The Long Stitch Good Night: An Embroidery Mystery (22 page)

I sat down on the armless Victorian silk-covered armchair beside Reggie’s desk. “This murder investigation just keeps getting crazier and crazier. When I think I have a motive and a potential suspect, everything flips and I’ve got nothing.”

“So, who’s flipped?” she asked.

I relayed the story about seeing who I believed to be Tawny’s child in the photograph with Andy, calling Andy, and having him stop by the office. “I thought Tawny had the perfect motive for murdering Graham, but then Andy told me Tawny was dead. So I paid a visit to Tawny’s dad this morning.”

Reggie frowned. “You thought maybe her
dad
had killed Graham?”

“No, but that is a thought…or, at least, it
would
have been if what I’d thought when I went to see Mr. Milligan had been true. You see, I believed Tawny’s child had an inheritance coming to him and that he should have
it. Mr. Milligan let me know in no uncertain terms that there’s no way Graham Stott was the father of Tawny’s baby because Graham was sterile.”

“Really?” Reggie turned down the corners of her mouth. “That’s something I wouldn’t imagine a man would want to advertise. I’d have thought that, given his position and money, Graham would have rather said the baby was his than to have owned up to being sterile.”

“I don’t think he did own up to it until push actually came to shove,” I said. “Mr. Milligan said Graham even brought a lawyer to forbid Tawny to use the Stott name for the child. That’s when she changed her name, gave the baby the last name Masterson, and left town. And get this! She went to Portland, and two years down the road, she married Charles Siegel!”

“And this Siegel news has you particularly vexed because…”

“Because I’ve been giving him information about the trial in exchange for information about Graham,” I told her. “He barely talked about Tawny at all, and he certainly never mentioned that he’d married her and was raising her child.”

“Maybe he thought it wasn’t relevant,” said Reggie.

“Maybe not, but you can bet I’m going to ask him about it. All along I’ve been thinking Graham’s murder
had
to have something to do with Tawny Milligan or the baby she’d had. Now I’m back to square one, and I don’t have a single thing to go on.”

Reggie placed her hand lightly over mine. “Marcy, let the police do their jobs. This is not your responsibility. You have plenty to do without getting stressed-out over this.”

When I started to protest, she held up her hand.

“I know Sadie and Blake and Todd are your friends,” she continued. “But the police want justice as badly as you do. Besides, Manu will be back home tonight. Maybe having someone look at the matter with fresh eyes will give the investigation an entirely new perspective.”

“Thanks, Reggie. I hope you’re right.”

Even though I hurried home to get Angus and we drove straight back to the shop, I was a few minutes late opening the store. Plus, when we got there, I noticed that the deliveryman had come and gone and had left a huge box outside the door.

I parked the Jeep, got Angus out, and took
him inside. I put my purse and tote on the counter and went back outside to wrestle the box into the shop.

As soon as I bent to try to pick up the box, I heard someone say, “Stop.”

I turned and saw Mark hurrying toward me with a to-go cup from MacKenzies’ Mochas.

“Tell me you were not about to try and pick up that box that way,” he said.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I was about to do.” I smiled. “You’re here in the nick of time.”

“I’ll say. Let me set this cup down.” He went into the Seven-Year Stitch and placed his cup on the counter.

Angus bounded over, and Mark gave him a quick pat on the head before coming back outside.

“All right. Let me show you how to do this,” he said.

“Okay.” I was still smiling. All my talk about not wanting to be a damsel in distress flew right out the window when I had a heavy box to move and a strong guy around to move it.

“If you’re going to try and pick up a box this size, you bend with your knees. That way you use your legs to help lift and take the pressure off your back.” He stooped and properly picked up the box.

“Fantastic!” I opened the door.

Mark put the box back down exactly where he’d got it. “Now you try it.”

My smile went away. Far, far away. I had a bodybuilder at my disposal and he was
not
going to pick up my measly little box and carry it into my shop for me? What was up with that?

I rubbed my hands down the sides of my jeans. I’d
try
to pick it up—the proper way—and when he saw that I wasn’t strong enough,
then
he’d bring it inside for me.

