Thread End

by Amanda Lee

  I walked over to the women so they wouldn’t encroach upon my class in the sit-and-stitch square. “I did nothing of the sort. For one thing, I’d have known nothing about Nellie even being here that night had she not told me so herself. And for another, I didn’t go spreading that information all around town.”

  “Is that so?” the woman I now knew as Nellie’s sister asked.

  “Clara, I’ll handle this myself,” said Nellie. Looking at me, she said, “I’d hoped our dual scare would help us to put our past behind us and move forward as friends. I see now that is not to be the case, and I would like you to return the candle I gave you.”

  I heard someone get to her feet and come scurrying over to stand behind me. I guessed it was Vera. I was right.

  “Well, Marcy would like the card back that she painstakingly made for you,” said Vera. “Unlike your candle, which was merely sitting on a shelf, Marcy’s card was a true attempt at friendship.”

  Hadn’t I told her not to hold her breath on Nellie and me ever being friends?

  “Fine,” said Clara. “She can have her nasty little card back, but we’re here for Nellie’s candle and to tell Ms. Motormouth not to spread any more gossip about my sister.”

  Vera brushed me aside so she could stand toe-to-toe with Clara. “You can have your nasty little candle, and Nellie can keep her card to remind her that she could’ve made a good friend instead of an enemy here today.”

  “Nellie hasn’t made any enemies,” I said quickly. I didn’t want her to think I was the one who’d left a dead rat outside her door.

  “Well, she sure hasn’t made a friend,” Vera said. She looked around and spotted the stress-relief candle on the counter. She stepped over, got the candle, and shoved it at Nellie. “Here. Take your candle and get back up the street where you belong. Both of you!”

  As soon as Nellie and Clara had left, I looked around at the wide-eyed group . . . except, of course, for Muriel. She was sitting with her head bowed over her tulip, working diligently.

  “Well, now that the drama is over, let’s get back to work,” I said.

  * * *

  When I got home, Ted was already there. He was stretched out on the sofa watching a baseball game. He clicked the television off when Angus and I came into the living room.

  “Shame on you,” he said.

  I groaned. “Did you hear about the Nellie fiasco already?”

  “No. I said shame on you because you went ahead and cleaned up the kitchen. I knew I shouldn’t have left before helping you straighten up. What’s the Nellie fiasco?”

  “Let me put Angus out, and I’ll tell you.”

  I followed Angus through the kitchen to the back door and opened the door for him. He bolted out into the backyard, thrilled to be completely carefree for a few minutes.

  I went back into the living room and sat on the sofa in front of Ted. I first told him of Muriel’s announcement when she arrived at class.

  “It made me angry,” I said. “But I put it behind me and moved on with class. Well, lo and behold, Nellie and her sister, Clara, came to take back the candle Nellie gave me. So much for my stress relief!”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He began massaging my neck and shoulders. “I can help with your stress relief.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “So, did you give Nellie back her candle?” he asked.

  “Vera did. And then she told Nellie and Clara to go back up the street where they belonged.”

  He laughed.

  “I told you and Sadie that Nellie had been working late that night, but that was it,” I said. “You didn’t even need her confirmation that a black van had been in the alley. So why would she think I told anyone that she saw something more than that?”

  “Who in their right mind can figure out Nellie Davis’s thought process?” He continued rubbing my shoulders. “Don’t let her bother you.”

  “If anybody let something slip, it was probably her, right?”

  “Right.” He kissed my neck, and I leaned back against him.

  “Did you see Mr. Padgett?” I asked.

  “I did.”

  He was still kissing my neck, and I was beginning to forget all about Nellie Davis and Anderson Padgett and Geoffrey Vandehey.

  Then he said, “Mr. Padgett said the name Geoffrey Vandehey was familiar to him because his secretary told him last week that one of the receptionists had taken a call from him in which he said the Padgett Collection was about to be stolen.”

  I turned to look at Ted’s face. “What happened then? Did Mr. Padgett not take the warning seriously?”

  “He said he did. He told me he had the secretary relay the information to someone here in Tallulah Falls. He tried to call her but couldn’t reach her this afternoon. He said he’d call her tomorrow and see who she talked with.”

  “Do you imagine she spoke with Josh Ingle and that the extra security he hired was due to her call?”

