The Long Stitch Good Night

by Amanda Lee

  “Thank you.” She gave Angus a wary glance as he ambled up to her. “I’m guessing he’s friendly, or else he wouldn’t be here.”

  “He’s very friendly,” I told her. “But if it’ll make you more comfortable, I can put him in another room while you shop.”

  “No, that’s fine.” She smiled warmly. “I do appreciate the offer, though. I’ve always been a little leery of dogs.”

  Angus, sensing his company was unwanted, went to stretch out at the window and people watch.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked the customer.

  “Maybe. I’m going to make bookmarks for my Bible study group. I’m debating between doing them in cross-stitch or Hardanger. Which do you think would be the better choice?”

  I gave her question some thought. “While both are beautiful, I think cross-stitch bookmarks would be the better option because you can so easily customize your gifts to suit the group and the individuals.”

  The woman nodded. “Excellent point. Do you have any bookmark blanks?”

  “Yes. Have you already got your pattern?”

  “I do,” she said. “All I’ll need are the blanks, some flosses, and a roll of wide ribbon to sew onto the backs of the bookmarks to cover up my sloppy stitching.”

  I showed her where she could find everything she needed and handed her a small canvas shopping basket. “Please let me know if I can be of further help.”

  Ted came in as the woman was putting various colors of floss into her basket.

  “Good morning,” I told him.

  “Hi.” He turned his attention to Angus, who was happy a new playmate had arrived, especially since he’d been so recently rebuffed by the customer. “Want me to take him for a walk down the street?”

  “That’d be great.” I got Angus’s leash and snapped it to his collar. “Thanks.”

  Ted smiled. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  By the time they returned, my customer had left.

  “I really appreciate your taking Angus for a walk,” I said. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear my mother’s voice telling me to allow him do something heroic whenever he’s around.

  “No problem.” He unfastened the leash and handed it back to me. “I figured it would do him good and give me something to do while that lady finished shopping. I wanted to talk with you privately.”

  “All right.” I put the leash under the counter and followed Ted to the sofa facing away from the window. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Calloway’s attorney Cam Whitting called the head of the major crime team this morning demanding an explanation as to why his client was arrested and detained while Graham Stott’s shooter is still at large,” he said.

  “But isn’t that what attorneys are supposed to do?” I asked. “Profess their client’s innocence?”

  “Yeah, but what if the ballistics report comes in today and says that Calloway’s gun wasn’t the murder weapon? It’ll look like I did a shoddy job.” He leaned forward, placing his forearms on his knees. “My first big case filling in for Manu, and I’ll have blown it.”

  “Ted, I know you. You’re nothing if not thorough. No one could ever accuse you of botching an investigation.”

  “My team and I followed proper procedure,” he said. “We interviewed every single person who was in the bar when we arrived. No one was allowed to leave until they’d spoken with us. We did an exhaustive search of the premises.…One of my guys even checked the toilet tanks to make sure no one had stashed a gun in one before we got there—you know, to hide it. We did everything by the book.”

  I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you did. And there was no way you could’ve let Blake and Todd walk away when you discovered them in a room with a dead man and a gun…especially when they weren’t willing to tell you what happened.”

  Ted leaned back against the sofa cushions and looked at me with surprise. “That means a lot, coming from you. I know how badly you want to believe they’re innocent.”

  “I do believe they’re innocent, but the fact that they’re my friends doesn’t negate that you did what you had to do,” I said. “And I’m confident you’ll find Graham Stott’s killer and the evidence necessary to get a conviction.”

  “Did Calloway and MacKenzie tell you their story?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Sadie, Blake, and Todd came to my house last night and said each guy thought the other had shot Graham. That’s why they didn’t say anything initially.”

  “That’s the story we got, too.”

  “You sound skeptical,” I said.

  “I am. They don’t tell us this until they’ve been out of jail for two days? That seems a bit too convenient,” said Ted. “But, of course, I’ll keep looking at suspects and adding pieces to the puzzle until I get a clear picture.” He took my hand. “What if the killer does turn out to be MacKenzie or Calloway?”

