Thread Herrings

by Lea Wait

“I will. You rest easy, now.”

  “No news,” I told Sarah after the call ended. “But Pete’s determined I shouldn’t go home for a few days. He suggested I stay with Patrick because his place isn’t near downtown.”

  Sarah grinned. “Patrick will like that.”

  “I’ll have to talk to him to be sure.” I didn’t want to make any assumptions. Patrick and I were close, but not living-together close. “And his Bette and Trixi haven’t seen each other since we divided that litter. I don’t know how they’ll get along.”

  “I’d offer to take Trixi here, but I’m afraid Ruggles wouldn’t agree,” said Sarah. “You took her to your grandmother’s house once, right?”

  “When I lost power right before Christmas,” I agreed. “Her Juno wasn’t thrilled, but it worked out all right.”

  “Settle in here for now. Call Patrick pretty soon. And if he’s hesitant, you can stay here more than one night. For now, let’s take advantage of a bad situation and have a girls’ night in.”

  I smiled. Sarah was trying to keep me from thinking about Clem. She and Clem had met a few times, but Clem had been my friend.

  She’d been the organized one. The ambitious one.

  Who’d killed her, and why? Pete, and soon Ethan, would be working on that. But if I hadn’t bought that embroidery, or showed it to Clem, would she still be alive?

  I wanted to do something. To talk to people. To think through the history of the needlepoint.

  “What about pasta?” Sarah was saying. “And streaming a good movie or two. And wine, of course.”

  “Wine sounds good for a start,” I agreed. “And, yes, a movie.” Maybe someone else’s story would get my mind off mine. And off the possibility that whoever killed Clem also had my name and picture on his list.

  I’d been involved in murder investigations before, but I’d never thought I might be a victim. It wasn’t a good feeling.

  “Do you need anything for tonight?” asked Sarah. “I have extra blankets and pillows, and you can wear one of my sleep shirts. I’m pretty sure I even have an extra toothbrush. The dentist gave me several when I had my teeth cleaned last week.”

  Clem had been going to see her dentist this afternoon. That was the reason she’d been in Haven Harbor.

  “I’m fine, Sarah. All that sounds good.” I glanced over at the canvas bag I’d left near the couch. My Glock was in it, loaded and ready. “I have everything I need.” Except answers.

  Chapter 16

  “Imitate the Best.”

  —Sally Amy Vickery stitched these words on her sampler with three alphabets and a border in black cross-stitch, perhaps because she was in mourning. She completed it in 1807 in Taunton, Massachusetts, when she was ten years old.

  Two glasses of wine later (after all, I wasn’t going to be driving) Sarah began cooking pasta for dinner. I stood at her window, looking into the darkness. A February day in Maine was dark by four-thirty in the afternoon.

  Had Pete and Ethan and the police crews removed Clem and her car? Had they found anything that would help them figure out who’d killed her?

  And, in the shadows below the window, was anyone looking for me?

  Sarah was my best friend, but today her apartment felt like a jail. I hated being confined, even if the confinement was for my own safety.

  Patrick should be home from Camden by now. I was about to call him when my cell rang. “Angie? It’s Pete. Everything okay there?”

  “Fine. Any news?”

  “Ethan’s here. He’d like to stop in to see you.” Pete paused. “I’m coming along, too. We don’t think anyone is watching us, but we’re going to play it safe and leave the wharf heading in different directions. Tell Sarah to answer the door in the next ten minutes if someone knocks three times. It’ll be Ethan or me.”

  “You sound like you’re on a spy mission,” I said, shaking my head.

  “We don’t want to take any chances. We don’t want to lead anyone to where you’re hiding.”

  Hiding. That’s what I was doing, wasn’t it?

  “Fine. I’ll see you both in a few minutes.” I ended the call and told Sarah about the three-knock code.

  “Sounds like a movie script,” she agreed. “But we’re here, and they’re welcome. I’ll start coffee brewing. If they’ve been out by the wharf, they’ll be freezing.”

