Thread End: An Embroidery Mystery

by Amanda Lee

  “How adorable was she?” Sissy asked. “She makes me want another one!”

  “Is Chad Jr. an only child?”

  “He is. And it always seems that when I think I’m in the mood to have another, Chad isn’t. And when he wants another one, it’s not the right time for me.” She shrugged. “Maybe Chaddie is supposed to be an only child.” She sighed. “Anyway, I really enjoyed watching your friend do the chikankari work the other night. I think I might like to give it a try. Do you have any books on the subject?”

  “I do have a couple chikankari books I ordered when Reggie and I decided to do the class,” I said. “They’re right over here.”

  Sissy followed me to the books and got both of the ones on chikankari. “These can be an early birthday present—from me to me.”

  “Oh, when’s your birthday?”

  “It isn’t until the end of September, but I buy myself early birthday gifts all summer long.” She laughed. “It’s the perfect excuse to indulge myself once in a while.”

  Once in a while? I considered three months to be more than once in a while, but what did I know?

  As she paid for her purchases, Sissy said, “By the way, the police asked Chad to come down to the police station to talk with them this morning. Do you know anything about that?”

  “I imagine it has something to do with Geoffrey Vandehey,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they had information that would lead to the recovery of your Cézanne?”

  “Frankly, no. Please don’t tell my husband this, but I despised that painting from the moment he bought it,” she said. “I understand that it was a fabulous investment—and I’d begged Chad to sell it—but I always thought that painting was downright ugly.”

  “As they say, art is subjective.”

  “It certainly is. Well, I’m off. Thanks, Marcy.”

  “Thank you, Sissy. If you need any help with the chikankari in the book, please let me know,” I said. “We’ll call Reggie.”

  After Sissy left, I went to the sit-and-stitch square to work on my beaded-cupcake project. Sissy had seemed relaxed and calm for someone whose husband was being questioned by the police. Of course, she didn’t know why they were talking with him.

  My mind drifted back to the information on George Vandehey’s flash drive, and I remembered the security code: 093072. That was most likely Sissy’s birth date. I wondered if Chad Cummings used it as the code so he wouldn’t forget the date. But then, if Sissy was buying herself gifts three months before her actual birthday, it seemed to me her credit card bill would be enough of a reminder.

  * * *

  I hadn’t realized how hungry I’d become until Ted arrived with soft steak tacos, chips, and queso. The tantalizing aroma immediately made my stomach growl.

  “Goodness, Angus, you must be starving,” Ted said, winking at me.

  “We both are,” I said.

  “Then it’s a good thing I brought an extra taco.”

  I quickly put the cardboard clock on the door and gave Ted and me thirty minutes. We went into my office, and I took a couple sodas from the mini fridge and set them on my desk while Ted opened the boxes containing the chips and queso and the tacos.

  “How did the interrogation go?” I asked.

  “As expected, Cummings denied everything. He said he had no idea how Geoffrey Vandehey got the code to the family’s private home security system, and then he demanded a lawyer be present while he was being questioned.”

  “Just any old lawyer or his lawyer from Seattle?”

  “I suppose any lawyer will do at this point, but it isn’t going to be easy to find one on a Saturday,” said Ted. “While Cummings goes through the directory trying to get an attorney who will answer the phone, Manu and I opted to take our lunch break. Brown stayed with Cummings. His loss.”

  “I hope it doesn’t turn into a long day for you,” I said.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do you have plans for me?”

  “Maybe. I think a homemade veggie pizza, a bottle of wine, and some kind of silly TV marathon might be good for both of us.”

  “That does sound nice,” he said, “unless, of course, you’re trying to make a fool of me.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “The German proverb in Vandehey’s notes—wine and women make fools of everybody?”

  “Oh, right!” I laughed. “Well, I promise, I’m not trying to make a fool of you. By the way, Sissy Cummings was in here this morning. She mentioned something about her birthday being the end of September. I think it’s the code—093072.”

