Cross-Stitch Before Dying

by Amanda Lee

  “Out!” Detective Bailey bellowed. “The two of you need to get out of this room immediately. Nash, take them to the seating area out in front of the elevators for now. We’ll be by to talk with them in a minute.”

  I could tell from the muscle in Ted’s jaw that he was clenching his teeth, but he didn’t say anything. After all, what could he say? Detective Bailey was right. Mom and I shouldn’t be in the room if it was potentially a crime scene. And from the scrap of conversation I’d caught between Manu and the detectives, Henry had definitely not passed out. He was dead.

  As Ted led Mom and me to the seating area, I heard Detective Ray barking orders.

  “Crime scene, I want you people sweeping this room,” he said. “Bag everything! You two, go down to the front desk. I want this floor secured so that no unauthorized persons come up here. I don’t want this crime scene turned into a media circus. And get the security footage of the lobby and this floor from six this morning until now!”

  The two uniformed officers rushed past, bypassed the elevators, and ran down the stairs. I could hear their heavy steps echoing as the door slammed shut.

  The seating area was comprised of a brown leather sofa, two matching chairs, and end tables on either side of the sofa. Mom and I sat on the sofa, while Ted took an armchair with his back to the wall so he could see what was going on in the hallway outside Henry’s room. None of us said anything.

  It wasn’t but a few minutes until Manu joined us. He sat in the chair beside Ted and, in hushed tones, told us that Detectives Bailey and Ray had asked him what he’d found upon arriving.

  “I told them that when I got here, Ms. Singer opened the door and let me in,” he said. “She was in obvious distress and said she believed Mr. Beaumont to be dead. I checked his pulse and found it to be nonexistent.”

  “What about time of death?” Ted asked.

  “As you know, the medical examiner will only be able to narrow the time frame down to a few hours here at the scene.” I knew Manu was saying that for Mom’s and my benefit, rather than for Ted’s. “But one of the first things the crime scene techs bagged was Beaumont’s phone. Seeing what time he last made or received a call could be the easiest way to further estimate the time of death prior to autopsy.”

  “Did you see any wounds?” Ted asked.

  Manu shook his head. “Nothing. And I didn’t see a murder weapon either.”

  “Then it’s possible Henry had a heart attack or something,” Mom said, her voice sounding hopeful. I understood her feelings. How much better it would be if Henry’s heart simply gave out as opposed to his being murdered.

  “Anything’s possible,” Manu said, but he didn’t sound very convincing . . . at least, not to me.

  The foregone conclusion in everyone’s mind—well, except Mom’s maybe—was that the same person who’d killed Babushka Tru had murdered Henry Beaumont. Who, why, and how were the only questions the rest of us, including Detectives Bailey and Ray, were asking ourselves.

  After about thirty minutes, Detective Ray came out and asked Mom and me to come to the police station with him to answer some questions.

  “I’ll drive them,” Ted said.

  “You need anything else from me?” Manu asked.

  “No, Manu, but I appreciate your hanging around,” Detective Ray said. “If I have any more questions, I’ll call you.” He turned back to Ted, Mom and me. “We’ll meet you at the station.”

  • • •

  On the way to the police station, I’d called Alfred. He’d told me he’d contact Cam Whitting and that one or both of them would be at the police station as soon as possible.

  “Do not let your mother answer any questions,” he’d warned me.

  Now I was sitting in an interrogation room with Detective Ray, staring at the huge gray caterpillars that were his eyebrows as he turned on a recording device. I knew Ted was in the observation room—he’d not been allowed to be with me as I was questioned, of course. But knowing he was there was a comfort. Also, being interviewed by Detective Ray rather than Detective Bailey was a comfort. I don’t know why Bailey had so much animosity toward me. Or maybe he and Detective Ray simply did the good-cop-bad-cop routine, and Bailey had the bad-cop role down pat.

  Detective Ray recited my rights, told me I wasn’t under arrest, and was under no obligation to answer his questions, and then he asked me those questions.

