Thread on Arrival (4 page)

I nodded. “They want to do it today . . . and they want you to go with them, Mr. Cantor. In fact, they won’t leave without you. They’re afraid for you to stay here with your son alone.”

“I’m getting what I deserve,” he said, his rheumy eyes filling with tears. “I did Adam wrong all those years ago when I divorced his mother. Then his mother married a man who was harsh with Adam. I later tried to make it up to him, but for the longest time, Adam wouldn’t have anything to do with me. And who could blame him?” He lowered his head. “This treasure could be the answer to my prayers. It could let me get my daughter-in-law and my grandchild to a safer place, and then Adam would see what he was missing. He’d understand what he’s been doing to them. And then I could convince him to let me get him some help.”

I patted his hand. “I hope you do find that treasure, Mr. Cantor.”

“Will you help me?” he asked, raising his eyes to mine.

“If I can,” I said.

“Will you take the tapestry somewhere safe for me? If you’ll take it to the bank, or to the police station—anywhere they’ll put it under lock and key, I’ll go. Then when Mary, Melanie, and I get to a safe place, you can get it back for me. What do you say?”

How could I say
no
?

Chapter Four

W
e still had a litt
le time before any of us had to be at work, so Reggie, Audrey, and I went to MacKenzies’ Mochas. Keira seated us—which made me uncomfortable since she despised me—and took our orders. I requested my usual low-fat vanilla latte with a dash of cinnamon, Reggie ordered a cappuccino, and Audrey went with Colombian dark roast coffee with cream and sugar.

As soon as Keira had sauntered away from our table, I leaned in so I could lower my voice. “Do you think they’ll go through with it? I’m still afraid Mr. Cantor might back out at the last minute.”

“Well, Manu said he’d send two plainclothes deputies in an unmarked car to pick Mr. Cantor up first,” Reggie said quietly. “The officers will take him to the men’s shelter before going to pick Mary up at work. From there, they’ll take Mary and collect Melanie from school.”

“Mary did say she’d take an early lunch so she can come home and pack up some things for herself and Melanie, right?” Audrey asked.

“Right.” Reggie sighed. “Mr. Cantor was supposed to start packing as soon as we left.”

“I think he will,” I said. “He’s kinda like a little boy, though. He made me promise to hold on to that tapestry he had and not to show it to anyone. He thinks it’s a treasure map and that it’ll lead to enough money to fix all his family’s financial problems.” I looked up to see Keira standing there with our drinks.

“So, where’s this treasure supposed to be?” she asked, distributing our coffees.

I shrugged, wishing I hadn’t mentioned the tapestry here in public. Mr. Cantor had trusted me with his secret, and I’d already inadvertently revealed it to a woman who considered me her rival for Todd’s affections. And I had no idea whom she might tell. “I seriously doubt there is a treasure. The person who told me about it is simply a sad old man who’s looking for a miracle.”

“Aren’t we all?” Audrey said. “Looking for a miracle, I mean.” She looked at Keira. “Could we get some extra napkins, please?”

With a frown, Keira hurried to the counter, grabbed some napkins, came back and plunked them in the center of our table before flouncing away again.

Audrey smiled at me. “Clearing rubberneckers away from crime scenes is one of my specialties. Did you know that?”

“I do now,” I said with a grin.

“As for Mr. Cantor,” she said, “maybe he’ll get his wish. I hope so. It really is an old tapestry. I’m not saying it’s a treasure map, by any stretch of the imagination, but . . .”

“Hey, you never know,” Reggie said. “I’d love to see this whole situation—the family gathering the courage to leave—be a wake-up call to Adam Cantor so that he decides to become the husband, father, and son his family needs.”

* * *

I went home to get Angus before opening the shop. We’d just been at the Seven-Year Stitch for a moment—I hadn’t even had time to hang my jacket in my office—when Sadie rushed in.

“What’s this I hear about a treasure map?” she asked.

I groaned. “Oh, no. That ignorant, spiteful Keira! What did she say?”

