The Stitching Hour (7 page)

“Officer Moore took care of that. Ms. Davis said she kept a pair at home and another at work. She gave him her shop key and he retrieved the ones she kept there.”

“He's a good kid,” I said.

“He is. He'll make a fine detective one of these days.”

“Do you have any theories about who might've killed Keira?” I asked.

He shook his head and pulled me closer. “I have no idea. Manu and I—and, likely, Poston—will tackle the case tomorrow. Learning the cause of death should help narrow down the suspects.”

I didn't say so, but I desperately hoped Keira's cause of death didn't implicate any of my friends . . . or me.

•   •   •

I went to work early the next morning with the hope of speaking with the Atwoods. I knew how devastating it was to have your business labeled a crime scene immediately after your grand opening.

I unlocked the door to the Seven-Year Stitch and let Angus inside. The Horror Emporium was dark, but I knocked on the door anyway. No answer. Of course, if the crime scene techs hadn't finished with the building last night, the Atwoods wouldn't be allowed inside yet.

I went back to the Stitch, but I locked the door behind me. There was still at least an hour before I was scheduled to open, and I wanted to check on Priscilla and Claude before customers started coming in. I went into the office with Angus on my heels. I gave him a granola bone from my stash in the desk drawer and then called Sadie.

“MacKenzies' Mochas; Sadie speaking.”

“You sound rushed,” I said. “I won't keep you but a second. Could you give me a phone number for the Atwoods? I'd like to call and see how they're doing after last night.”

She huffed, said she'd have to look it up and would call me back.

“Wait. I don't open until ten. Let me come over and help you and Blake out until then.”

To my surprise and dismay, Sadie began sobbing.

“Oh, Sadie, I'm so sorry. I'll be right there.”

I grabbed my keys, told Angus where I was going, and promised to be back as soon as possible. Then I hurried out the back door and down the alley to MacKenzies' Mochas.

Sadie opened the door and joined me in the alley. I hugged her as she continued to weep.

“Do you want to go back to the Stitch and hide out in my office until you feel better?” I asked. “I can take over for you in the shop, and you can go hang out with Angus. Or I can go with you—whatever you want.”

She shook her head and took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths. “I . . . c-can't. W-we're too busy.” She took another breath. “I have to . . . pull myself together . . . and get back to work.”

“You take a break and let me help Blake man the counter for a few minutes.”

“N-no. I . . . I'll be all right . . . in a second. It's j-just . . . Blake is so upset about Keira.”

“I know. We all are,” I said softly.

“B-but that detective . . . Poston. . . . He thinks . . . maybe . . . Keira and Blake . . . were having an affair!”

“That's ridiculous, and you know it. Blake is just concerned because he feels responsible. He told me last night that he should've stayed outside with Keira instead of going through the haunted house. He thinks he could've prevented her death.”

“I . . . hope you're right.”

“I am,” I insisted. “Talk with Blake. He'll confirm what I've told you.”

She nodded and said she needed to go back inside. “Oh . . . here.” She handed me a piece of paper with the Atwoods' phone number.

“I'm here if you need me.”

“Thanks.” She turned and went back into the coffee shop, and I went back to the Stitch.

I
went back to the Stitch where Angus was still lying in my office eating his granola bone. I sat down at my desk and fished my cell phone out of my pocket. Instead of calling the Atwoods, though, I called Ted.

“Good morning, babe,” he said in his sexy voice that almost made me forget why I was calling.

“I'm so mad at that Detective Poston! I want to punch him square in the nose!”

“Please don't. I'd hate for you to be arrested for assault. What has he done?”

“He has Sadie thinking that Blake and Keira were having an affair!”

“What?”

“You heard me,” I said. “I just came from Sadie, and she's crying her eyes out.”

“I'll look into it and see why he gave her that impression. He has been known to throw theories out right and left in order to see what rings true with the suspect. What about Blake? What does he have to say about all of this?”

“I don't know. I don't think Sadie has confronted him with it yet.”

“Maybe you should talk with him,” he said. “It would be less threatening coming from a friend rather than his wife.”

“That's true. I'll think about it. It's just ridiculous . . . isn't it? I mean, Blake and Keira didn't even seem to like each other. Did they?”

“Like I said, I'll check into it and get Detective Poston's reasoning behind his line of questioning.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I'm sorry I took out my anger on you.”

“You can take anything you want out on me anytime.”

I laughed. “I love you.”

“I know. And I love you, Inch-High Private Eye.”

After talking with Ted, I readied the coffeepot and then went into the shop to tidy up before opening. I dusted the shelves and fluffed the pillows on the sofa. Angus went to lie by the window. It was clouding up outside.

As I unlocked the door, I noticed an Angus-nose print on the glass. I got a window cleaning wipe from behind the counter and went to work on the smudge. I'd just got it removed when I saw the Atwoods drive up. I stepped out onto the sidewalk and invited them inside.

