The Stitching Hour (15 page)

“There's more to this than meets the eye,” said Veronica. “It sounds as if Jared is the sort of man who wants to have his cake and eat it too. Perhaps he'd begun seeing Adalyn while he was still supposed to be dating Keira.”

“Regardless, she should understand his need to attend Keira's memorial service,” Ted said. “After all, Adalyn was there.”

“That's just it—he claimed he couldn't bear to go to the funeral,” I said. “And yet, he went to the graveside service this morning.”

“I'm wondering if he truly mourns Keira's death, or if he only wants it to appear he does to certain people,” Mom said. “Like Veronica pointed out, he might be playing both sides. He didn't go to the funeral where the majority of Keira's acquaintances turned out, but he attended the interment where it was probably only Keira's family and closest friends who were present.”

“Excellent observation!” Veronica exclaimed.

“So who is Jared Willoughby trying to impress and why?” Ted asked.

A
fter Ted, Veronica, and Clover left, Mom asked me why I looked so relieved.

“I don't know,” I said. “I just really wanted you and Veronica to get along. And you're both such strong-willed women and devoted mothers . . .” I shrugged.

She smiled. “We want the same things—for our children to be happy. She seems like a lovely woman.”

“She is. And so are you.”

“Flatterer. About Keira's murder, do you really think Jared Willoughby is a viable suspect? It worries me that he came and visited you while you were here alone this morning.”

“Well, I wasn't entirely alone. Angus was here.”

At the sound of his name, Angus raised his head and wagged his tail.

“But I find it hard to believe that Jared would knowingly implicate his mother in Keira's death,” I continued. “I suppose that key ring lying beneath her body could've been a coincidence, but I can't help but think the killer left it there on purpose. Riley and I counted, and there are three missing from the box. I'm thinking someone came in while I was walking Angus and took the other two, and I believe
that
person killed Keira.”

“And you think the key ring was left to implicate . . . who? You?”

“I don't know, Mom. I guess if that's the case, whoever did it didn't realize I was with both Ted and Manu when the murder occurred.”

“How well do you know Christine?” she asked. “Are you absolutely certain she didn't kill Keira in a fit of rage?”

“Almost a hundred percent,” I said. “I've canceled tonight's class so I could be with you, but you'll probably meet Christine at the class on Thursday evening. She's one of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet. Plus, if she'd lashed out at Keira in a rage, I don't believe she would have hit her with something that would cause two puncture wounds—
and
the police believe Keira was poisoned through those wounds, which would make the murder premeditated.”

“So then the question is who knew where and when Keira would be alone that evening?”

I blew out a breath. “This is so frustrating! The obvious suspect is Jared . . . but I honestly can't see him being a killer.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I'd only spoken with him at length once before this morning.”

“Then you don't know him at all,” she said. “And his behavior concerning Keira's memorial service and interment is suspicious.”

“True, but playing devil's advocate, let's say he was sincere.” I picked up the second ribbon embroidery project to give myself something to do with my hands and because I needed to get it finished before the anniversary party on Friday. “Let's say he didn't want to attend the more public memorial because he didn't want to be perceived as the grieving boyfriend. Maybe he simply wanted to express his condolences to the family and say his good-byes privately.”

“Possibly . . . but it could be that he only wanted to be there to suck up to Keira's father. Didn't you tell me he was a powerful businessman? Maybe Jared's business is struggling.”

I looked around to make sure no one was about to enter the shop. “Actually, it has been rumored that Ken Sherman launders money for criminals. What if he's using Jared's garage to launder money? I mean, according to the grapevine, Mr. Sherman tends to favor food places, but most good businessmen diversify, right?”

“Now, Marcella, you know better than to believe everything you hear from the gossip mill.”

“I know, but the police are discreetly investigating Mr. Sherman, so it could be a possibility.” I put ribbon leaves on a rose stem. “Right?”

“I suppose, but don't put stock in rumors until they're confirmed.”

Thank goodness that conversation was brought to an end by a phone call from Vera.

“Hey, Marcy! I checked on Nellie. She has a couple of bumps and bruises still, but the reason she wasn't at work today was because she's considering putting her inventory up for sale to another retailer and hightailing it to Arizona.”