“She said you were talking about someone giving you a treasure map for safekeeping.” Sadie sat down on the sofa facing the street. “She said it’s rumored to be a treasure worth millions.”

I let out a growl of frustration as I stormed into my office, hung my jacket on the coatrack, and put my purse and tote bag under the desk. Angus retreated to his bed under the counter in the shop.

“Does that reaction mean it’s true?” Sadie called.

“No!” I came out of the office and stooped by Angus’s bed. “I’m sorry, baby.” I stroked his head. “I’m not angry with you.”

He wagged his tail but stayed where he was.

I straightened and went to sit beside Sadie. “You know what this is, don’t you?” I asked. “This is Keira’s attempt to have me inundated with treasure hunters. I told her there wasn’t a treasure.”

“Is there?”

“I seriously doubt it.” I explained about my visit with Mr. Cantor, his showing me the tapestry, and his hope that it would prove to be a map that would lead him to a treasure that would help solve all his family’s woes. “It’s an old tapestry. His mother probably used to entertain him with stories of pirates and treasure when he was a little boy. And now that he’s . . . well . . . in his second childhood, he’s returned to those dreams because he sees no other alternative to his family’s money problems. I guess he figures it makes about as much sense—maybe more so—as the lottery.”

“Well, gee . . . that’s sad,” Sadie said.

“It is. You’d love this little old guy, Sadie. I wanted to adopt him and bring him home with me.” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. “He says he deserves for his son to mistreat him. But he doesn’t. He’s a dear, sweet man.” I blinked back the tears and sniffled. “I’m going to take another look at that tapestry, too. If there’s any way it
is
a treasure map, I’ll help him find that treasure.”

Sadie sighed. “You started that class—what—last night?”

I nodded.

“I knew you’d get in over your head with this group before everything was said and done, but this has to be a record even for you.”

* * *

That afternoon I was in my office looking up Fabergé eggs on the computer. I wanted to make something unique for Mom . . . and that meant finding a good enough photograph that I could use to create a pattern. I learned that most of the famous Fabergé eggs were miniatures that could be worn on chains but that it was the larger ones created for Alexander and Nicholas that were the most popular. I lucked out and found a site that had a list of the Tsar Imperial Easter eggs and a link to photographs of some of them.

The one I decided to make for Mom was the Rose Trellis egg. It had a pale green background with baby pink roses and golden branches sporting darker green leaves. The trellis was silver and inlaid with tiny diamonds. I could put glass beads on the trellis to make the piece sparkle like the original. I uploaded the image into my cross-stitch pattern-making software. The many minute color variations that had been undetectable in the photograph but that had been picked up by the software made the pattern far too complex. I’d need to figure out a way to simplify the pattern before embarking on the project.

The bells over the door indicated I had a visitor.

“Coming!” I called, getting up and hurrying into the shop.

My visitor was Ted. Angus had already dropped a tennis ball at his feet, and Ted was scratching the dog behind the ears.

I smiled. “Hi, there.” He looked handsome in his dark gray suit and crisp white shirt. My gaze traveled from his cobalt eyes to his unsmiling lips, and my own smile faded. “Uh-oh. I don’t like that look. What’s wrong?”

He straightened, blew out a breath, and remained silent.

“Ted, please. . . . It’s the Cantors, isn’t it? Did something happen?”

He nodded. “When deputies arrived at the home to escort Mr. Cantor to the shelter, there was no response to their repeated knocking.”

I started shaking my head. “No . . .”

“Chester Cantor is dead, Marcy.”

I let out a wail, and Ted quickly bridged the distance between us and gathered me into his arms. He walked me back into the office and sat me down in the desk chair. He knelt in front of me, holding both my hands.

“How . . . ? How did they find him?” I asked. “Was it his heart? Had he fallen after we left? I knew someone should’ve stayed there and helped him pack.
I
should’ve stayed.”

“No, Marcy. It wasn’t any of those things. He . . . The deputies found him lying on the sofa in the living room with a book on Oregon shipwrecks beside him.” His eyes shifted from mine to our clasped hands. “His neck was broken.”

I gasped and then sobbed harder. “He . . . was . . .
murdered
?”

