Cross-Stitch Before Dying

by Amanda Lee

  By the time the cookies were done, I was ready to layer the lasagna. I placed the cookie sheet on a wire rack and layered the lasagna ingredients into the long, rectangular pan. I placed the pan into the hot oven and set the timer.

  The cookies weren’t really cool enough to eat yet, but I had to try one to make sure it would be good enough to serve to Ted. If they weren’t good, I’d planned to serve ice cream and not mention the cookies. I tried one. Oh. My. Goodness. They were so good. Warm . . . gooey . . . yummy. . . .

  I opened the back door. “Angus, come here! You have got to try these cookies!” Sometimes it’s so great to have a best buddy on hand to share things with.

  He came galloping in to oblige me. I put a cookie into his bowl and he virtually inhaled it.

  I didn’t have a formal dining room, but my kitchen was huge. The cabinets were pine, and I’d found an ash square table and four chairs that matched them perfectly. My dishwasher, refrigerator, and microwave were white. And I had blue granite countertops.

  For this evening’s dinner, I’d placed a light blue linen tablecloth and napkins on the table. In the center were two single silver candlesticks with white taper candles—lit, of course, after I’d let Angus go back outside. I’d sliced the bread and had it in a bread basket with a warming trivet in the bottom. A bottle of Sangiovese was chilling in an ice bucket near Ted’s place setting.

  When Ted arrived at around seven, I met him at the door. I was wearing a lacy black top and white slacks.

  “Wow,” he said. “Something smells wonderful.”

  I playfully punched him in the arm. “You were supposed to say, ‘Wow. You look great.’”

  “You do look great.” He smiled. “And you smell wonderful . . . and whatever you’re cooking smells terrific, and. . . .”

  “Okay, that’ll do.” I stood on my tiptoes and pulled his head down to mine for a kiss. “I made lasagna and peanut butter cookies.”

  “Where’s Angus?” Ted asked.

  “He’s in the backyard. He’s already given his seal of approval to the cookies. I’ll save him some lasagna, and we’ll let him in after we eat,” I said. “I wanted our meal to be uninterrupted.”

  He kissed me again. “I like uninterrupted.”

  “I know you do.” I took his hand and led him to the kitchen.

  “Any luck finding the gunman?” I asked.

  He sighed and shook his head. “The night shift is following up leads. I’ll stop by there on my way home and see if they’ve dug up anything new.”

  I hugged him. “I think that was the scariest thing I’d ever experienced this morning—you disappearing around the corner with that guy . . . hearing the gunshots. . . .” I shuddered.

  “Let’s not think about it. I don’t want it to spoil our evening. Plus, I’m starving.”

  Chapter Three

  Before I went to work the next morning, I packed for the trip to Mom’s house. The first thing I put into my suitcase was a pair of my coziest cotton pajamas. Staying with Mom always meant a night of vegging out to old movies, hot cocoa, and fun conversation.

  Next went the jeans, T-shirts, cardigans, and scarves. The mantra for packing for a trip to San Francisco was layers, layers, layers. I also packed a skirt, a pair of dress pants, and a pair of nude heels to wear for meetings with Henry Beaumont and other cast and crew members.

  I was filling my toiletry bag when Mom called.

  “Hi,” I said. “I was just—”

  “Wait until you meet that nasty little piece of work,” Mom interrupted.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Babushka Tru—or Babs, as she’s more commonly known . . . or even BTru in the tabloids.” She emitted a growl of frustration. “I just came from my initial meeting with her and some of the other actors. I was afraid a couple of the cast might be a bit full of themselves, but not her. I expected her to either be kind of like she was as Sylvie in Surf Dad or at least a bit more respectful.”

  “Mom,” I said gently, “you know that actors are rarely—if ever—anything like the characters they portray.”

