The Quick and the Thread (20 page)

“Radiology?”

“Yeah. She changed majors two or three times that first year. She went from radiology to communications.” I raised my eyes to the ceiling and thought a second. “Then she switched to ecology, and finally wound up in hospitality management . . . where she stayed.”

“And that gave her the skills she’d need for Mac-Kenzies’ Mochas,” Todd said.

“Exactly. So, there you go. How about you? How long have you known the MacKenzies?”

“About four years or so. In fact, it was Blake who convinced me to open the Brew Crew.”

“It was Sadie who convinced me to open the Seven-Year Stitch,” I said with a laugh. “Those two are regular entrepreneur incubators.”

“Yeah, it’s a wonder they’re not asking us for kickbacks.”

The word
kickbacks
triggered thoughts of Bill Trelawney’s ledger and the call I’d received from Blake last night.

“Did I say something wrong?” Todd asked. “You’ve gone all pensive on me all of a sudden.”

“I was with Reggie Singh at the Trelawneys’ house yesterday, and Reggie found a ledger. It was of particular concern to me because my name was in it.”

“Why should that concern you? You rent from them just like I do, don’t you?”

“That’s the thing. It was a dummy ledger. There was a notation by my name—and the names of other people—that Reggie and Manu believe indicated the people were used as straw buyers. And I found out I’ve been the victim of identity theft.”

Todd nodded slowly. “This has you thinking it was Bill Trelawney who stole your identity.”

“Yes. And I should tell you—your name is in the ledger, too.”

He looked back at me stonily. I couldn’t read him at all.

“Do you know why your name is in that ledger? Did Bill Trelawney ask you for a favor?” I asked.

“Nope.” He looked at his watch. “I do know it’s getting late, though. And as much as I’ve enjoyed our evening, I’d better be on my way.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He gave me a half smile. In the light of the hallway, I could see lines from age—or worry—in the corners of his eyes.

I walked him to the door.

“You and Angus sleep tight tonight.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and left.

I closed the door and went back to the sofa. As if sensing my bewilderment, Angus got up, walked over to me, and rested his head on my thigh. I absently scratched his head and wondered if I was the only person on that ledger who hadn’t sold out to Bill Trelawney and Four Square Development.

 

 

Thankfully, the rest of the night was uneventful. The next morning, not wanting to take any chances with my only day off, I put Angus in the Jeep, and we left town right after breakfast.

We drove up the coast and parked at a secluded beach. Angus waded in the water, barked at birds and crabs, and dug in the sand. Like a mom overseeing her rowdy toddler, I sat on a lounge chair, reading a paperback and shouting seldom-heeded warnings. The wind was so gusty, I didn’t dare take out the tote bag I’d hoped to work on. But overall, it was a pleasant morning, and just what I needed.

When I started getting hungry, Angus and I packed up and got back into the Jeep to go on a quest for lunch. I remembered Captain Moe’s and decided to see if I could find the place.

It wasn’t at all difficult to find. I began seeing billboards about seven miles out, and they led me straight to Captain Moe’s. The diner seemed small on the outside but was roomier inside than I had thought it would be. The decor was either retro or old. Round swiveling stools on metal poles with red seats were lined up at a stainless-steel counter. Additional seating was provided by booths located against the walls. Like the stools, the booths featured red padding. The tables were white Formica with a metal base. Vintage metal signs and posters decorated the walls, and there was a jukebox in one corner. At the moment, the diner was empty.

“How can I help you, young lady?”

I turned to see Captain Moe himself coming through a set of double doors, a warm smile on his face.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Marcy Singer.”

“Ah yes, Riley’s friend. It’s nice to meet you. Did you bring that wolfhound with you?”

“I did. He’s waiting in the Jeep.”

“Waiting in the Jeep? Well, go out there and get him.”

“But won’t your other patrons object?”

“What other patrons?” he asked. “Captain Moe’s is closed on Sundays.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll come back another day.”

“Nonsense. You’re here; I’m here. I imagine you’re hungry, or you wouldn’t have come.” He nodded toward the door. “Now go on out there and get that dog, and we’ll have some lunch.”

I hurried outside to get Angus. Upon entering the diner, Angus bounded over to Captain Moe as if the two were old friends. Maybe Captain Moe really was Santa Claus after all.

“Ah, you’re a fine-looking lad,” Captain Moe told Angus as the dog rolled over for a belly rub.

“Do you have any pets, Captain Moe?”

“Indeed I do. Four dogs and an ornery cat named Petey. They were all strays that came around looking for a handout and a bit of affection.”

I smiled. “It appears they came to the right place.”

“And yet here I am, flapping my jaws and letting you go hungry,” he said. “What would you like for lunch?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’d feel horrible if I imposed on you like that.”

“Then it’s a good thing this is not an imposition. How about I fry the three of us up some cheeseburgers?”

“Cheeseburgers would be wonderful. Is there anything I can do?”

“Do you have any quarters on you?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Then get us some music to play on the jukebox. It’s too quiet in here.”

I went over to the jukebox and selected three of the most up-tempo tunes. Then, while Angus sniffed all around the dining room, I went into the kitchen to see if I could be of further assistance to Captain Moe.

He was standing at an industrial-size sink with his sleeves rolled up washing his hands and arms.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“You can get washed up and get us some drinks, if you’d like. I’ll have a root beer.”

For some reason, I didn’t feel odd in the least to be milling around the kitchen with this person I’d just met. I watched Captain Moe put three hamburger patties on the grill. The kitchen instantly filled with the sizzle and aroma of frying beef.

“Are you Santa Claus?” I asked. “Or an angel? Is this where I get the ‘wonderful life’ lesson?”

He laughed. And, in case you’re wondering, it didn’t sound like
Ho! Ho! Ho!
But it was close.

