Thread End: An Embroidery Mystery (18 page)

He chuckled and put his forearm up to block the blows from the pillow I was beating him with. Like the seasoned law enforcement officer he was, however, he quickly disarmed me and tossed the pillow across the room.

We fell off the couch and ended up lying on the floor, laughing helplessly.

“I told you I could help with your stress release,” he said.

A
ngus and I had been at the Seven-Year Stitch just about an hour on Friday morning when Special Agent Brown strode in.

“Good morning, Ms. Singer,” he said, unbuttoning his suit jacket and placing his hands on his hips.

That gesture made me nervous. “Hello, Special Agent Brown. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve just been talking with Nellie Davis. She and her sister called and asked me to come to her shop. Ms. Davis has accused you of spreading rumors about her.”

“Oh, for crying out loud! I did no such thing!”

“Relax, Ms. Singer. I don’t think you did, either. I merely came by here to appease Ms. Davis and her sister and to give you a friendly piece of advice—stay as far away from those women as possible. I think they’re flaky . . . and possibly dangerous.”

“What you’re saying isn’t news to me, and I have no intention of going around either of them again,” I said. “While you’re here, though, may I ask you a question?”

“I won’t guarantee you an answer, but you can ask.”

“How did you know Geoffrey Vandehey was in Tallulah Falls?”

“I got a call from someone close to Anderson Padgett,” he said. “The guy told me Vandehey had been in touch with Padgett’s office and said the collection in the Tallulah Falls Museum had been targeted for a heist.”

“That’s odd,” I said. “How did the guy know Vandehey was actually here in town?”

“He was here, too. His name’s Simon Benton. I guess he spotted Vandehey or something.”

I didn’t mention it to Special Agent Brown, but I wondered why Simon Benton hadn’t told me he was the one who tipped Brown off to Vandehey’s location.

“I’m sorry you didn’t find Vandehey in time to stop the theft of the collection,” I said.

“So am I.” He shook his head. “I know that boy of his wants to think Vandehey was just a pawn in someone else’s game. I can’t say that I blame him. Nobody wants to think badly of a parent. But I believe Geoffrey Vandehey was more ruthless than any of us realize.”

Then Special Agent Brown told me to have a good day, and he left.

I was too antsy to go right back to work. I didn’t want to be accused of spreading gossip or any other nonsense, though, so I decided to go ask Sadie what she thought I should wear to dinner that evening. I put the clock on the door saying I’d be back in ten minutes and headed down to MacKenzies’ Mochas.

Blake was manning the counter.

“Blake, can you call Sadie up for me?” I asked.

He nodded and spoke into a headset as he took a customer’s money and gave the man change. I was impressed with Blake’s ability to multitask.

Within seconds, Sadie came to the counter.

She jerked her head for me to come over to the side with her. “What’s up?”

“I need some advice,” I said. “Ted and I are going to dinner with his mom tonight, and I can’t decide what to wear.”

“What did Bev say?”

“She told me to wear something I’d feel confident in. But I need specifics. I’m a nervous wreck about this evening.”

“You can borrow my Xena costume.” She smirked.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious. What an impression that would make!”

“Sadie . . .”

“All right, all right. Let’s see. . . . What about your sleeveless navy cowl-neck blouse and your gold-and-navy geometric-print pencil skirt? That outfit is both sexy
and
sophisticated.”

“I think that would work great!” I gave Sadie a quick hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Now . . . low-fat vanilla latte with a hint of cinnamon?”

I grinned. “You know me so well.”

I hurried back up the street where Angus was waiting for me in front of the picture window. I unlocked the door and removed the cardboard clock.

“The good news is I know what I’m going to wear tonight,” I told the tail-wagging dog. “The bad news is that Ted’s mom will be there.”

He opened his mouth in a big, goofy dog grin that made it look as if he were laughing. That, of course, made me laugh, too.

A woman with shoulder-length brown hair and wire-framed glasses stepped into the shop. “This sounds like a fun place to be!”

“We hope it is,” I said. “I’m Marcy Singer, and this is Angus. Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch.”

“It’s nice to meet you both.” She petted Angus and then began browsing the shelves.

“Is there anything in particular I can help you find?” I asked.

