Thread End: An Embroidery Mystery (15 page)

He smiled. “Indubitably.”

I giggled at the pretentious word until he kissed me. Then I completely forgot what had been so funny.

T
he next morning, I was unpacking a shipment of Christmas ornament kits. It wasn’t that I was rushing the season, but in order to get Christmas ornaments completed in time, people needed to start in the summer or early fall. Angus was lying by the window with his Kodiak bear. They were watching the world go by. All in all, it was very peaceful. There had been a few customers come in, and we had made some friendly transactions.

And then Chad Cummings barged into the Stitch. There was nothing friendly or peaceful about him. In fact, Angus jumped up and ran to stand between me and the irate man.

“What did you say to my wife last night?” he demanded.

“Mr. Cummings, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Mrs. Cummings was here to observe the
chikankari
class, and as far as I know, she had a nice time.”

“Well, you or someone in your class upset Portia,” he said. “She came home in tears over that no-good Geoffrey Vandehey.”

“That was probably my fault, Mr. Cummings. I mentioned to your wife that Geoffrey Vandehey’s son was here and that he told me his sister had been in an accident around the time the professor stole your painting. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“Portia isn’t like most people.”

“She told me you believe her to be too kindhearted,” I said.

“It’s not just that. Portia has some . . . issues . . . mentally. She’s . . . delicate.”

“She said she wished Dr. Vandehey had trusted the two of you to ask for financial help if he needed it rather than steal the painting.”

“Yeah. She liked that painting,” he said.

“Mr. Cummings, did
you
know about Elizabeth Vandehey’s accident?”

“Sure. That’s why I called and asked him to do the second appraisal. I was trying to throw the guy a bone. How does he repay me? By stealing my Cézanne.”

“I’m sorry. You must’ve felt terribly betrayed.”

“Damn right I did,” he said.

Angus uttered a low growl.

“Look, I’ll get out of your hair before your dog goes for my jugular,” said Mr. Cummings. “I’m sorry I overreacted, but just please . . . if Portia comes in again, try not to upset her in any way.”

“I’ll certainly do my best,” I said.

Angus didn’t move until after he saw Chad Cummings walk past the window in the direction of MacKenzies’ Mochas.

I bent and gave him a hug. “Thank you, baby. I don’t think he would’ve done anything rash, but I’m glad you were here just in case.”

Christine Willoughby, one of my regular patrons, walked into the shop. “Hey, share some of that puppy love with me, would ya?”

I laughed as Angus bounded over to Christine. The woman was thin, and I was always afraid Angus would knock her over. But she must’ve been stronger than she looked.

“How are you this morning, Christine?”

“I’m fantastic! Just dropped in for some yarn. How are you?”

“Good . . . well, better, now that a
friendly
person is here. The last guy who came in here wasn’t Mr. Congeniality.”

Christine put her fists on her waist. “Do I need to have Jared bring you a crowbar?”

Jared, Christine’s son, was an auto mechanic.

I laughed. “No. I think Angus let him know we didn’t appreciate his attitude.”

“Good.” She went back to petting Angus and directed her comments to him. “We don’t understand why people have to be so mean, do we? No, we don’t! No!”

The dog wagged his entire body and reveled in Christine’s adoration.

Christine glanced into the box. “What’ve you got there?”

“Cross-stitch and ribbon-embroidery Christmas ornaments.”

She picked up an angel. “This is gorgeous. Do you think I could do it?”

“I know you could,” I said. “You can knit like crazy. I’m sure you can cross-stitch and do a few ribbon-embroidery stitches. If you want to try one, we’ll sit down over here on the sofa and get you started.”

“Are you sure you have time? I know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy for you.” I smiled. “You’re one of my favorite customers.”

We sat down on the sofa. Angus saw that Christine’s attention was momentarily fixated on something other than him, so he lay down at her feet to wait for his turn to come back around again.

“This is a counted cross-stitch project, so there’s no design stamped on the fabric,” I said. “The first thing we need to do is to find the center.” I folded the fabric in half and then folded it again. “See? Your center is now defined by the crease.”

“This looks hard,” said Christine.