  “Good plan,” I agreed, wondering if I should hide my glass of wine. But, then, there was no reason I couldn’t have wine. Even two glasses.

  The first set of three knocks came about five minutes later. Sarah opened the door carefully, and let in a snow-covered Ethan Trask. He stepped inside and took off his gloves and hat. Snow falling from his boots and jacket left small puddles on the floor. “Sorry, Sarah,” he said, looking at the melting snow.

  “No problem,” she assured him. “It happens in winter. In the dark we didn’t even know it was snowing again,” she said, taking his jacket and hanging it above a hot-air register in her kitchen.

  “Started about half an hour ago,” Ethan said. “Coming down wicked hard, now.”

  “Angie’s in the living room,” she said, as three more knocks on the door announced Pete’s arrival. She opened the door, calling to Ethan, “Coffee’s about ready.”

  “Sounds great,” said Pete, grinning as he hung his jacket in the kitchen. He glanced at Sarah a few more times than necessary, but she was busy with the coffee and didn’t notice.

  “Looks like the gang’s all here,” I commented as Ethan and Pete joined me in the living room.

  Sarah brought in mugs of coffee a few minutes later and went back to the kitchen. Her apartment was small; she couldn’t help hearing what we all said. But she was trying to give us some privacy.

  “Pete told me about the threats you and Clem got yesterday,” said Ethan, getting to the point immediately. “I want to hear about them, make sure we all have the same information.”

  “Clem interviewed me on Channel 7 yesterday about a piece of embroidery and what looks like a receipt for a child abandoned at the London Foundling Hospital in 1757. The segment aired for about a minute. Maybe less.”

  “I’ve called the studio, Ethan,” Pete put in. “They’re sending us each a link to the clip.”

  “Good,” said Ethan. “And you were both named on the air, Angie?”

  “Clem was named, as always, because she’s a reporter for Channel 7. She introduced me and said I owned Mainely Needlepoint.”

  “She didn’t say you were in Haven Harbor.”

  “No. But the town is named on the Mainely Needlepoint web site.”

  “So, Clem said if anyone had information to help identify the embroidery, to call Channel 7?”

  “Right. And only a few minutes after the segment aired Clem called me to say the station had already received a call. Whoever left the message didn’t have information about the embroidery. He—or she,” (I’d never asked whether the voice was male or female), “threatened both Clem and me with death if we didn’t stop investigating.”

  “I assume you both thought that was strange,” Ethan said, raising his eyebrows, as if to say that he sure thought it was strange.

  “Of course. It was spooky. We had no idea what to think. I was at Gram’s house with Patrick West and the Mainely Needlepointers when I got the call. Some people wondered if it was a joke, or a prank. Others said we should take it seriously.”

  “And did you?”

  I didn’t want to admit how scared I’d been. “I made sure all my windows and doors were locked last night.” I didn’t mention I’d kept my Glock next to my bed, or that my heart had practically stopped when an icicle had fallen off the roof in the middle of the night.

  “And then there were more threats?”

  “One was on my computer, at the Mainely Needlepoint web site link. It said no one should be asking questions about the embroidery. Then Clem called. She said the station had gotten more calls during the night. I don’t know how many. She was going to bring the printout
s of the calls with her to show me when we had lunch, and I told her I’d bring the message I’d gotten.”

  “We found her printouts in her car. Do you have yours with you?”

  “I’ll get it for you.” I dug into my canvas bag and handed the printout to Ethan.

  He glanced at it. “Have you gotten any more threats since then?”

  “I haven’t checked since mid-morning, so there might be messages there.” I paused. I didn’t add that I hadn’t wanted to look. “Have you any idea who killed Clem? Were there footprints, or fingerprints or . . . anything?”

  “We’ll have to wait to see what the crime scene technicians and the ME come up with,” said Ethan, telling me nothing. “Her body’s been taken to Augusta.”

  I shuddered. All the work she’d done, all her dreams, and she’d ended up on an autopsy table. Maybe that would happen to most of us, some day. But Clem was only twenty-seven or eight. My age. Too soon.

