Wicked Stitch (15 page)

M
y first instinct upon hearing that there had been a shooting at the very place Ted had been going this afternoon was to rush over. But I’d learned my lesson. I knew I must trust Ted to do his job. My job was simply to pray that he and the rest of his crew were safe.

The other students were starting to come into the Seven-Year Stitch, so I whispered to Vera to quietly let me know if she heard anything from Paul.

Then I greeted the students, offered them water, and helped them get settled in to stitch. Throughout the class, I kept glancing at the clock. When I wasn’t looking at the clock, I was trying to catch Vera’s eye. When I did, she’d give a slight shake of her head to let me know she hadn’t heard anything. It was all I could do to concentrate on the blackwork class long enough to help my students.

I was relieved when the class was over.

Vera waited while I tidied up and locked the doors.

“Must’ve been nothing,” she said as we walked out onto the street. “If it had been, Paul would have called and told me something.”

“You’re probably right,” I said. “Ted is supposed to meet me at my house. He’s probably there now with Angus.”

“Yeah. . . . See you tomorrow!” She got into her car and waited for me to get into the Jeep and start it before she drove away.

When I got home, Ted wasn’t there yet. I tried to tell myself that the report of the shooting that Paul had heard over the scanner had been a mistake . . . or that he’d had the wrong address.

I went through the house and let Angus in the back door. I’d fed him before going to the blackwork class, and now he was ready to play. He picked up his green dragon and gave it a vigorous shake. Then he threw it and ran to snap it up again. He came and stood before me. I played tug-of-war with him over the dragon, and then I let him win. He ran off to the living room with it.

I checked my phone to see if I’d received any messages or texts since I’d looked five minutes earlier. Nothing.

I went into the living room. Angus was lying by the hearth chewing on the dragon. I curled up on the sofa and turned on the television. Maybe there was something on the news.

I knew that if something had happened to Ted, Manu would have called me—or even delivered the news in person. Ted was fine. Everything was all right. That was so easy to say and so hard to believe.

Suddenly, headlights lit up the living room curtains. I looked out the window. It was Ted.

Thank You, God!

I hurried to the foyer and threw the door open. When Ted walked in, I hurled myself into his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve been worried out of my mind about you,” I said.

He had his arms around me, and I was stuck to him like a leech, so he closed the door with his foot. “Let me guess. You heard something.”

“I heard there’d been a shooting at the West house. Paul heard it over the scanner and went to see what was happening.”

“Sometimes I hate that civilians can monitor police scanners,” Ted said.

“So is it true?”

He nodded, and I saw how tired he was.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you in here in the living room.” I took his hand and almost bumped into Angus, who’d also come to greet Ted.

Once Ted had removed his tie, unfastened the first couple buttons of his shirt, and sunk onto the sofa, I offered him something to eat.

“I am a little hungry,” he said. “But I don’t want you to go to any trouble. A peanut butter sandwich would be super.”

“You know I’m always prepared for guests. Not that you’re a guest . . . just that I can throw something together in a hurry—something better than a sandwich. I’ll be right back.”

Although I was anxious to know what had
happened at the West house, all that mattered at the moment was that Ted was fine . . . and hungry. He’d tell me what he could later on.

I preheated the oven and took some spanakopita from the freezer. I put the savory spinach pastries on a cookie sheet and found some bacon-wrapped filet mignon hors d’oeuvres to go with them. They, too, went on the cookie sheet while I warmed cheesecake bites and chocolate chip cookies in the microwave.

Once the food was ready, I put everything on a large tray and took it into the living room. Ted was on the sofa with his eyelids drooping.

“Are we having a party?” Ted bit into a spanakopita. “This is delicious . . . hot, but tasty.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I said. “And, as a matter of fact, we
are
having a party. We’re celebrating the fact that you’re all right. I know you’re put in dangerous situations every day, and that’s just the nature of your job. I also know you’re good at your job, and that whatever situation you’re put in . . . you’ll handle it.”

He grinned and handed me a spanakopita on a napkin. “There. Eat that.” He got himself another. “You’re fishing.”

“I’m not!” I blushed. “Maybe I’m fishing a little. But I realize that you might not be able to tell me anything about the shooting . . . or even if there
was
a shooting . . . and that’s okay.”

He chuckled, finished off the spanakopita and licked his fingers. “You’re adorable.”

I huffed. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Not.” He popped a bite of filet mignon into his mouth. “Oh, this is good, too. I like your thrown-together dinner party fixings.”

“Thank you.” So he wasn’t going to tell me. No big deal. I understood all about confidentiality and all that.