I bent at the knees, wrapped my arms around the box and stood. I was able to pick it up, but I nearly dropped it and put it back down. Did I mention this box was
huge
? I looked at Mark. Surely he’d get it for me now.

“You almost had it,” he said. “Try it again. This time get your arms under it a little better.”

I stared at him. It was almost a glare, but I tried to temper it. This barbarian was setting back chivalry a thousand years!

I wiped my hands on my jeans again, bent, and picked up the box. I’d get that stupid box into the shop or bust. I’d show him I didn’t need his help. I got up under the box, lifted it, and—when Mark opened the door for me—carried it into the shop. I rushed to the counter and set the box down.

I turned to Mark triumphantly. “How’d you like that?”

“I loved it,” he said. “How did
you
like it?”

I grinned slowly. “I think I loved it, too…not at first, but…yeah, I feel good about being about to carry it in here myself.”

“Good.” He smiled. “When I was showing you how to pick it up, I was also testing its weight. If I’d thought you’d hurt yourself bringing it in, I’d have done it for you. I knew you could handle that box.”

“Thank you. If you hadn’t pushed me, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“That’s what a personal trainer does,” said Mark.

“Can you believe it’s been a week since Graham was killed?” I asked, trying to find a way to draw him into a conversation about the shooting. “Have they scheduled his funeral yet?”

“I haven’t heard,” he said. “I do know he has family that lives out of town, so maybe the service has been postponed until they get here.”

“Maybe. Prolonging the funeral and the closure it would provide is bound to be hard for his parents, though. But I guess it’s good he doesn’t have any children or anything.” I
watched Mark’s face, but he was giving nothing away. “I’d heard he fathered a child with Tawny Milligan, but that turned out to be just a rumor.”

“I’d always heard her baby belonged to Graham, but I never gave it much thought,” he said. “I feel sorry for the child, though. He’s what now? Ten?”

“I imagine so.”

Mark shook his head. “And he’s growing up without a father.”

“Well, not totally, from what I can understand. Tawny married Charles Siegel, and he’s been like a father to the boy,” I said.

“It’s not the same,” Mark said. “I grew up with plenty of uncles and cousins. But my dad wasn’t around. That was tough. I always felt like he hadn’t wanted me. If he had, he’d have been around.”

“You don’t seem at all surprised that Tawny and Charles were married.”

“I know more than a lot of people give me credit for knowing. I just don’t talk about what I know or what I don’t know. I learned a long time ago not to go poking my nose around in other people’s business…especially if I didn’t want them poking around in mine.” He gave me a pointed look. “Messing in other people’s
business is a good way to get yourself shot in the back room of a bar.”

Long after Mark had left, I kept mulling over what he’d said. He was definitely warning me. Did he know who’d really killed Graham Stott? Did he know the identity of Drew’s father? As far as I knew, the father could be Roberto, Andy, Charles—despite what John Milligan thought—or Blake. Todd had said he didn’t think Blake would have slept with Tawny while he was dating Sadie, but he hadn’t sounded very sure of that. And Sadie had been upset last night to learn that Blake had dated Tawny and hadn’t mentioned it to her.

What if Blake was the father of Tawny’s child? Granted, he dated Tawny before he ever met Sadie. But could he have hooked up with Tawny in a moment of weakness? And if so, would Sadie ever forgive him for giving another woman a child when they’d had so much trouble conceiving? I tried to put the thought out of my head. That baby
had
to belong to someone other than Blake.

W
hen I had a break between customers that morning, I called Charles.

“I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon,” he said. “Have there been some new developments in the investigation?”

“Not really,” I said, trying to keep my voice sounding casual. “I’m just wondering why you didn’t tell me you were married to Tawny Milligan.”

He was silent for a moment before saying, “I wasn’t married to Tawny Milligan. I was married to Sarah Masterson. Sarah and I had left Tawny far in the past. Besides, my personal life is none of your business.”

“I agree. But I learned about your wife’s
passing, and I am sorry for your loss and for your son’s loss,” I said.

“How did you hear about Sarah’s death?” Charles asked.

“I’d been trying to find her because I thought she might know of someone who could have wanted to kill Graham,” I said.