Ted stood, lifted me out of the chair, sat back down, and settled me onto his lap. I clung to him and cried until my sobs had diminished into quiet tears.

“This is my fault,” I whispered.

“It’s not,” Ted said.

“Yes, it is. I mentioned in MacKenzies’ Mochas that Mr. Cantor had what he believed was a treasure map, and someone killed him over it.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Do you know that for sure?” I asked. “Do you have the person in custody? Did he say he killed Chester Cantor for some other reason? Did Adam come home and catch him packing? Had the house been robbed?”

“We don’t have anyone in custody.” He shifted his eyes. “The house appeared to have been ransacked, but . . .”

I cried out in frustration and anger. This was my own fault, but part of the blame rested on that bigmouthed Keira.

Suddenly, we were moving. Ted was rolling the chair with us in it over to the mini-fridge. He opened the door, took out a bottle of water, and handed it to me.

“Drink. You’ve cried so much, I’m afraid you’ll dehydrate,” he said.

“Thank you.” I twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink. I immediately began to hiccup.

Ted tried to suppress a smile. “You need some sugar.”

My eyes dropped to his lips. It probably would help, but I thought Ted’s timing was a little off.

He rolled us over to the coffeepot, reached over my head, and took a packet of artificial sweetener from the tray that held the creamer and sweetener packets. “You don’t have any real sugar?”

I shook my head.

He handed the sweetener to me. “This might still work. Open it and swallow the contents.”

I looked at the packet and then back at Ted with a frown.

“Trust me,” he said. “It works. Usually.”

I tore off the corner of the packet of sweetener, swallowed the contents, and my hiccups immediately abated. I raised my eyebrows. “It worked. It really worked.”

“You see? I’m good for what ails you,” he said with a wink.

I smiled slightly. “Yes, you are. You really are.”

“For the record, I don’t know what Mr. Cantor’s assailant was looking for, but I highly doubt it was a treasure map.”

“Did he suffer?” I asked quietly.

“It appeared he’d dozed off while reading. The coroner doesn’t think Mr. Cantor ever woke up,” Ted said.

“I hope he didn’t. And I hope he was having a wonderful dream. Maybe he was dreaming he’d found the treasure.” I set the water bottle on the counter by the coffee tray. “He asked me to hold on to the tapestry for safekeeping. May I photograph it before I turn it over to you?”

“Of course. But, again, Marce, I don’t think that’s why he was killed.”

“You said the house was robbed,” I said.

“I said it
appeared
to be. We don’t know what, if anything, is missing yet. Adam and Mary Cantor will have to tell us that.”

I closed my eyes. “What about Mary?” My eyes flew open. “And Melanie? Will they still go to the shelter? What will happen?”

“Manu and the domestic abuse victim assistance supervisor talked with Mary before advising Adam of his father’s death,” said Ted. “I believe Mary has decided to stay in the home for now. She can’t imagine leaving Adam just after his father died. But if she and Melanie have any problems, they’re going to call Manu. He’ll protect them.”

“I know.” I hugged him. “Thank you for coming to tell me in person.”

“You’re welcome. I knew you’d be upset, and I wouldn’t have had you find out any other way.”

I pulled back and looked at his handsome face. Our eyes locked as I caressed his cheek with my palm. When my eyes lowered to his full lips this time, he leaned forward and kissed me. I buried my hands in his hair as I brought him as close as I could. His kiss felt so good . . . so right.

“Hey, are . . .”

Ted and I came up for air at the sound of Todd’s voice. He was standing in the doorway.

“Sorry I interrupted,” he said, turning to leave.

I started to call out to him, but I didn’t. Even though this was not how I’d intended to make my choice, it was made. It actually
had
been made for quite some time. I wanted to give a relationship with Ted a shot. I’d talk with Todd later . . . if he was still speaking with me.

“You okay?” Ted said.

I nodded. “I am. Are you?”

“I’m great. This is what I’ve been waiting for,” he said. “
You
are who I’ve been waiting for.”

“Ditto.” I kissed him again before standing. “Let me get you that tapestry.”

