Thread on Arrival (19 page)

“We’ll investigate both possibilities. Which do you think it was?”

“Right now, it feels pretty personal,” I said.

Chapter Twenty

M
anu dropped Ted and m
e off at my house and said he and Reggie would be back to see us later. When we got inside, Ted and I went into the living room. I eased onto the sofa, and I realized again what a comfortable piece of furniture it was.

“Do you need something to eat? Something to drink?” Ted asked.

“I’m fine.” I patted the cushion. “Sit with me.”

“I will in a second. I’m going to run upstairs and get you a pillow and—”

“I don’t need a pillow,” I interrupted. “All I need right now is you.”

He sat with me then and gathered me into his arms. “I was scared when we got the call from Sadie telling us you’d been hurt. Nobody knew what or how bad your injuries were, and they couldn’t really tell us what had happened to you. The only thing we knew for sure was that Blake had found you in the alleyway and that you’d hit your head.”

“See? It wasn’t as big a deal as you’d thought it was.”

“It’s big enough . . . and I’m not about to leave you unprotected until we find whoever did this.”

“Do you think it was random?” I asked.

“I don’t know. If so, it’s quite a coincidence that it occurred the morning after you followed Susan Willoughby to Depoe Bay,” he said. “I’m afraid it could also be connected to Chester Cantor’s murder.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of too. It could’ve been Adam . . . Ed. . . . Heck, it could’ve even been Susan. I didn’t see the person at all.”

Ted kissed my temple—the one without the big bandage over it. “Try not to worry about it. Manu is out there right now tracking every lead, and I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

The doorbell rang, and Ted was on instant alert. He got up, peered through the window, and recognized Todd’s truck. Still, he called, “Is that you, Calloway?” Upon Todd’s confirmation, Ted opened the door.

Angus hesitated only a moment in front of Ted. Then he spotted me in the living room and came racing toward me. The two men shared a look of fear that the big, gangly dog would leap onto my lap and hurt me, but I had no such qualms. I knew my dog . . . and he knew me. He realized something was wrong. When he got to the sofa, he sat on the floor in front of me, placed his head on my knee, and whined softly.

“It’s okay, baby,” I said, gently stroking his ears. “I’m okay.”

Ted and Todd joined Angus and me in the living room.

“How’re you feeling?” Todd asked.

“My head still hurts, but I’ll be fine,” I said. “Thank you for taking care of Angus.”

“Anytime. I’d better be getting back to the Brew Crew. If you need anything, let me know.” He nodded at Ted. “You take care of her.”

“I will. Thanks.” Ted walked Todd to the door, and I heard Todd tell him to “find who did this.” Ted assured him that he would.

Before Ted could finish seeing Todd out, Vera Langhorne arrived.

“Hello, dear,” she said to Ted. “Where’s our patient? Oh, never mind; I see her.” She sailed into the living room, the white cape she wore billowing around her and reminding me of a sail. “You poor darling! I heard you were the victim of an attempted mugging.” She perched beside me on the sofa. “Let me see your face.” After examining my wound, she said she didn’t think there would be scarring. That was a possibility I hadn’t even considered. Vera pulled me to her heavily perfumed side in a one-armed hug. “I’m so glad you’re all right. You could’ve been killed!”

“I don’t think it was as serious as all that,” I said, sitting back up before Vera’s perfume made me sneeze. I was afraid a sneeze might make my head explode, given the way it was aching.

“Ted, would you, please, be a darling and go out to my car and bring in the gift bag on the passenger seat?” Vera asked. “In my excitement, I forgot it.” When Ted hesitated, she said, “I’ll be right here by her side.”

As soon as he walked out the front door, Vera hugged me again and said, “See how he cares for you? It’s absolutely precious.”

I didn’t respond. After all, what could I say?
Actually, he’s afraid to leave because there might be a killer after me
. That would make our visit awkward in a hurry.

Ted returned and handed Vera the bag.

“Thank you, Ted.” She then passed the bag to me. “This isn’t anything much, dear, just a couple things that I hope will make you more comfy as you heal.”

I dug through the layers of various colors of tissue paper to find a pair of light blue silk pajamas and a small box of Godiva truffles. Vera had superb taste. I told her so and thanked her profusely.

“You’re quite welcome,” she said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Nope. I’m good. But thanks anyway,” I said.

She looked from me to Ted and back again. “I suppose you really do have everything you need.” She winked. “By the way, all the merchants in the square are being extra-vigilant—some of them are looking out for themselves, of course—but if they see anyone loitering about, they’re going to call the police right away.”

“Thank you,” Ted said.

