The Stitching Hour (9 page)

“You might've said something like that.” He reached into the bowl for some popcorn. “This is gonna be good.”

At the first commercial break, we'd both laughed so hard we could hardly breathe.

“Is this movie supposed to be so funny?” Ted asked.

“No. It's billed as a drama. Of course, they do tend to overact, don't they?”

He grasped my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “Yes . . . my beloved darling . . . they do . . . have a penchant . . . for theatrics.”

I kissed him. “Come with me to the Casbah?”

“You . . . know I . . . will.”

The movie started back, and I became semiserious. “Speaking of theatrics, what do think will happen when our moms meet?”

“They'll be cool. And civil.” He grinned. “And they'll circle each other like a pair of she-wolves.”

S
ince Vera had asked me to be at the shop by eight Saturday morning, Angus and I arrived at seven thirty to tidy up and make some coffee. Well,
I
was tidying up and making coffee. Angus was sniffing around to see if anything intriguing had happened while he was gone. It was a good thing we arrived early. Vera showed up at seven forty-five.

She wore a fuchsia pantsuit with taupe pumps and a white gardenia lapel pin. And she was positively glowing.

I, on the other hand, was wearing jeans and a powder blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up. And white canvas sneakers. I didn't always embrace casual Fridays, but I glommed onto slouchy Saturdays with both arms!

“You look like you just stepped out of
Executive Vogue
or something,” I said.

“Thank you.” Vera dropped a kiss onto the top of Angus's head and came over to sit on the red club chair that faced the store. She reached into her tan leather tote and brought out our matching notebooks. They were pink, I supposed, to coordinate with her suit, and they had elegant
B
s on the front.

I frowned at mine. “What's the
B
for?”

She rolled her eyes. “For Beverly, of course. We're working on behalf of your
mom
, remember?”

“Oh . . . right.”

“Come on, Marcy. Get in the game! The actors will begin arriving any minute.”

“Should I run home and change?” I asked, half-seriously.

“No, hon. You're fine. You're her daughter. They'll know she won't hold you to the same standards she expects of the rest of the staff.”

“Then they don't know Beverly Singer,” I muttered. I smiled at Vera. “Since you're obviously the executive in charge, I take it you'll be running the show?”

“Please . . . I mean, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind at all.”

“Just, if I start to falter or something, jump in,” she said. “All right?”

“Will do. Would you like some coffee?”

She shook her head. Her hair—thanks to some really good hair spray—didn't move. “Not yet. Let me get into character and get comfortable first.”

I tried not to snicker as I went into the office for my own cup. This was going to be good.

The first person through the door was a tall, thin young man with straight brown hair that fell to the middle of his back. He had a full beard and kind hazel eyes. I tried to place him but couldn't remember seeing him at the Horror Emporium. He must have been wearing a mask.

Vera consulted her notebook. “You're Travis Stevens, correct?”

“That's right.” He backed away as Angus approached. “I'm sorry. I didn't know there'd be a dog here. I've been afraid of dogs since I was a little boy.”

“Let me put him in the bathroom,” I said. “I'm terribly sorry.”

“Why don't you take Angus up the street while Mr. Stevens is auditioning?” Vera inclined her head toward the door. “You know he'll bark so loudly we won't be able to hear Mr. Stevens if you shut him up in the bathroom.”

That was true, but I didn't want to leave Vera to question our first suspect on her own. Not that I was an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I knew what I wanted to ask.

Still, I took Angus's leash from beneath the counter and snapped it onto his collar. “We'll be back in about ten minutes. If you aren't finished by then, Mr. Stevens, I'll keep Angus on his leash so you'll feel more comfortable.” I gave Vera a pointed look. “Please be sure and ask him everything
Mom
wanted to know.”

Vera rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist. “Darling, you act as if I only started working for her yesterday.”

All righty then.

I took Angus up to the town square. At least, he made the best of the situation so I wouldn't have to take him out again for a little while. Hopefully, the rest of the suspects would be more dog-friendly.

