The Stitching Hour (18 page)

As I lay dying, Ted raced up. Everything else disappeared—the actress, the sack, the snake, even the buildings around us.

Ted leaned over me. “I love you.” And then he licked my cheek.

My eyes flew open. Angus was licking me. I hugged him and kissed the top of his head.

“Thank goodness that was a dream,” I said. “A weird, whacked-out dream.”

Angus hurried to the counter. He needed to go out.

I grabbed his leash, put the clock on the door saying I'd be back in five minutes, and took Angus to the square. Passing by the Horror Emporium and its Lair of the Serpent, I kept my eyes up and straight ahead.

A
sideways glance let me know that Scentsibilities was open for business today. I hid a smile. So I guessed Nellie was staying in town after all. That was good . . . I supposed. What's that old saying—better the devil you know than the devil you don't? And who knew what devil might move into Nellie's shop? Besides, there was always the slim chance that Nellie and I would become friends. Yeah . . . right.

What if some
angel
were to move into Nellie's shop, we really would become friends, and all would be well? What if by convincing Nellie to stay, I'd blown my chance at a nicer neighbor? Oh, well. I decided to go with my first thought—that someone even worse than Nellie could move into her vacated shop—and be glad Nellie had opted not to move to Arizona.

I walked Angus on up to the square. He immediately went to every dog's favorite spot—the base of the wrought-iron clock—sniffed, and peed. He looked up as if to tell me he was finished, and we headed back to the Seven-Year Stitch.

I made a concerted effort not to look at Nellie's shop. I wanted to peep in and wave to her, but I didn't dare.

We were walking past the Horror Emporium when Priscilla opened the door.

“Well, hi,” she said. “How are you guys this morning?”

“I'm still trying to wake up,” I said.

She laughed. “I know what you mean. We had a fantastic crowd last night and stayed open later to accommodate everybody.”

“That's good.”

“It is, isn't it? Hey, I know you and your mom are super busy getting ready for the open house, but Claude and I would love to bend her ear a teensy bit. We promise not to take up too much of her time.”

“I'm sorry, but Mom isn't feeling well and didn't come with me today,” I said.

“I guess the trip was a bit much for her.”

She apparently wasn't in the small-town loop yet, and I didn't want to elaborate. “I suppose so. By the way, I saw you, Claude, and some of your staff members at Keira's memorial. I thought it was awfully nice of you to go.”

“Well, she was . . . lost . . . while doing work for us,” Priscilla said. “So, naturally, we wanted to be there for Ken Sherman . . . and the rest of the family . . . and for MacKenzies' Mochas too, since she was one of their own.” She lifted her shoulders. “What a tragic loss for . . . for everyone.”

“Yes, it truly was.” I noticed someone crossing the street as if she might be heading for the Seven-Year Stitch. “Well, I'd better go. Drop in anytime.”

“You do the same.” She waggled her fingers good-bye at me before closing the door to the Horror Emporium.

As it happened, the woman wasn't coming to the Stitch. She walked toward MacKenzies' Mochas. So I had time to contemplate the conversation I'd just had with Priscilla.

Had I misjudged her?
I wondered as I unsnapped Angus's leash and put it back behind the counter.

Angus trotted back to the office to get a drink of water, and I sat back down to work on the open house bags.

For days after Keira's death, I'd been appalled at how unfeeling she and Claude had seemed about the whole thing. They'd actually spoken about the murder being good for business, that is, after they'd worried that too many people had seen their actors in costume on the street. I guessed they could've been trying to make the best of a bad situation. Maybe they simply hadn't known how to behave or what to say about a young woman getting killed while helping out at their grand opening party. Or maybe by now Priscilla had finally processed the killing.

The bells over the door jingled letting me know a customer had come in. Angus wandered out of the office to see who was there. Since it was an elderly woman, he obediently walked over to the window and sat down.

“What a nice dog,” she said.

“Thank you. His name is Angus. I'm Marcy. Is there anything I can help you find?”

“I'm really just looking. But I was at my friend's house the other day, and she was doing something that was like a bunch of French knots.”

I picked a pillow up off the sofa and turned it toward her. “Did it look something like this?”

“Yes, that's it! What is that?”

