The Stitching Hour (17 page)

“I appreciate the offer, Vera,” I said. “But Mom's health is more important than the open house.”

“I will
not
ruin this open house for you,” Mom said. “If you're going to cancel everything—work, your classes, and even your open house—for me, then I'll get on the next flight back home.”

“Oh, no, you will not! I—”

“Ladies, please!” Ted finally stepped in to bring order to the situation. That sort of thing happens when you're dating a cop. “Marcy, accept Vera's generous offer. You'll have your phone with you and can check on Beverly throughout the day. And, if Beverly feels up to it, she can join you at the shop. You'll know your mom is being looked after, and she'll know that you're going about your business as usual.”

“Okay,” I said. “You're right.”

“Thank you, Ted,” said Mom.

“Yeah . . . thanks. And, thank you, Vera.”

“Anytime.” She beamed at Mom. “We'll have a delightful time tomorrow. I'm looking forward to having you all to myself. We'll watch some television, and you can give me insight into the costuming world.”

“That'll be fun,” Mom said, stifling a yawn.

“You guys should get in the bed,” Ted said. “You, too, Vera and Paul. We all have to be up early tomorrow morning.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” I said.

He dropped a kiss on my lips before taking my hand and leading me out of the living room. “Don't stay up all night worrying. She'll be fine.”

“I'm going to insist that she sleep with me.”

“All right. Call me if you need to.” He grinned down at my disheveled appearance. “This isn't what you're wearing to the open house, is it?”

“Of course!” I smiled. “Wanna bet that Priscilla Atwood would wear something even more outrageous?”

T
he next morning, I left Mom sleeping upstairs. I had been able to talk her into sleeping in the bed with me. She'd balked at the idea, but she finally decided she didn't want me sitting in my office chair all night watching her sleep in the guest bed. I don't think either of us slept that well. I kept jerking myself awake and checking to make sure Mom was still breathing. That would usually wake
her
up and she'd reassure me before turning over and going back to sleep.

I was in the kitchen making coffee, and Angus was outside for his morning romp, when Sadie came to the door.

“I just heard,” she said, giving me a one-armed hug because she was holding a basket of goodies in the other hand. “Paul Samms came in to get some coffee and he told Blake and me all about what happened to your mom.”

“Come on into the kitchen,” I said.

“You look exhausted.”

“I am. We didn't get home until after midnight, but I tried not to sleep because I was afraid . . .” My eyes swam with tears.

“Oh, Marce.” Sadie put the basket on the counter and gave me a proper hug. “Paul said everything was going to be fine.”

“I suppose it is. But it was so scary.”

“I brought her some oatmeal walnut and blueberry muffins—both kinds are really good for your heart.”

“Thanks.” I nodded toward the coffeepot. “I just made this. Would you like some?”

“Please.”

I got us both large mugs of coffee and set the cream and sugar on the table. “I've got a feeling I'm going to need an IV of this stuff to get me through the day. Plus, I've got the combined class tonight that Mom refuses to let me cancel.”

“She doesn't want you fussing over her.” Before I could protest, Sadie held up her hand. “Admit it, you're the same way.”

“I know. But she's my
mom
. She's the only family I have. Last night, I thought I was going to lose her.”

“But you didn't, Marce. And she's okay. I know it's hard, but you can't treat her like a child.”

I gave Sadie a half smile. “It's funny how your roles reverse as you get older, isn't it? You start to feel like the parent.”

“We wouldn't have to if parents would stop acting like kids.”

“While it's just you and me talking, how well do you know Jared Willoughby?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Not very. He came to the coffee shop to see Keira on occasion or to pick her up from work, but we didn't really engage each other in conversation. Why?”

I told her about his visit to the Seven-Year Stitch yesterday morning. “I used to think he was a super-nice guy—and felt bad that he got involved with Keira—but I realize now that I don't really know him at all. You don't think he could've killed Keira . . . do you?”

“I doubt it. Like you said, he seems like a good kid.” She sighed. “But I suppose you never know.”

“Do you think he was working with Mr. Sherman?” I explained how Jared had told me he'd gone to the interment, and Mom and I thought maybe he'd gone to impress Keira's father.

“Again, I don't know. When Mr. Sherman was courting Blake, Blake didn't fill me in on any of the particulars.” She slowly shook her head. “I think Ken had Blake convinced that this was a really good deal and that Blake and I could make money for practically nothing. Blake knows better than that—never trust a deal that's too good to be true. Or, at least, investigate it a little further.”

