Stitch Me Deadly (17 page)

As they left, I slumped against Ted. “Can this get any worse?” I asked.

“Never ask that,” he said. “When you ask that question, things invariably get worse.”

I
closed the shop at five p.m. to go home, eat dinner, and feed Angus. There was no indication Mom had been home at all today, and another call to her cell phone went straight to voice mail.

I heated a mug of soup in the microwave while I fed Angus. While I ate my soup and crackers, I allowed him to stay in the backyard. Before going back to work, I took him for a walk through the neighborhood. On my way back to the house, I spotted a patrol car. The officer gave me a friendly nod, and I realized Ted had likely asked the officers on patrol in this area to keep an eye on things here. I was glad for the extra security and made a mental note to thank Ted.

I felt weird about Mr. Gray. I was saddened by his sudden death, of course, but the fact that he’d suffered a heart attack freaked me out on more than one level. First off, if Mr. Gray had somehow ingested Halumet, it meant Mrs. Ralston’s killer was at it again. Second, it meant I was also a suspect in
his
death. And last of all, it might mean that someone was trying to set me up.

 

 

I returned to the shop and began preparations for the class. I’d still had no word from Mom. Mom being Mom, I knew better than to worry, but that didn’t stop the nagging doubt from tugging at the back of my mind telling me that something was wrong.

Tonight’s crewel class had four members: Vera Langhorne, who was also in the needlepoint class; Julie and her daughter, Amber, who’d been in an earlier cross-stitch class; and April, a young woman who was painfully shy. I was hoping that expressing herself in class would be a way for her to learn to be more extroverted in other ways as well.

Julie and Amber were the first to arrive. I offered them something to drink—I always keep my mini-fridge well stocked, especially on class nights. They both chose a bottle of water. We made small talk—mostly about Amberʹs high school classes—until April arrived.

April mumbled a hello and went to the red chair farthest from the group. She refused a drink and began unpacking her embroidery kit.

Vera swooped in, full of bluster and chatter. “Shoot, it’s getting cold out there, girls. We’ll need to wear our thermal underwear if it gets any colder.” She smiled, taking off her coat and handing it to me so I could hang it in my office. “How is everybody tonight?”

The requisite
fines
and
okays
went up all around.

“You seem to be doing better than the rest of us put together,” I said, returning from hanging up her coat. “What’s got you so cheerful?”

Before she could answer, Mom breezed in. “Hi, everyone.” She turned and waved good-bye to Cary, who then drove away. “Forgive me for being late. Did I miss anything?”

“Almost,” Vera said. “I was just getting ready to ask everyone if they’re planning to attend the Ralston estate auction on Saturday.”

“I didn’t know about it,” Mom said. “Did you, Marcy?”

“I found out this morning,” I said, declining to offer any further information until the two of us were alone.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vera said, sitting on the sofa facing the window. “All that luscious Victorian furniture . . . I might buy an entire set.” She cocked her head. “I’m not sure I want to replace my comfy living room suite, but I’d love to get the winning bid on one of those bedroom ensembles.” She clasped her hands. “Just thinking about it and how I’d redo the master bedroom makes me absolutely giddy.”

I smiled. “I can see that. And here I am hoping to have the winning bid on an umbrella stand to go in the corner so customers will have a place to put their wet umbrellas while they shop.”

Vera laughed. “Oh, Marcy, dear, you have to be more ambitious than that. What about a beveled mirror or an ornamental vase?”

“We’ll see,” I said.

“It sounds as if you’ve cased the place and made a list,” Mom said jokingly.

“They ran an abbreviated item list in the paper this morning,” Vera said. “There were a couple photographs, too.” She frowned. “You don’t think the auction house will postpone due to Adam Gray’s death, do you?”

Mom’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Adam Gray died? When?”

“This morning,” I said. “I tried to reach you, but all my calls went to voice mail.”

Mom held on to the counter for support as she went around and sat on the stool. “I feel positively light-headed. How did it happen?”

“Heart attack,” Vera said. “Just like poor Louisa Ralston.”

