The Long Stitch Good Night: An Embroidery Mystery

by Amanda Lee

  And yet, Andy still greeted me at the restaurant with a single white rose and a kiss on the hand. And, no, I didn’t tell him, “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” I was being Audrey, not Marilyn, remember?

  Chapter Eight

  “I have to tell you,” Andy said after we sat down, “I’m flattered you went to such lengths to go out with me. I asked Keira from MacKenzies’ Mochas about you earlier today, and she told me you were an accountant before you came to Tallulah Falls to open your shop.”

  Busted! Darn that Keira! Now what? I supposed I’d have to shoot straight with him.

  I gently placed the rose to the right of my water glass. “I did want to meet with you very much, Andy. But it was because I want your insight on what happened at the Brew Crew on Friday night. I’m trying to help Blake and Todd.”

  “Oh.” He adjusted his glasses. “Oh, of course.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “As if a girl like you would ever be interested in a guy like me, right?”

  “That’s not it at all,” I said quickly, wondering if he was really that insecure or if it was an act. “Why wouldn’t a girl like me be interested in you? You’re charming, attractive, intelligent.…But right now two of my friends are in jail, and I think they’re innocent.”

  The waiter arrived to take our orders, and we had to ask him to give us a moment because neither of us had even picked up the menu yet. The waiter rattled off the catch of the day and other specials. I decided on lobster ravioli, and Andy chose that dish as well.

  “So, under different circumstances, you could see this as a real date?” Andy asked as soon as the waiter left.

  “Sure.”

  He smiled. “Great. That makes me feel a lot less foolish.”

  “If anyone should feel foolish, it’s me,” I said. “I’m the one who lied to get you to meet with me. I was afraid you wouldn’t open up to me if I told you the real reason I wanted to talk with you.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “I figured most people wouldn’t want to get involved in a murder investigation. Maybe they’d be afraid of saying something that would get someone in trouble or that would implicate the wrong person…that sort of thing.”

  “But you aren’t a police officer,” Andy said. “It’s not like anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law.” He gave another chuckle. “Right?”

  “That’s true.” I smiled. “But before we start talking about Friday night, tell me about your college days. How did you come to join the Alpha Sigma Phi fraternity?” Maybe a little background about the school would help me get a feel for the fraternity and would also help both Andy and me relax before we dove into the subject of murder.

  “I’d come from a small town in Washington, and I didn’t know anyone when I first got to OSU,” said Andy. “That was hard on me. I wanted to fit in more than anything…you know?”

  “I can certainly identify with that,” I said.

  “I thought joining the Alpha Sigs would give me”—he sighed—“I don’t know…a home base, I guess…a place where I knew some guys, they knew me, and I belonged…whether we were truly friends or not.”

  “And did the fraternity help you fit in?” I asked.

  “Yeah. At first, I was more like the frat dork than anything. I helped the other guys with their homework, tutored them, stuff like that.” He took a long drink from his water glass, and I wondered if he’d truly been happy in his role at the fraternity or if he was merely trying to convince himself of that now.

  “Based on the group I met at the Brew Crew, no two of you were that much alike. I’m thinking the fraternity must’ve been made up of guys with a diverse set of backgrounds, interests, and career goals,” I said.

  “It was,” he said. “And it wasn’t like everyone was a jock or a social climber either. I mean, yeah, a lot of them were—and that’s why they were in the fraternity—but there were a bunch of good, solid people in the Alpha Sigs, too.”

  “Like Blake and Todd and the other men at Friday night’s party?” I asked.

  “Blake and Todd are stand-up guys. A couple of the others I’m not so sure about,” he said. “Including Graham.”

  “Why didn’t you care for Graham?” When Andy was silent, I pressed on. “Is it because you had both dated Tawny Milligan?”

  Andy’s entire face turned red. I wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, anger, or both. He lowered his eyes. “Who told you about Tawny?”

