Thread Reckoning

by Amanda Lee

  “You’re supposed to think I cared too much about what we once had for us to harbor so much animosity toward each other.” Okay, so I had an ulterior motive, too. I shook my head. “This was a mistake.”

  He sat there for a moment in silence. Then he said quietly, “I wasn’t in human resources. I was an environmental consultant for the Santiago Corporation.”

  Bingo. “That’s impressive. I didn’t know you did that kind of work.”

  “I have an MBA. I have a number of business specialties I can draw on.”

  “Cool. What exactly did you do?” I asked.

  “I studied the impact of deforestation, the cost of restocking forests and implementing more environmentally friendly manufacturing procedures . . . things like that.” He shrugged. “I enjoyed it while it lasted.”

  “What happened?”

  “Budget cuts—at least, that’s what Junior said.”

  I pursed my lips. “Were you trying to talk with Caleb Sr. about getting your job back before the funeral on Tuesday?”

  David nodded. “I thought if I could make him see the value of my work, he’d hire me back.”

  “Did you get anywhere with him?”

  “He told me he’d take it up with the board at their next executive meeting,” he said.

  “Well, good luck.”

  David smiled. “Thanks. It’s a good company to work for . . . I mean, it used to be.”

  “At dinner the other night, Caleb Sr. told me that he and his wife are separated,” I said. “Is that true, or was it just a case of an old man trying to be flirtatious?”

  “Are you asking because you’re interested?”

  I laughed. “Hardly. Only curious.”

  “He was telling the truth. She lives in their town house in the city, and he occupies their country home,” said David.

  If Caleb Sr. lived in a home he once shared with his wife, then it’s possible she’d left the jewelry there. And Caleb Sr. could’ve given that jewelry to Francesca . . . But how would June Santiago have known it was missing and reported it stolen?

  David snapped his fingers. “Earth to Marcy. Come in, Marcy.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Are they amicable—the Santiagos?”

  “I don’t know. Why are you so fascinated with the Santiagos?”

  “Because of Francesca Ortega, I guess.”

  “Darling, you need to move past that,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

  “I’d love to,” I said. “But Cassandra Wainwright was murdered last night.”

  His eyes widened. “Murdered? Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’m the one who found her.”

  He got up and moved over to the same sofa I was sitting on. He put his arm around me and pulled me close. “Where was she?”

  “In Francesca’s apartment.”

  “And you found her?”

  I nodded. “Frederic had asked Harriet and me to help him go through some of his mom’s things.”

  “He asked you and Harriet but not his fiancée?” David frowned. “That sounds fishy.”

  “They’d had a falling-out the night before,” I said.

  “Even fishier. Where was he when you found her?” he asked.

  “On his way to the apartment. He and Harriet got there just minutes after I did.”

  “That seems convenient,” David said. “Are the police investigating Frederic?”

  “I’m sure they are. But, at least, I think they’ve eliminated me as a suspect. I have an alibi for the time of death.”

  “You were a suspect? Are you kidding me?”

  I barked out a short laugh. “I wish. But I did find the body, you know.”

  “Again, I think that’s awfully convenient for Frederic Ortega.”

  “Did you know him well . . . from when you worked with him at the Santiago Corporation?”

  “No, we didn’t work together very much. I don’t know enough about him to determine whether or not I believe him capable of murder.” He gave me a one-armed hug. “But then, do we ever really know what someone else is capable of doing?”

  David barely had time to get to his car before Sadie barreled into the Seven-Year Stitch.

  “Was that David I saw leaving?” she asked. “What was he doing here? Did you kick him out?”

  “Slow down and take a breath,” I instructed with a grin. “He was here because I called and invited him.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes and came over to press her palm against my forehead. “Are you sick?”

  “No . . . but I might be a bit calculating,” I said as Sadie sat down. I explained to Sadie that I’d run across a stock certificate at Francesca Ortega’s apartment after finding Cassandra. “Since David had worked for the Santiago Corporation, I thought he might be able to give me a little insight into the company.”

  “And did he?”

  “Some. I didn’t come right out and ask him the questions I’d have liked to, because I’m not convinced I can trust David.”

  “Ya think?” Sadie asked. “Sorry. That kinda slipped out.”

  “It’s okay. Anyway, I got a few new pieces of the puzzle that I can pass along to Ted,” I said. “And Riley is helping me dig into the Santiago Corporation’s financials.”

  She nodded toward the ribbon-rose-bedecked fabric on my lap. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a purse I’m making to go with the dress I’m wearing to the masquerade ball. I made Vera one and decided to make myself one, too. After the ball, I can use it in a window display and to try to create some interest in a class this spring.”

  “It looks hard,” she said.

  “It isn’t. Watch.” I wove the ribbon through the spokes of the spiderweb to create a rose.

  Sadie smiled. “That’s all there is to it?”

  “That’s it. You just need to be patient and not tug on the ribbon too hard or too quickly.”

  “I want to learn. If you offer a class, sign me up.” She watched with unveiled excitement as I made another rose. “I mean it. Sign me up!”

  “I can teach you how to make a rose now, if you want.”