“I won’t keep the two of you any longer, and I can see myself out.” Vera hugged Angus, gave me one more quick squeeze, and then breezed out.

Ted reclaimed his place beside me on the sofa. “I hope there aren’t any more visitors for a while. You need some rest.”

No sooner had he uttered those words than the doorbell rang. I laughed and then winced at the pain.

“After this one, I’m taking you upstairs to bed,” he said.

I raised my brows.

“To rest.” He answered the door. Instead of a visitor, it was a delivery.

Riley Kendall had sent a bouquet of yellow and white roses, a small box, and a note. The note said:
Get well soon, Marce. The box is from Uncle Moe, and I have no idea what’s in it.

I opened the box. Inside were two DVDs—
Hook
and
Finding Neverland
. He, too, had included a note:
These are to aid your recuperation. Dinner for you and the detective is on me as soon as you’re up to it.—CM

“How sweet,” I said, with a smile. “I’m touched by everyone’s thoughtfulness.”

“So am I. But you really do need to get some rest. Let’s get you upstairs.”

“No, let’s stay here and watch one of these movies,” I said. “Surely things will settle down now.” I held up the box of truffles. “We have snacks.”

He grinned. “You’ve talked me into it.”

Ted made us popcorn to accompany the truffles, and we watched
Finding Neverland
. After the movie, I dozed off.

I’m not sure how long I slept, but when I awoke, Ted had covered me with a blanket and was sitting on the chair across from me with his legs stretched out on the ottoman. He was using his e-reader, and the light from the device was the only one in the room.

“Hi,” I said.

He got up, came over to me, and bent down to check my eyes. “Who am I?”

I smiled. “You’re the man of my dreams.”

“I’m serious,” he said.

“So am I.” I huffed. “Fine. You’re Ted Nash, and I’m Marcy Singer.”

“Who starred in the movie we watched earlier?”

“Johnny Depp and Kate Winslet,” I answered.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

I started to sit up.

“Not too fast.” He helped me into a more upright position and sat beside me so I could lean against him.

“My headache has eased,” I said. I gingerly raised my hand to the bandage on my forehead near the temple. “This place still hurts.” I recalled Vera’s mention of scarring. “It
will
heal up and go away . . . won’t it?”

“No one will remember it was ever there.”

“If it does leave a scar, I’m sure Mom knows someone who can fix it,” I said.

“Should we call and let her know what happened?” Ted asked.

“Not yet. I don’t want to worry her . . . especially when whoever did this is still out there.”

* * *

Sadie and Blake came and brought the Jeep to me. They also brought a goodie basket filled with my MacKenzies’ Mochas favorites. As soon as they walked into the living room, Blake strode over to the sofa and showed me that he’d gone back and shaved again and that his entire face was smooth.

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to stifle a giggle. “I have no idea why I fixated on that.”

“Here I am thinking you’re at the threshold to death’s door, and you start poking me in the face and quoting from that piece of classic literature, ‘The Three Little Pigs,’” he continued.

We were all laughing so hard that we didn’t hear the doorbell ring. In fact, we wouldn’t have known anyone was there if Angus hadn’t gone and barked at the door.

Ted went to see who was there and returned with a large white box bearing a red velvet ribbon. “More gifts for Her Majesty.”

“I’m the hero here,” Blake said. “And did I get any presents today? Say it with me, people: ‘Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin!’”

“You can have this one,” I said. “Go ahead. Open it up, Blake.”

“Is this a trick? Do you already know what this is?” he asked. “Is it something you ordered?”

“No,” I said.

He looked at Sadie. “What do you think, babe? What usually comes in a box like this one?”

“Let me think,” Sadie said, a smile playing about her lips. “Boxes like that generally contain superhero outfits, naughty underwear, sexy thigh-high boots . . . um . . . what else, Marce?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s a comprehensive list there.”

“Well, I would enjoy any of those things,” Blake said. “They would make me feel attractive and undo some of the hurt I’ve suffered today over being compared to a trio of swine.”

Referencing the movie
Babe
, Ted said, “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”

This brought about another fit of laughter. Finally, I wiped the tears from my face and told Blake to open the box already before he caused my headache to return.

“No way.” He handed me the box. “I’m not opening your present.”

“Come on,” I said. “I want to see your face when you take the lid off my thigh-high red leather boots.”

“Red? I imagined they’d be black,” Blake said. “I don’t even want them now.”

“Sorry. Red goes with my Wonder Woman costume.” I opened the box, and boy, did that wipe the smile off my face. Inside was a wreath. And so I wouldn’t get the wrong impression and think it was a decorative wreath meant to adorn my front door or something, it had a sash across it with the words R
EST IN
P
EACE.

