Seven Threadly Sins (8 page)

I
had carried a white cardboard briefcase only while I was on the runway, and then I’d passed it to another model. I had never brought one into my cubicle.

Maybe TADAM students had paired the briefcases with some of the Ambitious Attire outfits. They wouldn’t have had enough to go around.

I peeked into Macey’s cubicle. One of those shiny white briefcases was on a chair underneath that royal blue sweater. There was no briefcase in the cubicle next to Macey’s, but one was in the cubicle on the other side of mine, and I spotted them in cubicles across the narrow aisle from Macey’s and mine.

I returned to my cubicle. During the rehearsal and show, the cardboard briefcases had been slim and sleek, but this one bulged as if it had indulged in a little gluttony of its own.

I peeked inside. Food? Had I guessed right about the gluttony?

I gripped the crackly plastic package by one corner and pulled it out. The top had been sliced off neatly, and fat
pastel candies that resembled beads threatened to spill out and bounce all over the floor—exactly what I did not need in this freakily almost-silent backstage.

Antonio must have had more candies than the stash he kept in his pocket. But the mints I’d seen on the podium and that Vicki and Gord had taken from Antonio’s pockets had been white, almost perfect orbs. Most of the candies in this package were more elongated, and the candies near the top of the bag were mostly pale green, pink, and yellow. Maybe Antonio had sorted through the package and chosen only the most perfectly spherical white mints to eat first.

The label said
Jordan Almonds
. These were the traditional wedding almonds in sugary coatings. Antonio’s breath had smelled minty. Mint-flavored wedding almonds?

Maybe these candies had belonged to someone else and they’d ended up in a briefcase that had somehow gotten into my cubicle. I shoved the package into the briefcase again.

Turning again to leave, I noticed that one of the tissues that I’d stuffed into the toes of the mud brown pumps was partway out, as if I’d dislodged it when I’d removed the shoe. I squatted and pulled it the rest of the way, then scrabbled in the toe of the other shoe and got that one, also.

I straightened the shoes. Something rattled in the one that had contained the loose tissue. I picked up the shoe and turned it over.

A vial fell out. I grabbed it before it rolled underneath the curtain into Macey’s cubicle.

The prescription label had torn off the outside of the little vial, but the name of the medicine was clear.

It was one that people with severe allergies carried to prevent themselves from going into shock and dying from an allergic reaction.

Suddenly, it all fell into place. Antonio, popping candies from his jacket pocket into his mouth without looking. Antonio, turning red, clutching his throat, not his chest,
and asking, “Where’s my—” If Antonio had a severe almond allergy, and had accidentally eaten a candy-coated almond instead of a mint, he could have collapsed from shock, not from a heart attack.

But when Gord had asked Antonio’s wife about heart medication, wouldn’t that have been the time to mention that he had allergies and maybe should be treated for a reaction?

Why hadn’t she?

What if Antonio had been checking his pockets for his medication, and hadn’t found it there, and neither had Vicki and Gord?

I bit the back of my hand. Last night when I’d left the stage after the awards ceremony, I had kicked something that had been under the chair where Antonio’s jacket had been hanging. It had rolled beneath the red curtains of the curtained-off cubicle where the briefcases had been stored. I had assumed it was one of Antonio’s mints.

And it may have been. But it had sounded very much like this little vial had when it rolled away from me just now.

By not seeking out what I’d kicked last night and asking who had lost it, I may have contributed to the seriousness of Antonio’s collapse.

The ambulance had taken him to the hospital in time, hadn’t it? And he’d be fine, wouldn’t he?

And then, wouldn’t he ask if someone had hidden his medication? Maybe it had fallen out of his jacket one of the many times his jacket was knocked off the chair. Still, he might wonder how he had, if he’d known better, eaten an almond. Had someone slipped a Jordan almond or two into his pocket and hidden his medication underneath the chair in hopes he’d suffer a severe reaction? Nearly everyone in the fashion show had touched that jacket, partly because we’d all bumbled into the chair, knocked the jacket off, and hung it up again.

Had someone tried to kill Antonio? They couldn’t have known when he would eat the almond, but they may have been sure he would eat it, eventually.

And they didn’t plan to be near him when he did.

I felt the blood drain from my head. After they set him up for a possibly deadly allergic reaction, had they returned to the conservatory and placed the incriminating objects among my things?

I could phone Vicki and ask her to come see the almonds and the medicine. I could tell her my theories.

