Thread Reckoning (6 page)

“That makes two of us.”

When the alarm went off the next morning, it seemed as loud as a foghorn. Which was appropriate, I supposed, because I felt like I was in a fog. I reached over and slapped the clock. Snooze. Ten more minutes. Just ten....

Suddenly a bell rang. It was loud. Grandfatherclock-in-my-head loud. I slapped the clock again, but the bell still rang. As I tried to shake off the fog and open my eyes to determine the source of the noise, it rang a third time.

I finally pried my eyes open and realized that it was the phone. I grabbed it. “What?” Okay. So it wasn’t my usual chipper greeting, but I really hadn’t slept well the night before and someone was calling me before I was even awake and I was foul over it.

“Marcy, this is Ted Nash.”

“Oh, good grief. Did Sadie ask you to call me?”

“No. I . . . I’m afraid I need you to come on down to the shop,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“There’s been an accident.”

My alarm went off for the second time. I fumbled around and turned it off.

“What kind of accident?” I asked. “A fire?” I shot up in bed. “Did my shop catch on fire?”

“No, it wasn’t a fire. The shop is fine. However, there was a woman stabbed outside the store this morning. We found your name and number written on a piece of paper in her coat pocket. Get here as soon as you can, all right?” And then he hung up.

Now I was wide awake, but dread was holding me to the bed, urging me to get back under the covers and hide. I fought the dread—mainly because I didn’t want Ted to come and drag me out of my house in my pj’s—and got up. I quickly dressed and brushed my teeth. This could not be happening to me again. Could it?

I let Angus out into the backyard. I put his food and water out there with him, and I left. I wanted to take Angus with me so badly, especially since I’d left him home yesterday. But, if the Seven-Year Stitch was once again a crime scene, it was the last place he needed to be.

My heart had been racing as I drove to the shop, but when I got close enough to see the police cars and the ambulance, I thought it would stop beating entirely. I pulled closer and was stopped by a tall, uniformed police officer with blond hair and piercing green eyes.

“This is a crime scene,” said the young officer, whose nameplate read
Moore
. “You can’t go any farther.”

“It’s okay, Andrew,” Ted called, approaching us. “This is Marcy Singer. It’s her shop. Let her through.”

Ted’s deep blue eyes searched my face as he gave me instructions on where to park. I wanted to tell him I was all right, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I was or not. When I got out of the Jeep, he accompanied me to the sidewalk where a portion had been cordoned off with yellow police tape. In my sneakers, I only reached Ted’s chest. Part of me wanted to hide my face in his gray oxford shirt, but I knew I had to look.

Crime scene technicians were bending over the body. I couldn’t see much . . . just her shoes. They were black, thick-heeled pumps. One shoe had been knocked off.

Keeping a hand at my lower back, Ted instructed the technicians to back away so I could view the body. I was glad of his support. Maybe if I fainted, he’d either catch me or at least keep me from cracking my head open on the concrete.

When the techs moved away, I gasped. “Francesca!”

“So you do know the victim?” Ted asked.

I nodded. “Francesca Ortega. She’s Cassandra Wainwright’s future mother-in-law.”

“Not anymore, she isn’t.”

I turned to see who the woman with the abrasive voice—and attitude—was. It was the pretty woman I’d seen Ted with on Tuesday. I ignored her and looked back at Ted. “What happened?”

“She was stabbed here early this morning,” he said.

“Was it a robbery?” I asked.

“We’re not positive yet, but we think so. The victim didn’t have a purse on her when we arrived.” He nodded, and the crime scene investigators returned to their duties. “You’re shivering. Let’s go inside.”

We moved around the body, and I unlocked the door. “This is such a shock. We need to contact Frederic, her son.” I went to the counter where I had Cassandra’s contact information. I gave it to Ted.

He led me over to the seating area, where we both sat on the navy sofa facing the window. He took a small, clear plastic bag from his jacket pocket. It contained a blue velvet drawstring bag. “We found this near the body. It’s empty.”

My eyes widened. The drawstring bag was just like the one in which Francesca had brought the gems I was going to use to adorn the dress. “She must’ve been afraid I wouldn’t have enough and had brought more.”

“More what?” Ted asked.

“More fake gems,” I said. “Francesca brought some yesterday to be put on Cassandra’s wedding gown. The robber must’ve thought they were real.”

