The Quick and the Thread (15 page)

“A
lot
trickier. Are you staying for the funeral?”

“No. I just want to pay my respects to the family.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I have a class tonight, and I need to be there even if none of my students show up.”

“It’ll likely be a slow night at the Brew Crew, too.”

“Mind if I stop by after class?”

He smiled. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

We went on into the funeral home and stood in line to speak with Mrs. Trelawney. I recognized Riley Kendall several people ahead of us. She was with a tall, dark-skinned man whom I recognized from the photographs in her office. It was also evident he was her husband from the way his hand lingered proprietarily at the small of her back.

The door opened, chilling me with a blast of cool air. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Vera Langhorne coming in.

“Hello, Marcy,” she said, hurrying over to me. “I want you to meet my husband, John.” She looked up at her husband, who was not only tall but painfully thin. “John, this is Marcy Singer.”

Mr. Langhorne extended his hand. It felt cold and brittle, and I ended the handshake as quickly as possible without appearing rude.

“Ms. Singer,” he said, “I’ve heard great things about you. To hear Vera extol your talents, one would think you are the Picasso of needlecraft.”

I laughed softly. “Vera is too kind. She’s becoming quite the cross-stitch artist herself.”

“Indeed.” He smiled at his wife. “I’m proud of her.” He nodded at Todd. “Calloway, how are you this evening?”

“I’m fine, sir. Thank you. You?”

While the men engaged in small talk, Vera pulled me to the side.

“I’d planned on seeing Margaret and then coming on to class,” she said. “But John asked me to stay.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“He has to return to the bank to fax some papers that were due today or something.” She fluttered a hand dismissively. “But I’ll be in tomorrow morning for a sit-’n’-stitch.”

“Fantastic. I’ll look forward to seeing you then.”

Another couple approached the Langhornes and engaged them in conversation, so Todd and I made small talk as we inched along in the line. Finally, we came to Sylvia and Mrs. Trelawney. Sylvia was standing, as if to underscore the fact that she was the stronger of the two. Mrs. Trelawney was sitting on a padded folding chair at the head of her husband’s closed casket.

I nodded and spoke to Sylvia, then averted my eyes from the casket as I approached Mrs. Trelawney.

“How are you?” I asked softly, stooping down and taking her hand.

She smiled. “Oh, I’m fine, dear. And don’t you look beautiful? That beau of yours is a lucky fellow.”

“Thank you.” I straightened. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll sure let you know, dear,” she said. “You’re ever so kind.”

I glanced back at Sylvia, who shot me a triumphant smirk. One way or another, she’d gotten Mrs. Trelawney to take a sedative . . . or two.

When we got out to the parking lot, Todd walked me to the Jeep. “Do you think poor Mrs. Trelawney even knows what’s going on tonight?”

“I don’t think she has the faintest idea,” I said. “And I’m not certain that’s a good thing.” I was thinking that if someone did intend to harm her, she shouldn’t be all doped up.

“No, I’m not, either,” Todd said. “She needs some closure, and she isn’t going to get it like that.”

“She was terribly distraught last night. So maybe . . .” I shrugged.

Todd kissed my cheek and said he’d talk with me later.

The clock on my dashboard let me know I didn’t have time to go home and change clothes before class, so I hurried on to the shop. By the time I got there, Julie and Amber were sitting in their car, waiting for me.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said as we exited our vehicles and I unlocked the shop. “I went by to pay my condolences to Mrs. Trelawney.”

“We didn’t know Mr. Trelawney,” Julie said. “He was your landlord?”

“That’s right. I believe the Trelawneys own the shops on both sides of this street.”

“Wow,” Julie said, following me inside the shop. “Must be nice.” She looked as if she had a sudden inspiration. “Oh, Amber, would you run back to the car and get your school photos for Marcy to see?” She handed her car keys to her daughter.

“Oh, Mom,” Amber groaned. “Marcy doesn’t want to see those.”

“No, I’d love to see them,” I said.

“See?” Julie asked.

