by Amanda Lee
The message had been left more than an hour ago. I couldn’t really imagine why Mrs. Trelawney would call me instead of the police if she really thought she was in danger, but I dialed her number, and Sylvia answered.
“Hi, Sylvia,” I said. “I’m really sorry to disturb you, but may I please speak with Mrs. Trelawney?”
“I’m sorry, but Maggie has already gone to bed.”
“I see. Well, she left a message on my answering machine earlier this evening. Normally, I wouldn’t have returned her call this late, but she sounded upset.”
“She did have . . . an episode earlier. She was so distraught, I gave her one of the sedatives her doctor prescribed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t even imagine what she must be going through. In the morning, please let her know I returned her call and tell her I’ll try to stop by.”
“Very well,” Sylvia said. “Goodnight, Ms. Singer.”
I hung up, and almost immediately the phone rang. I picked up the receiver.
“Marcy,” Mrs. Trelawney whispered. “It’s me.”
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Trelawney. I hope I didn’t wake you when I phoned.”
“No. I was awake. I didn’t take that pill Sylvia gave me. I need my wits about me.”
She’d seemed frantic when she’d left the message. Now she sounded strangely calm.
“I think whoever killed Bill wants me dead, too,” she continued. “Chief Myers says it’s all a big mistake and that Bill’s death was the result of a robbery gone wrong. You told me you believe he and Mr. Enright were killed by the same people. I think so, too.”
So that explained it. Mrs. Trelawney saw me as the only person who was convinced this was a larger conspiracy.
“What did Chief Myers say about that?”
“He and Sylvia whispered around, and I think he encouraged her to keep me sedated. But, as I already told you, I’m keeping my wits about me.”
“Mrs. Trelawney, what makes you think you’re in danger?”
“Because it makes sense. Timothy Enright knew too much, Bill knew too much, and I know too much.”
“Too much about what?”
“About that whole Four Square Development mess.”
I could hardly believe she was actually admitting her husband was involved with Four Square Development.
“Timothy must’ve known about it, too,” she continued. “Bill told me what he’d scratched on the wall. It scared him.”
“It scared Mr. Trelawney? Why?”
“Because he was afraid that if Timothy had told anyone else the identity of Four Square Development’s silent partner, we would all be killed.” She sniffled. “He was right, wasn’t he?”
“Who was the partner?” I asked. “If you believe he killed Timothy and your husband, we’ll call Chief Myers or Ted Nash as soon as we hang up and have the guy picked up. Then he won’t be a threat to you anymore.”
“That’s just it, dear. I don’t know who he was.”
“You mean, Mr. Trelawney didn’t tell you?”
“He was afraid to. He said the less I knew about Four Square Development, the better.”
“But, then, how can you think you know too much?”
“Because I do, dear. I know this person is the killer. And I know he’ll come after me, too.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Mrs. Trelawney,” I said.
But it was a promise I was afraid I’d be unable to keep. I knew it, and so did Mrs. Trelawney.
I ran by MacKenzies’ Mochas for a latte before opening the shop the next morning. Blake was at the counter.
“You’re in early,” he said.
“Yeah, I woke up early and didn’t see any use to just sitting around the house.” I looked around the café. “Where’s Sadie?”
“Home. She got sick yesterday afternoon. I think it’s probably a stomach bug, but if she doesn’t feel better by midmorning, she’s going to call the doctor.”
“I’m sorry she’s feeling so lousy,” I said. “I can cancel classes this evening and work for you so you can go home and take care of her, if you want me to.”
“I appreciate that,” Blake said, “but my evening manager is coming in after the lunch rush so I can get on out of here.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Low-fat vanilla with a hint of cinnamon, right?”
I nodded, and he deftly prepared my latte.
He turned back to me with a grin. “At first, I thought Sadie was simply sick from not knowing what you were doing in here with Riley Kendall. But then it became apparent to both of us that she really was physically ill.”
Blake handed me the latte, and I inhaled, the soft vanilla and woody cinnamon blending beautifully with the underlying rich coffee. “Tell her I hope she’s feeling better,” I said as I paid for my drink, “and that I’ll fill you both in on what little there is to tell about Riley as soon as she’s up to it.”
“Will do, Marcy.”
I went to the shop and unlocked the door. Angus barreled through ahead of me. The scroll frames I’d ordered had arrived on Saturday, and I needed to make room to display a few of them before customers began to arrive. I was able to combine two short rows of wooden hoops into one long row and place the scroll frames on the newly vacant row.
I was standing back a short distance with my hands on my hips, surveying the display, when the door opened.
“You look proud of yourself,” Ted Nash said as Angus trotted over to greet him.
Ted was dropping by a lot lately, and I was beginning to think the case was just an excuse. Maybe Vera was right and he had “set his cap” for me. A vision of Todd flitted through my mind at that thought, but I told myself to keep any thoughts of romance reined in until the Enright and Trelawney cases had been resolved.
“I am proud of myself,” I said. “Don’t you think this looks nice?”
He grinned. “I think it looks great.” He scratched Angus’ head.
“So, he doesn’t make you nervous anymore?”
