Thread on Arrival (9 page)

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Blake from MacKenzies’ Mochas said Melanie liked the chocolate, chocolate chip muffins, so he made sure to include several of those.”

“Yeah, those are disappearing fast.” Adam smiled. “Blake’s a good guy. Again, I’m sorry I behaved so poorly Saturday evening. I’d been drinking a little . . . trying to drown my grief, I guess you could say, although it only made matters worse . . . and I lashed out at you and Detective Nash.”

“The Tallulah Falls Police Department is doing its best to find out who murdered your father,” I said.

“I know. But it won’t bring him back, will it?” he asked. “Pop and I had lost the majority of my early years. I guess you could say we were trying to make up for lost time.”

“I only met your father once, but during the brief time I spoke with him, he made it clear to me how much he loved his family.”

“I didn’t always treat him well,” Adam said, softly, a slight catch in his voice.

Before I could stop myself, I said, “But you can make a concentrated effort to treat Mary and Melanie well.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

You can get help to ensure you stop abusing your family
is what I thought. My mind raced to come up with something more acceptable. To Adam, I said, “You just told me that you and your dad didn’t make the most of your childhood. Your dad expressed regrets to me about that too.” I lifted and dropped my shoulders—the ultimate gesture of casual offhandedness. “Being aware of those regrets can keep you from making the same mistakes your father made. It can encourage you to be the kind of dad and husband you wish he’d have been—and sooner in life rather than later. Right? Not that you aren’t, I mean.”

He still simply stared at me.

“After all,” I continued, “didn’t someone say,
A smart man learns from his own mistakes but a truly wise man learns from the mistakes of others
? I’m only saying that rather than grieve for the time you missed and the time you no longer have with your father, you can channel that energy into the time you have with your daughter and your wife so that you never have the regrets that plagued your dad.”

“I see what you’re saying,” Adam said slowly. “Makes sense. Of course, I do want justice for my dad.”

“Naturally. We all do.”

“Why did he decide to confide in you when he hadn’t even met you until you brought the books Friday morning?” he asked. “You hadn’t met him before . . . had you?”

“Oh, no.” I smiled. “I guess he was simply feeling chatty . . . and I just have one of those faces or something. People talk with me all the time.”

“But why was he talking with you about me?”

“Um . . . I can’t recall. We were just chatting in general when he said something about regretting not giving you the childhood you’d deserved.” I shrugged. “I didn’t pursue it.”

He studied me for a moment as if trying to decide whether or not I was telling the truth. “Do the police have any solid leads about who killed Pop?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You should ask them.”

“I have. They’re being evasive.”

Before he could elaborate, Reggie hurried into the shop. “Now,
this
is what I call a blustery day!” she said, smiling at Adam and me. “Hello, all. Marcy, I need three skeins each of white, silver, and blue perle floss, please.”

“Excuse me,” I said to Adam, as I got up and went over to Reggie. Angus was way ahead of me and was already sitting at her feet. “What shade of blue?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Reggie said. “I’d better see what all you have.”

“I should be going, but thank you again for your expression of sympathy, Marcy,” Adam said, as he walked to the door.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

As soon as he left, Reggie confessed that she didn’t really need any thread. “I was on my way to MacKenzies’ Mochas when I noticed Adam in your shop and thought you might need my help. You don’t think he caught wind of the escape plan, do you?”

“If so, he didn’t let on,” I said. “I think this was more of a fishing expedition.”

Chapter Ten

T
ed called
before I left work that afternoon and said that Manu and Reggie had invited us for dinner. “Shall I accept?” he asked. “Or would you rather I politely decline?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, please, accept. I think it’ll be nice . . . unless you’d rather not go.” I happened to think that Ted might not want to spend the evening with his boss.

“I’m fine with it. I just know Mondays and Fridays are your only free evenings during the week, and I thought you might have other plans.”

“Nope. Just find out if they need us to bring anything,” I said. “By the way, are you having a good day?”

“I am. Are you? When Reggie stopped in at the station earlier, she said Adam Cantor dropped in on you.” Though he’d kept his tone light, there was an underlying hardness that told me he was concerned about the visit.

“He stopped in to apologize for his rude behavior Saturday evening . . . or, at least, that’s what he said. I really think he was trying to find out what the police are doing with regard to Chester’s murder.”

“What did you tell him?” Ted asked.

“I told him I didn’t know anything and that if he wanted information, he should ask the police,” I said. “He told me you guys are being evasive. I guess that means that no one will come right out and tell him,
Congratulations! You’re a suspect in your father’s death!
”

“Well, we shouldn’t have to beat him over the head with it,” Ted said.

“You’ve never had any trouble convincing me I was a suspect.”

“Is this where I say something horribly corny like
Yeah, but you’re a thief—you stole my heart
?” he asked.

