Night of the Living Thread (A Threadville Mystery) (3 page)

“And can you guess who has been instrumental in my success so far and, with luck, will help me get into the senate, and possibly beyond?”

Not me, I feared. “Brianna Shrevedale?”

“Her father. Todd Shrevedale is my biggest financial supporter. He’s done so much for me! We can pay some of that back now by giving his daughter a hand up. She can start her business by selling her threads to you and your customers. You’ll want to buy lots to help her out.”

I repeated, “It’s busy here right now. The Threadville Get Ready for Halloween Craft Fair starts Saturday, and—”

“How perfect is
that
? Brianna can have a table at your fair and sell her threads for people up there to use in their costumes. You’ll like her. She’s a nice kid.”

I could tell that as far as my mother was concerned, the matter was settled, but I went on with my fruitless objections. “And Edna’s wedding is Monday, and—”

“Who’s Edna?”

“A friend. All of us in Threadville are helping with her wedding.”

“Threadville? That’s not really the name of the village where you’ve set up shop, is it?” I heard her mouse click. “Aha. Found it. Your address is Elderberry Bay.”

“Threadville is a nickname because of all the textile arts shops here.” I was sure I’d already mentioned this in e-mails and phone calls.

“How
adorable
. And it’s so perfect! Brianna would probably
love
to help you with the wedding. It will be a good way for you two girls to bond.”

Girls? I was over thirty. However, I didn’t exactly come across as mature when I tried one more time to avoid hosting a guest during this extra-busy week. “The wedding’s being held at the Elderberry Bay Lodge. It’s a wonderful hotel. Brianna could stay there.”

“It’s full. They’re having some sort of weird convention—werewolves or something.”

“A zombie retreat.”

“Whatever. It’s solidly booked.”

That wasn’t surprising. The restored Victorian lodge was beautiful inside and out, but it wasn’t huge, and in addition to the zombie in the park the night before, I’d already encountered lots of zombies wandering the streets and beaches. Some of them had even rented tables at the craft fair. I wasn’t certain that I looked forward to finding out what their crafts might be, but I’d been assured that it was all harmless fun.

Because the lodge was small, many of the Threadville shopkeepers besides Edna had opened their homes to people renting tables at the craft fair, but no one had been keen on staying in a two-bedroom apartment with two largish dogs and a pair of adolescent kittens.

I relented, not that I had a choice. “If Brianna’s not allergic to dogs or cats, I suppose she can stay with me.” I added in somewhat warmer tones, “When’s she coming?” Surely, she wouldn’t stay long and wouldn’t expect me to entertain her. My co-conspirators and I had a lot to do to finish Edna’s wedding gown—the one that Edna didn’t know about.

My mother gave her politician’s tinkle of a laugh. “She’s parked outside your store as we speak.”

T
he guest my mother wanted me to host was outside In Stitches this very minute? Couldn’t my mother have warned me sooner?

She asked, “Your store is called In Stitches, right?”

“Right.” The way I drew the word out, I almost sounded like I was reverting to my Southern accent.

“Go outside, Willow, honey. She could use your help unpacking and moving in.”

Moving in?

Before I could say anything else, my mother, State Congresswoman Wanda Vanderling, MD, disconnected the call.

I threw on a bathrobe, slid my feet into slippers, and took the stairs two at a time. All four of my pets rumbled up the stairs as fast as their legs could take them, and they all, except Bow-Tie, who stopped to bat at something that only he could see, reached the top before I did.

The mischievous kittens would have to mellow a little before I could give them the run of my boutique. Undoubtedly, they would view spools of embroidery thread as rows of kitty toys that should be removed from their racks and chased all over my vintage walnut floor. I managed to let the dogs into the shop and close the door before the kittens could join us.

I shut the dogs into their large pen in the back of the store, then trotted past sewing machines with samples of embroidery displayed in hoops in their embroidery attachments. I rounded my cutting table without bumping into a corner, rushed between bolts of beautiful fabrics, unlocked the front door, and stepped out onto my porch.

Out on Lake Street, a small blonde dragged a heavy sales case out of the trunk of an old, dull red sedan. The October morning sun must have been in the woman’s eyes. She squinted toward me as if at a loss about what to say.

Who could blame her?

My mother, who tried to be kind but often came across as overbearing, may have forced the woman to barge in on me at this peculiar time of the morning. Taking pity on the obviously embarrassed woman and hoping that none of my friends would look out their windows or drive past and see me wandering around in my fuzzy pink robe and slippers, I ran down the porch steps.

Up close, I understood why my mother had referred to Brianna Shrevedale as a “girl.” Brianna must have been barely out of college. She had that pulled-an-all-nighter look, with her makeup flaking, her lipstick mostly chewed-off, and her single braid losing wisps of hair.

I asked her, “Are you Brianna?”

“Yes.”

“Can I help you carry anything?”

She pointed at the sales case at her feet. “Your mother said you’d like to see my thread samples.”

“She was right. Come on in. My guest room is ready for you.” Fortunately, I kept it neat most of the time, unless I was working on a sewing project. At the moment, I was, but not in my apartment. I couldn’t help a fleeting grin at the thought of how Edna would react when she saw the surprise wedding gown we were creating for her.

