The Stitching Hour (12 page)

“You do know that's none of your business and that if you poke that bear, Sadie and Blake are gonna be pretty angry, don't you?”

“Yes, of course, I do. I'm as bad as Todd.” I told Ted about talking with Todd about Keira and his asking whether or not I thought Sadie had feared Blake was cheating with Keira before Detective Poston had put that thought into her head. “He said, ‘I'd hate to think she killed the competition.' Of course, he laughed as he said it, but I couldn't believe he'd say such a thing even as a joke. I mean, this was
Sadie
we were talking about.”

Ted was silent and still.

I was snuggled against him, but I turned to look at his face. It was a carefully constructed blank mask.

“You don't think Sadie had anything to do with Keira's death, do you?” I asked.

“At this point, I can't say for sure. You know I have to remain objective and that everyone is a suspect right now.”

“But you don't think
Todd
actually believes Sadie could've had anything to do with Keira's death, do you?”

“You'd have to ask Todd that,” he said.

“I know Sadie . . . and I know Blake,” I said. “They might be having money problems, but they're good, honest people. They wouldn't do anything that might get someone else hurt.”

They wouldn't. I
knew
they wouldn't. And yet, I was scared.

A
ngus and I got to the Seven-Year Stitch an hour early because I was so anxious to talk with Sadie. I called her and asked if she could come over.

“Um . . . yeah. . . . We're really busy, Marce, but I'll be there as soon as I can spare a few minutes. Is anything wrong?”

“No, everything's fine.”

“Want me to bring you anything?” she asked.

For once, I passed on the low-fat vanilla latte with cinnamon. That's how Sadie knew something was wrong, pulled one of her waitresses from the floor to help Blake behind the counter, and hurried to the Stitch.

“I got here as quickly as I could,” she said as she hurried through the door. “What's going on?”

“Let's sit down.”

She followed me over to the sit-and-stitch square. “I thought you wanted to talk about your menu, but when you refused your usual latte, I knew something was up.”

“I'm worried about you . . . and Blake.”

Sadie's face tightened, and I knew she'd gone into defense mode.

“Just hear me out,” I said. “As Riley and I were leaving yesterday, we saw—and heard—Ken Sherman in the alley yelling at Blake. He was blaming Blake for Keira's death.”

“I know. The man is grieving. He's blaming everybody right now.”

I leaned forward and placed my hand on Sadie's arm. “That's not the only thing. Captain Moe told us that Mr. Sherman has a bad reputation . . . that he might not be a completely legitimate businessman.”

“I'm way ahead of you on that too, Marcy. Blake had heard the rumors, and he broke off the deal last Monday. That's another reason why he hadn't felt the need to go into everything with me. He figured what was the point since he'd already backed out.”

“That's a valid argument . . . but I know you're angry that he didn't tell you he was still considering the deal with Mr. Sherman and was hoping to persuade you to change your mind,” I said.

“I was angry, but I'm not anymore. I'm over it. I blew it all out of proportion.” She shrugged. “I do that sometimes. Now . . . about your menu.”

Since Sadie had effectively ended the discussion of Ken Sherman, why he blamed Blake for Keira's death, and Blake's reasons for not telling her about everything up front, we spent the next fifteen minutes finalizing the menu for the anniversary party. I wanted to ask if she and Blake were okay financially and to offer help if they needed it, but the stony set to Sadie's face told me it would do no good to try to talk about that today. She was shutting me out . . . just as Blake had shut her out. Granted, secrets between a husband and wife were entirely different from secrets between best friends—generally, besties
knew
each other's secrets—but her putting a wall between us stung.

After Sadie left, I called Ted.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said.

I laughed softly. “Thanks. I needed that this morning.”

“Well, it's so dreary in Tallulah Falls today that you're the only sunshine around.”

“I'm glad you think so.” I told him about my conversation with Sadie. “So if Blake broke off the deal the Monday before Keira was murdered, do you think maybe that affected Ken Sherman's customers in some way?”

“It could have. If one of the drug cartels was already planning on laundering money through Keira's MacKenzies' Mochas franchise, then that certainly would've thrown a wrench into their plans.”

“But couldn't Mr. Sherman have still opened a coffeehouse for Keira under a different name?” I asked. “Although why he would want to launder money through his daughter's business is beyond me.”

