by Amanda Lee
“Here. Let me take your jacket,” I said.
She handed it to me, and I hung it on the rack in my office. “Are they doing all right?” I asked. “Are they still at home?”
“Yes, and yes.” She sat on the sofa facing away from the window. “Adam seems to be treating them especially well right now.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I don’t expect it to last, but it’s nice for the time being.” She looked at the egg I was cross-stitching. There wasn’t even enough of the pattern developed yet that anyone could tell what it was going to be, but she told me it was pretty.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile. I showed her the pattern so she could get a better idea of what the finished product would look like.
“Ooh, that’ll be beautiful,” she said. “Did you ever see Chester’s tapestry treasure map thing?”
I hesitated, struggling to come up with a suitable answer. I didn’t want to tell Susan that for some inexplicable reason Chester had trusted me with his cherished tapestry. But I didn’t want to appear to be hiding something either. “I understand he had a tapestry that he believed to be a treasure map. I’m just not sure that’s what it was.”
Susan’s brows drew together sharply. “Why not? Why wouldn’t it be a map? His mother told him it was.”
“She might’ve only told her stubborn little boy what he needed to hear before agreeing to go to bed.” I chuckled. “I’m not saying Chester’s tapestry isn’t a treasure map, but I’m skeptical about its veracity.”
“So you don’t think a ship called the Delia was wrecked off the coast of Tallulah Falls? Or you don’t think the ship was carrying anything valuable?” she asked.
“I don’t know about either of those things,” I said, surprised at her adamant defense of Chester’s map. “I only know that Chester Cantor was looking for a miracle.”
“I agree,” said Susan. “And I think he might’ve had a map to show him where he could find one.”
“Then why hadn’t he been looking for this treasure all his life?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he had been. But there’s a lot of treasure to be found here in Oregon—I know that. For instance, there’s the treasure of Sir Frances Drake.”
I recalled Captain Moe mentioning that, but I didn’t comment on it to Susan.
“He buried five chests of gold,” she continued. “Three were eventually found, but there are still two out there on the beach somewhere.”
“It sounds like you’re something of a treasure hunter yourself,” I said.
“I sure would be if I knew where to look.” She gazed at the far wall, making me feel as if she’d transported herself into an Indiana Jones or Lara Croft daydream. “I’ve heard the legends all my life . . . grew up reading the treasure hunters’ books in the elementary school library . . . spent summers digging in the sand. . . .” She appeared to give herself a mental shake before rejoining the real world and giving me a sheepish smile. “Tell me, Marcy. What would you do if you stumbled upon a treasure?”
“I already have,” I said, thinking of Ted. I suddenly remembered that Susan was in my Thursday evening class and that gushing over a boyfriend would be insensitive to a woman in a domestic abuse victims’ support group. I nodded toward Angus. “Just look at him over there by the window. Isn’t he adorable?”
“Oh, come on, I’m serious. What would you do with the money?”
“I’d pay off everything I owe, and then I’d hire someone to work here at the Seven-Year Stitch one day a week so I could take the day off and do whatever I wanted. What about you?” I asked.
“I’d start all over,” Susan said. “I’d change my looks, buy a new wardrobe, and move to the other side of the country. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”
Once again, I hesitated to answer her. I knew what it was like to uproot oneself and make a fresh start in a new place. It was indeed liberating, but most of the problems you’d hoped to have left at your old place still accompanied you to the next. Then again, my problems probably hadn’t been as huge as Susan’s were. So I merely smiled and nodded.
Shortly thereafter, Susan bought a spool of wide red ribbon, said she’d see me in class on Thursday, and left—crouched over against the onslaught of rain.
As I continued working on Mom’s egg, I debated the pros and cons of calling Sadie. While I had too much on my mind with the Cantors to dwell on Sadie’s unreasonable anger or pouting or whatever she was feeling toward me, it was hard to put my best friend completely out of my mind when we’d last parted on such rocky ground. I mean, we’d been friends for years. Heck, I wouldn’t have even opened my shop here in Tallulah Falls had it not been for Sadie. So, of course, the pro to calling her would be to smooth things over. And that would make the con the realization that I couldn’t smooth things over if Sadie was still ticked off.
Fortunately, the debate was put on hold while I tended to a customer who was looking for a soft yarn that wouldn’t pill when washed. I was ringing up the woman’s purchase when Sadie walked in with a latte. She took a seat in the sit-and-stitch square, put the latte on the coffee table, and played ball with Angus until the customer and I had finished our transaction.
I was beginning to think maybe it wasn’t Mom who was psychic. Maybe it was me.
I waved good-bye to the customer and then went to sit across from Sadie. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” She pushed the latte across the table toward me. “Low-fat vanilla with a hint of cinnamon.”
“Thank you.” I picked up the latte, opened it, and took a sip. It was nowhere near as hot as I’d expected it to be, and I wondered how long it had taken Sadie to fully make up her mind to come talk with me.
“Sorry about Friday,” she said. “I was just disappointed about you and Todd. I thought you guys were a perfect fit.” She tossed the tennis ball Angus had dropped at her feet, and he scampered after it. “You’d both been through so much heartache. I guess I thought you could heal each other’s hurts.”