“Exactly like Mrs. Ralston,” I said evenly.

“But what—” Mom began.

“We’ll talk about it after class.” I took my usual seat in the red chair, where I’d already spread my work out on the ottoman. “Did everyone do well this week? Any problems?”

No one had encountered any problems with the work, and they had all made good progress. Amber, especially, had a knack for needlecraft. Her design was two swans on a lake in springtime, and it was turning into a beautiful piece.

When the class was over and everyone had left, I busied myself by straightening up the shop. I dusted the coffee table, counter, and shelves, ran the electric sweeper over the floor, and sprayed fabric freshener on the sofas and chairs.

Mom still sat at the counter. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available today.”

“I just don’t know why you had your calls going directly to voice mail,” I said, not looking at her. “Didn’t it occur to you that something might happen and that I might need you?”

“You seldom need me, Marcella. We’re usually hundreds—if not thousands—of miles away from each other.”

I tidied a stack of pattern books. “But you’re here now. When you’re here, I expect to be able to reach you.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I was having fun.”

“Goody for you, Mom. I was here getting accused of another murder.”

“B-but you said Mr. Gray had a heart attack,” she said.

“He did. But according to the officers who were here—you remember Detectives Ray and Bailey, don’t you?—they specifically asked the coroner to check for Halumet. Why? you may ask. Because I was at Mr. Gray’s office just a couple hours before he died.”

“What were you doing there?” she asked.

“I went to let him know about Devon Reed and his hope to sensationalize Louisa Ralston’s death for his own gain.” I pushed my hair off my forehead. “And I went to try to get some insight into who might’ve killed Mrs. Ralston. I need to clear myself of any inkling of guilt associated with her death.”

“But, darling, either way, they can’t accuse you of Adam Gray’s death. If there’s no Halumet in his system, then he died of natural causes. If there
is
Halumet in his system, you’re still absolved because they have the pills that were found in the nightstand.”

“Except they can say they had no idea how many pills were in that bottle originally. And they can surmise that I must’ve kept some of them in order to carry out future nefarious schemes like killing Adam Gray.”

Mom blew out a breath. “You’re right. I should’ve been here today.”

“No, it’s me. It’s been a rough day, that’s all. Before I found out about Mr. Gray, the woman from the aromatherapy shop—Nellie Davis—came in and insinuated that I’m bad for business and that my shop is cursed because people keep dropping dead in it.”

Mom got up and gave me a hug. “We’ll get through this. Want me to throw a brick through the old lady’s window?”

I grinned. “No. Yes . . . but no.”

“At least that idea made you smile.”

“Tell me about Cary’s shop,” I said.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “It’s a classy little boutique with designer originals—both bigger names and people you’ve probably never heard of. At least not yet. And Cary employs students from the local design school in the shop to assist customers. They really know their stuff.”

“Good. And you said on your message you were going to brunch?”

“That turned in to lunch, actually,” she said. “Cary had a couple stops to make before he picked me up, so he was later than he’d expected to be.”

“Would you like to go over to the Brew Crew and have a soda before we go home?” I asked.

“Sounds good.”

We retrieved our coats from the rack in the office, locked up, and walked across the street to Todd’s pub and craft brewery. I sometimes stop by after work when Angus isn’t with me to get a soda and say hello before heading home. It helps me switch gears and get out of work mode and into home mode. Besides, it’s always nice to see Todd.

The Brew Crew was crowded this evening, and Todd was busy. He made me a diet soda with vanilla and poured Mom a cup of decaffeinated coffee.

“Can’t I cajole either of you into a beer this evening?” he asked.

“Not me,” I said. “I’m driving.”

“And I need to keep my head clear to help Marcy fend off the next wave of attacks,” Mom said.

Todd frowned. “Wave of attacks?”

“Yeah. Nellie Davis came in today and accused me of scaring business away from Emerson Street,” I said. “She says my shop is cursed because folks keep dying there.”

“Yep, I see where she’s coming from,” Todd said, looking around his crowded pub. “This place is dead.” He grinned. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just old and lonely and weird.”