Given my frustration, I went right for the cheesecake.

“Fine. I was just testing you to see if you could stand not knowing. Well done,” he said. “Someone drove by Marcus West’s house this afternoon and fired off a couple rounds. We were all inside, and no one was hurt. In fact, no windows were even broken. Either our shooter was a lousy shot or the person was only hoping to scare West.”

“So he’s no longer a suspect in Mr. Palmer’s murder?” I asked.

“We haven’t eliminated him yet. I don’t think he had anything to do with the shooting at his house because he was with us the majority of the day.” He tossed Angus a bacon-wrapped filet mignon bite.

“Wait. Why would he have anything to do with a shooting at his house?”

“To throw us off . . . to further convince us that he’s innocent,” he said.

“Your job is really complicated.” I ate another cheesecake square.

“It can be.” He smiled. “You just have to always make sure you’re seeing the complete picture. You can’t take anything for granted.”

“So, now what?” I asked. “Are your guys guarding him at his home?”

He shook his head as he took a chocolate chip cookie from the tray. “Mr. West has been moved to a more secure location outside of town. The security team left with him as soon as we were certain there was no longer an immediate threat. I stayed behind and convinced Paul to downplay the incident in tomorrow’s newspaper.”

“How did you manage that?”

“With the promise of an exclusive once we break the case.” He ate the cookie. “Still, I’m eager to see what Paul
does
say in tomorrow’s news.”

*   *   *

On Wednesday morning, Ted arrived about an hour before he had to go in to work. He had a copy of the
Tallulah Falls Examiner
under his arm.

I’d already prepared breakfast—blueberry muffins with streusel topping, scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits.

“Wow, everything smells and looks wonderful,” Ted said. He tossed the paper onto the table, gave me a kiss, and then nuzzled my neck. “Especially you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m back to wearing my saucy-wench costume today.” I was wearing the blue skirt, peasant’s blouse, and black corset vest.

“I like your saucy-wench costume.” He poured us both some coffee and put the cups on the table.

We sat down and filled our plates. I’d already
given Angus a biscuit, an egg, and a couple slices of bacon, and he was outside playing in the yard.

Ted opened the paper and spread it out between us. “Front page. Headline—‘Drive-by?’”

“Well, it isn’t every day that there’s a drive-by shooting in Tallulah Falls.”

“Yeah, but putting the column on the front page and putting ‘Drive-by?’ as the headline is
downplaying
?” he asked.

“Let’s read it before we get too upset.”

*   *   *

An incident early yesterday evening had Tallulah Falls residents on edge.

“I was sitting inside watching the early news and heard BAM! BAM! BAM!” said Roger McCormick. “It scared me half to death.”

When questioned about what he thought the noise was, Mr. McCormick said it sounded like a gun going off. I asked him if he saw a gunman. He said he didn’t and that he guessed it could’ve been a car backfiring or something, but he admitted that “you never can tell these days.”

While many area residents heard the sound, no one actually saw what occurred.

I spoke with officials of the Tallulah Falls Police Department shortly after the popping sounds were heard, and I was assured that the residents of Tallulah Falls were in no immediate danger. While I wasn’t told definitively what generated the noises heard by Mr. McCormick and other residents, I was told that the matter is under
investigation. The
Tallulah Falls Examiner
will follow up this report as soon as more details are known.

Ted blew out a breath. “Well done, Paul.”

“That was an excellent cover,” I said. “If the shooter reads this, it will be apparent that his—or her—efforts to either kill or scare Marcus West failed.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Ted. “West acted scared half to death. But if the evidence he has on that flash drive is legitimate, then we’ll need him to testify against Lacey Palmer.”

“Tell me about Lacey Palmer,” I said. “I know you told me before I knew the names of anyone involved that she got a sizable settlement from the insurance company when her husband died. And Vera told me that Joe Palmer was poisoned. What kind of poison was used? I mean, if there was any question of the wife being suspected in her husband’s death, then why did the insurance company release the money?”

“Like us, they couldn’t prove the poisoner was the wife.” He took a sip of his coffee. “See, the poison discovered in Palmer’s system was ethylene glycol—antifreeze. In the days before his death, Palmer had become sick enough to go to the emergency room. That day he’d had his typical breakfast at home and lunch at work. He hadn’t noticed anything unusual about his food at either place.”

“So he could have been poisoned at either
place,” I said, pinching off a piece of blueberry muffin and popping it into my mouth.