The abrasive woman entered the shop. “Where were you this morning, Ms. Singer?”

“I was in bed asleep,” I said.

“Can anyone verify that?” she asked.

“Just Angus.”

I saw Ted’s lips twitch.

“Then can you have him come down here and give us his statement?” she demanded.

“No,” I said. “He’s a dog.”

“Then you’d better not leave town.” After glaring at me, the detective turned and went back outside.

“What’s her problem?” I asked Ted.

“She’s a rookie.”

“Is she right?” I asked. “Am I a suspect?”

He sighed. “At this point, I’m afraid everyone’s a suspect.”

Chapter Five

“Tell me what you know about Francesca Ortega,” Ted said.

“Only that her son is engaged to Cassandra Wainwright and that Francesca gave the bride and groom some gems to embellish a vintage wedding gown I’m customizing for Cassandra,” I said. “I think Cassandra said the dress had belonged to her mother. Since you found that bag on the street, I guess maybe Francesca had more she wanted to include.” I closed my eyes and sank back into the sofa cushions.

“I’d like to hug you right now,” he said quietly, “but that wouldn’t be wise.”

“I know. The rookie wouldn’t like it.” I sighed. “And, once again, I’m back in the middle of a mess.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said. “Maybe one of your neighbors will be able to verify that your Jeep was at home this morning.”

“Maybe.” I began thinking about Mom . . . and San Francisco . . . and David. Maybe I should give David another chance. Maybe I should go back home. Maybe Tallulah Falls wasn’t the place for me after all.

“Everything will be okay,” Ted said. “It always has been so far, right?”

“So far,” I said. “Why does this keep happening to me? Is Tallulah Falls trying to tell me something? Like ‘go away’?” This was the third “accident”—okay, the first two were murders and this obviously was, too—to occur in or near my shop since I arrived a few months ago.

“It’s a coincidence.” He gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I need to get back out there. Will you be all right?”

I nodded.

Before Ted could leave, David came rushing into the shop, followed closely by the rookie, whose name I didn’t even know yet. David’s face was ashen. Rookie’s face was grim.

“Marcy, are you all right?” David rushed over and gathered me into his arms.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“When I saw all those police cars and the ambulance outside your shop, I thought something terrible had happened to you.” He pulled away slightly to look at my face. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. The victim was the mother of—Well, I knew her,” I said. “I think she was coming to see me.”

“So you’d planned to meet her here?” Rookie asked.

“Of course not,” I said. “If I’d planned to meet her, I’d have been here when she arrived.”

David moved to sit beside me on the sofa. He placed his arm around me protectively. I was surprisingly okay with it under the circumstances.

“Marcy, this is Detective Harriet Sloan,” Ted said. “Detective Sloan, this is Marcy Singer.”

Detective Sloan afforded me a curt nod. “Why do you think she was coming to see you?”

“As I explained to Detective Nash,” I said, “she’d brought some gems in a blue bag—like the one he found on the sidewalk—to me yesterday. She wanted me to put them on a dress I’m embellishing for her future daughter-in-law. I’m guessing she didn’t know what time the shop opened but that she wanted to bring some additional gems in case I needed them for the dress.”

“I’ve called Ms. Wainwright,” Detective Sloan told Ted. “She and Mr. Ortega should be here soon.”

Ted was looking curiously at David. “And, sir, you are?”

“David Frist,” he answered.

“He said he’s the shop owner′s fiancé,” Detective Sloan said.

“You didn’t have to be so dramatic,” Ted said. “If you’re a friend of Mar—Ms. Singer′s—we′d have let you inside.”

“I’m more than a friend of Marcy’s,” David said. “We were engaged once. If I have my way about it, we will be again.”

Ted’s jaw tightened. “Where were you this morning between seven and eight o’clock?”

“My hotel,” David said. He dug in his wallet and produced a receipt. “See? I was having breakfast.”

Detective Sloan leaned over to peer at the receipt. “Pretty convenient. Having an alibi for the very time you’d need one.”

David scowled at her. “I didn’t know I’d be needing an alibi. If I had, I wouldn’t have dined alone.”

She lowered the corners of her mouth. “Good point. Still, don’t leave town.”