With a dramatic eye roll, Amber went back outside to get the photos.

Julie spoke quietly and quickly. “You need to have your credit report run if you haven’t done so since moving here.”

“But why? I—”

“You may be the victim of identity theft. Here comes Amber. I’ll explain it in a minute.”

Amber opened the door and held the envelope out to me as if it were contaminated. “They’re not any good. I look like a dork.”

I took the eight-by-tens out of the envelope and drew in a breath. “Amber, these are gorgeous!” They really were.

“No, they’re not.” She tried to appear unaffected, but I could tell she was really pleased by the praise.

“May I have one?” I asked. “If there are any left after all the relatives, I mean.”

“By all means,” Julie said.

I slid the photos back into the envelope and handed it to Julie. Julie, in turn, handed the envelope to Amber and asked her to return it to the car.

Once Amber was out of earshot, Julie explained why I needed to have a credit report run. “I work for a collections agency, and yesterday a delinquent credit card account came across my desk with the name Marcy Singer. I called the home number, and a man answered. He said you were at work at the hospital.”

“Do you think it could be another Marcy Singer?” I asked.

“Maybe. But since that Four Square mess last year, we’ve seen more stolen identities than you can imagine. You should look into it, just to be safe.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“Just don’t mention it around Amber. Her dad was a straw buyer for Four Square. He got only probation and a fine, but we’re trying to put the whole nightmare behind us.”

“Why do you guys look so serious?” Amber asked as she opened the door.

“Because you’re seriously beautiful,” I said, “and we’re thinking up ways to scare the boys off.” I looked at Julie. “Yes, you can borrow Angus anytime.”

We were rewarded with another eye roll before we migrated to the sitting area to start class.

Amber had come a lot further along in her design than her mother had. Her mother pointed out that Amber had more free time, but Amber protested, “At least you don’t have homework, Mom!”

Amber’s design was a monarch butterfly on a yellow rose. Her tote bag was natural canvas, and the background was sky blue.

“You know, Amber,” I said, “I was a little concerned about your choosing this design because it involves such intricate work for a beginner. But this looks great. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Thanks, Marcy.” She looked up at me with a huge grin.

Julie was doing a snowman. It was simple but cute. She had started from the top and, so far, had the hat almost completed.

Although it was just the three of us—or maybe because it was just the three of us—we had a pleasant, relaxing class. I was even able to forget about Julie’s warning about identity theft until class was over.

 

 

After class, I went over and had a soda at the Brew Crew. I chatted briefly with Todd, but he was busier than expected and didn’t have much time to socialize.

I was glad to get home and into my flannel pj’s with the bunnies on them. I wasn’t used to sitting around in dress clothes all evening. So now I was sitting by the fire with Angus on one side and my rolling embroidery kit on the other. I had called my credit card company and they didn’t report any unusual activity, so then I had left a message for Mom’s attorney to dig deeper and assure me I was not a victim of identity theft. Somehow, despite all the trouble surrounding the shop, my life seemed pretty sweet.

My embroidery kit has three drawers—two large and one small—and holds my works in progress, patterns, threads, needles, hoops, scissors, and frames. My plan was to spend the rest of the evening working on the replica of the MacKenzies’ Mochas logo I was making Blake and Sadie for Christmas.

As I stitched, I thought about Julie saying her husband had been a straw buyer for Four Square. Why would a man with such a lovely wife and daughter subject himself to the possibility of going to prison? I figured money was the reason, naturally; but now that he was on probation, for restitution, he probably had to pay back more than he initially earned, and his daughter was ashamed of him. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. Poor Amber.

The phone rang. It was Alfred Benton, Mom’s attorney.

“Alfred, you didn’t have to call me back tonight,” I said.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure you hadn’t found another body in your storeroom.”

“Not this time.” I explained about Julie’s concern that my identity had been compromised.

Alfred assured me he’d look into the matter first thing the next morning. “I’m assuming I’m to keep mum to your mum?”