I stayed silent and merely took another sip of the tepid latte. I didn’t feel I had anything to add to what I’d already told Sadie on this touchy topic Friday.
“But I can see that Ted makes you happy,” Sadie said. “And I’m glad.”
I arched a brow and put the latte back on the coffee table. “Why do I get the feeling that Todd and Blake helped you arrive at that conclusion?”
“Because they did . . . Todd especially.”
“He’s a terrific guy,” I said. “He’s just not the right guy for me.”
Sadie nodded. “I know.” She stood. “Well, I’d better get back. Despite the rain—or maybe because of it—MacKenzies’ Mochas is a madhouse today.”
“I’m glad you took time to stop by,” I said.
“Me too.”
It wasn’t a Laverne and Shirley or a Lucy and Ethel makeup scene, but it would do. Hopefully, we could double-date in the near future . . . and when Todd found a girl, even triple date. As I took the latte to reheat it in the microwave oven in my office, I decided I was getting way ahead of myself.
The bells over the shop door jingled, alerting me to the fact that someone had come in.
“Be right there!” I called.
“Take your time!”
I was a bit startled to have been answered by an unfamiliar male voice, so I stepped out of the office to investigate. It was Adam Cantor.
“Hi, Mr. Cantor,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t convey how ill at ease I was to find him standing in my store. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to apologize for my behavior Saturday evening,” he said, absently patting Angus’s head. He looked toward the sit-and-stitch square. “Do you have a second to talk?”
“Of course. Please, have a seat.”
He strode to the farthest club chair and sat down, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.
Eager to keep some distance between us, I chose the other club chair.
�
�Mary, Melanie, and I appreciate the muffin basket you brought us,” he told me. “That was very thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Blake from MacKenzies’ Mochas said Melanie liked the chocolate, chocolate chip muffins, so he made sure to include several of those.”
“Yeah, those are disappearing fast.” Adam smiled. “Blake’s a good guy. Again, I’m sorry I behaved so poorly Saturday evening. I’d been drinking a little . . . trying to drown my grief, I guess you could say, although it only made matters worse . . . and I lashed out at you and Detective Nash.”
“The Tallulah Falls Police Department is doing its best to find out who murdered your father,” I said.
“I know. But it won’t bring him back, will it?” he asked. “Pop and I had lost the majority of my early years. I guess you could say we were trying to make up for lost time.”
“I only met your father once, but during the brief time I spoke with him, he made it clear to me how much he loved his family.”
“I didn’t always treat him well,” Adam said, softly, a slight catch in his voice.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “But you can make a concentrated effort to treat Mary and Melanie well.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
You can get help to ensure you stop abusing your family is what I thought. My mind raced to come up with something more acceptable. To Adam, I said, “You just told me that you and your dad didn’t make the most of your childhood. Your dad expressed regrets to me about that too.” I lifted and dropped my shoulders—the ultimate gesture of casual offhandedness. “Being aware of those regrets can keep you from making the same mistakes your father made. It can encourage you to be the kind of dad and husband you wish he’d have been—and sooner in life rather than later. Right? Not that you aren’t, I mean.”
He still simply stared at me.
“After all,” I continued, “didn’t someone say, A smart man learns from his own mistakes but a truly wise man learns from the mistakes of others? I’m only saying that rather than grieve for the time you missed and the time you no longer have with your father, you can channel that energy into the time you have with your daughter and your wife so that you never have the regrets that plagued your dad.”
“I see what you’re saying,” Adam said slowly. “Makes sense. Of course, I do want justice for my dad.”
“Naturally. We all do.”
“Why did he decide to confide in you when he hadn’t even met you until you brought the books Friday morning?” he asked. “You hadn’t met him before . . . had you?”
“Oh, no.” I smiled. “I guess he was simply feeling chatty . . . and I just have one of those faces or something. People talk with me all the time.”
“But why was he talking with you about me?”
“Um . . . I can’t recall. We were just chatting in general when he said something about regretting not giving you the childhood you’d deserved.” I shrugged. “I didn’t pursue it.”
He studied me for a moment as if trying to decide whether or not I was telling the truth. “Do the police have any solid leads about who killed Pop?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You should ask them.”
“I have. They’re being evasive.”
Before he could elaborate, Reggie hurried into the shop. “Now, this is what I call a blustery day!” she said, smiling at Adam and me. “Hello, all. Marcy, I need three skeins each of white, silver, and blue perle floss, please.”
“Excuse me,” I said to Adam, as I got up and went over to Reggie. Angus was way ahead of me and was already sitting at her feet. “What shade of blue?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Reggie said. “I’d better see what all you have.”
“I should be going, but thank you again for your expression of sympathy, Marcy,” Adam said, as he walked to the door.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
As soon as he left, Reggie confessed that she didn’t really need any thread. “I was on my way to MacKenzies’ Mochas when I noticed Adam in your shop and thought you might need my help. You don’t think he caught wind of the escape plan, do you?”
“If so, he didn’t let on,” I said. “I think this was more of a fishing expedition.”
