting and working on my own projects, I kept moving throughout the group during the blackwork class so I could offer my help wherever it was needed.
Suddenly, we were all startled by the sound of sirens blaring down the street. We looked out to see police cars and fire trucks roaring past.
“Wonder what’s going on?” Vera asked, as she began digging through her purse. She brought out her phone. “I’ll see if Paul knows.”
As Vera was dialing Paul, my phone—which I had set to vibrate—buzzed in my pocket.
Ted.
I was right. He’d sent me a text saying, Fire at a local business. Have to check it out. Leaving Angus with plenty of water and a rawhide treat. Be back ASAP. Love you.
“Ted says a local business is on fire,” I told the class. “I hope everyone’s all right.”
* * *
I was concerned about the fire for the rest of the night. On the way home, I looked to see if any nearby businesses looked damaged, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The fire must’ve been on the outskirts of town.
When I arrived home, I was disappointed that Ted wasn’t back. I was afraid that meant something even worse than a business fire had taken place. Had someone been working in the building and been unable to escape?
Had the fire been the work of an arsonist?
I unlocked the door and walked into the house. Angus was standing in the foyer to greet me. I put my purse on the hall table and gave the dog a hug. He trotted into the living room to chew the rawhide Ted had given him.
I locked the door behind me and went into the kitchen. I was beginning to feel tired after the class, and the rain that had started that evening—along with the sirens and the dread—had chilled me. I wanted a cup of hot herbal tea.
I settled onto the sofa with my chamomile tea, my feet wrapped in a fleece throw, and had just reached for the television remote when my phone buzzed. I’d forgotten to take it off of silent mode. I looked at the screen and was relieved to see that it was Ted calling.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “And I smell like soot. So I came on home. I’m going to take a shower and hit the sack.”
“Was everyone okay at the business that caught fire?”
“Yeah. There were no people inside, but virtually everything in the building was destroyed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You and me both, babe. Remember my telling you about the business partner who inherited upon the death of our cold case victim?”
“Yeah . . .”
“It was his building . . . his business.” He sighed. “A whole lot of evidence in that case probably went up in smoke this evening.”
“But surely he keeps backup files offsite somewhere,” I said. “Wouldn’t you think?”
“Maybe,” said Ted. “But the man knew we’d reopened the investigation of his partner’s murder. What better way to destroy evidence than with an accidental fire?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Hey, I know you won’t say anything,” he said, “but now you’re going to know the name of one of the principals in this investigation.”
“No one would be able to pry it out of me under threat of death,” I said.
“I know.” He laughed. “It’s not that big a deal anyway. I mean, it was in all the papers during the initial investigation. I just don’t want anyone to think I spoke out of turn.”
“No one who knows you would ever think you capable of doing anything to compromise an investigation.”
“I’m glad you have such confidence in me.”
“I love you,” I said. “And I know you. You’re a man of honor.”
“You’re laying it on thick, Inch-High. Maybe you should get some rest yourself.”
I laughed. “I think you may be right.”
Chapter Five
Just before I left for work the next morning, I got a call from Sadie telling me there was going to be a meeting of the Ren Faire merchants at MacKenzies’ Mochas at lunchtime. I called Ted and told him I was planning to attend the meeting.
“Would you want to join me?” I asked, well aware of the hopeful note I couldn’t keep out of my voice.
“I’d love to, babe, but I’m going over the details of the fire with the arson investigator at eleven thirty this morning. I was going to call you in a little while to tell you I might be running late.”
“Oh . . . Well, that works out, then.”
“Don’t worry about this meeting,” he said. “You’ll have a lot of friends there.”
“Plus two enemies,” I said.
“You have way more friends than enemies. Look, I’ll stop by after my conference to see how everything went, all right?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m only kidding.” I laughed. “You don’t really think I’m worried about two little old ladies, do you?”
“Good try,” he said. “I know you are. You want everyone to like you, and it drives you up the wall when someone doesn’t.”
“True. But those two are a lost cause. I hope your meeting with the arson investigator is productive.”
“That makes two of us, Inch-High. I love you, and I’ll touch base with you soon.”
After talking with Ted, Angus and I went to the Seven-Year Stitch. On the way, I reflected on what Ted had told me: I would have a lot of friends at the Ren Faire merchants’ meeting. I was looking forward to seeing Captain Moe, Todd, and, of course, Sadie and Blake. And, surely, Clara and Nellie wouldn’t choose such a public forum to air their complaints against me . . . would they? Of course not. This lunch would be fun.
Oh, how I ate those words with my Caesar salad a mere two hours later.
When I first walked in, my optimism was in full bloom. There were hugs from Todd and Captain Moe. One of Blake and Sadie’s waitresses told me she’d heard about some of the things I was making for the Ren Faire and that she could hardly wait to visit my booth. One of my blackwork students was there, and she started talking with me about how much she was enjoying the class. Yep, it was all sunshine, flowers, and rainbows—a virtual Marcy Singer lovefest.
