The Long Stitch Good Night: An Embroidery Mystery (4 page)

“See you tomorrow,” I told Ted. I then called to Sadie, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said, hurrying over to me. “I need to get someplace where I can think. I have to call someone…everyone…Blake’s parents, an attorney—”

“Sadie, all that can wait until tomorrow morning.” I didn’t point out the obvious—that
tomorrow morning
was technically only an hour or so away. This day seemed to have dragged on forever. “First things first. Let’s get you an overnight bag packed and get you back to my house. There we can work on a game plan and have a good idea of where to start when we get up tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah…okay.”

Sadie and I got into the Jeep, and I drove us to her house. I tried to make small talk—noting that it was a bit warmer now that the rain had stopped and that we might have some sunshine tomorrow—but I could tell it wasn’t helping. I was quiet until I pulled into Sadie’s driveway, shut off the engine, and turned to look at Sadie.

“Uh-oh,” she said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The light in the bedroom is on.”

I shrugged. “Maybe you or Blake forgot to turn it off this morning. I do things like that all the time.”

She shook her head. “I always double-check to make sure everything is off.”

We got out and walked up the sidewalk to the door. I loved Sadie and Blake’s house. If I had to choose one other house on the Oregon Coast to live in other than mine, I’d pick this one. It was a white stucco cottage with a deck that wrapped all the way around the back of the house. The front door had a diamond-paned window that took up half the door. It reminded me of the kind of door you’d see on the classic TV shows
Lassie
and
Green Acres
. It was hard to imagine a farmhouse door on the Oregon coast, but it worked. And the vaulted ceilings were wonderful. It gave the house such an open, airy feel.

Sadie unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that light being on.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “You’ve
never
gone off and left a light on accidentally? Don’t you think you might be feeling nervous because of everything else that’s happened tonight?”

“I guess it
is
possible.” Still, she didn’t sound so sure about that. “Stay here by the door, okay?”

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to look around and make sure everything is okay,” she said.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

She opened the closet and retrieved Blake’s softball bat. “Well, if I start swinging, you’d better duck.”

I crept along the hall behind her. Her paranoia was rubbing off on me, and now I was getting a bad vibe myself.

She stepped into the kitchen and flipped the light on. The back door was standing open.

B
y the time the patrol car pulled into the driveway with its lights flashing and siren blaring, Sadie and I had been cowering in the Jeep with the doors locked for at least fifteen minutes. I was holding a large metal flashlight I’d taken from beneath my seat, and Sadie was still clutching the softball bat.

I recognized Officer Moore—a rookie officer I’d met a few weeks prior—as soon as he stepped out from behind the wheel of the car. I didn’t know the young, auburn-haired female officer accompanying him.

Officer Moore approached my side of the Jeep, and I put down my window.

“Ms. Singer, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said. “Sadie and I are
afraid that whoever broke into the house might still be in there.”

“That’s unlikely,” he said, “but it pays to be cautious. My partner and I will check it out.”

His partner had gone to Sadie’s side of the Jeep and was talking with her. “We’ll do an initial walk-through, Mrs. MacKenzie, to make sure the perpetrator has left the premises. Then we’ll take you through the house so you can make a list of missing items.”

“Please stay here until we return for you,” Officer Moore said. He nodded at his partner, and they strode up the walk to Sadie’s front door. Sadie had left the light on in the foyer, but she and I could gauge their progression through the house as other lights came on.

“How’re you holding up?” I asked. Sure, it was a stupid question, but the silence was simply too tense. I had to say
something
.

“I just keep hoping I’ll wake up,” she said.

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t give in to tears. She was strong. I admired that, but I also knew Sadie well enough to realize that she was holding it together only until she could be alone and fall apart.

Officer Moore and his partner returned to the driveway. “Mrs. MacKenzie, the house is
secure. Please come with us now and inventory any missing belongings.”

