Wicked Stitch
Page 7
I kept wondering if there was something I could have done for Clara. Had she still been alive when I found her? Should I have knocked that chair away and rolled her over before calling Ted?
When Ted got there, I ran to the door to meet him. He swept me up into his arms.
“Everything’s all right, babe. I’ve got you.”
I buried my face against his chest. “Was there something I could have done? Could I have saved her, Ted?”
“No.” He took my hands, kissed them both, and then led me to the sofa. He sat down and pulled me onto his lap. “There was absolutely nothing you could have done for Clara. She was most likely dead when you found her.”
“But you don’t know that,” I said.
“No, but I’ve worked a lot of cases like this. My gut tells me she was dead.”
“Cases like this?” If it was a case, that meant it was a homicide. “What was the cause of death?”
“The coroner hasn’t examined her yet, but it looked to us—the paramedics and me—like a strangulation,” he said.
“A strangulation? You mean, she was murdered?” I asked.
“I’m not saying that at this point. She was strangled with the scarf she’d been knitting.” He frowned. “Having never knitted a scarf, I don’t know if it’s common practice to drape it around your neck as you work.”
“I haven’t knitted many scarves myself, but I’ve never—and haven’t seen anyone else—wrap the scarves around their necks as they knit,” I said. “Of course, Clara might have. She seemed to enjoy doing things in her own way . . . except when it came to decorating her shop.” I shook my head. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about Clara copying my decor.
Ted took out his notebook. “That’s something I’ll ask Nellie Davis about when we question her again tomorrow morning.” He scribbled a note, then returned the notebook to his pocket. “If Clara did have a habit of wrapping her knitting around her neck as she worked, then the scarf could’ve become entangled in something and she might’ve accidentally strangled herself.”
“How is Nellie?”
“She’s distraught. We talked with her, but she was verging on hysteria,” he said. “We were able to get the name and number of one of Clara’s sons from Nellie so we could notify next of kin. He said he’d drive over and stay with Nellie tonight.”
“His mother just died, and he’s calm enough to drive to Nellie’s house?” I asked.
“Maybe someone was driving him.” He shrugged. “Apparently, Clara has several children, counting stepchildren. They’re all grown.”
“So you’re saying maybe this son wasn’t particularly close to his mom.”
He smiled and brushed back my hair. “The man I spoke with seemed like a very take-charge type of person. When I told him what had happened, he was quiet for a moment, and then he began rattling off things he needed to do: get in touch with the other family members, come stay with Nellie, have his wife make sure Clara had something nice for the burial. . . .”
“He sounds really . . . efficient.”
“He is right now,” he said. “While he has all these things to do, he doesn’t have to process his grief. I’ve seen it before. People like him tend to take care of everyone else and then fall apart later.”
“Oh. That’s sad,” I said.
“But someone has to do these things, and he knows it. He’s probably the oldest child and has always been looked at as partially responsible for the others.”
“I’d go berserk if someone called me out of the blue and told me something had happened to my mother in Arizona.” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words told me my mother was dead. “I don’t know what I would do.”
“You’d have me to help you.” He kissed me. “Always.”
Always. I liked the sound of that.
“Have you eaten?” I asked, suddenly aware that it was nearly ten p.m.
“I’m fine,” he said.
I studied his handsome face. “In your professional opinion, do you think Clara accidentally strangled herself?”
He lowered his eyes. “No.”
“You think she was murdered,” I said.
“More than likely. Of course, that’s only my opinion. We’re still waiting for the coroner to examine the body and determine cause of death.”
“Where was Nellie when Clara was being strangled?” I asked.
“She said she’d gone for food.”
“That’s right. She was carrying a take-out bag when she came into the building,” I said.
“Nellie said she’d finished up with her booth before Clara was done arranging hers,” said Ted. “She said she was hungry, but Clara wouldn’t leave. She went to get dinner for the both of them.”
I frowned. “That’s weird, don’t you think? If Clara had finished with her booth and was sitting in a rocking chair working on a scarf, then either Nellie went to Timbuktu for food or else Clara was close enough to being finished that Nellie could’ve waited on her.”
“That’s true. Maybe they’d had a falling-out, Nellie had left, and then later returned with the food as an apology,” he said. “That’s something else I’ll need to speak with Ms. Davis about tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t say it was out of the question for Nellie and Clara to have had an argument,” I said. “I mean, I’ve never seen them fight, but, one, they’re sisters, and two, Clara must’ve been in a pretty querulous mood to begin with. She hadn’t made a good impression on the falcon lady.”
“Do you have a suspect already, then, Inch-High?” Ted’s lips twitched.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not,” he assured me. “I appreciate your input . . . and your insights. Tell me about this falcon lady.”
I told him how I’d stopped the falcon handler to ask her for directions to the merchants’ area. “She acted kinda defensive about the bird—whose name was Herodias, by the way. Have you ever heard of a bird named Herodias?”
