Thread on Arrival (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

B
efore leaving the shop for the
day, I called MacKenzies’ Mochas and ordered two chicken salad croissants with chips and brownies. Although I’d planned on taking Ted out for a special dinner, I decided that could wait until this weekend. Today I wanted to be able to talk with him privately without the risk of being overheard.

I locked the shop door and hurried down the street to get our dinner before returning for Angus. I put the food in the front seat of the Jeep and then did another walk through the store before leaving. I was used to returning to the Seven-Year Stitch on Thursday evenings. Having class in the back room of the library threw me off slightly, and I double-checked to make sure I’d turned off the coffeepot, computer, printer, and lights before locking up for the night. Then I put Angus into the backseat of the Jeep, where a divider kept him from crawling into the front, and we drove home.

Ted pulled into the driveway just ahead of us. He got out of his car and opened the Jeep door for Angus while I got our food.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I said, holding up the MacKenzies’ Mochas bag.

“I don’t mind in the least,” he said, as we went inside.

“I promise I’ll treat you to a really special dinner this weekend,” I said. “But I wanted us to be able to talk this evening.”

“One, any dinner with you is special. And, two, I’m flattered that you wanted to keep me to yourself.” He bent down and kissed me.

I put the MacKenzies’ Mochas bag on the table in the entryway so I could fully enjoy that kiss. Naturally, we were forced to come up for air when Angus pressed his furry face between us.

“You sure know how to ruin a tender moment, don’t you, buddy?” Ted joked. “I can see right now that we’re going to have to find you a girlfriend.”

“He’s been f-i-x-e-d,” I whispered.

“Good,” he whispered back. “Then he and his wife won’t have a bunch of p-u-p-p-i-e-s.”

“What have you got against p-u-p-p-i-e-s?”

“N-o-t-h-i-n-g. The shelters are full of adorable ones that desperately need good homes,” he said. “Can we please stop spelling now? I had no idea Angus was so well educated.”

I poked my tongue out at him. “Let’s go eat.”

We went into the kitchen, where I filled Angus’s bowl with kibble while Ted got us some plates out of the cabinet. I loved that he already felt comfortable in my house. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek as I moved around him to wash my hands at the sink.

He took the food from the bag and gave some sort of male victory cry when he came to the brownies.

“I have ice cream and chocolate syrup to go with those,” I said.

He picked me up off the floor in a crushing hug. “Where have you been all my life, woman of my dreams?”

“I’ve been right here,” I said, laughing. “You must’ve had insomnia.”

He loosened his grip so that I slid slowly down his body until my feet were back on the floor. “I’m serious about that. I’m glad I found you . . . glad I have you in my life.”

I pulled his head down to mine, and we kissed until—you guessed it—we were poked by a cold, wet nose. Ted and I started laughing.

“What did you say, Angus?” he asked. “You said you need to go outside? Why, certainly, it would be my pleasure to open the door for you.” He opened the door and Angus loped out onto the lawn.

I was still giggling as I took sodas from the refrigerator and set the ice cream out on the counter to soften enough to scoop. I opened the container of croissants and put them on our plates with the chips.

As we sat down at the table, Ted asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been rethinking Chester Cantor’s murder,” I said. “All along, I’ve believed it had something to do with the tapestry and the
Delia
’s unfound cargo. But now I’m wondering if it couldn’t be something else entirely.” I went on to tell Ted about my various conversations about Susan Willoughby throughout the day, ending with Mom’s suggestion that Chester uncovered and confronted someone about a secret—such as, an affair.

“Our task force has considered that angle,” he said. “There’s no evidence that Adam was having an affair with Susan Willoughby or with anyone else.”

“So you still think Chester was killed by someone who wanted the tapestry,” I said.

“Not exactly. While we’re continuing to explore all possibilities, the prevalent theory is that Adam discovered the plan to move Chester, Mary, and Melanie out of the Cantor home, flew into a rage, and accidentally killed Chester,” he said.

“Something tells me you aren’t sold on that theory.”