  “One thing I shouldn’t tell you, but I will,” said Ethan. “But you have to promise to keep it to yourself.”

  I nodded.

  “The reason we’re taking these threats to you and Clem seriously is not only because she was killed. But because whoever killed her left an embroidery needle sticking out of her throat.”

  I gasped.

  “That’s why we’re all taking this seriously. Pete told me someone had been looking for you this morning,” said Ethan.

  “Pax Henry said a man came into the post office asking for my address. I don’t think Pax paid too much attention to him, but he did tell the man that I lived on the green.”

  “Pete, let’s make sure we talk to Pax,” said Ethan. He turned to me. “Did this man ask anything about Clem?”

  “Pax didn’t say, if he did,” I answered.

  “Have you seen that man since? Or anyone else out of the ordinary?”

  “I don’t know what he looks like.” Where had I been today? “I was at home, then mailed a package at the post office, and stopped to visit Ruth Hopkins. After that I went to the Harbor Haunts, to have lunch with Clem, and talked to you, Pete. I waited for about thirty minutes, and then left, came here, and haven’t left. I haven’t seen anyone else today.” I looked at the two officers. “Except you guys.”

  “One more question,” said Ethan. “Clem doesn’t come to Haven Harbor often, from what I’ve heard. Who knew the two of you would be having lunch together today at the Harbor Haunts?”

  “I don’t know who she might have told,” I said, thinking. “Her parents? Someone at the studio?”

  “Who did you tell?”

  “Patrick, and Gram. I mentioned it to Ruth Hopkins. I told you, Pete. And—I mentioned it to someone at the Augusta Auction House.” I thought back to early this morning. “Jessica Winter.”

  “Okay,” Ethan said. “That’s a start. Now I’d like your house keys, so we can pick up your computer. I’m hoping our technicians can figure out who sent that message to you. They’ll also see whether any more messages came in this afternoon.”

  My computer! “How long will you need it? All the Mainely Needlepoint records are on it, and our online shopping web site is, too.” I handed Pete my house key. I probably should have saved my business records to the cloud. But I hadn’t. “I understand you need to look at it. But I need it back as soon as possible.”

  “We’ll get it back to you as soon as we can,” Ethan promised. That didn’t give me a warm feeling. But I had no choice.

  I touched the gold angel necklace Mama had given me so many years ago. Sometimes, when I felt stressed, I hoped she was an angel now, looking down at me. I wasn’t religious, but that idea calmed me.

  “Angie, you know Pete and I well enough to trust us. We don’t know why Clem was killed, or by whom. It could have been random. But with that needle left at the crime scene, there’s a good chance it has something to do with your embroidery. Until we have a better idea of what happened, we want you to stay safe. Pete said you might stay with Patrick West, out at Aurora?”

  “I haven’t talked with Patrick yet, but I think that will be okay.” Did everyone know about Patrick and me? And if they did, could the killer know, too?

  “Keep in touch with Pete or me, and let me know if you hear anything more, from anyone, or think of anything that might help us. Or, certainly, if you get any more threats. We suggest you stay out of downtown Haven Harbor for a few days. Aurora’s not far, but at least it isn’t in the center of town. Even there, stay low. Out of sight. No long walks in the snow or visiting your grandmother in town.”

  “Got it.”

  “And, for the record, Clem Walker was your friend, right?”

  “We went to high school together and reconnected when I came back to Haven Harbor from Arizona last May.”

  “Was she happy?”

  I looked at Ethan. “Happy? That’s a funny question. She was living the life she chose. No one’s life is perfect.” I glanced at Pete. Since his wife had left him last fall I knew he’d been having a hard time. “She wasn’t suicidal.”

  “I didn’t know Clem, other than seeing her on the news. I don’t remember her from high school. Knowing more about her might help us find her killer.”

  “Okay. Clem was focused and dedicated to succeeding. She went through U Maine on a scholarship, and has been working her way up at Channel 7. Her goal was to be an anchor on a national news show. She was hoping to get a promotion soon.”

