Thread End

by Amanda Lee

  Vera’s brown eyes widened. “The museum . . . Of course.”

  “Isn’t that what you meant?” I asked.

  “I was thinking it could be a good opportunity for a personal collector, but sure, the museum would really benefit from being able to hold on to a piece of history, too.”

  I hid a smile. Vera’s late husband hadn’t allowed her free rein with the finances, even though the bulk of their wealth had belonged to her. She’d been making up for that ever since his death.

  “I can’t afford to buy,” I said. “I’ll be happy to simply look.”

  “The prices were more reasonable than you might think,” she said. “I was surprised really. If there’s anything that strikes your fancy, let me know so I can get the owner to quote a price for you.”

  “All right,” I said, knowing full well that Vera’s idea of a reasonable price and mine were as far apart as Mexico and Canada.

  “Anyway, I’m wearing an elegant white dress,” she said, brushing a lock of her beautifully highlighted chin-length blond bob behind her ear. “It has spaghetti straps, so I’ll need to get a spray tan when I leave here.”

  “Tan or no tan, I’m sure you’ll look fantastic,” I said.

  She leaned her head back against the chair and gazed up at the ceiling. “I love getting all dressed up and going to parties. John never went in for that sort of thing.” She sighed.

  I wondered—but didn’t dare ask—if she ever missed her husband. There had been a lot of animosity between them before he died, but she’d loved him once. I wondered if the good memories ever outshone the bad.

  As quickly as the melancholy had descended, Vera sent it packing with a resolute smile. “I really had better get going. I just wanted to drop in before going to the tanning salon . . . and then on to the beauty salon.”

  “You’ll be the belle of the ball,” I said with a grin.

  “I doubt that.” She winked. “But I won’t be half-bad.” She stood. “See you there!”

  “See you, Vera!”

  Angus left his granola bone long enough to see his friend to the door. She turned and hugged him before stepping out into the balmy afternoon.

  After quite a bit more pacing and waiting on a few more customers, I heard my phone ring.

  “Good afternoon! This is the Seven-Year Stitch. How may I help you?”

  “Have you heard from Ted?” asked Reggie.

  My heart dropped. “Don’t tell me they’re canceling on us!”

  “No,” she said. “But Manu just called and said he’d heard from the FBI. The bureau is sending someone down from their Portland office because they suspect a known art thief will show up at the exhibit.”

  “Why would an art thief bother with an antique textiles exhibit in an itty-bitty town like Tallulah Falls?”

  “Who knows?” Reggie huffed. “But they’ve sent down photos of the guy so that Manu and Ted—along with the rest of the department—can be on the lookout for him at the exhibit tonight.”

  “Aw, it won’t be so bad,” I said. “They’ll be discreet, and it’ll give them something to do while we’re mooning over the textiles.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. “I just wanted us to have one night out when our guys would truly be off duty.”

  Chapter Two

  Ted arrived at my house at about a quarter past six o’clock. We were to be at the museum at seven, and I was still putting the finishing touches on my makeup. I had short platinum hair, so I liked to take special care in playing up my eyes when I was getting dressed up and wanted to feel glamorous.

  “Come in,” I called from the top of the stairs, mascara wand in hand, when Ted rang the bell. “I’ll be right down!” I hurried back to the vanity in the bedroom so Ted wouldn’t see me before I was “finished.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” he called from the foyer.

  “Would you mind letting Angus back inside?” I asked.

  “Will do!”

  I was fortunate that my master bedroom was big enough to accommodate a vanity. Sure, it was a little crowded, but it was worth it. Having a mom who was a Hollywood costume designer meant that my entire life I’d wanted a vanity like those I’d seen in dressing rooms. I didn’t have a vanity reminiscent of the ones in a makeup and wardrobe department, though. Mine was even better. It was a small distressed white table with an eyelet skirt around the bottom. Baskets with dividers held makeup and other beauty products. There was a basket attached to either side of the vanity. The top held my mirror—regular on one side and magnifying on the other—a pencil cup filled with makeup brushes, and a bottle of my favorite perfume.

  I quickly finished applying my mascara and started to brush a rich red lipstick onto my lips. But then I realized I’d like to kiss Ted hello first without either or both of us ending up looking like clowns, so I dropped the lipstick into my beaded clutch and went on downstairs.

  I found Ted and Angus in the kitchen. Angus was giving Ted high fives, and Ted was feeding the dog bacon-flavored treats.

  Ted turned and gave a low whistle when he heard me approach. “Wow. You look fantastic.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled, thinking he looked gorgeous as I took in his glistening black hair, his incredible blue eyes, and the suit that looked as if it had been tailor-made for him. “I haven’t put my lipstick on yet.”

  He flipped Angus the last bacon treat he’d been holding and walked slowly toward me. “Really? Why’s that?”

  The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth told me he knew exactly why that was, and my heart did a little tap dance. I laughed softly.

  He pulled me into his arms. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.” He lowered his head and kissed my mouth until my knees went weak. Then he kissed my neck, and my knees nearly gave out completely.