  “Of course, I do. But I also know that with her history of drug and alcohol abuse, petty theft, showing up late or not at all when scheduled to be on the set in more recent films. . . .” She huffed. “I simply thought that if she truly wanted to show Hollywood that she’d finally grown up and was ready to become a respected young actress that she’d at least be polite.”

  “So she didn’t treat you with any respect whatsoever?” I asked.

  “Not me, not the hairstylist, not the makeup specialists, not the production manager, not the key grip . . . not anybody! She was even short with Henry.”

  “How did he react to that?”

  “Nauseatingly,” she said. “The way he sweet-talked and pussyfooted around her behavior, you’d have thought she was the hottest A-list star in Hollywood rather than some little has-been!”

  “I’ve not heard you this upset over a project in a long time. Are you still doing it?”

  “Yes.” She huffed. “Henry and I go back a long way. Plus, the rest of the cast and crew is fantastic. And—it’s all merely rumor and speculation at this point—but there are people in the know who are whispering about a little golden statue.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say about that. Mom worked hard, and I’d love for her to win a major award like that, but I didn’t want to get her hopes up . . . especially if she found that she and Babushka Tru couldn’t work together after all. So I said, “Mom, if anyone deserves that award, you do. But I really have to get to the shop. We’ll talk more when Reggie and I get to San Fran this evening.”

  “Hopefully, I’ll be over all this frustration by then. Thanks for letting me vent, darling. I’ll be at the airport to pick you up.”

  • • •

  Angus and I made it to the shop at just before ten a.m. I hated cutting the store opening that close. I liked to be there fifteen to thirty minutes before the shop was scheduled to open so I could double-check all the supplies were adequately stocked, that everything was neat and tidy, and that Jill looked presentable. After all, she had been nearly knocked down by Angus yesterday. Something like that could even shake up a mannequin. I also liked to have the coffee brewing so its warm, inviting aroma would welcome customers as they stepped into the Seven-Year Stitch. This morning, I had to go through my routine after opening up the shop. I just hoped my patrons wouldn’t be early birds today.

  Wouldn’t you know it? As soon as I had that thought, the bells over the door jingled to let me know someone had arrived. I was in my office readying the coffeemaker, so I called out, “Good morning! I’ll be right with you!”

  “How about I come to you instead?” My visitor spoke from the office doorframe where he leaned casually with his hands in the front pockets of his pants.

  “That suits me.” I finished emptying the container of water into the coffeemaker and then went to wrap my arms around Ted’s neck.

  He pulled his hands from his pockets and drew me to him for a deep kiss. The kiss was, of course, interrupted by a scruffy gray face wedging its way between us.

  “Watch it, mister,” Ted told Angus. “I’m going to be your caretaker for the next two days. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”

  Angus looked up at Ted, giving him a dopey doggy smile.

  Ted scratched Angus’s head. “I know, buddy. You’re gonna miss her too.”

  “What brings you by so early?” I asked. “Not that I’m complaining in the least. . . .”

  “I won’t be able to have lunch with you today,” he said. “Manu and I are driving to Lincoln City to talk with the sheriff there about robberies similar to the ones we’re investigating here. We’re hoping his staff might have some leads on our gunman and his partner.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. We’ll need
it.”

  I frowned. “Please be careful.”

  “Always, sweetheart.” He blew out a breath. “This is frustrating. But we’ll get this guy . . . and his accomplice . . . eventually.”

  “I know you will.” I kissed him softly.

  “Manu and I will be back this afternoon to take you and Reggie to the airport.”

  “Great. I’ll look forward to seeing you then.”

  As he left to go get Manu, I wondered about the robber that had befuddled the two brightest law enforcement minds in Tallulah Falls. Ted hadn’t talked much about the case to me prior to the encounter I’d witnessed yesterday. He’d only told me the thief was very clever and was using technology skills to hack into people’s smartphones and laptops to steal their identities. He was also targeting victims and copying their safe-deposit box keys in order to get into their boxes. The people were carefully handpicked, since the thief knew exactly what he’d be getting.

