Wicked Stitch

by Amanda Lee

  I thought again about my conversation with Nellie . . . how bitter she was . . . not just toward me but toward almost everyone. She wanted nothing to do with Clara’s family. She presumed they didn’t want anything to do with her, either, but wouldn’t it be worth it to at least find out?

  I wondered about Nellie’s past. Had she ever married? She spoke about Clara not being close to her when life was good. She’d acted as if Clara wanted to be with her only when she wanted something or had no one else.

  I shook my head, as if to clear the thoughts of Nellie Davis out of it. I preferred to think of more pleasant things. Nellie’s problems weren’t my problems. I had a couple problems, thanks to Nellie—namely the destroyed pieces I’d worked so hard to complete—but they were nothing I couldn’t overcome.

  It was too quiet in here. With so many people at the Ren Faire or at work, and the fact that it was the typical three o’clock slump, the Stitch was so still I could’ve heard my pin drop . . . literally. I set my project aside and booted the laptop up again. What I needed was some music.

  I was scrolling through my playlists when I heard a scream pierce the silence. I froze and listened intently . . . desperately hoping my imagination was playing tricks on me.

  I got up and went to the window. I didn’t hear anything else. I didn’t see anyone outside on the sidewalk. Maybe I was hearing things . . . or maybe it had been a strange bird cry . . . or something. I decided to peep out the door just to make sure.

  I looked toward MacKenzies’ Mochas. I saw a couple people walking toward the coffeehouse, but they looked normal and content. I looked in the other direction—toward Knitted and Needled and Scentsibilities. My heart sank. A skinny, black-clad body was crumpled on the sidewalk.

  Oh, no. Not again!

  I sprinted up the sidewalk. “Nellie!”

  She lifted her head. She was sobbing. Her face was bruised, and her red-framed glasses were broken.

  “May I help you up?” I asked.

  She nodded, rolled over, and pulled herself into a sitting position.

  I bent and put one arm around her bony shoulders. I took her right hand in mine. “On three, we’ll stand and walk to the Stitch . . . all right?”

  Again, she nodded.

  “One . . . two . . . three . . .” I pulled her as gently as I could while still being effective enough to help her stand.

  It worked. She stood shakily and walked with me to the Seven-Year Stitch.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer. She merely sobbed.

  I walked her into the store and sat her on the sofa facing away from the window. “Stretch out there or put your feet up on the ottoman while I call the police.” I handed her a couple of tissues from the box on the counter.

  I called Ted, but he still didn’t answer. I called Manu.

  “Chief Manu Singh,” he answered.

  “Hi, Manu. It’s Marcy Singer.” I quickly explained how I’d found Nellie.“I’ll be right there,” he said. “I’ll have the paramedics meet me. Try to keep her calm.”

  “I’ll do my best.” As if I could possibly be a calming influence on Nellie Davis.

  I ended the call and put the phone in my pocket.

  “Can I get you a bottle of water or something?” I asked Nellie.

  She shook her head.

  “Where are you hurt, besides your face?” I was trying to look her over, but she’d drawn herself up into a ball and was rocking back and forth.

  She took off her glasses and placed them on the coffee table. “I just went in through the back to check on things. I didn’t lock the door behind me because I wasn’t going to be but a few minutes.”

  “And someone came in behind you?” I asked.

  “He was dressed up in a black cape that covered his entire body, and he wore a gold mask with a long nose.” She breathed raggedly. “He whispered something about Clara. I should have been more scared . . . but instead I was angry. I reached for that mask. That’s when I got hit in the face.” She started crying again.

  I sat down beside her and put my arm around her. “You’re safe now. Manu and the paramedics are on their way.”

  “Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes with the tissues. “I didn’t lock either of the doors back.”

  “Whoever did this to you might still be in your shop,” I said. “We’ll have Manu investigate and then lock the doors for you.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you know why someone would do this? Do you think it was a robbery?”

  “No . . . he had to have followed me to the store. And he spoke about Clara,” she said. “I think it was whoever killed Clara . . . and he thinks I know who he is.”

  “Do you?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Nellie, what were you and Clara arguing about Thursday evening?”

  “About the money . . . she was spending too much.”

  “Are you talking about the money from her late husband’s estate?” I asked.

  “She used it to open her shop,” she said. “Now it’s almost gone. I warned her they’d all be mad over it—her kids, his kids . . . everybody.”

  “Maybe she was looking at it as an investment,” I said.

  “She said it was hers . . . that she’d earned it caring for that hateful old man for three years.”

  It was then that Manu, a couple of paramedics, and two deputies came into the shop.

  The paramedics hurried to Nellie’s side and began examining her.

  “Has she said much?” Manu asked me quietly.

  “Surprisingly, yes,” I said, thinking Nellie must’ve been fairly addled to have been willing to talk to me. “She thinks the person who attacked her might be the same person who killed Clara.”

  “Has anyone gone into Ms. Davis’s shop since the time of the attack?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  He motioned the two deputies over and instructed them to proceed with caution but to examine Nellie’s shop for evidence. “I’m guessing her attacker is long gone, but, hopefully, you’ll find something.”