  That was a question I wasn’t prepared to answer.

  That afternoon I was working on the Mountmellick project, Angus was lying near me gnawing on a chew toy, and a light rain had begun to fall. Growing up with a mother who was a Hollywood costume designer had made for a rich and creative fantasy life. And moments like these simply screamed for a daydream. My mind wandered into a film noir. The Seven-Year Stitch lost its color and became black-and-white.…

  Of all the embroidery shops in all the little coastal towns in all the world, and he had to walk into mine. He wore a black trench coat, a dark gray fedora, and an air of danger. It was that danger that drew me to him…more so even than those compelling blue eyes or that devil-may-care mouth that said, “I’m Detective Ted Nash, and I’ve got a few questions for you.”

  I threw back my head. My hair was suddenly longer, curly, and falling seductively over my left eye. I couldn’t see out of that one, but it was okay because the right eye was working good enough for the both of them. I pursed my very red lips. “You say you’ve got questions, gumshoe? Well, maybe I’ve got answers, and maybe I don’t.” I sashayed over to Ted, and somewhere in the distance a drummer beat out a soft boom-chica-boom-chica-boom. The drum stopped when I did.

  “I think you do have answers,” Ted told me. “Answers to things I don’t even have questions for yet.”

  Suddenly, Todd burst through the door. As it was so eloquently stated in This Gun for Hire, he looked like he’d been on a hayride with Dracula. I said as much.

  “Oh, yeah?” He rushed over and took me by the shoulders, spinning me away from Ted and toward him. His chocolate-colored eyes bored into my soul like sexy drill bits. “I’ve been framed, I tell ya. Framed like a Picasso and hung in the Louvre. Framed by this guy.” He jabbed a thumb toward Ted.

  Ted broke in between us. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got you dead to rights.”

  From somewhere—stage right, I supposed—an Elizabeth Taylor look-alike circa Cat on a Hot Tin Roof emerged. When she walked, she got the drum and a saxophone. She batted her violet eyes at the men, and I was pushed aside. I landed on the sofa like a heap of dirt and was just as forgotten.

  “Tawny.” Todd took her in his arms. “What are you doing here?”

  “I grew a conscience, ya big lug,” she drawled. “It wasn’t this palooka that framed you. It was me.” She stepped out of Todd’s embrace and held her delicate wrists toward Ted. “Put the cuffs on me, copper, and haul me in.”

  “With pleasure.” Ted said that lustily rather than with the satisfaction of a lawman doing his job.

  “No,” Todd protested. “She’s lying. I did it. I killed Graham Stott, and I’d do it again for what he did to her.”

  “What’d he do to her?” I asked, but it was as if I wasn’t even in this scene anymore.

  “Good try,” Ted said to Todd. Then to the woman he said, “I’m putting the bracelets on you, and you’re coming with me, Toots.” He clamped the handcuffs onto her wrists.

  “Wait a second. What about me?” I asked.

 
Todd looked at me derisively. “What about you? You’re not the kind of woman a fellow would go to prison for.”

  I dramatically whipped my face around to peer into Ted’s eyes.

  He shook his head almost sympathetically. “Sorry, kid. You’re the kind of gal a man flirts with, but not the kind he marries. You don’t set a guy’s soul on fire.”

  Fade to black.…

  I went back to stitching because, frankly, that fantasy scene sucked. It hadn’t played itself out in my mind quite the way I’d intended. Did I really think I was the kind of girl guys flirted with but didn’t fall for? Apparently, I did. And I needed an attitude adjustment.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thursday morning dawned as gray as my mood. I just hadn’t been able to shake my melancholy attitude last night. Even the class could tell something was wrong. I told them I was just worried about the Graham Stott investigation and how it was affecting all my friends. That much was true, of course, but I’d have never admitted I was also feeling sorry for myself because Ted and Todd seemed to have lost interest in me.

