Wicked Stitch (14 page)

The Crow

“The Crow,” I said. “He has to be Marcus West. He wants to come out of hiding.”

“That could be the case.”

“On the other hand, he wants to meet you alone behind the merchants’ building.” I paced in front of the kitchen table. “He might be trying to set you up! Do you think he’s trying to set you up? What if this Crow isn’t Marcus West after all—or even if he is—and he’s out to get you?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll be fine.”

“So you’re meeting him?” I asked. “Does that mean you’re going to meet him? But not without backup, are you? You can’t go in there blind.”

Ted gently took my shoulders. “Babe. I’ll be fine.”

I
arrived at the Faire Tuesday morning trying not to appear nervous. I was also pretending not to look for the Crow. I was probably failing miserably at both, since I was, in fact, nervously looking for the Crow.

Either Ted was still at the police station preparing the undercover team who’d be near him when he met with the Crow, or else they were on their way here.

I walked slowly to the merchants’ building. I wanted to give the Crow every opportunity to come up and talk with me, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I wondered how he knew so much about me. I supposed it could be because Tallulah Falls was such a small town. Still, why had he fixated on me? Why hadn’t he simply approached Ted directly if he had something he wanted to say to the police?

I supposed the Crow saw Ted and other officers of the law as a threat since he claimed he had information about Joe Palmer’s murder. But why
would he think I could help? Had he wanted me to pave the way for him with Ted?

I also wondered if the Crow had been the person who’d destroyed my booth. If so, what had he sought to gain by doing that?

I was full of questions this morning, but I had no answers whatsoever.

I walked into the merchants’ building. Instead of going directly to my booth, I walked over to Clara’s booth and thought back to the evening of her death.

Julie had said that Clara’s funeral was today. I didn’t know what time, and I knew that anything I could’ve done—sent flowers or food—would not have been welcomed or accepted by Nellie, and I didn’t know any of Clara’s other family members.

Granted, I hadn’t known Clara . . . and she had despised me . . . but I had been the one to find her on that hard wooden floor. The image of her lying on her side beneath the overturned rocking chair with the uncompleted green scarf wrapped around her neck came into my mind. I shivered.

Had there been anything I could have done? Ted assured me that she was already dead by the time I arrived . . . but not even the coroner could be
that
precise about time of death, could he? Not if Clara had died between the time Nellie left for food and the time she returned.

I sighed and said a silent prayer for Clara’s family.

Her booth was right beside the back door. I supposed that with it being in the corner as it was,
Clara’s attacker could have come in and left by that door without being noticed by merchants who might’ve been in the building preparing their booths. I wondered if the door was usually kept unlocked.

I went to the door, pushed it open, and stepped outside. While I was out there, I looked for the Crow. It seemed plausible to me that he might be lurking, especially since he wanted Ted to meet him behind this building. I was the only one around. I turned and tried to reopen the door, but it had locked behind me. Perhaps it was to be used to exit the building only in an emergency.

I walked around to the front of the building and went back inside. Had the lock been picked on Thursday when Clara had been murdered? Or had it been picked when my booth had been vandalized? Or both? If the door automatically locked when closed, had Clara’s killer been aware of that fact and used something to prop the door open in order to leave by the same door? Or had he been forced to leave by the front door?

I got back to my booth just as a school group was approaching. The teacher was a chipper woman with a dark blond bun and rose gold-framed glasses. She was wearing a red pantsuit. Her students appeared to be ten or eleven years old.

“Good morning,” I said to them.

“Hello! I’m Mrs. McKinley, and this is my fifth-grade history class. Class, please say hi to the merchant.”

“Hi,” most of them said.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Marcy Singer, and I own the Seven-Year Stitch shop in town. I—”

“My grandma says your store’s name is based on a dirty movie,” said one little boy with unruly brown hair.

My eyes widened. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

“That Marilyn Monroe was one foxy lady,” said a boy with dark hair and eyes as black as midnight. “That’s what my dad says. And he knows about foxy ladies.”

Just when I thought my eyes couldn’t get any wider, the boy winked at me. This time, I thought my eyes would pop out of my head.

“Marilyn was a beauty, even though she was not considered thin by any stretch of the imagination,” said a studious-looking girl with her hair in a ponytail. “In fact, by today’s standards, she would be considered fat by Hollywood and the fashion magazines. We need to take back control of our self-esteem from the media and stop letting it dictate what is and what is not beautiful.”

“Hear, hear,” I said.

She smiled broadly. “My mom is a psychologist, and she’s constantly fussing about stuff like that.”