They were dressed as flamboyantly as ever. Claude wore a white tuxedo today with a blue sequined vest. Priscilla wore black leather pants with red over-the-knee stiletto boots, a lacy white blouse, and a black leather vest. Had these people ever heard of jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers? Or even regular business attire?

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

“I would, yes,” said Claude. “It smells wonderful.”

“Freshly brewed,” I said with a smile. “Priscilla?”

“Please.”

I went into the office and brought the coffeepot, three cups, an assortment of sweeteners, and creamer out on a tray. I placed the tray on the oval table in the sit-and-stitch square. Claude and Priscilla had already taken a seat on the sofa facing the window. Angus was observing them from his spot near the door.

I poured the coffee and then sat on one of the red club chairs. “I'm terribly sorry about what happened last night.”

“So are we,” said Claude.

“We're heartsick,” added Priscilla. “And everyone who gathered on the sidewalk saw many of our characters! How will they be effective now?”

Claude looked at his wife sharply. “Of course, we're saddened for the poor girl and her family. It's just that we're a smidge concerned about our business also.”

“I'm sure the characters will still scare everyone who goes through the Horror Emporium,” I said. “They were very good.”

Priscilla smiled. “Really? You think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“We're delighted to hear that,” said Claude. “We consider you something of an expert, given your mother's profession.”

“Well, that would make
her
the expert,” I said. “But I have been around a lot of special effects, and yours were terrific.”

Claude gave Priscilla's hand a squeeze. “See? I told you so.”

She smiled at me. “Men adore those four words, don't they?”

I tightly returned her smile. “So . . . when will you be able to reopen?”

“We have to clean up the mess left behind by the crime scene technicians and then get the crew together to do a run-through, and then we'll be back in business,” said Claude. “We should be open tomorrow night.”

“We could probably open tonight,” said Priscilla. “But we want to build suspense. We know people will be anxious to come to the Horror Emporium after hearing about poor Keira's demise.”

I tried to hide my surprise and repulsion about how cavalier the Atwoods were being over Keira's death. “Have you heard any more about what might have happened to her?”

“We have no clue,” said Claude. “If the police know, they're being mum about it to us. They did a thorough examination of the Lair of the Serpent last night and then had us remove the snakes so the crime scene technicians could study the inside of the room. They appeared to be satisfied that none of the vipers had escaped.”

“So they are no closer to finding the cause of death?” I asked.

“Of course, they are.” Priscilla took a sip of her coffee. “They have eliminated snake bite as a cause.”

“Right,” I said, shifting in my seat. I didn't care for their attitude in the least. Didn't they care that a girl was dead?

Claude must've noticed the chill that came from my direction because he said once again, “We
are
saddened for the poor girl and her family.”

I simply nodded.

The bells over the door jingled, signaling that someone had come in. I welcomed the chance to turn my attention to someone else. The woman who came through the door was young and slender. I'd never seen her before. Angus trotted over to greet her.

“Hi,” I said. “Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch.”

“Thank you,” she said, a chuckle in her voice. “Your dog is gorgeous.”

“Thanks. Is there anything in particular you're looking for this morning?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, there is.” She patted Angus's head. “My granny is looking for some pillowcase kits.”

“I have several,” I said. “Follow me.”

“We'll be taking our leave now, Ms. Singer,” said Claude. “My lovely wife and I have much to do.”

“Thank you for the coffee,” Priscilla said.

“You're welcome,” I said. “Come again.”

I noticed the girl was watching the Atwoods leave instead of looking at the pillowcase kits.

“Those are two of the tamer outfits I've seen them in,” I said softly.

She giggled. “Are they circus folk or something?”

“Something like that,” I said.

She found two kits she thought her grandmother would like—one with butterflies and flowers, and another that featured lacy, open fans. I invited her to come to the open house next week.

“I'll be here!” she said. “And I'll bring Granny with me.”

I rang up her purchases and secured them in one of the periwinkle Seven-Year Stitch bags. When she'd left, I took away the coffee tray. I emptied the cups into the sink, placed the pot back on the burner, and put away the sweetener and creamer.

I returned to the sit-and-stitch square and flopped down onto the club chair with a sigh.

Vera came in. “Wow, honey, why the long face?” She kissed Angus on the nose and then sat on the sofa.

“It's the Atwoods,” I said. “I'm beginning to think Nellie was right about them being vampires.” I went on to tell Vera about how cold they'd acted over Keira's death. “I realize they didn't know the girl, but to look at her murder as a convenient publicity stunt for the Horror Emporium is flat-out wrong!”

“Oh, I agree. That's dreadful.” She frowned. “And they seemed so
nice
too. Eccentric, to be sure, but nice.”

“I thought so too.” I rested my chin on my fist. “What's Paul saying about everything?”