  I got out of bed determined that today Marcy Singer would be noticed…by someone. Andy had compared me to Marilyn Monroe. Well, today the comparison would be unmistakable. I put on a beige pencil skirt, a matching short-sleeved V-neck sweater, and black platform pumps. I curled my platinum hair, parted it on the right side, and let it fall just a bit over the left side of my face. Since my hair was short, it didn’t cascade over my eye, and I was glad of that. That would get on my nerves in a hurry. I kept my makeup natural-looking, with the exceptions of bright red lipstick and heavy black eyeliner.

  Now if only I had a drummer to tap out a boom-chica-boom when I walked. I giggled aloud at my own silliness, but it was amazing how much my mood had improved. I thought it was Marilyn Monroe who once said, “A wise girl kisses but doesn’t love, listens but doesn’t believe, and leaves before she is left.” Maybe she was onto something.

  Since it was pretty outside this morning, I left Angus playing in the backyard. When I went to start the Jeep, I was dismayed to learn that the battery was dead. Determined not to let it spoil my good mood, however, I decided to call a cab and to have the auto club bring me a new battery.

  When the cab pulled up outside the Seven-Year Stitch, I opened the door, but the driver told me to wait. He got out and rushed around to help me out. I gave him his fare and a tip, and he asked if I needed for him to wait.

  I laughed. “No, thank you. I can’t afford to have you wait all day. I work here.”

  “My cab number is one-four-seven. Ask for me when you’re ready to go back home,” he said. “I’ll be glad to drive you back.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I got my key out of my purse and was unlocking the door when Captain Moe walked up.

  “What are you doing, Tinkerbell? Trying to give an old man a triple bypass?” he asked, placing his hand on his chest.

  “Never.” My laughter bubbled over again. “Do you have time to come on in and visit with me?”

  “It was what I was on my way to do. I’ve been to see Riley and the baby, and I wanted to stop by and say hello before heading for the diner.”

  I stepped into the shop and flipped on the lights. I stored my purse and tote behind the counter and invited Captain Moe to join me in the sit-and-stitch square.

  He grinned. “I’m looking forward to seeing you sit down in that skirt. I’m not sure you can do it.”

  “I can manage. Watch.” I perched on the edge of one of the club chairs. “See?”

  “Danged if you can’t.” Captain Moe had always reminded me of an older, bearded version of Alan Hale Jr., who had played the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island. “Are you going to let me in on why you’re so dressed up for a workday?”

  I took a deep breath. “Captain Moe, do you think I’m the kind of girl men merely flirt with or the kind they fall in love with and marry?”

  “Sweet little Marcy, if I were thirty years younger, I’d drop to one knee and ask you to marry me this very instant.”

  “And if you were only twenty years younger, I’d accept,” I said with a smile.

  “What’s got you doubting yourself?” he asked.

  “I suddenly feel very much alone. When I first moved to Tallulah Falls, I was surrounded by activity and people—and, yes, men who appeared interested in me. That has waned recently. Ted is terribly busy with his job. Todd is—” I broke off.

  “Under investigation for murder, for one thing,” Captain Moe finished. “I think our wee pixie is feeling sorry for herself because she isn’t the center of attention these days.”

  I blushed guiltily. Captain Moe always calls things as he sees them, and he’s one of the wisest men on the central coast.

  “That is petty, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be so self-indulgent when my friends’ very lives are on the line,” I said.

  “Ah, no matter,” he said jocularly. “We’re all entitled to a bit of selfishness now and then. And you’re sure to grab headlines today. Why, for fun, you could walk down the street and see how many traffic accidents you can cause.”

  I laughed at his good-natured ribbing. “I deserve that.”

  “Yes, you do, Tink. By the way, where’s your Jeep and my pal Angus?”

  “The Jeep has a dead battery. I called someone before I left the house, so it should soon be as good as new.” I frowned. “You mentioned the murder investigation.…Did you know Graham?”