“It's called candlewick, and you use Colonial knots rather than French knots. I can show you how, if you'd like.”

“Yes, please.”

I got a piece of linen, an embroidery hoop, and some white floss and joined the woman in the sit-and-stitch square. I had to demonstrate the Colonial knots only a time or two before she got the hang of it.

“Oh, I like this,” she said. “Do you have any pattern books?”

“I do.” I led her over to the candlewick books.

She picked out a book, floss, linen, an embroidery hoop, and some pillow stuffing. I rang up her purchases and invited her to the open house. She said she'd be there, took her periwinkle bag, and turned to go.

I was surprised to see Nellie Davis coming into the shop with a small bag. She held the door open for my customer and wished her a good day.

“Hi, Nellie,” I said. “I'm glad to see you're working today.”

“Well, I've decided to stay a bit longer. No one wants to be trying to move in winter, and it's setting in quickly.”

“That's true.”

“I called Vera Langhorne to tell her that I have her lavender essential oil in—I'd run out when she came by last week. People must be having trouble relaxing and getting to sleep at night. I know I have been.” She shook her head slightly as if to reorganize her thoughts. “Anyway, Vera was at your house when I reached her. She told me about your mother.” She placed the bag on the counter. “This is for her. It's a bottle of bergamot essential oil and a diffuser. She should diffuse the oil for no more than twenty minutes at a time.” She patted her chest. “It's for her heart.”

“Thank you!” I stepped around the counter and started to give the frail little woman a hug, but when she saw what I was about to do, she said good-bye and hurried out the door. I had to throw both hands over my mouth to quiet my laughter.

I called Mom to tell her that Nellie had brought her a gift.

“Is Vera bringing you to the shop when she goes to Scentsibilities to pick up her lavender oil?” I asked.

“She isn't going for a while yet. She, Veronica, and I are playing gin rummy and enjoying a chat. We're staying put for now . . . unless, of course, you need me to help you with something.”

“No,” I said. “I'm fine. I just wanted to check on you and let you know about Nellie's gift. I'll bring it when I come home for dinner.”

“All right, darling. See you then.”

Vera, Veronica, and Mom . . . chatting while playing cards. Would I want to be a fly on the wall for that conversation or not? Probably not.

I was surprised to see Adalyn coming in.

“Hi,” I said. “Didn't Priscilla tell you my mom isn't here today?”

“No, I don't go into work until later this afternoon.” She bent and hugged Angus. “Besides, I'm here because I'd like to learn to cross-stitch. I was looking at the stuff in here the other day, and I think it's really cool.”

“Oh. That's great. Come on over, and let's find you a kit.” I led her to the beginning cross-stitch kits. “I think it's best to start with a simple kit so you can decide whether or not you like it before tackling anything too difficult.”

She picked out a fox. “This is adorable! Do you think I could do this one?”

“Of course, you could. I can get you started on it now, and then you can come back by if you need any more help.”

I rang up her kit, and then we went over to the sit-and-stitch square to open it and begin. I showed her how to start in the center of the pattern.

“You can either cross the stitches as you go, or you can do a line of half stitches in a particular color and cross them as you come back,” I said. “That's the way I usually work.”

Soon she was comfortably making the stitches on her own.

“This isn't hard at all,” she said.

“I knew you'd catch on quickly.” I decided this was a great opportunity to talk with Adalyn about Jared and Keira. I couldn't think of any casual way to bring them up, so I had to use the blunt approach. “You and Jared seemed happy at dinner the other night.”

“We were. We
are
,” she said. “He's such a sweetheart. He deserves better than . . . well, than how he's been treated in the past.”

“Do you mean Keira or Susan?” Susan was Jared's ex-wife.

“Both. Neither was very good to him from what I've heard.”

“I believe Christine would agree with you,” I said. “Have you met Jared's mom?”

“Yeah. She's a treasure. I think it's awful that she's got this stress about killing Keira hanging over her head. You don't think she did it, do you?”

“No, I don't. Adalyn, do you know whether or not Jared has any business dealings with Keira's dad?”

She looked up from her needlework. “I don't know. Jared is hoping to expand. He's been saving and is looking to add another bay or two onto the garage . . . maybe even hire another mechanic. I think that'd be super, don't you?”

