Wicked Stitch (11 page)

W
hen I went into the shop, Julie was dusting the shelves, and Amber was sitting on the sofa facing the window playing a game on her phone.

Amber jumped up when she saw me come in. “Marcy! Hi! Cool outfit! You look great!”

I smiled. I’d forgotten how exciting everything was when you were a teenager.

“Thank you, Amber. To tell you the truth, though, I envy you your jeans and T-shirt right now.” I put my thumb through the armhole of the vest and held it out slightly. “This thing got so hot today!”

“I can imagine,” said Julie. “Did you do well?”

“I did. Business was fairly steady all day.” I then entertained them both with the story of Sir Reginald and how my “honor” bit the dust when the knight came out from under his horse. “Ted said he hoped my
favor
and any others Sir Reginald had managed to obtain had been used to pad his breeches!”

We all had a good laugh about that, Amber especially.

When Amber stopped laughing, she asked, “Where’s Angus?”

“He spent much of the afternoon at the festival with Ted and me, and then Ted took him on home,” I said. “The poor baby is exhausted.”

“Angus or Ted?” Julie asked.

I laughed. “I was talking about Angus, but I’d say they both are. The reason I stopped by is to ask if you’d be interested in working for Riley Kendall.”

Julie’s eyes widened. “I’d love it. What would I be doing?”

“Riley—she’s the pretty lawyer that comes to some of the classes, right?” Amber asked, flipping her long, honey-colored hair back.

“Yes,” I answered.

Julie gave her daughter a sharp look to warn her not to interrupt.

“Camille, Riley’s mom, is her administrative assistant,” I explained. “They’ve been keeping the baby at the office, but as Laura grows, it’s getting harder and harder for the women to get any work done. Camille is going to leave—or at least only work part-time—so she can keep Laura at home.”

“So she’s looking for a secretary?” Julie asked.

“From what I gather, Camille is like a receptionist, secretary, and paralegal all rolled into one,” I said.

“Goodness . . . do you think I could do that?” Julie raised her hand to her mouth.

“Don’t you dare bite your nails, Mom,” said Amber. “And why couldn’t you do it? You did practically everything at that stupid bank, and they didn’t even appreciate you for it.”

I smiled as Julie lowered her hand. It was cute to see the mom and the daughter switch places. “I’m with Amber. I know you can do it. Why don’t you give Riley a call at her office first thing Monday morning?” I wrote Riley’s office number on a small slip of paper and handed it to Julie.

“Okay,” she said with a smile.

“Yay! We have something to celebrate this evening!” cried Amber.

“Don’t be too hasty. I don’t have the job yet,” said Julie.

“But you have an interview. That’s good enough for me. Can we get pizza on the way home?”

“We can get pizza.” Julie shook her head at me. “Like, I
need
pizza.”

“Of course you do. We all need pizza every now and then. And you’re celebrating.” I winked at Amber. “If the two of you see a disheveled knight walking along the road with dirty pants . . . speed up!”

They both laughed.

“Yeah,” said Amber. “I wouldn’t want him charging us a dollar for the privilege of giving him a ride.”

“Before I go, did anything odd happen today?” I asked Julie, slightly inclining my head in the direction of Clara’s shop.

“Fewer gawkers than yesterday, so that was good. I hope all that will end soon,” said Julie. “One of the customers mentioned that Clara’s funeral service is being held Tuesday morning.”

“I wonder if Nellie plans on taking over her booth after her sister’s funeral,” I said. “For the past two days, festival volunteers have been overseeing it.”

“Well, I don’t mean to be hateful, but I imagine the longer Nellie stays away, the better for you,” Julie said. “She’s unjustly mistreated you ever since you’ve been here, and I’m afraid she’d be horrible to you if she had to occupy a space next to you all day.”

“Actually, I don’t see the person in her booth throughout the day other than to say hello and good-bye,” I said. “I did talk with somebody calling herself Sister Mary Alice yesterday when I shopped in Nellie’s booth.”

“You actually
shopped
at her booth?” Amber asked. “You bought stuff from somebody who treats you like dirt? Girl, you need a backbone implant as much as Mom does!”

“Amber!” Julie’s eyes and mouth both opened wide.

I laughed. “That’s all right, Julie. She’s right. I’ve tried my best to make Nellie like me these past few months because I absolutely
hate
it when someone doesn’t. But the reason I bought some things from her booth was because, one, she had some really great stuff, and, two, I felt bad because
Clara had died, and I wanted to help somehow. I know I can’t take food or send flowers, so I bought a few things.”

“That wasn’t a lack of backbone,” Julie said, with a firm look at her daughter. “That was compassion and caring.”