“Nope. I guess we’ve become accustomed to each other.” He cocked his head toward the display. “It was those frame things that prompted you to come in to work early?”
“Not exactly. I just happened to be in the neighborhood a little earlier than usual. You?”
“I just happened to be in the neighborhood myself,” he said. “When I saw you were here, I decided to say hello.”
“I’m glad you did. Do you feel there’s any reason that whoever killed Mr. Trelawney would now be gunning for his wife?”
Detective Nash rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why do you ask?”
“Why do you ask why I ask instead of answering the question?”
He tucked his chin and began walking toward the sitting area. “I asked Chief Myers to put officers on patrol at the Trelawney house the instant I learned Bill had been shot. That was partially with the expectation that the shooter might go to the home, looking for something.” He turned back toward me. “But it was also to protect Mrs. Trelawney. It stands to reason that if robbery wasn’t a factor in Bill’s death, then the shooter might have a grudge against both the husband and his wife. Now tell me what you know.”
I moved over to stand in front of him. “She’s scared, Ted . . . I mean, Detective Nash.”
“Ted is fine,” he said.
Trying to pretend I hadn’t made that faux pas, I went back to explaining about Mrs. Trelawney. “She called me yesterday and left a message on my answering machine. By the time I was able to call her back, Sylvia answered and said Mrs. Trelawney had gone to bed. But then Mrs. Trelawney called me right back.”
“Had Sylvia told her to call?”
“Oh, no. In fact, Mrs. Trelawney was rather secretive about her call.”
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She’s convinced the same person who killed her husband is going to kill her, too.”
“Did she say what led her to believe thi
s?”
“She says she knows too much about Four Square Development. She says she doesn’t know who Bill was working with there, but she thinks that person killed both him and Timothy Enright.”
Angus brought his tennis ball over and dropped it at Ted’s feet. The detective picked up the ball and rolled it across the floor. Angus bounded after it.
“Will you be at Bill Trelawney’s service this evening?” Detective Nash asked.
“I’ll be at the visitation,” I said, “but I need to get back here before the funeral. I have a class.”
“I’ll be at the funeral. If Margaret Trelawney gives you any information, whether you think it’s important or not”—he handed me his business card—“call my cell phone and let me know.”
I handed back the card. “I’ve already got one of these. You gave it to me the day I found . . . you know, the day we met.”
His mouth turned down at the corners. “Huh. I figured you might’ve thrown it away.” He handed back the card. “Keep it. That way you’ll always have one handy.”
“Do you think someone really is after Mrs. Trelawney?” I asked.
Detective Nash sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m afraid it’s a strong possibility. I think you and I both believe that Tim Enright and Bill Trelawney were killed because of something they knew. And if a husband knows something, odds are his wife does, too.”
“Not necessarily,” I said.
“True.” He inclined his head. “But if you’d already killed two people to keep your secret safe, would you risk the chance of a third person knowing?”
“One other thing,” I said. “Chief Myers told Mrs. Trelawney that Bill’s murder was definitely a robbery, but you said if. Does the department think now it was, in fact, a robbery gone wrong?”
Ted frowned. “Did Mrs. Trelawney tell you that’s what Chief Myers said?”
I nodded.
“Then he must’ve told her that to try to ease her mind. When Bill Trelawney was found, his wallet contained more than three hundred dollars that hadn’t been touched.”
Chapter Ten
I went by the house to bathe, change clothes, and drop off Angus before going to Bill Trelawney’s visitation. I wore a navy pencil skirt, a white button-down blouse, and a triple strand of pearls. My intention was to greet Mrs. Trelawney, once again express my sympathy, and then make a discreet exit before the funeral started.
I had barely known him . . . or his wife, for that matter. But Mr. Trelawney had always been pleasant to me. He’d loved to chat, so I could—up until now—anticipate collection of the rent to be a drawn-out, time-consuming affair. Blake liked to joke that it took Mr. Trelawney a month to collect the rent from all of his lessees because he made it a daily undertaking so he could tell the same stories to different people. For me, the conversations with Mr. Trelawney had always been amiable and interesting.
For some reason, that thought brought to mind Ted Nash’s grim question: If you’d already killed two people to keep your secret safe, would you risk the chance of a third person knowing?
It was a safe bet that anything the talkative Bill Trelawney knew, his wife knew also.
I pulled into the parking lot, glad it didn’t appear to be overly crowded yet. Keeping my skirt in place, I slid carefully out of the Jeep. A hand took hold of my elbow to steady me as I made my descent. I turned, pleasantly surprised to see Todd.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“Anytime,” he said. “It must be a lot trickier to get in and out of that Jeep in a skirt than it is when you’re wearing jeans.”
“A lot trickier. Are you staying for the funeral?”
“No. I just want to pay my respects to the family.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I have a class tonight, and I need to be there even if none of my students show up.”
“It’ll likely be a slow night at the Brew Crew, too.”
“Mind if I stop by after class?”
He smiled. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
We went on into the funeral home and stood in line to speak with Mrs. Trelawney. I recognized Riley Kendall several people ahead of us. She was with a tall, dark-skinned man whom I recognized from the photographs in her office. It was also evident he was her husband from the way his hand lingered proprietarily at the small of her back.