“Well, good for her. Tell her to keep fighting the good fight.” I gestured to the booth behind me. “Let me tell you how my booth relates to this Ren Faire.” I went into a discussion of blackwork in the Elizabethan era, and I believe Mrs. McKinley
came close to relaxing for just a moment. She certainly had her hands full.

Before they left, I gave each student a flyer with information about blackwork on it.

“Stop by the Seven-Year Stitch and see me anytime!” I called after the students.

The black-haired boy turned, winked, and said, “Count on it.”

“Cliff, come along!” called Mrs. McKinley.

I waved good-bye to the students with one hand and covered my smile with the other. Once they were out of sight, I released my pent-up laughter.

*   *   *

I paced the booth as the time drew near for Ted to meet the Crow. I hadn’t seen Ted yet today. Nor, for that matter, had I seen the Crow. But I had expected Ted to at least come in and let me know he had arrived.

On the one hand, he wouldn’t have wanted me worrying about him and the meeting. So he might’ve thought that if he didn’t come in and let me know it was “fixing to go down,” then I wouldn’t think about it and he might get to meet with the Crow without any interference on my part at all.

Well, far be it from me to interfere in a police investigation!

On the other hand, what if there really was no backup? Or what if Ted had told his men to stay far away from the scene in order not to spook the Crow and to come only if there was an
emergency? But what if the emergency happened so quickly that the men couldn’t get there in time to stop it? Someone had to be looking out for Ted!

I jotted a quick note on the back on one of my flyers.

Gone to lunch. Be back soon!

I folded the flyer in half and set it up on the table. Then I crept over to the back door. I opened the door and peeped out. I didn’t see anyone.

I stepped outside and closed the door as quietly as possible.

I stayed close to the wall and eased around the side of the building. Here I saw the court jester and a knight. Each was leaning against a fence enjoying a chat and a cigarette. The juggler was nearby, practicing with what I hoped were rubber or plastic knives.

Ted approached and rested nonchalantly against the side of the building. He checked his watch and looked around the perimeter.

I quickly ducked out of sight.

The next time I stole a glance at Ted, I saw the Crow approaching.

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t see
anyone
there to back Ted up! Maybe the knight could draw his imitation sword or the juggler could throw one of the plastic Ginsus or something, but where were the policemen? Were they on the other side of the fence?

Ted and the Crow began talking.

Suddenly, the Crow reached into his cloak. Was he going to bring out a gun?

I took off running toward them. I hadn’t taken more than three steps when the juggler, the knight, and the court jester all pulled guns and yelled for the Crow to freeze.

Hmph
. I felt silly.

I stopped and tried to go back to my hiding place, but it was too late.

“Get back here, Marcy,” Ted said.

I sheepishly and very slowly started walking toward Ted.

“Mr. Crow . . . or Mr. West . . . or whatever you’d like to be called, we’re taking you down to the station for questioning,” Ted said, jerking the mask off the Crow and revealing a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and pale skin. “You aren’t being charged with anything at this time, but clandestine meetings between officers and suspects are not how we do things at the Tallulah Falls Police Department. We’re going to take your formal recorded statement. Understood?”

The Crow nodded.

Ted waved the knight over, and he took the Crow by the arm. The knight, the jester, and the juggler started walking away with the Crow. Ted called that he’d be right with them.

He gave me a fierce stare. “What the hell did you think you were doing? You could’ve got yourself shot! Plus, you could be arrested for interfering in a police investigation.”

“I was worried about you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can handle
myself. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be in this job,” he said. “I have to go. We’ll talk about this later.”

And then he turned and strode off.

I sighed.
Great. Now Ted’s angry with me
.

When I went back to my booth, I was surprised to see Veronica there. She wore white linen slacks, a pale blue blouse, and blue and white espadrilles. She carried a large tote that matched her outfit. Upon looking closer, I saw that the tote had a mesh window.

“Ah, there you are!” said Veronica. “I was about to give up and leave.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I said. “Come on around and sit down.”

“All right.”

Veronica and I went into the booth and sat at the table.

“You brought Clover with you?” I asked.

“I did. Would you like to see her?”

“Yes,” I said.

Veronica opened the tote and took out the bunny. She supported Clover’s feet as she handed her to me. I put the rabbit in my lap and petted her gently.

“Will you still let me come visit Clover if your son dumps me?” I asked.

“So that’s the reason for the long face,” said Veronica. “Of course, you may visit Clover, but I doubt you have to worry about Ted letting you go.”

“He was pretty upset with me when he left
here.” I explained to her about the Crow, their secret meeting, and my worry that Ted didn’t have sufficient backup. “Like a fool, I thought I could provide him some help. Just about the time the three undercover officers drew their guns, I went running at the Crow.”