“And class,” said Amber.

“Thanks, guys,” I said. “I have to run, though. Ted and I are having dinner with Reggie and Manu this evening, and I need to go home and get changed.”

“Have fun,” said Julie. “And thank you so much for letting me know about Riley.”

“She’s looking forward to talking with you,” I said.

When I got out to the Jeep, I called Riley and left her a voice mail telling her that Julie was interested in the job and that I’d told her to call the office first thing Monday morning.

*   *   *

The Singh home had been decorated with an eclectic blend of Indian and coastal decor. It sounds strange, but it was beautiful. The living room walls were painted a soft cream, and the floor was a dark hardwood. Covering most of the floor was an Indian rug containing shades of brown, blue, beige, and copper. A light blue sofa matched the color in the rug and was flanked by rattan rockers with blue-and-copper-striped cushions. An elaborate painting replicating the ceiling of the Taj Mahal hung on the wall directly across from the door.

Since we hadn’t had time to stop anywhere to
get a hostess gift, I’d brought Reggie one of the bottles of essential oils I’d bought from Nellie’s booth at the festival. I’d taken the small apothecary bottle of sandalwood oil, wrapped it in white tissue paper, and tied it with a green ribbon. I gave the bottle to Reggie as we walked in.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she said. “Manu just put steaks on the grill. They’re thick, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

Manu joined us in the living room. “Hey, folks! Marcy, you look lovely. I half expected you to be wearing a Renaissance Faire costume.”

“No,” I said with a laugh. “I was happy to change out of that thing.”

Reggie opened the gift and uncorked the apothecary bottle. “Oh, this smells amazing.” She held it out to Manu.

He sniffed, cautiously at first, and then more willingly. “That does smell good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” said his wife. “Do you think Marcy has bad taste?”

“Well, she
is
involved with Ted,” he said.

“Ow!” Ted put his hand over his heart as if he’d been shot. “That was brutal.”

“You know he’s only joking,” Reggie said. “He’s in a mood this evening.” She eyed her husband. “You haven’t been in the wine already, have you?”

“No, I have not. You women are always suspicious,” he said. “Speaking of wine, may I get you two something to drink? Wine, tea, water, soda?”

“I’d love some water,” I said.

“I don’t need anything right now,” Ted said.

Reggie said she’d get the water, and Manu invited Ted out onto the patio to help with the steaks.

I went on into the living room and sat on one of the rattan rockers. When Reggie brought in our glasses of water, she handed me mine and sat on the sofa, curling her legs up under her.

“I suppose you already know that
helping with the steaks
was code for
talk about the murder of Nellie Davis’s sister
,” she said.

“I figured. Any leads?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses back up on her nose. “Manu has interviewed so many people. He’s really missing having Ted on this case.”

“Ted’s missing being on the case,” I said. “I think it’s crazy that Nellie had him kicked off for merely talking with Clara.”

“So do I. But apparently everyone who’s ever talked with Clara is a suspect in her murder . . . at least, it seems that way. Manu is getting home late every night exhausted from talking with Clara’s siblings, children, stepchildren, neighbors. . . .” She sighed. “Thursday night it was the people from the festival. Yesterday he spent the day talking with festival folks and the evening talking with others who knew Clara.”

“What’s Nellie saying?” I asked. “I know you don’t know much of the inside information, but one of the merchants told me she saw Nellie and Clara arguing before Nellie left for food.”

“Nellie denied arguing with her sister that day,” said Reggie. “I only know that because Manu was aggravated about it. He said that more than one person had reported the two of them arguing but that Nellie denied it. If she won’t be honest with him about that—even if she’d said, ‘We weren’t arguing; that’s just how we talked with each other’—then he can’t trust anything she says.”

“Does Manu feel that Nellie is a suspect, then?” I asked.

“As both our men are fond of saying . . .”

“Everyone’s a suspect.”
We said it in unison and then laughed.

“I don’t think he really believes Nellie killed Clara, though,” Reggie said. “I’m sorry you’re the one who found Clara, by the way. Are you doing all right?”

“I keep wondering if there was something more I could have done, but everyone assures me there wasn’t. Apparently, she was dead when I got there,” I said. “And there are so many people in costume at the festival. Even on Thursday, people were in costume, and the Faire didn’t even officially start until Friday. It would have been so easy for someone to slip in, kill Clara, and then discard their costume and escape.”

“Manu hasn’t said anything about finding any discarded costumes . . . but, of course, the killer could have ditched the costume off-site.”

“That would’ve been the smarter thing to do.”
I instantly thought of the Crow. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. How are things going at the library?”

