Thread on Arrival (7 page)

“Did you know Chester Cantor?” I asked, eager to step out of Vera’s glaring spotlight on my love life.

“Yes. I was sorry to hear about his death. The rumor is that Chester didn’t die of natural causes.”

“No. I . . . um . . . I heard the same rumor,” I said. I didn’t feel it was my place to tell Vera what I knew about Mr. Cantor’s death. “I only met Mr. Cantor once, but he seemed to be an awfully nice man.”

Vera tilted her head. “He’d mellowed in his old age. But, I suppose we all do, hmm?”

“So he wasn’t always so kind?”

“Well, he ran off and left his wife and infant son high and dry. There was nothing nice about that,” she said.

“I’d heard that he’d divorced Adam’s mother,” I said. “But I had no idea Adam was an infant when his father left. No wonder he was reluctant to reconcile with Mr. Cantor later on.”

“It was a terribly sad situation,” Vera said. “Adam’s mom, Blanche, worked at the textile mill that was on the outskirts of town back then. Her mother kept the baby while Blanche worked. But she could still barely make ends meet. I believe that’s why she wound up marrying that horrible Pete Jenkins.”

“Mr. Jenkins was the stepfather who was abusive to Adam?” I asked.

Vera nodded. “And to Blanche too.”

“Did Blanche finally leave Mr. Jenkins, or are they still together?”

“Pete died in a logging accident when Adam was fourteen or fifteen,” Vera said. “I think that’s when Chester started trying to reconnect with Adam.”

“Despite the abuse, do you think Adam considered Mr. Jenkins more of a father than Mr. Cantor?” I asked.

“Of course, he did. Pete was the only dad Adam had ever known.” She pursed her lips. “I have to hand it to Chester, though. He’d apparently had a true change of heart—at least, where his son was concerned—because he never gave up. It took him two years of letters, cards, and showing up at every sporting event Adam played in . . . and even the ones where Adam sat on the bench . . . before Adam would finally give Chester a chance to be a father to him again.”

Chapter Eight

I
locked Angus inside the shop while I ran down th
e street to MacKenzies’ Mochas to get the muffin basket for the Cantors. He walked with me as far as the window would allow and then barked his disapproval as I continued on down the street without him. I’d already told him I’d only be a minute. That dog can be so impatient sometimes.

I half wished I could’ve taken him with me because I was a little nervous about going into the coffee shop. I hadn’t spoken with Sadie since yesterday afternoon, so I wasn’t sure whether or not she’d give me the cold shoulder . . . even if it
would
be unfair if she did. Still, I was glad to see that Blake was the only one manning the counter when I stepped into the shop. He greeted me with a warm smile, which I gratefully reciprocated.

“Hi,” I said. “Is the muffin basket ready?”

“It sure is. Let me grab it for you.” Blake turned and went to the shelf on the wall behind the counter to retrieve my basket. He’d done a beautiful job on it—purple and white ribbons cascaded from a dual bow—and I complimented his work.

Before he could reply or get back to the counter, Keira sauntered up. She anchored one hand to her hip and looked at me disdainfully. “What’re
you
doing here?”

I smiled. “Thanks awfully for your hospitality, Keira, but Blake is already waiting on me.”

She huffed and stalked over to the espresso machine.

As Blake put the basket on the counter in front of me and went back to quietly redress Keira for her rudeness, Todd came in. This visit just kept getting better and better. Was he going to glare at me like Keira had done?

“Hi, Marcy,” Todd said. He nodded toward the counter. “Blake. Good to see you.”

Keira whirled toward Todd, nearly spilling the espresso she’d been pouring. “Hey, babe. Be right with you.”

“Keira, I’m serious,” Blake said. “I’m not taking much more of your attitude. Now, step it up. Table four is getting impatient.”

“You look beautiful,” Todd told me as Keira stormed off with Table Four’s espresso. “More so than I’ve ever seen you.”

I looked down at my jeans and pale peach sweatshirt. “Wow. I should get this dressed up every day.”

“It’s not the clothes.” He took my elbow and gently propelled me into the alcove where the coat hooks were loaded with lightweight jackets and an umbrella or two. “You look happy.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one able to put that sparkle in your eyes. But I’m glad someone was.”

“Todd, I never meant—” My voice caught, and my vision was blurred by unshed tears.

He pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “Please, don’t cry. I just want you to know I realize what we do have, you and I. We have a powerful friendship that I don’t want to lose.”

My
“You won’t”
was muffled against his shoulder.

He held me at arm’s length then and told me, “If Ted hurts you, he’ll have me to contend with.”

I smiled. “I know.”

“I really care about you, Marcy.”

“And I really care about you, Todd. It’s just . . .”

