The Stitching Hour

by Amanda Lee

  “All right.” I slowly led the way into my office. “Please tell me what’s going on. You’re making me worry.”

  “There was a key ring found beneath Keira’s body. It had the Seven-Year Stitch logo on it.”

  I gasped.

  Ted closed his eyes. “Where did she get it?”

  “I don’t know. I had a box of them on the counter earlier, but after Christine left and I got back from walking Angus, I put the box in the storeroom. The key rings are going to be put in the goodie bags for the open house.”

  He opened his eyes but pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. “You didn’t give one to Keira? To Sadie?”

  “Christine Willoughby,” I said. “I gave one to Christine.”

  The bells over the door jangled. The students had begun to arrive.

  “I’ll tell students as they get here that we’re canceling tonight’s class given what’s happened to Keira and to Nellie,” I said. “I’m too nervous to concentrate on hardanger tonight.”

  “You’ll have to go into the station along with everyone else and give a statement anyway.”

  When we walked into the shop, we saw that it wasn’t a student who’d come in but Manu.

  “Keira’s dead,” he said. “Her heart stopped, and the paramedics were unable to get it started back.”

  I gasped, and Ted put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

  “Suspected cause of death?” Ted asked.

  Manu shook his head. “There’ll have to be an autopsy.”

  “Those marks on her neck,” I said. “You don’t think that rattlesnake . . . ?”

  “No,” said Manu. “I’m fairly certain it was secured. That will, however, be one of the topics I discuss with the Atwoods and the other actors to ensure that they knew where the snake was at all times.”

  Christine walked in. “Hey, what’s going on outside?”

  Ted, Manu, and I looked at one another and then at Christine.

  “Someone collapsed—and later died—outside the Horror Emporium this evening,” Manu said. “Another person came upon the scene and fainted.”

  “Wow. That must be some scary haunted house, huh?”

  “Where were you prior to arriving here, Ms. Willoughby?” Ted asked.

  Her eyes flew to mine. “Excuse me?”

  Ted nodded to Manu, who took a small evidence bag from his pocket.

  “The victim was Keira Sherman, the waitress from MacKenzies’ Mochas,” Ted said.

  Christine’s hands flew to her mouth. “Keira?”

  “Also, this key ring was found beneath her body.” Ted held up the Seven-Year Stitch key ring.

  Christine went to feeling her pockets. “I have a key ring like that. Marcy gave it to me this morning.” Tears filled her eyes as she turned her pocket wrong side out. “There’s a hole in my pocket. I must’ve lost it.”

  “Ms. Willoughby, I’m going to have to ask you to come with us to the police station to answer a few questions,” said Manu.

  “But I didn’t do anything!” she said.

  I felt so helpless. “Everything will be all right. I know you didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “I didn’t,” she told me. “I swear I didn’t.”

  “I know. Just go with Manu and answer his questions. In fact, we’re all going. Everything will be fine.”

  Vera and Paul walked into the shop. Vera’s eyes widened, and I could practically see the questions forming in her mind.

  So did Ted, apparently, because he gave both her and Paul a stern look that indicated now was not the time or place to try to get a story for tomorrow’s paper.

  Chapter Six

  Everyone who’d been at the Horror Emporium party voluntarily went to the police station to give their recorded statements. We all crowded into the small lobby to wait our turns. Vera and Paul had been fortunate enough to snag a couple of the orange industrial chairs that lined the wall across from the reception desk. At least, I thought they were fortunate until an unkempt, obviously intoxicated man sat beside Vera and placed his hand on her thigh. She gave out a little yelp, leapt to her feet, and hurried a few feet away. Paul glared at the man and then followed Vera.

  Since Manu and Ted had gone to separate interrogation rooms while another detective I’d never met manned a third room, I walked over to Blake. He didn’t see me approach him and started when I touched his arm.

  “Sorry,” I said. “How’re you holding up?”

  He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I’m not trying to give you a short answer . . . I’m just . . . numb? Confused? I’m sad . . . especially for Keira’s family. Man, I dread seeing her parents.”

  “Have you told Sadie?”

  He nodded. “I called her on the way here. She was going to give the police time to notify Keira’s parents, and then she was going to take some food over.” He shook his head. “I should be there with her. What if the parents blame us because we had Keira working at the haunted house tonight?”

  “Actually, I think it’s best that you not be there to visit the parents yet,” I said. “You need time to process everything and to deal with your own emotions first.”

  He put an arm around me and pulled me against his side in a brotherly hug. “I keep thinking that if I’d stayed out there with her instead of going through the Horror Emporium, she’d still be alive right now.”

  “Stop, Blake. You can’t blame yourself. We don’t even know what happened to Keira.”

  “I know, but—”

  Before I could interrupt Blake with more it’s not your fault platitudes, a female deputy called my name. I told Blake I’d see him in a few, and then I followed the deputy into the interrogation room.

  I was ushered into the room with the detective I’d never met. There was a small metal table with two of the orange chairs the department seemed to favor placed on either side. The detective sat facing the door. There was some digital recording equipment to his left, a water bottle on his right, and an old-fashioned notepad and pen directly in front of him.