“Not much,” she said. “We were so tired when he dropped me off at my house last night that he didn't even come in for a nightcap.”

“You know that I wasn't Keira's favorite person—and vice versa—but I didn't want anything bad to happen to her.”

“Of course, I know that. Everyone knows that.”

“I don't think Detective Poston does,” I said.

“He interviewed Paul. Paul didn't particularly care for the man . . . said he was brusque and tried to be intimidating.” She straightened her spine. “But he didn't intimidate Paul.”

“I thought he seemed like a bully too. Ted says he's one of the best interrogators in the region.” I drew my brows together. “Who interviewed you?”

“Manu. I told him what I knew—which wasn't much. None of us were really in a position to know what was going on out in the lobby area. We were all going through the maze of horrors . . . or whatever they were.” She shrugged. “The Atwoods did an admirable job, I think—you know, giving the devil his due and all.”

“They did . . . and I felt terribly sorry for them—you know, because their grand opening was spoiled by Keira's death. . . . At least, I did until they came in and spoke about the publicity her death would generate for their business.” I shook my head. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thanks, dear. I'm fine. But, by all means, don't let me keep you from having some if you'd like.”

“I had some earlier.” I recalled how the beverage had seemed to turn bitter in my mouth as I'd listened to the Atwoods talk. “It kinda made me sick.”

“It's likely your nerves. Last night took its toll on us all.”

“Tell me something,” I said. “Did Paul interview the character actors hired by the Atwoods?”

“I don't believe he did. The piece focused on Claude and Priscilla and their vision for the haunted house,” she said. “I don't think he featured any of the actors in the article. Besides, the Atwoods didn't want any of their characters or props photographed. They wanted everything to be a surprise.”

“Priscilla was concerned about the actors this morning. She was afraid that too many people who'd gathered on the sidewalk had seen the characters and wouldn't be frightened by them.” I stretched my legs out on the ottoman and folded my hands behind my head. “So Paul didn't interview the actors, huh? Are you up for some detective work?”

She grinned. “Am I? You should know me so well that you don't even have to ask.”

“We need to talk with those actors . . . see if any of them knew Keira. One of them could've easily disappeared sometime during the performance and then slipped back in. The place was pitch dark.”

“It was. Had I not been holding on to Paul's hand, I'd have tripped a time or two.” She folded her arms and pursed her lips. “How are we gonna pull this off? They all know we aren't with the police department. For one thing, they've all been questioned by the actual police. Why should they want to talk with us?”

I thought a few seconds. Then my eyes widened. “Mom!”

“What?”

“Mom—she's coming in on Tuesday. If these people applied for jobs acting in a haunted house, then they're probably interested in
other
acting jobs,” I said. “We'll tell them about Mom's upcoming . . . scouting trip. . . .”

Vera barked out a laugh. “
Scouting
trip? Really?”

“Well . . . we'll come up with
something
. We don't want them to think she's actually casting a movie or anything—I mean, I don't want to
lie
to these people—but we'll somehow use Mom and her connections as a way to chat them up.”

“You're really something—you know that?”

“Still in?” I asked.

“You know I am.”

“Good. I have to find out who murdered Keira and why before every friend I have comes under Detective Poston's microscope.” I glanced at her from the corner of my eyes. “Can I tell you something in complete confidence?”

“Sure.”

“You won't tell Paul?”

She hesitated. “No . . . not if you ask me not to.”

“I'm asking you not to.”

“Your secret is safe. Spill it.”

“Sadie was beside herself this morning,” I said. “She couldn't stop crying. That stupid detective made her think that Blake and Keira might've been having an affair.”

Vera lowered her eyes.

“Vera?”

She wouldn't look up at me.

“Vera, you don't think it's true?”

She reluctantly raised her eyes. “I don't know, hon. I do know that Blake and Keira had been seen together on more than one occasion—and they weren't at the coffee shop.”

“Then where were they seen?” I asked. “Was it a motel? Was it in Blake's van? I mean, maybe he was just giving the girl a lift home or something. Maybe her car broke down. It could've been completely innocent.”

“It could've been,” Vera said.

“Where were they seen together?”

“At her house once. . . . Another time they were at a shop in Depoe Bay together.”

“What shop?” I asked.

“I don't know. I'm just telling you what I heard.”

“From whom?”

“From more than one person. I hope there was nothing to it, but where there's smoke. . . .”

“No. Not in this case. I refuse to believe it,” I said. “I'm going to ask Blake about it myself.”

“Be careful there, sweetie. If there
was
something going on, you don't want to find yourself in the middle of it—especially given your relationship with the MacKenzies.”

I took a deep breath. “It can't be true. It just can't.”

“I hope you're right.” In an obvious attempt to change the subject back to something less daunting, Vera asked, “Now, how are we going to round up these actors to see what they know?”