Thread Reckoning (25 page)

“You should’ve taken it. It would have netted you five big ones . . . unless the stock has dropped again within the past few days.”

“So the stock isn’t doing well?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That was a crappy thing for an employer who said my mom was like family to him to do, don’t you think? Give her five hundred shares of almost worthless stock instead of a pension?”

“That—the stock—was in lieu of her pension?”

“Yep,” Frederic said. “Good old Santiago Corporation. Always looking out for the little people.”

“Do you think it’s possible Caleb Sr. gave your mother the jewelry?”

He frowned. “Why would he do that?”

I shrugged. “Maybe he felt bad about the crappy stock.” I set the embroidery work aside and leaned forward. “Think about it. His wife wasn’t living with him. He was at the summer house, and she was at the town house. Maybe she’d left behind this expensive jewelry, and Caleb Sr. gave it to your mom to thank her for years of service.”

“Why not give her a monetary bonus?”

“Bonuses show up on the books. Jewelry doesn’t,” I said. “Then, what if Mrs. Santiago decided she wanted to wear her sapphire necklace somewhere and sent somebody over to the summer house to get it? When the person came back empty-handed, she could’ve confronted her husband, who said the jewelry must have been stolen. She then reported the theft. Isn’t it possible Caleb Sr. could’ve called your mom at that point to have her take the pieces apart and sell them?”

“It’s possible,” Frederic said. “Only Mom didn’t sell them. She wanted you to put them on Cass’s gown.”

“Maybe after the wedding, she was going to tell you guys the truth about the jewels.”

“Possibly.” He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. “I just wish she’d told me all this before.”

“Well, it’s mostly speculation on my part,” I said, “although it is a good explanation of how your mother gained possession of some of Mrs. Santiago’s jewelry.”

He opened his eyes and sat up. “You could be right. Unfortunately, we’ll probably never know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” He stood and slipped his coat back on.

I repeated my overused sentiment to let me know if he needed anything. After he left, I resumed work on my purse. All I had left to do was add the leaves, some seed pearls and some crystal beads. And sew the back and straps on, of course. But that would be easy. I felt confident I’d be finished with the purse before I left the shop this evening.

My thoughts kept returning to Frederic. He’d suffered so much tragedy here in Tallulah Falls. I wondered if after everything was dispensed with in regard to his mother′s estate and Cassandra’s funeral, he’d leave here and go someplace to start fresh . . . leave all these hurtful memories behind him.

I remembered him saying that Agent Daltrey believed he was guilty. He’d been awfully anxious to find out why Agent Daltrey was here yesterday evening. Of course, I would be, too, if I were in Frederic’s position. Wouldn’t I?

Ted was right. I didn’t really know Frederic or his mother. Maybe they had conspired to steal the jewels. Maybe Frederic’s devotion to Francesca was an act. Maybe he’d dated Cassandra in order to get legal insights. Maybe he’d killed both women because they were mere obstacles to overcome.

I shuddered. I needed to quit letting my imagination get the best of me. Frederic was a good guy. I could feel it. He loved his mother, and even though he didn’t feel he and Cassandra were right for each other anymore, he had loved her, too. He wasn’t a violent person. He was kind.

I worked on my leaves and hummed a little tune to try to avoid letting my thoughts run amok. After all, none of us even knew that Francesca’s and Cassandra’s deaths weren’t random acts . . . robberies gone wrong. Who was I kidding? There was nothing random about those murders.

I hummed louder.

Chapter Twenty-two

After closing up the shop that afternoon, I took Angus home for dinner. Sadie rode with us so we could go straight on to Lincoln City. I unlocked the door, and Angus bounded inside to wait in the kitchen by his bowl. Sadie laughed as I hurried behind the big lug to fill his bowl with kibble. I noticed the answering machine light blinking and played the message.

“Marcy, hi, it’s David. Thought maybe if you weren’t busy this evening, we could get together.
Um
. . . give me a call if you get this and want to do something.”

Sadie huffed. “What does it take for that guy to get the hint that you’re not interested?”

“I don’t know. He could just be . . . you know, trying to be nice.”

“Are you really that gullible?” Sadie asked.

“The nice thing could be mostly my fault,” I said.

“How do you figure?”