“For now, please. After all, it might just be a misunderstanding.”

You have no idea how indebted I am to this man. He’s been my mother’s lawyer for nearly thirty years and my secret keeper for almost that long. He was often the closest thing I had to a father.

Angus groaned in his sleep, and his foot twitched. It was an inconsequential movement, but it nudged me back to the present. I went back to work on the Mac-Kenzies’ Mochas logo, and sometime later, like Angus, drifted off to sleep.

I
felt as if I had cobwebs in my eyes when I stepped into MacKenzies’ Mochas the next morning.

Blake gave me an exaggerated blink. “You look like something Angus chewed up and spit out. You don’t have this stomach virus, too, do you?”

“No.” I lowered myself onto a stool and propped my head on my hand. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Blake shook his head and made me a latte. “That’s getting to be a habit with you.”

“I know. Did Sadie go to the doctor yesterday?” I asked.

“Yep. She had a stomach virus.”

“I’m glad it was nothing serious.”

“Me, too.” He sat the latte on a paper coaster in front of me. “It wasn’t what she was hoping for, though.”

I tilted my head.

“She hoped she was pregnant,” Blake said.

“Oh, Blake! Sadie didn’t even tell me you guys are trying to have a baby.”

“Why do you think she was so fired up about your moving to Tallulah Falls? We’re eventually going to need a reliable babysitter.” He smiled. “I’m kidding. When you talk to Sadie, though, don’t let her know I told you we’re working on a baby. She doesn’t want anyone to know until it’s a done deal.”

I promised not to tell and said I would call to check on Sadie later in the day.

“By the way,” Blake said, “there were some people in earlier this morning saying someone broke into the Trelawney house during the funeral last night.”

“That’s horrible! Did they catch whoever did it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Do the police think whoever it was is the person who killed Bill?”

Blake shrugged. “I don’t know. Just repeating idle gossip. I feel really bad for Mrs. Trelawney, though.”

“Me, too. That must’ve scared her half to death.”

“Well, thank goodness the break-in happened while no one was at home.”

I finished my latte and hurried next door to work.

I hadn’t been there long when Reggie paid me a visit. She was wearing an ankle-length, floral-print dress and a pink pashmina. She looked lovely, and I told her so.

She smiled. “Thank you. You look like a woman who has too much on her mind.”

I nodded. “The list grows longer every day. Do you think I should simply pack everything up and return to San Francisco?”

“Only you can answer that question,” Reggie said. “Do you honestly feel that coming here to Tallulah Falls was a mistake? Or are you upset over what happened to Margaret Trelawney last night?”

“I don’t know. I just heard about the break-in from Blake MacKenzie. I’m upset for Mrs. Trelawney, of course, but her current predicament is only the latest log on the fire.” I sighed.

Reggie looked pointedly at her watch. “The Seven-Year Stitch doesn’t officially open this morning for another ninety minutes. I thought you and I could jaunt over to the Trelawneys’ home and check on Margaret.”

“That’s a flimsy ruse for snooping around their house, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” She dangled her car keys. “Come on. I’m driving.”

Reggie’s immaculate Subaru was easier to get in and out of than my Jeep, but I still preferred my big Jeep. It suited me somehow. I also preferred doing the driving. Reggie’s driving was fine—she obeyed all speed limits and traffic rules, as a proper police officer’s wife should—but I like to be in the driver’s seat. It’s difficult for me to relinquish control . . . of anything.

“So, what are we looking for?” I asked, as Reggie parked in the Trelawneys’ driveway.

“The same thing the burglar was looking for.”

“Which is?”

Reggie scowled slightly. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

I shook my head. “How do you think we’re going to find anything relevant that was overlooked by not only the burglar but also by police crime-scene investigators?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot.” She looked at me. “Isn’t it?”

Before I could answer, Sylvia flung open the front door. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Reggie and I stepped out of the car.

“It’s Reggie Singh, Sylvia. Marcy Singer is with me. We’ve come to see Margaret.”

“Okay. Come in, then.”