“Actually, I’m looking for some small, folk art cross-stitch patterns.”

“Holiday or all-occasion?”

“I’m primarily looking for small Christmas designs I can make as ornaments or put with gifts,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind finding a couple of Halloween designs to make to brighten up my desk at work, though.”

I walked her over to the Christmas display and showed her a selection of the Prairie Schooler cross-stitch folk art designs.

“This company has a wide assortment of both Christmas and Halloween designs,” I said. “Their Schooler Santas are five-inch-by-seven-inch cards. They do a different card each year and have been doing so since 1984.”

“That’s cool.” She picked up the
Nordic Holiday
book. “I love this one. It looks like the patterns only use three colors—red, green, and white—and they look simple to do. I’m not a very experienced cross-stitcher . . . at least, not yet.”

“I think you’ll do a great job with these. And if you need any help, just come back by. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“I know springtime has already passed, but I love the
Bunnies
book,” I said.

“Bunnies? Do you have one of the books in stock?”

“I do.”

I retrieved the book for her and she wanted it, too.

“Okay. Let me look at the Halloween stuff . . . and then get some embroidery floss . . . and then I’ve
got
to get out of here before I spend all my money!”

I laughed and led her over to the Halloween display.

“These are all so cute,” she said. “I don’t want to start something big, though, because I don’t know whether or not I’ll have time to finish it.”

She finally decided on a couple small, inclusive Halloween cross-stitch kits.

“These are perfect,” she said. “Now, if you can just get me the thread—I mean, the floss—I’ll need for the Christmas patterns, I’ll get started on those.”

I looked at the pattern book, found the floss numbers, and rounded up the corresponding skeins. As I rang up her purchases, I told her about the classes offered on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings and that I was putting a flyer with more information in her bag. It was really good to run across someone new to stitching who was so excited about it.

*   *   *

Ted brought Caesar salads for lunch.

“I thought we’d better try to behave ourselves with lunch so we can overindulge over dinner,” he said.

“Okay. I talked with Sadie, and at least, I know what I’m going to wear now—my navy blouse and blue and gold skirt.”

He nodded. “Sounds great.”

Of course, I could’ve said
my potato sack dress and furry bedroom slippers
, and he’d have said it sounded great.

“I spoke with the receptionist at the museum this morning,” he continued. “She said that on the day she got the call about Vandehey having knowledge of the heist, Mr. Ingle had a lot going on. Before she could talk with Ingle about Vandehey, Simon Benton walked by. She asked Benton if he’d ever heard of Geoffrey Vandehey, and he said he had. She then explained the phone call she’d received from Anderson Padgett’s secretary. Benton told her not to trouble Mr. Ingle with the information—that he’d handle it personally.”

“Well, that certainly lines up with what Special Agent Brown told me earlier today,” I said.

“Brown was here?” Ted frowned. “What did he want?”

“Nellie and her sister had called him to complain about me divulging Nellie’s secrets.”

He rolled his eyes. “Those two need to—”

“Not a big deal,” I interrupted. “He said he was only here to appease them but said they were flaky and that I should stay away from them. I told him he didn’t have to tell me that. Anyway, I asked him where he got the tip that Vandehey was in Tallulah Falls, and he said it came from Simon Benton. I didn’t say anything to Brown, but I wondered why Simon Benton failed to share that information when he was discussing murder theories with me yesterday.”

“That’s something I intend to find out right after lunch,” Ted said. “I have an appointment to talk with Benton at one thirty.”

“I just think it’s weird that he was throwing out all those theories and neglected to mention that he’s the one who tipped off Brown.” I shrugged. “I guess he was just being flippant with the theories—and I took them as such—but still . . .”

“I’ll let you know what he says about calling Brown. I plan on asking him why he didn’t divulge that information to us—local law enforcement, I mean.”

I grinned. “I knew what you meant. I didn’t expect you to go ask, ‘Hey, why didn’t you tell Marcy and me you called Special Agent Brown about Geoffrey Vandehey?’”

He laughed. “You never know. I might ask him in just that way.” He made his voice a falsetto. “Hey!”

“Ha-ha. You think you’re so funny.”