  “Ms. Singer, my name is Mark Poston. I’m with the Tallulah County Police Department, and Chief Singh called me in to help take statements in this matter.” I’d later learn that he’d taken Manu’s, Ted’s, and Reggie’s statements in addition to mine. Manu thought it would be wise to have an outsider interview us so no one could later claim that any one of us was shown impartiality by the police department.

  I told Detective Poston that it was nice to meet him. He turned on a recorder and asked me to state my name for the record.

  “My name is Marcy Singer.”

  “How did you happen to be at the party at the Horror Emporium?” he asked.

  “Since my shop is right next door to the Horror Emporium, Claude and Priscilla Atwood extended an invitation to me,” I said, feeling the need to be very formal and precise with this middle-aged detective with the suspicious gray eyes. “It was my understanding that the Atwoods were inviting all the merchants on the block.”

  “Did you know the victim?”

  “Not well. I knew her from MacKenzies’ Mochas, but she and I didn’t socialize.”

  “Are you aware that a key ring bearing your shop’s logo—the Seven-Year Stitch—was found underneath the victim?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am aware of that. Detective Nash showed me the key ring and asked me about it.”

  “How did that key ring get beneath the body of the victim?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “May I see your key ring please?”

  I opened my purse and fished out my I MY IRISH WOLFHOUND key ring and placed it on the table between us. I supposed he was trying to see if he could tell whether or not the key ring found under Keira’s body could’ve fallen off or been torn off my set of keys during a struggle or s
omething.

  “You do realize I was with the Tallulah Falls Chief of Police and head detective the entire time this . . . ordeal . . . was taking place, don’t you?” I asked.

  “I do, Ms. Singer, and that’s why I was brought in on this case—to make sure this is an uncompromised investigation. Do you believe that what happened to the victim found lying outside the Horror Emporium was an accident?”

  “Given the fact that she had two puncture wounds in her neck, I don’t see how it could’ve been an accident. Do you?”

  He pursed his thin lips together. “I’m the one doing the interrogation here. I’ll ask the questions. Why do you think it wasn’t an accident, Ms. Singer?”

  “I didn’t see anything to indicate foul play except for the two bite marks, but that was enough to indicate that Keira had suffered some sort of attack,” I said. “The obvious culprit would be a snake . . . and I’m pretty sure that the Atwoods took every precaution to secure their Lair of the Serpent.” I shrugged. “I didn’t examine the wounds myself. They could’ve been fake. Keira might’ve put those marks on her neck at the Atwoods’ suggestion, for all I know. When we first came upon the body, I think everyone in our group thought the discovery was part of the production—one last gotcha.”

  “You talk about the victim as if you knew her personally,” said Detective Poston.

  “As I told you, I knew her from MacKenzies’ Mochas. She’d waited on me several times.”

  “Was that the extent of your relationship with the victim?”

  “Although I didn’t have a beef with Keira, she’d made no secret of her dislike of me. She’d once viewed me as a rival for a man’s affections.”

  “But you didn’t share her animosity?”

  “I didn’t. Nor did I see myself as her rival,” I said.

  “Did you see the victim upon your arrival at the event?” he asked.

  I replied that I had.

  “What was she doing, and what was her demeanor?”

  “She was serving food, and she didn’t appear to be terribly happy about it,” I said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Again, I shrugged. What was I supposed to do? Act out how miffed Keira had seemed? I guessed I could’ve stood, swiped his water bottle off the table, and then huffed as I tossed it into the garbage can. No . . . there was no garbage can in this room.

  “The recorder cannot see your shrug,” Detective Poston said. “Would you please verbalize your response?”

  “She just didn’t seem to want to be there,” I said. “Granted, I knew from Sadie that the Atwoods’ last-minute request had caused extra work for everyone at MacKenzies’ Mochas—especially since they were short a waitress—and that no one was particularly thrilled with the situation.”

  Detective Poston scribbled a note, but I couldn’t see what he’d written because it was hidden by the notepad cover. “Do you think Sadie and the victim might’ve argued about the party?”

  “They might have.” My eyes widened. “No! I mean, no more than any employer instructing an employee to do something she didn’t want to do. I’m sure that whatever was said, Sadie handled the situation diplomatically.”

  “You’re awfully quick to jump to your friend’s defense, Ms. Singer. What was her working relationship with the victim like?”

  “I’ve never seen Sadie treat Keira or any of her employees with anything other than respect.”

  The detective wrote something else on that stupid notepad, making me want to snatch it away from him to see what he was writing.

  He coolly met my eyes. “Tell me what you know about this key ring bearing your shop’s logo that was found near the victim.”

  “I ordered a box of those key rings to give away at my anniversary open house next week,” I said.

  “Had you already begun distributing the key rings?”

  “I gave one to Christine Willoughby. She’d come into the Seven-Year Stitch just after I’d opened the box.”

  He scribbled furiously in that notebook. “And did you give away any others?”

  “No. Right after that, I had to take my dog up the street.”

  “And do you lock the door when you take him for a walk?”

  “No. I’m usually not gone more than about five minutes . . . certainly no more than ten.”