  “Keith Kendall and Robbie, the bartender from the Brew Crew, mentioned her. What was she like?” I asked.

  He still didn’t raise his eyes. “She was just a girl who cleaned the frat house for us every other day.”

  “Was she—”

  “I don’t want to talk about Tawny. Could we change the subject, please?” His voice was polite, but there was a definite edge to it.

  “By all means,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to upset you. Let’s talk about Friday night. What happened leading up to Graham’s death?”

  “Graham kept drinking and drinking.” At last, Andy raised his eyes to mine again. “He never did know when to quit anything. Anyway, the more he drank, the more of a jerk he became to the rest of us. He made fun of everybody…He tried to make stupid business deals.…” He shook his head. “We all got fed up with him. Todd told him it was time for him to leave. I heard Todd mention calling Graham a cab, and then I saw Todd start toward his office.”

  “How did Todd wind up in the back room?” I asked. “Did he go in there after he made the call?”

  “No, Graham headed him off and sort of muscled him into the back room,” said Andy. “They were still arguing.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I went in the other direction, saw some people I used to work with,” he said. “And, yes, they can confirm that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, surprised he’d become so defensive. “I didn’t mean to come across as Sherlock Holmes or Nancy Drew.”

  “It’s okay,” Andy said. “I didn’t mean to be so touchy.” He was quiet for a moment, and then he brightened. “Hey, have you ever considered the work opportunity tax credit?”

  “I’m afraid my only employee is a volunteer—and a mannequin—so she doesn’t help me qualify for that tax break,” I said with a grin. I got the message. Andy had said all he was willing to about Friday night and the people from his college days.

  When I got home, I put the rose in a bud vase on the kitchen counter and then let Angus out into the backyard for a few minutes. I went into the living room, slipped off my shoes, and curled up on the sofa. I called Sadie to ask how things had gone with Blake at the jail and to tell her about dinner with Andy.

  Sadie’s mom answered the phone. She reiterated how very glad she and Bill were that I’d called. Otherwise, who knew when Sadie would have gotten around to telling them about Blake’s wretched predicament? Her minitirade made me feel badly all over again about calling them.

  At last, Mrs. Van Huss put Sadie on the phone. Instead of apologizing to Sadie again, which was my initial inclination, I immediately asked about Blake.

  “He still refuses to tell me anything,” she said quietly. I guessed she didn’t want her mother to overhear. “It’s infuriating, but he says he can’t talk freely there and will tell me everything as soon as he can.” She sighed. “So how was your dinner with Andy?”

  “Thanks to your oh-so-thoughtful waitress Keira, Andy knew when I arrived that I had a background in accounting. Naturally, he thought I’d concocted this clever ruse in order to ask him out,” I said.

  Sadie’s laughter was a welcome sound, especially given her current stress level, so I tried to keep it going.

  “When I arrived at the restaurant, he gallantly presented me with a single white rose and a kiss on the hand,” I continued.

  “No way,” she said, still giggling.

  “I have the rose right here to prove it. Co
me see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  “But why not a red rose? Aren’t white roses supposed to symbolize friendship or purity or something?” she asked.

  “It was our first date, Sadie. He didn’t want to rush into anything.”

  When she stopped laughing over that comment, she asked, “So, how did you play it?”

  “I told him the truth—that I wanted to talk with him about the shooting at the Brew Crew.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “He told me Graham got drunk and started being a jerk to everyone else,” I said. “Todd started into his office to call a cab for Graham, but the two of them wound up in the back room. Andy says he didn’t see what happened after that.”

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “I guess I am, a little. Plus, get this,” I said. “When I mentioned Tawny Milligan, he refused to talk about her at all. He completely shut down and asked me to change the subject.”

  “That’s weird,” Sadie said.

  “Tell me about it. Did you find her photo in the Beaver? I really want to get a look at this woman.”