Veronica threw back her head and laughed. “How delightful!”

“Your son was not delighted,” I said.

“I think it’s absolutely magnificent that a wisp of a girl like you with no police training whatsoever would throw caution to the wind and attempt to protect my supercop son,” she said.

“He said I could be arrested for interfering in a police investigation.”

She laughed again. “You must have scared him half out of his mind!”

“That wasn’t my intention at all,” I said. “I just had to make sure he was safe. I . . .”

“You love him.”

“Yes, I do.” I looked down at the top of Clover’s head, not wanting Ted’s mother to see the emotion in my eyes.

“And he loves you,” she said softly. “He’ll get over his angry spell. And if he arrests you for interference, I’ll interfere and bail you out. Just don’t tell him that. I’d hate for him to think the women in his life are plotting against him.”

“I’ll never tell,” I said.

“I had my mind set on disliking you, Marcy. But the more I know you, the more I like you.” She smiled. “I’m glad Ted has you.”

“I’m glad he has you, too.” I handed Clover back to her. “How are things going with Clover?”

“I have to use baby gates to keep her hemmed in most of the time,” said Veronica, taking the rabbit and putting her back into the tote. “Her litter box is on one side of the room, and her food is on the other. She has these little sticks to chew on and a ball she enjoys playing with.”

“So Clover
is
a girl,” I said.

“Yes, the veterinarian determined that for me—although I felt she was female from the beginning. I don’t know why. I suppose there’s just something feminine about her.” She smiled. “She’s a great deal of company. I’m enjoying her very much.”

“You’ll have to bring her to see Angus one day,” I said.

“I will. I thought it was touching how that big creature and this tiny one got along so swimmingly, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “I was afraid Angus would accidentally hurt her the first time I brought her into the Stitch, but he seemed to realize he needed to be careful with her.”

“Just as my son—when he calms down—will realize he needs to be careful with you,” said Veronica. “I doubt he’ll admit it, but when he thinks about it, he’ll be proud of your bravery and honored that you care so much about him that you’d put your life in danger to protect him.”

Blinking back tears, I leaned over and hugged her. I didn’t tell her this, but I hadn’t thought I’d
like her when I first met her, either. She was downright intimidating. But I was so glad we were becoming friends.

I sure hoped she was right about Ted not staying angry with me.

A
fter Veronica left, I called Mom. I could always put her on hold and wait on customers if necessary, but things were rather slow this afternoon.

“Hello, darling,” she said when she answered the phone. “Are you enjoying the Ren Faire? I’m so sorry I can’t come up and spend a couple days with you.”

“I’m not enjoying it as much as you’d think,” I said. “I mean, there have been lots of great aspects to it . . . but some not so great . . . some downright awful.”

“Spill it.”

“Well . . . a lot of things have happened since we talked last.” I cleared my throat. “You remember that on Thursday I was going to sneak a peek at Clara’s booth?”

“Yes. What happened? Was it set up like the Stitch, too?” she asked.

“No, not so much. When I arrived, Clara was lying on the floor beneath an overturned rocking
chair. She’d been strangled to death with the scarf she was knitting.”

“Marcella Singer! Why didn’t you call me before now?”

“I don’t know, Mom. For one thing, I didn’t want to worry you.”

“So who killed her?”

“The police don’t know yet,” I said. “There weren’t that many people here, and no one seems to have seen anything.” I quickly weighed whether to tell her about my booth getting trashed.
Not.
That was definitely not something Mom needed to be concerned about.

“Anyway, Clara’s funeral is today, and I feel so bad about everything,” I continued. “I want to do something to recognize her passing, to commemorate her life—no matter how bitter she was toward me—but I know anything I would do for Nellie or any flowers I would send to the funeral home, Nellie would merely throw away.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that,” Mom said. “To do anything at all, you’ll have to remove Nellie from the equation.” She was silent for a second. “Maybe you could wait until next week and put some fresh flowers on Clara’s grave. Or you could send an anonymous card to other members of Clara’s family to express your condolences.”

“Both of those are good ideas,” I said. “Thanks. I’m not trying to be two-faced about Clara. I don’t
like
her now that she’s gone, and I’m not going to pretend we were ever even civil, much less friends. But she’s dead, and I’m the one who found her. I
can’t help but feel bad about a life lost. No matter how she treated me, she was loved by Nellie and the rest of her family.”

“I hope she was, darling,” said Mom. “But sometimes you just never know. It’s as likely to have been one of them who killed her as anyone. Let’s move on to a happier subject. How are things going with Ted?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Marcella? Has something happened?”

