Thread Reckoning (23 page)

“Then why would she have brought the certificate home? Why wouldn’t she have presented her case to Caleb Sr.?”

“Maybe she did,” I said. “Maybe that’s why she was fired. Do you mind seeing what you can find?”

“Not at all. But without seeing the Santiago Corporation’s actual records, it’s going to be hard to prove anything.”

“At this point, I don’t need to prove it. I only need to see if I’m on the right track.”

When I got to the shop, I started working on the ribbon embroidery purse I planned to carry to the masquerade ball. I thought it would be easy enough to finish by Saturday, and on Monday I could set up the window display.

The bells above the door jingled, and I looked up to see Todd striding in.

“Good morning,” I said.

“It has to be better than the night you had,” he said.

I gave him a wry smile. “You heard.”

He nodded. “It was the talk of MacKenzies′ Mochas this morning.”

“I’m surprised Sadie isn’t here yet.”

“She’ll probably be here after the rush.” He sat down on the sofa opposite me. “So, are you okay?”

I slowly nodded. “Yeah. On the one hand, I wish I hadn’t been the one to find Cassandra, but on the other, I’m glad Frederic didn’t. It was such a shock to him, anyway. . . .”

“You don’t sound so certain.”

“I am,” I said, trying to force more conviction into my voice. “Her wounds were consistent with those suffered by Francesca, and I know Frederic didn’t kill his mother.”

“You don’t really know. I mean, you feel sorry for him, and you don’t want to think him capable of the crimes,” Todd said. “Just be careful around him. Don’t trust him too much.”

“I won’t.” I bit my lip. “So that’s the talk at the coffeehouse this morning—that Frederic is suspected of killing Cassandra?”

“Not so much that, just that Cassandra had been found murdered.” He spread his hands. “The logical suspect is Frederic.”

“I know . . . I just don’t think it was him.” I looked at Todd. “You’ve met him. What do you think?”

“I don’t think he’s a killer, but then I’m not a psychologist.”

“You tend bar,” I pointed out. “Doesn’t that count?”

He grinned. “I could maybe qualify as an amateur judge of character, but that’s certainly not infallible. I’ve been wrong about plenty of people in the past.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“Speaking of tending bar, I need to get across the street,” he said. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. I might stop by to get some apricot ale to take home after class tonight. That or a bottle of chardonnay.”

“Been that kind of day already?” he asked.

“It’s been that kind of week.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I know. I’ll see you later.”

After Todd left, I decided it was time to do something I didn’t really want to. I called David. He answered on the first ring.

“Hi, there,” I said with a cheerfulness I definitely did not feel. “I wanted to see if you could stop by the shop sometime today.”

“Why?” he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

“Because we ended things on a bad note the other evening, and I don’t want that. We meant too much to each other once to wind up enemies, don’t you agree?”

“I guess.” He was silent for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to come by your house? That way, we wouldn’t be constantly interrupted by your customers.”

“I have a late class tonight.” To myself, I added,
Besides, I’m afraid to be alone with you
. “How about dropping by during lunchtime? The shop is usually slower then.”

“Does that mean you want me to bring lunch?” he asked, as if I were calling him to wheedle a meal out of him rather than merely asking him to stop by and chat.

“No, not unless you’re hungry. I’m fine. I’ll eat an energy bar sometime during the afternoon.”

“Whatever.”

I gritted my teeth and tried not to sound angry. I wanted to talk to David to find out what he knew about the Santiago Corporation and what—if any—shady dealings Francesca Ortega might’ve caught someone involved in. He might not know much, but I didn’t want to talk with Frederic about it if I could get the information from David. “I’ll look forward to seeing you soon, David.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

As soon as I ended the call, I growled. Thanks to David’s snippy attitude, I didn’t know if he’d show up or not.

I was relieved that a customer came in right after our conversation and that she needed help locating several skeins of embroidery floss for a project she was doing.

“This woman takes oil paintings and converts them to cross-stitch works,” the woman said, showing me the photo of the completed design from the pattern book.

“Oh, wow,” I breathed. “This is incredible. May I copy the Web address down from the back of your book? I’d love to carry some of her stuff here in my shop.”

“Of course! I just hope I can get mine to look like hers did when it’s finished.” She made a face to underscore her self-doubt.

“You’ll do fine. And if I can be of any assistance whatsoever, come on back and see me,” I said.

I helped her find all the thread she needed, rang her up, and put my card in her bag.

Those really were lovely patterns, and the finished products looked more like oil paintings than needlecraft. As soon as the customer had left, I went into the office to log on to the Web site. I filled out the contact information, telling the company a bit about the Seven-Year Stitch and asking to become a vendor for the designs.

Afterward, I decided to do some more digging into the Santiago Corporation on my own. I trusted Riley to find out what she could, but two sets of eyes are always better than one. I did a search for the Santiago Corporation corporate information and found various FAQ. One site indicated that the company had both a retail and contract segment. The contract segment sold to government agencies, businesses, and foreign entities. I also found the most recent quarter′s financial statement, but, as Riley had indicated, this wasn’t the official record.

To get a broader picture of the office supply industry’s current economic situation, I researched the Santiago Corporation’s competition. I learned that Santiago was in third place behind OfficePro and Stockers. There used to be an old ad slogan that went “We’re number two. We try harder.” What would number three do to get ahead?