  The Tallulah Falls branch of the Metropolitan Bank Group had notified police when they suspected something wasn’t right yesterday morning. Although the thief had disguised himself to look like the person whose box he was opening, the bank manager was a personal friend of the victim and had known this wasn’t him. He slipped away and called the police. By then, the robber had fled with several pieces of heirloom jewelry and over a hundred thousand dollars in cash.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and took my laptop into the sit-and-stitch square. I brought up my favorite search engine and looked up chikankari.

  I learned from one Web link that references to the Indian embroidery technique dated back as early as the third century BC and was also known as chikan. Stitches included in chikankari work were flat stitches, which remained close to the fabric; embossed stitches, which presented a grainy appearance; and jail work—seriously, jail work—which provided a delicate netting.

  Another Web site debunked my belief that chikankari was solely white-on-white embroidery. Instead, it appeared to be white-on-any-color embroidery. Blues, yellows, and pinks were particularly lovely. The site also informed me that there were six basic stitches used in chikankari and that all but one were used in other types of embroidery. There were eyelet stitches, chain stitches, darning stitches, and stem stitches.

  Yet another site advised that chikankari was very delicate and time-consuming. This site advised that it typically took ten to fifteen days to embroider a single outfit.

  One thing was for sure—chikankari was absolutely nothing like candlewick embroidery. I desperately hoped Reggie would be able to teach the technique to me and to the other Tallulah Falls stitchers so we’d be able to adequately help Mom. Maybe . . . hopefully . . . it wouldn’t be as complicated as it appeared to be. Sure. . . . That’s why one Web site stated that the stitches involved in chikankari were so elaborate that there were specialists for the various groups of stitches. What had I gotten myself into?

  In a panic, I called Reggie. She assured me everything would be fine. But suddenly, I had a terrible feeling about this entire project.

  • • •

  After MacKenzies’ Mochas’ lunch rush, I called Sadie and asked her to come over and watch Angus and the shop for a few minutes while I took care of a couple last-minute errands.

  “Getting a little present for your mom?” she asked.

  “No, but that’s an excellent idea,” I said. “She was stressed out when I spoke with her this morning. Maybe I can find her something cute. By the way, could you bring me half a dozen of those blondie brownies Ted likes so much? I’ll pay you for them when you get here.”

  When Sadie arrived, I paid her for the brownies and put them in my office. Angus seldom wandered into my office when I was in another part of the shop, but I put the treats out of his reach in case their aroma proved to be too enticing for him to resist.

  “Need anything while I’m out?” I asked Sadie.

  “Not that I can think of.”

  I told her to call me if she thought of anything and that I’d be back as soon as possible. I didn’t think my errands should take more than thirty minutes, but I didn’t supply Sadie with a specific return time other than to tell her I’d hurry. “If something comes up and you need to leave, just lock the door and put that little clock thingy on it saying I’ll be back in half an hour, okay?”

  “Okay.” Sadie stepped behind me and began propelling me toward the door. “If you don’t go on, we’ll be having this discussion at closing time.”

  I realized she was right, promised again to make it a speedy trip, and then I left. My first stop was the pet store where I got Angus the peanut butter dog biscuits he enjoyed so much. Then I went to the market and got Ted his favorite trail mix and gourmet coffee blend. He and Manu would likely be working all hours, and I wanted them to have some tasty goodies on hand to make it seem less tiresome.

  I stopped by the local florist’s shop and ordered a rainbow bouquet of roses to be sent to Vera to thank her for working at the shop and looking after Angus tomorrow. When I saw how beautiful the bouquet was, I decided to call a florist in San Fran and order the same bouquet for Mom. I hoped it would cheer her up even before Reggie and I arrived.

  When I returned to the Seven-Year Stitch, Sadie was eager to see what I’d been so anxious to buy. She peeped into the pet store bag. “Peanut butter biscuits?”