“Well . . . when I wanted to find out what he knew about the Santiago Corporation, I kinda told him we meant too much to each other in the past to have such animosity between us now,” I said. “I really pushed the friendship angle.”

Sadie sighed. “I just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the butt.”

“Me, too.”

After Angus had finished eating, I let him out into the backyard. I turned to Sadie. “Ready?”

“Yep. Got the quilt?”

“Oh yeah. I only hope it goes over well,” I said.

“It will, Marce. It’s gorgeous.”

I grinned. “Thanks.”

We got into the Jeep and headed in the direction of Lincoln City.

“I’m getting excited about the ball,” I said.

“So am I. Has Ted mentioned what sort of costume he’ll be wearing?”

“No.” I frowned. “I figured he’d wear a suit and a mask. I mean, I’m not going as a particular character. Are you?”

“Not really, but before I decided on the more Victorian masquerade costume I’m wearing, I researched the Venetian carnival characters.”

“That figures,” I said with a smile. “You always did like to go all out.”

“Well, if you’re going to do something, do it right. Anyway, I can see Ted as Captain Scaramouche, the young swashbuckling adventurer.”

I laughed. “Really? I can’t. I can see him as Ted wearing a suit and a mask. Tell me more about the Venetians.”

“Well, there’s Colombina,” she said. “That means ‘little dove’ in Italian. She’s a comic servant. And there’s Arlecchino, the most popular of the comic servants whose specialty is his physical agility. Brighella is Arlecchino’s moneygrubbing, wicked older brother.” She tilted her head up while she thought. “Oh, and there’s this guy called Burrattino who looks like Pinocchio, and Dottore Peste, the plague doctor, who has this really long beak that was supposed to help keep him from catching the plague.”

“Sounds charming,” I said, eyebrows raised.

“Well, I guess you’d have to be there. I really wanted a Dama mask, but the ones I liked were too expensive.”

“What’s a Dama mask?” I asked.

“They’re traditional women’s Venetian masks. They’re full-face masks with ornate headpieces that feature paintings from Carnival or patterns and jewels. They’re incredible.”

“They sound beautiful.”

We arrived in Lincoln City and pulled into a parking space near the Rocking Horse Antique Mall. We got out of the car and I took the bagged quilt out of the back seat before locking up. It was cold, and I was glad I’d worn a heavier coat than usual.

“What’s our first stop?” Sadie asked.

“I’m going into this little boutique between the Kelp Bed and Carousel By the Sea Antiques. See it?” I pointed. “It’s called Yesteryear Textiles, but everything in the store doesn’t have to be an antique. It can simply be based on older designs.”

“Cool.” She looked around. “What’s with all the red bottles and redhead references?”

“I’m not sure, but it seems to be getting a lot of attention. We’ll ask Jenny when we get to Yesteryear. This might give Todd some ideas for promotion, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Sadie said, “and Blake and me, too.”

“Has Todd mentioned who he’s taking to the ball?” I asked, trying to keep things nonchalant.

“No, why? Are you wishing he’d asked you before Ted did?”

“No. I’m happy to be going with Ted. I just . . .” I shrugged. “I just wondered.”

We went into Yesteryear Textiles, and Jenny bragged on the quilt.

“I’ll be happy to display the quilt,” she said. “Did you bring some cards or flyers for the Seven-Year Stitch?”

“I brought both.” I took the envelope containing the flyers for classes and my business cards out of my huge yellow purse and handed it to Jenny. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

“Are you willing to sell the quilt?” Jenny asked.

I looked at Sadie and then back at Jenny. “I really want it to get some attention for the store.”

Jenny cocked her head. “What if someone wants to buy the quilt and then pick it up the last day of the festival?”

“Would anyone be willing to do that?” I asked.

She nodded. “We do it every year.”

“Great. Then you’re welcome to sell it for whatever you think it’s worth,” I said.

Jenny laughed. “Oh no, you don’t. Set your price.”

“Two hundred?” I asked.

“That’s a little cheap,” she said, “but it should sell quickly for that amount. Heck, I might even buy it myself.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” I said.

“By the way,” Sadie said, “what’s the deal with the red bottles?”

“We’re honoring redheads past and present this year,” Jenny said with a grin. “As an old grayhaired lady, I don’t qualify.”

