Cross-Stitch Before Dying (18 page)

W
hen we got home from the police station, I let Angus out into the backyard—he’d had to stay inside entirely too long—and then I called and ordered a pizza. I knew neither Mom nor I had any desire to cook.

Ted took three sodas from the fridge and set them on the table. “Let’s talk.”

We sat down around the table and opened our sodas. Ted took out his notepad.

“I want to approach this as if I were investigating Henry’s death,” he said. “That way, I can get a better idea of what happened to Henry as well as what the TCPD believe happened.”

Mom nodded, slightly frowning, but I knew exactly what Ted meant. The Tallulah County Police Department was looking hard at Mom as a suspect in Henry’s death, and Ted wanted to help her by figuring out what the investigators were thinking. He and I both knew—without coming right out and saying so—that Detectives Bailey and Ray wouldn’t want Ted having any information about this case at all. As had happened on one other occasion of which I was personally aware, Ted was too close to the suspect to be considered impartial. They’d definitely shut him out, and they’d share as little information as possible with Manu. Whatever we found out, we’d have to learn on our own.

“Beverly, tell me exactly what happened when you arrived at the hotel,” Ted said.

“Okay. I went into the lobby and straight to the elevators,” she said.

“Did you see anyone acting strangely?” he asked. “Did anyone seem to be in a particular hurry to exit the building?”

Mom shook her head. “No, not really.”

“Okay. So you go up in the elevator. Were you the only one in the elevator, or were others in the car?”

“I was alone,” she said. “I stepped out when I got to Henry’s floor, and I went to his room. I was surprised to find that the door wasn’t pulled up all the way. Still, I knocked, but Henry didn’t answer.”

“And when he didn’t answer, you went on inside?” Ted asked.

“Yes. As I said, the door wasn’t completely closed, so I pushed it open.” She closed her eyes and winced. “Poor Henry. . . . He was lying there on the floor.”

“Tell me what else you saw when you opened the door,” he prompted. “Was the bed still unmade? Were there any dishes around? Did anything strike you as being unusual or out of place?”

Mom looked up at the ceiling and considered his questions. “The bed hadn’t been made, but other than that, the room was tidy. He’d apparently had breakfast brought up to his room because the tray and dishes were sitting on the table by the window.” She met Ted’s inquisitive gaze. “Nothing struck me as odd . . . other than the fact that Henry was unconscious on the floor.”

“Did you see any apparent cause of death?” Ted asked.

She shook her head.

“Did Henry have any health problems that you were aware of—history of heart attack, diabetes, asthma?”

“Not that I know of,” Mom said.

“How did Henry get along with Sonny?” Ted asked.

She shrugged. “Fine, as far as I know. This movie was the first time I’d ever worked with Sonny, but many of the other cast and crew members seemed to know him well. And they seemed to get along all right.”

“What about Babs?” I finally felt I had something to contribute to the questioning. “Ron Fitzpatrick told me that Babs flirted with all the guys. Is it possible there was more to their relationship than mere flirting?”

Mom frowned. “Babs . . . and
Sonny
? I can’t imagine those two being a couple . . . but I suppose anything is possible.”

I made a mental note to ask Ron his opinion of Sonny’s relationship with Babs. I had a few questions for Sonny too . . . although I knew they’d have to wait. If Henry hadn’t died of natural causes, then next to Mom, Sonny would be the Tallulah County Police Department’s main suspect in his death. I was sure the TCPD would be interrogating Sonny for hours about what he saw, how Henry had acted, whether or not he and Henry had argued, and if he’d noticed anything unusual this morning when he visited Henry.

By the time the pizza arrived, I was ready to put the events of the day behind us—to the extent possible—and veg out with a good movie.

“Let’s take the pizza and some plates into the living room, sit on the floor and eat, and then watch a funny movie,” I said.

“That sounds nice, dear, but I’m not really up to it,” Mom said. “I’m not even hungry, so I’m going to go on upstairs.”

I sighed as she left the kitchen. “I hate seeing her like this.”

“I know, babe. So do I.”

“What do you think about Henry’s death?” I asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I hope the man died of natural causes. Maybe the stress was simply too much for him to bear, and he had a heart attack.”

“Yeah, that’s the best-case scenario. Give me the worst.”