As I was walking back to the Seven-Year Stitch, Priscilla Atwood came out of the Horror Emporium. I couldn't swear to it, but I got the impression she'd been standing at her door waiting for me to walk past.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Fine. I'm glad it isn't raining and hopeful that the good weather continues into the evening.”

“Me too.” I tried to ease past her with a
have a good day
, but she stepped into my path. She was wearing green today and reminded me of an overgrown leprechaun.

“You aren't stealing my actors away from me, are you?” She smiled, but the expression didn't reach her eyes.

“No. Why?”

“I understand that they're all coming by your shop this morning for some reason.”

“Oh . . . that. My mom is coming in for the open house, and I thought some of them might be interested in finding other gigs after the Horror Emporium closes up shop,” I said.

“So might Claude and I.”

“Of course. You'll have to pop in and say hello when Mom gets into town.” I hoped Mom wasn't going to throttle me over this whole charade. Maybe when I explained my reasoning behind it, she'd understand. Maybe.

“Indeed we will.” She gave me a more genuine smile this time and then went back inside her shop.

When I stepped into the Stitch, Travis Stevens was gone, and Vera was writing in her notebook as fast as she could. I unsnapped Angus's leash and put it back behind the counter. He ambled into the office to get a drink of water.

I waited until Vera looked up from her writing to ask, “Well?”

“He's not that great of an actor and obviously didn't know Keira.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He said he was bummed that she died because he thought she was really cute and he'd wanted to ask her out,” she said. “No guy who'd spoken with Keira for more than ten minutes would ask her out.”

“Vera!”

“Well, the truth's the truth. Kiera being dead doesn't change that.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Our next suspect came through the door. Angus hurried from the back to see who'd come in.

“Oh, what a pretty dog!” The girl—a perky redhead—patted her thighs, and Angus trotted over to greet her. “He's so big! I
love
him!”

“You're Adalyn Daye?” Vera asked.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Where are you from originally?” I asked.

“Oklahoma.”

I looked at Vera. “Keira had spent a little time in Oklahoma, hadn't she?”

“She might have,” Vera said. “Adalyn, did you know Keira Sherman, the girl who was working the concession stand the other night? She worked for MacKenzies' Mochas.”

“No, I sure didn't,” said Adalyn. “I mean, I'd heard of her, but I didn't know her myself. But wasn't that the saddest thing?”

“It was,” I said. I started to ask from whom Adalyn had heard of Keira, but she didn't give me the chance.

“Well, I know we're short on time. My monologue is from
The Glass Menagerie
.”

And so it went all morning. Vera and I watched audition after audition, and none of the actors admitted to knowing Keira.

•   •   •

Vera had gone, and I was waiting on a customer who needed some Persian yarn for her needlepoint project when Jared Willoughby walked in. I'd met the tall, athletic young man only once when I'd stopped in at his garage to have the oil changed in my Jeep. But it was through Jared that I'd met his mom, Christine.

I had a good idea why he was here.

“Hi, Jared. I'll be with you in just a minute.”

“Take your time.” He was petting Angus, who'd walked over to greet him. “So this is the famous Angus. I've heard a lot about you.”

The woman with the Persian yarn made her selections and paid for them. I placed her yarn, a sheet about our classes, and a flyer about the upcoming open house into her bag and wished her a good weekend as she left.

Then I joined Jared in the sit-and-stitch square where he'd taken a seat on the sofa facing the window.

I sat on a red club chair. “How's your mom?”

“She's holding up. It's no fun being a murder suspect. But then, you know that.”

“I do.” I offered him something to drink, and when he declined, I returned to our weighty subject. “And what about you? I know Keira's death had to be quite a blow to you. After all, you'd been dating for how long?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “We were off and on for two or three months.” He ran a hand over his face. “I'm sorry for Keira—she was a better person than the one everybody saw—and I'm especially sad for her dad, but I'm really concerned about my mom right now. I'm scared that the cops are trying to pin Keira's murder on her.”

“Your mom will be fine,” I said. “Ted and Manu will find Keira's killer, and Christine will be cleared.”

“I wish I was as sure of that as you are,” he said.

I didn't say so, but I wished I felt as certain of that outcome myself. “Can you think of anyone who might've wanted to hurt Keira?”