Brianna hesitated. “Is there a place to park near your apartment?”

I offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid this is as close as you can get. My apartment is beneath In Stitches.”

I followed her glance to the front of my shop. I loved the deep, wide front porch, invitingly sheltered under a roof. These early October days were still warm, and I had not yet put away my rocking chairs, tables, books, magazines, and potted flowers. I’d chosen deep red mums for autumn and had added cornstalks, pumpkins, and strangely shaped gourds to the décor.

Brianna frowned.

I picked up the case. “I’ll show you how to go downstairs from my shop to my apartment, and then you can settle in while I get ready for work.”

Usually, when sales reps first saw the inside of In Stitches, they made appreciative comments. Brianna didn’t say anything until we got to the racks of embroidery threads—almost every color imaginable in silk, rayon, cotton, nylon, and polyester. “You already have thread.” Her voice was so flat that I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or happy. She could have even been angry. Or scared.

I turned to look at her. The top of her head barely came past my elbow. “I should hope so! But I love thread and trying new kinds and colors.” I set her sample case beside my racks of threads and headed for the dogs’ pen. “I hope you don’t mind dogs.”

“Do they bite?”

Who could look at Sally’s and Tally’s sweet faces and possibly think the little charmers would bite? At the moment they were whimpering and clamoring for attention, and their tails were wagging at about a hundred miles an hour. “No. The black-and-white one is Sally-Forth and the brindle-and- white one is Tally-Ho. They’re brother and sister. I adopted them from a rescue organization when they were about a year old. They’re very friendly.” I opened the gate and told the dogs to sit. They did, but their tails swished across the floor, and their mouths hung open in happy grins.

Brianna hunched her shoulders and pulled her fists to her collar. “They have a lot of teeth.”

I showed her how to let the dogs sniff the backs of her hands, but she wouldn’t try.

Sally closed her mouth, leaving the tip of her tongue out, a particularly endearing pose. She tilted her head, obviously bewildered. Usually, people wanted to stroke her glossy fur. I rubbed both dogs behind their ears so they’d know that I still loved them, even if Brianna was less than impressed.

Yowling and scratching erupted from the stairs leading down to my apartment.

Brianna jerked her head around to stare at the apartment’s closed door. “What’s that?”

“My kittens. They’re almost full-grown.”

“How many cats?” She sounded wary.

No wonder. They were making a terrible ruckus. “Only two.”

“Two dogs and two cats for one apartment?”

I wondered what, if anything, Brianna actually liked. Her threads, I hoped. “The apartment has two bedroom and bathroom suites,” I countered. “You get your own. The pets will stay out of it.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I need to shower, dress for work, and have breakfast. How about if I show you the outside way to the apartment? I’ll shut my pets into the master suite with me, and you can carry your stuff inside without tripping over animals.”

She yawned. “Okay.”

Leaving the dogs where they were for the moment, I led her out through the shop’s front door. She yawned again.

I asked, “Where did you stay last night? You got here very early.” It had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe the Elderberry Bay Lodge wasn’t quite overflowing with zombies yet.

She mumbled, “I drove all night.”

“You poor thing!” That could explain her lack of enthusiasm. “Let’s get you settled. Maybe you’d like a nap before you show me your threads.”

“Okay.” Still no sign of interest.

At her car, I couldn’t help staring in concern. She had brought a surprising amount of luggage. Her trunk and her backseat were crammed to the top.

Moving in
, my mother had said . . .

Carrying a garment bag and an overnight case, I led the way down the sidewalk to my gate. Behind me, Brianna rolled a large wheeled suitcase. She grunted when she had to pick it up on the grassy hill outside my bedroom windows. My guest suite, the one that would be hers, looked out on the other side yard, but I didn’t have a gate on that side, and the sliding glass patio door was in the middle of the rear of the building, anyway.

My serene backyard should help my young guest feel refreshed after her all-night drive. Below Blueberry Cottage, my newly seeded lawn and flower gardens sloped down to my back fence and the riverside trail beyond it. Tall cedars on both sides of my yard had bushed out, and almost hid the chain links. Maples above us were turning gold and red. A puffy blanket of early-morning fog on the river gave the entire vista a dramatic and mysterious feel. I took a deep breath of contentment. Autumn even smelled good.

Brianna yawned.

I led her to my patio. The wheels of her suitcase rattled across the flagstones. At the sliding glass door, Mustache and Bow-Tie stood on their hind feet and pawed at the glass. I made certain the garment bag and overnight bag wouldn’t fall over. “I’ll imprison the cats,” I told Brianna, “so we won’t have to worry about them escaping if you want to bring in more.” Between the two of us, we’d hauled enough luggage from her car in one trip for at least a two-week stay.

Brianna didn’t exclaim over my kittens’ cuteness as I scooped up the warm little squirmers. I shut them inside the master suite, returned to the patio, and brought Brianna and her luggage into my great room.