“What is it?” Ted asked, stepping closer to me. He muttered a curse when he saw what was in the box.

I noticed a yellow slip of paper like that from a legal pad. Written on it was:
You’re trying to destroy Tallulah Falls. I’m trying to destroy you. Next time, I’ll do a better job
.

“This is not one of my favorite deliveries,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “It’s not even in the top ten . . . unless I was doing a list of
worst
gifts.”

Sadie moved over beside me and placed her arm around my shoulders.

Ted was already on the phone to Manu asking him to get crime scene techs to the house on the double. He was also asking him to check out Blooming Occasions to see if it was a legitimate floral service.

When Ted ended the call, he took the box to the kitchen.

“I’ve never heard of Blooming Occasions,” Sadie said when Ted returned to the living room. “Have any of you?”

“Not me,” I said. “But I’m still discovering new places.”

“I haven’t heard of it,” Blake said. “And I’ve been in the doghouse enough times that I know every florist in this county.”

Sadie rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t heard of it either,” Ted admitted. “But Marcy has been receiving things all day. The van had a Blooming Occasions logo on the door, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

“The van could’ve been stolen,” I said. “Or the logo could have been one of those magnetic signs you can get made up at a print shop.”

Blake gazed around at our downcast expressions. “What are you guys looking like sad sacks for? I’m the one who got screwed out of my thigh-high boots.”

It was a good try, but the mood had been spoiled.

C
hapter Twenty-one

T
here were no apparent leads as to who sent the wreath. No floral vans had been reported stolen. None of the printers within a twenty-five mile radius recalled doing any work for Blooming Occasions. The only logical conclusion was that the suspect made the magnets himself and put them on a van he either owned or had borrowed.

No fingerprints were found on the box, the ribbon, the wreath, or the note except for mine and Ted’s. Ted’s were only on the box. He’d been careful not to touch anything else. Even the delivery person, who’d not yet been located, had worn gloves.

We were all frustrated: Reggie because she blamed herself for the attack since she attributed it to my involvement with the Cantors; Manu because he couldn’t uncover a single lead in the attack; Ted because he feared for my safety; and me because I wanted to put all the drama behind me and go back to work tomorrow.

“It’s too risky,” Manu said. “The doctor said you needed to be under observation for twenty-four hours. Besides, I don’t want you at the shop alone.”

“But Saturday is one of my best days,” I said. I turned my gaze on Ted.

“Had today not gone as it did, I was planning on staying in the office as much as possible tomorrow and catching up on some reports I need to file,” he said. “I could do those on my laptop at the Seven-Year Stitch as easily as I could at the station.”

“All right, then,” Manu said. “I’ll keep you posted on whatever I can find. I’m not giving up until this guy has been caught.”

“Are you scheduled to work Sunday, Ted?” Reggie asked.

“I am, but I’ve got plenty of vacation days built up.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Go on and work. I can hang out with Marcy on Sunday.” She looked at me. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said.

“Thanks, Reggie,” Ted said. “If there aren’t any changes in Marcy’s condition, I might take you up on your offer.”

After they left, I told Ted I didn’t like having a babysitter. “So what if you need to work Sunday? I’ll be fine. The doctor
did
say twenty-four hours, not forty-eight, right?”

“He did say twenty-four, sweetheart, but I think it’s going to take a little longer than that to soothe Reggie’s conscience.”

“But she has nothing to feel guilty over.”

“Put yourself in her place,” he said. “You get your friend involved in a situation in which one person is murdered, a woman and a child are living in a potentially dangerous home, and your friend has just been savagely attacked.”

“I see your point.” I smiled and extended my arms to him. “Besides, not
all
babysitting is bad.”

* * *

On Saturday morning, I wore a jaunty red beret to cover the bandage on my head. To make it work, I also wore a long-sleeved black ballet-neck top, black cigarette pants, and red flats. Ted told me I looked like either a Bohemian poet or a Parisian artist.

“Why do I have to be a
Parisian
artist?” I asked. “Can’t I be a Tallulah Falls artist? Can’t I paint you
ici
in the Seven-Year Stitch?”

“Of course. I’d be flattered,” he said, sitting on the sofa in his non-Bohemian attire of jeans and a blue sweatshirt. “I wasn’t aware that you were a painter.”

“
Mais oui.
I paint very well. What color would you like to be?”

He gestured toward the laptop he’d just turned on. “Should I put this back up and take you to the ER?”

I strode over to the sofa, took Ted’s face in my hands, and pressed my nose to his. “Look at my pupils.”

He chuckled. “Your pupils are okay. It’s your mind I’m concerned about.”