“I'm looking into all of his business ventures today. Meanwhile, Inch-High, stay out of it . . .
please
. If what Captain Moe told us is true, then Ken Sherman is a dangerous man.”

“I'll be careful,” I said. “You be careful.”

“Always.”

After talking with Ted, I went ahead and opened the shop. Then I took my tote bag from behind the counter and sat on the sofa facing the window looking out onto the street. I took out the ribbon embroidery bouquet project I was making to give as a door prize. I really needed to get busy on it since I intended to have it framed by Friday.

Angus, too, had been in the mood to look outside this morning. He was lying in front of the window. It was his excited bark that brought my attention to the fact that Christine Willoughby was walking past.

She waved at Angus and me through the glass, and then held up her index finger to suggest she'd be back.

A few minutes later, she returned with a MacKenzies' Mochas cup and, after greeting Angus, joined me in the sit-and-stitch square. She sat on the sofa across from me and sipped her drink.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It was rude of me not to ask if you wanted anything from MacKenzies' Mochas as I walked past, especially knowing that I was coming right back here.”

“That's fine,” I said. “I'm good. How are you holding up?”

“Well, as you can see, I'm scatterbrained. My nerves have been a wreck since I found out about Keira and that key ring.”

“About the key rings . . . Riley Kendall and I counted them yesterday, and there were only four ninety-seven in the box.”

Her eyes widened. “That means I didn't have the only one!”

“It at least gives you reasonable doubt. Do you have an attorney yet?”

“Not yet,” said Christine. “To be honest, I can't really afford it. Jared offered to get a loan against his business for me, but I can't let him do that. What if they find me guilty anyway, and Jared would lose his mother
and
his business?”

“We're not gonna let that happen. If you'd like, I can call Riley and see who she recommends from legal aid.”

“Would you?” she asked. “I'd appreciate that so much.”

I'd picked up the phone to call Riley's office when a customer came in. I stood, set aside my ribbon embroidery, and greeted the man.

“Hello! Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch. I'm Marcy.”

“And who is this?” he asked, stooping slightly to pet Angus.

“That's Angus.”

The man wore a tan trench coat and a brown fedora, and he somehow seemed to have stepped out of another era.

“I'm looking for a gift for my granddaughter,” he said. “When I saw the name of your shop, I just had to come in. Marilyn Monroe . . . she was one of the greats.”

“She certainly was.”

“Lovely woman . . . curvy. . . . Advertisers don't seem to appreciate women with any meat on their bones anymore, but the men still do.”

I laughed.

“I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to be indelicate. I just simply don't understand the direction the world has taken,” he said.

“That's quite all right. What did you have in mind for your granddaughter?”

“I have no earthly idea. I was hoping you'd help me come up with something.”

He told me her age—ten—and I walked him over to the children's crafts. He chose a beginner's cross-stitch kit, a friendship bracelet kit, and a latch hook kit.

“Surely, she'll like one of these,” he said.

“I'm betting she'll like them all.” I rang up his purchases, placed them in a bag, and invited him to bring his granddaughter to our anniversary party on Friday evening. “I'll be giving goodie bags to everyone, and there will be plenty of door prizes too.”

“Sounds fun. I'll see if I can't get her to be my date.”

As the man headed off down the street, I rejoined Christine in the sit-and-stitch square.

“He seemed awfully nice,” she said.

“He did.” I paused. “Speaking of people
seeming
nice, did Jared ever say anything about Keira's dad?”

“No, I don't think so. Why?”

“I've heard some rumors that his business ventures might not all be legitimate,” I said. “Of course, it could simply be the gossip mill speculating about Keira's murder.”

“I'll ask Jared if he ever heard anything, but you know how people talk. When someone is rich and powerful, folks sometimes like to cut them down.” She frowned. “Then again, he did have all that money, and Keira would still take loans from Jared. Maybe he isn't a very good person after all.”

“Maybe not. Ted and I saw Jared when we were out to dinner on Saturday.”

“He told me about that,” she said. “Jared has been dating Adalyn for a couple of weeks. I don't think it's anything serious yet, but it was a major step for him in getting away from Keira.”

“Did Keira know Jared was seeing Adalyn?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“If she did, that would explain why Keira hadn't wanted to work concessions at the Horror Emporium,” I said.