  “Was anyone in the shop when you returned?”

  I brightened. “Yes. Sadie was there. So it’s possible that someone could’ve come in and taken a key ring while I was gone.” I was delighted to be able to throw suspicion off poor Christine. I just knew she wasn’t guilty of harming Keira, and I had left the open box on the counter unattended. Anyone could’ve picked up one of the key rings and been gone before Angus and I returned.

  “Did you give Sadie a key ring?” asked Detective Poston.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “But she might’ve helped herself to one while you were out. Isn’t that correct?”

  My heart sank. “She could have, but she didn’t.”

  “You know this for certain?”

  “Well, no . . . but I know Sadie. Had she taken one, she’d have told me so,” I said. “She was flustered over the last-minute request from the Atwoods, and I doubt she even noticed that box on the counter.”

  Detective Poston didn’t comment. He merely wrote in his notebook while I prayed I hadn’t unintentionally sacrificed Sadie to save Christine. Of course, I had no doubt Detective Poston had me at the top of his suspect list as well. None of us were innocent until proven not guilty.

  • • •

  I’d driven Reggie home and had arrived at my house about an hour and a half before Ted got there. I’d just put Angus into the backyard when I heard Ted at the door. For a couple of minutes, we merely stood there in the foyer holding each other. Then we moved to the white overstuffed sofa in the living room. My living room was almost completely decorated in white—sofa, matching chair, mantel, accent pieces. . . . It was very light and airy, a welcome contrast to our current dark moods.

  After we sat on the sofa, Ted removed his shoes and loosened his tie. He stretched out, and I lay down beside him.

  He kissed my temple. “Are you all right, babe?”

  “Just tired.” I rested my head against his chest. “That Poston guy seems to be a tough customer.”

  “He is. He’s one of the best interrogators in the region, though. That’s why Manu sent for him. With all of us being at the scene of the crime when it occurred—in a social capacity—it was imperative to bring in an outsider to ensure that every t is crossed and every i dotted.”

  “I understand. I just hope I didn’t mess up.” I raised my head and explained that I was afraid I’d incriminated Sadie somehow.

  Ted shook his head. “Poston’s fair. Everybody is a suspect, and he won’t give anyone more weight than anybody else until the evidence starts mounting up.”

  “Still, he makes me nervous . . . like he’s in a hurry to implicate someone. And right now, I’m afraid he’s set his sights on Sadie, Christine, and me.”

  “Hey, he interrogated Manu and me too,” he said. “No one is given any preferential treatment . . . and that’s how it should be.” He caressed my face with the back of his hand. “We’ll find out who did this. There won’t be anyone framed for a crime he or she didn’t commit.”

  “I know. I just hate that this happened. Is the medical examiner certain Keira was murdered?”

  “Given the fresh puncture wounds on her neck, the ME is ninety percent certain it was murder. We’ll know more following the autopsy.”

  “Don’t you think it was strange that she had the puncture wounds but that there wasn’t very much blood?” I asked.

  “It depends on what made the wounds.”

  The thought of how the neck wounds might’ve been made brought Nellie to mind. “How’s Nell
ie Davis? Has anyone checked on her?”

  Ted nodded. “Officer Moore went by the hospital and took her very brief statement. He said she must’ve been loopy from pain meds because she kept insisting that Keira was killed by the vampires.”

  I smiled slightly. “Poor Officer Moore. . . . Little does he know.”

  “That’s what I thought. I didn’t say it though. I’ll go by the hospital in the morning and see Ms. Davis before going to the station.”

  “She was hurt badly enough for them to admit her?” I asked. “I knew she was bruised up, but I didn’t think it was that serious.”

  “I doubt it is,” Ted said. “They’re simply keeping her overnight for observation.”

  “That’s good . . . especially since she lives alone. I wonder if she has a spare pair of glasses and, if so, anyone took them to her.”

  “Officer Moore took care of that. Ms. Davis said she kept a pair at home and another at work. She gave him her shop key and he retrieved the ones she kept there.”

  “He’s a good kid,” I said.

  “He is. He’ll make a fine detective one of these days.”

  “Do you have any theories about who might’ve killed Keira?” I asked.

  He shook his head and pulled me closer. “I have no idea. Manu and I—and, likely, Poston—will tackle the case tomorrow. Learning the cause of death should help narrow down the suspects.”

  I didn’t say so, but I desperately hoped Keira’s cause of death didn’t implicate any of my friends . . . or me.

  • • •

  I went to work early the next morning with the hope of speaking with the Atwoods. I knew how devastating it was to have your business labeled a crime scene immediately after your grand opening.

  I unlocked the door to the Seven-Year Stitch and let Angus inside. The Horror Emporium was dark, but I knocked on the door anyway. No answer. Of course, if the crime scene techs hadn’t finished with the building last night, the Atwoods wouldn’t be allowed inside yet.

  I went back to the Stitch, but I locked the door behind me. There was still at least an hour before I was scheduled to open, and I wanted to check on Priscilla and Claude before customers started coming in. I went into the office with Angus on my heels. I gave him a granola bone from my stash in the desk drawer and then called Sadie.