by Janet Bolin
Ashley came to work in the shop after school. During a lull, I asked if she had her notes from the night before. “And the sketches that Antonio gave you for your outfits?”
She rummaged in her backpack and pulled them out.
I pointed to one of the sketches that Antonio had given her. “Look at the printing on these sketches. Does it look like Loretta’s?”
She studied the sketches, then paged through the notes she’d taken in our abbreviated night school class. “Yes, it does.” She wrinkled her nose. “You were here with me when he gave me my sketches. He told me that he had drawn them. But we know for certain that he did not draw that dress on the easel last night, because we saw Loretta do it, and we saw how she printed words like ‘shoulder seam’ on the sketch. She must have drawn all of the sketches that Antonio gave us.”
After we closed In Stitches, my animals and I had our suppers and a quick outing before firefighting practice.
Those of us who lived in downtown Threadville could have walked to firefighting, but we needed enough vehicles at the ball field for everyone, in case we were called to an emergency during firefighting practice. The dogs and I always went with Haylee in her pickup truck, mainly because it was as red as the village’s fire trucks, which seemed like a good idea, but that meant that I always had two largish dogs in my lap all the way to and from the baseball field.
Haylee parked and we all tumbled out. I took Tally’s leash and gave Haylee Sally’s. Firefighters jogged around the baseball diamond.
Ben strode toward us. Sally and Tally pulled us to him. He gave us a smile that would have melted anyone’s heart. Sally and Tally wagged their tails even faster. Ben squatted down and rubbed their ears.
Behind me, I heard the hum of a large, well-maintained engine. Clay’s pickup truck? Anticipation ran through me like sweet syrup. We were back to our usual schedule—firefighting practice, and then all going out together afterward. Everything between Clay and me would be fine.
Ben stood and stared toward the parking lot. The vehicle’s engine shut off.
Although warned by Ben’s sudden frown, I couldn’t help turning around.
Clay’s truck was beside Haylee’s.
A vision in tight jeans and an even tighter T-shirt, Loretta climbed down from Clay’s passenger seat.
20
Clay had brought Loretta to firefighting practice.
I didn’t know what to do. My first two choices—becoming invisible or propelling myself into outer space—weren’t exactly feasible, and no deep holes seemed about to gape open anywhere near me, either.
Luckily, I had mentors. My dogs might be uneasy in certain situations, especially when I was nervous, but this time they ignored my insecurity. Catching sight of Clay across the field, they charged toward him.
Haylee and I had the choice of letting go of their leashes, being dragged face-first to the parking lot, or charging along.
We charged along. Ben came with us.
Our speed as we ran across the field didn’t give me much time to decide how to act or what to say, other than to remind myself that Loretta could be a murderer and I needed to learn as much as I could about her. And although Clay was ordinarily capable of looking after himself, he could be dazzled by Loretta’s beauty and her obvious adoration of him.
Someone should keep an eye on the man.
Sally-Forth and Tally-Ho were obviously assigning themselves that job, so if they were my mentors, I would have to imitate them, and help protect him.
But that didn’t answer the most crucial question. How should I act when we reached him? Aloof? Courteous? Again, I decided to take my cues from Sally-Forth and Tally-Ho.
By the time we reached Clay and Loretta, I was breathless and laughing, but at least I managed real smiles. Fortunately, Sally and Tally weren’t the drooliest of dogs, and I maintained something resembling dignity. I didn’t even pant.
As usual, Clay crouched to enjoy the dogs’ thrilled greeting. It turned out that the dogs were a bit slobbery, all over his face.
Okay, that was enough of following their leadership.
Looking slightly pained, Loretta stood aside.
Clay stood. “Willow, Haylee, and Ben, you’ve all met Loretta. She’s joining the volunteer fire department.”
Great.
All three of us welcomed her. Since we spoke in unison, maybe no one noticed that my voice was a few rungs lower than sincere.
Clay asked Haylee, “How’s your ankle?”