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“No, hon. She's dead serious.”

“Is it because she really believes Claude and Priscilla are vampires?” I asked.

“I'm not sure she'd admit to that, but given the fact that Keira had two puncture wounds on her neck, it
does
back up Nellie's theory. And, no, I'm not saying I think the Atwoods are creatures of the night. I'm just telling you that Nellie is freaking out.”

“Maybe I should go talk with her,” I said. “Would you mind giving me directions to her house?”

“Are you sure that's such a good idea?” Vera asked.

I glanced at Mom's wide eyes and decided she was thinking the same thing.

“Mom got here early, and I'd already canceled classes anyway,” I said. “Maybe if I just go by there, I could talk some sense into her. If nothing else, I could fire her up and give her a reason to stay.”

“You mean, she'd stay to spite you?” Vera chuckled. “Why would you
want
her to stay? She's been nothing but mean to you since you stepped foot in Tallulah Falls.”

“I know. But having her get scared off just seems wrong to me.”

She sighed and gave me Nellie's address. “It's your funeral, dear.”

“I hope not.”

“You say your mom's there already?” Vera asked. “Is she upset with me?”

“Of course not. But, then again, the actors haven't started pestering her yet.”

Vera was quiet.

I laughed. “I'm
kidding
. If she's going to be upset with anyone, it'll be me. It was my idea, remember?”

“Okay. I'll try to get by the shop and visit with her tomorrow. Let me know how it goes with Nellie.” She paused. “Maybe I should check in with you later . . . in case you don't make it back.”

“It'll be fine. All she can do is refuse to let me in, right?”

“Or shoot you.”

“Or that,” I agreed.

I ended the call and looked over at Mom. “I know you heard most of that.”

She nodded. “I take it Vera asked why you'd want Nellie to stick around.”

“She did.”

“I'm proud of your answer. I'll go with you to visit her. You might need a witness.”

I smiled. “Would you like to go home and take a nap? Your room's all ready for you.”

“No, I'm not an old lady, you know. Is there anything useful I can do to help you?”

“Would you mind stuffing some of the open house giveaway bags while I work on this ribbon embroidery?”

“Not at all.”

I went to the storeroom and got Mom the bags and the items she'd need to put in them. When I returned, I explained that all the coupons were different.

“That was actually Vera's idea. Everyone gets a little something—say, ten percent off or even a free item of ten dollars or less—and I don't go bankrupt.”

“That's a clever idea,” Mom said.

As she stuffed bags, Angus snoozed by the window, and I stitched, we caught up on all the Tallulah Falls and San Francisco news. It was nice and peaceful, and I was able to put Keira's murder and my upcoming visit to Nellie Davis out of my mind for a few minutes.

We'd been working for about a half hour when an attractive dark-haired woman walked into the store.

I set my ribbon embroidery project aside and went to greet her. Angus beat me to it, and she patted his head.

“Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch. I'm Marcy, that's Angus, and there on the sofa is my mom, Beverly.”

The woman smiled. “I'm Jaya. It's a pleasure to meet all of you. I'm looking for a book on Lambani embroidery.”

“Lambani?” I frowned over my shoulder at Mom. “I haven't heard of that. Have you?”

“No, I haven't.”

“My great-grandparents were Lambanis and originally lived in southern India,” Jaya said. “They were a tribal people who practiced a traditional form of embroidery that utilizes mirrors. I'd love to find some old patterns to try to get in touch with my heritage.”

I invited her to have a seat in the sit-and-stitch square while I grabbed my laptop. I heard Mom explaining that she was making goodie bags for the open house on Friday and inviting the woman to attend.

When I returned, Jaya was sitting on a red club chair, and Angus was sitting happily at her side. I sat on the sofa and did a search for Lambani embroidery.

“It says here that Lambani embroidery is a mixture of cross-stitch, mirror work, quilting stitches, and appliqué. These examples are beautiful.” I turned the laptop so Mom and Jaya could see the screen.

I couldn't find any books that predominately offered Lambani embroidery patterns.

“Do you know Reggie Singh, the librarian?” I asked Jaya.

She shook her head.

“Let me give her a call. If anyone will know where to find a book on Indian embroidery, it's Reggie.”