I kissed him and then twirled away. “It’s the beret. It does something to me . . . makes me sassy.” I giggled. “Besides, yesterday was such a downer. I want us to have fun today.”

“Not all of yesterday was a downer. Parts of it were fun.”

“True, but I want
all
of today to be fun.” I winked at him over my shoulder and went to check on our coffee.

“Whew!” Ted called, laughter evident in his voice. “I don’t know whether or not I can handle you in beret mode . . . but I’m sure going to enjoy trying!”

When customers started coming in, Ted had to move to the office so he could concentrate on his paperwork. Whenever I could catch the shop empty for a few minutes, I’d go into the office and work on a report on tapestries I was preparing for J. T. Trammel.

I found that there were a lot of Old World–type maps depicted in antique tapestries. These tapestries often had the two hemispheres depicted in various shades of tan, brown, and bronze. Some tapestries narrowed their focus to more specific geographic locations, and others were woven into breathtaking works of art having nothing to do with maps whatsoever.

I learned that tapestry designers must make a detailed pattern called a
mise en carte
, and then they transcribe the colors and contours prior to weaving. To imagine someone doing all that and then hand-weaving a treasure map for her children—or her children’s children . . . or whomever Chester Cantor’s great-grandmother had hoped to empower with the tapestry—was simply mind-boggling.

The bells over the door jingled, and I jumped up to hurry into the shop.

“Careful,
ma petite
Inch-High,” Ted said softly.

I was grinning when I left the office, but that grin froze on my face when I saw Adam Cantor standing just inside the door petting Angus.

“Hi, Mr. Cantor,” I said.

The clatter behind me attested to how quickly Ted had come up out of his chair.

“Hello, Marcy.” His eyes widened. “And Detective Nash . . . Sorry. I didn’t see you there at first.”

“Hi, Adam,” Ted said. “What brings you by?”

“I heard about the accident and wanted to drop in to see how Marcy is doing,” he said. “So . . . how are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, now recovered enough from my surprise to take advantage of the opportunity to talk with Adam Cantor. “Would you like to sit and visit with us for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

The three of us moved to the sit-and-stitch square, where Ted and I sat on the sofa facing the window and Adam sat on the club chair to our right.

“I couldn’t help but notice that during the meeting with J. T. Trammel the other night, you appeared startled to learn that your father wanted to find the treasure of the
Delia
for you,” I said.

Adam blinked in surprise, and Ted squeezed my hand slightly. I didn’t turn toward Ted because I knew he’d be wearing his formidable why’d-you-do-that detective face.

Adam cleared his throat and scratched his head, but when I continued to stare at him expectantly, he said, “It was a shock. I mean, I knew Pop had an old tapestry somewhere that had been passed down to him . . . and I’d heard him tell Melanie stories about treasure and sailing the ocean and what the two of them could do with the fortune they’d discover. . . . It was fairy-tale stuff. I never dreamed there could be any truth to any of it. I wasn’t even aware that he knew the location of the tapestry after all these years.”

“There’s something I want—need—to explain to you,” I said. “When we went to see your father that Friday morning with the books . . .”

Ted pressed my hand again, so I slid it out of his grasp.

“I know what I’m doing,” I told him. “Trust me. Mr. Cantor needs to hear this.” I returned my focus to Adam. “As we talked, your dad found out I had this embroidery specialty shop and correctly assumed that I’d be interested in seeing his antique tapestry. He showed it to me and explained its history and
his
history. He was proud of his ancestry.”

Adam smiled. “And heaven knows Pop liked to talk.”

“Mr. Cantor, I don’t know why your father would trust me with the secrets of his tapestry, but he did,” I said. “And he told me that he wanted to find this treasure so that you—his family—could have a better life. That’s why I told Mr. Trammel about the tapestry. I wanted your dad to get his wish.”

“But there’s no guarantee there even is a treasure to be found,” Adam said.

“True, but the network doesn’t care,” Ted said.

“Exactly. And by sharing your family’s tapestry and allowing the film crew to use it to search for the
Delia
, you’ll be well compensated,” I said. “I’m guessing Mr. Trammel will be bringing contracts when he returns on Monday.”

“Have an attorney look yours over and dicker with Mr. Trammel if you don’t feel he’s offering enough,” Ted said.

“Your dad was a dreamer,” I told him. “I think Melanie is too. She’s excited about the possibility of appearing on TV. But, being more practical, this could wind up being your dad’s way of paying for his granddaughter’s college education. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“How did you know Melanie is excited about the film crew coming to Tallulah Falls?” Adam asked.

