The Quick and the Thread (11 page)

“What?” Sadie asked. She was nearly bursting with wanting to ask why Detective Nash had been here. I could read it all over her face.

I smiled. “I’m ready.”

Sadie and I went out and got into Blake’s cream-colored van, which bore the MacKenzies’ Mochas logo on both sides. I was in the back with Todd.

“Hello there, Marcy,” he said, grinning. “You look sensational.”

“Thank you very much.”

“When we got here, I was afraid I might have to engage Ted Nash in fisticuffs.”

“Fisticuffs?” I giggled.

“Yeah. I thought maybe he was trying to haul you away.”

“Wouldn’t that be ironic?” I asked. “Getting all dressed up to go visit a jail and getting dragged in for real? Lucky for me, I don’t own a gun.”

Sadie leaned around her seat to look at me. “You mean, he came to ask if you own a gun?”

“Yeah. I even told him to search the house if he wanted to. I don’t have a .38. Do you guys know anyone who does?”

“We do,” Blake said. “I keep it in the safe at the shop.”

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

“Any number of reasons. Bears, for one thing. I mean, it isn’t often they come into town, and I would hate to have to shoot one. But I’d protect Sadie, myself, and our staff if I needed to.”

I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about bears exclusively now.

“I have a .38 I keep locked up at the pub,” Todd said. “Why was Ted so interested in a .38, anyway? Lots of people have them.”

“He said that was the kind of gun used to kill Bill Trelawney.”

The prison was big. It was clean, too, and had a hospital-like, industrial-clean odor. It wasn’t that I had been expecting the prison to be dumpy and dirty, but I simply hadn’t thought it would be as big or as clean as it was in actuality. And the acoustics! Blake sneezed when we first walked in, and it echoed as if we were in a canyon.

Guards wearing blue latex gloves went through Sadie’s and my purses and had the men empty their pockets. Then our belongings were sent through the X-ray machine as we individually passed through the metal detector. We were given the okay to venture on ahead.

A guard sitting behind a podium beyond the security checkpoint stood and unlocked the doors leading to the visitor’s information desk. He then closed the doors behind us, and I could hear his key turning the tumbler in the lock.

I tried to remind myself that this was a minimum-security, rather than a maximum-security, prison, but somehow that reminder—combined with the fact that I was now locked up inside this facility—didn’t bring me much comfort.

The visitor’s information desk was basically a large steel countertop. Guards checked our driver’s licenses, presumably to make sure we weren’t wanted for anything. We were then asked to state the reason for our visit.

“We’d like to speak with Mr. Norman Patrick,” I said.

“Is Mr. Patrick expecting you?” one of the guards asked.

“No.”

The guard radioed someone else and told this person to see if Mr. Patrick would agree to see Marcella Singer, Sadie MacKenzie, Blake MacKenzie, and Todd Calloway. While we waited for an answer, I wondered if we’d completely wasted a trip.

Within a few minutes, the guard’s radio crackled and a voice said, “Patrick said to send them back.”

I was pondering if that meant “back home” or “back to where Mr. Patrick is waiting” when the guard instructed us to sign the logbook and to once again indicate the purpose of our visit. After we did that, the guard opened a set of doors and led us down a hallway to what amounted to a snack bar. The room was filled with vending machines and small round tables and chairs bolted to the floor. I fleetingly wondered why there were no pictures of any kind in the hallways or common areas.

Our guard nodded to one of the other guards stationed throughout the snack bar, and then he left us. There were a handful of other inmates sitting at the tables. Two sat alone, another two sat together, and the other three had visitors.

Sadie and Blake were already acquainted with Mr. Patrick through the coffee shop. They strode over to the beefy man with square-rimmed glasses and a ready smile. Todd and I followed. I recognized him from the photos I’d seen in Riley Kendall’s office.

“Sadie MacKenzie,” he said. “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Patrick.”

“I’m afraid the coffee in this place is nowhere near the caliber of yours.”

“When you get home, come by the shop for a cup on the house,” Blake said.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Mr. Patrick said. He squinted past Sadie. “This pretty little sprite must be Marcella Singer.”

“Marcy,” I said, holding out my hand. “Please, call me Marcy.”

“Pull up a chair, Marcy,” he said.

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir. They’re bolted to the floor.”

Mr. Patrick laughed and slapped his thigh. “What a peach.”

I did sit down across from him. Sadie took another available chair.

“I’m Todd Calloway.” Todd reached across the table to shake Mr. Patrick’s hand. “I own the Brew Crew. It’s on the other side of the street from MacKenzies’ Mochas.”

“Don’t know that I’ve ever been there,” Mr. Patrick said. “But it’s nice to meet you.” He turned his attention back to me. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Blake and Todd sat at the table beside us, since there were only four chairs at Mr. Patrick’s table.

I leaned forward. “I’m here to ask you about Timothy Enright. Did you know him?”

“Sure did.”

“I suppose you heard he died in the storeroom of my shop.”

Mr. Patrick nodded. “Riley told me about it. Brought me the newspaper, too. I hate that for Tim. I really do.”

“So do I.” I bit my lower lip. “His wife thinks I somehow did him in.”

“You, Little Bit?” Mr. Patrick laughed. “Why, you couldn’t hurt a fly. You remind me of Tinkerbell.”

I joined in his laughter. “I’m only sorry I can’t muster up some fairy dust and fly away from Lorraine Enright. She hates me!”

“I don’t doubt that. There aren’t many people Lorraine Enright does like, and that included her husband.” He reached out and took one of my hands in both of his. “She won’t be happy when that will is read.”

“Why won’t she be happy with the will?” Sadie asked.

“You’ll have to take my word on that one. Attorney-client privilege and all that. Let’s just say she won’t be shopping at Saks.”

