Stitch Me Deadly (21 page)

A crowd had already gathered by the time Mom, Todd, and I arrived at the Ralston home. Sadie drove up as we were getting out of the Jeep.

“Wonder if they’ll have anything I can afford,” she said as we walked toward the house. “I’d love to get an antique coffeepot or teapot for the shop.”

Cary had been watching for us, and he hurried over as soon as he saw us approaching.

“Good morning, ladies . . . Ted,” he said.

Gulp.

“Todd,” Todd replied, correcting him.

“Of course. My mistake.” Cary took Mom’s arm. “I’ve been saving you a spot over here near the porch.” He handed the four of us auction paddles.

“Don’t you need one?” Mom asked. “Aren’t you planning to bid on anything?”

“No,” Cary said. “I’m here out of morbid curiosity more than anything else.” He spotted someone above the crowd and waved her over. “It’s Eleanor.”

Eleanor wove through the crowd. “I never dreamed there would be so many people here. I hope they’re bidders and not merely gawkers.”

Mom laughed. “Nothing worse than a window-shopper at an auction, right?”

“That’s right,” Eleanor said. “Then what would I do with all this stuff? Sell it online?”

The auctioneer came out onto the porch and stood in front of a podium. He rapped his gavel and called for silence as he announced the first item. It was the umbrella stand Mr. Gray had told me about.

“I put that at the top of the list,” Cary whispered to me. “I know it’s what you’re here for.”

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. Mom was right. He could never be a villain.

“The first item,” said the auctioneer, “is a nineteenth-century cast-iron umbrella stand from Chase Brothers and Company of Boston. This piece retails for approximately three thousand five hundred dollars, but the starting bid today is a hundred dollars. Do I hear a hundred?” Exactly what I had been looking for. It was absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes a girl needs to splurge.

I raised my paddle.

“That is beautiful,” Sadie whispered. “And it retails for three thousand five hundred dollars? Whoa.”

“I have a hundred dollars. Do I hear a hundred and fifty dollars? I have a hundred and fifty. Do I hear a hundred seventy-five dollars?”

I raised my paddle again.

The auctioneer continued. “I have a hundred seventy-five; do I hear two hundred? I have two hundred from the man in the black jacket. Do I have two hundred twenty-five?”

I raised my paddle, looking around to see who was bidding against me. Height was not on my side. “Who’s bidding against me?” I whispered to Todd.

“I have two hundred twenty-five from the lady in the red trench coat,” the auctioneer said. “Do I have two hundred fifty? I have two hundred fifty. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s Devon Reed,” Todd said softly.

I ground my teeth and raised the paddle when the auctioneer asked for a bid of $275. “I’m not going over three hundred dollars,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Mom said. “We can’t let
him
win it.”

“Absolutely not,” Sadie said.

“I know he’s only bidding on it to spite me,” I said.

“Which is exactly why I refuse to let him win it,” Mom said.

“I have two hundred seventy-five,” the auctioneer said.

“I bid one thousand dollars.” I recognized the voice as that of Devon Reed.

“If he wants it that badly,” I said, “he can have the stupid thing.” I had to hold Mom’s arm at her side to keep her from bidding $1,025.

“Going once, going twice, and sold to the man in the black jacket.”

“I’m sorry, Marcy,” Cary said. “It’s the only umbrella stand Aunt Louisa had.”

“That’s all right, Cary. I’ll find one somewhere,” I said. “Besides, we’re mainly here to support Eleanor.”

Eleanor turned to me and smiled. “Thank you, Marcy. I do appreciate that.”

“Right you are, Marcy,” Cary said. “Thank you for reminding me of the real reason we’re here . . . to support one who has been a support to us over the years.” He patted Eleanor’s shoulder.

“I appreciate that, Cary. How’s your mom, by the way?” she asked.

“She’s wonderful,” he said. “We visited her just last night.” He turned to Mom. “Eleanor used to be a nurse. Everyone in the family used to hound her for medical advice, and she helped with Mother from time to time.”

“You’re not a nurse anymore, then?” Mom asked.

“No. It’s a trying profession,” Eleanor said. “It proved to be more than I could take.”

“What do you do now?” I asked.

“I’m going back to school to get a paralegal degree,” she said.