“Mr. Sherman might be one of those people who could sell ice to Eskimos.
You
don't fall for anything, but then, you're in the minority. You're tougher than most people.”

She smiled. “So you're saying I'm just smarter than my husband?”

“I did
not
say that, and don't you dare tell Blake I did! I'm just saying you're not as . . .” I struggled for the right word.

“As gullible.”

I covered my face with my hands. “I just keep making this worse. I'm going to shut my mouth now.”

Sadie laughed. “Oh, come on. It's just us girls. Blake
is
more naive than I am. He's sweet and lovable and always sees the best in people. That's one of the things I adore about him. But he can fall for a sales pitch in a hurry. He keeps me on my toes.”

“He just wants the best for you,” I said. “And he thought Ken Sherman could put him a step closer to being there.”

“Yeah.” She sipped her coffee. “But I got a bad vibe from that man from the moment we met. There's something dangerous about him.”

•   •   •

Todd sauntered into the shop minutes after Angus and I arrived and asked, “How's our girl?”

“I'm fine. Thanks. A little sleepy, but I'll be okay.”

He shook his head. “I'm not talking about you, silly. I mean your mom.”

“Oh. Of course. She's fine too. The doctor wants her to check with a heart specialist when she gets back home, but she didn't seem to think Mom has a heart condition. She definitely didn't have a heart attack.”

“That's good.” He sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. “Come sit down.”

I joined him, and Angus sat on the floor at Todd's other side.

“You are wiped out, aren't you? Why didn't you stay home today?”

“Mom wouldn't let me.” I yawned. “Excuse me.”

“Hey, I understand. Are you all right . . . really? I know that must've been quite a scare.”

I nodded. “I'm just glad she's okay. Let me guess—Blake?”

“Yeah. He heard the news from Paul Samms, of all people. Then again, Paul seems to know everything.”

“If he doesn't know, he can sure find out,” I said. “Hey, do you know whether or not Jared Willoughby and Ken Sherman had any kind of business arrangement?”

“I have no idea, but the more I'm finding out about Ken Sherman, the more I'm thinking it's best to steer clear of him.” He patted Angus's head. “You especially need to be careful.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I saw him leaving the alley behind your shop on my way home last night . . . or, rather, this morning—it was around two a.m.”

“Why in the world would Ken Sherman be here at two o'clock in the morning? All the businesses were closed.” I stood. “I'm going out there to see if there's any clue about what he was doing.”

Todd stood too. “No, you're not! If I let anything happen to you, Wyatt Earp will have my hide.”

“You're not letting anything happen to me. I seriously doubt the man is there now. You said you saw him leaving.”

“Well, he wasn't skulking around in a black suit and twirling his mustache, so I can't say for sure that he was up to anything disreputable.”

“Mr. Sherman's mustache is trimmed too close to twirl.” I headed for the back door.

I heard Todd's growl come from behind me. “Let me go first.”

I didn't obey. If anything happened to Todd, I didn't want it on my conscience. Besides, if I was responsible for getting Todd hurt, Audrey Dayton would have
my
hide.

I stepped out into the alley. As I'd suspected, Ken Sherman was not there. Nor were there any obvious signs of . . . nefariousness? Was that a word?

“Where exactly was he?” I asked Todd.

“He was pulling out of the alley in his car. You aren't going to find anything—damning or otherwise.”

I spotted a dime on the pavement and picked it up. “I beg to differ.” I handed the coin to Todd. “There. Don't say I never gave you anything.”

“Wow. I'll try not to spend it all at once.”

I walked slowly around the parking area, keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me.

The back door opened, and I whirled around to see Ted coming through it.

“What's going on?” he asked. “I came to check on you, found the place empty, and Angus crying at the back door. You nearly gave me a—” He caught himself before finishing the sentence.

“Todd saw Ken Sherman leaving here at two this morning,” I said. “I came out to see if I could find any evidence as to what he was doing lurking around in the alley.”

“So far, she's found a dime,” said Todd. “Would you be jealous if I told you she gave it to me?”

“I'm devastated,” Ted said.

Unlike Todd, he began helping me look. I was glad. He was a seasoned clue finder. If Ken Sherman had left anything behind, we'd certainly find it now.

I spotted a white rectangle of paper lying about a foot away from the Dumpster. I walked over and picked it up. It was a business card from Sal's Exotic Pets in Pacific City.

“What've you found, Inch-High?” Ted asked.

“I'm not sure.” I took him the card.

Todd stepped up to look over Ted's shoulder. “It's from a pet shop. Maybe you stopped there once to get something for Angus.”