Reggie told me that Lambani embroidery was also known as Banjaras. Given that information, we were still unable to find Jaya any books, but we did discover several video tutorials and Web sites with information on the art.

“Thank you so much!” Jaya said. “I'll go home and study these—after I go by the library and thank Mrs. Singh personally—and I'll be back on Friday to get some materials so I can start my own project.”

“Great,” I said. “It's been a pleasure meeting you, and I look forward to seeing you again.”

Jaya had barely gotten down the street before Claude and Priscilla swept into the Stitch. Today Priscilla wore a purple pantsuit with a large white silk orchid in her upswept hair. Claude wore a black tux with tails and a purple sequined vest to match his wife's ensemble. Surprisingly, there was no orchid in his lapel, but he was sporting his top hat.

Claude swept off the hat and bowed. “Good afternoon, Marcy . . . Mr. O'Ruff. . . .” He turned his eyes to the sofa. “And who is this lovely creature?”

As if.

“Claude, Priscilla, this is my mother, Beverly Singer. Mom, Claude and Priscilla Atwood. They own the Horror Emporium.”

Mom rose and shook hands with the Atwoods. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Priscilla gushed. “Marcy had told us you were coming in for her open house gala, but we didn't realize you'd be here so soon.”

“Yes, well, I'm hoping I can help out a bit before the big day,” Mom said.

“We do hope that while you're here, Ms. Singer, you'll regale us with some of your Hollywood anecdotes,” Claude said.

“Please call me Beverly. And, of course, I will. Perhaps we can have lunch one day before I return to San Francisco.”

“Oh, that would be absolutely divine!” Priscilla beamed. “And, in the meantime, we'll try not to let the other talent at the Horror Emporium know you're here yet. We'd like to keep you all to ourselves for a day or so.”

Mom smiled slightly. “Yes, well, I'm not really here to scout for actors. I'm here for Marcy.”

“Of course,” Claude said. “And we wouldn't dream of imposing.”

“But, then, if you
do
know someone looking for diverse talent, we have quite the résumés,” Priscilla added.

“Wonderful. We'll talk about that when we have lunch.” Mom cut her eyes to me.

She's gonna kill me. But then,
she's
the one who volunteered to have lunch with them. I had nothing to do with that.

“By the way,” Mom said, “I'm terribly sorry for your misfortune the night of your grand opening celebration.”

Priscilla flicked her wrist. “That's okay. The whole ordeal has actually been a boon for business. I mean, I feel awful about the girl—Keira?—naturally, but if it was her time to go, then what better place than in front of a haunted house, right?”

“Well.” Mom returned to the sit-and-stitch square and resumed stuffing the giveaway bags. “I've kept you from your business long enough.”

“We didn't really want anything . . . other than to pop in and say hello,” said Claude. “We'll be on our way for now. Good day, all.”

He and Priscilla left, and I returned to the sit-and-stitch square.

“They're . . . um . . . something, aren't they?”

“Something?” Mom scoffed. “That Priscilla is one of the most boorish women I've ever met. Does she even realize how insensitive she is?”

“I don't know. That's what turned me off to them too. At first, I thought they were quirky and kinda fun. After seeing their reaction to Keira's death, I haven't liked them very much.”

•   •   •

I dropped Angus off at home and fed him before heading to Nellie Davis's house. Mom brought the rental car and parked it in the driveway.

“Are you sure you want to go with me?” I asked before we got into the Jeep. “I'll be fine.”

“I'm sure I want to go with you, because I'm not so sure you'll be fine. That spiteful little woman might have you arrested for trespassing or something.”

“Do you think I shouldn't go then?”

“If it's on your heart that you should go, then go. Just be prepared for whatever reception you get.”

“With Nellie, I'm always prepared for the worst,” I said.

Nellie lived on a quiet street in a small teal Cape Code home with white trim. The lawn was neatly manicured, and as I pulled over to the curb, I could see that the house was larger than I'd originally thought. I glanced over at Mom and took a deep breath.

“Ready?” she asked.

“As I'll ever be.”

We got out of the Jeep and went to the door. Before I could even knock, Nellie flung it open, nearly dislodging the fall wreath of maple leaves, sunflowers, and lavender.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

I held up my hands. “I'm just here to check on you.”