  “I’d say you’re right.” He dipped a chip in the warm queso. “You know, it probably wouldn’t hurt for us to question the wife, too.”

  * * *

  Simon Benton strolled by after lunch. He’d been to MacKenzies’ Mochas and was drinking an iced coffee.

  “I love these things,” he said. “If I don’t get back to Denver soon, I’m going to gain twenty pounds.”

  “I don’t think they’re that fattening, are they?” I asked.

  “Who knows? Furthermore, who cares?” He chuckled and sat down on the club chair near me. “Hello, young man,” he said to Angus.

  Angus wagged his tail but stayed over near the window with his Kodiak bear.

  “He’s busy watching the world go by,” I said. “He does that some days.”

  “It makes him appear most contemplative.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I want to apologize for not being forthcoming with you yesterday about my telling Special Agent Brown that Geoffrey Vandehey was in Tallulah Falls.”

  “Oh, that’s quite all right,” I said. “We were only having a bit of fun theorizing about the identity of Vandehey’s killer. I didn’t actually think we’d solve the crime.”

  “Neither did I. Were I that clever, I’d be at 221B Baker Street in London, right?”

  “Right.”

  He leaned over to see what I was working on, but before he could comment, Angus began barking.

  “It’s okay, Angus,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

  Nellie Davis had been walking down the street toward MacKenzies’ Mochas and stopped to peer into our window. When she realized Simon and I were looking back at her, she turned and practically ran back in the direction of her own shop.

  “Who the devil was that?” Simon asked.

  “Her name is Nellie Davis, and she has been a thorn in my side ever since I moved to Tallulah Falls.”

  “Does she always behave so irrationally—watch you through your storefront window and then run away when you catch her?”

  “No, that one is a first,” I said. “She has told me—and others—that the Seven-Year Stitch is cursed. She has tried to get me to leave so her sister could lease my shop . . . that was, of course, before the one between our stores became vacant. But the most out-of-character thing she’d ever done was this week. She appeared to befriend me.”

  “And now she’s stalking you?”

  I laughed. “No. She came over and expressed concern because I’d found Dr. Vandehey in the alley. She told me to be careful and even gave me a stress-relief candle a day or so later. Then she came and took back the candle and told Special Agent Brown that I was trying to get her killed.”

  “It sounds as if that wretched woman is destined for the loony bin.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Why on earth would she tell Brown such an egregious tale?” he asked.

  “She believes I betrayed her confidence over something. . . .”

  “Over what?”

  “A black van, of all things,” I said.

  He took another sip of his coffee. “I have no clue what that means.”

  “Join the club. With Nellie, you never know what anything means. I simply know that she hates me and is out to get me. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine.”

  * * *

  After work, I changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I was glad to see that Ted had also changed into com
fortable clothing before coming over.

  He held up a bottle of white zinfandel. “I didn’t know what would go best with veggie pizza. Will this work?”

  “It sure will.” I was busily chopping the broccoli and cauliflower while the pizza crust browned.

  “What are our television marathon options?” He took out an ice bucket, filled it, and put the wine in the bucket to chill.

  “Let’s see. . . .” There was a long list of options of shows I enjoyed or had been meaning to check out. “We could watch Longmire, Arrow, Burn Notice, Supernatural, Psych, Damages, Justified—”

  “Let’s watch Justified,” he said. “We can raise a glass to the late, great Elmore Leonard.”

  “Deal. So how’d this afternoon’s interrogation go?”

  “I feel fairly sure that Cummings and his wife were involved in insurance fraud.” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “We don’t have enough to prove it, though, and I expect the thieving couple to flee Tallulah Falls immediately. On the plus side, Special Agent Brown will be on their heels.”

  I put the knife down and turned to face Ted. “He will? Isn’t Brown more interested in who killed Geoffrey Vandehey than he is in a painting that disappeared over two years ago?”