“Don’t say it. I know.” He grinned. “I’d better let you go.”

I nodded. I returned to the counter, but Blake had made himself scarce. Beside the muffin basket, he’d left a napkin on which he’d written,
It’s on your tab. Love, B.

As I left, I noticed Todd had already gone too.

* * *

When Angus and I got home, I quickly showered and changed into a brown suede skirt, a tan cowl-neck sweater, and knee-high chocolate boots. I’d just finished putting the finishing touches on my hair and makeup when Ted arrived.

I hurried down the stairs, opened the door, and greeted him with a kiss.

“What did I do to deserve that?” he asked.

“Actually, it’s what I hope you’ll do.” I took his hand and led him into the kitchen. With a nod toward the muffin basket sitting on the table, I asked, “Would you mind if we drop this off at the Cantors’ house on the way to Captain Moe’s?”

“Of course I don’t mind.” He took a closer look at the basket. “It’s from MacKenzies’ Mochas?”

I nodded and then busied myself putting food in Angus’s dish.

“How did that go?”

“It went fine. Blake was super, and I’m so relieved about that. I didn’t see Sadie. Keira was her usual snotty self.” I glanced at Ted surreptitiously. “And Todd was . . . gracious.”

“Todd?”

“Uh-huh. He came in and told me, basically, that he’s happy for me . . . for us.” I turned to face Ted. “We hugged it out, and I think we’re in a good place now.”

“Oh, you hugged it out, huh?” He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms. “Should I be jealous?” He lowered his head and gave me a toe-curling kiss.

“Yes,” I answered breathlessly. “If jealousy makes you kiss me like that, then you should stay that way.”

“Then consider me your personal green-eyed monster.” He kissed me again.

“If you keep that up, we’re never going to make it to Captain Moe’s,” I said.

“Okay, okay,” he said, with a laugh. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yep.” I got the muffin basket. “Lead the way.”

As he opened the car door for me, and I slid onto the seat, I asked, “Is Audrey Dalton seeing anyone?”

Ted frowned. “I have no idea. Why?”

“I think she and Todd would make a good couple.”

He shook his head and closed the door. When he got into the car, he asked, “Do you honestly think matchmaking is such a swell idea?”

I shrugged. “Manu and Reggie probably think it is.”

“But Sadie and Blake—not so much,” said Ted.

* * *

There were several cars in front of the Cantor house when Ted and I arrived. Given Adam’s reputation, I was surprised so many people were on hand to offer their condolences; but I supposed some were there for Mary and Melanie.

When we walked in, Mary’s friend Susan—the one who was in the domestic abuse victims’ class and who’d been into the shop yesterday—was sitting beside Mary on the sofa.

Susan rose and took the muffin basket from me. “Thank you, Marcy. I’ll put these with the other gifts and cards.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say good-bye to you before you left the Seven-Year Stitch yesterday.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll stop in again sometime soon.”

As Susan took the basket in the direction of the kitchen, I sat down beside Mary. “How are you?”

“I think we’re all still kinda in shock.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s just so hard to believe.”

Ted stooped down beside me and spoke softly to Mary. “I want you to know the Tallulah Falls Police Department is doing everything possible.”

“Thank you.”

Adam chose that particular moment to stagger over to the sofa. Even three feet away from the guy, I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Police are doing everything, huh?” Adam asked, his words slurring. “Everything to find the killer or everything to frame me? Heard you people asked around at work . . . wanted to make sure I was where I said I was. You think I murdered my own father?”

Unfortunately, Melanie was going from her room to the kitchen and overheard Adam’s last question. She came into the living room, her small face pinched with sorrow and confusion, her mouth agape.

She looked from her father to her mother. “Is that true? W-was Grandpa . . . ? Did somebody kill him?”

Mary rose and went to hug her daughter.

“Mom, is it true?” Melanie asked, pushing away.

Mary nodded and then rushed after Melanie when she fled the room sobbing.

Adam pointed to Ted and me. “You needa go.” He lowered his arm. “Done caused enough trouble.” He turned and headed for the hallway.

“Do you think they’ll be all right?” I asked Ted.

Susan had returned and had overheard my question. “I’ll see to it that they are,” she said. “I won’t leave until Adam has passed out, and I’ll call the cops if he gets violent.”

“Thank you,” Ted said. He looked at me. “We should go.”

I nodded. “Susan, please, let us know if the Cantors need anything or if there’s anything we can do.”

On the drive to Captain Moe’s, Ted was beating himself up over the incident at the Cantor home.

“If I hadn’t said anything to Mary, Adam wouldn’t have mouthed off and Melanie wouldn’t have found out the truth about her grandfather’s death,” he said. “At least, she wouldn’t have found out
that
way.”