I shook myself out of my wild imagining. I was tired and cranky, not only from lack of sleep but because of the annoyances of the rehearsal, the show, the reception, and its aftermath.

Vicki would undoubtedly tell me I was making up scenarios that didn’t exist. No one had tried to kill Antonio. He would live. No one had tried to implicate me in an attack on him, either.

Maybe I should throw out the package of Jordan almonds and the vial I still clutched. Maybe the vial was empty. I couldn’t tell from its weight and couldn’t hear liquid slosh when I shook it next to my ear. I should probably forget all about it.

Voices and footsteps clattered in the part of the conservatory where the runway was. Chairs banged together. A male voice called, “I’ll go see if I can figure out how to take down the cubicles.” I heard someone leap up onto the stage.

Maybe the man was coming to retrieve the candies and medicine vial, empty or not.

With quick, jerky motions, I tucked the vial where I’d found it and stuffed the tissues back into the shoes.

I rose and stuck my head out between the curtains. No one was near. As if I were an escaping criminal, I tiptoed out of the backstage and down the ramp leading toward the outer doors.

I didn’t see anyone inside the conservatory, but in the main room, chairs were being slammed around by laughing, shouting people. TADAM students? I glanced over my shoulder as I pressed the door open. I didn’t see anyone.

No one was outside the conservatory, either.

But I again felt like I was being watched, which wasn’t surprising near a glass building.

I hurried to In Stitches and went inside in time to open the shop for Ashley, who worked with me on weekends and usually arrived early.

White-faced, she opened the shop door and stopped, trembling, on the threshold.

I
rushed to the door, pulled Ashley into the shop, and asked, “Is something wrong?”

Ashley brushed hair from her face. “I just heard on the radio that the director of TADAM died on the way to the hospital last night. Do the police think that Macey or I had anything to do with his death? We didn’t, you know.”

I grabbed at the top of a sewing machine to steady myself. “Of course you didn’t. And Edna’s mother and I didn’t slug him, either, as much as we might have wanted to. Gord guessed that Antonio had a heart attack.” And maybe Gord had been right.

And those almonds . . . ?

“Do you think Chief Smallwood believed Macey and me when we said we didn’t do anything except push his hand away?”

“Yes. And you had every right to push his hand away.” I didn’t tell her my possibly wild conjectures about the almonds and the allergy medication. “Did they say what caused his death?”

“Only that he’d collapsed at the fashion academy he’d
recently opened and had succumbed on the way to the hospital.”

Maybe my guesses weren’t that far off. I would have to tell Vicki about the candy and medicine vial I’d seen in my cubicle, and about how they could be connected to Antonio’s death.

But Vicki had been out late last night and probably wasn’t on duty this morning. As usual when she was off duty, a state police trooper would be available. I could call the state police.

Explaining it all to Vicki, who had seen Antonio and the rest of us last night, would be easier. I decided to wait until afternoon or early evening, when Vicki should be on duty.

Ashley looked at me with hope in her eyes. “So do you think it’s okay if we take that course?”

Busily arguing with myself, I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. “What course?”

“A night school course at TADAM. Remember, they gave us vouchers for a discount? And it’s a big discount. My dad says I can take the course if you do. But I don’t know if the school is going to continue now that Antonio’s . . .” She gulped. “Gone. Who will run TADAM?”

His wife? Or Loretta, the assistant director?

Maybe no one. TADAM would close its doors, and Loretta would move very far away. That would be perfect.

Well, almost. I had to consider Ashley and her need to go to school here in Threadville. “It wouldn’t hurt to find out if they’re still planning to give that course.” I wasn’t very enthusiastic.

Ashley fished an envelope from her backpack and took her voucher out. “There’s to be a free introductory session on Monday night—that’s tomorrow—and if we like it, we can sign up for classes that will be held every Monday night for six weeks! Wouldn’t that be awesome? To help me decide if I really want to go there next fall?”

“Won’t you have homework Monday nights?”

“I’ll get it done.”

She would, too. And I didn’t want to tell Ashley my other reason for attending the introductory course the next night—I would welcome a chance to learn more about Antonio, his wife, and the staff and students at TADAM. Had one of them hated him enough to kill him? If so, whoever it was had gone to great lengths to make Antonio’s death look accidental, and then in case that didn’t work, the killer—the
alleged
killer—had planted clues that would point to someone else.

Me.