  “No, babe. Brown specializes in stolen art and art fraud. To him, that takes precedence over the murder. He’ll go to Seattle and question everybody with regard to the Cummings case and leave us to investigate the homicide.”

  “You’re glad he’s getting out of your hair, aren’t you?”

  “Delighted,” he said, dropping a kiss on my lips. “He’ll likely come back about once a month or so until either we mine some viable leads in the theft of the Padgett Collection or he decides it’s a lost cause.”

  “Speaking of viable leads, have any good ones come in yet?”

  “No, they have not, and that’s entirely your fault.”

  “My fault?” I asked.

  “Yes. You haven’t turned Nellie Davis in yet and collected our reward money.”

  I giggled. “I might have to do that after this afternoon. She was creeping around the Seven-Year Stitch—I thought at first she was going to MacKenzies’ Mochas—and then she came up to the window and looked in. When we saw her—Simon Benton was there, too—she turned and practically ran back to Scentsibilities.”

  He laughed. “That’s one strange old bird.”

  “Yes, she is. And I doubt she’ll ever pass by my shop again,” I said. “I suppose I lost Sadie and Blake a customer.”

  “They’re sure to go bankrupt now . . . which is another good reason for you to go ahead and turn Nellie in so we can get our cool mil.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  On Sunday afternoon, Ted and I left Angus at home in the air-conditioning, and we braved the heat to go play miniature golf. We went to the indoor arcade at the mall outside of town. The facility had an eighteen-hole pirate-themed mini golf course, laser tag, and arcade games such as pinball and air hockey.

  I wasn’t great at mini golf, but sometimes I got in a lucky shot or two. Ted, who also played regular golf, could have gone on the pro-mini-golf circuit if there was such a thing. Lucky for me, though, we didn’t keep score. Ted won a free game by making a hole in one on the last hole, but we decided to keep the pass and play again another day. I wanted to beat him in a game of air hockey.

  When we walked into the arcade section of the game center, we immediately spotted Josh Ingle and Kelly Conrad. Josh waved as soon as he saw us and started over. Kelly acted a bit sheepish, but she came along with Josh.

  “Hi, guys,” I said.

  “Hey,” said Josh. “What are you doing?”

  “We just finished up a game of mini golf,” Ted said. “We won a free game. Would you like our pass?”

  “Sure,” Josh said. Then he glanced at Kelly. “If you’d like to play, that is.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like fun,” she said.

  Ted handed the pass to Josh.

  “Thanks,” said Josh. “Would you guys like to get something to drink before Kelly and I go play golf?”

  Ted and I said we would, and we went into the small food court. Kelly and I found a table while Ted and Josh went to buy the drinks. I didn’t want to be nosy, so I waited for Kelly to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

  “This is our first date,” she said shyly.

  “Are you having fun?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I went to see Josh on Tuesday afternoon, and he was so discouraged and upset over the robbery. I gave him my number and told him to call me if he needed to talk with someone. And then I took your advice and spoke with my sister.”

  “Apparently, that went well.”

  “It did,” she said. “I told her I’d gone by the museum to see how Josh was doing. Of course, she’d heard all about the Padgett Collection being stolen and all that, and she said it was nice of me to be concerned about him. I told her I kinda liked him but that I didn’t want to pursue a relationship with him because they had dated.” She glanced down at her folded hands. “She told me not to be ridiculous—that she and Josh only went out a time or two and had nothing in common. So here we are.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. “Whether things work out for you and Josh or not, I would imagine your conversation opened up a new line of communication between you and your sister.”

  “It did. She couldn’t believe I’d held a grudge against him all this time for asking me out after dating her first.” She smiled. “It’s funny how you can completely misunderstand things and blow them out of proportion in your mind when you don’t attempt to discover the truth . . . or when you think you know the truth but neglect to confirm it. . . . You know what I mean?”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said.

  The guys returned with drinks: water for Ted and me, a diet soda for Kelly, and lemonade for Josh.