  “No, I didn’t find her photo because I didn’t find the Beaver. That’s another weird thing,” she said. “You know how I thought nothing had been stolen from the house during last night’s break-in? Well, Blake’s copy of the yearbook and all his OSU alumni newsletters are gone. He kept them all together in a file drawer, and when I went to get the yearbook, I saw that everything was gone.”

  “Do you think maybe Blake moved them or threw them away?” I asked.

  “I believe it would be a huge coincidence if he did,” she said. “Don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. Who else knew where Blake kept those things?”

  “Everyone and no one, I suppose.” She expelled a breath of frustration. “I mean, it wasn’t a secret. The file cabinet was labeled.”

  “But who—other than one of the fraternity brothers—would want that stuff?” I asked. “It had to be one of them who broke in. And whoever it was has to be trying to hide something from their OSU days.”

  “Like what, Marce? That’s quite a stretch. I mean, we can go online and order another copy of the yearbook. And all the back issues of the newsletter are archived on the Web site,” said Sadie. “Nobody is hiding anything by stealing those.”

  “I guess that’s true. But still, I think we need to order that year’s issue of the Beaver and also find out if there’s anything about any of those frat guys mentioned in the newsletters,” I said.

  “Before we can do that, we’ll need to get Blake’s username and password.” A note of unease crept into her voice.

  “You won’t need those until tomorrow. It’s too late to start work on it tonight. Maybe you can get to it after the bail hearing. Or Blake can log on to the site himself.” I was trying to sound reassuring, but I think I was missing the mark.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  I infused my voice with as much cheerfulness as I could muster. “Of course I’m right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “The judge might deny bail,” she said.

  “That won’t happen. Blake and Todd are upstanding citizens. They’ll be granted bail.” I said a silent prayer that I wasn’t lying to my best friend.

  I got to the courthouse at about eight forty-five Monday morning. I’d left Angus at home in the backyard. Even though it was raining, he could lounge on the porch swing. He liked to snooze there on rainy days. I hoped to have time to go back and get him after the arraignment, but that would depend on the court’s schedule and if the arraignment proceeded as quickly as Ted had said it would.

  I’d worn dark jeans, taupe pumps, and a lacy beige long-sleeved top. I hadn’t wanted to appear overly casual for court, but I hadn’t wanted to get dressed up either. This wasn’t my arraignment. Besides, I had to wear this outfit all day—and it was going to be a long one. Even though I didn’t have a class this evening, I was meeting with Mark, the personal trainer, and with Charles, the journalist, after work.

  I walked into the courtroom and spotted Sadie. She was sitting near the front with her mom and dad. Sadie shares her mom’s dark coloring and her dad’s height. Under other circumstances, I might’ve reminded her she got the best of both worlds as far as her parents’ genes went.

  Even from behind, I could assess the trio’s roles. Sadie’s back was straight in her navy suit, and her head was held high. She was being strong for her husband, for herself, and—thanks to me—for her parents. Her mother was bent forward, weeping into a tissue. She was wearing black, as if she were at a funeral. Sadie’s dad had his arm around his wife and was patting her shoulder and whispering to her.

  I slid onto the bench beside Sadie. “I’m so sorry.”

  We’d known each other long enough that she knew I was talking about her parents rather than the arraignment, and she rolled her eyes. “It’s okay. It’s a distraction if nothing else.”

  I was thinking it was a sideshow, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I looked toward the tables in front of the judge’s bench. “Where are Blake and Todd?”

  “They’re in the prisoner holding area,” Sadie said. “They aren’t allowed into the courtroom until their case is called. Those are their lawyers.”

  “Which one’s which?” I whispered.

  “The heavyset guy with the bushy gray hair and beard is Todd’s lawyer, Campbell Whitting. The skinny one with the bad comb-over is ours—Harry McQuiston.”

  “Who’s she?” I asked, nodding toward the other table at the woman in the red skirt and white silk blouse. She wore red and white spectator pumps, and her dark brown corkscrew curls were held captive by a large black barrette.