“But that’s not all,” Mom said quietly. “Adam Gray had a heart attack today, and the Tallulah County detectives are trying to pin that on Marcella, too.”

“What?” Todd asked.

I sighed and explained about their visit and the fact that they were having the coroner run tests for Halumet.

“I’m sorry.” Todd looked around the bar. “I can get my assistant manager to cover for me, and we can—”

“Not necessary,” I said. “I’m pretty tired, and I expect Mom is, too.”

Mom nodded her agreement.

“So we’ll probably turn in early,” I continued. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Well, if you guys need anything—if there’s anything I can do to help—you know I will,” Todd said.

“I know,” I said. “And I appreciate it.”

Mom and I finished our drinks. Todd was talking with another customer at the other end of the bar. I didn’t want to leave without telling him good-bye, so I was watching to try to catch his eye and wave him over. Suddenly I caught sight of an auburn-haired woman.

I leaned over to Mom. “Isn’t that Ella Redmond? She’s in the needlepoint class and is the new genealogist at the library.”

Mom squinted. “Yes, I believe that is her.”

“Should I go over and say hello?” I asked.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Mom said, “unless she’s with someone. It might be awkward if she’s on a date or something.”

“No, of course I wouldn’t want to intrude,” I said. “Still, to be polite, we’ll stop by her table and speak on the way out.”

“All right.”

I caught Todd’s eye and waved good-bye. He held up a finger to let me know he wanted us to wait. He then came over and reiterated that he’d be happy to help us in any way. We said our good-byes and began weaving through the crowd toward Ella Redmond’s table.

Before we got there, a man approached the table with a drink in each hand. The man was Devon Reed.

Ella looked up at Devon, smiled, and then noticed we were standing there. Her smile froze. “Marcy . . . and Ms. Singer . . . hello.”

“Hi, there,” I said. “We spotted you and wanted to say hello before we left. Hope you’re having a nice evening.”

“We are,” Devon said with a smile. “And I hope you are, too.”

“I wasn’t aware you two knew each other,” Mom said.

“We . . . we met at the library,” Ella said.

“Oh, yeah. We reporters always have research to do,” Devon said. “And knowing a genealogist always comes in handy.”

“I guess it does,” I said. “Well. See you guys later.”

“Later, Marcy,” Devon said.

“Wonder what’s up with that,” Mom said when we left the Brew Crew.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m guessing it has something to do with Devon’s research into Louisa Ralston’s death.”

I
didn’t have to wait long to find out that I was right about Devon’s being with Ella Redmond at the Brew Crew. He came into the shop Thursday just as I was opening up.

“Good morning,” he said, looking around. “Where’s your mom? Did she tie one on last night and have to stay home this morning to sleep it off?”

“No,” I said coolly. “She had a manicure this morning. What can I do for you, Devon?”

“It’s more what I can do for you,” he said. “You’re gonna thank me when I get you and your little store here out of hot water over Louisa Ralston’s death.”

“Well, if you can do that, I certainly will thank you.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “So I had Ella Redmond look into Louisa Ralston’s background. Before Louisa married Frank Ralston, she was a Connor. According to the information Ella was able to find, Louisa Connor and Edward Larkin announced their engagement in the newspaper in nineteen thirty-eight.”

“You mean, Louisa was married once before?” I asked.

Devon shook his head. “The wedding never happened. The guy joined the military and left town.”

“That’s sad.”

“It was apparently very sad for Louisa. After he left, she worked in the orphanage for two years.”

“Did Ella learn what happened to Edward Larkin?” I asked.

“He went on about his life,” Devon said. “He was honorably discharged from the army, and then he settled in the Midwest—Nebraska, I think she said. Had a family and lived a good long life until he had an accident one day on his way home from work.”

“Poor Louisa,” I said. “Wonder what happened.”

Devon lifted his shoulders. “My guess is that he got cold feet. They were eighteen years old. Although back then lots of people settled down and started a family at that age, I’m not sure many of them knew what they were getting themselves into.”