“Good for you,” Todd said. “It’s great you were able to start over in another career rather than having to stick with one you disliked.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” I said, although somehow I couldn’t quite picture the rougharound-the-edges Eleanor as ever having been a good nurse.

T
odd and I left the auction soon after Devon Reed bought the umbrella stand. Mom and Sadie stayed behind, and I was eager to see if either of them learned anything or brought anything home later.

I dropped Todd off at the Brew Crew, and I went on to work. I thought about going back home to get Angus, but Mom and I would be there with him tonight. Plus, it was partly sunny today, and he would likely enjoy romping in the backyard.

I’d got in a shipment of pattern books. I put most of them on display, but took one of each to the sit-and-stitch square to thumb through them. I love looking at new patterns. The problem is I want to stitch them all.

Vera Langhorne stopped in to see if I had any Victorian pillowcase designs I thought she could do. “I bought the bedroom suite, Marcy! I have a moving crew bringing it later this afternoon.”

I smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”

“So am I. Those pieces are going to look gorgeous in my bedroom. Now I need some linens to make the room even prettier.”

I showed her some pieces that she could embroider using redwork or blackwork.

She frowned. “I’m not very familiar with either of those.”

“They’re easy to do,” I said.

She bit her lip. “Maybe I’ll see what I can find in some linen boutiques tomorrow before I jump headlong into embroidering pillowcases.” She started to leave. “By the way, did you get the umbrella stand you wanted?”

“Afraid not,” I said. “I was outbid.”

“I’ll see what I can find while I’m out shopping tomorrow,” Vera said on her way out.

I shook my head and sat back down to continue going through the pattern books. Thinking about Devon Reed, however, made me think of Ella Redmond. I decided to give her a quick call at the library. Her phone went directly to voice mail.

“Hi, Ella. It’s Marcy Singer. I just wanted to tell you I think the theory that Ivy was a person Louisa Ralston knew is unlikely. Cary’s mother, Ms. Ellis, didn’t recall anyone named Ivy and thought Louisa had changed the verse to remind herself that Edward Larkin was a jerk. Talk with you later.”

I finished looking at the pattern books, but rather than putting them on display, I fanned the ones I’d been perusing onto the coffee table. That way customers coming in to sit and stitch could look at them and either get ideas or decide to purchase books of their own.

Business picked up after Vera dropped in, and I thought maybe the auction crowd was dispersing and starting to wend its way into town to shop. I sold needlepoint canvas, skeins of yarn, cross-stitch cloth, and both cotton and metallic embroidery floss.

When the bells over the door jingled around eleven a.m., I raised my head and smiled. The smile faded as Devon Reed strolled into the shop.

“Hi, Marcy. Sorry about buying the umbrella stand out from under you, but it’ll look nice by the coatrack in my apartment.”

“I’m glad you’re putting it to good use,” I said stiffly.

“I still think we could’ve worked well together, but you’ve made it clear you’re not interested in learning the truth about Mrs. Ralston.” He pursed his lips. “Besides, Ella and I are doing a fine job of putting all the pieces of this puzzle together.”

“Good,” I said. “I hope it works out for you.”

As I was talking, the door opened and Ella Redmond came in. “Speak of the devil,” I said to Devon.

“Is that why my ears are burning?” Ella asked with a slight smile. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Devon. I wanted to ask you if you’d accompany me to dinner in Lincoln City this evening. I have a lead I think you’ll be particularly interested in.”

“I’d love to,” Devon said, looking at me and arching a brow. “Marcy, would you like to join us?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Mom and I need to go by the funeral home and pay our respects to Mr. Gray’s family.”

“I got your message,” Ella said, “but I have to disagree with you, Marcy. I still think Ivy was a person. In fact, I think she might’ve been Louisa’s daughter.”

I shook my head. “Louisa had only one child, and it was a boy.”

“By Frank Ralston,” Ella said. “What about Edward Larkin? I believe that’s why Louisa was
working
at the orphanage after Edward joined the army.” She looked at Devon. “I’m on my lunch break and need to get back to the library. Call me later, and we’ll work out the details on dinner.” She smiled at me. “I’ll see you Tuesday evening.”

“If you change your mind about dinner,” Devon said, “I’m sure Ella wouldn’t mind your tagging along. We could always use your input.”