  “Possibly,” Ted said. “I talked with Josh after speaking with Mr. Padgett. Josh said he spoke with Padgett’s people several times in the weeks and days leading up to the exhibit opening. He said that, naturally, they discussed concerns about the exhibit being damaged or stolen. But he doesn’t remember a call in which a specific threat was mentioned.”

  “Maybe it was intercepted by someone on the board of directors.”

  “Could be,” he said. “I’m going to speak with the museum’s receptionist tomorrow to see if she remembers taking the call.”

  “Mr. Benton said that Mr. Padgett and the board of directors are going to announce a combined reward for information leading to the recovery of the remainder of Mr. Padgett’s collection,” I said.

  Ted nodded. “Manu green-lighted the reward yesterday, but I believe the board and Mr. Padgett were still hammering out the details and deciding what to say in the press release.”

  “I wonder if offering the reward will pay off.”

  “I expect it to pay off handsomely,” he said.

  “Do you really?” I asked.

  “I do . . . especially for you and me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because as soon as the offer of the reward is announced, you will go to the museum and tell Josh Ingle that Nellie Davis saw everything. . . . In fact, since you enjoy gossiping about her so much, you can say you knew she was in on the plot from the beginning. Why, you could tell Josh that Nellie explained to you herself how she stayed late Friday night in order to help her partners in crime wrap Geoffrey Vandehey in the purloined kilim— Ow!”

  He chuckled and put his forearm up to block the blows from the pillow I was beating him with. Like the seasoned law enforcement officer he was, however, he quickly disarmed me and tossed the pillow across the room.

  We fell off the couch and ended up lying on the floor, laughing helplessly.

  “I told you I could help with your stress release,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Angus and I had been at the Seven-Year Stitch just about an hour on Friday morning when Special Agent Brown strode in.

  “Good morning, Ms. Singer,” he said, unbuttoning his suit jacket and placing his hands on his hips.

  That gesture made me nervous. “Hello, Special Agent Brown. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve just been talking with Nellie Davis. She and her sister called and asked me to come to her shop. Ms. Davis has accused you of spreading rumors about her.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud! I did no such thing!”

  “Relax, Ms. Singer. I don’t think you did, either. I merely came by here to appease Ms. Davis and her sister and to give you a friendly piece of advice—stay as far away from those women as possible. I think they’re flaky . . . and possibly dangerous.”

  “What you’re saying isn’t news to me, and I have no intention of goin
g around either of them again,” I said. “While you’re here, though, may I ask you a question?”

  “I won’t guarantee you an answer, but you can ask.”

  “How did you know Geoffrey Vandehey was in Tallulah Falls?”

  “I got a call from someone close to Anderson Padgett,” he said. “The guy told me Vandehey had been in touch with Padgett’s office and said the collection in the Tallulah Falls Museum had been targeted for a heist.”

  “That’s odd,” I said. “How did the guy know Vandehey was actually here in town?”

  “He was here, too. His name’s Simon Benton. I guess he spotted Vandehey or something.”

  I didn’t mention it to Special Agent Brown, but I wondered why Simon Benton hadn’t told me he was the one who tipped Brown off to Vandehey’s location.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t find Vandehey in time to stop the theft of the collection,” I said.

  “So am I.” He shook his head. “I know that boy of his wants to think Vandehey was just a pawn in someone else’s game. I can’t say that I blame him. Nobody wants to think badly of a parent. But I believe Geoffrey Vandehey was more ruthless than any of us realize.”

  Then Special Agent Brown told me to have a good day, and he left.

  I was too antsy to go right back to work. I didn’t want to be accused of spreading gossip or any other nonsense, though, so I decided to go ask Sadie what she thought I should wear to dinner that evening. I put the clock on the door saying I’d be back in ten minutes and headed down to MacKenzies’ Mochas.

  Blake was manning the counter.

  “Blake, can you call Sadie up for me?” I asked.

  He nodded and spoke into a headset as he took a customer’s money and gave the man change. I was impressed with Blake’s ability to multitask.

  Within seconds, Sadie came to the counter.

  She jerked her head for me to come over to the side with her. “What’s up?”

  “I need some advice,” I said. “Ted and I are going to dinner with his mom tonight, and I can’t decide what to wear.”

  “What did Bev say?”

  “She told me to wear something I’d feel confident in. But I need specifics. I’m a nervous wreck about this evening.”

  “You can borrow my Xena costume.” She smirked.

  “Be serious.”