“Right. Both his wife and his partner had motive, both had means, and both had opportunity,” he said. “We have to get good solid evidence against one of them—in this case, the widow—to take to the district attorney before he can indict, much less convict. We didn’t have that five years ago. But with West’s help, we might have it now.”

“What about Clara?” I asked. “Do you think it’s possible that Lacey Palmer had anything to do with Clara’s death?”

“Manu says she has a rock-solid alibi for the entire day of Clara’s murder.”

“And West? Is there anything that might tie him to Clara?”

Ted smiled slightly. “Why are you so determined to put those two murders together?”

“I just want to solve—I mean, I want
you
to solve—Clara’s murder,” I said. “I can’t begin to put it behind me until that’s done. I mean, I keep asking myself if Clara’s killer is the one who trashed my booth . . . if that person is out to get me, too. I mean, for all I know, it’s another embroidery shop entrepreneur whose intention was . . . or
is
 . . . to take us both out.”

Ted put down his fork and took my hand. “Don’t be afraid. You have plenty of security surrounding you right now.”

“Right now. But who’s to say this person isn’t biding his or her time for another opportunity to strike?”

“Do you really believe the person who killed Clara is out to get you, too?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. Whoever vandalized my booth was vicious and cruel. That person meant to hurt me, and did.”

“I realize that, babe, and I’m sorry.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “And if there’s a connection, trust me, I’ll find it.”

“I know you will.”

“And I’ll find Clara’s killer,” he said. “I promise.”

W
hen I got to the Renaissance Faire Wednesday morning, I met Amelia and Herodias as I was heading to the merchants’ building. The young redhead wore her typical black ensemble, but today she also had on a light blue jacket. The jacket had a yellow patch with the logo
OSOC
over the left breast.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Hey,” Amelia said. “I heard about your booth. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, it was very upsetting . . . as you can probably imagine.”

“Is everything okay now? Was everything replaced?” she asked.

“Not everything.” I explained how I’d hand-embroidered several shirts in Elizabethan-style blackwork. “The vandal ripped those to shreds.”

“That’s terrible! Were
all
the shirts ruined?”

“All but one,” I said. “I saved it to use as a demo, and a few people have ordered them based on that shirt.”

“I’d like to see it,” she said.

“Sure. Just stop by the booth whenever you have time.”

“I have time now. Herodias and I will walk with you if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.” I smiled slightly. “Seeing you with Herodias makes me miss Angus even more. I’ll be glad when this festival is over and everything gets back to normal. I usually take Angus to work with me every day. I wonder if he’s confused by having to stay home all of a sudden.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “He still sees you when you get home, and I’m guessing you shower him with attention. That’s likely good enough for him, you know? Animals typically don’t have the insecurities and need the reassurances that we people do.”

“Lucky them.”

She laughed. “True. And you always know where you stand with an animal. Unfortunately, that can’t be said with most people.”

I wouldn’t have said anything to Amelia for fear it might’ve hurt her feelings, but I had no clue where I stood with Herodias. The bird might be okay with me, or it might try to claw out my eyes any second now—I just didn’t know. So you might always know where you stand with an
animal
, but I wasn’t too sure about falcons.

“Here we are!” I opened the door to the merchants’ building and led Amelia to my booth.

“Cool.” She glanced over at Clara’s uninhabited booth. “Does that bother you? Being right next to the booth where that woman was found?”

“Not really. I try not to think about it.” I didn’t remind her that I was the one who found Clara’s body. I handed her the shirt with the blackwork-embellished collar and cuffs. “I had ruffled Elizabethan collars and cuffs with blackwork, too, but none of those survived.”

“This is really pretty,” said Amelia. “I hope the police catch whoever did this to you.”

“I hope they do, too. I can’t imagine who would do such a low-down thing.”

“This shirt is my size,” she said, handing it back to me. “Are you planning on selling it?”

“I’m going to sell it the last day of the Ren Faire,” I said. “Quite a few people have asked to buy it, so I tell them that whoever gets here first can have the shirt.”

She smiled. “Then I have a fairly good chance.” She looked around the merchants’ building. “It looks like there’s some interesting stuff in here. I should look around and see what I’ve missed by not coming in here before now.”

“Yes, you should,” I said.

Amelia wandered into Nellie’s booth, and I tidied mine in preparation for the morning visitors—hopefully, customers.

I was surprised to see Nellie come into the building. She was headed straight for her booth. She wore her usual Parisian artist–inspired getup of a black turtleneck, black cigarette pants, and black ballet flats. All she was missing was the beret on that unruly white hair. Still, she looked pale and gaunt. I felt a stab of pity for her.