“It’s not.” I placed the fabric in the small hoop that came with the kit. “Just be sure and count the squares between the holes and not the holes when you’re counting stitches. The center is already marked for you on the pattern, so . . . let’s see . . . the first color floss we’ll be using is white.”

I separated two strands of the white embroidery floss sent with the kit and threaded the needle. “We’re going to start in the center and go right.”

Christine and I spent the next hour getting her familiar with the art of cross-stitch and making a dent in her new project. In fact, she got so involved in her cross-stitch that she would’ve left without the yarn she’d initially come in to buy had I not reminded her.

*   *   *

Ted brought chicken salad croissants from MacKenzies’ Mochas for lunch.

“My favorite!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I mean, not really.”

I stopped with my croissant halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean,
not really
?”

“Mother invited us out to dinner on Friday night. We can choose the place.” His tone was casual, but he didn’t meet my eyes and started eating his croissant as if he were starving to death.

I put my croissant back down on my plate. “Do you want to go?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “You weren’t ready for your mother and me to meet when she came into the shop the other day.”

“True. But I know she’s been in again since then, and I think it’s probably . . . safe.”

“Safe? You sound like we’re going to a war zone rather than out to dinner.”

He shrugged. “It probably wouldn’t hurt to wear a flak jacket, if you have one.”

I stared at him.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “So, would you like to go, or not? I told her I’d call and let her know this afternoon.”

“I’d like to go,” I said. Why was Ted so anxious about his mom and me getting to know each other? Wanting to change the subject, I said, “Chad Cummings charged in here this morning angry because I’d upset his wife. Maybe I
could
use a flak jacket.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Ted asked.

“He didn’t stay that long. He upset Angus, though. He came and got between us.”

A muscle worked in Ted’s jaw . . . a sure sign he was clenching his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “It’ll give you a headache. Besides, it was no big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal! A suspected murderer comes in here bullying the woman I love—” He put his fist up to his mouth.

“I’m not afraid of Chad Cummings.” I got up and went over to embrace Ted. I’d just told a huge lie, by the way. I was terrified of Chad Cummings, especially after Ted classified him as a suspected murderer. “He was angry because I apparently did something to upset his wife, who is a delicate, instable creature. Do you really believe Chad killed Geoffrey Vandehey?”

He scooted back his chair and pulled me onto his lap. “I don’t know. But I’m not ruling him out. George is absolutely convinced that Cummings killed his father.”

“Did he find anything to support his belief among the evidence this morning?”

“No. But he, Special Agent Brown, Manu, and I are heading over after lunch to check out the hotel room Dr. Vandehey had occupied.”

“Why is Special Agent Brown tagging along?” I asked.

“He was at the department this morning as George was leaving. George mentioned his theory to Brown, and so Brown insisted on accompanying us to the hotel.”

“What are your feelings on Special Agent Brown?”

“I don’t trust him,” said Ted. “I don’t think he’s particularly competent, either. But I guess he’s one of those enemies I should keep close during this investigation.”

“Just be careful.” I kissed him, and then went back to my chair so Ted could finish his lunch and I could start on mine.

“
You
be careful,” he said. “And if Chad Cummings ever comes back into this shop again, you call me.”

“I will.”

*   *   *

I was sitting in the sit-and-stitch square working on the beaded embroidery project I was making as part of tonight’s class. It was an adorable cupcake with a cherry on top, and I planned to give it to Sadie when I finished.

My cell phone rang. It was Mom, and the ringtone of the woman’s scream pierced the air. Too bad I was the only one there to appreciate it.

“Hi.” I giggled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You know how I told you I was going to change your ringtone to a bloodcurdling scream? Well, I did. It’s hilarious!”

“Marcella Singer, what if your shop had been filled with customers? Would it have been so amusing then?”

“Maybe not, but it would’ve been great if Ted or Sadie had been here,” I said. “Anyway, I’m really glad you called.”

“I just had that feeling, you know? No, actually, you probably don’t know . . . but you will someday when you have children of your own. What’s going on?”

“Ted’s mother has invited us out to dinner on Friday,” I said. “She came by the Stitch again yesterday, and she was really nice. . . .”