By the look on her face, I could tell she’d forgotten about her “injury.” “All better,” she said. “Thank you for the ice advice.”
Wanting to giggle at how she had avoided saying that she had actually iced her ankle, I turned to Loretta and asked politely, “Were you a firefighter where you lived before?”
She dimpled prettily. “No, but I’ve always wanted to be one, even back in the days when I first met Clay.” She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Didn’t you bring a fire truck to show-and-tell?”
Clay looked puzzled. “I don’t remember. Not a full-sized one, anyway.”
She elbowed him. “You always did have something funny to say. Maybe I was thinking of your best friend. What was his name?”
Clay reached for Tally’s leash. “Chief?”
Loretta clapped her hand on her forehead. “How would I forget that name?”
Noticing that Clay now had his leash, Tally lunged forward. Tally was especially fond of routines, and on Tuesday evenings at firefighting practice, Tally always raced around the baseball diamond with Clay. “We run laps, first,” Clay called over his shoulder to Loretta as he loped behind Tally.
Sally was not about to be left behind, and all of us followed Clay and Tally, round and round the bases. Loretta didn’t wimp out early, as I’d hoped she might, though she did seem more winded than the rest of us, who had been doing this every week for a couple of years.
However, Loretta wasn’t the only one who couldn’t quite catch her breath. The youngest firefighters were teenage boys, and they seemed to be having trouble not gawking at Loretta and her auburn curls, tight jeans, and tighter T-shirt. They vied with each other to offer to help her suit up in firefighting gear. However, the fire chief assigned Haylee and me the job, after the boys demonstrated, without too many blunders (the jacket goes on after the suspenders are placed on the shoulders), how it should be done.
Our fire chief was always happy to review the basics, and it didn’t hurt any of us to be reminded of them. He stressed teamwork and always having each other’s back.
Loretta squirmed. Was she paying attention to anyone besides Clay? I chided myself for being almost as bad, though in addition to being keenly aware of Clay, I was watching my dogs. Okay, I was paying more attention than necessary to Loretta. Maybe those tight jeans were causing her squirming.
After the chief had us show Loretta almost everything we kept stowed on our fire truck, he dismissed us, and we all headed for our vehicles. Loretta made a beeline for Clay’s truck. Following her, Clay turned around and gave me a look that resembled a plea, as if he wanted me to somehow clamber into his two-seater truck with Loretta and him.
Hanging on to Tally’s leash beside Haylee, who had Sally’s, I merely smiled. Clay had brought Loretta. He could take her back.
Haylee drove the dogs and me into the center of Threadville and stopped her truck outside In Stitches. “Don’t even think of not coming to Pier 42 with the rest of us, Willow,” she ordered. “You can’t just hand Clay to Loretta.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m coming. Did you notice that I gave her a chance to tell us where she used to live, and she cleverly did not answer? I wonder if she really knew him in fourth grade. Let’s see if we can get her to name the town where she first met Clay. He may be telling her that right now, though.”
“I sensed cauti
on on his part,” Haylee said. “When you get a chance, ask him if he really had a best friend named ‘Chief.’ I thought he threw that out to see how she’d react.”
“I wondered about that, too. Chief was probably his dog.”
Laughing, Haylee drove off to park while I shut Sally-Forth and Tally-Ho into my apartment, and then as usual, Haylee and I met again near the entrance to the parking lot behind her and her mothers’ shops, across the street from Pier 42.
Ben was waiting for us outside the pub. “The others have already gone in.” He scrutinized me as if afraid I might burst into tears.
I smiled and shrugged. Why did everyone expect me to act like I owned Clay?
Ben opened the doors for us. Haylee went in first, then stopped in her tracks and made a noise that would not have seemed out of place in a farmyard. I half expected to see Clay and Loretta cuddled together in a booth in the back of the restaurant, but I followed Haylee’s gaze and nearly made a few strange grunts, myself.
Mona sat with her back to us at a table for two. Her dining partner stared into her face. His eyes smoldered with dark intensity.
