by Amanda Lee
* * *
Over the next couple of hours, I soothed my bruised feelings and admitted to myself that Mom was right. Mom was almost always right. It was a trait that could be downright irritating at times. But she’d been around a lot of different people at different stages in their lives, and she’d learned so much about human behavior.
Anyway, traffic into the merchants’ building had picked up, and I’d been selling rather steadily. Interacting with customers and talking about embroidery always put me in a happier frame of mind. During the few lulls I had, I’d worked on embellishing a poet’s blouse that a woman had ordered yesterday afternoon. Leaving the one remaining shirt on display and taking orders had been an excellent idea.
I was so busy when Ted came in that I didn’t see him standing by the side of the booth until the three ladies I’d been waiting on left.
As soon as I saw him, I came out from behind the table. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to behave so recklessly. And I wouldn’t embarrass you for anything in the world!”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me passionately. “I’m sorry, too. I understand why you did what you did. But you have to realize that I can’t do my job effectively if I’m having to look over my shoulder to make sure you’re safe.”
“I know that,” I said. “I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake, and it’ll never happen again . . . probably.” Hey, I didn’t want to lie. I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure it wouldn’t happen again.
He chuckled. “Probably. I guess that’ll have to do for now.”
“Did the other guys give you a hard time about it?” I asked.
“A little . . . but not much.” He lowered his voice and led me back inside the booth where we wouldn’t be overheard. “We were all too busy with Mr. West.”
“So it was him. Did he have the evidence he claimed to have?”
“He had some of it,” Ted said. “In fact, he was taking a USB drive from his pocket when everyone sprang into action.”
Including me. Neither of us said it, but it was the truth. I could’ve gotten myself shot over a USB drive.
“So you took this USB drive, questioned the man, and released him?”
“Not quite. Some of our guys are currently assessing the authenticity of the files on the drive,” he said. “They could have been produced in order to give Mr. West an alibi and to give us another viable suspect. For now, our Crow is in protective custody.”
“That’s one way of keeping him from flying the coop.” I groaned. “Sorry—that was so bad. I realized it when it was about halfway out of my mouth, but I couldn’t stop it in time.”
Ted grinned. “It’s all right. I’m off to interrogate our suspect now. I just wanted to come by here first to make sure . . . you know, that we’re okay.”
I drew his head down to mine for a kiss. “I think we’re okay. Do you?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re better than okay.” He frowned. “You’ve got the big class tonight, right?”
“The blackwork class, yes,” I said.
“Do you mind if I meet you at your house after class?”
“I’d mind if you didn’t. It’ll be the best part of my day.”
After Ted left, I called Mom and quickly told her everything was fine. She didn’t make me admit she’d been right all along, and she spared me the I told you so.
Once I’d cleared the air with her, I worked on the blackwork trim on the shirt and thought about Mr. West. Why did he call himself the Crow? Was it the costume? Or was it something else?
I wondered if the files on the USB drive implicated Lacey Palmer in the murder of her husband and Mr. West’s business partner, Joe. If so, were the files legitimate or were they inventions of Mr. West to throw blame onto someone else? After all, he and Lacey had been the two prime suspects in Mr. Palmer’s murder.
If Mr. West’s information was legitimate and Lacey Palmer killed her husband, could that make her a suspect in Clara’s murder? After all, Lacey was Clara’s stepdaughter. Paul had suggested that Clara had been doling out Mr. Palmer’s money to her own children but not to his. It was only natural that Lacey would want her children to benefit from her father’s estate instead of Clara’s children. After all, Clara’s children had no biological ties to Lacey’s father. With Clara out of the way and no longer executor of the estate, everything would revert to Mr. Palmer’s biological children.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a man had murdered Clara. For one thing, she was a stout woman. If she’d been fighting for her life, she’d have struggled like crazy. And she’d have screamed . . . wouldn’t she? She would if she could have. Had she not been aware of her attacker until it was too late?
I wondered how Lacey Palmer’s husband had been murdered. I’d have to ask Paul.
I picked up the phone and called Vera.
“Hey, Marcy,” she said. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Would you mind asking Paul how Lacey Palmer’s husband was killed?”
“No. I’ll call him right now. Wait, you’re thinking maybe she killed Clara so her kids would have access to her dad’s estate, aren’t you?”
“It’s a possibility,” I said. “I know that both she and Mr. West were suspects in Mr. Palmer’s death . . . and if she did kill her husband, then she might be more willing to kill again.”
“Good thinking,” Vera said. “And that Mr. West hasn’t turned up yet, either.”
I didn’t dare tell her that he had. “If you don’t mind, call me back when you know something.”
“It’s almost time for the blackwork class,” she said. “If you don’t hear from me before then, I’ll come early and let you know what Paul dug up.”
“That’ll be great. Talk to you soon.”
* * *
As it turned out, I didn’t hear from Vera before the blackwork class. I’d quickly gone home and fed Angus, but I’d had a couple last-minute customers at the festival, so I hadn’t even had time to change out of my noblewoman’s dress before heading to the Stitch for class.