  “I’d better not,” Sadie said. “I need to get back to the coffeehouse. We’ve been busier than usual today.” She cocked her head. “By the way, have you taken your Kuba cloth quilt to Lincoln City yet?”

  “No. I’m planning to take it tomorrow after work.”

  “Want me to tag along?” she asked.

  It was the nonchalance she’d forced into her voice that made me question her motives. “Do you need something from Lincoln City? Or are you afraid I’ll stumble upon another dead body while I’m there?”

  “A little of both. I’d like to check out the festival setup . . . and I’d like to be there in case . . . you know . . . anything weird happens.”

  “You’re welcome to ride along,” I said with a wry grin, “as long as you don’t feel like you have to.”

  “Trust me. You’ll be doing me a favor. Blake, Todd, and some of their friends are getting together to play poker tomorrow night.”

  I brightened. “All right, then. On the way back, we can stop somewhere for dinner.”

  Sadie gave me a thumbs-up. “Oh yeah. A road trip combined with girls’ night out. Does it get any better?”

  Business was brisk after Sadie left, and I didn’t have time to call Riley until nearly four thirty.

  “It appears you made a good guess with regard to the Santiago Corporation funneling a boatload of cash into research and development and their stocks going up in value,” she said. “On the other hand, there was nothing that immediately sends up red flags.”

  “So, at least on paper, everything looks fine for the Santiago Corporation,” I said.

  “It looks great. Either Junior or the people advising him are doing an excellent job of making his business dealings appear legitimate—that is, assuming they’re not.”

  “Like I told you this morning,” I reminded Riley, “at this point I’m not trying to prove a
nything. I’m hoping to smoke out a killer.”

  “Promise me you won’t go off half-cocked, making a bunch of unfounded accusations.”

  “How about if I go off fully cocked?” I asked.

  “Marcy!”

  I laughed. “I’m kidding!” And I was . . . for the most part.

  “You’d better be. Laura is going to need a lot more cute embroidered stuff after she arrives.”

  “I know.”

  After talking with Riley, I straightened up the shop and fluffed the sofa pillows for the evening class. I was on my way out the door to go home and feed Angus when my cell phone rang. It was Agent Daltrey. He wanted to meet with me either this evening or first thing tomorrow morning. I asked him to come by the shop after my class. No sense dreading our little get-together all night long.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Agent Daltrey came into the Seven-Year Stitch less than five minutes after my last student left. It made me feel as if he’d been watching the shop, although he did act surprised when Angus loped over to greet him. After having left the poor baby at home this morning, I wanted to have him with me this evening.

  “Hello, big fella,” Agent Daltrey said, holding out the back of his hand for the dog to sniff. “What’s his name?”

  “Angus,” I answered. “Would you like something to drink, Agent Daltrey?”

  “I’d love some water if you have it, and please call me Jason.”

  I went to my office and got four bottles of water. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said, “but I asked detectives Nash and Sloan to join us. They should be here any minute.”

  “I don’t mind in the least,” Jason said. “In fact, I’m glad we’ll all be able to sit down and put our heads together on this one.”

  I smiled as I handed him his water. “I’m happy you feel that way.” I sat down and twisted the top off my bottle.

  Ted and Harriet arrived, and Ted took on Angus in a quick game of tug-of-war before we got down to business. Harriet sat with me on the sofa facing the window, and the men sat opposite us.

  “So, what’re we doing?” Ted asked.

  “I called Marcy to ask her for more information about the crime scene she happened upon yesterday,” Jason said.

  “You’ve undoubtedly read the report I gave to the county deputies?” I asked.

  “I have,” he said. “But I must say, respectfully, that I might be able to glean more from talking with you than I did from scanning their notes.”

  “That makes sense.” I described entering the apartment, going through the various rooms, and then finding Cassandra in Francesca’s home office. “The room was a wreck. Papers were thrown all over the place, drawers were open . . . I thought someone had been trying desperately to find something.”

  “You didn’t feel the crime scene had been staged?” Jason asked.

  “No,” I said. “Did you?”

  “I don’t know. When I looked at the crime scene photos earlier today, I wondered if Ms. Wainwright had trashed the room in a rage prior to her murder or whether the killer had taken the time to toss the room after dispensing with her.” Jason took a drink of his water. “Being that you were the first to arrive on the scene, what was your initial impression?”

  I shrugged. “My thought was that either Cassandra surprised the killer as he was riffling through the room or he stabbed her before searching the office.”

  “And, Detective Sloan, what did you perceive?” Jason asked.

  “I saw no blood on the papers, the desk, the file cabinet . . . none of the places the murderer would have touched while trashing the office,” said Harriet. “So either he or she searched first and killed later or Cassandra Wainwright was the person who’d been looking for something.”

  Jason raised his bottle. “Hear, hear! We need to determine what Francesca Ortega had that was of value to Ms. Wainwright, to the killer, or to them both.”

  “There is one thing that happened after I gave my statement to the county officers,” I said. I told them about the stock certificate falling out of the photo album and my suspicion that Francesca might’ve caught someone at the Santiago Corporation padding stocks.