  “A promotion?”

  “She told me the producer was thinking of replacing an older anchor with a younger one, and she was high on the list of possible replacements.”

  Ethan frowned. “Replace Dara Richmond? She’s been at Channel 7 forever.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what Clem meant. She didn’t use Dara’s name, though.”

  “And Clem was happy about replacing her?”

  “Excited at the possibility,” I said.

  “We know about Steve Jeffries. What about other friends in her life? Enemies?”

  “She lived in Portland. We didn’t socialize a lot. We saw each other when she came back to Haven Harbor to see her family. I met Steve because Clem hoped Patrick would give his work a show in the gallery here in town.”

  I’d only seen Clem when she wanted something from me, I realized. Or, I admitted, when I wanted something from her.

  “I don’t know anything about her friends. She seemed to spend most of her time at work,” I concluded, weakly. I wished I knew more about her that would help Pete and Ethan.

  Ethan closed the small notebook he’d been using. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful, let us know. We’ll stop by your house, check it, and pick up your computer, before we go to see Mr. and Mrs. Walker.”

  “My computer’s on the desk in the living room.”

  “Good. Remember to let us know when you leave here, whether it’s to go to Patrick’s house or somewhere else.”

  Where else could I go?

  “Oh—and is your car near here or at your place?”

  “Down the street,” I answered.

  “Do you have someone who could get it off the street and into your barn? In case anyone knows it’s yours and is watching it. Not to speak of plows needing to clear the streets.”

  I nodded. My car. One more thing to take care of; one more favor to ask.

  But speaking of favors . . . “Would you mind doing me a favor?” I asked as Ethan and Pete were putting their coats on. “When you’re at my house, would you give my cat some more food and water? Her food and dishes are in the kitchen. She should be all right tonight, and I’ll find some way to get her out tomorrow.”

  “I’ll feed her,” Pete agreed. “Not a problem. But remember—don’t you go to your house tomorrow. If you need anything, have someone else get it.” He looked over at Sarah, almost shyly. “Thanks for the coffee, and for watching out for Angie. If we can help in any way, call me. The police station is only a couple of blocks away.”

  “Don’
t keep my computer longer than you have to,” I reminded the two men.

  “We won’t,” said Pete, as he and Ethan went down the now snow-covered steps.

  I watched them leave, separately, heading to their cars.

  Sarah closed the door, brushing off the snow that had blown onto me as I’d stood in the doorway.

  “It’s going to be all right,” she said. “They’ll find whoever killed Clem. It just may take some time.”

  “But it will never be all right for Clem,” I said. I realized I was crying.

  Chapter 17

  “Industry is the law of our nature, the indispensable condition of possessing a sound mind and a sound body.”

  —Ann Stoddard, an eleven-year-old from Hingham, Massachusetts, stitched this in 1801. She included three alphabets and a trefoil border.

  Sarah let me cry for a few minutes. Then she handed me a cup of chamomile tea. “Maybe this will help. Wine’s a depressant. Right now you don’t need any more of that.”

  “You sound like Gram,” I said, wiping my eyes.

  “Of course you’re upset. And scared. And confused, because none of this seems to make sense. But it will. I’ve known you less than a year, Angie Curtis, but I’ve never seen you give up trying to find the truth when something bad happened. Ethan and Pete are like that, too. Between the three of you, you’ll find out what happened to Clem. And you’ll be fine.” She glanced over at my bag. “I saw what was in your bag. In Australia you wouldn’t have that gun of yours. Weapons make me nervous. But I understand why you want to have yours near you now.” She smiled at me, half-jokingly. “Just don’t take it out of that bag or point it at me.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said. “Thank you for the tea. And whatever you’re cooking smells terrific.” The whole apartment warmed with the scents of tomatoes, garlic, and anchovies.

  “Supper’s almost ready. While I’m cooking you should try to reach Patrick. You’ll feel better once you know what you’re going to do tomorrow.”