“Traffic has been a bit slow since the Ren Faire started,” she said. “Before that, patrons were checking out books on the Renaissance, the history of the English monarchy, pirates, and popular Renaissance festivals like crazy.”

“I know what you mean. I can hardly keep black floss in stock due to the popularity of blackwork during the period.”

“Maybe you and the Ren Faire will bring about a revival of blackwork in Tallulah Falls.” She smiled. “I prefer my
chikankari
, but blackwork is beautiful, too.”

Manu called that the steaks were ready, and Reggie and I went into the dining room.

*   *   *

On the way home, I leaned back in my seat and took Ted’s hand. “That was fun.”

“It was,” he said. “I enjoyed it.”

“Are you gonna tell me what you and Manu talked about out on the patio?”

He chuckled. “You gonna tell me what you and Reggie talked about in the living room?”

“I’ll bet they’re the same,” I said. “Clara’s murder.”

“Ding, ding, ding! Give the lady a prize.”

“I love prizes. What did I win?”

“How about an all-expense-paid trip to Merry Olde Tallulah Falls?” he asked.

I groaned. “Again?”

“So you’re not enjoying the Ren Faire?”

“I am. . . . I would have enjoyed it more had Clara not been killed and if I wasn’t looking for murder suspects around every corner.” I sighed. “Reggie talked as if Manu doesn’t have any really solid leads.”

“He doesn’t,” Ted said. “He confirmed what Paul told us about Clara being lenient with her dead husband’s funds with her own children but stingy with his. That certainly didn’t endear her to her stepchildren.”

“Now that Clara’s dead, do the stepchildren inherit everything?” I asked.

“More than likely.”

“And Manu’s leaning toward one of them as the murderer?”

Ted inclined his head. “You know I can’t go into specifics, but the stepchildren have alibis, and Clara had more enemies than you can imagine.”

“Oh, I can imagine it, all right,” I said. “I’d never met a more abrasive person in my life . . . with the possible exception of Nellie. I wish Manu could put you back on the case.”

“So do I, Inch-High. But,
unofficially
, I’m doing what I can.”

“Well, unofficially, so am I.”

O
n Sunday morning, I wore my blue jacquard skirt, off-white peasant blouse, and black corset vest. The worst thing about these costumes was that I had to wear flats. I couldn’t even wear wedge espadrilles with a slight platform. I had to try to look authentic.

As I walked from the parking lot to the merchants’ building, a woman fell into step beside me. I glanced over and saw that it was the witch that reminded me of Kathy Bates, the numerologist.

“Good morning,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, sweetie. How are you?”

“I’m doing well. Are you having fun at the festival?”

“Ah, it’s a job, I suppose.” She gave a rueful little smile. “I hope we didn’t scare you overmuch when we told your fortune the other day.”

“I’ll admit it
did
make me nervous,” I said. “So it was all make-believe?”

“Now, I didn’t say that,” she said, her smile
quickly fading. “We discussed . . . your situation . . . after you left.”

I stopped walking, and so did she. We stepped over out of the way of the rest of the pedestrian traffic.

“What do you mean, you discussed my situation?” I asked.

“You’re involving yourself in something that doesn’t concern you,” said faux Kathy. “You’re asking questions, trying to help the police do their job, hoping someone saw the killer. We feel that if you don’t back off, you’re going to anger the murderer . . . and that he might retaliate against you.”

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “I’m just telling you what we saw . . . what we felt. We didn’t intend to scare you, but I do believe that you should be warned. Leave the sleuthing to the detectives. Try to stay off this person’s radar.”

“Do you
know
something?” I asked.

“I don’t
know
anything, sweetie. It’s what I
feel
.” She patted my shoulder. “Stay safe. I must get to the tent before the rest of the crew thinks I’ve gotten lost.” She started walking away but turned back toward me. “Seriously . . . stay safe.”

I let out a deep breath and got back onto the path to the gate. Now I didn’t even have to pay to be frightened by Hecate and the three witches. Could there be something to what faux Kathy had said? Of course, I suppose it could just be common sense. Anyone who finds a dead body might want to lie low so the killer wouldn’t think she saw
something . . . but this felt like more than that. Whenever I came into contact with the fortune-tellers, they were warning me to be careful. They were starting to make me paranoid.

I strode into the merchants’ building and over to my booth. I stopped. A wail rose in my throat, but I didn’t make a sound. I covered my mouth with both hands. I felt rooted to the floor and couldn’t move.

This can’t be real. This can’t be real.

“Good—” Sister Mary Alice’s greeting died when she noticed the expression on my face. “Child, what’s the matter?” She turned to look at my booth and gasped.