Chapter Five

A
fter Ted left, I called Sadie and
asked her if she could watch Angus and the shop for about fifteen minutes.

“Sure,” she said. “Is anything wrong?”

“I just need to run over to the Brew Crew and talk with Todd for a second,” I said.

“Oh, okay. I’ll be right there!”

I suspected that chipper note in her voice would fade after she found out what I was going to talk with Todd about.

Minutes later, Sadie—face beaming—came practically skipping into the Seven-Year Stitch. I was sitting on one of the red club chairs, puzzling over the Fabergé egg pattern. She sat on the navy sofa facing the window and peered at my pattern.

“That’s pretty,” she said. “Looks hard, though. Are you going to the Brew Crew to see if Todd can give you a shot of courage before you start on that?”

“Actually, I need to modify this pattern to make it simpler,” I said.

She leaned forward and squinted at me. “You’ve been crying.”

I ignored her observation for the moment. “I’m going to talk with Todd because he walked in on Ted and me kissing a few minutes ago.”

Sadie’s silence drew my eyes over to her face. She was gaping at me. “Is that why you’ve been crying? Because you think this has cost you your chance with Todd?”

“No. I’m sorry Todd found out the way he did, but I’ve made my choice,” I said. “I believe Ted is the right guy for me.”

“Oh.” The sound was small, yet somehow accusatory. “Then I guess this is my fault.”

“How do you figure that?” I asked.

“I told Todd about Keira and the treasure map fiasco. That’s why he came to see you. Have you had treasure seekers bugging you all day?”

I shook my head. “I had a few calls, but no one has been here. Someone did break into Chester Cantor’s house, though.” My voice caught. “He’s dead.”

She gasped. “Oh, my gosh, Marcy! I’m so sorry. You don’t think it had anything to do with that treasure map business, do you?”

“Yeah, I do.” I placed my pattern and the book with the photo I was using as a reference onto the ottoman. Then I stood and wiped my hands down the sides of my jeans. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, do you know for certain that it’s Ted you want, or were you just upset over the news about Mr. Cantor? If that’s it, Todd will forgive you for kissing Ted, and—”

“I’m sure.” And I was. Looking back, I’d always been more attracted to Ted than to Todd, but I’d been reluctant to hurt Todd’s feelings, not to mention Sadie’s and Blake’s feelings. Todd and I were friends—good friends—and I didn’t want to blow that. I hoped my decision wouldn’t destroy that friendship. But I had to follow my heart. My heart chose Ted.

The sunshine was still favoring Tallulah Falls with its presence when I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and it felt heavenly. The drab rainy days had left me aching for the warmth and sunshine I’d enjoyed in San Francisco during the early spring each year. I stepped over to the crosswalk, waited for the signal, and walked over to the Brew Crew.

The craft pub brewery wasn’t very crowded this time of day—it was just past noon—and Todd spotted me the moment I walked in. He was polishing the bar with a white cloth. I raised a hand in greeting and he jerked his head upward in something of a reverse nod. He wasn’t glad to see me—that was obvious.

I took a deep breath and strode to the bar. “Got a second?”

He surveyed the pub, taking note of two waitresses cleaning tables and his other bartender Robbie taking inventory. “Come on into the office.”

I followed him into his office, where he closed the door behind us.

“So . . .” He spread his hands. “I guess you and Ted are getting along better than I’d thought.”

“He’d stopped by to tell me that Chester Cantor was found murdered in his home,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders. I could tell he wanted to hug me but was hesitant. “That’s what was going on in your office? Nash was consoling you . . . and that led to the kiss?”

“That’s a big part of it, but I want to give the relationship a chance,” I said softly. “I’m sorry you found out the way you did.”

He dropped his hands from my shoulders and shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I was just coming over to apologize for Keira and the treasure map episode. Sadie had told me about it, and I knew Keira did it because of me.”

“Yeah.” I grinned slightly. “That girl has it bad for you.”

“Only she’s not the one I want.” He ran his hand through his hair.

I placed my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Todd. I think the world of you. I really do. I just . . .”