“Nellie, do you have a second?” I asked as she walked by my stall.

“What do
you
want?” she asked.

“I just wanted to say that I know Clara’s funeral was yesterday and to tell you that if there’s anything you need . . . anything I can do for you . . . just ask.”

Nellie balled up her fists. As she came closer to my booth, I could see that she was shaking.

“You’ve already helped me more than you could ever know.” Her lips curled into a snarl. “You know when? The night I came in here and tore your stupid booth to shreds!”

I gasped and tears pricked my eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right!
I
did it! I took the scissors to those ugly shirts; and as I did, I imagined all the hours you’d put into them . . . and I hoped you’d pricked your fingers over and over . . . making it hurt even worse that it was all for nothing! But you know what? Your loss is
nothing
compared to mine.
Nothing!
”

Amelia came around the side of the booth. “Hey! Back off, lady!”

At about the same time that Amelia stepped up, the undercover-cop-slash-knight crossed the room.

“Ms. Davis, did I just hear you confess to vandalizing Ms. Singer’s booth?” asked the knight.

“No, you didn’t!” Nellie cried.

“Yes, you did,” Amelia said. “I heard it, and I’d say these people did, too.”

A crowd was beginning to gather around my booth, and many of the spectators nodded in agreement with Amelia.

“Ms. Davis, I’m taking you to the police station for questioning,” said the knight.

“I refuse to go!”

“If you refuse to go, then I’ll go ahead and arrest you here and now,” he said.

She huffed. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The knight motioned to a man who was dressed as a minstrel. When the minstrel joined us, the knight instructed him to take the statements of everyone in the merchants’ building.

As the knight led Nellie away, the minstrel took a notepad out of a leather pouch attached to his belt.

“I’m Officer Newland,” said the baby-faced minstrel. “Tell me exactly what happened here.”

Officer Newland was looking at me, but Amelia jumped in with her version of the tale.

“Okay, I’d just stepped into that aromatherapy booth when I heard Marcy here asking somebody if there was anything she could do,” she said. “Somebody’s funeral was yesterday.”

“It was Nellie’s sister, Clara,” I said. “Clara was the woman found dead in her booth on Thursday evening.”

“Was she”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“the
not so nice
woman with the sweet bunny?” Amelia asked.

I nodded.

“I guess that woman and the one who was here a minute ago were a lot alike,” she said. “I hope the one was at least nice to the bunny. She seemed like a sweet little thing.”

“Could we get back to what happened here this morning?” asked Officer Newland.

“Yeah, sure,” said Amelia. “After Marcy asked if there was anything she could do, the older woman began yelling about how much pleasure it gave her to destroy Marcy’s booth.”

Officer Newland looked at me, and I nodded.

“That’s basically it,” I said.

“Still, I want to take everyone’s statement individually,” he said, turning to the crowd. “Go back to your booths if you’re a merchant. If you’re here shopping, then please stay in this area until I get your name and information and take your statement.”

He drew Amelia aside slightly and finished questioning her.

Afterward, she came by the table where I was sitting. “Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I am glad they caught that old bat, though. She’ll pay for what she’s done.”

“Thanks.”

“Ms. Singer, may I take your statement now?” asked Officer Newland.

“Of course,” I said. I told him what had happened that morning. I also reiterated that Manu had instructed the crime scene technicians to take photographs of the damage done, and I gave him the estimate of loss I’d prepared for the insurance company.

He asked me a few additional questions—had I known Nellie Davis long, that type of thing—and
then he went to take the statements of the other bystanders.

About half an hour after Nellie had been taken away by the knight in shining armor—actually, he’d been wearing chain mail—Ted called.

“Hey, babe, how are you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m okay. I’ve been giving my statement to Officer Newland,” I said. “Besides, I knew you’d call once Sir Officer of Tallulah Falls brought Nellie in.”

“Deel,” Ted said.

“What?”

“The knight. His name is Officer Deel. Anyway, Nellie has been arrested and charged with criminal trespass and criminal mischief.”

“Criminal mischief?” I asked. “That makes her sound like a naughty little scamp who toilet-papered my lawn or something. I mean, I realize she just lost her sister, but . . .”

“Trust me. Criminal mischief is a serious crime in the state of Oregon,” he said. “She could be charged with jail time and a steep fine.”

“Jail time? How much?”

“Not much . . . and since it’s a first offense, she’ll probably get off with probation since her lawyer will plead that she was grieving over the loss of her sister, et cetera,” he said. “But your insurance company will go after her for compensation of your damaged property.”