  “She told me the man who attacked her was wearing a black cape and a gold, long-nosed mask,” I said. “She said the cape completely disguised the person’s body.”

  Manu frowned slightly. “Ms. Davis, do you feel up to talking with me?”

  “We really need to get her to the hospital,” said one of the paramedics. “I believe she has a concussion, and she should have an MRI.”

  “All right,” said Manu. “I’ll touch base with my deputies and meet you there.”

  The paramedics went to get the stretcher from the ambulance.

  Manu stooped down in front of Nellie. “Ms. Davis, can you describe your attacker?”

  “No. He wore a cape and a mask,” she said.

  “Are you sure it was a man?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t know. He was all covered up. But he hit me . . . with his fist,” she said. “What woman would do that?”

  “Plenty,” said Manu. “You’d be surprised. Did you notice any tattoos on the attacker’s hands or arms?”

  “No.”

  The paramedics returned with the stretcher and gently lifted Nellie onto it.

  “I’ll let these gentlemen take care of you now,” Manu told Nellie. “I’ll be at the hospital to check on you and to talk with you in just a little while.”

  “Do you have an extra pair of glasses?” I asked Nellie. “I imagine one of Chief Singh’s deputies would go to your house and get them for you.”

  She nodded. “My keys are in my purse . . . in the shop somewhere.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” said Manu. “Where are your glasses, Ms. Davis?”

  “In the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom.”

  Manu patted my shoulder as the paramedics wheeled Nellie out. “That was good thinking. I didn’t even consider asking her about a spare pair of glasses.”

  I wanted to ask Manu a question
, but I hesitated.

  He seemed to have read my mind. “It couldn’t have been West. He’s been under police security all day.”

  “Apparently whoever attacked Nellie doesn’t know that,” I said.

  He nodded. “It does look as if the attacker went to a lot of trouble to implicate Mr. West. There are other ways to conceal one’s identity than with a gold mask and a black cloak.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  My hands were shaking too badly to resume the blackwork, so I paced near the sit-and-stitch square. I was relieved when Ted arrived.

  “I just heard,” he said as he came through the door. “I was in a meeting and had my phone turned off. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It’s Nellie I’m concerned about. Apparently, her attacker hit her right in the face.” I shook my head. “Who strikes an old lady? In the face!”

  “The deputies Manu brought with him are still combing through her shop. Hopefully, they’ll find something.”

  “Did Manu tell you the attacker was dressed as the Crow?” I asked. “Do you think Mr. West sent someone to hurt Nellie? Or was the attacker trying to frame him, unaware that he’s currently under police protection?”

  Ted took his phone from his jacket pocket and punched in a number. “Hey, it’s Nash. Has West made any personal calls? Ask him if he has a beef with someone named Nellie Davis. Yeah, I’ll wait.”

  While Ted was on the phone, I stepped into the office and got us both a bottle of white grape juice.

  “Okay . . . yeah . . . let me know what you find out.” He ended the call, uncapped the bottle, and took a drink. “West acted as if he wasn’t familiar with the name Nellie Davis. When told she was Clara’s sister, West said basically that Nellie’s attack must be connected with Clara’s death but he doesn’t know how or why.”

  “We know that much,” I said. I opened my bottle of grape juice and took a long, refreshing drink. “And the only suspect we’re positive didn’t attack Nellie is Mr. West, because he’s been guarded by police all day . . . right?”

  “Right. He hasn’t made any phone calls today either, so he didn’t order someone else to do it,” Ted said. “The deputy I spoke with said they’d ordered a pizza and played cards all day.”

  “Wow. Good work if you can get it.” I took another drink of my juice.

  “Why don’t you cancel this evening’s class?”

  I hesitated.

  “Look, Nellie’s attacker hasn’t been caught and probably won’t be caught tonight,” he said. “Your booth at the Ren Faire was singled out. I don’t want you or your students put in harm’s way by this nut job.”

  “You’re forgetting that Nellie is the one who trashed my booth,” I said. “Since that nut job is in the hospital, I don’t think my students and I have anything to fear tonight.”

  “I’m not forgetting about Nellie trashing your booth. I’m just wondering if she really did it. I still can’t wrap my mind around a woman her age coming out in the middle of the night to sneak onto the fairgrounds, pick a lock, and destroy your booth.”

  “Then why did she confess?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Inch-High. I just have a bad gut feeling about all of this. And don’t forget there is still an attacker out there,” he said. “There’s no guarantee he won’t be back. If he targeted Nellie because of Clara, you can bet he’s aware that you found Clara’s body.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re right,” I said. “I don’t want to be responsible for any of my students getting hurt. I’ll reschedule the class.”

  I went to the counter and got the roster for tonight’s class, sat on the stool, and began calling my students.

  Ted set his juice on the counter and gestured to let me know that he was going up the street to Nellie’s shop to see how things were going with the deputies.

  When he came back, I was just finishing up my last call.