Kent.
Why did I suspect that Mona was not asking Kent leading questions about the possible murder of Antonio, also known as Anthony Drudge?
To our left, Clay sat beside Loretta in a booth next to windows overlooking the street. He grinned at me, stood, and let me scoot into the seat beside Loretta. Ben sat across from Loretta, and Haylee took the spot beside him, across from me. Clay slipped in next to me. It was a little crowded, so I edged closer to Clay. I couldn’t help that, could I?
I was suddenly feeling much better about the situation, possibly because I was almost certain that Loretta was miffed at Clay for putting me between him and her.
Haylee and Ben gave me big smiles.
Pier 42 carried locally brewed craft beers on draft, and every Tuesday evening, each of the firefighters who was old enough to drink downed at least one frosty mug, along with an assortment of tasty, salty snacks.
As usual, we carried on a light banter, and Loretta joined in, often leaning forward so she could see around me and speak directly to Clay.
Haylee and I talked about our childhoods, mine near Charleston, and Haylee’s near Cleveland. Ben chimed in with stories about living as a boy in the Adirondacks. Clay said nothing. He appeared embarrassed, as if he didn’t remember Loretta and didn’t want to hurt her by telling her so. Loretta mentioned only generalities.
Finally, when all of our hints failed to yield answers, Haylee asked Loretta point-blank where she’d grown up.
Loretta slowly wrapped one auburn curl around a forefinger. “Lots of places,” she finally said with barely concealed sadness. “My dad was in the army and we moved around a lot. That’s how I lost touch with Clay.” She let go of the curl and tossed the mane of hair over one shoulder.
It was a perfect opportunity for Clay to divulge where he’d lived in fourth grade.
Clay didn’t take the bait. I knew that he’d spent most of his childhood in a suburb west of Boston. He’d lost the New England accent, though, so I didn’t think anyone could have guessed. And, I noticed, Loretta didn’t have a New England accent, either. But she didn’t have any strong accent, and might have been honest about being an army brat.
Clay asked, “Anyone want something from the bar?” He unfolded himself from the seat.
Mona had appeared from the back of the restaurant. She grabbed his arm, looked past him at me, and demanded, “Did you ask Clay yet?”
Flustered, I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to have asked him. “What?” Was I supposed to ask him if he was falling for the lovely Loretta? If I was reading him correctly, he wasn’t. I hoped I was right.
Mona smiled up at Clay. “I’m putting on a play and I need you to build the sets.”
Poor Clay looked almost desperate to escape. “I . . . um . . . what?” Maybe both of us becoming identically inarticulate would strengthen the bond between us. A girl could hope.
Mona offered, “Willow’s going to be in it.”
Clay looked down at me. An amused twinkle in his chocolaty brown eyes, he answered, “Then I guess I’d better help in my spare time.”
“Of which he doesn’t have much,” Haylee contributed helpfully.
Mona stared pointedly at Ben. “Haylee’s in the production, also.”
Ben gallantly answered, “Then I’ll help Clay, but he’s the expert.”
“I can nail boards together,” Loretta said. “And paint scenery.” She glanced beyond Mona. “Can’t I, Kent?”
I hadn’t noticed Kent, eclipsed by the larger-than-life Mona. “She can draw clothes,” he said.
Mona clapped her hands. “That’s perfect, as Kent knows. The play I’m writing is about fashion and will be called The Seven Threadly Sins.”
“Antonio’s little pun will live on,” Loretta commented without enthusiasm. “Clay, I hope you will have time to do the renovations to the carriage house. We’ll need to get together and plan—”
Clay was uncharacteristically abrupt. “I need to consult with my design team, first.”
She began, “Oh, but I’m—”
Again, he interrupted her. “I wouldn’t think of tackling the project without input from Haylee, Ben, Willow, and Dora.”
Loretta gave him a blank look. “Dora?”
“Edna’s mother,” Clay supplied.