The door opened, chilling me with a blast of cool air. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Vera Langhorne coming in.
“Hello, Marcy,” she said, hurrying over to me. “I want you to meet my husband, John.” She looked up at her husband, who was not only tall but painfully thin. “John, this is Marcy Singer.”
Mr. Langhorne extended his hand. It felt cold and brittle, and I ended the handshake as quickly as possible without appearing rude.
“Ms. Singer,” he said, “I’ve heard great things about you. To hear Vera extol your talents, one would think you are the Picasso of needlecraft.”
I laughed softly. “Vera is too kind. She’s becoming quite the cross-stitch artist herself.”
“Indeed.” He smiled at his wife. “I’m proud of her.” He nodded at Todd. “Calloway, how are you this evening?”
“I’m fine, sir. Thank you. You?”
While the men engaged in small talk, Vera pulled me to the side.
“I’d planned on seeing Margaret and then coming on to class,” she said. “But John asked me to stay.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“He has to return to the bank to fax some papers that were due today or something.” She fluttered a hand dismissively. “But I’ll be in tomorrow morning for a sit-’n’-stitch.”
“Fantastic. I’ll look forward to seeing you then.”
Another couple approached the Langhornes and engaged them in conversation, so Todd and I made small talk as we inched along in the line. Finally, we came to Sylvia and Mrs. Trelawney. Sylvia was standing, as if to underscore the fact that she was the stronger of the two. Mrs. Trelawney was sitting on a padded folding chair at the head of her husband’s closed casket.
I nodded and spoke to Sylvia, then averted my eyes from the casket as I approached Mrs. Trelawney.
“How are you?” I asked softly, stooping down and taking her hand.
She smiled. “Oh, I’m fine, dear. And don’t you look beautiful? That beau of yours is a lucky fellow.”
“Thank you.” I straightened. “If you need anything—”
“I’ll sure let you know, dear,” she said. “You’re ever so kind.”
I glanced back at Sylvia, who shot me a triumphant smirk. One way or another, she’d gotten Mrs. Trelawney to take a sedative . . . or two.
When we got out to the parking lot, Todd walked me to the Jeep. “Do you think poor Mrs. Trelawney even knows what’s going on tonight?”
“I don’t think she has the faintest idea,” I said. “And I’m not certain that’s a good thing.” I was thinking that if someone did intend to harm her, she shouldn’t be all doped up.
“No, I’m not, either,” Todd said. “She needs some closure, and she isn’t going to get it like that.”
“She was terribly distraught last night. So maybe . . .” I shrugged.
Todd kissed my cheek and said he’d talk with me later.
The clock on my dashboard let me know I didn’t have time to go home and change clothes before class, so I hurried on to the shop. By the time I got there, Julie and Amber were sitting in their car, waiting for me.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said as we exited our vehicles and I unlocked the shop. “I went by to pay my condolences to Mrs. Trelawney.”
“We didn’t know Mr. Trelawney,” Julie said. “He was your landlord?”
“That’s right. I believe the Trelawneys own the shops on both sides of this street.”
“Wow,” Julie said, following me inside the shop. “Must be nice.” She looked as if she had a sudden inspiration. “Oh, Amber, would you run back to the car and get your school photos for Marcy to see?�
� She handed her car keys to her daughter.
“Oh, Mom,” Amber groaned. “Marcy doesn’t want to see those.”
“No, I’d love to see them,” I said.
“See?” Julie asked.
With a dramatic eye roll, Amber went back outside to get the photos.
Julie spoke quietly and quickly. “You need to have your credit report run if you haven’t done so since moving here.”
“But why? I—”
“You may be the victim of identity theft. Here comes Amber. I’ll explain it in a minute.”
Amber opened the door and held the envelope out to me as if it were contaminated. “They’re not any good. I look like a dork.”
I took the eight-by-tens out of the envelope and drew in a breath. “Amber, these are gorgeous!” They really were.
“No, they’re not.” She tried to appear unaffected, but I could tell she was really pleased by the praise.
“May I have one?” I asked. “If there are any left after all the relatives, I mean.”
“By all means,” Julie said.
I slid the photos back into the envelope and handed it to Julie. Julie, in turn, handed the envelope to Amber and asked her to return it to the car.
Once Amber was out of earshot, Julie explained why I needed to have a credit report run. “I work for a collections agency, and yesterday a delinquent credit card account came across my desk with the name Marcy Singer. I called the home number, and a man answered. He said you were at work at the hospital.”
“Do you think it could be another Marcy Singer?” I asked.
“Maybe. But since that Four Square mess last year, we’ve seen more stolen identities than you can imagine. You should look into it, just to be safe.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Just don’t mention it around Amber. Her dad was a straw buyer for Four Square. He got only probation and a fine, but we’re trying to put the whole nightmare behind us.”
“Why do you guys look so serious?” Amber asked as she opened the door.
“Because you’re seriously beautiful,” I said, “and we’re thinking up ways to scare the boys off.” I looked at Julie. “Yes, you can borrow Angus anytime.”
We were rewarded with another eye roll before we migrated to the sitting area to start class.