“You think I am, too,” he said.

“Yeah . . . I do.” I sighed. “I’ll need you to make me laugh after dinner this evening. I’m so nervous about that.”

“Ah, don’t be. Didn’t I tell you? Mom said I could choose the restaurant. I thought you might want to dine on familiar ground—Captain Moe’s.”

My jaw dropped and I laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“She’ll be appalled,” I said.

“Maybe, at first . . . but she’ll come around. Captain Moe is a charmer.”

I laughed again. “I love you so much.”

“I know.”

*   *   *

After lunch, the shop got very busy for a little while. Customers came in for hoops, frames, cloth, floss, and needles. And then the slump hit. During the school year, there was a slump every day around three or three thirty. I thought maybe that’s when children were getting out of school, so parents and grandparents were either picking them up or making sure they were home when their children arrived. Yet, even now in the summer, the three o’clock slump persisted. Was it merely coincidental that the slump was during the school dismissal hour? Or was the slump at that time because even in the summer, the ingrained routine remained? I was pondering this deep question of the universe when George Vandehey came into the shop.

“Hi, George,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m better today than I was when I saw you last.” He sat down on the sofa and began stroking Angus’s wiry fur. “Manu called me this morning and told me that the flash drive had been decoded. I went by the police station and copied the information onto another drive so the original could stay with the police.”

“That was a good idea.”

“I agree. It was actually nonnegotiable since the flash drive I found in the hotel room is evidence in . . . well . . . you know.” He gave me a slight smile. “Anyway, even though the information is no longer encrypted, it’s still encoded.”

“It is?” I asked. “How can that be?”

“Dad used his own versions of shorthand and cryptic messaging to protect his notes,” George said. “Manu thought I might be able to help his technicians decipher Dad’s code.”

“Are there any audio or video files on the flash drive?”

“Sadly, no. But there are photos I hope will prove to be helpful.”

“I hope they will, too,” I said.

“I’m absolutely convinced that there’s enough evidence on that flash drive to convict Chad Cummings of insurance fraud.”

I said nothing. I didn’t want to discourage him, but how could a jury believe George or the police computer technicians could crack Geoffrey Vandehey’s code when none of them had a master key to go by? Chad Cummings’s lawyers would have that thrown out immediately.

*   *   *

I was putting the finishing touches on my appearance when Ted arrived to pick me up. I’d already fed Angus and let him out (and back in). I slipped on platform nude pumps and diamond stud earrings. Then I applied a swipe of berry lipstick and fluffed out my hair again. I’d taken the time to curl it, and it was a little bigger than I was accustomed to. Still, I did look more polished when I took the time to style my hair and take pains with my makeup.

Ted gave me a wolf whistle when I came down the stairs.

“Look at our girl, Angus,” he said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Angus woofed. He was either in agreement or simply in the mood to bark. I preferred to think he agreed.

“Thank you both,” I said.

“Are you ready?”

I took a deep breath. “No . . . but I suppose I might as well be.”

He kissed me. “Just be yourself.”

“What if she doesn’t like myself?”

“She’ll love yourself,” he said.

“George Vandehey came by the shop today,” I said once we were in the car. “He said he’d made a copy of the flash drive.”

“Yeah, I took a look at it after I got back to the office this afternoon. If all the files are properly decoded and transcribed, the prosecution might very well be able to put together a case against Chad Cummings.”

“But aren’t George and the computer techs grasping at straws?” I asked. “If they don’t have a master key to work from, how will they possibly be able to decipher the notes?”

“For one thing, I don’t think the cipher is as complex as George might have led you to believe,” he said. “And for another thing, if the two techs and George all come back with the same code, then they must be right.”

“I guess.”

“Of course, the strength of the evidence will depend on what’s contained with the files . . . but there are several files.”

“Did you speak with Simon Benton?” I asked.

“I did. He said he didn’t mention his call to the Federal Bureau of Investigation to local law enforcement at first because he didn’t want it to appear that he thought us incapable of handling the matter,” said Ted. “He also said that we locals had no reason to arrest Vandehey, while Special Agent Brown did.”

“Wait. Vandehey was a fugitive,” I said. “He could have been arrested by any law enforcement officer, right?”