And then they walked in.
Had we been starring in an old B movie Western, I’d have been wearing a white hat, while the sisters would’ve been in black. Tumbleweeds would have blown across the coffee shop’s polished hardwood floor between us.
Crazy Clara would’ve moved her piece of dirty yellow straw from one corner of her mouth to the other before telling me that Tallulah Falls wasn’t big enough for the both of us.
Her cohort, Neurotic Nellie, would have spit on the floor as a sign of disgust and disrespect.
Then, since it was high noon, we’d have gone out into the street. Doves would have cooed and a child would’ve asked, “What’s going on, Mama?” as we took ten paces in opposite directions, turned, and drew our guns.
I’d have been quicker on the draw, but Crazy Clara would have left nothing to chance. She was ruthless—she’d never fight fair.
Before I could fire off a round from my six-shooter, Neurotic Nellie would take me down with a shot to the back from behind a barrel in front of the saloon—in this case, the Brew Crew.
The townspeople would gather around and mourn my unjust passing. They’d turn on Crazy Clara and Neurotic Nellie, but those two hooligans would threaten the good folks of Tallulah Falls with gunfire and maybe even dynamite until they could make their escape.
My dying words would be, “Well . . . at least, they won’t hurt y’all anymore.”
No, actually, my last words would be, “Take care of Angus . . . and make sure Ted grieves for me and doesn’t find another woman to take my place too soon.”
Okay, that last part sounded selfish, so I deleted it from the script.
Of course, none of that happened. It was just part of the elaborate daydreams that are a product of growing up with a Hollywood costumer for a mom.
What really happened was that I merely stopped and stared at the two women when they walked into MacKenzies’ Mochas—spurs a-jangling. All right . . . there were no spurs, except in my imagination. I hadn’t quite kicked the Old West scenario out of my head yet.
“What’re you looking at?” asked Neurotic Nellie . . . er, Nellie.
Determined to put my best boot forward, I drew myself up to my full five feet no inches, pasted on a broad smile, and said, “Hello, Nellie. Hello, Clara. Isn’t this meeting going to be exciting?”
“I don’t know what’s so exciting about it,” said Clara. “It’s just a lunch where we all fight over who gets the best spots at the fair.”
“I feel it’s more than that,” I said. “I think it’s an opportunity for us to come together as a community and help each other succeed.”
Captain Moe put his beefy arm around me and turned me away from the sisters. “Let’s find us a seat, Tinkerbell.”
I loved Captain Moe. He was a big guy with white hair, a fluffy beard, and a fatherly disposition. And he made the best burgers and fries around.
I smiled up at him. “What will you be cooking up at the Ren Faire?”
“I’ll be serving steaks on stakes, turkey legs, Scotch eggs, and barbecued ribs.” He winked. “And I might be talked into making cheesebu
rgers for a certain wee merchant and her faithful hound.”
I giggled. “I’m so looking forward to this. It’s too bad Mom’s on location in Arizona. She’d be in her element at a Renaissance festival.”
“She would at that,” he agreed. “And I believe you will be as well.”
“I will . . . if I can see any peace while I’m there.” My eyes strayed to Clara and Nellie.
“Pay them no mind. They can only bother you if you allow them to do so.”
“Wise words,” I said.
“But hard to put into practice.” He grinned. “I know. I’ve been there. All of us have at one time or another. You’ll emerge stronger because of this trial.”
We sat down at a table in the designated part of the coffee shop, and Sadie called our meeting to order. She then introduced us to Nancy Walters, chairperson of the merchants’ society.
Nancy was a small woman with a stiff helmet of brown hair. She wore sensible black shoes and a brown tweed suit. She stood on her chair in order to be heard and to command our attention.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “I imagine many of you are surprised to learn that there is a chairperson and/or a merchants’ society.”
I know I was.
“I’m on the board of the Tallulah Falls Fairgrounds Committee,” she continued. “As such, I was elected to oversee the merchants during the two-week festival. My job is to assign booths and tables to registered vendors. I have a map drawn up indicating where each of you has been placed. Sadie, dear, would you pass those out, please?”
“Of course.” Sadie began passing out the maps.
“While the map isn’t written in stone, I do have things the way I want them,” Nancy said. “I’m not saying I won’t budge on the arrangements, but it would have to be for a darn good reason.”
I got my map and looked down at it. It was organized as I’d have expected. There was a food court where all the food vendors would be located: Captain Moe, the Brew Crew, MacKenzies’ Mochas, and some I didn’t recognize but would look forward to investigating, such as the Cheesecake Consortium, Festive Fudge, and Carol’s Cake Creations.
I quickly spotted Ye Olde Seven-Year Stitch nestled right in between Nellie’s booth, Scentsibilities, and Clara’s Knitted and Needled. My heart sank. It was going to be a long two weeks.