The Quick and the Thread (3 page)

Wow
, I thought,
even Angus approves
. I caught Sadie’s eye and gave her an appreciative smile. If she’d dug Todd Calloway out from under a rock, that rock must’ve been a diamond.

 

 

Before I really knew what was happening, the shop was full. Sadie and Blake introduced me to the people I hadn’t met earlier in the day. Still, it was going to be hard to remember everyone.

I looked around the room and caught sight of Todd Calloway. He was bending over to hear what some short older woman with her hair in a supersevere bun was telling him. When he caught my eye, he raised his coffee cup in salute.

I grinned. There was at least one person here I’d have no trouble remembering.

I sought out Angus and spotted him sitting beside a lovely girl with honey-colored hair. The girl, who appeared to be in her early teens, was stroking Angus’ head and speaking to him softly.

“Hi, I’m Marcy,” I said, approaching the girl. I nodded at Angus. “Angus likes you.”

“Thanks. I like him, too. People say I’m good with dogs.”

“You sure are.”

From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a lanky, unkempt man wearing dirty jeans and a trucker cap coming toward us. He staggered into me and caused me to stumble. Angus stiffened as I caught the back of the red chair to steady myself.

“It’s okay, Angus,” I said softly.

“I needa talk with you,” the man said.

“Okay,” I said, my voice wavering a little.

The man was obviously drunk, and he was making me uneasy. I walked slowly away from Angus so the dog wouldn’t sense my anxiety. The man followed with an unsteady gait.

“This used ta be my store,” the man said.

“Oh, then you must be Mr. Enright,” I said, having heard his name from both Sadie and my new landlord.

“Yep. Tim Enright. Thirty years, this was Enright’s Hardware.”

“It—” I cleared my throat. “It must be hard for you to see the place change hands. I—”

Mr. Enright shook his head. “No, not that. Something else. We needa talk.”

I glanced around and was relieved to see Blake coming to my rescue.

“Hey, Tim! How’re you doing?” He put his arm around Mr. Enright’s shoulders and propelled him away from me.

“I needa talk to her,” Mr. Enright said. “Gotta tell her.”

“Aw, that can wait, man. Come on over and check out the refreshments.”

Mr. Enright tried to turn back to me, but Blake had a firm grip and led him over to the counter.

I had no idea why Mr. Enright would want to talk with me. I was giving that some thought when Sadie came over with a slender woman with light gray hair and small, round glasses. The woman wore a white, knee-length tunic and scarf over matching pants.

“Marcy, I’d like you to meet Rajani Singh.”

“Please, call me Reggie,” the woman said. “Everyone does.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Reggie,” I said, holding out my hand.

She shook it. “Likewise. I love to embroider”—she held out the end of her scarf to reveal intricately embroidered white orchids—“so I know you and I will get on swimmingly.”

“I’m sure we will.” I took a closer look at her scarf. “This is chikankari, isn’t it?” Chikankari is a traditional form of white-on-white embroidery from India. “You do lovely work.”

“Thank you.” A grin spread across her face—Reggie seemed pleased that I recognized her form of embroidery.

“Reggie is the local librarian,” Sadie said.

“Then I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other,” I said with a laugh. “I love to read. And I love looking through art books for embroidery ideas.”

“I do, too,” Reggie said. “I wish my husband could’ve been here tonight, but he’s on duty. He’s on the police force.”

“That must be an exciting job,” I said.

“It has its moments, I guess. Manu loves it, but the hours can be a pain.”

“Speaking of being a pain, what’s with Tim Enright this evening?” Sadie asked. “He looks horrible.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever met him,” I said. I bit my lower lip. “Does he drink a lot?”

Reggie shook her head. “I’ve known Timothy for more than twenty years, and I’ve never known him to take a drink.”

Before either Sadie or I could respond, a heavyset woman with short, curly brown hair interrupted. She wore a severe gray suit and pumps. The suit seemed to belie the woman’s outgoing personality.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m Vera Langhorne. I have to run, but I didn’t want to leave before meeting the guest of honor.” She shook my hand warmly.