It had been trashed. The poet’s shirts that I’d painstakingly embellished with blackwork had been cut into strips and crumpled onto the floor. Likewise, the collars and ruffs had been ruined. The bins of thread had been tossed, the shelves thrown on the floor, and the clothing rack overturned near the pile of demolished shirts.

Sister Mary Alice put her arm around me. “Oh, dear . . . I’m so terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“Is mine the only one?” My voice came out broken and higher-pitched than usual.

“I don’t know. I’ll go see.” Sister Mary Alice took off. She seemed to be happy to make her escape from the awkward situation.

I turned and surveyed the expansive room. No one else was looking at his or her booth in horror. I must be the only one.

I went into the booth, pulled out a folding chair, and called Ted.

“Hey, babe! What’s up?”

“Somebody destroyed my booth,” I said.

“Sit tight and don’t touch anything,” he said. “I’ll grab a crime scene tech and be right there.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Physically, yes.”

“I’m on my way,” he said.

Within minutes, Ted, Manu, two crime scene technicians, and a uniformed officer were standing in front of my booth.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ted asked.

“Yeah. While the crime scene guys do their thing, I’m going over to the shop and get a few things to replenish what I lost here,” I said.

“We’ll take photos,” Manu said. “You can turn all this in on your insurance.”

“Thanks,” I told him.

“Do you need me to drive you?” Ted asked.

“No,” I said. “I’d rather you stay here and find out who did this to me.”

*   *   *

I didn’t cry when I’d first discovered my destroyed booth. Nor did I cry as I drove the Jeep to the Seven-Year Stitch. Maybe I was in shock.

I parked in the alley and went in through the back door. I didn’t want anyone to see my vehicle here and think the shop was open for business. Of course, it wasn’t likely I’d be selling anything at the Ren Faire today.

I went to the counter and got a large Seven-Year Stitch bag.

“Hi, Jill. Yes, I know it’s unusual for me to be here on a Sunday, but I had to come by and get some things to restock my booth.” Sometimes the mannequin and I had imaginary conversations. It was probably therapeutic . . . or something.

Business is going that well? Woot!

“No, I’m afraid business is
not
going that well. Someone wrecked my booth, Jill! And I don’t mean they just knocked my shelves down and turned my table over. They
shredded
those shirts I’d embellished with blackwork—cut them to bits! They destroyed the cuffs and collars, too!”

I sank onto the stool in front of the cash register and dropped my head into my hands. “I worked so hard! How could anyone be so cruel?”

At the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder, I screamed and hopped off the stool. Personifying one’s mannequin did have its drawbacks.

“I’m sorry!” cried Sadie. “It’s only me!”

There were tears coursing down her cheeks, and that made my own tears flow even faster. We hugged and sobbed until we were all cried out.

I got some tissues, and we both wiped our eyes.

“I’ll have to redo my makeup before I go back to the festival,” I said.

“I’ll have to touch mine up, too,” said Sadie. “I’d hate to go back to MacKenzies’ Mochas looking like a punk rocker.”

“How did you know I was here? Did you see me drive up?”

She shook her head. “Blake called me. He heard about your booth getting ruined, left the manager who’s there with him today in charge, and went to see about you. Ted told him you’d come here to get some things to restock your booth.”

“I held it together until I got here and started thinking about all the hours I spent in the sit-and-stitch square making those shirts, collars, and cuffs. Those are things that can’t be replaced . . . possible income from the festival that I’ve just lost.”

“Your ability to hold it together explains Ted letting you drive here on your own.” She gave me a rueful smile. “I remember back in college you could always keep your emotions in check until you were alone. I admired your strength.”

“Ha! I admired
your
strength. It seemed like nothing ever got to you, and everything upset me. I might not have let it show all the time, but it did.”

“Do Ted and Manu have any idea who did this?” Sadie asked.

“I don’t know. My first thought, naturally, was Nellie. But could she really be that mean and vindictive?”

“I hope not.” Sadie looked around the shop. “So, what do we need to put in that bag you’ve been holding on to since before I got here?”

*   *   *

Once Sadie and I gathered floss, pattern kits, canvas, hoops, frames, and pattern books into two bags, I returned to the Ren Faire and she returned to the coffeehouse. At one point, I’d almost thrown
up my hands and said, “What’s the use?” But Sadie reminded me that I was not going to be defeated by the slug who thought he or she could run me off from the Faire.

As I carried my bags up the hill, Ted rushed to meet me. He must’ve been keeping watch on the hilltop.