“I’ve never heard of anything named Herodias,” he said. “Is she some sort of goddess of the hunt or something?”
“No, that would be Artemis or Diana or other names from other myths I’m unaware of,” I said. “Herodias got her daughter, Salome, to ask the king for the head of John the Baptist on a platter as a reward for her dancing.”
“Must’ve been some dance.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to veer off course,” I said. “Anyway, the lady falconer was upset with Clara. She told me that some old lady with a bunny rabbit didn’t like Herodias. I correctly guessed that the old lady was Clara.” I tilted my head. “I’m not saying this woman did Clara in, though. I’d say it would be hard to strangle someone while you had a falcon tethered to your wrist. Besides, why not have the bird do your dirty work for you? It looked like it could tear out your eyes in one swipe.”
“Well, that was gruesome.”
“I’m sorry. That was one scary bird.” I nestled closer to him. “I’d never seen a giant bird like that up close and personal before.”
“Says the woman with the giant dog.”
I laughed. “That’s entirely different.”
“Besides the falcon handler, did you notice anyone else in particular when you arrived at the fairgrounds?” Ted asked.
“I saw a juggler,” I said. “When was bowling invented?”
“Its origins date back to Alexander the Great,” he said. “Why?”
“Really?”
“No, not really. How would I know when bowling was invented?”
“I just thought you might know. I need to look that up,” I said. “The juggler was tossing around bowling pins. That’s why I wondered if bowling was in vogue during the Renaissance period. Besides the juggler, I saw a couple of young men dressed as pages who were leading horses to the stable. And there were a couple of other people in the merchants’ building when I got there, but I didn’t pay any attention to them. By the time I’d heard Clover and gone to investigate the noise, they’d le
ft.”
Ted glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. I know you need to get to the fairgrounds early tomorrow morning to get your booth set up. Is there anything I can do?”
“Just pop your handsome face in sometime during the day to say hello if you’re around.”
“Oh, I’ll be around,” he said. “I imagine Manu and I will be there interviewing potential witnesses all day if Clara’s death is ruled a homicide.”
* * *
Since it was a sunny morning, I left Angus playing in the backyard. The fence was so high that I didn’t have to worry about him jumping out, he had the swing he liked to lie on, and he had plenty of food, water, and toys to keep him occupied while I was at the Ren Faire.
I wore the green velvet square-neck gown with the gold brocade for my first day at the festival. I thought it would be more comfortable than my other Renaissance outfits when I was unpacking my supplies and setting up my booth.
Ted had helped me load everything into the Jeep last night, so all I had to do this morning was head to the fairgrounds. When I arrived, I was surprised to see that he was waiting for me at my booth to help me unload my supplies.
“Wow,” I said. “What a wonderful man you are!”
“What can I say? I hate to see a damsel in distress.” He smiled. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you wrestling all this out of the Jeep on your own this morning . . . especially in your costume. You look gorgeous, by the way.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Have you ever been kissed by a damsel in distress?”
“More times than I can count.”
My jaw dropped.
Ted laughed. “I’m joking! Unless, of course, you count the times you were my damsel in distress.”
“You’d better be joking,” I said.
He pulled me to him. “Ever been kissed by a rogue?”
“More times than I can count!”
He laughed and kissed me. “And now you have been again.” He lowered his head. “And again . . .” He kissed me. “And again.”
I laughed and playfully pushed him away. “I’ve got to get my booth set up!”
“All right.” He took the rolling clothes rack from the Jeep first. “Where do you want this thing?”
“If you can just get it to my booth, I can move it around later,” I said. I took the suitcase containing my tablecloth, the ruffled collars and cuffs, and the poet’s shirts out of the Jeep and trailed along behind Ted to the merchants’ building.
We carried the items to my booth. I noticed that Clara’s booth had been closed off with cinder blocks and rope.
Seeing the direction of my gaze, Ted explained that they hadn’t wanted to draw attention to Clara’s death but had wanted to leave the crime scene—if it were deemed to be one—intact.
“The security guard has been instructed not to allow anyone in or out of that booth,” he said.
I glanced around and saw a “knight” dressed in chain mail nod to Ted. Ted nodded back.
“So the knight is the security guard?” I asked.
Ted nodded. “That one is.”
“I’m a little creeped out by having my booth next to the scene of a murder. Do you think Ms. Walters would consider moving me?”
“Nope,” he said. “Besides, I doubt there are any other booths available. But no one would blame you if you chose to bow out of the Ren Faire.”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. What about Nellie’s booth?”
The booth was currently unoccupied and there were white sheets covering Nellie’s merchandise.
“The festival coordinators covered everything up for her last night,” he said. “The guard will be keeping an eye on her booth, too. One of the people officiating the festival might come by and run the shop for Nellie.”
“That would be nice,” I said.
We put the suitcase and clothes rack in my booth. Ted went back to get the shelving units while I began setting up.
