Stitch Me Deadly (19 page)

Ella trailed behind me. “I suppose you’re wondering why I was having a drink with that reporter yesterday evening.”

I found the floss with the number Ella needed and turned to her with a smile. “That’s entirely your own business.” I quickly compared it to the thread she was holding. As expected, it was a perfect match. “How many skeins of this do you think you’ll need?”

“Two should do it.” She pressed her lips together. “He—Mr. Reed, that is—came to the library and asked for my help researching Louisa Ralston. He said you and he were trying to discover the truth about her death.”

I handed her two skeins of blue floss. “
He
ʹs trying. I was open to helping him at first, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“I think he’s only trying to solve her murder so he can turn it into an article or a book or a movie,” I said. “He doesn’t want justice. He wants to make a profit by exploiting the poor woman’s death.”

“But can’t you have both?” She lifted her shoulders. “I mean, you want justice, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“And he wants to turn a profit. So long as you both get what you want, what difference does it make?” She smiled slightly. “I mean, two heads—or I guess three, counting me—are better than one . . . and more likely to discover the truth.”

“Why are you so interested in the Ralston case?” I asked.

“One, I find history and its mysteries fascinating,” she said. “And, two, I lost my mother a few years back. It was from illness rather than something sudden like Mrs. Ralston’s death, but I understand the loss Mrs. Ralston’s family must feel . . . how it would help them gain closure to know the truth.”

“I see.”

“I’m also eager to learn if my initial theory pans out, and whether Ivy is, in fact, a person.”

“If that’s true, why would Mrs. Ralston come here to ask for my help?” I asked. “Wouldn’t you go to the police if you were trying to find a missing person or a long-lost relative?”

“I would, yes. But perhaps Mrs. Ralston had a reason for coming here rather than going to the professionals. Maybe she’d sought help from the authorities before, and they’d either refused or been unable to help her.” Ella moved toward the counter. “Maybe Mrs. Ralston was acquainted with the person who owned this shop before you, or perhaps she intended to check with all the merchants on this block. Maybe she even heard that you’d helped find Mr. Enright’s killer and thought you might help her, too. Who knows? But Mr. Reed isn’t so bad. A little overbearing, maybe, but I do believe he means well.”

“You could be right.” I rang up the floss and started to put it in a bag.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Ella said. “I’ll just drop it into my purse. Greener that way, right?”

“Right.” I smiled. “Have a good evening.”

“Wow,” Mom said, after Ella had left, “she certainly was trying to champion Mr. Reed’s cause, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, she was. Do you think she’s right about him?” I joined Mom in the sit-and-stitch square. “Do you think I should give him another chance to help me discover who killed Mrs. Ralston?”

Mom shook her head. “You don’t know or trust that guy, and with good reason. You
do
know and trust Ted Nash. Plus he’s in a much better position to help you than Devon Reed could ever be.”

I nodded. “Excellent point.”

“Besides, if this reporter sells Mrs. Ralston’s story to the tabloids or whatever he chooses to do with it, do you want to be a part of that?”

“No,” I said, “I’ve never wanted to be a part of that.”

“Well, if you work with him, you will be. You can’t help but be, darling. Guilt by association, birds of a feather, yadda, yadda.”

I smiled. “I get what you’re saying. No matter what, people would think I was profiting from whatever smarmy deal Devon Reed might make.”

“Precisely.”

“What about Ella’s belief that Ivy is a person?” I asked.

“She may have something there. Did Louisa and her granddaughter get along well? If not, perhaps Louisa was searching for another relative—one she preferred over Eleanor—to leave her fortune to.” She shrugged. “When I get to be in my late eighties or nineties, you’d better be especially nice to me.”

“I’m especially nice to you now,” I said.

She grinned. “Yeah, but I have to work with what I’ve got. It’ll be interesting to see if Cary’s mother remembers anything when she sees the sampler.”

“I agree. If their great-grandmother made the sampler, I imagine it hung in someone’s house—their grandmother’s, maybe—for years. Wouldn’t you think?”

“Yeah, I would.” Mom turned to look at the sampler. “It appears that someone treasured that sampler and took excellent care of it.”

“Until, of course, someone ripped out the original verse and put in the quote about the ivy.”

“But even that was done with care,” Mom said.

“I hope Ms. Ellis remembers the original verse,” I said, “and that she can tell us who changed it and why.”

Mom grinned. “You’re expecting a lot from the old gal, you know. She might not remember a thing.”

“Remember what Cary said? He said she remembers what happened far in the past better than she can recall what she had for lunch. After tasting one of her cook’s lunches, I can’t imagine anyone forgetting those.”

T
ed insisted on driving himself to the Ellis house. He said he needed to have his own transportation on hand in case he was called in by Chief Singh. I rode with him in his black Impala, and we followed Cary and Mom.

“This really does feel weird, doesn’t it?” I asked. “Here I wanted to do something to thank you for all your help, and this is what I come up with.”

Ted laughed. “It’ll be fun. Besides, maybe we can gain some better insights into Louisa Ralston’s life.”

“I hope so. Do you know if the Tallulah County police have any other leads—besides me, of course?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. And neither do I, for that matter. The woman apparently led an exemplary life. She was charitable, everyone seemed to like her, she provided for all her relatives in her will. . . .” He shrugged. “There’s no motive.”

I sighed and rested my head against the back of the seat. “Maybe it’s about me. Maybe ruining
me
is the motive, and Mrs. Ralston was simply the first victim to come along on the morning of the attack.”

“But you didn’t know Mrs. Ralston,” Ted said. “If I planned to ruin you by making it appear you’d killed someone, I’d kill someone close to you and plant possible motives.”

“Someone close to me,” I murmured. “Like Jill, maybe?”