“How are you?” he asked, taking the bags from my hands. “I should’ve gone with you to the shop. I’m sorry I was so insensitive, but I was just so focused on finding out who did this.”

I was glad I’d repaired my makeup and didn’t look too much the worse for wear. “I’m fine. My guess is that you’ve been talking with Blake.”

He nodded. “You seemed fine. I should’ve realized you were just holding it together until you got by yourself.”

“Well, he sent Sadie to check on me, and we had a good cry,” I said. “Yes, I’m terribly hurt about all the things I’d made to sell. Those can’t be replaced. But I’ll survive.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop. You’ll make me feel sorry for myself again, and I’m not going to do that.” I smiled. “I won’t be driven away from this festival. I’ll still promote the Stitch, my classes, and my services, and this will all work out fine.”

“I love you,” he said.

“The ultimate balm to my soul,” I said.

“Well, there might be other balms waiting for you at your booth.”

I didn’t understand what he meant until I
arrived. Blake, Todd, Sister Mary Alice, and other merchants I hadn’t even met were there. They’d thrown away everything that had been destroyed and tidied up the rest. The booth looked pretty bare, but it was neat. Somehow, the periwinkle tablecloth had managed to survive the destroyer’s rage, and it was draping the table. I saw that some of the other merchants had even brought presents and lined them up neatly on the table.

Tears pricked my eyes. “Oh, my goodness! Thank you! I don’t know what to say.”

“You just did, dear,” said Sister Mary Alice. “We were happy to help. This could’ve happened to any of our booths.”

I gestured to the boxes and bags adorning the table. “What’s all this?”

“Just something to let you know we care,” said a soft-spoken woman with chestnut-colored hair and kind eyes. “I’m Cathy from the Noble Pig Vineyard and Winery in McMinnville. I brought you some streusel-topped pumpkin chocolate chip muffins and a bottle of our Pinot Gris.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Cathy and her husband, Henry, and I go way back,” said Todd. “I carry Noble Pig wines at the Brew Crew.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” I told Cathy. “And I certainly appreciate your generosity.”

“You’re welcome,” said Cathy. “I wish there was more I could do.”

“Again, thank you, everybody,” I said. “You’ve been great.”

I felt rather embarrassed by the gifts. But I really did value the other merchants’ kindness.

The small crowd quickly disbursed, leaving me alone with Ted, Todd, and Blake—my three musketeers.

“Thanks, guys, for cleaning up the booth,” I told them. “It would have broken my heart to have had to scoop up those scraps of shirts and cuffs and throw them away.”

“We had plenty of help,” said Todd.

“We couldn’t salvage much,” said Blake, “but there was one shirt the scumbag missed.”

My eyes widened, and I gasped. “Really?”

“Really,” he said. “I folded it as best as I could and put it on the table. It needs to be washed, but it’s fine.”

“That’s wonderful!” I cried. I went over to the table, found the shirt, and hugged it to my chest.

“We’re sorry there wasn’t more to save,” Ted said.

“I just want you to catch whoever did this,” I said.

“Before we cleaned up, we took several pictures for your insurance reports,” he said. “I know it won’t compensate you for all the hard work you’ve put in, but at least it’s something.”

“I need to get back to my tent,” Blake said. “My manager probably thinks I’ve deserted him.”

“Me, too,” said Todd.

“I really do appreciate you guys,” I said.

“We know.” Todd winked.

“Were any of the hangers usable?” I asked Ted as Blake and Todd walked away.

“A few were,” he said.

“Good. I’m going to hang this one shirt up for display, and if anyone wants a blackwork-embellished shirt, they can order it.” I lifted my chin and smiled. “I will not be defeated.”

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Manu has instructed the force that one additional on-duty officer will be assigned to this building at all times during the remainder of the Faire. I mean, we’ve had people here all along and so has the festival, but this incident on top of Clara’s murder emphasizes the importance for more security.”

I knew what Ted wasn’t saying. They were afraid that whoever had killed Clara hadn’t moved on from the Faire. They were worried that her murder wasn’t an isolated incident.

“I’ll say. What do you and Manu think? Was I targeted because I’m the one who found Clara’s body?” I asked. “Or do you think it’s something else?” I hesitated. “Do you think it was Nellie?”

“Frankly, no,” Ted said. “She may have the spitefulness to do this, but I think she lacks the courage. She’d be too afraid of getting caught.”

“That’s true. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Still, Manu has gone to her house to talk with her about it. We’re not ruling anyone out.” He gazed warily around the merchants’ building. “Somebody had to have seen something.”

“And, yet, like with Clara’s murder, nobody’s talking?” I asked.

“Nobody’s talking.”