There was a problem with the alleged killer’s strategy, though. I hadn’t met Antonio until a few weeks ago, and I had not known of any allergies he might have had.

But how would I prove that? I’d been alone in my shop with him when he gave me the drawings and instructions for the outfits he’d wanted me to make. And I often served cookies with nuts in them, including almonds, to visitors to In Stitches. Anyone could say that I’d offered him one, and that he’d turned it down and had told me why.

Who would have known what his allergies were?

His widow.

Had Paula returned from the hospital in time to rearrange evidence backstage before I arrived there this morning?

Although I wanted nothing more to do with the Threadville Academy of Design and Modeling, I told Ashley, “I’ll go with you to the introductory class tomorrow night.”

Ashley’s eyes shined. “Thanks, Willow! I was just reading the fine print. They say the class will be canceled if not enough people sign up for it, so let’s make sure that they do!”

She designed and printed posters about the course and the sample class, then went off to deliver them to the other Threadville shops.

On Sundays, we didn’t give workshops. The people who rode the tour buses wouldn’t be in Threadville until Tuesday,
so they wouldn’t see Ashley’s posters until after Monday’s free class, but after Ashley returned, the store filled with customers, and we had many opportunities to demonstrate our sewing machines, their embroidery attachments, and some of the amazing things we could do with them.

Ashley was not only a talented embroiderer; her enthusiasm was contagious. People often came to In Stitches to buy a simple sewing machine and left later, quite happily, with a model that would do much more than they’d dreamed.

Although I waited until I thought Vicki would be on duty, my call was forwarded to the state police. I explained that I’d seen evidence that someone may have tried to harm Antonio. The dispatcher said an officer would drop by.

A half hour later, a state police cruiser parked in front of In Stitches. I asked Ashley to look after the shop and teased her about her worried expression at the sight of the cruiser. “You’ll get wrinkles before you’re twenty.”

She smiled.

I went on, “I need to show him something I saw at the conservatory this morning, if it’s still there. It may have something to do with Antonio’s death.”

A dimple showed as her smile widened. “Stop frowning,” she warned me, “or
you’ll
be the one getting the wrinkles.”

“Not before I’m twenty!” But I did stop frowning and went out to the porch to meet the trooper, a young guy I’d never seen before. I asked him, “Shall I meet you at the Elderberry Bay Conservatory?”

“How about telling me what you want me to see?”

Since I was taller than he was and didn’t want to loom over him, I suggested we sit in the comfy rockers on my porch. He perched on the edge of the seat, rocked forward, and planted his police boots firmly on the plank floor.

I told him what I’d found backstage at the conservatory and why I thought it might be important. “The things I saw may have been removed since this morning. And
besides, they may have nothing to do with the death of the man who was eating mints most of the evening.”

The trooper closed the notebook and shot me a half-friendly smile. “Probably not, but I’ll check it out.”

“Want me to come along? My assistant can look after the store.”

“No need. You’ve told me where to find the things. That conservatory should be open right now, but if it isn’t, I’ll call someone to let me in.” He thanked me and returned to his cruiser.

I was disappointed. For one thing, I’d have liked a ride in the shiny and powerful car, if he’d offered one. Mostly, though, I wanted to point him exactly to what I’d seen that morning. If the cubicles were still set up, he might go into the wrong one and decide there was no evidence.

Also, I’d have liked to do a little more surreptitious sleuthing myself.

Maybe Vicki wouldn’t have taken me with her, either, but I’d have had a better chance of learning what happened from her than from a state trooper.

Inside In Stitches, Ashley was bagging purchases and telling three more customers about the next evening’s introductory class at TADAM.

By the time we closed In Stitches for the evening, Ashley had sold three sewing machines, two embroidery attachments, and some very sophisticated software. I’d already increased her hourly rate. Now I increased her commission percentage, too.

On her way out the door, she interrupted her thanks to say, “Don’t forget about the course tomorrow night.”

“I’ll walk you there. And home afterward, too.”

“Thanks! My folks will let me go, then, at least to the free class.”

I locked the shop and went downstairs, where my pets did their best to distract me.

I hadn’t heard from Clay.

That wasn’t unusual, but Dora had told me he’d been
looking for me after he walked her home. Later, he hadn’t called to ask where I’d been and whether I’d made it safely to my apartment.

That wasn’t like him.

Even more unusual, I hadn’t heard from Haylee since last night, right after she’d been evasive about where Clay had been when Antonio collapsed.