“I suppose so. But, as I said, there's nothing serious between Jared and Adalyn yet . . . at least, not as far as I know.”

“Still, with Keira, everything was serious when it interfered with her getting what she wanted.” I explained about how she'd considered me a threat when she liked Todd Calloway. “The girl detested me and would do anything she could to get my goat.”

“You don't . . .” Christine bit her lower lip. “You don't think . . . Adalyn and Keira might've . . . fought . . . do you?”

“I doubt it,” I said. “I'm merely speculating. Let me go ahead and call Riley to see who she recommends at legal aid.”

I called Riley's office. Riley was in court, but her administrative assistant, Julie, said that Riley had a list of people she recommended. The first person on that list was Sean Clay. I passed his information along to Christine, and she said she'd call him as soon as she got home.

Christine left, and I resumed my work on the ribbon embroidery bouquet. Once again, I wished there was some way I could talk with Ken Sherman. I felt that if I could speak with him—even for a minute—I could get a better handle on what kind of person he was. I already knew that Ted didn't get a good vibe from the man. I wanted my own first impression.

Keira had died on Thursday. Had this been a normal death, her funeral would have likely taken place on Sunday. I knew that the autopsy would hold up any memorial services, but the coroner's office
had
to release the body to the family soon . . . didn't they?

•   •   •

By the time Ted brought lunch, I'd finished the ribbon embroidery bouquet. Now to iron it and have it framed. But ironing could definitely wait until after lunch.

Today, Ted brought Caesar salads and breadsticks from our favorite Italian restaurant on the outskirts of Tallulah Falls.

“Wow, you had to go out of your way today,” I said as I placed the clock on the front door.

“I thought it would be worth it.”

I smiled. “It totally is.”

“And, to be honest, I was in the area anyway.”

“Chasing down a bad guy?”

“Chasing down a lead,” he said, following me into my office. “One of Ken Sherman's franchises is out that way. It's a café that specializes in hot dogs.”

“Bob's Big Dogs?”

“That's the one.” He handed Angus a breadstick, and the dog wolfed it down.

I took two bottles of water from the minifridge. “Sorry. This is all I have. I need to go by the grocery store and restock after work.”

“You probably need to restock at home too. Your mom comes in tomorrow, doesn't she?”

“She does,” I said.

“I thought maybe we could get our moms together for dinner before your class on Wednesday.” Ted opened his salad and sprinkled the packet of Romano cheese over the top. “That way, we'll have only an hour. If it's awkward, we have an excuse to duck out.”

“Smart thinking. I knew I loved you for more than your brawn.” I smiled as I dug into my salad.

“Have you told your mom very much about mine?”

“Not a lot. You?”

“Not too much. She knows she's a costume designer and that she lives in San Francisco.”

“Mine knows Veronica once put a federal agent in time-out,” I said.

Ted laughed. “Yeah, I suppose she did.”

“Um . . . not to change the subject, but I guess I'm really
not
changing the subject but rather changing it back—”

“We have only half an hour, you know.”

“I know,” I said. “I was wondering what—if anything—you learned from Bob's Big Dogs.”

“I learned that those hot dogs were definitely not what we wanted for lunch,” he said. “And I'm not joking. There were several patrons in the place, but the majority of them had sodas. That was it. I can see going to a coffee shop to enjoy a beverage and a chat with some associates but not a hot dog place.”

“I agree. Those fountain sodas are hit-or-miss. So you think they were up to something nefarious?”

“Hard to say,” he said. He ate his salad for a moment and thought this over. “They weren't
doing
anything nefarious while I was there, but they could very well have been plotting up something.”

“So how did you wander around in the restaurant without making anyone suspicious?” I asked.

“I didn't. I asked for the manager, introduced myself, and told him we were talking with people who knew Ken Sherman to determine if anyone could help us identify his daughter's killer.”

“Whoa. . . . I imagine you could've heard a hot dog drop in there after you made that announcement.”

“Well, yeah. And then the manager took me into his office and told me what a bad decision he'd made when he'd agreed to allow Ken Sherman to finance this venture for him. He said his business had started out fairly strong but that now it was going downhill fast,” said Ted. “He said, ‘You see the people out there. How many of them are eating?' I asked if he knew
why
they weren't eating, and he either suddenly forgot how to talk or remembered who his patrons were.”