“Why would Marcy stop at an
exotic
-pet shop to get something for her dog, you twit?”

“Well, excuse me,” Todd said, holding up his hands. “But Angus looks pretty exotic to me.”

Ted shook his head and took out a small evidence bag. “I don't know if this is worth anything, but I'll follow up and see if these people know Ken Sherman. Good work, Inch-High.”

“Hey, what about me?” Todd asked.

Ted arched a brow.

“He
did
tell me about Mr. Sherman being in the alley,” I said.

“Fine. Way to go, Inspector Clouseau. Happy?”

Todd smiled. “Yes. Thank you. I'll get back to the Brew Crew now.”

“You do that,” said Ted, placing a hand at the small of my back. “Think there's anything else to find out here?”

“No . . . and I need to get back into the shop myself. Jill isn't so hot with the customers.”

“Really? I see Calloway talking to her all the time.”

“Hardy har har,” Todd said. “See you guys later. Marcy, let me know if you and your mom need anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Todd.”

“You're really kinda mean to him sometimes, you know,” I told Ted after Todd had left.

“He wouldn't have it any other way.”

I smiled. “You're probably right.”

“I've already checked in with Vera,” he said. “Your mom is doing great. She's getting tired of everyone fussing over her, which is too bad, because Mom is headed over there now with brunch.”

“Your mom cooks?”

“No. But the condo association has a couple of really good chefs on staff.” He kissed me. “I'm sorry to hurry off, but I'll be back at around one with lunch. What're you in the mood for today?”

“An energy drink?”

He smiled. “So . . . something not too heavy. Gotcha.”

After Ted left, I was glad to have a few customers wander in. Business was slow, even for a Wednesday. I helped my customers find patterns and flosses, canvas and needles. There was one who wanted only to browse, but I told her about the upcoming open house and invited her to attend.

When the store was empty again, I went to the storeroom and got the box with the giveaway bags and the bag stuffings. Mom made quite a bit of progress on these yesterday afternoon, but there was still a lot of stuffing left to do.

I debated about whether or not to call Mom. Vera was right—Mom didn't like to be fussed over as if she was a child. And Veronica was going over with food. I should wait a little while to check on her. She was in good hands.

I was sitting on the sofa facing away from the window while stuffing the bags. I normally sat facing the window because I liked seeing what was going on outside—the people on the street, the cars passing by, the birds flitting from tree to tree—but today the glare bothered my sleepy eyes. My sleepy eyes, which seemed to be getting heavier and heavier. I rested my head against the back of the sofa for one second and closed my eyes . . . for one second.

I was transported to the set of
Trouble's Door
. I walked into Jack DeLong's office. But instead of Jack DeLong, it was Ted sitting behind the desk. He wore a dark suit and a fedora. He looked good in a fedora. Somehow I realized I'd set the movie nearly sixty years back in time. I myself was wearing a formfitting black dress and a wide-rimmed black hat, and I carried a cigarette in a long black holder.

Ted adjusted his tie and stood. “What can I do for you, doll?”

I took a puff off my cigarette and blew the smoke over my shoulder. “You can find the man who wants me dead.”

“Who'd want you dead? I think you'd be much more fun alive.” He turned to look directly into the camera and to speak to the viewer. “Who'd want to kill this dame?” he asked the viewer. “Look at her. She's gorgeous and has pins for . . . well, not for miles by any stretch of the imagination . . . let's go with feet. No, that doesn't sound right. Let's just say she has some good-looking gams.”

“Over here, handsome,” I said. “You gonna help me with my problem or not?”

Ted turned back to me. “How could I refuse?”

“So what's it gonna cost me?”

“It might cost you a kiss.” He moved out from behind the desk and stepped up to me.

“And it might cost a lot more.” I tossed my head back and looked at him, my lips parted expectantly. “I've known guys like you before.”

“I doubt that. But you obviously want to be kissed. I won't disappoint you, sweetheart.” When he said
sweetheart
, he sounded like Humphrey Bogart. He lowered his mouth to mine.

Suddenly, I was standing in the rain outside the Horror Emporium. The female lead from
Trouble's Door
was there. I was still dressed in my noir outfit, sans cigarette, but she was dressed as she had been in the movie—a tight jean skirt and an even tighter red T-shirt.

“You think you can take what belongs to me,” she said. “Well, you can't. No one can!” I noticed she had a sack beside her. She reached into the sack and got a rattlesnake. It had a collar around its neck that read
SAL'S
. She held the rattlesnake out and it bit me. I collapsed onto the sidewalk.