“But that’s a given, isn’t it?” I asked. “Mrs. Enright said her husband went bankrupt because Mr. Trelawney wanted to bring in new businesses . . . like mine.”

Mr. Patrick grinned. “Tim didn’t go bankrupt.”

He still held my hand, so I felt entitled to ask him whatever I wanted. “Was Mr. Enright involved with Four Square Development?”

He made a sucking noise. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he scratched
four square fifth w
on my storeroom wall before he died.”

His mouth spread into a wide smile, and he suddenly reminded me of the shark Bruce in
Finding Nemo
. “Hard to say, Tinkerbell. But it’s probably best you leave all this alone. Concentrate on your shop. How’s that going? Doing well?”

“Very well, thank you,” I said.

“I’m glad.” His hands tightened on mine. “You don’t need to go around stirring up hornets’ nests.”

“But I do, Mr. Patrick. I’m apparently a suspect in the murders of both Timothy Enright and Bill Trelawney. I have to find out who killed them, or else I might be next.”

“Not if you stay away from hornets’ nests.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I asked.

Mr. Patrick sighed, and his breath wasn’t pleasant. “Look, you seem like a nice kid. I was sorry to hear about Enright. He was a decent guy, and, truth be told, when I found out the cops thought he was murdered, I figured it was his wife. When I heard about Bill Trelawney being shot in the head, that shook me up.” He released my hand to swipe a bead of sweat off his upper lip.

“Can I get you some water or something?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Bill Trelawney was involved with Four Square Development and was working with someone, but he was the only one who knew who it was. Whoever it was, the person always worked behind the scenes and was careful to operate solely through Trelawney.”

“Then how did Mr. Trelawney avoid prosecution?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Patrick said. “I only know his partner was someone powerful . . . someone able to make sure the two of them got off scot-free.”

“But from what you’re telling me, you could’ve told the authorities what you know about Mr. Trelawney and had him arrested, too. They might have even cut you a deal,” I said.

He chuckled. “You watch too much television. I didn’t give Bill up to the feds because they hadn’t found everything.” He glanced around the room before lowering his voice. “They thought they had, and that was good enough for the others and me. But now that he’s dead . . .” He shook his head. “There’s a loose cannon out there, and I have no idea who it is . . . and what he might do next.”

M
y head was spinning when we left the prison. I felt literally light-headed—like given half the chance, my head might float away like a balloon. I’m not sure whether it was from Norman Patrick’s death grip on my hand, the nauseating odor of industrial cleansers, the feeling of claustrophobia emanating from the prisoners, or the information Mr. Patrick simultaneously gave and withheld.

As soon as we got into Blake’s van, I dug around in my purse and found my hand sanitizer. I squirted a generous amount onto my palm. “Anyone else?”

Sadie was quick to accept my offer. She then handed the sanitizer to Blake. Todd took some, too, though I got the feeling it was mostly to avoid being the odd man out. Of course, it wasn’t his hand encased between Norman Patrick’s sweaty palms for so long. I suppressed a shudder, returned the hand sanitizer to my purse, and melted into the seat. If I wasn’t afraid I’d drool or snore in front of Todd, I’d have let myself drift off to sleep. Long car rides do that to me when I’m not driving.

“I’ve got an idea,” Todd said. “When we go through Lincoln City, let’s stop at that great ocean-view restaurant for lunch. On me.”

“You mean Carillo’s?” Blake asked.

“That’s the one.”

“Oooh, I love that place,” Sadie said. “They make the best crab cakes.”

I didn’t hear another word until we stopped in Carillo’s parking lot.

“Marcy,” Todd said softly. “We’re here.”

I opened my eyes and saw light blue denim. It was the front of Todd’s shirt. My head was nestled against his shoulder.

I raised my head and looked into his handsome, tenderly smiling face. “I’m so sorry. I . . . I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. I know you’re not the type of girl who sleeps around.” He chuckled as I blushed. “You’ve been through a lot these past few days. I’m glad I was here to provide a shoulder.”

And I was glad Blake and Sadie had already gone into the restaurant. I gave Todd an awkward smile and retrieved my purse. He removed his arm from around me as I took a compact out my makeup bag. My mascara had smudged, but otherwise, I didn’t look as bad as I’d feared. I swiped away the smudges with a makeup sponge, smoothed my hair, and put on a fresh coat of lipstick.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded. A surreptitious glance assured me there were no drool spots or makeup stains on Todd’s shirt. That was a relief. As for the snoring, I’d have to check with Sadie on that one.

We walked into the restaurant, and Sadie waved us over to the table.

“What a marvelous view,” I said.

“Isn’t it, though?” Blake gave me a sidelong glance. “Are you going to be able to stay awake through lunch? They’re not very busy right now, so we should be served fairly quickly and—”

“Quit that,” Sadie said. She turned to me. “He loves to mess with you so much, I’d almost believe you were his sister.” She frowned. “Has this mess been keeping you awake nights? Oh, what am I saying? Of course it has. How could it not?”

“Hey, look.” Todd nodded toward the window.

I gasped. “How sweet!”

A seal had risen out of the water not far from shore. I could even make out the black spots on its body. The seal did a sort of backflip and swam away. But even after the others began perusing their menus, I kept watching in the hope I’d see it again.

Suddenly, just beyond a red buoy, I saw what appeared to be a burst of steam rising several feet above the ocean. “What on earth . . .?”

“What’s wrong?” Sadie asked.

I described what I’d seen. Sadie, Blake, and Todd smiled at each other and then at me.

“Keep watching,” Todd said.

In less than a minute, there was another burst of steam or water or
something
. This one was several feet in front of where the first one had occurred.

I shook my head. “What is that?”