  As his mouth moved back to mine, I murmured, “We really should go.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “Manu and Reggie will be waiting.”

  Ted kissed me one last time and then raised his head. “You’re right. We’ll have to continue this later. How quickly do you think we can get rid of the Singhs tonight?”

  I playfully tapped his shoulder. “You’re so mean!” But as I looked into his eyes, I said, “Reggie probably has to work tomorrow.”

  “So do you,” he reminded me.

  I grinned. “The Stitch doesn’t open as early as the library does.”

  “Now who’s mean?”

  * * *

  When we pulled into the museum’s parking lot, there were almost no empty spaces.

  “Let me drop you off at the door,” Ted said. “I might have to park in the municipal lot across the street, and you don’t need to walk that far in those heels.”

  I was wearing five-inch pumps. Even at that, I only came up to Ted’s shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. I didn’t dream there’d be such a huge turnout for the exhibit, though, did you?”

  He shook his head. “The museum staff had better take measures to stay within the maximum-occupancy fire code.”

  I laughed. “You’re worried about maximum occupancy when there’s an art thief on the loose?”

  “Hey, safety and emergency-exit procedures are no laughing matters.” He pulled into an available space, put the car in park, and shut off the engine. Then he turned to me. “So Reggie told you there might—and the key word here is might—be an art thief nosing around the exhibit?”

  I nodded. “You aren’t concerned?”

  “Not particularly,” he said. “I don’t think the man suspected of being in the area will burst onto the scene with guns blazing and try to steal the pieces on exhibit.”

  “Actually, I can’t see any art thief worth his salt doing that,” I said. “The risk of damaging the art would be too high.”

  “Precisely, my Inch-High P
rivate Eye. You’re learning.”

  “Yeah, well, I prefer leaving the investigating up to you,” I said.

  “Since when?” He chuckled. “However, if you should happen to see this man . . .” He took a photo from his breast pocket and handed it to me. “Then please quietly let me know.”

  I dutifully studied the photo of the small, balding man with large round glasses, but I knew full well that if the man came anywhere near the museum tonight, Ted would be the first to spot him. My guy never missed anything.

  “He looks nice enough,” I murmured. “Timid, too. He doesn’t seem the heist-y type.”

  “As far as we know, he only stole one painting, but it was priceless. Before he turned to a life of crime—or, in this case, an incident of crime—he was an art history professor somewhere in Canada.”

  “Wonder what it was about that one painting that made it so irresistible to him,” I said.

  “I don’t know. He stole the piece in Seattle and left a note saying he simply couldn’t stand to see the painting in the hands of such a boorish, unappreciative collector,” Ted said.

  “What was the painting?”

  “It was an early work by Cézanne,” he said. “It was similar to his skull paintings. Are you familiar with those?”

  “I seem to recall he liked doing still-life paintings with skulls in them,” I said.

  “Yeah. The man apparently had a touch of the macabre. Professor Vandehey was in Seattle authenticating the painting.”

  “He must’ve been sure it was the real thing to have given up everything for it,” I said.

  “He must have.” He suddenly smiled and waved. “There are Manu and Reggie. Sit tight.” He got out of the car and came around to open my door.

  Chivalry is alive, well, and sexy, I thought as I took his hand.

  Reggie and Manu were heading toward us. She looked lovely in her coral sari. It had silver beading and sequins and was very elegant. Reggie was even wearing low-heeled silver sandals. She typically wore flats, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing her in heels before.

  “You look beautiful,” I said.

  “So do you,” she said with a warm smile.

  Manu cleared his throat.

  “And you look dashing, Manu,” I said.

  “Thank you.” He adjusted his black tie. He really did look nice in his black suit and white shirt. He even had a white pocket square. I was accustomed to seeing him in jeans and plaid shirts, so this was a nice change.

  “Oh, yes, smooth out his ruffled feathers,” Reggie teased. She looked around the parking lot and then at the crowd gathering at the door. “I had no idea there were so many people interested in textiles.”

  “They’re not,” said Manu. “We live in a small town, and there’s nothing else to do.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Ted said. “There are some pretty decent reruns on TV tonight.”

  “Then what are we standing around here for?” Manu asked.

  “Ha-ha,” Reggie said, taking his arm and heading toward the entrance.

  “Ted’s worried about maximum-occupancy laws,” I said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Reggie shook her head. “Manu said the exact same thing!”

  “It’s our duty to serve and to protect,” Manu said. “That includes getting your butts out of there safely in case of an emergency.”

  “As well as everyone else’s butts,” Ted added. “Can you imagine what a field day the press would have if there were some sort of emergency here tonight, fire codes weren’t being followed, and Tallulah Falls’s chief of police and head detective were on the scene?”

  I squeezed his hand. “It would be all right. We’d have Vera’s boyfriend spin it.”

  “I’ll spin you,” he said with a wink.

  “Promise?” I grinned.

  “Aw, get a room!” Manu said. “By the way, that’s something else we could be—ow! Stop pinching me, woman. I was only kidding . . . sort of.”

  “Please behave yourself,” Reggie said. “I’ve been looking forward to this night for weeks, and I know Marcy has been, too.”