He shook his head. “I've been racking my brain since the police talked with me the other night. I can't think of a soul who'd want to kill her. I mean, she didn't have a lot of friends, but no one was sending her death threats either.”

“I didn't know Keira well. What was she like?”

He leaned back into the soft cushions of the sofa. “She was beautiful—that's what attracted me to her at first. As I got to know her, I saw that her prickly attitude came from her insecurities.”

“Really? Gee, I wouldn't have thought Keira would have felt insecure about anything.”

“She was insecure about
everything
,” he said. “She has an older sister named Bethany who is not only gorgeous but brilliant. She has a doctorate in psychology as well as a law degree, and she's a criminal attorney in one of the largest law firms in Seattle.”

“Whoa. I can see where having her for a sister could be intimidating.”

“I kept telling Keira to be her own person and to stop comparing herself to her sister or to anyone else, but she said that was easy for me to say because my mom is crazy about me.” He shook his head. “Keira couldn't see how much her family cared about her. I mean, her dad was even buying her a restaurant, for goodness' sake.”

“What did she say when you pointed that out to her?” I asked.

“She said he wasn't buying the restaurant for her out of love but that he was buying it to make her appear to be more successful. She felt that her dad didn't think she was good enough . . . and that he never would.”

“How sad that she felt that way.”

“Even sadder is the fact that those insecurities worked their way into everything else in Keira's life,” Jared said. “She refused to trust people, looked for everyone's ulterior motive, and believed that no one could truly care for her.”

“Your mom told me that you and Keira had broken up but that Keira was having a hard time letting go. She said that Keira was even asking you to pay her bills. Why would she do that if her family had enough money to buy her a restaurant?”

Jared blew out a breath. “Money was just another manipulation to Keira. She would push me away and then chase after me. This last time, though, I'd had enough of her games. She wouldn't grow up and allow me to help her see her self-worth, and I didn't want her to keep dragging me down. I couldn't handle all that negativity in my life, you know?”

“I understand completely,” I said. “We need people in our lives who help lift us up, not tear us down . . . or even try to hold us where we are.”

•   •   •

After Jared left, the melancholy lingering in his wake cast a pall over the shop, including Angus and me. Angus stretched out by the front window and fell into a fitful sleep. Huge gray clouds had moved in, and I believed that the drizzle we were getting now was simply a precursor of what was to come. So much for Priscilla's weather holding out.

There weren't any customers in the shop at the moment, and I wandered into the storeroom to do a quick inventory. When I heard the bells over the door jangle to announce an arrival, I was noting the fact that I was running low on several floss colors—and in this company's case, floss
numbers
.

“Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch!” I called. “Please make yourself at home, and I'll be out in a second!”

As I snapped a photo of the depleted flosses' numbers with the camera on my phone, Ted came into the storeroom and slid his arms around my waist.

“I hope this is what you meant about making myself at home.” He kissed the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

“Ooh, let me take a selfie.” I changed my camera setting to allow us to do the modern-day equivalent of a photo booth. I wouldn't be adding our goofy poses to any social media sites, but Ted and I could enjoy looking at them and laughing at ourselves.

Ted was dressed casually today in jeans and a navy blue sweater that played up his eyes. He was supposed to have been off today, but Keira's murder had everyone in the department working overtime.

“Are you having a good day?” he asked.

“It's better now.”

Angus had followed Ted to the storeroom and was waiting patiently outside the door. The dog probably thought the three of us were getting ready to have lunch.

“I'm sorry, Mr. O'Ruff,” I said. “But Ted and I worked through lunch today because we're planning on having a big dinner at the steakhouse near Lincoln City.”

Angus cocked his head, and I looked at Ted, hoping he hadn't come by to tell me he couldn't make it this evening.

He smiled. “That's absolutely right.” He looked at Angus. “But don't worry, buddy. We'll bring you back a doggie bag.” He went out to the counter where he'd left a small box from MacKenzies' Mochas. “In the meantime, I had to make sure you two were keeping your strength up today. I brought peanut butter cookies for everybody.”