“Thank you so much for coming tonight, Mrs. Langhorne,” I said. “I hope you’ll come back when we have more time to visit.”

“Oh, I will. I’ve signed up for one of your classes. I’m looking forward to it.”

“So am I,” I said.

As Mrs. Langhorne walked away, Timothy Enright approached me and took me by the arm. “Come ’ere. Gotta tell you.”

“Please, Mr. Enright,” I began. “I’m sorry I—”

“Tim!” It was Todd Calloway. “How’ve you been?” He widened his eyes at me and led Tim Enright away.

Mr. Enright turned back to me, his eyes pleading. I’d have felt sorry for him if I weren’t so freaked-out by his behavior. Since I
was
freaked-out, I took the opportunity to walk away and lose myself in the crowd.

 

 

Two hours later, everyone except Sadie, Blake, Todd, Angus, and I had gone. I slipped off my shoes and padded around in my stocking feet while helping Blake and Sadie clean up.

“Ms. Singer,” Todd said, “I believe your open house was a rousing success.”

“Thank you. I do, too. Look at how many people signed up for embroidery classes.”

Sadie looked over my shoulder at the lists. “Impressive.”

Suddenly, we heard a thud. It appeared to have come from the back of the building.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Probably just a dog turning over a trash can,” Blake said.

“We get that a lot,” Sadie said. “If you throw any food in the garbage cans out back, be sure to double bag it.”

“Or even triple bag it,” Todd said. “Because of the bears.”

“Bears?”

“Oh, sure. They come scrounging around every now and then.” He caught Blake’s eye and grinned. “In fact, I should probably walk you out to your car just in case that
was
a bear.”

The next morning, it became clear that a bear had not caused the thud we’d heard.

I
was feeling good as Angus and I unlocked the door and entered the shop the next morning. I had my lists in hand and was eager to start calling people about the first embroidery classes. About seven people had signed up for the cross-stitch tote bag project. Twice as many had signed up for beginner’s crewel and candlewick classes. Besides that, many of the women at the party had indicated an interest in stopping by for “Sit and Stitch” sessions between eleven a.m. and one p.m. every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.

Suddenly, Angus ran to the storeroom and began pawing the door.

“What’s up with you? You’re usually not this active until you’ve been awake at least an hour or two.” I strode to the storeroom and flung open the door. “There. Now are you—”

I screamed. Timothy Enright was lying on the storeroom floor. Unfortunately, the sight failed to pull Angus up short. He ran forward to sniff Mr. Enright.

“Angus, no!” I grabbed his collar, wrestled the huge beast out of the storeroom, and closed the door. It was all I could do to pull him into the bathroom and shut him inside.

I leaned against the bathroom door and tried to catch my breath. My body was shaking so hard, and I was afraid I was going to be sick. Or faint. Or both. I’m usually not a fainter, but I don’t have the strongest stomach in the world, and it didn’t smell great inside the storeroom.

Poor Mr. Enright. Had he passed out and been on that cold concrete floor all night long? I knew I had to pull myself together long enough to go back and see about him.

I went back to the storeroom and eased open the door. I half expected him to jump up off the floor to let me know this whole thing had been a prank. But he didn’t move.

I covered my mouth and nose with the sleeve of my sweater in an attempt to escape the sickening smell.

Mr. Enright’s trucker cap had been knocked off when he’d fallen, and I could see he had a sparse patch of brown hair covering his head. He’d thrown a few of the boxes off the storeroom shelves, and every OCD impulse I’ve ever had surfaced in a ridiculous desire to put my once-tidy storeroom back in order. That pale rose cloth with the dainty floral pattern shouldn’t be lying on the floor. Nor should those wooden embroidery hoops. They’re delicate. If someone stepped on them, they’d break. And those tapestry needles . . . while not terribly sharp, someone could get hurt if they weren’t picked up and put back in their box.

I closed my eyes and realized the futility of my desire to restore order to this situation before even calling the paramedics. First things first. I needed to get Mr. Enright some medical attention.