“That old woman who took a swing at poor Antonio and didn’t recognize expensive crystal when she saw it?”
I corrected Loretta. “She didn’t hit him. He collapsed and fell all by himself.”
“And she’s not old,” Haylee said.
I added, “And no way was it crystal. It was glass. Cheap glass.”
Clay provided the clincher. “Dora’s a designer with years of experience.”
Loretta sat back and folded her arms.
Mona turned to Kent. “Walk me home? This village doesn’t always feel safe.”
And being with Kent, a possible murderer, would be?
Haylee and I traded glances. “I should go,” Haylee said.
I slid out of the booth to stand beside Clay. “Me, too.”
Loretta followed me out of the booth. “Clay, we came in your truck. You’re going to drive me home, right?”
He pretended to stagger. “Not right after a beer, and if no one wants more, I’ll walk you home, then come back for my truck.”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “If you have my sketches in your truck let’s get them and then look at them together over coffee in my apartment.”
“They’re at my office,” he said.
Mona led the way out, with Kent right behind her.
Loretta grabbed my arm and muttered, “You’d better follow Kent and your friend if you want her to get home safely.”
I must have looked as startled as I felt.
She whispered, “Kent has a record for assault. Antonio knew about it and hired him anyway.”
21
I wanted to ask Loretta if she felt unsafe working with Kent, but she budged past me and caught up with Clay, who was holding the door open for the rest of us.
Had Loretta been telling the truth about Kent? Dora and I had almost managed to worm information out of Detective Neffting that could have corroborated what Loretta had just whispered to me.
So why wasn’t Loretta afraid of Kent? Maybe he was afraid of her, maybe for a good reason, like he knew she went around harming and sometimes killing people?
I shook my head. My imagination was running amok again.
At the street, Mona and Kent turned left, heading for Lake Street. Loretta could have gone that way, also, but she turned right, which, to be fair, was a more direct route to her apartment. Having said he’d walk her home, Clay went with her. Haylee, Ben, and I caught u
p with Mona and Kent.
Maybe Mona’s play would help us learn more about Kent and Loretta. How could I make the best of it? Encouraging Kent to show us the video he’d taken at the fashion show shouldn’t be terribly difficult. I flashed a warning wink at Haylee, and then told Mona, “I’m still not sure I can act.”
“Of course you can,” Mona said. “Everyone is acting, all of the time.”
“We’re acting as ourselves,” Haylee pointed out. “We have lots of practice at that.”
“A skillful playwright will take that into account,” Mona said. “I’m writing parts that will suit you.”
Obviously having caught the message in my wink, Haylee dragged her feet. “I don’t know . . .”
“If we could only see ourselves as others see us.” I paused, then grinned and shook my head. “Maybe I’d just as soon not. If you took a video of the fashion show, Kent, don’t show it to us.” I kept my tone light and joking.
Mona pouted. “Kent, you videoed the fashion show, didn’t you?”
“I set the camera up.” His deep voice could have been the one I’d heard in Macey’s cubicle, but she had told me later that she had slapped Antonio, not Kent. “I don’t know if it caught the entire show. I spent the evening at Pier 42. Taking photos of the rehearsal was enough for me. I wasn’t about to use up my entire Saturday evening as an unpaid babysitter for a video camera.”
Interesting. A man who usually spoke in monosyllables, if at all, had delivered an entire monologue describing where he’d been the fateful night that someone had apparently set Antonio up to die. Had Kent rehearsed his alibi?
And he’d called himself an unpaid babysitter. I’d figured that Kent had printed the note that said You won’t get away with it. Had he also typed the one that said “Pay up or else”?
Mona wrapped a hand around Kent’s arm. “Everyone else got to watch the whole show, or at least the rehearsal, but those of us who were in it didn’t see any of it! Could you arrange a showing for us, just us Threadville ladies, the people who are going to act in my play? That would really help me write a realistic play, and we’d all do a better job and raise more money for scholarships to TADAM.”