“But?”

“I don’t know, Mom. There shouldn’t be a
but.
”

“But there is. You’re not sure you can trust her. And that’s all right, darling. Trust isn’t something you give lightly. It’s something that must be earned.”

“True. She told me yesterday that it’s great seeing Ted happy, but she also told me she detested his first wife.”

“From what I’ve heard about her, she was pretty detestable,” Mom said.

“Yes, she was. But I have to wonder if Veronica finds fault with any woman Ted gets involved with.”

“Mothers are protective. We can’t help ourselves.”

“I’m nervous about Friday night,” I said. “What should I wear?”

“Something that makes you feel confident.”

“I just don’t want to get hurt . . . by Ted’s mom . . . and especially not by Ted.”

“I don’t think you will be,” she said.

After we hung up, I continued working on my beaded cupcake, and I thought about David—the man who’d literally left me standing at the altar over a year ago. He’d paid me a visit here in Tallulah Falls a couple months ago and wanted to get back together. I’d seen how terribly wrong we were for each other then. In fact, I wondered what I’d ever seen in him in the first place. Ted, on the other hand . . . I found something new to love about him every day.

That thought was interrupted by Vera, hurrying into the shop wearing Bermuda shorts, a bright pink camp shirt, a floppy white hat, oversize sunglasses, and flip-flops.

“I have a development!” She spotted Angus. “Hi, sweetie.” She patted his head and then came and sat next to me, taking off the sunglass and hat and placing them on the coffee table.

“What is it?” Her excitement was infectious. Could she and Paul possibly have discovered something that would verify George’s claim that Chad Cummings had paid Geoffrey Vandehey to steal the Cézanne?

She took a piece of paper from her purse, unfolded it, and spread it out on the table. “This is a replica of the stolen painting.”

It was a still life with apples on a white plate, a knife lying by the plate, a wine goblet, and a skull to the left of the apples.

“Okay,” I said, waiting for her to get to the point.

“Now when we find it, we’ll know what it looks like.”

I smiled. “That’s fantastic.”

“Isn’t it? I just went to the Web site of the auction house where Chad Cummings had bought the painting, got the director’s phone number, called him, and had him send a copy of their photograph right over.”

“Thank you, Vera. That was a wonderful idea.” It wasn’t the earth-shattering revelation I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t bad. “It’s kind of an odd painting, isn’t it? The more you look at it, the more you see.”

“I agree. Look at the handle of the knife. See the—”

A scream pierced the air.

Vera and I jumped up. She ran to the window, and I rushed to the door.

When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I saw Nellie Davis standing just outside her shop. “It’s Nellie!” I called to Vera.

I hurried forward and put an arm around Nellie’s bony shoulders. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

“That!” She pointed to a dead rat lying on her sidewalk. “It was there when I came back from lunch. There’s a note with it.”

Vera had joined us by that time, and she gingerly picked up the folded piece of white card stock. “‘Don’t be a rat, or you’ll wind up like one,’” she read.

I took my cell phone out of my pocket and called Ted. When he answered, I quickly explained the situation.

“Tell Vera to put the note down, and don’t let anyone else handle it,” he said. “I’ve got a crime scene unit on the way.”

“He said he’d protect me,” Nellie wailed.

“He will,” I said. “He and some deputies are on their way over here now.”

“But somebody knows.” Tears wound through the crevices of Nellie’s wrinkled face. “Somebody knows, and he’s going to hurt me!”

My eyes met Vera’s over the top of Nellie’s bowed head. I widened my eyes, and Vera widened hers.

What should we do?
I mouthed at Vera.

She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears.

“Nellie, would you like to come over to my shop until Ted arrives?” I asked.

“No. I can’t leave my shop unattended. Someone will come in and steal me blind.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” Vera said. “Marcy, go on back to the Stitch before someone comes in and robs you and Angus blind.”

I pursed my lips to let Vera know I didn’t think she was being very funny. “I’ll be happy to stay. I can see the sidewalk from Nellie’s shop, and I should be able to tell if someone goes into my shop.”