“Mr. Enright, are you okay?” My voice was muffled thanks to the sweater, but I simply could not stand to smell that air. In his drunken state, Mr. Enright must have thrown up. “Can you get up, sir?” I bent lower to see if he was trying to speak. He wasn’t, but I noticed he had one of the tapestry needles in his right hand. I glanced at the wall in front of him and saw that he’d scratched the words
four square fifth w
into the light blue paint.

“Mr. Enright!” I called again. Since he showed no signs of reviving, I went to the counter and called the ambulance. Angus barked his protests from behind the bathroom door.

With reassurance that the paramedics were on their way, I hung up the phone and went to wait by the front window.

Within just a few minutes, I heard sirens blaring down the road. I hurried and opened the door wide.

“He’s in the storeroom,” I told the paramedics as they rolled a stretcher quickly through the door. “All the way in the back.”

Before the paramedics reached the storeroom, Sadie came barreling into the shop. “Marcy!” she called, her eyes darting all around the front room.

“I’m here.” I hurried to greet her.

“Are you okay?” Sadie asked. “I saw the ambulance stop outside.”

“I’m fine, Sadie. But . . . Mr. Enright’s not. He passed out on my storeroom floor last night.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Man. Did he throw up or anything?”

I grimaced. “It’s not pretty in there.”

“Ewww!” Sadie began fanning her face with one hand and took her cell phone from her jacket pocket with the other. “I’ll call Blake and have him look up the phone number for one of those hazmat cleaning teams the very first chance he gets.”

“Hazmat?”

“Hazardous materials? You don’t want to be cleaning up that storeroom yourself.”

“Ugh. You’ve got a point.”

Sadie dialed Blake and turned around as she quietly explained the situation.

A burly paramedic strode out of the storeroom. “Miss, I need you to lock the front door. We need to secure the area until the police arrive.”

“The police?” I asked. “But I don’t want to press charges. Mr. Enright must’ve staggered in there during the party last night and passed out—that’s all. I don’t think he broke in this morning before I got here or anything like that.” I peered at him. “Do you?”

“I’m not at liberty to comment, miss. Please lock the door until the police arrive.” With that, he abruptly went back to the storeroom and closed the door.

I locked the front door and flipped the CLOSED sign over as Sadie returned her cell phone to her pocket.

“What the heck was his problem?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But apparently, the paramedics have called the police and they’re on their way.”

“You don’t . . .” Sadie’s voice trailed away.

“I don’t what?”

“You don’t think he’s . . . dead. Do you?”

“D-dead? Why would he be dead?” My voice had become a shrill shriek. Probably whales were hearing me miles offshore.

“I don’t know. Maybe when he fell, he hit his head on something.”

“Like what, for goodness sake? A bag of pillow stuffing?”

“It’ll be okay,” Sadie said unconvincingly. “The police will be here in a few minutes, and we’ll get everything sorted out.” She tried to smile, but her lips were quivering too badly to pull it off.

She was partially right. The police did arrive quickly; but, unfortunately, nothing was sorted out. With Angus still barking furiously from the bathroom, Sadie and I were told to wait in the sitting area and not to move around the shop until we could speak with the detective in charge. A uniformed patrolman stayed to keep us company, or, rather, to babysit us.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

The patrolman, a young Native American, most likely from the local Clatsop tribe, simply stood with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands clasped behind his back.

“
Please!
” I said. “This is my store. I have a right to know what’s going on!”

He looked down at me with gentle brown eyes. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait.”

Finally, a tall, lean, clean-shaven man, young but with salt-and-pepper hair, emerged from the storeroom. “Ms. Singer . . . Mrs. MacKenzie.” He nodded to each of us in turn. To me he said, “I’m Ted Nash, chief detective for the Tallulah Falls Police Department. I need to speak with you ladies separately.”

“What’s going on, Ted?” Sadie asked.

The detective hesitated a moment and then admitted, “Timothy Enright is dead.”

“How?” Sadie asked. “Did he hit his head on something when he fell, or—”

“Sadie . . . Mrs. MacKenzie, I can’t talk to you and Ms. Singer together. Go on next door, and I’ll be there when I’m finished here.”