My kitchen and dining area took up the left half of the great room, and a comfy seating area was on the right. Behind us, the patio door was centered in a wall of glass that made the room bright and airy. Again, most people told me the apartment was lovely with its white walls and upholstery and its touches of colorful machine embroidery.

Brianna didn’t say a thing, maybe because of the racket the kittens were making on the other side of my bedroom door.

My suite was ahead and to the right. The laundry room door was straight ahead. The door to the left of the laundry room opened to the hallway leading into the guest suite. Brianna would have her own bedroom, bathroom, and a large walk-in closet, but most of the guest closet was taken up with sewing supplies. I tried not to let my stash grow too much, but although I sewed a lot, I always seemed to purchase ahead of what I could finish that week. Or that month. Or that season . . .

The stairway to In Stitches was to the left of my guest suite, between it and the kitchen area. I thought my apartment was perfect for one person and the occasional guest.

Brianna must have been really tired. She didn’t speak when I ushered her into the guest suite with its white furnishings, including a duvet cover I’d embroidered. Maybe Brianna didn’t care for ruffles, even the restrained, tailored ones I’d added to the bedding and curtains.

As we left her suite, I pointed to the stairway. “When you feel like showing off your thread samples, go up to In Stitches. People come to Threadville every day by bus, car, and on foot. All of the Threadville store owners give workshops. I’ll have one this morning and another after lunch. Besides, other customers come and go all day. I’m sure the women attending my workshops would love to see your samples.”

“Okay.” How could a thread distributor sound so bored about thread? “I’ll go out for another load,” she said in her monotone, “then crash for a while.”

“Want breakfast? I can scramble eggs and make toast and coffee. Or there’s cereal.”

“Maybe when I wake up.”

“I don’t have much food on hand.” I would have, though, if my mother had told me in time that Brianna was coming. “For lunch, I usually grab a peanut butter or grilled cheese sandwich and some carrots and an apple, and there’s plenty of that for you, too. If that’s not enough, go north on Lake Street—that’s down the hill toward the beach—and you’ll find a couple of restaurants. The Threadville tour ladies who don’t bring their lunches usually eat at Pier 42.”

“Okay.” She yawned, turned around, headed into her suite, and closed the door. Maybe she’d be more companionable after her nap.

I collected the dogs from upstairs, showered, and dressed in jeans, an orange T-shirt, and a jean jacket I’d embellished with machine-embroidered pumpkins and fall leaves.

Brianna didn’t come out of her bedroom or join me for breakfast. After a brief outing, the kittens went back into my suite and the dogs and I trotted upstairs to In Stitches.

We’d left one of Brianna’s heavy cases in the shop. I carried it to the storeroom, turned the embroidered
Come Back Later
sign in my glass front door to
Welcome
, filled the dogs’ water dishes, and petted the dogs until the Threadville tour buses arrived and my morning students crowded into In Stitches.

I wasn’t actually teaching classes that day. I was helping with a project that Rosemary, who drove the bus from Erie, had suggested. “Everyone loves Edna,” she had said, “so why don’t we make a wedding quilt for her?”

Naturally, everybody associated with Threadville, except Edna, who didn’t know about it, loved the idea. At In Stitches, we had embroidered blocks for the quilt.

The women in my shop helped themselves to cider and cookies and then commandeered embroidery machines.

I glanced out my big front windows. Other Threadville tourists were inside Buttons and Bows, learning how to decorate everything they made with every possible trim. Little did Edna know that some of the decorations she’d sold to my students had been brought to In Stitches to be added to a quilt for her.

To the left of Edna’s shop was Tell a Yarn, where quilt blocks were being knit and crocheted for Edna.

Many of the fabrics and some of the embellishing techniques and yet more quilt blocks came from Haylee’s fabric shop, The Stash, at the far left end of the row of Threadville shops.

To the right of Edna’s shop was Batty About Quilts, where the blocks would be sewn together, the quilt top would be stitched to the batting and the backing, and the entire quilt would be bound.

Threadville was a wonderful place. Everyone gave everyone else moral support. Besides, if I ran out of anything, one of my friends in the other stores was sure to have what I needed, or know who did.

Edna loved bright colors, sparkle, and glitter, and all the women in my shop were going wild.

Using water-soluble stabilizer and my embroidery software and machines, I had made 3-D lace bride and groom dolls, like wedding cake toppers, to attach to my block. I had even used silver metallic embroidery thread for the bride’s hair.

For the 3-D effect, I had made an almost-circular skirt for the bride, which would fasten in back with loops and tabs that I’d built into the embroidery design. The groom, with his cylindrical pant legs and tuxedo, was a little more complex.

I’d soaked the figures in warm water to dissolve the stabilizer, then, without rinsing all the dissolved stabilizer out because I wanted it to remain as starch in the lace, I’d assembled both the bride and groom, complete with a tab on his hand and a loop on hers so they could hold hands, and had hung them to dry on a doll-sized clothesline I’d set up on the low wall surrounding my front porch. By now they should be dry enough to take apart, iron, and put back together. I crossed my fingers that by letting them dry while assembled, I’d kept the loops and tabs in the right places, and her skirt wouldn’t be hiked up, and his legs would be close to the same length.