  “Why did you go see Henry Beaumont this morning?” he asked.

  That was a good question. I couldn’t very well say that I’d gone to give the man a piece of my mind. “My mom was so upset because she believed Henry and Babs had been having an affair. She’d worked with Henry for years, and I hated to see their relationship—both personal and professional—go down the drain. I went to Henry to get the truth.”

  “And what did he tell you?”

  “He told me that Babs was his biological daughter,” I said. “He didn’t know it until recently—before he began shooting the picture—but he and Mita, Babs’ mother, had decided not to tell Babs yet.”

  “That’s quite a revelation,” said Detective Ray. “Why would he share it with you if he and the girl’s mother were keeping it quiet?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose that with Babs dead, it didn’t matter who knew anymore. Henry’s wife knew, and though she’d been hurt in the beginning, she’d made peace with it. Henry had been hoping to build a relationship with his daughter. He and Eileen, his wife, have no children, so to find Babs and then lose her in such a short amount of time was devastating to him.”

  “Is that how he appeared to you this morning?” he asked. “Devastated?”

  “Yes. He was very distraught,” I said. “He seemed glad that his wife was coming to join him tomorrow. Wait. Has anyone contacted her yet?”

  Detective Ray nodded. “We’ve alerted police officers in her area, and they’re probably meeting with her now.”

  “The poor thing. . . . I’m so sorry for her.”

  “Did Mr. Beaumont say anything else to you while you were there this morning?” he asked. “Did he tell you who he suspected in the murder of his daughter?”

  “No, he didn’t. We didn’t talk about the fact that she’d been murdered,” I said. “We only spoke about the sad reality of her death.”

  “How did Mr. Beaumont seem when you left him?”

  “He was sad. He was crying. I hugged him before I left, and then as soon as I got to the Seven-Year Stitch, I called Mom. I thought she needed to know the truth and make peace with Henry.”

  “Make peace?” The giant caterpillars leapt toward Detective Ray’s hairline.

  “That was a bad choice of words,” I said quickly. “I knew she’d misjudged Henry by thinking he was having an affair with Babs, and she’d refused to work with him on the film any longer, and I. . . .” I glanced at the two-way mirror in desperation. Of course, I couldn’t see Ted, but I was grasping for anything that wouldn’t be condemning to my mother. “I just wanted her to know the truth. I wanted her to comfort him and to let him know she was there for him.”

  “What was her reaction to your news?” Detective Ray asked.

  I asked myself what Ted would say to me if he could whisper in my ear right now. He’d tell me not to babble . . . to answer the questions succinctly and then stop talking. So I said, “She was supportive.”

  “She wasn’t surprised?” he asked.

  “I believe she was, but she was also relieved. She said she knew Henry was a better man than to have an affair with a young starlet,” I said.

  “Did she mention going to see him?”

  “She said she was going to call him.” I then pointed out that they had Henry’s cell phone and could confirm the call.

  He smiled slightly. “We did confirm the call. When did you discover that your mother had gone to visit Mr. Beaumont at his hotel room?”

>   “When she called and told me that she found him lying unconscious in his room.”

  “To your knowledge, were your mother and Mr. Beaumont having an affair?” Detective Ray asked.

  “Certainly not! Mom was friends with both Henry and his wife,” I said. “That’s why she’d been upset when she thought he’d been having an affair with Babs.”

  “Are you sure that’s the only reason? After all, they did meet in his hotel room.”

  “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m sure my mother was not romantically involved with Henry Beaumont.”

  Detective Ray smiled. “Okay.”

  Okay? That’s it? Okay? Of course, I didn’t say that. I just thought it . . . vehemently. “Is that all?”

  “For now,” he said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  I refused to tell him he was welcome. Instead, I scraped my chair across the floor and stood. Detective Ray walked to the door and opened it for me. I went through it and was glad to see that Ted was waiting for me in the hall.

  “Do you have the hotel’s security footage yet?” Ted asked Detective Ray.

  “Yes.”

  “May we see it?”