“Why would she know anything about that?” he asked. “Even if she was still living, she hadn’t seen the man in a decade.”

“True, but it was widely believed that Graham was the father of her child. I figured she would have kept up with him.” I took a deep breath before dropping another bomb. “Up until I found out Tawny—or Sarah—was dead, I thought she might have had something to do with Graham’s murder.”

“Where are you getting your information?” he asked tersely.

“I went to see Tawny’s father. Mr. Milligan—”

“You intruded on a grieving father?” Charles interrupted. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Had I known about your marriage to Tawny, I wouldn’t have gone. I didn’t know at that time that Drew had a dad in his life, and I thought Mr. Milligan might want to petition the court for whatever inheritance the child had coming from Graham’s estate,” I said.

“What’s it to you?”

“Graham Stott treated your wife like dirt, and I thought he should pay for it! And I wanted to make sure her child was provided for.”

He sighed. “He
did
treat Sarah poorly, but as I told you, we put the past as far behind us as we could get it.”

“Then what were you doing at a party with Graham?” I asked.

“I didn’t know he’d be there. None of us really liked him—a few of the guys tolerated him at best.” He paused. “What else did John tell you?”

“He told me Graham wasn’t Drew’s father.”

“Did he tell you who is?” Charles asked.

“No,” I said. “He didn’t know. Is it you?”

“I am now. That’s all that matters,” he said quietly.

“That
is
all that matters. I’m glad he’s got you.” I was thinking
And Andy
, but I didn’t say that. Andy had made it clear that Tawny’s husband hadn’t known about their friendship, and Charles had made it clear that he thought his wife had cut all ties to her past.

“You take a lot on yourself, you know that?” he asked. “You should really leave the detective work to those trained to do it, Ms. Singer. They’re a lot more capable than you are.”

“I don’t doubt their expertise,” I said. “But I believe my friends are innocent, and I’ll do whatever I can to help prove it and to find out who really killed Graham Stott. Do you have any theories as to who shot him?”

“Yes, I have one—the only plausible one there is. Graham was killed by either Todd Calloway, Blake MacKenzie, or both of them. I’m not sure which one pulled the trigger, but you can bet one of them did. You can’t mix old grudges with liquor and expect a pleasant outcome. My advice to you is to stop wasting everybody’s time—including your own—and put your energy into throwing your buddies a going-away party.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said.

“I suppose our so-called partnership is off,” he said. “Just so you know, the Seven-Year Stitch is being featured in Sunday’s edition of the paper. So I figure we’re square for the information you’ve provided to date.”

“I guess we are,” I said.

I ended the call, went into the storeroom, closed the door, and screamed into a bolt of fabric. This, naturally, made Angus bark at the door because he wondered what was making me scream. The next thing I knew, Todd was flinging open the storeroom door.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I came in and saw Angus having a fit at the door and was afraid you might be hurt or something.”

“Not so much hurt. Just furious.” I put the bolt of fabric back onto the shelf and left the storeroom. “Why do you always catch me at my worst?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Todd said. He followed me out and closed the door.

We went into the sit-and-stitch area and both sat down on the sofa facing the window.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Yes and no. I just had an argument with Charles Siegel. I’d initially hoped he could provide information about the shooting, so I agreed to send him information about the trial and investigation in exchange for publicity for the Seven-Year Stitch.” I threw my head against the back of the sofa and closed my eyes. “Then I found out that he was married to Tawny Milligan, who had changed her name to Sarah Masterson, and that he is raising her child.”

“He and Tawny were married? When did that happen? And why is
he
raising the child? Where is she?” Todd asked.

“She’s dead. She was killed in a car accident in January,” I said.

“Oh, man.”

I raised my head and looked at Todd. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend that to come out so abruptly. I’d forgotten the two of you were friends.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Finish your story.”

“Charles got angry that I was poking into his wife’s business, and he insisted that the police have the right people in custody.” I folded one leg under me. “See, all roads kept leading back to Tawny Milligan. All of you knew her, many of you had dated her, and she left town supposedly carrying Graham’s child. And when Graham found out she was pregnant, he treated her like dirt. I thought if anyone had a motive to want him dead, it was her.”