“You’re far from old,” I said, “and neither Sadie nor I qualify, either.”

“You can still vote for your favorite celeb redhead, though,” Jenny said.

“Conan,” Sadie said.

“Lucy,” I said simultaneously.

We all shared a laugh, and then Sadie and I said good-bye. I told Jenny I’d check in with her about the quilt sometime next week.

Sadie and I stepped out of the cozy shop and back onto the cold, bustling street.

A man’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Well, hello.”

“David. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I’m just enjoying all the preparations for Antique Week. It should be a blast, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It—it looks fun.”

“Are you guys planning to come back next week?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said.

“So, would you two like to join me for dinner?” David spread his hands. “I’m buying, of course.”

“No, thank you,” Sadie said. “We have plans.”

“We do,” I said. “But thank you, anyway.”

“Sure. Some other time, then.” David turned and watched us go. I could feel his eyes boring into my back as Sadie and I hurried to the Jeep.

“How about instead of stopping somewhere for dinner, we go back to my house?” I suggested. “I’ll cook.”

“We can cook together,” Sadie said. “Anything to avoid having that creep follow us to a restaurant. I can’t believe he’s still stalking you after Ted confronted him at the lodge.”

“I guess it could’ve been a coincidence,” I said.

“Yeah, as much as you or I could win the favorite redhead contest.”

I inclined my head. “You’ve got a point. Let’s just go home and have dinner. I even have a lasagna in the freezer, so all we’ll have to do is let that bake.”

“Run me by the café, and I’ll pick us up some brownies.” Sadie smiled. “While we’re waiting for the lasagna to bake, we’ll nosh on brownies and watch corny old game shows.”

After making a quick stop at MacKenzies′ Mochas, Sadie and I went to my house. I preheated the oven while she warmed the brownies in the microwave. We opted not to bring Angus in until we’d put the brownies away. He could have a small plate of lasagna, but he couldn’t have a brownie.

As Sadie went into the living room and turned on the game show channel, my phone rang. I answered it, but I didn’t recognize the voice.

“Is this Marcy?” the caller asked.

“Yes, it is. Who’s this?”

“It’s Caleb Santiago Jr. I’d like to meet with you to clear up these misunderstandings you seem to have about Francesca and my father. Can you meet me in Toledo tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Mr. Santiago. I’m busy all day tomorrow,” I said. “But, please, rest assured. I’m not accusing your father of anything. Whatever kind of relationship he and Francesca Ortega had, I’m sure it wasn’t inappropriate.” Okay, I wasn’t really sure. I just wanted to get this guy off the phone. I could hear
Family Feud
playing in the living room.

“I still would like to talk with you,” he said. “Are you sure you can’t change your plans around and meet me at the lodge in Toledo?”

“I’m positive. I’m working until five o’clock; and after that, I’m going to a masquerade ball sponsored by our Chamber of Commerce.”

“I see. Well, could I maybe come by your shop sometime tomorrow and talk with you then?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “That’ll be fine.”

“Great. I look forward to seeing you then. Have a good night, Marcy.”

“You, too, Mr. Santiago.”

I ended the call and went into the living room, where Sadie was waiting. “That was Caleb Santiago Jr. He wants to come by the shop tomorrow and talk with me about his dad and Francesca Ortega.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Why?”

“Well . . . I kinda called his dad and asked if he was having an affair with Francesca and if he’d given her some of his estranged wife’s jewelry.”

Sadie’s jaw dropped. “Marcy! Are you nuts?”

“I wanted to know,” I said.

She ran both hands through her hair. “Subtlety is not one of your virtues, is it?”

“I guess not,” I said.

“You think he’ll sue you for defamation of character or something?” she asked.

“No. He can’t. I didn’t accuse anyone of anything. I didn’t say something like, ‘Hey, I know you were sleeping with Francesca.’ I merely asked the man if he’d had an affair with the woman. That can’t be considered defamatory.”

“Just be careful,” she said. “The son is probably royally ticked off because he thinks you’re dragging his family name through the mud.”

Chapter Twenty-three

When Angus and I went into the shop Saturday morning, I was pretty excited. I was really looking forward to the ball, which was kind of odd because I hadn’t even wanted to go when I’d first heard about it.