“I’m only an old man with a soft heart,” he said. “When I came through those doors and into the diner, it was to tell whoever had come in that I was closed and only here doing inventory.” He grinned. “But there you were . . . a wee stray looking lost and alone.”

“Do I look that pitiful?” I asked with a laugh.

“Not pitiful.” He flipped the burgers before turning to give me a fresh appraisal. “Sad. As if you’re carrying the weight of the world on those tiny shoulders.”

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away. “I didn’t realize I was that transparent.”

“Like I said, I’m old. Besides, I’ve always been a good listener, so I’ve come to know certain signs.”

“Signs?”

“Of sadness, despair, love, happiness. Maybe I should have been a bartender.”

“Or a therapist,” I said.

“They’re not the same?” he asked, taking the burgers off the grill and placing two of them on sesame seed buns.

“Practically. But tending bar doesn’t pay as well.”

“You have a point.” He added cheese to our burgers. “Would you like the works?”

“Please.”

The works consisted of tomato, onion slices, pickles, lettuce, and generous dollops of both mayonnaise and mustard.

We started into the dining room, and I nearly tripped over Angus, who’d been smelling the frying burgers from beneath the door. I sat at the counter, and Captain Moe presented Angus with his burger on a paper plate before joining me at the counter. Before we ate, Captain Moe bowed his head and said grace.

We ate in silence for a moment. I, for one, was savoring my burger. Angus had already Hoovered his and was staring at me with pleading eyes. I was trying to ignore him.

“Would you like to talk over what’s troubling you?” Captain Moe asked. “Sometimes it helps to lay it all out where you can see it better.”

So I did. I don’t know quite what came over me, but I did. I told him about the move, Timothy Enright, Mr. Trelawney, Lorraine, Mrs. Trelawney, and Sylvia. . . . I even found myself telling Captain Moe about Mr. Trelawney’s ledger and the names it contained.

Captain Moe let me ramble until I told him about the weird way the columns were separated by five random months.

“I think I might know what the months mean,” he said.

“Really?” I asked. “Is it some nautical thing?”

He shook his head. “It might be birthday months. Unless you had two people whose birthdays fell in the same month, that would be a great way to keep track of disbursements among a few people without actually naming names.”

“How clever,” I said. “I’ll ask one of the policemen to check and see if any of the Four Square people’s birthdays were in the months used to head up the columns.”

“Was one of the months December?”

“Yes, it was. How did you know?”

“I didn’t know, but it was a practical guess in putting my theory to the test. My brother was a member of Four Square Development, and his birthday is in December.”

“Your brother?”

He nodded. “Norm Patrick.”

My jaw dropped. “Um . . . I . . . I didn’t realize. . . .” I grabbed my purse. “I’d better go, Mr.—um . . . Captain—Moe. I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”

“Come back anytime,” he said.

At the shop Monday morning, I sat in my red chair, working on my tote bag. The bell jingled, and I looked over my shoulder to see Detective Nash walk in.

“Hello, Detective,” I said, returning to my cross-stitching.

“Are you upset with Angus for some reason?”

“No, but it’s such a nice day, I let him stay home in the backyard.”

“I wasn’t talking about his absence,” Detective Nash said. “I was talking about the way you’re stabbing the needle into that depiction of his face.” He sat down on the sofa.

With a sigh, I set my work on the arm of the chair. “I’m such an idiot.”

“It was only one date,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “And the way he barged in here probably caught you completely off guard. Stop beating yourself up over it.”

“That’s not what I’m beating myself up over. How did you know I had a date with Todd, anyhow?”

“Isn’t that what he was doing here on Saturday?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“What are you beating yourself up over?”

“Yesterday I spilled my guts to Captain Moe. And then he told me he’s Norman Patrick’s brother. I mean, when I thought about it, Riley did call him Uncle Moe at one point the other day; but I thought she simply misspoke, or it was a friendly nickname. I didn’t think he was actually her uncle.”

“And?”

“And how could I be so foolish? I fell for Captain Moe’s bighearted Santa routine and told him everything I know about the Trelawney case.”

“Once again, I don’t see the problem,” Detective Nash said. “Captain Moe’s bighearted Santa routine isn’t a routine. He’s a genuinely nice guy.”

“But now Norman Patrick and who knows who else knows everything I know.”

“Captain Moe probably knew more about the case than you did to begin with. Everybody knows him, and everybody talks to him.”

“I still can’t believe I was stupid enough to speak of this to someone simply because he was nice to me, looked like Santa Claus, and made me a cheeseburger.”

“He made you a cheeseburger? At the diner?”

I nodded.

“But Captain Moe’s is closed on Sundays. No exceptions.” He took a moment to reflect on this. “You must’ve been really pitiful.”

“Thank you ever so much.”

He spread his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying.” He frowned slightly. “Then you were at the diner and didn’t make the connection between Maurice Patrick and Norman Patrick?”

“Who’s Maurice Patrick?”

“Captain Moe,” he said, slapping his hand to his head. “It’s right there on the business license, which is framed and hanging next to the coatrack by the door. Proprietor, Maurice Patrick.”

I glared at him. “Who reads business licenses?” Before he could answer, I continued. “Other than you?”

“Look, it’s really not a big deal that you talked with Captain Moe. He’s a good guy, and he’s fairly insightful. Did he give you any advice?”

“Well, he did provide a possible clue about Mr. Trelawney’s ledger. He said the months could represent the birthdays of the people involved.” I plucked a stray gray thread from my white sweater. “And he told me Norman Patrick’s birthday is in December. I called and left a message on Reggie’s voicemail yesterday telling her to tell Manu he might want to check the birthdates and ledger amounts to see how they correspond to the information he has on Four Square.”