  Detective Ray frowned up at Ted, who was a good head taller than he. “Why?”

  “Well, Beverly and Marcy are familiar with the cast and crew of the movie Henry Beaumont had been working on,” Ted said. “Someone might slip under your radar, but they might recognize him or her as a potential suspect.”

  The older man pursed his lips. “Good point. When Bailey’s finished with Ms. Singer, I’ll have him let us know and we’ll all go to the viewing room together.”

  “Thanks,” Ted said.

  “Thank you,” I told Ted as soon as Detective Ray was out of earshot. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  He inclined his head. “It’s apparent that they think they’ve already got their suspect, but if you or your mom could recognize anyone else who’d come to see Henry this morning, it’ll at least give them another person they’ll have to investigate.”

  I rested my head on his chest. “You’re wonderful.”

  “Don’t flatter me yet,” he said. “You might not recognize anyone.”

  “Even if we don’t, you’re wonderful.”

  • • •

  It was a packed viewing room. In addition to Ted, Mom, me, Detective Ray and Detective Bailey, Alfred and Cam were there. Plus, the audiovisual guy. We were all crowded around one computer monitor watching hour after hour of people coming into the lobby. The AV guy did fast-forward it, slowing down or going back only if we saw someone we thought was familiar.

  We saw the mail carrier arrive, people checking in and out, and employees arriving at, as well as leaving from, the hotel. Of course, we saw me, but that was old news to the detectives. I was stifling a yawn when something caught my eye.

  “Stop,” I said. “Go back and run it at regular speed.”

  The AV guy, whose name I think was Marshall Feldman, did as I’d asked. “Need it any slower?”

  “Can you do that?” I asked.

  “Sure.” He ran the footage forward in slow motion.

  “Isn’t that Sonny Carlisle, the locations manager?” I asked Mom.

  “Yes, but he’s staying at the same hotel,” she said.

  “Still, I think we need to see if any of the movie people we see in the lobby turn up at Henry’s door,” I said.

  “She’s right,” Ted agreed.

  Detective Ray wrote S. Carlisle on the notepad in front of him. “Any other movie folks you see, point them out.”

  In addition to Sonny, we saw Ron Fitzpatrick and a makeup artist and a cameraman Mom had recognized. Hers had been the last familiar face we’d seen.

  The AV guy then called up the security footage of Henry’s floor. Sonny had gone to Henry’s room, had been let in, and had stayed for about fifteen minutes. His visit had taken place between the time that I’d left and that Mom had arrived. Before Sonny had arrived, a TCPD officer had been to Henry’s room; but other than Mom, no one had been into the room after Sonny had left.

  I felt a chill. Could Sonny have killed Henry?

  Chapter Nineteen

  When we got home from the police station, I let Angus out into the backyard—he’d had to stay inside entirely too long—and then I called and ordered a pizza. I knew neither Mom nor I had any desire to cook.

  Ted took three sodas from the fridge and set them on the table. “Let’s talk.”

  We sat down around the table and opened our sodas. Ted took out his notepad.

  “I want to approach this as if I were investigating Henry’s death,” he said. “That way, I can get a better idea of what happened to Henry as well as what the TCPD believe happened.”

  Mom nodded, slightly frowning, but I knew exactly what Ted meant. The Tallulah County Police Department was looking hard at Mom as a suspect in Henry’s death, and Ted wanted to help her by figuring out what the investigators were thinking. He and I both knew—without coming right out and saying so—that Detectives Bailey and Ray wouldn’t want Ted having any information about this case at all. As had happened on one other occasion of which I was personally aware, Ted was too close to the suspect to be considered impartial. They’d definitely shut him out, and they’d share as little information as possible with Manu. Whatever we found out, we’d have to learn on our own.

  “Beverly, tell me exactly what happened when you arrived at the hotel,” Ted said.

  “Okay. I went into the lobby and straight to the elevators,” she said.

  “Did you see anyone acting strangely?” he asked. “Did anyone seem to be in a particular hurry to exit the building?”

