by Amanda Lee
He told me her age—ten—and I walked him over to the children’s crafts. He chose a beginner’s cross-stitch kit, a friendship bracelet kit, and a latch hook kit.
“Surely, she’ll like one of these,” he said.
“I’m betting she’ll like them all.” I rang up his purchases, placed them in a bag, and invited him to bring his granddaughter to our anniversary party on Friday evening. “I’ll be giving goodie bags to everyone, and there will be plenty of door prizes too.”
“Sounds fun. I’ll see if I can’t get her to be my date.”
As the man headed off down the street, I rejoined Christine in the sit-and-stitch square.
“He seemed awfully nice,” she said.
“He did.” I paused. “Speaking of people seeming nice, did Jared ever say anything about Keira’s dad?”
“No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“I’ve heard some rumors that his business ventures might not all be legitimate,” I said. “Of course, it could simply be the gossip mill speculating about Keira’s murder.”
“I’ll ask Jared if he ever heard anything, but you know how people talk. When someone is rich and powerful, folks sometimes like to cut them down.” She frowned. “Then again, he did have all that money, and Keira would still take loans from Jared. Maybe he isn’t a very good person after all.”
“Maybe not. Ted and I saw Jared when we were out to dinner on Saturday.”
“He told me about that,” she said. “Jared has been dating Adalyn for a couple of weeks. I don’t think it’s anything serious yet, but it was a major step for him in getting away from Keira.”
“Did Keira know Jared was seeing Adalyn?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“If she did, that would explain why Keira hadn’t wanted to work concessions at the Horror Emporium,” I said.
“I suppose so. But, as I said, there’s nothing serious between Jared and Adalyn yet . . . at least, not as far as I know.”
“Still, with Keira, everything was serious when it interfered with her getting what she wanted.” I explained about how she’d considered me a threat when she liked Todd Calloway. “The girl detested me and would do anything she could to get my goat.”
“You don’t . . .” Christine bit her lower lip. “You don’t think . . . Adalyn and Keira might’ve . . . fought . . . do you?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “I’m merely speculating. Let me go ahead and call Riley to see who she recommends at legal aid.”
I called Riley’s office. Riley was in court, but her administrative assistant, Julie, said that Riley had a list of people she recommended. The first person on that list was Sean Clay. I passed his information along to Christine, and she said she’d call him as soon as she got home.
Christine left, and I resumed my work on the ribbon embroidery bouquet. Once again, I wished there was some way I could talk with Ken Sherman. I felt that if I could speak with him—even for a minute—I could get a better handle on what kind of person he was. I already knew that Ted didn’t get a good vibe from the man. I wanted my own first impression.
Keira had died on Thursday. Had this been a normal death, her funeral would have likely taken place on Sunday. I knew that the autopsy would hold up any memorial services, but the coroner’s office had to release the body to the family soon . . . didn’t they?
• • •
By the time Ted brought lunch, I’d finished the ribbon embroidery bouquet. Now to iron it and have it framed. But ironing could definitely wait until after lunch.
Today, Ted brought Caesar salads and breadsticks from our favorite Italian restaurant on the outskirts of Tallulah Falls.
“Wow, you had to go out of your way today,” I said as I placed the clock on the front door.
“I thought it would be worth it.”
I smiled. “It totally is.”
“And, to be honest, I was in the area anyway.”
“Chasing down a bad guy?”
“Chasing down a lead,” he said, following me into my office. “One of Ken Sherman’s franchises is out that way. It’s a café that specializes in hot dogs.”
“Bob’s Big Dogs?”
“That’s the one.” He handed Angus a breadstick, and the dog wolfed it down.
I took two bottles of water from the minifridge. “Sorry. This is all I have. I need to go by the grocery store and restock after work.”
“You probably need to restock at home too. Your mom comes in tomorrow, doesn’t she?”
“She does,” I said.
“I thought maybe we could get our moms together for dinner before your class on Wednesday.” Ted opened his salad and sprinkled the packet of Romano cheese over the top. “That way, we’ll have only an hour. If it’s awkward, we have an excuse to duck out.”
“Smart thinking. I knew I loved you for more than your brawn.” I smiled as I dug into my salad.
“Have you told your mom very much about mine?”
“Not a lot. You?”
“Not too much. She knows she’s a costume designer and that she lives in San Francisco.”
“Mine knows Veronica once put a federal agent in time-out,” I said.
Ted laughed. “Yeah, I suppose she did.”
“Um . . . not to change the subject, but I guess I’m really not changing the subject but rather changing it back—”
“We have only half an hour, you know.”
“I know,” I said. “I was wondering what—if anything—you learned from Bob’s Big Dogs.”
“I learned that those hot dogs were definitely not what we wanted for lunch,” he said. “And I’m not joking. There were several patrons in the place, but the majority of them had sodas. That was it. I can see going to a coffee shop to enjoy a beverage and a chat with some associates but not a hot dog place.”
“I agree. Those fountain sodas are hit-or-miss. So you think they were up to something nefarious?”