  “I can tell you that in a way I felt sorry for the man. Graham had no true friends. One reason for that is because he never understood how to be a friend,” Captain Moe said. “So the people he thought were his friends either merely tolerated him or were around because they were indebted to him or they wanted something from him.”

  “Who would gain financially by Graham’s death?” I asked.

  “That, I don’t know. I would imagine his parents, since he was unmarried and had no children…at least, none that he claimed.”

  “None that he claimed,” I mused. “Are you talking about Tawny Milligan’s pregnancy?”

  He nodded. “I know she was pregnant when she left Tallulah Falls, and most people believed the child to be Graham’s. He denied it and very publicly dragged her name through the mud.”

  “Did you know her?” I asked. “Was she beautiful? I’ve heard so much talk about her, I’m becoming as obsessed with her as Joan Fontaine was with the first Mrs. de Winter in Rebecca.”

  “She wasn’t all that special,” he said with a chuckle. “She simply had a way of observing and manipulating people…rather like the first Mrs. de Winter.” He winked. “It was a horrible skill that Tawny was sometimes able to use to her advantage, but with Graham I believe she used it to her detriment.”

  “But if Graham was the father of Tawny’s child, the child would now be entitled to a portion of Graham’s estate, right?”

  “If paternity could be proven, then, of course, the mother could petition the court on behalf of her child.” He squinted at me. “Are you trying to come up with a plausible motive for murder?”

  I grinned. “Of course I am.…I’d like to find anything more believable than the idea that Blake or Todd shot him.” I sighed. “I want Ted to succeed in finding Graham Stott’s killer, but I don’t want his testimony to convict Todd or Blake. Right now, it seems that’s all he’s got.” I leaned toward Captain Moe. “You’ve known everybody in this town a lot longer than I have. Do you think it’s possible that Todd or Blake could actually be guilty of Graham’s murder?”

  Captain Moe took my hands. “Anything is possible. Never close your mind to something, no matter how improbable it may seem. That’s when you find yourself in trouble.”

  Todd walked into the shop then. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  Captain Moe stood, deftly pulling me to my feet with him. I was grateful I didn’t have to struggle to stand in the skirt. And Captain Moe knew it. He grinned at me with the knowledge of a man who has been around and indulge
d women for a lifetime. He then looked at Todd. “You’re only interrupting an old man’s flight of fancy.”

  I kissed Captain Moe on the cheek. “Oops!” I’d left a bright red lip print. “Let me get a tissue.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Captain Moe said. “I’ll wear it with pride. And I’ll talk with you again later, my dear.” He winked and left the shop.

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” I asked with a laugh.

  “You…you look incredible,” Todd said. “Is it a special occasion?”

  “Nope.”

  He merely stood there staring at me. “I know it’s not your birthday.…Is it?”

  “What’s a birthday?” I smiled. “Is there something you needed?”

  “Uh…I didn’t see the Jeep,” he said. “Did you have car trouble this morning?”

  “Dead battery.” I knew he wanted to ask how I got to work, but he thought it was too impolite to ask. Naturally, I was stubborn enough not to volunteer the information.

  “I was headed to MacKenzies’ Mochas for an espresso,” he said. “Can I bring you something?”

  “A latte would be nice.”

  He nodded, still staring at me with a look of combined admiration and bewildered confusion. “I’ll be right back.” He nearly tripped over a basket of yarn on his way out the door.

  It was hard to keep from giggling. Was it possible I’d just needed to throw a little paint on the old barn in order to feel noticed again?

  The phone rang, and I stepped over to the counter to answer it. “Good morning. Thank you for calling the Seven-Year Stitch.”

  “Good morning, Marcy. It’s Charlie. Any new developments on the Stott investigation?”

  “The defense attorneys are insisting the police keep searching for the real killer,” I said. “That’s about it.”

  “That’s typical defense attorney strategy, but it makes for good copy,” Charles said. “I’ll run a short piece on it. Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  As I ended the call, Ted came into the shop.

  “Hi. I didn’t see—” He broke off.

  I walked over to him. “You didn’t see what?”