  Mom shook her head. “No, not really.”

  “Okay. So you go up in the elevator. Were you the only one in the elevator, or were others in the car?”

  “I was alone,” she said. “I stepped out when I got to Henry’s floor, and I went to his room. I was surprised to find that the door wasn’t pulled up all the way. Still, I knocked, but Henry didn’t answer.”

  “And when he didn’t answer, you went on inside?” Ted asked.

  “Yes. As I said, the door wasn’t completely closed, so I pushed it open.” She closed her eyes and winced. “Poor Henry. . . . He was lying there on the floor.”

  “Tell me what else you saw when you opened the door,” he prompted. “Was the bed still unmade? Were there any dishes around? Did anything strike you as being unusual or out of place?”

  Mom looked up at the ceiling and considered his questions. “The bed hadn’t been made, but other than that, the room was tidy. He’d apparently had breakfast brought up to his room because the tray and dishes were sitting on the table by the window.” She met Ted’s inquisitive gaze. “Nothing struck me as odd . . . other than the fact that Henry was unconscious on the floor.”

  “Did you see any apparent cause of death?” Ted asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Did Henry have any health problems that you were aware of—history of heart attack, diabetes, asthma?”

  “Not that I know of,” Mom said.

  “How did Henry get along with Sonny?” Ted asked.

  She shrugged. “Fine, as far as I know. This movie was the first time I’d ever worked with Sonny, but many of the other cast and crew members seemed to know him well. And they seemed to get along all right.”

  “What about Babs?” I finally felt I had something to contribute to the questioning. “Ron Fitzpatrick told me that Babs flirted with all the guys. Is it possible there was more to their relationship than mere flirting?”

  Mom frowned. “Babs . . . and Sonny? I can’t imagine those two being a couple . . . but I suppose anything is possible.”

  I made a mental note to ask Ron his opinion of Sonny’s relationship with Babs. I had
a few questions for Sonny too . . . although I knew they’d have to wait. If Henry hadn’t died of natural causes, then next to Mom, Sonny would be the Tallulah County Police Department’s main suspect in his death. I was sure the TCPD would be interrogating Sonny for hours about what he saw, how Henry had acted, whether or not he and Henry had argued, and if he’d noticed anything unusual this morning when he visited Henry.

  By the time the pizza arrived, I was ready to put the events of the day behind us—to the extent possible—and veg out with a good movie.

  “Let’s take the pizza and some plates into the living room, sit on the floor and eat, and then watch a funny movie,” I said.

  “That sounds nice, dear, but I’m not really up to it,” Mom said. “I’m not even hungry, so I’m going to go on upstairs.”

  I sighed as she left the kitchen. “I hate seeing her like this.”

  “I know, babe. So do I.”

  “What do you think about Henry’s death?” I asked.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I hope the man died of natural causes. Maybe the stress was simply too much for him to bear, and he had a heart attack.”

  “Yeah, that’s the best-case scenario. Give me the worst.”

  “Worst-case scenario is that Henry was murdered,” Ted said. “Then the TCPD will try to tie Henry’s murder to the murder of Babushka Tru.”

  “And they’ll try to pin both on my mother,” I said.

  He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  • • •

  On Saturday morning, I left Angus home with Mom. She might not necessarily want actual human company, but I knew his companionship would do her good.

  All the way to the Seven-Year Stitch, I thought about the events leading up to Henry’s death. He was—or, at least, appeared to be—perfectly fine when I met with him yesterday morning. I mean, yes, he was distraught over Babs’ death, but he didn’t seem to be in any physical distress.

  I sat down in the sit-and-stitch square to begin my new cross-stitch project. Sometimes getting started was the hardest part. My mind wandered back to the surveillance tape. As I separated threads, I thought about Sonny. If Henry had, in fact, died of unnatural causes, what reason would Sonny have to do him in? Had Henry seen something the morning of Babs’ murder? Did Sonny think Henry had seen something? But if Henry had seen a viable suspect, wouldn’t he have said as much to the police?