“Thank you, but somehow I think she would mind.”

“Jealous?” he asked.

“Not at all. Have a terrific time.”

He winked and then turned and left. I felt like throwing a pencil at the back of his arrogant, obnoxious head.

I was sitting at the counter ruminating over the possibility of Louisa Ralston’s having had Edward Larkin’s child when Mom came in.

“Whoa,” she said. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”

“More like a million years,” I said. I explained about Devon’s and Ella’s almost simultaneous visits to the shop and Ella’s belief that Louisa Ralston had been working at the orphanage because she had been pregnant with Edward Larkin’s baby. “What do you think?”

She sat on the red chair, took off her shoes, and put her feet on the ottoman. “It’s possible. And it was such a social taboo back then that even if the family knew, they wouldn’t have dared speak of it.”

“So you think Louisa Ralston could’ve had a baby without her family even knowing about it?” I asked.

“Maybe. Unwed mothers were terribly ostracized then and usually forced to give up their babies for adoption whether they wanted to or not.”

“That’s sad.”

“It is,” she agreed. “It reminds me of the Barbara Stanwyck movie
No Man of Her Own
. Pregnant Barbara has been dumped by her rotten, no-good boyfriend, and she has nowhere to go. She’s on a train, and the train crashes, killing a newly married couple. Barbara assumes the married woman’s identity—the parents had never met her—and goes to live with the woman’s in-laws. I think she winds up marrying the husband’s brother by the end of the movie.”

I nodded slowly. “So you think Louisa went to the Ralston home posing as a pregnant widow?”

“No, Miss Sassy, I’m only saying that was a good movie and that it’s entirely possible Louisa found herself with child and with nowhere to go. So she went to work in the orphanage until her broken heart was mended. Which is code for ‘until the baby was born and adopted.’”

“Then that baby
could
be Ivy,” I said. “That could be who Mrs. Ralston was looking for.”

“Too bad Adam Gray is dead. That sounds like something he should’ve known.”

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda, but maybe not,” I said. “He never said anything about it to me, and—especially with Louisa dead—why wouldn’t he?” I shrugged. “Maybe his secretary will know something.”

“Couldn’t hurt to ask.”

 

 

Mom wore her dove gray suit to Mr. Gray’s visitation, and I wore a black suit.

“I’m glad I brought something suitable for a funeral,” she said. “Although, to be honest, I never dreamed I’d
need
something to wear to a funeral while I was here . . . much less
two
funerals.”

“I know.” I sighed. “Welcome to my world.”

“I’m not so sure I like your world. Please consider coming back home to California.”

I told her I’d think about it, and we went inside. Riley was there, looking lovely in a navy maternity dress.

“Hi, guys,” she said when we approached. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” I said. “You look terrific.”

She smiled. “For a blimp, you mean?”

“For anyone,” Mom said.

“By the way,” I said, “do you have all the ladies in town knitting and crocheting blankets?”

“Not all of them,” she said. “There are a few knitters and crocheters I’ve commissioned to do blankets and layette sets. Are you mad that I didn’t ask you?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I just wondered why there has been a run on white yarn in the shop. So, thank you for that.”

“You’re quite welcome. I figured I’d given you enough to do. . . . Not that you’re finished yet.”

“I’m so sorry about Mr. Gray,” I said.

“Yeah, me, too. Did you bring your magnifying glass so you could look for clues?” she teased.

“No. At least, I’m not being that conspicuous.” I nodded toward Mr. Gray’s secretary. “What do you know about her?”

“Marsha? She’s got the personality of a mop, but she knows her stuff,” Riley said. “Or I guess I should say she knows Mr. Gray’s stuff. She’s been his only secretary for the past twenty or so years.”

“Wonder if she’d know anything about Mrs. Ralston’s past,” I said.

Riley closed one eye and wrinkled her nose. “Maybe. Maybe not. Mr. Gray was protective of Louisa. If she had secrets she wanted kept, he’d have kept them even from Marsha.” She gave a slight shrug. “Still, now that he’s gone, he’d have wanted to fulfill not only his own last wishes but those of his clients, too . . . especially Mrs. Ralston. It wouldn’t hurt to talk with Marsha. Want me to go with?”