  Manu turned to Ted and me and shrugged like a chastised schoolboy. Then, just as quickly, he turned serious. “Those two guys at the door had better be counting. I’m going to ask when we get up there, and they’d better know exactly how many people are in that building.”

  Before we went inside the museum, Manu showed the men his badge and asked how many people were in the building. One of the men gave a satisfactory answer and assured Manu that when they neared the maximum-capacity limit, they would keep people out until others exited. Once inside, Manu and Ted excused themselves and went to speak with the head of the security staff.

  “They’re going to make sure the staff is aware of . . . the professor,” Reggie said.

  “Good. That gives us some time to linger over the pieces we like best without feeling that we’re boring them to death,” I said.

  My favorite was a biblical tapestry depicting the battle between David and Goliath that dated back to the early 1500s. It was a large piece that—when the panels were placed side by side as they were displayed—was seventy-five feet long and ten feet wide. The information card reported that it had been woven in the Flemish city of Arras. It comprised three panels. One panel showed the Israelite army encamped on one mountain looking anxiously into the valley. The center panel was, of course, that of David poised to throw a stone from his sling at the jeering giant. The third panel showed the Philistine army on the other mountainside gloating over what they presumed would be a quick victory for Goliath.

  Although Reggie loved the Sivas kilim she’d seen on the Web site, her favorite was a vintage Sharkoy kilim rug from the Balkans. It had been woven in shades of brown, blue, cream, and rose, and it had burdock and amulet motifs.

  “That rug would go beautifully in my living room,” Reggie said.

  “Well, Vera said the collector was willing to sell a few of the pieces,” I said lightly. “You could ask.”

  She laughed. “As if I could afford to pay whatever the asking price would be for an antique rug . . . and then put it on my floor and walk on it.”

  “But you could always hang it up.”

  “Of course I could. Maybe I can get Manu to cash in his pension,” she said.

  We were laughing at that thought when Manu and Ted joined us.

  “You two are having entirely too much fun at this staid gathering,” Ted said, putting his arm around me and pulling me against his side.

  “I’m trying to talk Reggie into buying this rug,” I said.

  Manu’s eyes bulged. “Oh, no, you aren’t!”

  “This stuff isn’t really for sale, is it?” Ted asked.

  “Vera said Paul interviewed the collector and that some of the pieces are,” I said. “In fact, she told me to let her know if I saw anything I liked. I said that the museum might be interested in acquiring something to display full-time but that I certainly couldn’t afford anything.”

  “Neither can we,” Manu said.

  “I know, my darling,” Reggie said. “We were only joking around.”

  “Do you two feel confident that the museum is secure?” I asked.

  “We do,” Ted said. “The FBI even sent someone from their art theft division down from Portland to keep an eye out for Professor Vandehey.”

  “And there are a group of people waiting outside for someone to leave so they can come in,” Manu said. “I think the security team here is on top of things.”

  “It wasn’t that we really doubted them.” Ted’s glance at Manu belied his words. “But we knew they’d never handled an exhibit of this size before.”

  “Exactly.” Manu nodded. “Everything here is under control, and we can all enjoy the exhibit.”

  I noticed the young woman who
’d been in my shop earlier in the day walking around looking uncomfortable and out of place. I got her attention and waved her over.

  “Hi! I’m glad you decided to come.” I introduced her to Ted, Manu, and Reggie. “And this is . . . ? I didn’t get your name this morning.”

  “It’s Kelly,” she said. “Kelly Conrad. It’s nice to meet all of you.”

  Everyone exchanged pleasantries, and then the curator joined us. He was a short, trim man, fairly attractive, with neatly cut auburn hair and green eyes.

  “Good evening,” he said. “I’m Josh Ingle. Are you enjoying yourselves?”

  “We are,” I said.

  “Glad to hear it,” Josh said. “If you need anything, please let me know.” He looked pointedly at Kelly. “Good to see you.”

  She nodded.

  “I’d like to talk with you later, if you have time,” he said.

  “I was actually on my way out,” Kelly said.

  “Wait,” Josh began.

  “Thanks, Marcy,” she said. “See you soon.” With that, she hurried off through the crowd.

  Josh frowned after her and then turned back to us and smiled. “Again, I’ll be around should you guys need anything. Back to mingling.”

  “That was odd,” Ted said after Josh had walked away.

  “Yeah, wonder what that was about,” Manu said. “Must be some history there.”

  “She told me when she came into the shop this morning that she wanted to come tonight but that she preferred to avoid the curator,” I said. “She said he went out with her sister a couple of times.”

  “Those must have been a few terrible dates,” Reggie said.

  Chapter Three

  I’d stayed up too late the night before; but even sleep-deprived, I was chipper as Angus and I pulled into our usual parking spot outside the Seven-Year Stitch. I had seen Vera and Paul only briefly at the museum exhibit, so I supposed Vera would be in sometime today. I hoped she would, anyway. It would be fun to relive the evening with her . . . going over the pieces we’d liked best. I wondered if she’d made the collector any offers. I grinned. Knowing Vera, she probably had.