  “How are you holding up, Josh?” I asked. “I know you’re still concerned about the robbery, but hopefully, the reward will be the incentive someone needs to come forward with some valuable information.”

  “I’m praying that will happen,” he said. “And I’m doing all right. Kelly is helping me in that department. She has been wonderful to talk with me and encourage me.”

  Kelly blushed. “It isn’t that big a deal. I’m glad to help.”

  “I’ve run into more—how can I put this nicely?—eccentrics this week than I ever have at one time in my entire life,” said Josh. “First of all, that Special Agent Brown is like Inspector Clouseau . . . only not as competent! Sometimes I watched him interview people and could’ve sworn he was trying to botch things up! He’s unbelievable.”

  “I was afraid that his grudge against Geoffrey Vandehey would jeopardize his entire investigation,” Ted said. “That’s why I was so glad that some of our guys were there just about every step of the way with him.”

  “They certainly needed to be.” Josh shook his head. “It would’ve been comical to watch him work had it not been so important to me that the collection be found and the thieves brought to justice. If neither of those things ever happens, I’ll lay the blame squarely at the feet of Special Agent Floyd Brown.”

  “Tell them about Anderson Padgett,” Kelly prompted.

  “He’s another oddball,” said Josh. “Don’t get me wrong—the guy is as nice as he can be. . . . He’s simply . . . different. Ever since he’s been in town, he has come to the museum at least once a day and looked at every single exhibit. If there’s anything in the exhibit he can touch—like the stuffed bear in the wildlife exhibit—he does. I took him on the tour the first couple of times, and then he said he was fine going through on his own.”

  “There seems to be something very sad about that,” I said. “It’s like he’s lonely.”

  “I believe he is lonely.” Josh took a drink of his lemonade, grimaced, and added two packets of sugar. “You’d imagine that someone with as much money as Anderson Padgett has would have more friends
than the Queen of England. And maybe he does in Colorado.”

  “I ran into him in the museum one day, and he seemed sweet,” said Kelly.

  “We had lunch with him, and he struck us as a charming man, too,” I said.

  “What about Chad Cummings?” Ted asked Josh. “What kind of vibe did you get from him and his wife?”

  “At first, I thought he was sort of bossy with her,” Josh said. “But then I started watching them more, and it seemed like he wasn’t bossy so much as he was—What’s the word I’m looking for?—accommodating. I came to the conclusion that she was the pants-wearer, not him.”

  “I don’t know,” Kelly said. “I only met her once, but I got a different feeling than that. She struck me as very down-to-earth. I felt like Mr. Cummings was one to throw his weight around and brag about how much money they had and stuff like that.”

  “I agree with Kelly,” I said. “Mr. Cummings gave me the impression he was a showoff. I won’t be sorry when he leaves Tallulah Falls in his Bugatti’s rearview mirror.”

  “I won’t be sad to see Simon Benton leave, either,” said Josh. “There’s something about that man and his highbrow language. He’s treated me like the prime suspect in the Padgett Collection heist from day one. I believe he’d hang that crime on me in a minute if he could.”

  “Your uncle won’t let that happen,” Kelly said softly.

  “If the board decides to get rid of me, there’s not anything he can do about it,” he said. “He helped me get the job. I can’t ask any more of him than that.”

  “But the theft wasn’t your fault,” she told him.

  “Are you about ready to play that game of mini golf?” he asked.

  I was rather glad he changed the subject. Being privy to what should have been a private conversation was starting to make me uncomfortable.

  * * *

  Ted and I took the long way home. It was a beautiful day, and we were enjoying the drive. We were listening to an oldies station and singing along—badly and with incorrect words—to some of the songs.

  We turned down the street on which MacKenzies’ Mochas, the Brew Crew, Scentsibilities, and, of course, the Seven-Year Stitch were located. MacKenzies’ Mochas was bustling, the Brew Crew was—like the Stitch—closed on Sundays, and . . .