The Quick and the Thread (16 page)

Sylvia looked as rough that morning as I felt. Although she wore a beautiful beige suit with a chocolate brown silk shirt and matching shoes, her eyes reflected the strain and lack of sleep the past several hours had wrought.

“How are you holding up?” I asked her.

“I want to go home,” she said. “I want to go home until Bill’s murderer has been apprehended. In fact, I am going home. And I want to take Maggie with me.”

“Did something happen last night after Chief Myers left?” Reggie asked.

Sylvia shook her head. “It was unsettling being here. That’s all.”

“I’m sure it was. Why don’t you gather up some things for yourself and for Margaret, and Marcy and I will wait and see you out.”

“I’m already packed,” she said, “but I’ll pack a suitcase for Maggie. She’s in the den, by the way.” Sylvia left the living room and walked down the hall.

Reggie and I went into the den. Mrs. Trelawney was sweeping up some of the debris scattered about the room.

“Mrs. Trelawney, I can do that,” I said.

She relinquished the broom and dustpan readily enough and sank onto the sofa. “Bill used this room for his office.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “What a mess.”

“Maggie, do you mind if I take a look around? See if there’s . . . well, I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”

Mrs. Trelawney gave Reggie a defeated wave. “Fine, fine. Whatever you like.”

Reggie sat down at the desk and began opening drawers, while I sat with Mrs. Trelawney on the couch. In a few minutes, she said, “Marcy, come take a look at this.”

I went to the desk to see that she was poring over an accounting ledger. It gave me a somewhat unwelcome flashback to all those years of doing payroll and bookkeeping. This particular ledger appeared to be accounts receivable for Mr. Trelawney’s rental clients.

Reggie turned and looked up at me, her face expectant. “Do you see it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Look closer.” She ran her finger down the lined page. “By some of these names you can see a small notation:
b
.”

“You think these people were behind on their accounts?”

“No. I think it means they were straw buyers.”

I frowned. “That’s quite a leap, isn’t it? What makes you think the
b
stands for straw buyers?”

“This ledger is dated 2004. Notice there are squares around each of the letters? I think this is a dummy ledger with coded information for Four Square Development. That would explain why such an old ledger is being used.”

“Once again, Reggie, that’s a stretch. Just because there are blocks around the year, you think it’s synonymous with Four Square?”

“Maybe it is a stretch,” she said, “but right now it’s all we have. None of the other ledgers have squares around the years. So yes, I think this ledger has information relevant to Four Square. I believe the intruder was looking for something but had no idea what,” Reggie said.

“Give it to your husband, won’t you?” Mrs. Trelawney asked. “Ask him to make sure Chief Myers gets it.”

 

 

I was once again sitting in my favorite red chair in the shop’s seating area, working on my tote bag. Angus was snoring softly at my feet, and I was having trouble not dozing off myself. It was terribly rainy today. A few people had drifted in and out, buying yarn, cross-stitch fabric, and thread, but overall business had been slow.

All day I’d been planning my evening. As soon as I got home, I’d take a warm, relaxing bath. Then I’d have a bowl of clam chowder. And then Angus and I would turn in early, maybe watch a little mindless television before actually calling it a night.

I yawned and stretched. It was still nearly an hour until closing time, so I decided to call Sadie. That would wake me up and, hopefully, it would be a good time for her to talk.

She answered on the third ring.

“Is this a bad time?” I asked.

“No. I was just lying on the sofa, and the phone was on the other side of the room.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve had the phone with me. How’ve you been these past couple days?”

“Me?” I asked. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Ah, I’ll do. I’m getting over the bug. I probably needed to lose a few pounds, anyway.”

“If I didn’t have so much other junk going on, I might be tempted to come have you breathe on me. It would be cheaper than liposuction.”

“As if you need to lose an ounce,” she said. “Blake told me someone broke into the Trelawney house during Bill’s funeral.”

“Yeah. It was terrible. Mrs. Trelawney has gone to stay with Sylvia in Portland for a few days.”