He nodded. “I got it. You like me, but you like Marshal Dillon better. It’s not rocket science.”

“You’ll—”

He held up his hand to stop me from continuing. “Save the platitudes, all right? Yes, we can still be friends. Yes, there’s someone out there for me, and I’ll meet the right girl,
yadda, yadda
. But I’m not ready to move on to all that yet. Just give me some space, okay?”

I nodded, tears burning my eyes. Not trusting myself to speak, I turned and left.

“How’d he take it?” Sadie asked with an edge to her voice as soon as I walked back into the Seven-Year Stitch. She was standing with her back against the counter and her arms folded.

I slid my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “He’s a little upset.” I lifted and dropped one shoulder. What did she expect me to say?

“Probably more than a little,” she said. “I should go over and check on him.”

“Please, don’t make a bigger deal out of this than it is. Todd asked me to give him some space. I think he’d appreciate that from you and Blake as well.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe he’d like to know his friends care about him.”

I shook my head. “Can’t you be happy for me in the least?”

Sadie blew out a breath and dropped her arms to her sides. After a moment she said, “I am happy for you . . . and for Ted, too, for that matter. I’m just sorry for Todd. And I blame myself for trying to throw the two of you together. I wish you and Todd had been able to give your relationship a fair shake.”

“I think we were able to do that,” I said. “But my feelings for Ted go beyond friendship. My feelings for Todd don’t. Maybe Keira is the girl for him after all.”

“I don’t think so.” Sadie looked down at the floor. “There was never anything between her and Todd except on her part . . . kinda like the opposite of you and Todd, right?”

“That’s not fair. I can’t help who I have feelings for.”

“I know,” Sadie said, with a huff. “I’m sorry.”

“You know who you should introduce Todd to? Audrey Dalton. She’s beautiful, and she seems like a terrific person.”

Sadie looked up, and I could see that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Yeah . . . but, after this, Todd might never trust anyone with his heart again.”

I thought Sadie was being a tad melodramatic, but I had the good sense not to say so.

* * *

After Sadie left, I gave Angus a treat and made myself a cup of tea. She hadn’t made me feel any better about how things had gone with Todd. But, fortunately, she hadn’t made me feel any worse. As I’d told her, I couldn’t help it that I had feelings for Ted. I thought about Ted and smiled to myself. He was a wonderful man. If I had a future with any guy in Tallulah Falls, it was Ted.

I sat down at the computer and pulled up the photos I’d taken of Mr. Cantor’s tapestry. This brought on another wave of melancholy over Mr. Cantor’s tragic death. This was one of the most bittersweet days I’d ever experienced. I’d have to call Mom later and get her take on everything.

I tried to put Mr. Cantor’s death out of my mind and concentrate solely on the tapestry.
The Delia
. I could quickly see if it was a legitimate shipwreck.

I went into my Internet browser and did a search for shipwrecks off the coast of Tallulah Falls, Oregon. The
Delia
came up in the search. I clicked the link.

The
Delia
was an East Coast ship that sank off the coast of Tallulah Falls en route to Portland, Oregon, from San Francisco in 1844. The schooner was hauling silk, pearls, and beeswax. The
Delia
ran into a gale and was stranded at sea. A tugboat arrived too late to rescue the stranded vessel, but the crew was taken to safety. The
Delia
began to break up in the stormy seas, and the cargo was lost.

My cell phone rang, and I took it from my pocket. It was Ted.

“Hi, there,” I said.

“You sound as if you’re feeling better,” he said. “I’m glad. I know it was rough on you to hear about Mr. Cantor’s death.”

“It was. Did your investigators find the names of any treasure hunters when they were searching the home? Mr. Cantor said he’d spoken with one.”

“And you think that might be a good place to start, eh, Inch-High Private Eye?”

I laughed softly at the twisted endearment. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll look into it. In the meantime, you shouldn’t worry about the investigation,” he said.

“And you shouldn’t waste your breath. You know I’m going to worry about Mary and Melanie as long as they’re in that house. What if Adam is the killer?”

