Thread End: An Embroidery Mystery (20 page)

Angus greeted each of us and then went to the living room to find Ted.

When Ted returned, he confirmed my fears.

“The good news is that Manu’s men found the same thing you found,” he said to George. “This means that two independent cryptology teams—you and our tech guys—deciphered the code within the flash drive and got the same information. However, it will still come down to Chad Cummings’s word against that of a . . .”

“Of a dead man,” George finished.

“I’m afraid so. Your father can’t explain his actions to a jury, and Chad Cummings’s attorneys would present the argument that Dr. Vandehey created the flash drive after the fact in order to cover his tracks if and when he got caught,” Ted said.

George sighed. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Not so fast. In the morning, Manu and I are going to bring Special Agent Brown up to speed on the information found on the flash drive. Then we’re bringing Chad Cummings in for questioning.”

“Do you mean it?” George asked.

Ted smiled slightly. “Yes. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“Let’s say for the sake of argument that Chad Cummings is forced to admit that even one thing—that he gave Dad the security code, for instance—is true. Do you think that proves . . . ?”

“Proves that Chad Cummings coerced your dad into stealing the Cézanne?” I asked.

George shook his head. “Do you think it could prove that Cummings killed him?”

“Let’s just see what tomorrow brings,” said Ted. “All right?”

“Okay,” said George.

I
kept looking at the clock in between customers Saturday morning. I knew Ted and Manu were questioning Chad Cummings, and I was anxious to know what was going on. I hadn’t deluded myself into thinking that Mr. Cummings would break down and admit that everything on the flash drive made sense and was true. In fact, some of the things Geoffrey Vandehey had alluded to hadn’t made a bit of sense as far as I could see. But I did hope that if Mr. Cummings was guilty of insurance fraud, the truth would come out somehow.

A young woman and her little girl came into the shop. The little girl immediately squealed with delight and went to hug “the pony.”

Her mother looked slightly horrified until I assured her that Angus—who was taller on all fours than her toddler (and a head taller than me on two feet)—was as gentle as a lamb and wouldn’t hurt the child. In fact, Angus lay at the girl’s feet so she could pet him easier.

The woman appeared to be relieved, but she kept a watchful eye on the two of them.

“I’ll be glad to put him in the back, if you’d prefer,” I said.

“No, that isn’t necessary. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she said. “I just get so nervous.”

“That’s all right. You can’t be too careful where your children are concerned.”

“Do you have any?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I said. Naturally, her question conjured up a lot of what-ifs and maybes,
which I didn’t need to dwell on right at that moment. “Is there anything I could help you find?”

“I’m actually looking for children’s crafts,” she said. “She’s so creative, and I’d love to get her interested in embroidery . . . but I don’t want anything she could get hurt on or that would be over her head.”

“Of course. If you’ll step right this way, I have a good selection of children’s needlepoint kits. They come with a stamped plastic canvas, the yarn needed to complete the project, and a large plastic blunt-tipped needle.”

“That sounds like exactly the type of thing I’m looking for,” she said.

After taking her over to the children’s section, I allowed her to browse and said I’d go back and make sure Angus and her daughter were all right.

The woman quickly came over with her hands full of needlepoint kits. “Hey, Janilyn! Do you like these, sweetie?”

The little girl lifted her face off Angus’s neck so she could see what her mom was talking about. She giggled. “Monkey!”

“Yes, I knew you’d like that one,” said her mom. “What about these others? Do you like the puppy dog?”

Janilyn nodded her curly blond head.

“Angus is a puppy dog,” I told her.

The child chortled. “No. He’s a pony!”

“These kits are designed for children a little bit older than Janilyn,” I said. “But I’m sure you’ll watch her carefully.”

“Definitely. When I’m not around, I’m putting the needle somewhere that she can’t get hold of it and put it in her mouth.”

Janilyn gazed up at her mother. “I won’t eat it.”

“I know. . . . I just like to be careful.”

“Mommy careful,” Janilyn told me.

“I’d be careful with you, too,” I said.

Janilyn’s mom decided to take the monkey and the puppy kit and see how the child fared with them. “If she likes them, I’ll be back to get more.”

“Thank you,” I said. I rang up her purchases.

As they left, Janilyn waved to Angus. “Bye, pony!”

Sissy Cummings came through the door as Janilyn and her mother went out.

“How adorable was she?” Sissy asked. “She makes me want another one!”