I got out of the Jeep and followed Sadie up the walk. I wanted to be on hand to at least provide a little moral support if she and Blake had suffered a considerable loss. And I didn’t want to be alone in the driveway unprotected while Sadie and the people with the guns, Tasers, and batons were somewhere in the house.

The thought
What else could go wrong?
kept trudging through my mind, but I tried to firmly block it out. I was too afraid I’d get an answer.

Amazingly enough, nothing seemed to be missing from the MacKenzie home. Officers Moore and Dayton—I finally got the name of Officer Moore’s partner—believed the robber had fled when he heard us arrive. Officer Moore helped Sadie bar the door and told her it would hold temporarily but that she would need to get a locksmith to see about it first thing tomorrow morning.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Sadie asked.

Officer Dayton said she didn’t think so. “We’ll patrol the area every half hour or so the rest of the night. But no one would blame you
if you chose to stay elsewhere until after you get that door fixed.”

“She was planning to stay at my place anyway,” I said. “Would you guys mind hanging around for a few more minutes until she gathers her things?”

“Not at all,” Officer Moore said.

“I don’t know,” Sadie said. “Maybe I should stay here, Marce, just to make sure he doesn’t come back.”

“That’s
exactly
why you should come with me,” I said. “If Blake was here, it might be different. But…” I trailed off, not wanting to underscore the obvious.

“I think Ms. Singer is right,” Officer Moore said. “Go with her tonight, and take care of the door tomorrow. Otherwise, you’ll worry all night long.”

“As if I won’t worry anyway,” Sadie said with a sigh. “Okay. Give me five minutes.”

When Sadie went to the bedroom to pack her duffel, I turned to Officer Moore. “Do you think this break-in could have anything to do with what happened at the Brew Crew tonight?” I whispered.

He glanced toward the hallway before answering. “I don’t know. Nobody who has a
clue about what went on at the pub is saying a word about it.”

By the time we’d arrived back at my house, Sadie seemed to be almost completely deflated. No one could blame her for that, of course, but I thought she’d feel better if she had a plan of action in place.

“Before we go to bed, why don’t we work out a game plan for tomorrow?” I suggested as we walked into the kitchen.

Sadie looked at the clock. “It’s already one a.m., and we both need to get an early start in the…well, later this morning.”

“I know. But I might rest a little easier knowing what I have to get done and how I plan on going about it.” I took two small, ruled notepads and two pens from the drawer beneath the microwave. Since I also keep Angus’s dental care chew bones in there, he sat up expectantly. I handed him one of the bones, and he loped off to the living room with it.

I sat down at the table with my notepad and pen. I placed the other set in front of the chair nearest Sadie. As I started writing, she pulled out the chair and sat down.

On my pad, I wrote:

I tapped my index finger on number three. “I know I was supposed to call him tonight, but it’s too late now. Besides, I feel sure he made the deposit. Don’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Robbie’s a good guy. If he was supposed to do something, then he probably did it.”

“Do you think Todd might open up to me and tell me what went on at the Brew Crew if I stop by there tomorrow morning?” I asked.

“No offense, but I seriously doubt it. He and Blake must be protecting someone.” She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “It just doesn’t make any sense to me whatsoever.”

“Not to me, either. We need to talk to those other frat guys.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said, opening her eyes. “Do you think we should talk with them together or separately?”

“Let’s see them individually first so we can compare how their stories line up.” I wrote
that on my list. “Aren’t you writing anything down? Locksmith? Lawyer?”

“I don’t think I’ll have any trouble remembering those.” Still, to humor me, she pulled the notepad and pen closer, took the cap off the pen and wrote,
Get out of parallel universe—find door to wardrobe!

I woke up at eight o’clock Saturday morning, and the house was quiet. I supposed Sadie might still be sleeping, but it was odd that Angus hadn’t bounded into my room to greet me as soon as the alarm went off.

Stifling a yawn, I got out of bed, slipped on my robe, and padded downstairs to the kitchen. There was a note on the table.