“Hard to say,” he said. He ate his salad for a moment and thought this over. “They weren’t doing anything nefarious while I was there, but they could very well have been plotting up something.”
“So how did you wander around in the restaurant without making anyone suspicious?” I asked.
“I didn’t. I asked for the manager, introduced myself, and told him we were talking with people who knew Ken Sherman to determine if anyone could help us identify his daughter’s killer.”
“Whoa. . . . I imagine you could’ve heard a hot dog drop in there after you made that announcement.”
“Well, yeah. And then the manager took me into his office and told me what a bad decision he’d made when he’d agreed to allow Ken Sherman to finance this venture for him. He said his business had started out fairly strong but that now it was going downhill fast,” said Ted. “He said, ‘You see the people out there. How many of them are eating?’ I asked if he knew why they weren’t eating, and he either suddenly forgot how to talk or remembered who his patrons were.”
“Then doesn’t that kinda confirm what you went there to learn?” I asked.
“It does, but kinda doesn’t hold up in a court of law.”
“I was just thinking earlier that I’d love to talk with Ken Sherman . . . get a feel for who he is, what makes him tick, you know?”
Ted leveled his steely blue gaze across the desk at me. “No.”
“No? You don’t know what I mean? Well, I’m talking about seeing what kind of first impression he makes on me. I know he didn’t leave you with a very good one, so—”
“Marcy, this is not a joking matter.”
“And I’m not kidding! I truly want to meet the man,” I said. “I’ll tell you what I really want. I want to go to Keira’s funeral. On television, the killer always shows up at the funeral. If we were there, we could see who showed up, I could say a few words to Mr. Sherman,
and—”
“I am going. In fact, Manu and I are going.”
“Then Reggie and I should go too. If you and Manu go by yourselves, then it’s going to be obvious that you’re there as police officers. If you guys take Reggie and me, then everyone will think you’re there as concerned members of the community.” I let my words sink in for a minute. “Please?”
He blew out a breath before biting into a breadstick.
Good stalling tactic. He couldn’t talk with his mouth full.
“When is the service?” I asked.
He swallowed. “This evening.”
“They’ve finished the autopsy already? That was quick.”
“We asked that Keira’s autopsy be made a top priority.”
“What was the official cause of death?” When he hesitated, I reminded him that the death certificate would be a matter of public record.
“I could suggest you look it up,” he said dryly. “But I might as well tell you—the cause of death was heart failure from venom toxicity. She was poisoned.”
I gasped. “So it was the rattlesnake?”
He shook his head. “The puncture wounds are inconsistent with the distance between the snake’s fangs.”
I frowned. “But—”
“I’ve said too much already.”
“Okay. So what time is the service tonight?”
He took a long drink of his water. “Let me talk with Manu. I’ll call you later this afternoon and give you all the details.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ted picked me up at six p.m. That had given me only little over a half hour after getting home to feed Angus and get ready for the funeral. I hadn’t had time to stop by the grocery store, but I figured drinking water for one more day would do us good. When Ted arrived, he’d changed into a black suit, gray shirt, and dark gray tie. He looked gorgeous.
I was wearing a long-sleeved black dress with a high-necked lace bodice and black heels. I’d curled my hair and pinned it back off my face with rhinestone clips. My platinum locks were short but versatile, and I felt this style made me look more serious.
“You look beautiful,” Ted said as he helped me into my cobalt blue coat.
“Thank you.”
I left the living room and hall lights on for Angus and turned the porch light on for Ted and me.
When we arrived at Tallulah Falls’s one and only funeral parlor, Manu and Reggie were waiting for us in their car in the parking lot. We parked beside them and got out.
“Do I look all right?” Reggie asked, indicating her simple white tunic and slacks. “White is what we wear to funerals in India. I couldn’t find anything black that was appropriate.”
“You look lovely,” I said.
Manu looked nice too. He wore a black suit, cut much like the one worn by Ted, a white shirt, and a white pocket square. I liked how he’d managed to comingle the mourning colors of his native land and America’s.
“I don’t really know what to say to anyone,” Reggie said. “I barely knew Keira at all.”
“We’re here to express our respect and regrets to her family,” said Manu. “I didn’t know the girl either.”
A shadow passed over his face, and I imagined he was remembering how he’d found her and tried to care for her when we’d come upon her on the sidewalk.
I squeezed Ted’s hand. I didn’t tell him often enough how much I appreciated his job and his skill in taking care of others.
He smiled down at me. I hoped he could guess at what I was thinking . . . or that I could remember to tell him later.
We walked inside to the cloying scents of carnations, mums, and roses. There was a small dish of wrapped peppermints in the foyer. I took one, unwrapped it, and took a deep breath to savor the smell of the candy before I popped it into my mouth. I looked around for a wastepaper basket but couldn’t find one.
“Be right back,” I said to Ted.
I stepped into a hallway that opened up to a larger room. I saw a small garbage can discreetly placed near an end table in that room. I hurried over and tossed in my cellophane wrapper.