“I’m not.” He shook his head. “And it’s not because there’s compelling evidence to the contrary. It’s nothing more than . . . a
gut feeling
. I can’t really explain it.”

* * *

This time when I arrived at the library for the domestic abuse victims’ class and meeting, I pulled around to the back of the building and turned off my lights. As everyone driving themselves—rather than arriving in the deputy-driven van—had been instructed, I waited two full minutes before getting out of the Jeep. During the two minutes, I made sure no one had followed me and that no one was lurking at the perimeters of the parking lot. I got out, hurried to the door, and gave a sharp double tap.

“Good job,” Audrey Dayton said when she let me in. “I saw you arrive on the surveillance camera monitor.”

“Thanks.” I patted my tote bag. “I brought the extra cross-stitch and needlepoint kits that were left over last week in case we have any newbies. Would you like to try one?”

“I might. I’ll wait and see if there are any left after tonight’s class.”

I looked around the room. It was early, but she and I were the only ones there. “I can hardly believe I beat Reggie getting here.”

“Yeah, she’s usually the first here and the last to leave,” Audrey said.

I spread the extra kits out on the center of the table. “What does your boyfriend think of your having such a dangerous job?”

She laughed. “Um . . . subtle much?”

I was too embarrassed to join in her laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” she said. “There’s also no need to try to fix me up with anyone. That
is
what you were getting at, isn’t it?”

“It is. And I really should know better. I used to hate for my friends to set me up,” I admitted.

“Not a big deal. Just out of curiosity, though, who’d you have in mind for me?”

“Todd Calloway. He owns the Brew Crew,” I said. “It’s the pub and craft brewery directly across the street from the Seven-Year Stitch.”

“The Brew Crew, huh? I’ve never been there,” she said. “I’ll have to check that place out.”

Reggie arrived, saying she’d had to stop for gas. “I hadn’t realized how low the tank had gotten until I was on my way here.” She looked from Audrey to me. “You two look like you’re up to something. Am I interrupting anything interesting?”

“I’m attempting to talk Audrey into trying her hand at either cross-stitch or needlepoint,” I said. “I think it would be an excellent way for her to unwind after a stressful day.”

“And I don’t believe I have the patience for it,” Audrey said.

“I agree with Marcy,” Reggie said. “You should give it a try. Begin one of these simple kits this evening, and if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll finish it for you.”

“I’m on duty tonight,” Audrey reminded Reggie. “I need to be alert and focused on my job.”

“Then choose a kit and take it home with you,” I said. “If you have any trouble getting started, stop by the shop tomorrow and I’ll give you a hand with it.”

“Fine. You two win.” Audrey went to the table and chose a needlepoint horse’s head. “I like this one. It reminds me of a horse my uncle had when I was a little girl.”

After that, the students began filing in. Audrey resumed her post by the door, and Reggie and I sat down at opposite ends of the table and took out our own projects. By being on either end of the table, one of us would be handy to any student who might require assistance with her project.

The van arrived with the women from the shelter, and some of the other women who’d provided their own transportation started filtering in too. Unlike the previous week, Susan, Mary, and Melanie were among the last to get there.

“Here you are at last,” Reggie said to them. “I was beginning to worry that you guys might’ve run out of gas like I almost did.”

“No,” said Melanie. “These two were being slowpokes, as usual. Did you hear that we might be on TV, Ms. Singh?”

“I did!” Reggie exclaimed. “Congratulations. This could kick off an acting career for you.”

“I know, right? Mom says for me not to get my hopes up. But my math teacher, Ms. Johnson, said, ‘You don’t know what you can do until you try.’ She’s always telling us to follow our dreams and stuff like that.”

Melanie was beaming, and her smile was contagious to nearly all of the rest of us in the room. Only her mother and Susan Willoughby were unaffected by the young girl’s excitement and optimism.

“Ms. Johnson sounds like a special teacher,” said Audrey.

“She’s the absolute best,” Melanie said.

Once everyone had arrived, we worked on our embroidery projects while Reggie facilitated a discussion on legal rights. No one requested any embroidery help, so my mind wandered as I stitched. I could now understand what Audrey was talking about when she said she needed to remain alert and focused. The only thing I was focused on was the kitten I was stitching and the random thoughts flitting through my mind.