I grabbed a diet soda—no time to wait for
coffee to brew—and a granola bar before hurrying back upstairs to get dressed.

As I pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt, I put my phone on speaker and dialed the hospital to check on Riley. I learned that she’d given birth to a six-pound four-ounce baby girl at just after four o’clock this morning. I thanked the receptionist, ended the call, and put on my sneakers. Riley would be exhausted. I decided to wait until after work to stop by to see her.

I rushed downstairs with my still-unopened granola bar and soda, set them on the counter, and grabbed a treat for Angus. I went outside and gave the dog a quick hug and his treat and told him I’d come back by to get him before opening the shop if I had time. On the way back through the house, I once again snagged my breakfast before hurrying out the front door.

I got in the Jeep and plugged Todd’s parents’ address into my GPS. While waiting for it to locate a signal, I opened my granola bar and took a bite. I hadn’t given much thought to how I might one day meet Mr. and Mrs. Calloway, but I never would have guessed I’d be introducing myself with the news that their son was in jail.

The GPS announced the first step of its directions, and I backed out of the driveway.

I had plenty of time to eat my breakfast en route to the Calloway house. But given the task I was faced with, the trip was over much too quickly. I pulled into the circular driveway of their immaculate Cape Cod–style home and shut off the Jeep’s engine. I admired the beautifully landscaped lawn as I tried to get up the nerve to go to the door.

Nolan Calloway stepped outside to get the newspaper. I recognized him because, except for the wire-rimmed glasses and wavy white hair, he looked like Todd. He was wearing jeans and a red pullover. When he spotted the Jeep, he smiled and waved.

I gulped, wiped my hands on the knees of my jeans, and got out of the car. “Good morning, Mr. Calloway. I’m Marcy Singer.”

“Marcy! I’ve heard Todd speak of you often. What brings you by?”

“Actually, Todd sent me,” I said. “May we go inside and talk?”

“Of course.” His smile faded. “Anything wrong? Is Todd okay?”

“He’s fine.” And as far as I knew, he was…physically, at least.

Mr. Calloway led me into the living room
and called for his wife. “June, Todd’s friend Marcy is here!” He turned to me. “May I get you something—coffee, juice?”

“No, thank you.”

He sat down on the brown leather sofa and indicated I should also take a seat. I sat on the chair opposite him and noticed the lovely yellow afghan draped over the back of the sofa. I wondered if Todd’s mother had made it. Under cheerier circumstances, I’d have asked.

June Calloway came into the living room, sat down beside her husband, and took his hand. She had professionally colored and styled blond hair, and she wore flattering makeup that accentuated her brown eyes. Though casually dressed in jeans and a pale blue sweater, she looked elegant.

“What is it?” Mrs. Calloway asked. “Where’s Todd? Why did he send you? Is he all right?”

“There was an incident at the pub last night, and Todd and Blake MacKenzie were arrested,” I said.

Both parents appeared noticeably relieved that Todd wasn’t in the hospital, but I knew their relief would be short-lived. After all, he was facing a major charge.

“He didn’t want to call and upset you last night,” I continued. “He asked me to come talk
with you today. He said he’d need your help to get out of this mess.”

Mr. Calloway frowned and looked down at the floor. Somehow I’d conveyed to him that Todd was in a dire situation. Mrs. Calloway, on the other hand, didn’t get it.

“Was it a fight?” she asked. “Does he need bail money?”

I took a deep breath. “Bail hasn’t been set. That’s to be determined Monday morning after the arraignment.”

“What’s the charge?” Mr. Calloway asked hoarsely, still staring at the floor.

“Murder,” I said quietly.

“What?” Mrs. Calloway cried. “That’s impossible! It’s a mistake!”

Mr. Calloway raised his head. “June, calm down. Losing our heads won’t help our son.” He looked at me. “What happened?”

I explained that Graham Stott had been found shot to death and that Todd’s gun was on the floor nearby. “Both Todd and Blake were in the room, their fingerprints were on the gun, and neither of them is talking with the police.”