  “So what did you learn?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “They can’t find a thing.”

  “But the attacker was dressed in the same costume Marcus West wore at the Renaissance Faire,” I said. “That has to mean something.”

  “I believe you’re right that the attacker meant to throw suspicion on West.” He took out his phone, called his deputy, and asked him to find out who knew how West was disguising himself at the Ren Faire. “Let me know what you learn. Thanks.” He ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket.

  “Why don’t we go ahead and get out of here?” he asked. “You’ve had a rough day.”

  I gave him a wan smile. “I am ready to get out of here.” I got up off the stool and went to the office for my tote bag and purse.

  “Want me to drive you?” Ted asked. “We can always come back for your Jeep later, or we can have Blake and Sadie bring it home.”

  “No, I’m good,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “You were pretty shaky when I got here. Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

  “I’m fine. Besides, I thought maybe we could take Angus to the beach later. We’ll definitely need the Jeep for that.”

  “All right.” He gave me a kiss. “I’ll be right behind you . . . unless you want me to stop for Chinese takeout.”

  “I could go for some Chinese . . . and I certainly don’t want to cook tonight.” I locked the doors. “See you in a few.”

  I was kind of glad for the opportunity to decompress at home alone for a little while. I adored Ted, but I didn’t want him to know how scared I’d been during the whole episode with Nellie. It had also crossed my mind, as it had Ted’s, that Nellie’s being the one who’d demolished my booth was a little too convenient. On the other hand, though, I couldn’t imagine Nellie covering for anyone. I mean, why would she?

  When I got home, I went through the house and out the back door, where I sat down on the swing. Angus gladly came over, crawled up onto the seat beside me, and stretched out across my lap. I gently moved the swing back and forth and petted the dog.

  Unlike Ted, Angus wouldn’t try to fix anything. He would just let me sit here until I felt better. I could talk if I wanted to, but I didn’t have to. I could cry . . . or not. It was up to me. Whatever I wanted to do was all right. Angus was an excellent therapist.

  I stayed there until I heard Ted’s car pull into the driveway. Angus got up off the swing and went to peep over the fence.

  I got up and opened the door. Angus left the fence and came to go in ahead of me.

  “I haven’t fed him yet,” I said to Ted. “I went outside and lost track of time while sitting on the swing.”

  “Good,” said Ted. “That’s what you needed to do.”

  I filled Angus’s bowl with kibble, but he wasn’t particularly interested. He knew Ted had something better in those funky little boxes with the wire handles. He kept sniffing the air and moving around the table.

  “Sorry,” I said. “He probably won’t eat his dinner until we’re finished with ours.”

  “That’s fine. A little moo shu pork won’t hurt him.” He looked at Angus. “Right, buddy?”

  Angus opened his mouth and panted, making it look as if he were laughing because he and Ted had put something over on me.

  I smiled and shook my head. “You’re gonna spoil him, you know?”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I came along when I did, then,” said Ted. “Because this is one of the most unspoiled dogs I’ve ever seen. If any dog could use some spoiling, it’s this one.”

  “Touché,” I said. “But you’ll spoil him worse. How’s that?”

  “We guys have to stick together. Right, Angus?”

  Angus gave him a dopey look and sat beside him, obviously waiting for a treat.

  * * *

  After dinner, we took Angus to the beach. Ted and I were walking hand in hand while Angus ran ahead of us and explored everything.

  “Did Manu mention how Nellie is doing?” I asked.

  “She’s going to be fine. They
’re keeping her overnight because she does have a concussion, but there wasn’t anything major wrong.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I wish she’d gotten a better look at her attacker. Maybe then we could figure out how that person is linked to Marcus West,” said Ted.

  “Does anyone know why Marcus West would choose to call himself the Crow? I mean, he could’ve called himself El Doctoro or whatever the Italians call the costume . . . but he didn’t have to call himself anything at all. What was the point?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard anyone say why he did it. Let’s try to reason it out. What do we know about crows?”

  “Well . . . they’re very intelligent birds,” I said.

  “They’ll eat almost anything, including carrion,” said Ted.

  “Um . . . ew . . . I don’t think Marcus West was trying to convey that he’ll eat roadkill,” I said. “Or at least I hope that wasn’t his intention.”

  Ted chuckled. “I’ve heard they tend to be tight with their families.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes! You think I’d make that up?” he asked.

  “Sometimes I can’t tell with you.”

  “The young stay with their parents up until they’re about six years old,” he said.

  “So you think West might’ve been making a statement about family by calling himself the Crow?” I asked.

  “Wait . . . I’ve got it. There’s a comic book character called the Crow. The series was created by James O’Barr,” Ted said. “The Crow avenges wrongful deaths.”

  “Like Joe Palmer’s,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  Ted’s phone rang. He checked the screen. “It’s one of the deputies with West.”

  “Take the call.” I walked on ahead to see what Angus had found.

  He was studying a flat rock that was shaped like a lopsided heart. He sniffed at it and then slapped it with his paw.