I laughed. “No. This is where you say
good-bye
, and I go home and get ready for our dinner date.”

“Deal. Pick you up at six thirty?”

“Sounds great . . . but, please, leave the corn at home.”

“I will,” he promised.

* * *

Reggie had decorated the Singh home with the same eclectic blend of Indian and coastal decor with which she’d done her office at the library. And, once again, the effect was stunning. I had the feeling that if I—or almost anyone other than Reggie—had tried to pull off the look, it would’ve been a horrible failure.

The living room walls were painted a soft cream. The hardwood floor was covered with a large Indian rug that had shades of brown, blue, beige, and copper. A light blue sofa picked up the color from the rug, and two rattan rockers with matching ottomans had blue-and-copper-striped cushions. The end tables and the coffee table were glass-topped rattan. An elaborate painting hung on the wall directly across from the door. When I commented on it, Reggie told me it was the ceiling of the Taj Mahal.

“We bought it when we were there last,” she said.

“Wow.” I stepped over to take a closer look. “It’s so intricate . . . and it’s incredible how well it matches your living room.”

“I know,” Reggie said. “That’s why I had to have it.”

Manu took Ted’s and my jackets and asked if we’d like drinks while we waited for dinner to finish cooking. I asked for water, and Ted said he didn’t need anything.

We’d brought some white tulips as a hostess gift. Reggie went to put the flowers in a vase and said she’d bring the drinks back after she’d checked on dinner.

Manu invited us to sit down. He took one of the rattan rockers, and we sat on the sofa. Like their decor, he and his wife had very different styles that meshed delightfully. While Reggie preferred traditional Indian dress, like the black and gold tunic she wore this evening, Manu chose a more American style. Like Ted and me, he wore jeans. But where the two of us were wearing lightweight sweaters, Manu wore a blue plaid flannel shirt. He had a fondness for flannel shirts. Reggie teasingly referred to them as his lumberjack duds.

“Reggie told Ted and me that Adam Cantor came to your shop today,” Manu said. “He didn’t threaten you in any way, did he?”

“No,” I said. “He was actually pretty nice. Of course, as I told Reggie, I think he was hoping I could tell him something about his father’s murder investigation, but he hit a brick wall there.”

Manu nodded. “That’s what Reggie said. She was so afraid he’d found out that the bookmobile wasn’t the real reason you’d paid a visit to his house.”

Reggie returned with a tray of drinks—white wine for her and Manu, and water for Ted and me. “In case you change your mind,” she told Ted. “And if either of you decides you’d like a glass of wine, please, let me know.”

“I’ll wait and have mine with dinner,” I said. “But thank you.”

“I heard Adam Cantor’s name,” she said to Manu, as she placed the tray on the coffee table and handed him his drink. She took her own glass and sat on the other rattan rocker.

“I was telling Marcy you were afraid Adam had discovered that you, Reggie, and Audrey had been hoping to talk Chester into leaving rather than bringing books to a shut-in,” Manu said.

“Well, Chester did check out a couple of books. . . .” She trailed off and looked at me. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Adam was duped . . . and that he was duped in order for us to get in there and talk his family into leaving him. Still, if anyone should bear the brunt of his anger over that, it should be me. I’m sorry I dragged you and Audrey into this, Marcy.”

“If I’m not mistaken, going to the Cantor house in the bookmobile was my idea,” I said.

“And I’ve never known Marcy to have to be
dragged
into anything that was none of her business,” Ted teased.

I playfully elbowed him in the side.

“That’s true,” Reggie said.

“Hey! What is this?” I asked. “Gang up on Marcy night?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Reggie said, with a laugh. “It is true, but I knew your heart would go out to the women in that group.” She turned serious again. “I shouldn’t have taken you to the Cantors’ house. Mary could’ve brought the tapestry to you, had she wanted you to assess its worth for Chester.”

“She could have, but I really enjoyed meeting him,” I said.

Sensing the downward turn of my mood, Ted asked, “So, how did the women in the group take to embroidery?”

“I think most of them are enjoying the class,” I said. “In fact, one of them—Mary’s friend Susan—stopped by the Seven-Year Stitch for the second time today.”

“Susan Willoughby?” Reggie asked. She sipped her wine. “She’s an odd one.”

“I suppose her last name is Willoughby,” I answered. “I thought I was doing well to remember her first name since there are so many women in the group. She
is
the only Susan in the class, isn’t she?”

Reggie nodded. “Medium height, sandy blond hair, brown eyes?”

“That’s the one,” I said. “Why did you say she’s an odd one?”

“She seems to be more of an observer than a participant,” Reggie said. “They all are at first, but eventually most of the women begin to trust one another, commiserate, and open up about their experiences. Not Susan.”