I raised my head, and it occurred to me that I’d walked into the room where the casket was—or, at least, where a casket was. I didn’t know if this was the room set aside for the Sherman family or not.
There were a few people mingling around, but I didn’t recognize any of them. Some were giving me curious glances, so I made my way slowly to the casket.
Inside was Kiera in a long-sleeved yellow dress with a white lace overlay on the bodice. Her long dark hair was spread out on the pillow, and she reminded me of one of those princesses asleep in a fairy tale. I thought maybe if Jared came and kissed her, she’d open those smoky gray eyes and sit up.
A wave of sadness swept over me, and my eyes filled. A tear escaped down my right cheek.
Someone came up beside me and offered me a tissue.
“Thank you,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. When I turned, I was surprised to see that it was Ken Sherman who’d given me the tissue. “Oh . . . Mr. Sherman. . . .”
He smiled slightly. “I’m sorry. Your name escapes me.”
“I’m Marcy Singer,” I said. “We’ve never met. I just . . . um . . . recognized you from seeing you with . . . Keira.”
“I see. Well, we’ve met now.”
I nodded. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. How did you know Keira?”
“I knew her from MacKenzies’ Mochas,” I said. “I didn’t know her all that well . . . and I regret that now.” I really did regret that. After what Jared had told me, it seemed Keira could’ve used a few more friends.
He shook his head slightly and stared at his daughter lying in her casket. I patted his arm.
“Dad . . . are you all right?” The smooth, cultured voice came from behind Ken Sherman and me.
Mr. Sherman turned. “Yes, darling. Come here and meet Marcy. She used to work with Keira.”
“Um . . . actually, we didn’t work together,” I said. “I have the embroidery shop down the street from MacKenzies’ Mochas.”
“Oh,” said the sophisticated young woman who was apparently Keira’s sister. “The Seven-Year Stitch. I’ve been meaning to stop in.”
“Marcy, this is Bethany,” said Mr. Sherman.
Bethany and I shook hands. Hers were long, thin, and well manicured. I remembered what Jared had said about her—gorgeous and brilliant. I couldn’t attest to the brilliance yet, but Bethany was stunning. She looked similar to Keira; but where Keira reminded me of a Disney princess lying there, Bethany reminded me of a supermodel. There was nothing princess-y about her. She was all sleek lines and . . . well . . . hard edges. I could easily believe Jared had been right about her dual degrees too.
“Do you embroider?” I asked. It sounded lame, but she’d said she’d been meaning to visit the Stitch, and it gave me something to say.
“Some of the women in my circle knit,” said Bethany. “I’ve been thinking of picking it up.”
“Well, if you do, come and see me.”
“I certainly will.” She turned to her dad. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. I left some people in the other room. I need to get back to them.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Nice meeting you, Marcy.”
“It was nice meeting you too,” I said.
Bethany strode away, and Mr. Sherman smiled at me, pride shining in his eyes.
“Isn’t she something?” he asked.
“Yes, she is. She appears to be holding her emotions in check well.”
“Oh, that Bethany is a rock,” he said. “She takes care of everyone else, leaving herself for last. It makes me worry about her sometimes.”
My eyes cut to the room across the hall from us where Bethany was throwing her head back and laughing at something someone h
ad said. Either she wasn’t really all that broken up about her sister’s death, or else she was hiding it awfully well.
“What does she do . . . for a living, I mean?” I asked.
“She’s a criminal attorney in a prestigious firm in Seattle,” he said. “She also has a doctorate in psychology, so she has an edge over other lawyers in the courtroom.”
“I imagine so. That’s wonderful.”
“It is.” His eyes misted. “I’m so proud of her. Poor Keira. . . . We couldn’t even persuade her to go on to college. She was so lazy and unmotivated. She thought I’d give her everything until she could find a man and get married.”
The conversation was getting more and more awkward, and I just wanted to get away. I felt sorrier for Keira than ever.
“I guess maybe she thought her strengths lay in becoming a homemaker,” I said.
“Who knows? I cut her off and made her get a job, hoping she’d come to her senses,” he said. “When she didn’t, I thought I’d buy her a business. I thought she could maybe make a go of that.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Sherman. I need to speak with someone,” I said. “Again, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Marcy.”
I hurried into the foyer where Ted, Manu, and Reggie were waiting.
“Where’ve you been?” Ted asked. “We were getting concerned about you.”
“I went to throw away my candy wrapper and wound up in the room with . . . with Keira.”
“Let’s step out into the fresh air,” Reggie said.
“Good idea.” I hurried out the front door, and they followed closely behind me.
“What happened?” Ted asked when we got to a relatively secluded area.
“I spoke with Mr. Sherman.” I blinked back the tears that suddenly burned my eyes. “I wish we could just leave. I know it was my idea to come here, but . . . but poor Keira!”
“I can drive you home,” Ted said. “I can still get back in time for the funeral.”
“No,” I said. “I’ll see this through. Besides, I feel like someone has to be here for her. I mean, I think her dad cared about her . . . but not as much as he loves her sister and—and maybe even his business.”