When I arrived at the shop, Vera was waiting for me in her BMW. She got out and went with me to the door.
“Lacey Palmer’s husband was poisoned,” she told me as I unlocked the door.
“So even if she did kill her husband, the same method wasn’t used on Clara.”
We went inside, I turned on the lights, and we sat down on the navy sofa facing the window so we could see when the other students began arriving.
“That still doesn’t mean that she didn’t murder them both,” Vera said. “Maybe she wanted to mix it up—afraid she’d draw too much suspicion if she did away with two of her enemies in the same way.”
“Do you think Mr. West could have had anything against Clara?”
“I don’t know. Had he met her?” Vera started to laugh and abruptly stopped herself. “I’m sorry. That was ugly. I’d forgotten that Clara’s funeral was today.”
“I was thinking about that earlier,” I said. “Did you go?”
She shook her head. “I sent some flowers, but I didn’t go to the service. I hadn’t met Clara but a time or two, and I don’t know any of her family members except Nellie. But back to your original question, I think Paul is digging into the possibility that Lacey had something to do with Clara’s death. I’ll let you know what he uncovers.”
“It’s just weird that two people die within a five-year time frame and that they’re closely connected,” I said.
“And it could merely be a coincidence,” Vera said. “According to the Internet, we’re all just six people away from getting to know Kevin Bacon . . . or something like that . . . so those two murders might not be connected at all.”
I was able to hide the smile brought about by Vera’s lopsided explanation of six degrees of separation. “Maybe not. But it seems that in Tallulah Falls, everything ends up being connected in some way or another.”
“That’s true enough, I suppose.”
&nbs
p; Her phone rang from the recesses of her purse.
“Excuse me,” she said as she rummaged for the phone. “This is Paul. He might have some more information for us.”
I bit my tongue to keep from asking, “Are you sure that’s Paul? It might be Kevin Bacon.”
She located the phone and answered with, “Hey, there, precious!”
That convinced me that she was positive it was Paul.
“What? No!” Her eyes flew to mine. Her expression of fear chilled my blood even though I had no idea what was going on.
“If you do go over there, you be careful,” she said. “You’re there to get a story, not to play the hero. Remember that.”
When she ended the call, she didn’t return the phone to her purse. She sat there fidgeting with it as if it were a giant worry stone.
“Vera, what is it?”
“Paul heard over the scanner that shots have been fired and that immediate assistance is requested at a residence,” she said quietly. “He knows it’s Marcus West’s residence because he looked it up. He’s going over there to see what’s happening.”
Chapter Twenty-three
My first instinct upon hearing that there had been a shooting at the very place Ted had been going this afternoon was to rush over. But I’d learned my lesson. I knew I must trust Ted to do his job. My job was simply to pray that he and the rest of his crew were safe.
The other students were starting to come into the Seven-Year Stitch, so I whispered to Vera to quietly let me know if she heard anything from Paul.
Then I greeted the students, offered them water, and helped them get settled in to stitch. Throughout the class, I kept glancing at the clock. When I wasn’t looking at the clock, I was trying to catch Vera’s eye. When I did, she’d give a slight shake of her head to let me know she hadn’t heard anything. It was all I could do to concentrate on the blackwork class long enough to help my students.
I was relieved when the class was over.
Vera waited while I tidied up and locked the doors.
“Must’ve been nothing,” she said as we walked out onto the street. “If it had been, Paul would have called and told me something.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “Ted is supposed to meet me at my house. He’s probably there now with Angus.”
“Yeah. . . . See you tomorrow!” She got into her car and waited for me to get into the Jeep and start it before she drove away.
When I got home, Ted wasn’t there yet. I tried to tell myself that the report of the shooting that Paul had heard over the scanner had been a mistake . . . or that he’d had the wrong address.
I went through the house and let Angus in the back door. I’d fed him before going to the blackwork class, and now he was ready to play. He picked up his green dragon and gave it a vigorous shake. Then he threw it and ran to snap it up again. He came and stood before me. I played tug-of-war with him over the dragon, and then I let him win. He ran off to the living room with it.
I checked my phone to see if I’d received any messages or texts since I’d looked five minutes earlier. Nothing.
I went into the living room. Angus was lying by the hearth chewing on the dragon. I curled up on the sofa and turned on the television. Maybe there was something on the news.
I knew that if something had happened to Ted, Manu would have called me—or even delivered the news in person. Ted was fine. Everything was all right. That was so easy to say and so hard to believe.
Suddenly, headlights lit up the living room curtains. I looked out the window. It was Ted.
Thank You, God!
I hurried to the foyer and threw the door open. When Ted walked in, I hurled myself into his arms.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve been worried out of my mind about you,” I said.
He had his arms around me, and I was stuck to him like a leech, so he closed the door with his foot. “Let me guess. You heard something.”
“I heard there’d been a shooting at the West house. Paul heard it over the scanner and went to see what was happening.”
“Sometimes I hate that civilians can monitor police scanners,” Ted said.