“Wait.” Manu held out his hand. “Susan Willoughby is in the domestic abuse victims’ support group?”

When Reggie confirmed that she was, Manu asked why.

As Reggie shrugged, I looked from her to Manu to Ted.

“I thought the group was comprised of women from the safe house and those living in at-risk situations,” I said. “Not that I mind having her in the class or anything, but why would Susan be in the group if she wasn’t a victim of domestic abuse?”

“Maybe she comes to lend her support to Mary,” Ted said.

“Or it could be that she
is
a survivor and feels she can help others get through it,” Reggie said. “She certainly hasn’t put herself in that role yet, though.”

Manu shook his head. “I know Jared Willoughby. No way is he a wife beater.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Reggie said. “Some people are adept at hiding their true selves from the public.”

“Not Jared,” said Manu. “He’s a stand-up guy.”

“I’m not saying he isn’t.” Reggie took another sip of her wine. “I’m only pointing out that you never truly know someone until you’re living with them.”

“And maybe not then,” I said lightly. “Anyone remember the story “Button, Button” by Richard Matheson? It’s the one where the couple was to receive fifty thousand dollars if they pressed a button. The catch was that someone the button-presser did not know would die.”

“I remember,” said Ted. “The wife pressed the button, and her husband died in an accident. He had a twenty-five-thousand-dollar life insurance policy. . . .”

“With a double indemnity clause,”
we finished in unison, laughing. The insurance company had paid the wife fifty thousand dollars because it paid double the amount of the policy if the death was accidental.

“But you said the person who died would be someone they didn’t know,” Reggie said.

“The catch was that the wife only
thought
she knew her husband,” I said.

“That’s a scary thought,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Manu said. “You know me better than I know myself.”

* * *

When Ted and I got back to my house, I made us a pot of decaf while Ted let Angus in and fed him treats.

“Dinner was fun,” I said, as I took two mugs out of the cabinet and placed them on the counter.

“Yes, it was.” Ted came up behind me, slid his arms around my waist, and kissed my neck. “The meal wasn’t what I expected, though.”

“It wasn’t?” I giggled. “It was almost
exactly
what I expected. I mean, I didn’t know what foods Reggie would serve, but I knew she’d have a mix of Indian and American dishes.”

Reggie had treated us to oven-baked barbecue chicken with vegetable curry, rolls, and a yummy pudding called
kheer
.

“I guess we could call Reggie’s cooking style American-Indian cuisine, but then that would mean something else entirely,” he murmured against the back of my neck. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I closed my eyes and sank back against him.

“I feel your resistance to my charms beginning to weaken,” he said, turning me to face him.

“Silly man.” I wrapped my arms around him. “I never had any resistance to your charms.”

He lowered his lips to mine, and we were enjoying a deliciously hot kiss until Angus wedged himself between us.

“Dude, gimme a break,” Ted said to Angus. “You get to be with her all day.”

“True, but he doesn’t get to be with
you
.” I poured our coffee, and we took it into the living room.

Angus happily padded after us. When we slipped off our shoes and snuggled up on the sofa, the dog was content to lie nearby and chew on a toy.

Curled against Ted with my head resting on his chest, I felt happier than I could remember feeling in years. I told him so.

He kissed me lightly. “Me, too, sweetheart. In fact, I think the only other thing I need right now is to find Chester Cantor’s murderer and get him off the street so I won’t have to worry about Adam harassing you.”

“Adam Cantor doesn’t scare me,” I lied. “I’ve got my own personal bodyguard twenty-four-seven, remember?”

We both looked over at Angus, and he wagged his tail in acknowledgment before resuming the all-important business of toy chewing.

“You’ve seen Chester’s tapestry treasure map,” I said. “Which do you think it is—a tapestry or a treasure map?”

He shrugged and nestled me closer. “I think it’s a tapestry designed to look like a treasure map.” He ran his finger along my collarbone. “What do you think?”

“I have no idea, but I know that a lot of people around Tallulah Falls have a burning desire to find treasure.”

“It’s like our answer to the lottery. Everybody wants to win big.” He kissed the trail his fingertip had forged along my collarbone. “Now, burning desire . . . that’s a feeling I’m familiar with.”

“Come on,” I said. “Be serious for just a second.”

“I
am
serious.” He lifted his head. “Okay—one second . . . not a minute more. I say anything’s possible.”

“Really? You think the tapestry could actually lead to the discovery of the wreckage of the
Delia
?”

“Why not? Like I said, anything’s possible,” he said. “Now, time’s up and your so-called bodyguard is snoring. Come here.”

Since I was about to lose my train of thought in a pair of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen anyway, I put aside the plan that was forming somewhere in the recesses of my mind. And then I kissed Ted and showed him that he wasn’t the only one who knew a thing or two about burning desire.