“Worst-case scenario is that Henry was murdered,” Ted said. “Then the TCPD will try to tie Henry’s murder to the murder of Babushka Tru.”

“And they’ll try to pin both on my mother,” I said.

He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

•   •   •

On Saturday morning, I left Angus home with Mom. She might not necessarily want actual human company, but I knew his companionship would do her good.

All the way to the Seven-Year Stitch, I thought about the events leading up to Henry’s death. He was—or, at least, appeared to be—perfectly fine when I met with him yesterday morning. I mean, yes, he was distraught over Babs’ death, but he didn’t seem to be in any physical distress.

I sat down in the sit-and-stitch square to begin my new cross-stitch project. Sometimes getting started was the hardest part. My mind wandered back to the surveillance tape. As I separated threads, I thought about Sonny. If Henry had, in fact, died of unnatural causes, what reason would Sonny have to do him in? Had Henry seen something the morning of Babs’ murder? Did Sonny
think
Henry had seen something? But if Henry had seen a viable suspect, wouldn’t he have said as much to the police?

I placed my cloth into an embroidery frame and came to the conclusion that maybe Henry
had
said as much to the police. Maybe someone leaked something to Sonny or to the press, and that’s why Sonny went to talk with Henry. I remembered seeing a uniformed Tallulah County Police Department deputy going into Henry’s hotel room a few minutes before Sonny. It was a long shot, but Deputy Preston had been friendly to me. Maybe he could give me some sort of clue as to what had happened yesterday morning.

I set my framed cloth on the ottoman and went to my office to get Deputy Preston’s card. I called his cell phone number and announced my identity when he answered. I realized, belatedly, that he’d probably seen my name come up on his caller ID.

“Oh, hey, Marcy,” Deputy Preston said. “Is everything going okay?”

“Well. . . . I did wonder if you have a few minutes to chat. Is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s not a bad time at all. In fact, I’m off today, and I’m down the street at MacKenzies’ Mochas. Want me to stop by your shop?”

“Do you mind?” I asked.

“Not a bit,” he said. “Want a coffee?”

“No, thank you, I’m good. But I appreciate your asking.”

“Be there in a few.”

After ending the call, I went back to the sit-and-stitch square. I threaded two needles—one with white floss and one with a pale blue—so I could concentrate on the tiny area in the center of the Monet print pattern. I’d work my way from the center out. I wished all of life’s puzzles could be worked out that easily.

The bells over the door jingled, and I looked up expectantly. Instead of Deputy Preston, however, my visitors were customers. They were sisters who came in often on Saturdays to see if I had anything new.

“Anything good come in this week?” Janey asked. Janey was the shorter, skinnier of the two middle-aged women, but they both had the same sense of style. Both had chestnut-colored hair with auburn highlights, and they always wore bright red lipstick.

“Check this out,” I said, leading them over to the Monet prints. “Aren’t they gorgeous? I’m working on one now.”

“They are beautiful,” said Judy. “But I think they’re a little too complicated for me. You got anything easier?”

“Judy, you’re always selling yourself short,” Janey said. “You could do this.”

“I think she’s right,” I said. “The pattern is stamped on the fabric, so it shouldn’t be as hard as it looks.”

Judy scrunched up her face. “I don’t know. I’m still afraid to try it.” She looked at her sister. “You do it.”

Janey put her fisted hands on her hips. “I’m not going to if you don’t.”

“If you want to move away from cross-stitch, I got some adorable needlepoint designs in this week,” I said. I went over to the side of the board where the needlepoint kits were hanging. “Check out these angels that represent each season.”

“Oh, those are pretty,” Judy said. “What do you think, J? I could do summer, and you could do fall?”

Janey’s eyes widened, as did her smile. “Yes! And we could enter them in the fair—maybe as a joint entry!”

The women looked at me and said simultaneously, “We’ll take these two!”

We laughed as Deputy Preston came into the shop.

“This must be the place to be this morning,” he said, encompassing all three of us in his smile. “Things are dull as dishwater at the coffeehouse. Then I come in here, and it’s all sunshine and laughter.”

“Judy and Janey are always full of fun,” I said.