“Is Chad Jr. an only child?”

“He is. And it always seems that when I think I’m in the mood to have another, Chad isn’t. And when he wants another one, it’s not the right time for me.” She shrugged. “Maybe Chaddie is supposed to be an only child.” She sighed. “Anyway, I really enjoyed watching your friend do the
chikankari
work the other night. I think I might like to give it a try. Do you have any books on the subject?”

“I do have a couple
chikankari
books I ordered when Reggie and I decided to do the class,” I said. “They’re right over here.”

Sissy followed me to the books and got both of the ones on
chikankari
. “These can be an early birthday present—from me to me.”

“Oh, when’s your birthday?”

“It isn’t until the end of September, but I buy myself early birthday gifts all summer long.” She laughed. “It’s the perfect excuse to indulge myself once in a while.”

Once in a while? I considered three months to be more than once in a while, but what did I know?

As she paid for her purchases, Sissy said, “By the way, the police asked Chad to come down to the police station to talk with them this morning. Do you know anything about that?”

“I imagine it has something to do with Geoffrey Vandehey,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they had information that would lead to the recovery of your Cézanne?”

“Frankly, no. Please don’t tell my husband this, but I despised that painting from the moment he bought it,” she said. “I understand that it was a fabulous investment—and I’d begged Chad to sell it—but I always thought that painting was downright ugly.”

“As they say, art is subjective.”

“It certainly is. Well, I’m off. Thanks, Marcy.”

“Thank you, Sissy. If you need any help with the
chikankari
in the book, please let me know,” I said. “We’ll call Reggie.”

After Sissy left, I went to the sit-and-stitch square to work on my beaded-cupcake project. Sissy had seemed relaxed and calm for someone whose husband was being questioned by the police. Of course, she didn’t know
why
they were talking with him.

My mind drifted back to the information on George Vandehey’s flash drive, and I remembered the security code: 093072. That was most likely Sissy’s birth date. I wondered if Chad Cummings used it as the code so he wouldn’t forget the date. But then, if Sissy was buying herself gifts three months before her actual birthday, it seemed to me her credit card bill would be enough of a reminder.

*   *   *

I hadn’t realized how hungry I’d become until Ted arrived with soft steak tacos, chips, and
queso
. The tantalizing aroma immediately made my stomach growl.

“Goodness, Angus, you must be starving,” Ted said, winking at me.

“We both are,” I said.

“Then it’s a good thing I brought an extra taco.”

I quickly put the cardboard clock on the door and gave Ted and me thirty minutes. We went into my office, and I took a couple sodas from the mini fridge and set them on my desk while Ted opened the boxes containing the chips and
queso
and the tacos.

“How did the interrogation go?” I asked.

“As expected, Cummings denied everything. He said he had no idea how Geoffrey Vandehey got the code to the family’s private home security system, and then he demanded a lawyer be present while he was being questioned.”

“Just any old lawyer or his lawyer from Seattle?”

“I suppose any lawyer will do at this point, but it isn’t going to be easy to find one on a Saturday,” said Ted. “While Cummings goes through the directory trying to get an attorney who will answer the phone, Manu and I opted to take our lunch break. Brown stayed with Cummings. His loss.”

“I hope it doesn’t turn into a long day for you,” I said.

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you have plans for me?”

“Maybe. I think a homemade veggie pizza, a bottle of wine, and some kind of silly TV marathon might be good for both of us.”

“That does sound nice,” he said, “unless, of course, you’re trying to make a fool of me.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“The German proverb in Vandehey’s notes—wine and women make fools of everybody?”

“Oh, right!” I laughed. “Well, I promise, I’m not trying to make a fool of you. By the way, Sissy Cummings was in here this morning. She mentioned something about her birthday being the end of September. I think it’s the code—093072.”

“I’d say you’re right.” He dipped a chip in the warm
queso
. “You know, it probably wouldn’t hurt for us to question the wife, too.”

*   *   *

Simon Benton strolled by after lunch. He’d been to MacKenzies’ Mochas and was drinking an iced coffee.

“I love these things,” he said. “If I don’t get back to Denver soon, I’m going to gain twenty pounds.”

“I don’t think they’re
that
fattening, are they?” I asked.

“Who knows? Furthermore, who cares?” He chuckled and sat down on the club chair near me. “Hello, young man,” he said to Angus.

Angus wagged his tail but stayed over near the window with his Kodiak bear.