“Well, there was this shady character who called for a private meeting with Ted,” I began.

“You didn’t . . .”

“I did. I was afraid he didn’t have sufficient backup, and . . .” I blew out a breath, and then I related the entire story—almost—about the Crow. I left out how he’d approached me twice and had left the note for Ted at my house. I left in the parts about my choice to run to Ted’s rescue as his team moved in with their guns drawn.

Mom said a few words I rarely hear her say. They were not nice words.

“No wonder he’s upset with you! Not only could you have gotten yourself killed, you made him look like a fool! You acted like you didn’t trust him to take care of himself!”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said.

“I don’t care how you meant it,” she said. “That’s how it was! You need to apologize and assure him you’ll never do anything that stupid again.”

“Mom! You’re supposed to always be on my side!”

“I
am
on your side. But I also realize when
you’ve done something stupid that you need to make amends for.”

“Well, at least Ted’s mom understood my actions,” I said. “She thought it was
magnificent
that I cared about Ted enough to risk my life for him.”

“I don’t care how
magnificent
she thinks it is,” Mom said. “It was foolhardy. Ted knows it, I know it, and deep down you know it.”

“Fine. Okay. Look, I see a customer coming, Mom. I’ll talk with you later,” I said.

“I’m sorry I came down on you so hard. But you’re my only child. I adore you, and I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“I know. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you. Call me later.”

I promised I would and then ended the call so I could go wait on my imaginary customer . . . and feel guilty because the customer
was
imaginary and that I’d simply wanted to get off the phone with my mother, who was not telling me what I wanted to hear.

*   *   *

Over the next couple of hours, I soothed my bruised feelings and admitted to myself that Mom was right. Mom was almost always right. It was a trait that could be downright irritating at times. But she’d been around a lot of different people at different stages in their lives, and she’d learned so much about human behavior.

Anyway, traffic into the merchants’ building had picked up, and I’d been selling rather steadily. Interacting with customers and talking about
embroidery always put me in a happier frame of mind. During the few lulls I had, I’d worked on embellishing a poet’s blouse that a woman had ordered yesterday afternoon. Leaving the one remaining shirt on display and taking orders had been an excellent idea.

I was so busy when Ted came in that I didn’t see him standing by the side of the booth until the three ladies I’d been waiting on left.

As soon as I saw him, I came out from behind the table. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to behave so recklessly. And I wouldn’t embarrass you for anything in the world!”

He took my face in his hands and kissed me passionately. “I’m sorry, too. I understand why you did what you did. But you have to realize that I can’t do my job effectively if I’m having to look over my shoulder to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know that,” I said. “I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake, and it’ll never happen again . . . probably.” Hey, I didn’t want to lie. I couldn’t be a hundred percent
sure
it wouldn’t happen again.

He chuckled. “
Probably
. I guess that’ll have to do for now.”

“Did the other guys give you a hard time about it?” I asked.

“A little . . . but not much.” He lowered his voice and led me back inside the booth where we wouldn’t be overheard. “We were all too busy with Mr. West.”

“So it
was
him. Did he have the evidence he claimed to have?”

“He had some of it,” Ted said. “In fact, he was taking a USB drive from his pocket when everyone sprang into action.”

Including me. Neither of us said it, but it was the truth. I could’ve gotten myself shot over a USB drive.

“So you took this USB drive, questioned the man, and released him?”

“Not quite. Some of our guys are currently assessing the authenticity of the files on the drive,” he said. “They could have been produced in order to give Mr. West an alibi and to give us another viable suspect. For now, our
Crow
is in protective custody.”

“That’s one way of keeping him from flying the coop.” I groaned. “Sorry—that was so bad. I realized it when it was about halfway out of my mouth, but I couldn’t stop it in time.”

Ted grinned. “It’s all right. I’m off to interrogate our suspect now. I just wanted to come by here first to make sure . . . you know, that we’re okay.”

I drew his head down to mine for a kiss. “I think we’re okay. Do you?”

“Oh, yeah. We’re better than okay.” He frowned. “You’ve got the big class tonight, right?”

“The blackwork class, yes,” I said.

“Do you mind if I meet you at your house after class?”

“I’d mind if you didn’t. It’ll be the best part of my day.”

After Ted left, I called Mom and quickly told her everything was fine. She didn’t make me
admit she’d been right all along, and she spared me the
I told you so
.

Once I’d cleared the air with her, I worked on the blackwork trim on the shirt and thought about Mr. West. Why did he call himself the Crow? Was it the costume? Or was it something else?