Deputy Preston looked different out of uniform. You know how you get used to seeing a person present himself or herself a particular way, and then they look odd when “normally” dressed? He wore jeans, motorcycle boots, and a long-sleeved navy blue Henley shirt. He wore some type of medallion around his neck, but it was partially obscured by the collar of his shirt.

“I’ll be right with you,” I told him as I calculated the sisters’ purchases and put them in separate Seven-Year Stitch bags. “Please bring them in when you’ve completed them. I’d love to see the finished products.”

“We will,” Janey promised. “If nothing else, we’ll come by here on our way to enter them in the fair.”

“Good luck!” I called as they left.

Deputy Preston gave me a comical grimace.

“What’s that about?” I asked.

“They’re both going to enter their projects in the fair?” he asked. “I hope one doesn’t beat out the other. It could cause a family feud.”

I smiled. “They said something about entering them as a joint project.”

“You can do that?” he asked.

I shrugged. “For their sake, I hope so. I’m not all that familiar with fair rules and regulations.”

“Neither am I. I did a little woodworking in my Boy Scout days, but then my uncle got me into riding motorcycles,” he said. “Mom wasn’t too happy with him for that.”

“No, and I don’t blame her,” I said. “Motorcycles are fun—I’ve ridden them with friends—but they can be dangerous.”

“They’re not that bad. It’s the cars on the road that don’t have any respect for you that you have to watch out for.”

“That’s true. How old were you when you started riding?”

“I was ten,” he said. “Uncle Joe got me a dirt bike. I never looked back.”

“Did you do motocross?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep. Won quite a few races.”

“Why didn’t you continue with it—professionally, I mean?”

“I wasn’t good enough to make any real money at it,” he said. “I still ride for fun. But you didn’t want me to come by to talk about motorcycles. What’s on your mind?”

“Henry Beaumont.”

He wagged a finger. “Now you know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with a civilian.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s just that yesterday at the police station, Mom, Ted, and I were watching the surveillance tape, and we saw a deputy go up to Henry’s room at about eleven o’clock.”

“Yep. That was me. I had some follow-up questions for Mr. Beaumont.”

“Did he seem all right to you then?” I asked. “Did he look pale? Seem to be having any discomfort? Anything?”

Deputy Preston shook his head. “Appeared to be right as rain.”

“Do you think he was murdered?” I asked.

“The cause of Mr. Beaumont’s death has not yet been determined.” He grinned to offset the official statement. “Look, the TCPD is looking at every angle. Trust us to get to the bottom of this, whether Mr. Beaumont was murdered or not.”

“Do you think he was?”

“Marcy. . . .”

“I know, I know,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my mom found him, and she was one of the last people to see Babs alive, and I’m worried for her.”

“I understand,” he said. “But, again, you need to trust us.”

“It’s hard to trust when your mother’s life is at stake.”

“I understand,” he said softly. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“Thanks.” I bit my lower lip. “Could you make sure Detectives Ray and Bailey are talking with Sonny Carlisle? He was visiting Henry immediately before my mother.”

“I’ll do my best.” He turned to leave. “Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks.”

•   •   •

I had made an imperceptible dent in my cross-stitch project when Vera swept through the door.

“I’m glad to see you’re here today,” she said. “I was afraid you might be sick or something. I came by yesterday but you’d left. I intended to call you last night but then one thing led to another, and I simply let time get away from me. I’m sorry for blathering on. Is everything okay?”

I blew out a breath. “I suppose you heard about Henry.”

“Henry Beaumont? No. What about him?”

“He was found dead in his hotel room yesterday,” I said.

“Oh, my goodness, how terrible! What happened?”

“The Tallulah County Police Department is currently looking into that. I had to leave yesterday because Mom was the one who found Henry.”

“No! That poor dear,” she said, coming over to the sofa to give me a quick hug. “And poor you. This entire movie deal was supposed to be a dream job for you, and it has turned into a horrible nightmare.”

“I don’t know that I’d have called it a dream job,” I said. “But it would have been nice to have worked with Mom.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get to work with her on another project. Surely they’ll drop this one now that both the star
and
the producer-director are dead, won’t they?” She gasped. “Wait. Do the police think the deaths are connected? What if both Babs and Henry were murdered to keep this movie from going forward? What if there’s some deep dark secret about Sonam Zakaria that someone doesn’t want revealed?”