“Can we discuss it over dinner? At my place? I’ll make my famous chicken piccata.”

“Well, if it’s
famous
, how could I say no?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s famous, all right. How about I pick you up at your place at six?”

“That sounds great. I’m looking forward to it.”

I heard a customer come into the shop and had to hang up. But as soon as this customer left, I was calling Mom.

“Hi. Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch,” I told the woman as I replaced my phone in my jeans pocket. The woman with the lank brown hair pulled into a low ponytail looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her right away. Had she visited the shop before?

She looked around appreciatively. “This is a nice place.” She nodded toward Angus, who seemed to sense her hesitation. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”

“No. Angus is as friendly as can be.”

“It’s real nice of you to help Ms. Singh out and all,” she said, still avoiding Angus as if she wasn’t a hundred percent sure she could trust him.

That’s when it clicked. She was one of the women in the domestic abuse victims group. Melanie Cantor had sat between this woman and her mother yesterday evening. “I’m glad I’m able to contribute, even if it is in such a small way.”

Susan . . . I was fairly certain her name was Susan.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s a small way at all.” She moved farther into the shop and smiled at the mannequin standing behind the counter. “Cute. Hey, did you guys talk with Mary’s father-in-law this morning? I know that was weighing on Mary’s mind awfully heavy last night.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to be the one to tell Mary’s friend that Mr. Cantor was dead. Who knows what kind of rumors and speculation that would start? So I simply said, “We did. He’s a real sweetheart.” To change the subject, I added, “Is there anything I can help you find?”

“No, I’m just browsing,” she said. “Thanks, though.” She wandered over to the pattern books. “I appreciate your bringing us the stamped pattern kits. These with the symbols look hard.”

“They’re not so bad when you get the hang of it,” I assured her. “You might want to try one after you finish the project you’re working on now.”

“Maybe.”

As she continued to thumb through the pattern books, another customer came in asking if I had anything on Chinese Suzhou embroidery. The young woman was of Asian-American descent and told me she was trying to combine her Chinese heritage with her love of needlework.

Suzhou embroidery is one of the oldest embroidery techniques in the world and utilizes brightly colored silk threads to create intricately detailed needlework pieces. I mean,
really intricate
. One form of Suzhou embroidery even features a design—either the same design or a different one—on the back of the fabric. Can you imagine? And, no, I’ve never done one of these myself. I was doing well to create the image on the front of the fabric.

It has been recorded that Suzhou embroidery was being done as far back as 200 BC, but the technique became popular during the Song Dynasty (which began in the late 900s, if I’m not mistaken). I was impressed that one of my customers was interested in the craft.

Although I didn’t have anything in stock, I retrieved my laptop from my office and invited the customer to help me find something among my suppliers. She and I sat on one of the sofas in the sit-and-stitch square and scrolled through Web pages until we found a supplier who offered Suzhou kits. She and I were both thrilled, and I ordered four kits—one for her, and three to put in the shop. The customer gave me her name, e-mail address, and cell number, and I promised to let her know as soon as the kits came in.

Once the Suzhou customer had left, I turned my attention back to Susan, but she’d apparently slipped out of the shop. I checked the clock and saw that it was a quarter past three. Since there’s usually a lull in business at that time of day, I decided to call Mom. As a sought-after costume designer, she was often away on location. But she was enjoying some much deserved downtime at home this week.

She answered on the first ring, and instead of chirping her lyrical
Beverly Singer
, she answered with, “Hello, darling. What’s new?”

“You actually checked caller ID!” I laughed. “
That’s
new.”

She joined in my laughter. “Hey, I’m on vacation . . . or, rather, staycation. I’m being careful about whose calls I take. Now, let me guess why you’re calling.” She paused. “You found another dead body in your storeroom.”

“Mom! Of course not!”

“You mean there
hasn’t
been a murder in Tallulah Falls lately?”

I hesitated just an instant too long.

“Marcella,” she said, forcing a note of sternness into her voice. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I quickly explained about teaching embroidery to the domestic abuse victims group, speaking with Mary and Melanie, and Mr. Cantor’s demise.