A couple years ago, Stockers had attempted a takeover of the Santiago Corporation. That must have been about the time Caleb Sr. had stepped down and turned the company over to his son. The son had turned down the offer, and the company had shown tremendous growth since then. I read that Santiago had also shown a lot of initiative in economic growth since Caleb Jr. had been in charge, even hiring consultants to make their operations greener.

Could that be it? Could the Santiago Corporation have been padding their Research and Development Department expenditures in order to gain capital, making the company appear to be more solvent than it actually was? I had to wonder what inroads the business had made since hiring their environmental consultants.

Chapter Twenty

David came by the shop at twelve thirty. It wasn’t hard to see that he’d tried to make me believe he wasn’t coming . . . as if I’d be worried about him or hurt because he’d rebuffed my invitation. In fact, the smirk on his face irritated me to the point that I’d have asked him to leave if I didn’t need whatever information he might be able to provide. So, on that thought, I smiled and said I was glad he could make it.

“I stopped for lunch at a restaurant on the other side of town,” he said as he sauntered over to the sit-and-stitch square. “The waitress was cute. She wrote her phone number on a napkin and slipped it to me with my bill.”

“That’s good. You should give her a call.” I shrugged. “That is, if you’re planning to stay in the area.”

David took his coat off and laid it across the arm of the sofa before sitting down. “What? I can’t call her if I’m not sticking around?”

“Well, of course you could.”

“Yeah, I could,” he said. “Serious relationships seem to have left a bad taste in my mouth lately. Maybe I could use a little more casual fun.”

“And maybe we should talk about something a little less volatile,” I said, “especially since we’re trying to get along. Would you like something to drink? I have sodas, water, and fruit juice in my fridge.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“So, tell me what all you’ve been up to—jobwise. What did you do for the Santiago Corporation—human resources?”

“Is that what this is about?” David asked. “You asked me here to find out more about the Santiago Corporation?”

I sighed. “There’s no way we can be friends and get a fresh start if you’re going to take offense to everything I say.”

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his chin. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be suspicious of everything you say. It’s just that you made it clear you weren’t interested in me in the least—that you were downright scared of me—and then out of the blue you call. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to think I cared too much about what we once had for us to harbor so much animosity toward each other.” Okay, so I had an ulterior motive, too. I shook my head. “This was a mistake.”

He sat there for a moment in silence. Then he said quietly, “I wasn’t in human resources. I was an environmental consultant for the Santiago Corporation.”

Bingo. “That’s impressive. I didn’t know you did that kind of work.”

“I have an MBA. I have a number of business specialties I can draw on.”

“Cool. What exactly did you do?” I asked.

“I studied the impact of deforestation, the cost of restocking forests and implementing more environmentally friendly manufacturing procedures . . . things like that.” He shrugged. “I enjoyed it while it lasted.”

“What happened?”

“Budget cuts—at least, that’s what Junior said.”

I pursed my lips. “Were you trying to talk with Caleb Sr. about getting your job back before the funeral on Tuesday?”

David nodded. “I thought if I could make him see the value of my work, he’d hire me back.”

“Did you get anywhere with him?”

“He told me he’d take it up with the board at their next executive meeting,” he said.

“Well, good luck.”

David smiled. “Thanks. It’s a good company to work for . . . I mean, it used to be.”

“At dinner the other night, Caleb Sr. told me that he and his wife are separated,” I said. “Is that true, or was it just a case of an old man trying to be flirtatious?”

“Are you asking because you’re interested?”

I laughed. “Hardly. Only curious.”

“He was telling the truth. She lives in their town house in the city, and he occupies their country home,” said David.

If Caleb Sr. lived in a home he once shared with his wife, then it’s possible she’d left the jewelry there. And Caleb Sr. could’ve given that jewelry to Francesca . . . But how would June Santiago have known it was missing and reported it stolen?

David snapped his fingers. “Earth to Marcy. Come in, Marcy.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Are they amicable—the Santiagos?”

“I don’t know. Why are you so fascinated with the Santiagos?”

“Because of Francesca Ortega, I guess.”

“Darling, you need to move past that,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“I’d love to,” I said. “But Cassandra Wainwright was murdered last night.”

His eyes widened. “Murdered? Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’m the one who found her.”

He got up and moved over to the same sofa I was sitting on. He put his arm around me and pulled me close. “Where was she?”

“In Francesca’s apartment.”

“And you found her?”

I nodded. “Frederic had asked Harriet and me to help him go through some of his mom’s things.”

“He asked you and Harriet but not his fiancée?” David frowned. “That sounds fishy.”

“They’d had a falling-out the night before,” I said.

“Even fishier. Where was he when you found her?” he asked.

“On his way to the apartment. He and Harriet got there just minutes after I did.”

“That seems convenient,” David said. “Are the police investigating Frederic?”

“I’m sure they are. But, at least, I think they’ve eliminated me as a suspect. I have an alibi for the time of death.”

“You were a suspect? Are you kidding me?”

I barked out a short laugh. “I wish. But I did find the body, you know.”

“Again, I think that’s awfully convenient for Frederic Ortega.”

“Did you know him well . . . from when you worked with him at the Santiago Corporation?”

“No, we didn’t work together very much. I don’t know enough about him to determine whether or not I believe him capable of murder.” He gave me a one-armed hug. “But then, do we ever really know what someone else is capable of doing?”

David barely had time to get to his car before Sadie barreled into the Seven-Year Stitch.

“Was that David I saw leaving?” she asked. “What was he doing here? Did you kick him out?”

“Slow down and take a breath,” I instructed with a grin. “He was here because I called and invited him.”