“I do.” Adalyn was still young enough to want everyone to agree with her. “Progress and growth is almost always good.”

“Why
almost
always?” she asked.

“Well, I wouldn't want to grow the Stitch right now because I wouldn't want to take on more than I could handle. But, unlike Jared, I'm not looking to hire a helper either. Right now, I'm happy with my shop being small.”

“Yeah. But, you know, if you decided you were ready to settle down and have a family, then you might change your mind about that.”

“I might indeed.” Hadn't she and Jared been dating for only a couple of weeks? Surely they hadn't talked about marriage and a family already.

“Jared is always thinking about the big picture. He was really glad when I told him I'm studying to be an accountant. I mean, I enjoy acting, but I don't think it would be a suitable career for me.”

“I don't know,” I said. “You're awfully good.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I might be good enough for community theater, but I'm not a silver screen kinda gal.”

“So is Jared already thinking of making you his bookkeeper?”

“Maybe. It's hard to say what the future holds, but I like him. I like him a lot.”

•   •   •

I was delighted—and so were my stomach and Angus—to see Ted walk in with lunch. He'd brought chef salads and milk shakes.

“Milk shakes?” I asked with a bemused smile.

“Sure. It's for energy. Plus, you've got protein from the eggs and meats in the salad. And it's not a heavy meal. Well, not entirely.” He put the bag and the drink carrier on the counter and swept me up into his arms. “How's that for a pick-me-up lunch?”

I laughed. “Wait! I have to put the clock on the door.”

He set me down, and while I fixed the clock, he carried the food into the office. Guess which one of us Angus went with? If you guessed Ted, you were right.

As we ate, I told Ted about how his mom, my mom, and Vera were spending the day playing cards and chatting.

“I wouldn't be surprised if they're having a little wine too,” he said.

“Does that make you nervous?”

“The drinking part—not so much. The chatting—a little bit.”

“Me too. You know they're talking about us,” I said.

“And yet, if either of them could hear us speculating on what they're talking about, they'd say we're flattering ourselves.” He mimicked his mother's voice. “We're intelligent women. We have much more interesting things to discuss than our children.”

I smiled. “You're right.”

“No,
you're
right—they're definitely talking about us. But they'll never admit it.”

“Are you having a good day?” I asked.

“Yeah. I followed up on that pet store lead. The owner swears he's never heard of Ken Sherman, but he could either be lying or Ken could be using an alias with some of his clientele. How about you?”

“I've had a day full of surprises.” I told him about how Nellie had brought a gift for Mom. “I was so touched that I went around the counter to give her a hug, and she practically ran out of the store.”

He chuckled. “I can't get over
anybody
turning down a Marcy hug. She doesn't know what she's missing.”

I huffed.

“What? I'm not kidding!” He laughed again. “You said you had more than one surprise?”

“I have. Believe it or not, I think Priscilla might have a heart after all. When I mentioned seeing her at the memorial, she talked about Keira's death being a
tragic loss
instead of
good for publicity
. And then Adalyn came in to learn cross-stitch.”

“Adalyn? Is that the girl we saw with Jared Willoughby at dinner Saturday night?”

“It is,” I said. “And, although they've only been dating a couple of weeks, it must be getting serious.” I told Ted about Jared's plan to expand his business and the possibility of making Adalyn his bookkeeper. “When I told her I wanted to keep my business small for now, she said I might change my mind when I got ready to start a family.”

He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Jared appears to be quite a few years older than Adalyn.”

“I'd say he's about five to seven years older. That's not a terrible gap.” I drew my brows together. “Why? What're you thinking?”

“I'm wondering if Adalyn has come up with these fanciful ideas on her own, or if Jared truly feels like putting up the white picket fence after being burned so badly two times in a row.”

My frown deepened. “Oh. You're right. I hadn't thought of that.” Ted had raised some good questions. Had Adalyn set her sights on Jared to the point that she'd decided to give up her dream of acting and go into a profession that could benefit him? Or had Jared gone that quickly from one serious relationship to another? It's possible that Adalyn had been telling me the truth—that she didn't feel she was cut out for Hollywood. But, if she hadn't been serious about acting, why had she auditioned for Vera and me in the hope of meeting Mom?