“Ted, you were only trying to offer assurances to Mary. It isn’t your fault Adam is a drunken idiot.” I paused. “He accused the police department of trying to frame him. Does that mean there’s a pretty strong case against him?”

“You know I’m not at liberty to say,” Ted said. “We’re investigating all the possibilities.”

“Off the record?”

He sighed. “Off the record, Adam has no solid alibi for the time of the murder. But I have a hard time believing he did it. I mean, I was there when he was told of his father’s death. He looked genuinely shocked.”

“So you don’t feel Mary and Melanie are in any danger?” I asked.

“Sweetheart, they’ve been in danger for years. But at least now Adam knows he’s being watched, and maybe that will temper his actions.”

“Okay. Let’s try to put the Cantors out of our minds for a while and enjoy ourselves,” I said, as Ted pulled into a parking space at Captain Moe’s.

“I’m all for that.” He shut off the engine and gave me a quick kiss before we got out of the car.

Captain Moe came to greet us as soon as we entered the diner. A bear of a man with a shock of white hair and a matching beard, he was as jovial as any Santa Claus ever depicted. He kissed my cheek and held out his hand to Ted. Ted had to let go of my hand to shake Captain Moe’s.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Captain Moe laughed and winked at me. “I sense a change in the air.” He put an arm around each of us and led us to a booth by a window. “Will the two of you be sharing a large plate of spaghetti like those Disney lovebirds?”

“We’re not
Lady and the Tramp
!” I said in mock annoyance.

“No, my wee Tinkerbell, and I should be ashamed for likening you to a dog,” Captain Moe said.

“We’re more like
Beauty and the Beast
,” Ted said.

Captain Moe put his fists on his hips. “You’d best not be calling my niece’s godmother a beast, Detective Nash, or else I’ll throw you out of my fine establishment!”

We all laughed, and then I asked Captain Moe how his niece, Riley, and her baby daughter, Laura, were doing.

“They’re doing well. Riley is dreading her return to work next week, but I don’t know why—she’s taking Laura right along with her. They’ve put a bassinette in the office.”

“That’s terrific,” I said. “I’ll have to drop in for a visit.”

“Riley would like that,” Captain Moe said. He turned to Ted. “Sad business about Chester Cantor.”

A gaunt man of about fifty was walking past and stopped upon hearing Captain Moe’s comment. “Chester Cantor? What happened to him?”

A flicker of irritation flashed across Captain Moe’s broad face at the interruption before he turned and addressed the man. “Chester died yesterday, Ed.”

“I’m real sorry to hear that.” Ed wrinkled his brow. “I’d spoken with Chester not more than two weeks ago about helping him find some treasure he was looking for.”

“What sort of treasure?” I asked.

Ed shrugged. “I dunno. Treasure he thought came from a ship called the
Delia
that sunk—oh, I reckon about two hundred years or more ago. He even showed me what he thought was a map pointing out where he believed the treasure was located.”

“He had a map?” I asked.

Ed shook his head. “It wasn’t a map in any real sense of the word. It looked like something somebody had embroidered.”

“You mean, like a tapestry,” I said.

“That’s what he called it. It didn’t look like any treasure map I’d ever seen.” Ed shrugged as if he were an authority on treasure maps. “Poor old Chester. . . . He was desperate. And desperate people will do just about anything to get what they want.” He clapped Captain Moe on the back. “See ya, Moe.”

“Good-bye, Ed,” Captain Moe said as Ed wandered off. He looked back at Ted and me. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

“No problem,” I said. “Do you think it’s possible Chester Cantor’s tapestry
was
a treasure map?”

“I imagine anything’s possible, Tink,” Captain Moe said. “But I think it’s more likely that Chester was merely chasing rainbows like Ed said. Now, if he’d been looking for the lost Ramsey party gold, Sir Francis Drake’s cache, or even the buried pirate treasure that was never fully recovered, then I might’ve taken this map talk more seriously. But I don’t know of a single Oregonian—besides Chester—who ever thought there was any treasure to be found in the wreckage of the
Delia
.”

“I really need to brush up on my Oregon history and find out more about all these treasures,” I said with a grin.

After Captain Moe took our orders and went back to the counter, Ted arched his brow at me.

“What?” I asked.

He did a really lousy impression of my voice. “‘He had a
map
? Was it a
tapestry
?’”

“First of all, I sound nothing like that,” I said. “And, two, we needed to find out more about what this Ed person knows about Chester and his map. I think he might be protesting a little too much about his belief that Chester’s map was bogus. We should find out if he has an alibi for the time of Chester’s murder.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Chief.”

“Very funny.”

“That’s who you sounded like to me,” Ted said, spreading his hands. “I think we’d better put this investigation on the back burner—the way
somebody
suggested—and enjoy our date.”