Was it possible that Adam and Susan
were
having an affair? The police had found no evidence of that. And although I’d only been around the two of them when they were together that Saturday night after Chester died, they didn’t even appear to be aware of each other then. Of course, Adam had been grieving for his father . . . but wouldn’t a mistress have at least hovered near him in case he should need her?

Besides the lack of any semblance of attraction between Susan and Adam, why would Susan go out of her way to befriend Mary if she was intent on stealing Mary’s husband away? I definitely needed to talk with Susan to try to figure out what was in her head.

After class, I grabbed the first opportunity to speak with Susan alone. “Would you help me carry a couple things to my car?” I asked. I made the request quietly, afraid that someone else would volunteer.

“I need to get home,” she said, avoiding eye contact with me.

“It won’t take but a second,” I said. “I actually just want to talk with you for a moment.”

She still hedged.

“I met your mother-in-law today,” I said.

That did it. She jerked her head toward the door. I tried to hand her a thin stack of the cross-stitch kits, but she ignored my outstretched hand so I simply dropped them into my tote bag with the needlepoint kits.

“
Former
mother-in-law,” Susan said as soon as we got outside. “What did the old bag tell you about me?”

“Not much . . . only that she’s afraid you’ll go back to Jared and break his heart again.”

She scoffed and began walking. “In his deluded dreams.”

“Is he the reason you’re here, Susan?” I asked. “Was he abusive to you?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have it as rough as some of these women have it.”

“What about Mary? Did you have it as rough as her?”

“I’m not sure things are as bad as she wants everyone to think,” Susan said. “By the way, have there been any new developments in Chester’s murder case?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Back to Mary, why don’t you think she has it as badly as she lets on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she does. It could be that I merely haven’t seen it.”

“What do you think of Adam?” I asked.

She stopped walking. “What do you mean by that?”

“What’s your opinion of him?” I stopped, too, and turned to face her but it was too dark for me to be able to read her expression. “Do you think he could be reformed and be a better husband to Mary . . . a better dad to Melanie?”

“I’ve never known Adam to mistreat Mel.” She resumed walking toward the parking lot. “He’s strict, sure, but he isn’t mean to her.”

“You think there’s hope for the family then.” I phrased this as a statement rather than a question.

“For him and Mary? I doubt it,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t think Mary loves him anymore.” She ducked her head and hurried to her car, a silver Toyota that had seen better days. I’d thought maybe she, Mary, and Melanie had ridden together, but it was apparent that she was alone.

I got into the Jeep and followed Susan out of the parking lot. It was merely coincidence that we were going in the same direction to begin with, and I had no intention of tailing her to see where she was going. . . . I guess it would be more accurate to say that I had no
conscious
intention of following her to her next destination because that’s precisely what I did.

Susan drove all the way to Depoe Bay to Captain Moe’s. I pulled the Jeep into an empty space in the back and watched her walk into the diner. She kept looking to her left, her right, and behind her as she made her way from the car to the door. I didn’t know if that was because she’d been aware that I was behind her and she was looking for me, or if it was because she was looking for someone else.

I had the feeling she was meeting someone. I waited a full five minutes after Susan had gone inside to see if Adam Cantor showed up. He didn’t, but he could’ve arrived ahead of her and been waiting for her inside.

I got my purse and went into Captain Moe’s. He was busy when I first walked through the door, so that gave me time to scan the dining room. I spotted Susan in a corner booth. But it wasn’t Adam Cantor she was with. It was that guy Ed, who had interrupted Captain Moe when he was talking with Ted and me the last time we were here.

Captain Moe finished with his other customers and came over to greet me with a hug. “What a pleasure to see you back so soon! Where’s Ted tonight?”

“He couldn’t make it,” I said.

“Table for one then? Or would you prefer a stool at the counter?”

“Can you spare a few minutes to talk privately?” As I asked the question, Susan glanced up. When she saw me, her eyes initially widened and then narrowed to slits.