I wondered if the files on the USB drive implicated Lacey Palmer in the murder of her husband and Mr. West’s business partner, Joe. If so, were the files legitimate or were they inventions of Mr. West to throw blame onto someone else? After all, he and Lacey had been the two prime suspects in Mr. Palmer’s murder.

If Mr. West’s information was legitimate and Lacey Palmer killed her husband, could that make her a suspect in Clara’s murder? After all, Lacey was Clara’s stepdaughter. Paul had suggested that Clara had been doling out Mr. Palmer’s money to her own children but not to his. It was only natural that Lacey would want her children to benefit from her father’s estate instead of Clara’s children. After all, Clara’s children had no biological ties to Lacey’s father. With Clara out of the way and no longer executor of the estate, everything would revert to Mr. Palmer’s biological children.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a man had murdered Clara. For one thing, she was a stout woman. If she’d been fighting for her life, she’d have struggled like crazy. And she’d have screamed . . . wouldn’t she? She would if she could have. Had she not been aware of her attacker until it was too late?

I wondered how Lacey Palmer’s husband had been murdered. I’d have to ask Paul.

I picked up the phone and called Vera.

“Hey, Marcy,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Would you mind asking Paul how Lacey Palmer’s husband was killed?”

“No. I’ll call him right now. Wait, you’re thinking maybe she killed Clara so her kids would have access to her dad’s estate, aren’t you?”

“It’s a possibility,” I said. “I know that both she and Mr. West were suspects in Mr. Palmer’s death . . . and if she did kill her husband, then she might be more willing to kill again.”

“Good thinking,” Vera said. “And that Mr. West hasn’t turned up yet, either.”

I didn’t dare tell her that he had. “If you don’t mind, call me back when you know something.”

“It’s almost time for the blackwork class,” she said. “If you don’t hear from me before then, I’ll come early and let you know what Paul dug up.”

“That’ll be great. Talk to you soon.”

*   *   *

As it turned out, I didn’t hear from Vera before the blackwork class. I’d quickly gone home and fed Angus, but I’d had a couple last-minute customers at the festival, so I hadn’t even had time to change out of my noblewoman’s dress before heading to the Stitch for class.

When I arrived at the shop, Vera was waiting for me in her BMW. She got out and went with me to the door.

“Lacey Palmer’s husband was poisoned,” she told me as I unlocked the door.

“So even if she
did
kill her husband, the same method wasn’t used on Clara.”

We went inside, I turned on the lights, and we sat down on the navy sofa facing the window so we could see when the other students began arriving.

“That still doesn’t mean that she didn’t murder them both,” Vera said. “Maybe she wanted to mix it up—afraid she’d draw too much suspicion if she did away with two of her enemies in the same way.”

“Do you think Mr. West could have had anything against Clara?”

“I don’t know. Had he met her?” Vera started to laugh and abruptly stopped herself. “I’m sorry. That was ugly. I’d forgotten that Clara’s funeral was today.”

“I was thinking about that earlier,” I said. “Did you go?”

She shook her head. “I sent some flowers, but I didn’t go to the service. I hadn’t met Clara but a time or two, and I don’t know any of her family members except Nellie. But back to your original question, I think Paul is digging into the possibility that Lacey had something to do with Clara’s death. I’ll let you know what he uncovers.”

“It’s just weird that two people die within a five-year time frame and that they’re closely connected,” I said.

“And it could merely be a coincidence,” Vera
said. “According to the Internet, we’re all just six people away from getting to know Kevin Bacon . . . or something like that . . . so those two murders might not be connected at all.”

I was able to hide the smile brought about by Vera’s lopsided explanation of six degrees of separation. “Maybe not. But it seems that in Tallulah Falls, everything ends up being connected in some way or another.”

“That’s true enough, I suppose.”

Her phone rang from the recesses of her purse.

“Excuse me,” she said as she rummaged for the phone. “This is Paul. He might have some more information for us.”

I bit my tongue to keep from asking, “Are you sure that’s Paul? It might be Kevin Bacon.”

She located the phone and answered with, “Hey, there, precious!”

That convinced me that she was positive it was Paul.

“What? No!” Her eyes flew to mine. Her expression of fear chilled my blood even though I had no idea what was going on.

“If you do go over there, you be careful,” she said. “You’re there to get a story, not to play the hero. Remember that.”

When she ended the call, she didn’t return the phone to her purse. She sat there fidgeting with it as if it were a giant worry stone.

“Vera, what is it?”

“Paul heard over the scanner that shots have
been fired and that immediate assistance is requested at a residence,” she said quietly. “He knows it’s Marcus West’s residence because he looked it up. He’s going over there to see what’s happening.”