“She has a lawyer?”

“Apparently,” said Ted. “She’s waiting at the station until he arrives and gives her advice.”

“I still can’t figure out why Nellie would do such a horrible thing to me,” I said. “While it’s true that we’ve never been friends, I never actually thought she was my bitter enemy. Do you think she truly believes I’m responsible in some way for Clara’s death?”

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on in Nellie’s head, Inch-High. And what does it matter what she thinks? You know the truth. And you know you did nothing to deserve that woman’s wrath. Try to let it go.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“I’ll be there soon with lunch,” he said.

“Let’s meet somewhere. I’m leaving here early today so Julie can start her training with Riley and Camille. I told her I’d be at the Seven-Year Stitch at one thirty this afternoon.”

“Pizza place at noon?”

I laughed. “How could I say no when you sound so hopeful?”

After I spoke with Ted, I noticed Officer Newland making his way around the booths, talking with all the merchants. He must’ve finished with the shoppers.

I suddenly had an influx of business. Some people, no doubt, wanted to see how I was holding up after Nellie’s outburst. But some seemed genuinely interested in my products.

Sadie stormed into the merchants’ building and over to my booth. She stood there tapping her foot, with a tight grimace that she was trying to pass off as a smile.

I excused myself from two ladies who were looking around my booth. “I’ll be just outside the stall if you need me.”

“I take it you heard,” I said quietly to Sadie.

“Yes, I heard. I want to throttle that old hen! How dare she do such a thing to you?”

“What got me was how gleeful she seemed about the whole thing,” I said. “She told me that it had helped her to rip my things to shreds.” I glanced down at the floor. “I know she’s grieving, but how does hurting someone else help her?”

Sadie pulled me to her in a big-sisterly hug. “I wish Nellie Davis would just leave Tallulah Falls. She’s a hateful, bitter woman, and no one is going to want her around when they hear what she’s done.”

I gently broke out of the hug, knowing it would make me cry if I accepted Sadie’s sympathy. “I’m all right.”

“You’re better than all right. And you’re way better than her,” she said. “You might have lost some
things
, but you have more of all the things that count than Nellie Davis will ever have.”

I nodded. “I know. Thanks, Sadie.”

“I’d better get back. See you later.”

“See you,” I said.

After my two customers paid for their purchases and wandered into another stall, I called Ted back.

“Hi,” I said. “Can you keep Nellie there until I get there?”

“Yes,” he said. “She’s in an interrogation room right now with her attorney.”

“Make her stay until I get there. I’m coming to talk to her. She and her attorney have to grant me that, don’t they?” I asked.

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

*   *   *

Ted met me at the door of the police station. He pulled me into his office, closed the door, and after giving me a kiss, told me that he’d persuaded Nellie’s attorney to let me have a word with her. “The attorney is hoping that by talking with you, Nellie will show remorse and he can use that to have a judge give her a reduced sentence.”

“If she shows any remorse, she deserves an Academy Award,” I said. “And I want to talk with her alone . . . without the lawyer present.”

“I’ll see if he’ll allow it.” Ted ushered me into an interrogation room.

He came back a few minutes later and informed me that I could speak with Nellie. An officer would be in the room to ensure that no physical altercations took place, and Nellie’s attorney would be with Ted and Manu on the other side of the one-way glass.

“If anything is said that the attorney deems inappropriate, he’ll stop the interview immediately,” said Ted.

“Fair enough.”

Within five or ten minutes, Nellie came into the room accompanied by a female officer I’d never met.

Nellie sat down across the table from me. “Are you here to drop these outrageous charges?”

“No.”

“Then why am I talking with you? Now that Clara is dead, I have
no one
!” She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked down at the table. “Of course, when life was good for Clara, I didn’t have her. I don’t even know Clara’s family. I only met her second husband once. I haven’t seen Clara’s boys since they were small.”

“Then don’t you think this is a good time to reconnect with them?” I asked. “One of Clara’s step-granddaughters came looking for her on Friday. They must’ve been close. Maybe you could help fill the void left by Clara’s death.”

“Clara wasn’t close with any of her late husband’s granddaughters,” said Nellie. “At least, I don’t think she was. She didn’t speak of any of his family members favorably.”

“How many are there?”

“There are three granddaughters, I think. What’s it to you, anyway? You think I’m going to get all mushy about people I don’t even know?” she asked. “They don’t know me, and they don’t want to. I feel the same way about them. Now that Clara’s dead, I’ve got no one . . . and it’s all your fault.”