  “That’s District Attorney Landers,” Sadie said. “I’ve heard her called a pit bull in pumps.”

  “She looks nice enough.” I was trying to be helpful and pretend that the rumors I’d heard about Alicia Landers were overblown.

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  Mrs. Van Huss leaned across in front of Sadie to tell me hello. “So nice of you to come and support the family in our hour of need,” she said, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

  Rather at a loss for words, I mumbled, “Good to see you.” Not wanting to get into a conversation with Mrs. Van Huss, I looked around to see if Ted was in the courtroom. If he was, I couldn’t see him.

  District Attorney Landers walked over to the defense counsel table, and she and the two defense lawyers exchanged some quiet conversation. It appeared to me that Mr. Whitting took the lead over Mr. McQuiston and that McQuiston was happy to have him do it.

  I wondered if McQuiston viewed Whitting as his superior. After all, Whitting did have a stellar reputation. I hadn’t heard anything good or bad about Mr. McQuiston. Still, it concerned me that Sadie and Blake hadn’t retained a more aggressive attorney.

  “How did you find Mr. McQuiston?” I asked Sadie.

  Mrs. Van Huss overheard and answered my question. “He’s been a friend of our family for years. He did our wills.”

  “Oh,” I said. I wanted to ask if Mr. McQuiston was well versed in criminal law, but that would be rude. Sadie’s parents wouldn’t knowingly have had her hire someone incompetent to represent Blake. Still, this was his life hanging in the balance.

  District Attorney Landers returned to her table and busied herself straightening papers. Whitting checked his phone, and McQuiston looked nervous.

  A uniformed bailiff walked into the courtroom and told us to stand as the judge entered.

  “The Honorable Warren Street presiding,” the bailiff announced. As soon as the judge took his seat, the bailiff told us we could be seated.

  “The People versus Todd Calloway and Blake McKenzie,” the bailiff called. “Docket number two four seven three nine.”

  He went to a door at the right of the courtroom and brought out Blake and Todd, whose hands were cuffed in front of them. The bailiff led them to stand before the judge’s bench. The guys still wore those awful ora
nge jumpsuits, and they looked pale and tired. I took Sadie’s hand as Mrs. Van Huss sobbed into her husband’s shoulder.

  The judge, a man who was in his mid- to late fifties, with sandy hair and tortoiseshell glasses, asked, “Do the defense attorneys waive the reading of the charges in this matter?”

  “We do, Your Honor,” Campbell Whitting said.

  I had looked up arraignments online last night, and I knew it was common for the reading of the charges to be waived. I suppose it was simply seen as a waste of time, since everyone already knew why they were in court.

  The judge thumbed through a file before asking Alicia Landers to provide the specifics of the case.

  District Attorney Landers stood and stepped in front of her table. “Your Honor, on Friday evening, March 17, the two defendants were found standing over the body of Graham Stott, who was deceased upon deputies’ arrival. Police found a gun at the scene, and it is currently being tested to determine whether or not it was used to shoot the victim, who had suffered fatal gunshot wounds. Upon refusing to answer investigators’ questions about how the shooting occurred, Mr. Calloway and Mr. MacKenzie were arrested and charged with first-degree murder.”

  “Gentlemen, how do you plead?” Judge Street asked.

  “My client, Todd Calloway, pleads not guilty,” Mr. Whitting said.

  “My client, Blake MacKenzie, also pleads not guilty,” Mr. McQuiston said.

  “Very well. D.A. Landers, what do you propose in the way of bail?” Judge Street asked.

  “Based on the seriousness of the charges against them, I request bail be denied,” she said.

  “Mr. Whitting?” Judge Street prompted.

  Mr. Whitting stood. “My client has no criminal record and is a respected businessman in this community. Denial of bail might cause him and his employees great financial hardship. Based on his longtime social and economic position in Tallulah Falls, I request that a reasonable bail amount be set.”