Chapter Ten
Ted called before I left work that afternoon and said that Manu and Reggie had invited us for dinner. “Shall I accept?” he asked. “Or would you rather I politely decline?”
“No,” I said. “I mean, please, accept. I think it’ll be nice . . . unless you’d rather not go.” I happened to think that Ted might not want to spend the evening with his boss.
“I’m fine with it. I just know Mondays and Fridays are your only free evenings during the week, and I thought you might have other plans.”
“Nope. Just find out if they need us to bring anything,” I said. “By the way, are you having a good day?”
“I am. Are you? When Reggie stopped in at the station earlier, she said Adam Cantor dropped in on you.” Though he’d kept his tone light, there was an underlying hardness that told me he was concerned about the visit.
“He stopped in to apologize for his rude behavior Saturday evening . . . or, at least, that’s what he said. I really think he was trying to find out what the police are doing with regard to Chester’s murder.”
“What did you tell him?” Ted asked.
“I told him I didn’t know anything and that if he wanted information, he should ask the police,” I said. “He told me you guys are being evasive. I guess that means that no one will come right out and tell him, Congratulations! You’re a suspect in your father’s death!”
“Well, we shouldn’t have to beat him over the head with it,” Ted said.
“You’ve never had any trouble convincing me I was a suspect.”
“Is this where I say something horribly corny like Yeah, but you’re a thief—you stole my heart?” he asked.
I laughed. “No. This is where you say good-bye, and I go home and get ready for our dinner date.”
“Deal. Pick you up at six thirty?”
“Sounds great . . . but, please, leave the corn at home.”
“I will,” he promised.
* * *
Reggie had decorated the Singh home with the same eclectic blend of Indian and coastal decor with which she’d done her office at the library. And, once again, the effect was stunning. I had the feeling that if I—or almost anyone other than Reggie—had tried to pull off the look, it would’ve been a horrible failure.
The living room walls were painted a soft cream. The hardwood floor was covered with a large Indian rug that had shades of brown, blue, beige, and copper. A light blue sofa picked up the color from the rug, and two rattan rockers with matching ottomans had blue-and-copper-striped cushions. The end tables and the coffee table were glass-topped rattan. An elaborate painting hung on the wall directly across from the door. When I commented on it, Reggie told me it was the ceiling of the Taj Mahal.
“We bought it when we were there last,” she said.
“Wow.” I stepped over to take a closer look. “It’s so intricate . . . and it’s incredible how well it matches your living room.”
“I know,” Reggie said. “That’s why I had to have it.”
Manu took Ted’s and my jackets and asked if we’d like drinks while we waited for dinner to finish cooking. I asked for water, and Ted said he didn’t need anything.
We’d brought some white tulips as a hostess gift. Reggie went to put the flowers in a vase and said she’d bring the drinks back after she’d checked on dinner.
Manu invited us to sit down. He took one of the rattan rockers, and we sat on the sofa. Like their decor, he and his wife had very different styles that meshed delightfully. While Reggie preferred traditional Indian dress, like the black and gold tunic she wore this evening, Manu chose a more American style. Like Ted and me, he wore jeans. But where the two of us were wearing lightweight sweaters, Manu wore a bl
ue plaid flannel shirt. He had a fondness for flannel shirts. Reggie teasingly referred to them as his lumberjack duds.
“Reggie told Ted and me that Adam Cantor came to your shop today,” Manu said. “He didn’t threaten you in any way, did he?”
“No,” I said. “He was actually pretty nice. Of course, as I told Reggie, I think he was hoping I could tell him something about his father’s murder investigation, but he hit a brick wall there.”
Manu nodded. “That’s what Reggie said. She was so afraid he’d found out that the bookmobile wasn’t the real reason you’d paid a visit to his house.”
Reggie returned with a tray of drinks—white wine for her and Manu, and water for Ted and me. “In case you change your mind,” she told Ted. “And if either of you decides you’d like a glass of wine, please, let me know.”
“I’ll wait and have mine with dinner,” I said. “But thank you.”
“I heard Adam Cantor’s name,” she said to Manu, as she placed the tray on the coffee table and handed him his drink. She took her own glass and sat on the other rattan rocker.
“I was telling Marcy you were afraid Adam had discovered that you, Reggie, and Audrey had been hoping to talk Chester into leaving rather than bringing books to a shut-in,” Manu said.
“Well, Chester did check out a couple of books. . . .” She trailed off and looked at me. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Adam was duped . . . and that he was duped in order for us to get in there and talk his family into leaving him. Still, if anyone should bear the brunt of his anger over that, it should be me. I’m sorry I dragged you and Audrey into this, Marcy.”
“If I’m not mistaken, going to the Cantor house in the bookmobile was my idea,” I said.
“And I’ve never known Marcy to have to be dragged into anything that was none of her business,” Ted teased.
I playfully elbowed him in the side.
“That’s true,” Reggie said.
“Hey! What is this?” I asked. “Gang up on Marcy night?”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Reggie said, with a laugh. “It is true, but I knew your heart would go out to the women in that group.” She turned serious again. “I shouldn’t have taken you to the Cantors’ house. Mary could’ve brought the tapestry to you, had she wanted you to assess its worth for Chester.”