Ooops. I got too cocky. Think fast, Marcy!
“I ran into her at the library the other day.”

He nodded. “I should go. I’ve got some errands to finish up, and then I might go home and have Mary iron that old tapestry.”

“Oh, please, don’t,” I said. “The tapestry is really delicate and should only be ironed or cleaned by a professional.”

He smiled. “Right. Well, anyway, you guys have made me feel better about Explore Nation. Glad you’re okay, Marcy.”

He left, and I shot Ted a triumphant smirk. “See how unnecessary all that squeezing turned out to be?”

“First off, he nearly tripped you up when he asked about Melanie.”

“Was it that obvious?” I asked.

“It was to me. Hopefully, it wasn’t to Adam. That’s one of the reasons squeezing you was absolutely necessary. I had no idea what you were about to say,” he said. “Even on a good day, I’m not sure anyone—including you—knows what you’re going to say before it leaves your brain and tumbles out of your mouth. Today you had two additional strikes against you.”

“I’ll concede yesterday’s head injury,” I said. “What’s the other strike?”

“The power of the beret. I feared it would lead you astray.”

“That’s so Seussian,” I said, with a laugh.

“Actually, I thought it sounded like the beginning of a limerick,” he said. “But, seriously, job well done. I’m proud of the way you handled the conversation with Adam. The next time the department needs an arbiter, I’m recommending you.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I just wanted him to know why I pursued the treasure hunt with the network,” I said. “I didn’t want to gain anything by it . . . and it’s not my intention to destroy Tallulah Falls.”

“Do you think Adam sent the wreath? That he’s the one who attacked you?”

“I don’t know.” I took Ted’s hand. It was warm and strong and comforting when it wasn’t squeezing me to try to keep my mouth shut. “Adam is a relatively big man. He could’ve hurt me badly, had he been the one who attacked me. I get the impression that this person was smaller than Adam Cantor.”

“Do you believe it could have been a woman?” he asked.

“It’s possible . . . but it was important to me to let Adam know at least part of Chester’s hope for his family,” I said. “It might not do any good, but I know now that I’ve done everything I can to help.”

Ted kissed me. “You’re one special woman.”

A pair of customers came in—sisters who often visited the shop together on Saturdays to see if I had anything new—and Ted returned to the office.

* * *

Angus spent most of the day lying by the window with his chew toy that Ted had refilled with peanut butter. When he had to go out, Ted insisted that we go together. He said the fresh air would do us all good. I knew he didn’t want me to be alone.

Mom once told me, “Let your man be your hero . . . even if the only heroic thing you have him do is open a pickle jar. It’ll make you both happy.”

She was right, as usual. And so was Ted. It
did
do us all good to stroll down the street. He and I held hands, and Angus loped along in front of us. And it was especially nice that one time when Ted cleaned up after Angus. The fact that it made him gag was the proverbial icing.

We were headed back to the Seven-Year Stitch, and I was poking fun at Ted when two engines of the Tallulah Falls Fire Department went tearing down the street. I froze.

Ted, ever adept at reading my thoughts, said, “It’s not your house, sweetheart. They’re going in the wrong direction.”

When we got back to the shop, Ted washed his hands and then called Manu to find out what was going on.

“It’s the Cantors,” he told me. “Their house is on fire.”

I gasped. “Is it bad? Was anyone hurt?”

“All Manu knows at this time is that a call went out requesting dispatch to send fire trucks to the Cantors’ address,” Ted said. “He recognized the address because he’s seen it so much recently because of Chester’s death.”

“That poor family. We should go over there.”

“Marcy, we need to stay here and let the fire department do its job.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I feel badly for the Cantors too, but right now we’d just be in the way.”

“Manu said the call requested fire trucks but not ambulances, didn’t he?”

“That’s what he said.”

I leaned into Ted, and he encircled me in his arms. “I hope everyone’s all right.”

“I wonder if the tapestry was destroyed.”

“Ted, how can you think of the tapestry at a time like this?” I asked.

“The note you received yesterday with the wreath said you were destroying Tallulah Falls,” he said. “The only thing you’ve done that would affect Tallulah Falls in the least is the fostering of the reality show, and you did that with the tapestry.”

“So you think the fire might’ve been set on purpose in order to destroy the tapestry and stop the production of the reality show,” I said.

“And stop the search for the
Delia
.” He reached into his pocket and took out his phone again. “Manu Singh,” he said into the phone.

When Manu answered, Ted told him his theory.

“Given the fact that Chester was murdered,” Ted told me after he’d ended the call, “Manu had already placed a team of officers and an arson specialist on the scene. He’ll let me know as soon as he has further information.”