“He’s busy watching the world go by,” I said. “He does that some days.”

“It makes him appear most contemplative.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I want to apologize for not being forthcoming with you yesterday about my telling Special Agent Brown that Geoffrey Vandehey was in Tallulah Falls.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” I said. “We were only having a bit of fun theorizing about the identity of Vandehey’s killer. I didn’t actually think we’d solve the crime.”

“Neither did I. Were I that clever, I’d be at 221B Baker Street in London, right?”

“Right.”

He leaned over to see what I was working on, but before he could comment, Angus began barking.

“It’s okay, Angus,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

Nellie Davis had been walking down the street toward MacKenzies’ Mochas and stopped to peer into our window. When she realized Simon and I were looking back at her, she turned and practically ran back in the direction of her own shop.

“Who the devil was that?” Simon asked.

“Her name is Nellie Davis, and she has been a thorn in my side ever since I moved to Tallulah Falls.”

“Does she always behave so irrationally—watch you through your storefront window and then run away when you catch her?”

“No, that one is a first,” I said. “She has told me—and others—that the Seven-Year Stitch is cursed. She has tried to get me to leave so her sister could lease my shop . . . that was, of course, before the one between our stores became vacant. But the most out-of-character thing she’d ever done was this week. She appeared to befriend me.”

“And now she’s stalking you?”

I laughed. “No. She came over and expressed concern because I’d found Dr. Vandehey in the alley. She told me to be careful and even gave me a stress-relief candle a day or so later. Then she came and took back the candle and told Special Agent Brown that I was trying to get her killed.”

“It sounds as if that wretched woman is destined for the loony bin.”

“Agreed.”

“Why on earth would she tell Brown such an egregious tale?” he asked.

“She believes I betrayed her confidence over something. . . .”

“Over what?”

“A black van, of all things,” I said.

He took another sip of his coffee. “I have no clue what that means.”

“Join the club. With Nellie, you never know what anything means. I simply know that she hates me and is out to get me. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine.”

*   *   *

After work, I changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I was glad to see that Ted had also changed into comfortable clothing before coming over.

He held up a bottle of white zinfandel. “I didn’t know what would go best with veggie pizza. Will this work?”

“It sure will.” I was busily chopping the broccoli and cauliflower while the pizza crust browned.

“What are our television marathon options?” He took out an ice bucket, filled it, and put the wine in the bucket to chill.

“Let’s see. . . .” There was a long list of options of shows I enjoyed or had been meaning to check out. “We could watch
Longmire
,
Arrow
,
Burn Notice
,
Supernatural
,
Psych
,
Damages
,
Justified
—”

“Let’s watch
Justified
,” he said. “We can raise a glass to the late, great Elmore Leonard.”

“Deal. So how’d this afternoon’s interrogation go?”

“I feel fairly sure that Cummings and his wife were involved in insurance fraud.” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “We don’t have enough to prove it, though, and I expect the thieving couple to flee Tallulah Falls immediately. On the plus side, Special Agent Brown will be on their heels.”

I put the knife down and turned to face Ted. “He will? Isn’t Brown more interested in who killed Geoffrey Vandehey than he is in a painting that disappeared over two years ago?”

“No, babe. Brown specializes in stolen art and art fraud. To him, that takes precedence over the murder. He’ll go to Seattle and question everybody with regard to the Cummings case and leave us to investigate the homicide.”

“You’re glad he’s getting out of your hair, aren’t you?”

“Delighted,” he said, dropping a kiss on my lips. “He’ll likely come back about once a month or so until either we mine some viable leads in the theft of the Padgett Collection or he decides it’s a lost cause.”

“Speaking of viable leads, have any good ones come in yet?”

“No, they have not, and that’s entirely your fault.”

“My fault?” I asked.

“Yes. You haven’t turned Nellie Davis in yet and collected our reward money.”

I giggled. “I might have to do that after this afternoon. She was creeping around the Seven-Year Stitch—I thought at first she was going to MacKenzies’ Mochas—and then she came up to the window and looked in. When we saw her—Simon Benton was there, too—she turned and practically ran back to Scentsibilities.”

He laughed. “That’s one strange old bird.”

“Yes, she is. And I doubt she’ll ever pass by my shop again,” I said. “I suppose I lost Sadie and Blake a customer.”

“They’re sure to go bankrupt now . . . which is another good reason for you to go ahead and turn Nellie in so we can get our cool mil.”