“So is it true?”
He nodded, and I saw how tired he was.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you in here in the living room.” I took his hand and almost bumped into Angus, who’d also come to greet Ted.
Once Ted had removed his tie, unfastened the first couple buttons of his shirt, and sunk onto the sofa, I offered him something to eat.
“I am a little hungry,” he said. “But I don’t want you to go to any trouble. A peanut butter sandwich would be super.”
“You know I’m always prepared for guests. Not that you’re a guest . . . just that I can throw something together in a hurry—something better than a sandwich. I’ll be right back.”
Although I was anxious to know what had happened at the West house, all that mattered at the moment was that Ted was fine . . . and hungry. He’d tell me what he could later on.
I preheated the oven and took some spanakopita from the freezer. I put the savory spinach pastries on a cookie sheet and found some bacon-wrapped filet mignon hors d’oeuvres to go with them. They, too, went on the cookie sheet while I warmed cheesecake bites and chocolate chip cookies in the microwave.
Once the food was ready, I put everything on a large tray and took it into the living room. Ted was on the sofa with his eyelids drooping.
“Are we having a party?” Ted bit into a spanakopita. “This is delicious . . . hot, but tasty.”
“I’m glad you like it,” I said. “And, as a matter of fact, we are having a party. We’re celebrating the fact that you’re all right. I know you’re put in dangerous situations every day, and that’s just the nature of your job. I also know you’re good at your job, and that whatever situation you’re put in . . . you’ll handle it.”
He grinned and handed me a spanakopita on a napkin. “There. Eat that.” He got himself another. “You’re fishing.”
“I’m not!” I blushed. “Maybe I’m fishing a little. But I realize that you might not be able to tell me anything about the shooting . . . or even if there was a shooting . . . and that’s okay.”
He chuckled, finished off the spanakopita and licked his fingers. “You’re adorable.”
I huffed. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
“Not.” He popped a bite of filet mignon into his mouth. “Oh, this is good, too. I like your thrown-together dinner party fixings.”
“Thank you.” So he wasn’t going to tell me. No big deal. I understood all about confidentiality and all that.
Given my frustration, I went right for the cheesecake.
“Fine. I was just testing you to see if you could stand not knowing. Well done,” he said. “Someone drove by Marcus West’s house this afternoon and fired off a couple rounds. We were all inside, and no one was hurt. In fact, no windows were even broken. Either our shooter was a lousy shot or the person was only hoping to scare West.”
“So he’s no longer a suspect in Mr. Palmer’s murder?” I asked.
“We haven’t eliminated him yet. I don’t think he had anything to do with the shooting at his house because he was with us the majority of the day.” He tossed Angus a bacon-wrapped filet mignon bite.
“Wait. Why would he have anything to do with a shooting at his house?”
“To throw us off . . . to further convince us that he’s innocent,” he said.
“Your job is really complicated.” I ate another cheesecake square.
“It can be.” He smiled. “You just have to always make sure you’re seeing the complete picture. You can’t take anything for granted.”
“So, now what?” I asked. “Are your guys guarding him at his home?”
He shook his head as he took a chocolate chip cookie from the tray. “Mr. West has been moved to a more secure location outside of town. The security team left with him as soon as we were certain there was no l
onger an immediate threat. I stayed behind and convinced Paul to downplay the incident in tomorrow’s newspaper.”
“How did you manage that?”
“With the promise of an exclusive once we break the case.” He ate the cookie. “Still, I’m eager to see what Paul does say in tomorrow’s news.”
* * *
On Wednesday morning, Ted arrived about an hour before he had to go in to work. He had a copy of the Tallulah Falls Examiner under his arm.
I’d already prepared breakfast—blueberry muffins with streusel topping, scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits.
“Wow, everything smells and looks wonderful,” Ted said. He tossed the paper onto the table, gave me a kiss, and then nuzzled my neck. “Especially you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m back to wearing my saucy-wench costume today.” I was wearing the blue skirt, peasant’s blouse, and black corset vest.
“I like your saucy-wench costume.” He poured us both some coffee and put the cups on the table.
We sat down and filled our plates. I’d already given Angus a biscuit, an egg, and a couple slices of bacon, and he was outside playing in the yard.
Ted opened the paper and spread it out between us. “Front page. Headline—‘Drive-by?’”
“Well, it isn’t every day that there’s a drive-by shooting in Tallulah Falls.”
“Yeah, but putting the column on the front page and putting ‘Drive-by?’ as the headline is downplaying?” he asked.
“Let’s read it before we get too upset.”
* * *
An incident early yesterday evening had Tallulah Falls residents on edge.
“I was sitting inside watching the early news and heard BAM! BAM! BAM!” said Roger McCormick. “It scared me half to death.”
When questioned about what he thought the noise was, Mr. McCormick said it sounded like a gun going off. I asked him if he saw a gunman. He said he didn’t and that he guessed it could’ve been a car backfiring or something, but he admitted that “you never can tell these days.”
While many area residents heard the sound, no one actually saw what occurred.