“I don’t intend to,” David said. He looked at me. “Not without Marcy, anyway.”

I knew Ted was looking at me, too, but I avoided looking at anyone. I simply stared down at the floor. I felt like I was in an episode of a soap opera. I had more drama in my life right now than I could handle.

Or so I thought. Apparently, I was wrong. The rest of the cast was on cue to arrive.

Todd and Sadie came sprinting through the door one right after the other. Todd had been a gentleman and had let Sadie go first. Still, he reached the sofa before she did.

“Marcy!” Todd exclaimed, rushing to sit on my other side. He took my hand. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

Sadie wedged herself between David and me, flinging his arm away. She took my other hand. “Tell us what happened.”

“This is ridiculous,” Detective Sloan said to me. “Are you queen of the Oregon coast or something?”

“What’s it to you if she is?” Sadie asked sharply. “She’s our friend. And when we saw all the commotion over here, we were worried about her.” She turned back to me. “Say something, Marce.”

I looked past them through the window to the street where I could see the crime scene technicians loading Francesca’s body into the ambulance. “It’s Francesca, the mother of Cassandra Wainwright’s fiancé,” I said. “Someone stabbed her and robbed her . . . right out there in front of my store this morning.”

“In broad daylight?” Todd asked. “And no one saw anything?”

“Not a thing,” Ted said. “No one reported any screaming. We had officers speak with people in the neighboring shops. No one heard or saw a thing . . . or, if they did, they’re not opening up about it.”

Sadie nodded. “Some officers talked with Blake. I hadn’t gotten in yet. No one in MacKenzies’ heard a thing.”

“How could she be attacked and not make a sound?” I asked.

“The attacker killed her so quickly, she didn’t see what was coming,” Detective Sloan said. “He knew what she had, and he—or she—wanted it.”

“What?” I asked. “You mean the fake jewels?”

“We’ll be taking what you have here and having them appraised as soon as the techs finish up,” Detective Sloan said.

“You don’t think they’re fake?” I asked. “They were being put on a wedding gown, for goodness’ sake. No one but an actual queen would put real jewels on a wedding gown!”

“Speaking of that wedding gown, we’ll need to take that with us, too,” Detective Sloan said. “Where is it?”

“It’s in my office.” I stood and made my way through the maze of people gathered around me.

Detective Sloan followed me to the office. I could hear the people in the shop talking in a hushed buzz of voices. It sounded like a muffled beehive.

The dress form still stood on the stool. I’d finished two of the inserts yesterday. With the police confiscating the gown, there would be no way I could possibly get the embellishments finished before Valentine’s Day. I took the dress form off the stool and placed it on the floor. Then I unzipped the gown, removed it from the form, and handed it to Detective Sloan.

“I have a garment bag for it,” I said. “Would you like to put it in that?”

“Yeah. That’ll do for now,” she said. “I’ll need the gems as well.”

I held the garment bag for Detective Sloan to lower the gown into. As she zipped the bag, I retrieved the gems.

“Thanks for your cooperation.” She gave me that curt nod she was so adept at, and then she went back out into the shop.

I considered crawling under my desk and hiding, but instead, I ambled back into the shop.

“We have everything we need,” Ted told me softly, pulling me aside. “I’ll let you know what we find out as soon as I can.”

“All right,” I said.

“Why don’t you just close up shop and go home today?” he whispered. “You look tired. Have you eaten?”

I smiled. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

His eyes cut to the sofa. “Yeah, I guess you don’t need me to hover. You have enough people doing that.”

“Don’t,” I said gently. “I’ll explain everything later. It’s not as nuts as it seems. Okay, right now it is, but . . .”

He smiled. “Officers Moore and Taylor will be outside for a while. They’re waiting on Ortega. They’re to bring him to the morgue. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“Detective Sloan,” he called. “Let’s go.”

I walked back to the sitting area where David, Sadie, and Todd were still ensconced on the sofa. They were all looking at me expectantly, and I didn’t have any answers. I sank onto the red chair. Tears threatened, but I didn’t dare let them fall. David, Todd, and Sadie would trip over themselves getting me a tissue. Don’t get me wrong. It’s wonderful to be cared about. But at that moment, it was a little suffocating.

“I’m going to run next door and get you a latte and a muffin,” Sadie said. “Will you be all right while I’m gone?”