  “I don’t follow,” Ted said.

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and wondering how to best explain my mind-set. “Since the certificate had no name on it, I believe Francesca might’ve taken it more for symbolic rather than lucrative reasons. Maybe she’d planned to show—or had actually shown—the certificate to someone higher up in the company to get them to investigate the books.”

  “You believe Francesca Ortega learned that someone within the corporation was keeping fraudulent records,” Ted said.

  “I feel that’s a strong possibility. You see, when I worked as an auditor, we’d look for lots of money being earmarked for R and D—research and development—because it’s easy to use that designation as a place to cover up hokey transactions.”

  “Where’s the certificate now?” Jason asked.

  “I put it back in the photo album,” I said.

  Ted leaned forward, placing his forearms on his knees. “Who do you think knew about the fraud if the company was indeed falsifying records?”

  “The person responsible, of course,” I said, “as well as anyone helping to funnel the money.” I tilted my head. “I did learn something else interesting today. Until a few weeks ago, David Frist was working in the Santiago Corporation’s R and D department as an environmental consultant.”

  Jason asked, “Who’s David Frist?”

  “An old . . . friend of mine from San Francisco. He came by the shop the day before Francesca was stabbed.”

  “And he got here pretty quickly on the morning of her death,” Ted supplied.

  “Do you feel this man was involved in Ms. Ortega’s and Ms. Wainwright’s murders?” Jason was taking notes on a small pad he’d taken from his jacket pocket and didn’t look up.

  “I have no idea,” I admitted. “I’m only spitballing.”

  “What about the jewelry?” Harriet asked Jason. “Do you have any new leads there?”

  “Not any new ones, no.”

  “Do you know where Mrs. Santiago kept these particular pieces?” I asked.

  Jason shook his head. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just wondering if they might’ve been at the summer home,” I said. “Since Mr. and Mrs. Santiago have been estranged for quite some time, someone could’ve taken the jewelry from there believing Mrs. Santiago wouldn’t realize it was missing.”

  “Even at that,” Jason said, “how would it wind up with Francesca Ortega unless she stole it?”

  “That’s what we need to figure out,” I said.

  When I got home, I took out my cell phone and found the incoming number Caleb Santiago Sr. had used to call me last week. My number must have appeared on his caller identification screen, because he answered, “Hello, Ms. Singer.”

  “Hi, Mr. Santiago. I wanted to call and thank you again for dinner the other evening.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” he said. “Now tell me the real reason for your call.”

  I chuckled. “And you accused me of cutting directly to the chase.” I cleared my throat. “You told me you and your wife are separated.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. I mean, you’re an attractive man . . . Francesca was a lovely woman. Was there more to your relationship than typical employer-employee status?”

  “We’d worked together for more than twenty years, Ms. Singer. Naturally, that would upgrade us to acquaintances at the very least, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “I’ve known people who’ve worked for a company for a long time but haven’t spoken with a boss other than their immediate supervisor.”

  “I was Frannie’s immediate supervisor.”

  “Were you having an affair with her, Mr. Santiago?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m thinking maybe you gave
Francesca some of the jewelry your wife had at your summer home,” I said. “When Mrs. Santiago came looking for it, she decided it must have been stolen. And maybe you simply had Francesca break the pieces up so that she wouldn’t be prosecuted if she was found with the jewels in her possession.”

  “You have quite an imagination,” Mr. Santiago said. “But Frannie and I weren’t having an affair. My tastes tend to run toward younger women. That said, the next time I find myself in your area, I’ll give you a call.”

  Yikes. Not knowing quite how to answer that, I replied, “Okay. Thank you for your time, Mr. Santiago.”

  After ending the call, I realized Mr. Santiago hadn’t denied my theory about how Francesca came into possession of the jewelry. He had only denied the affair.

  The next morning, I was ensconced in a chair in the sit-and-stitch square finishing my ribbon embroidery purse, with Angus snoozing in his bed beneath the counter, when Frederic came by. He dropped onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh.

  I started to ask him what was wrong, but that seemed like a stupid question in light of everything life had thrown at Frederic over the past few days. Instead, I asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

  “What was Agent Daltrey doing here last night?”

  “He came by with some questions about the crime scene . . . at your mother′s apartment,” I said. “I knew he was coming, so I asked Ted and Harriet to be here. Something about that guy makes me nervous.”

  “Tell me about it.” He bit his thumbnail, which was already nibbled nearly to the quick. “He thinks I did it, doesn’t he?”

  “He didn’t give me any indication of that.” Of course, he didn’t let on that he believed Frederic to be innocent, either, but I didn’t tell Frederic that. “He and Harriet did point out something I hadn’t considered. There was no blood on any of the papers or the desk or anything.”

  “So? Why’s that important?” Frederic asked.

  “Either it means the killer was riffling through the office and was surprised by Cassandra, stabbed her, and then ran away, or it means Cassandra was the one looking for something.” There was the other possibility that the two of them were working together, but I kept that one to myself. “Is there anything Cassandra might have been searching for at your mom’s place?”