  “He loves them.” I took the bag from Sadie, reached in, and pulled out the box. They were the doggie equivalent of the cookies I’d made Ted.

  Angus immediately started hopping about expectantly.

  “See?” I opened the box and gave him one of the treats. “Just one, young man. You and Ted shouldn’t eat all your goodies at once and gorge yourselves simply because you’re living the bachelor life this weekend.”

  “You’re really crazy about him, aren’t you?” Sadie asked.

  “Of course, I am! He’s my fuzzy bear! Aren’t you?”

  Angus merely chewed and wagged his tail. Notice how he didn’t speak with his mouth full? Good manners.

  “Not him,” Sadie said. “Ted.”

  I smiled. “Yeah . . . I guess I am.”

  • • •

  Todd Calloway, the Brew Crew owner that Sadie had once hoped I’d fall madly in love with and vice versa, dropped in later that afternoon while I was poring over some articles on chikankari I’d printed out. He started a game of fetch with Angus and then sat beside me on the navy sofa facing the window.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he looked down at the intricate embroidery on the page I was holding.

  “Frankly, I’m beginning to think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and am wondering if I can discreetly spit it out.” I explained about Mom, the movie, and the crash course in Indian embroidery.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said. “I have confidence in you. Besides, anything they need to show up close, they’ll have Reggie do. Right?”

  “I’m so glad you have such confidence in me.”

  He laughed. “I do. It just has its limits.”

  Angus returned with his tennis ball, and Todd gave it another toss.

  He was cute—Todd, I mean. He was no Ted Nash, mind you, but he wasn’t without his charms. He had chocolate brown eyes, wavy brown hair, and one of the warmest smiles you could imagine.

  “What brings you by?” I asked.

  “Sadie told me you were going away for the weekend, and I wanted you to let Ted know that I’m willing to help look after Angus while Ted’s at the station.”

  “That’s really thoughtful. Thanks.” Everybody loved Angus. “But Vera is going to mind the shop tomorrow, and she insisted on having Ted bring him by to stay with her.”

  “You’re leaving Vera in charge of the Seven-Year Stitch?” he asked with a grin. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

  I shrugged. “She volunteere
d and seemed happy to do it. She’ll be fine. I hope she gets a lot of traffic. She’s looking forward to telling people she has a role in costume creation for an upcoming movie.”

  “By the time you get back to Tallulah Falls, the story will have grown from her having a small role in costuming to having the starring role in the film.” Todd laughed. “Good thing you’re not taking her to San Francisco, or she’d be begging Ricky to put her in the show.”

  “She’s not Lucy,” I said, giving him a wry smile. “What’s got you in such a punchy mood today? Is it some other redhead you have on your mind other than Lucille Ball?”

  He looked around. “Where’d Angus go? We were right in the middle of a game of fetch.”

  “He went to lie in the sun,” I answered. “Now . . . ’fess up. How are things going with Audrey?”

  “We went out to dinner the other night, and it wasn’t a disaster.”

  “It wasn’t a disaster? Is that the best you can do?”

  “For now,” he said. “I’m taking things slow.”

  “Taking things slowly is good,” I said. “Just don’t move too slowly.”

  He tilted his head. “Good point. I’d hate to fool around and let some other guy beat me to the punch . . . again.”

  Awkward. “Audrey seems sweet,” I said.

  He nodded as he stood. “I’d better get back to the Brew Crew. Have fun in the big city.”

  I smiled. “There’s never a dull moment with Mom around—that’s for sure.”

  Chapter Four

  It was wonderful to see Mom waiting for Reggie and me at the gate. I’d barely had time to put my carryall on the floor before she’d gathered me into a bear hug. It was incredible that a woman who looked as sophisticated and refined as Mom could squeeze a person that hard.

  I laughed. “You look terrific.” She’d had summery highlights added to her medium blond hair and had it cut to delicately frame her face. Other than that, she looked as she had when Ted and I had visited a few weeks ago. “I love your hair.”