“Exactly like Jill. She’d be the perfect victim if somebody wanted to set you up. You work with her every day, and she stands right there at the register. You could have conceivably caught her with her hand in the till, and a person could kill her without having her death on his conscience because she’s an inanimate object.”

I faked a gasp. “You’d better never let Jill hear you talking like that.”

“Something tells me that unlike a certain person I’ll do the courtesy not to name, she wouldn’t get all sassy and self-righteous if I did tell her,” he said.

“Tell her she’s an inanimate object or that she’d be the perfect murder victim? She’d get sassy about
that
if she could.” I giggled. “We really are actors in a screwball comedy, aren’t we? We’re following my mother and her boyfriend to his mother’s house, and we’re discussing why my mannequin would make the perfect murder victim.”

He held up his index finger. “The perfect murder victim
if
someone was trying to frame you.”

“Right. When what we really need to determine is whose perfect victim was Mrs. Ralston?” I shook my head. “There has to be a motive somewhere, Ted. Someone had to have it in for her personally.”

“And don’t forget Adam Gray,” he said. “He was Mrs. Ralston’s trusted adviser, and the same method was used. He had to have been killed for the same reason. We just have to figure out what it is.”

“Is there any way you can poke around in Mr. Gray’s office?”

“Out of my jurisdiction, remember? And Tallulah County is being fairly tight-lipped.” He glanced at me. “But we’ll figure it out, all right?”

“If you say so.”

The drive to Ms. Ellis’ house was a fairly quick one. We detoured only once, to pick up dinner, and Ted and I sat in the car parked beside Cary’s Mercedes while he and Mom went into the Chinese restaurant to get the food.

Ms. Ellis had a beautiful home. It was easy to imagine Cary growing up here and becoming more and more enamored of the thought of being like Cary Grant. The large white house had a Spanish influence with arched windows and doorways and a red tile roof. The lawn was immaculate, and even though it was winter, I could see where flower beds had been primed for spring.

Mom, Ted, and I followed Cary inside. A tiny wisp of a woman with silver hair and blue eyes came to meet us in the foyer. She was wearing a high-necked tea-length aquamarine dress and a strand of pearls knotted at the bottom.

“Hello, my dears,” she said. “Thank you for coming and for bringing dinner. Isabel has the night off, you know.”

“I do know,” Cary said. “Is Chinese all right, Mother?”

“Chinese will be wonderful,” she said, with a smile. “I haven’t had it since the last Friday evening you brought dinner.”

Cary shrugged at Mom. “So, I’m predictable.” He then introduced us all around.

I felt myself drawn to Ms. Ellis immediately. I could see the resemblance between her and her sister, but I felt that in their younger days, Ms. Ellis probably outshone even Louisa. She had an impish charm that made her eyes sparkle, and there was the perpetual hint of a smile around her mouth. I just hoped she would be able to tell me something that would help me figure out who had killed her sister.

“Come on into the dining room,” she said. “I’ve got everything set up for us.”

The table was made to seat eight, and Ms. Ellis had placed the plates, silverware, and glasses so that we were in the seats facing each other, with no one seated at the ends of the table.

“Cary, dear, would you pour the bubble tea?” she asked.

He laughed. “You knew I was bringing Chinese, then, eh?”

“Of course.” Ms. Ellis winked at me. “Have you ever had bubble tea, Marcy?”

“No, I haven’t. What is it?”

“It’s a wonderful Asian tea made with tapioca pearls,” she said. “I make my own.”

Cary poured us all a cup of bubble tea, and Ms. Ellis watched us expectantly as we took our first sip. It was very sweet and quite good.

“Will you share the recipe?” I asked.

“Yes. Remind me to give it to you before you leave.”

“I’m terribly sorry about your sister, Ms. Ellis,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry, too. We talked every day, and I miss her so much.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said, removing my napkin from my plate to allow Cary to spoon sweet and sour chicken onto it. I wanted to ask Ms. Ellis if she knew anyone who would want to harm her sister, but now didn’t seem the appropriate time.

“You’re looking well today, Mother,” Cary said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I have epilepsy,” she explained to the rest of us. “He fusses over me as if I’m a five-year-old. Beverly, Cary tells me you’re a costume designer.” She grinned. “I gave Cary the name Carrington Grant because I fell head over heels for Cary Grant in
An Affair to Remember
. Not like I was in love with my husband, Richard; it was just a silly crush. Do you ever fall victim to those?”

Mom laughed. “Do I ever! Marcella had better be glad she was a girl. Otherwise, she’d have had a name as long as the
Orient Express
. Let’s see, Robert Redford Paul Newman Gregory Harrison James Dean Michael Landon Singer, maybe?”

“That
is
as long as the
Orient Express
,” Cary said. “And rather than Marcy, we’d have called her Bobby Dean?”

“Bobby Dean Singer?” Ted asked. “Change the
y
to an
ie
, and that would still work.”

I put up my hands. “No, thank you. Besides, I’m way too old for a name change.”

“Who are you named after, Ted?” Ms. Ellis asked.

“I’m named after my father, Theodore Nash Sr.”

She chuckled. “I was lucky to be the younger daughter. Louisa was named after Uncle Louis, who always smelled like fish and cigars. I was named Millicent—or Millie—after our great-grandmother. I never met the lady myself, but Mother told me Grandma Millie always smelled of sugar cookies and talcum powder.” She nodded at me. “I’m looking forward to seeing that sampler you brought. Mother had it hanging in our kitchen for years.”

After dinner, Cary took Mom and Ted on a tour of the house while I showed the framed sampler to Ms. Ellis. She looked at it lovingly, and I could see that it took her back to her childhood. A faint smile played around her lips as she ran her hand tenderly over the frame. Then she appeared to read the verse and her smile turned into a frown.