I opened the suitcase and removed the periwinkle tablecloth. I spread it out over the oblong table and placed my boxes of embroidery flosses on one end of the table. I had printed out some blackwork patterns to distribute for free, and I fanned those out at the other end of the table. I’d brought a few embroidered greeting cards, and I placed these on one corner with one card standing up so people would see them.
I hung the poet’s shirts in order of size on the clothing rack. Beneath the table, I placed a bin of flosses and threads and additional copies of the patterns. I was waiting for Ted to bring the shelving units before I unpacked the collars, cuffs, kits, and other items I’d brought to display on those.
After a few minutes, I began to worry about Ted. He should’ve been back with the shelving units by now. Had something happened?
I was just about to call him when he walked back into the building. I could see that he was angry.
He strode into the booth. “Where do you want these?”
“I’ll take care of them,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He just compressed his lips into a thin line. He wasn’t just mad—he was furious!
I gingerly took one of the shelving units from him and hung it on the hooks on the opposite wall. I then retrieved the other one and placed it a short distance from the first.
Knowing Ted would talk about what was bothering him when he was ready, I arranged my merchandise on the shelves, then stood back to get the full effect.
“Ah . . . that looks good,” I said. I went outside the booth to see how it looked overall. For the most part, it was great . . . but it still lacked something. I needed some sort of decoration. I’d call Vera and see if she could run by the Stitch on her way to the festival and get one of my framed pieces to display here.
“I’m off the case,” Ted said.
“What?” I hurried back over to him and placed my hands on his arms. “What are you talking about?”
“Clara’s death has been ruled a homicide, and I’m off the case.”
“Why?”
“I’m a suspect,” he said. “Can you believe that? I’m a suspect.”
My eyes widened. “That can’t be right.”
“It’s not right, but Nellie told Manu she saw me arguing with Clara yesterday.”
“Did you argue with Clara?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t have called it arguing,” he said. “I’d have called it discussing. I’d noticed her being belligerent with a few of the other merchants, and I asked her—nicely—if she would cut everyone here some slack.”
“Of course, she thought you meant me.”
“She did . . . and I did mean you, as well as all the other merchants and customers and everyone else involved with this Ren Faire.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I forgot about it after everything that happened yesterday evening. And now even though Manu knows I’m innocent, he said he has to take me off the case because Nellie accused me of threatening Clara.”
“But you didn’t threaten her,” I said. “Did you?”
“I didn’t threaten her life,” he said. “I only threatened to have her kicked off the fairgrounds.”
I hugged him. “I’m sorry you won’t get to work the case.”
“Officially,” he said under his breath.
Chapter Nine
Ted and I were putting the finishing touches on the booth at eleven that morning when the gates were opened to the public. People hadn’t been lined up from the gates to the parking lot or anything, but there were many die-hard Renaissance Faire fans—some in full regalia—who came pouring onto the fairgrounds.
As those who entered the merchants’ building slowly wound through the booths, I quietly asked Ted his opinion on why Nellie would want him off the case.
“She knows you’re the best detective in the state . . . country . . . world!” I said. “What’s her problem?”
“She doesn’t trust me because I’m your boyfriend,” he said.
“With Nellie, it’s hard to say what’s going on in that tangled-up paranoid mind of hers,” he said. “That’s why I need to get this case cleared up as soon as possible.”
“We,” I said. “We need to get it cleared up.”
We both turned and smiled at the middle-aged pirate couple approaching the booth.
“Ahoy, mateys!” the man said heartily. “What be ye sellin’ in this fine establishment?”
Playing along, I said, “We be sellin’ embroidery notions, blackwork favored by the queen herself, and embellished shirts, Captain.”
The woman went over to the clothing rack and picked out a shirt. “Oh, look, Harold! It’s so pretty. I could wear it with my black skirt.”
The man glowered at her. “Gladys!”
She blew out a breath. “What thinkest ye of this garment, milord?” She looked at me and rolled her eyes.
I stifled a giggle.
“Aye, it suits ye, wench,” said Harold. “Give the lass a farthing and let’s be on our way.”
The woman—apparently named Gladys—paid me for the white shirt trimmed in blackwork, and I put it in a periwinkle Seven-Year Stitch bag along with a free pattern and a flyer with information about the store.
“Fare thee well, seafarers,” I called after them.
Ted shook his head. “You’re almost as bad as Harold.”
“Don’t start, Gladys. You’ll kill the vibe.”
He laughed. “Harold didn’t want anything to take him out of his world of make-believe, did he?”
I slid my arms around his waist. “Is that so bad? Have fun with it.”
“I’ll try.” He kissed me.
“Is this the kissing booth?”
I blushed as I realized Manu had caught us.
Chief Manu Singh was only five feet seven inches tall, but he was solidly built, and his demeanor didn’t tolerate any nonsense. If criminals were to make the mistake of not taking him seriously, they’d regret it quickly. Unlike his wife, Manu preferred Western dress. That day he wore jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows.