Stitch Me Deadly (26 page)

I was working on Mom’s birthday present—the
Boulevard of Broken Dreams
piece—and barely looked up. “Really?”

“That’s not an I’m-so-shocked
really
,” Sadie said. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

I told her what had transpired the night before and swore her to secrecy.

“Do you think they truly are Louisa Ralston’s grandchildren or that this is merely another scam?” she asked.

“The DNA test will tell us for certain.”

The next person to come in—regarding the press conference rather than seeking embroidery supplies—was Eleanor Ralston. She stormed into the shop looking wild-eyed and shaken.

“Did you see the press conference?” she asked.

“No,” I said. And that was the truth. I didn’t have a TV in the shop. “What press conference?”

“That idiot reporter and some woman who works at the library have come forward to say that my grandmother had an illegitimate child when she was young and that the child grew up to become their mother.” Eleanor paced and gesticulated frantically as she spoke. “Can you imagine? They only want money, and they’re dragging my grandmother’s name through the mud to get it.” She whirled and pointed at me. “I’m schooled in law, you know. And I will prevent this from going any further. They will
not
sully the Ralston name, and they will
not
get a cent from our family. In fact, I’m thinking of suing them for slander.” She snatched a tissue from the box on the counter and held it to her nose. “I’m sorry, Marcy. I shouldn’t unload on you like this.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I understand.”

“This whole thing is because Grandma came into this store looking for ivy . . . ivy-colored thread, more than likely. And since their motherʹs name is Ivy, they think they have something to tie them to our family. But they don’t.” She pitched the tissue into the wastebasket and took another. “They can’t do this. It was never even proven that Grandma had a child at Tipton-Haney House. She volunteered there because she cared so much about children. That’s all.”

I nodded.

“She
was
looking for ivy-colored thread when she came in here, wasn’t she?” Eleanor asked. “You’ll testify to that, won’t you?”

“I’ll . . . I’ll say exactly what she said to me,” I said.

Eleanor smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and left.

I waved good-bye, thinking she wouldn’t be thanking me if she did, in fact, call me to testify about what Mrs. Ralston had said. The woman never once mentioned thread.

Eleanor wasn’t the only Ralston relation who visited the Seven-Year Itch that day. Cary, too, paid a visit.

“Hi,” I said, a bit nervously. Was he here because he thought I had played a part in the Ella-and-Devon sideshow? After all, it was his mother who had suggested that Louisa donate her money to Sunshine Manor. “Didn’t Mom call you yesterday?”

“She did,” he said. “I trust she had a safe flight home?”

“Yes. I spoke with her last night.”

He smiled. “Good.” He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “That was a surprising press conference today, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t see it myself,” I said, “but Eleanor was here earlier, and she was talking about it.”

“Was she upset?” he asked.

“Yes. She was downright furious, saying that the Halsteads are intending to drag the Ralston name through the mud,” I said.

He nodded. “Mother is, too.”

I wondered if his mother was worried about the Ralston name being dragged through the mud or about losing the money earmarked for Sunshine Manor.

“Eleanor said she doesn’t believe Louisa had a child while she was working at Tipton-Haney House . . . that she was only there as a volunteer,” I said. “What does your mother think?”

He gazed up at the ceiling. “I believe Mother knows the truth, but she doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Then you think she did have a child and that Devon and Ella could be that child’s progeny?” I asked.

“It’s possible.” He gave me a tight smile. “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

“I guess so.”

He took a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. “I know you have classes for the next three evenings—I’ll be here tonight, of course—but your mom bought you a dress at my boutique.”

“She what?”

He chuckled. “It was to be a surprise . . . so, surprise!”

I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Beverly wanted to buy you a dress, but since you couldn’t get away, and since you’ve been under so much stress, she wanted you to have it after she’d gone. She said you could wear it on a date with one of your young men.” He winked. “Maybe on Friday afternoon after you close the shop, you can come by and get the dress?”

“What does it look like?” I asked.

He laughed again. “That’s the beauty of it. You get to pick it out yourself. So come—the boutique will be at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”

“Thank your mother,” he said. “It’s her gift. See you later on. You’ll be surprised at how well my lion is coming along.”

Things picked up not long after Cary was in, and I didn’t have time to call Mom and thank her for the dress. I didn’t have time to work on her cross-stitch project, either. I sold embroidery needles, canvases, and more white yarn.

The last person to enter the shop solely to talk about the morning’s press conference was Marsha, Adam Gray’s secretary. She came in just before I closed up for dinner.

“Nice shop,” she said. “I like the mannequin.”

“Thank you.”

“Were you getting ready to leave?” she asked.

“No, that’s okay. I have class here tonight, and although I usually close up and go home for dinner and to put Angus in the backyard, I sometimes just grab a bite to eat at MacKenzies’ Mochas . . . especially when I leave Angus at home with a bowl of food like I did today.” I smiled. “Whenever we have a nice day, I like to let him stay home and play in the yard. What can I help you with?”

“Oh, I don’t do embroidery,” Marsha said. “I wish I could, but I’m not very good at things like that. I came about Riley’s press conference this morning. Do you think those people are who they say they are?”

“I don’t know, Marsha. I guess we’ll have to wait for the DNA tests to tell us.”

“Yeah . . . I guess so. Do you think they killed Mrs. Ralston and Adam in order to get that trust fund?”

“No,” I said. “I think—I hope—they really wanted to know their grandmother. What do you think?”

She shrugged.

“I mean, what would they gain by killing her?” I asked. “All they’d have had to do is go to Mrs. Ralston and present their case. That would’ve solved everything, and no one would’ve got hurt. Right?”

She shrugged again. “Not if they’re frauds.”

I hadn’t considered that.

W
e had a full house for class that evening. Cary was there. Reggie Singh, Vera Langhorne, Ella, and Devon were there, too. Devon was there because Ted had instructed him to stay with Ella. He was sticking to his sister like glue.

The only one missing from the stitchers was Sadie. One of her waitresses had called in sick, and she didn’t want to leave Blake shorthanded.

“Devon,” I asked, after everyone else got to work on their projects, “would you like to try your hand at needlepoint?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I’m doing fine reading this
GQ
.”

“All right,” I said. “But if you get bored, just say so.”

Despite the full class and one extra person, an awkward silence filled the sit-and-stitch square. Cary was avoiding eye contact with Ella and Devon. Ella was avoiding eye contact with everyone except me. Devon was hiding behind his magazine. And Vera was bursting to talk about the press conference but knew that to do so would be a huge social faux pas. We could literally hear the clock on the far wall ticking as we worked. I attempted to make small talk a time or two, but I finally gave up.

Ten minutes or so before the end of class, everyone started putting their materials away.

“That was fun,” Vera said, as she left. “See you tomorrow, Marcy.”

“Don’t forget about Friday,” Cary said, filing out the door.

Eventually, the only people left were Devon, Ella, and me. I smiled at them. “How did it go today?”

“I think it went all right,” Ella said. “Riley knew what she was talking about with the reporters and gossipmongers. They hounded us for a while, but they finally gave us some peace when we said we’d let the media know as soon as the DNA results come back.”

“The shop was abuzz with talk of the press conference, too,” I said.

“Is that what you wanted us to stay after class to discuss?” Devon asked.

I frowned. “If you want to, we can.”

“Didn’t you e-mail me at the library and ask us to plan to stay for a few minutes after class because you had something to talk with us about?” Ella asked.

I slowly shook my head. “Guys, I think we’ve been set up. We need to get out of here. Let’s go out the back way.”

I felt a burst of cold air and turned.

Eleanor was standing in the open doorway of the shop. “No, please don’t leave. I’m the one who sent the e-mail.” She stepped in, setting the bells above her head to jingling. “I wanted the four of us to be able to talk somewhere privately.” She moved into the sit-and-stitch square and sat down on the sofa beside Ella. “I’m sorry about your mother. I knew someone who had terminal cancer, and I know how horrible it is.”

“Yes, it is,” Ella said.

“And I realize you want your mother to have the very best treatment,” Eleanor continued. “I have money. If you’ll please drop all this nonsense about my grandmother having a child out of wedlock, I’ll see to it that your mother is well cared for in her final days.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” Devon said. “Ivy Larkin Sutherland Halstead is our mother. And she was born to Louisa Ralston in nineteen forty-three at Tipton-Haney House.”

“You’re grasping at straws,” Eleanor said. “I’ve seen those records. The children were dubbed
Baby So-and-So
, and their parents weren’t mentioned in the records.”

“Unofficially, yes,” Ella said. “But they had birth records. And those birth records listed both the mother and the father—when known—of the child. Our mother’s original birth certificate listed her mother as Louisa Ralston and her father as Edward Larkin.”

“Baby Ivy born at Tipton-Haney House in nineteen forty-three has a birth certificate listing Mildred and Arthur Sutherland as her parents,” Eleanor said.

“That was the birth certificate granted to the Sutherlands after they adopted Momma,” Ella said. “The first certificate contained the names of her biological parents.”

“Here’s what I can’t figure out,” I said. “Riley and I went online, and Mom and I visited the Tallulah Falls Historical Society, and we found out about Ivy’s parentage within a matter of hours. How is it that Ella and Mrs. Ralston were unable to connect?”

“I only began searching when Momma was diagnosed with cancer,” Ella said. “I wanted to reunite her with her biological parents, if possible.”

“I was doing the searching for Grandma,” Eleanor said, finally dropping all pretenses that she didn’t believe Ivy to be Louisa’s daughter, “and it was my intention that she never find the illegitimate child of Edward Larkin.”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” Devon said. “She was our grandmother, and we had a right to know her. She had a right to know us and our mother.”

“It was my call to make,” Eleanor said, “because she was
my
grandmother. I’m the one who cared for her, ran her errands, paid her bills, and cleaned her house because she was too proud to hire help. I’m the one who deserved to get the money she left in that stupid trust fund for a daughter she’d given away nearly seven decades ago. Grandma never found Ivy Larkin because I never looked for her.”

“What about Adam Gray?” I asked. “Didn’t he know about Ivy Larkin?”

“Who knows?” Eleanor asked. “Who cares?” She glared at Devon and Ella. “That money is mine. Once again, I’ll be happy to throw a little your way, but you’re not getting that entire trust fund.”

I noticed Eleanor slipping her hand into the pocket of her coat. “That sounds reasonable,” I said, looking pointedly at Ella and Devon. “Don’t you guys think it is? Maybe Eleanor can provide a little money for your mom to help her be more comfortable, and you guys can cancel the DNA test and say everything was a mistake.”

Devon wasn’t given to subtlety and wouldn’t have known a hint had it slapped him across the face. “No way. If Louisa Ralston wanted our mother to have that money, then she’s going to get it.” He looked at Eleanor. “You got the house and the furniture and all the rest. That should be enough for you to do well on.”

Eleanor’s hand slid deeper into her pocket.

Ella saw my ever-widening eyes and caught on. “No, Devon. Marcy’s right. We should accept Eleanor’s generous offer and drop this thing. We don’t want to embarrass our late grandmother, do we?”

Eleanor shook her head. “He won’t drop it. He’s too greedy.” She withdrew a small pistol from her coat pocket. “It’s not fair. I deserve that money. I deserve everything.”

“Please, Eleanor,” I said. “Think about what you’re doing. This situation doesn’t have to play out like this.”

“Yeah, I think it does.” She stood, pointing the pistol at Devon as she moved to a corner of the sit-and-stitch square where she could keep an eye on all of us but have her back to the window.

Suddenly Ted, Detective Bailey, and Detective Ray burst into the shop. Someone yelled, “Drop the gun!” I thought it was Ted, but I wasn’t sure. Everything happened so fast. Eleanor did drop the gun. Detective Ray handcuffed her, and Detective Bailey began reciting her rights.

Ted hugged me while Devon and Ella hugged each other. I clung to Ted as tightly as my trembling arms would allow.