“Sylvia the dragon lady? Poor Mrs. Trelawney. She must be scared.”

“She is. And Sylvia is, too. I think at first Sylvia thought Mrs. Trelawney was being foolish and paranoid, but she’s had a change of heart.”

“Because of the break-in,” Sadie asked, “or did something else happen?”

“I’m not sure. When Reggie and I stopped by this morning to see about Mrs. Trelawney, Sylvia was already packed and ready to leave.”

“That’s odd.”

“I am glad Mrs. Trelawney decided to stay with Sylvia for a few days,” I said. “I feel it’s best that she get out of town for the time being.”

“Not to change the subject,” Sadie said, effectively changing the subject, “but have you heard from Todd lately?”

“I saw him at Mr. Trelawney’s visitation. We like each other, Sadie, but our schedules aren’t that compatible right now.”

“It’ll work out. Things always work out.”

Her voice sounded wistful as she said that, and I somehow felt she was no longer talking about Todd and me but about her own disappointment over not being pregnant.

“It will,” I said. “Everything will work out great.”

I decided not to burden Sadie with any further talk of my currently troubled life.

After speaking with her, I saw there were still a few minutes left until closing time. Angus was still snoring, and the sound seemed somehow hypnotic. I allowed my head to loll against the back of the chair and my heavy eyelids to close.

I was surrounded. Most of the people I knew from Tallulah Falls were there. Sadie, Blake, Todd, Riley, Mrs. Patrick . . . even Timothy Enright, his estranged wife (or should I say, his
strange
wife), and Bill Trelawney were there. For some reason, they all began throwing straw at me.

I was jolted by a loud, musical trill. It still took me a second to shake off the dream and answer my phone.

It was Alfred Benton. “Marcella, darling,” he said, “I’m sorry to tell you that your financial identity has indeed been compromised.”

T
hat certainly woke me up. I bolted upright in my chair, making Angus get up and move over to his bed behind the counter.

“What exactly does this mean, Alfred?”

His response was slow and deliberate. “I don’t know the full extent to which your credit was used at this time. However, you should cancel all your credit cards, flag your other financial accounts for possible fraud activity, and alert the authorities.”

I had half a dozen questions, and they began pouring out all at once. “Who could’ve done this? What about my checking account? Can I use that? How did this happen? You haven’t told my mom, have you?”

“One thing at a time, sweetheart,” Alfred said. “I have not told your mother anything. Your checking account is fine, although you need to have your bank be watchful for any suspicious activity. And the issuing financial institutions should be able to replace your credit cards within a week to ten days.”

I sighed.

“In the meantime, if you need to put something on a credit card, I can give you the number for one of mine.”

“Oh, no, Alfred. I’m sure I can live without a credit card for a week. How much trouble am I in?”

“It’s nothing I can’t get you out of.”

“Why don’t I find that reassuring?” I asked.

He chuckled. “My paralegals will have a bit more work and perhaps get to delve into new legal territory, that’s all.”

“New legal territory such as?”

“Real estate fraud,” he answered. “It appears someone posing as you bought a piece of real estate in northern Oregon and then sold it for a small fortune. I knew that couldn’t be you, and I flagged it.”

“You . . . you mean this person—whoever conducted this transaction—was a straw buyer?”

“Yes, I imagine so. Hmmm. I’m surprised you’re familiar with that term, Marcella, darling.”

My stomach sank. “I . . . uh . . . I just learned about it recently.”

“Well, not to worry. I’ll take care of all of this. I or my staff will call you if there’s anything we need from you. All right?”

“Alfred, is there any indication who might’ve done this to me?”

“None yet, but if something turns up, I’ll let you know.”

 

 

I caught up with Reggie in the library parking lot. She was almost to her car when I drove up slowly beside her.

She turned, and I put down my window.

“Hi, Marcy. What’s going on? Do you need something from the library?”

“No, but I’d like to talk with you. Is Manu working this evening? I thought maybe you could join me for dinner.”

“Manu isn’t working this evening, but I can call and see if he has plans.” She paused. “Or is this girl talk?”

“It’s stolen-identity talk.”

She raised her brows. “As in
your identity
or someone else’s?”

“Mine.”

“Where would you like us to meet you for dinner?”

“Would you guys mind coming to my house?” I asked. “I don’t want to leave Angus alone for another evening. Plus, I was already planning on making clam chowder and cheese biscuits.”

“Is six thirty okay?”

“Six thirty is great.”

So, I wouldn’t be having my turning-in-early evening, after all. Of course, that was a given the instant Alfred told me my identity had been stolen. I desperately needed to talk this situation through with someone, and I didn’t want to go to Chief Myers. After what I’d heard, I found the man a little intimidating and didn’t think I’d find a sympathetic ear, so I hoped Manu and Reggie could steer me in the right direction.

 

 

Manu and Reggie arrived at about quarter past six with a bottle of white wine.

“Thanks,” I said, “but you didn’t need to bring a thing except your steel-trap minds.”

Manu held up the bottle. “Then perhaps we should save this for another time,” he said with a smile.

His wife playfully backhanded his arm. “You’re silly. When have you ever known either of us to overindulge?”

“I’d never known Timothy Enright to overindulge, but you saw him yourself the night of Marcy’s open house.”

Reggie shook her head. “I saw it, but I still don’t understand it.”

“But I thought the police suspected Mr. Enright of having been poisoned,” I said.

“We do,” Manu said. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t drunk at your party.”

“Do you suppose there’s a drug that could make someone feel and behave as if they were drunk?” I asked.

“Oh, sure.” Manu shrugged. “Lots of pain meds make people act loopy.”

“So Mr. Enright could have received an overdose of some sort of pain medication, right?” I asked.

“It’s possible,” Manu said, “but he hadn’t been prescribed any pain medications, and he hadn’t suffered any recent accidents. We’ll know more, though, when we get the autopsy report.”

Reggie took the ledger from the recesses of her roomy tote. “I didn’t get a chance to look at this during work today. I thought we could go over it either before or after dinner.”

Manu’s eyes narrowed. “Rajani Singh, where did you get that ledger?”

Reggie blinked. “Mrs. Trelawney asked me to give it to you to pass on to Chief Myers. I had to get to work, so this is the first opportunity I’ve had.”

I took the bottle of wine from him. “Dinner is almost ready. Let’s go on into the kitchen.”

I took the cheese biscuits out of the oven and placed them in a bread basket. Fortunately, Angus was in the backyard for the time being. He loves cheese biscuits.

As I poured the clam chowder into a soup tureen, Manu and Reggie sat down at the table. I placed both the tureen and the bread basket on the table. I handed Manu a corkscrew and asked if he would do the honors while I retrieved three of the crystal wineglasses Mom had sent me as a housewarming gift.

Manu popped the cork and filled our glasses. He then raised his for a toast. “To the brighter day we know is coming.”

We gently clinked our glasses.

“Do you really believe that, Manu?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said, ladling chowder into his bowl. “Don’t you?”

“Things look pretty bleak at the moment.”

He passed the ladle to Reggie. “They always do. That’s what makes the sun bursting through the clouds all the more beautiful.”

“Tell us about this stolen-identity thing,” Reggie said. “Are you sure it’s you and not some other Marcy Singer?”

“Positive.” I explained how I got my first clue from Julie and then how Alfred had confirmed it earlier today.

“That’s scary,” Reggie said. “Will you have to pay anything back?”

“I don’t know. I canceled my credit cards and notified the bank. Alfred is doing some further investigating.”

“Do you think someone found financial documents in your garbage?” Manu asked.

“No. I always shred documents before putting them in the trash,” I said.

“That’s good,” Manu said.

“Not necessarily.” Reggie took a cheese biscuit and passed the basket to me. “If the information wasn’t taken from Marcy’s garbage, then where did the identity thief get it?”