  “I am serious. What an impression that would make!”

  “Sadie . . .”

  “All right, all right. Let’s see. . . . What about your sleeveless navy cowl-neck blouse and your gold-and-navy geometric-print pencil skirt? That outfit is both sexy and sophisticated.”

  “I think that would work great!” I gave Sadie a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “Now . . . low-fat vanilla latte with a hint of cinnamon?”

  I grinned. “You know me so well.”

  I hurried back up the street where Angus was waiting for me in front of the picture window. I unlocked the door and removed the cardboard clock.

  “The good news is I know what I’m going to wear tonight,” I told the tail-wagging dog. “The bad news is that Ted’s mom will be there.”

  He opened his mouth in a big, goofy dog grin that made it look as if he were laughing. That, of course, made me laugh, too.

  A woman with shoulder-length brown hair and wire-framed glasses stepped into the shop. “This sounds like a fun place to be!”

  “We hope it is,” I said. “I’m Marcy Singer, and this is Angus. Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both.” She petted Angus and then began browsing the shelves.

  “Is there anything in particular I can help you find?” I asked.

  “Actually, I’m looking for some small, folk art cross-stitch patterns.”

  “Holiday or all-occasion?”

  “I’m primarily looking for small Christmas designs I can make as ornaments or put with gifts,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind finding a couple of Halloween designs to make to brighten up my desk at work, though.”

  I walked her over to the Christmas display and showed her a selection of the Prairie Schooler cross-stitch folk art designs.

  “This company has a wide assortment of both Christmas and Halloween designs,” I said. “Their Schooler Santas are five-inch-by-seven-inch cards. They do a different card each year and have been doing so since 1984.”

  “That’s cool.” She picked up the Nordic Holiday book. “I love this one. It looks like the patterns only use three colors—red, green, and white—and they look simple to do. I’m not a very experienced cross-stitcher . . . at least, not yet.”

  “I think you’ll do a great job with these. And if you need any help, just come back by. We’ll figure it out together.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I know springtime has already passed, but I love the Bunnies book,” I said.

  “Bunnies? Do you have one of the books in stock?”

  “I do.”

  I retrieved the book for her and she wanted it, too.

  “Okay. Let me look at the Halloween stuff . . . and then get some embroidery floss . . . and then I’ve got to get out of here before I spend all my money!”

  I laughed and led her over to the Halloween display.

  “These are all so cute,” she said. “I don’t want to start something big, though, because I don’t know whether or not I’ll have time to finish it.”

  She finally decided on a couple small, inclusive Halloween cross-stitch kits.

  “These are perfect,” she said. “Now, if you can just get me the thread—I mean, the floss—I’ll need for the Christmas patterns, I’ll get started on those.”

  I looked at the pattern book, found the floss numbers, and rounded up the corresponding skeins. As I rang up her purchases, I told her about the classes offered on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings and that I was putting a flyer with more information in her bag. It was really good to run across someone new to stitching who was so excited about it.

  * * *

  Ted brought Caesar salads for lunch.

  “I thought we’d better try to behave ourselves with lunch so we can overindulge over dinner,” he said.

  “Okay. I talked with Sadie, and at least, I know what I’m going to wear now—my navy blouse and blue and gold skirt.”

  He nodded. “Sounds great.”

  Of course, I could’ve said my potato sack dress and furry bedroom slippers, and he’d have said it sounded great.

  “I spoke with the receptionist at the museum this morning,” he continued. “She said that on the day she got the call about Vandehey having knowledge of the heist, Mr. Ingle had a lot going on. Before she could talk with Ingle about Vandehey, Simon Benton walked by. She asked Benton if he’d ever heard of Geoffrey Vandehey, and he said he had. She then explained the phone call she’d received from Anderson Padgett’s secretary. Benton told her not to trouble Mr. Ingle with the information—that he’d handle it personally.”

  “Well, that certainly lines up with what Special Agent Brown told me earlier today,” I said.

  “Brown was here?” Ted frowned. “What did he want?”

  “Nellie and her sister had called him to complain about me divulging Nellie’s secrets.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Those two need to—”

  “Not a big deal,” I interrupted. “He said he was only here to appease them but said they were flaky and that I should stay away from them. I told him he didn’t have to tell me that. Anyway, I asked him where he got the tip that Vandehey was in Tallulah Falls, and he said it came from Simon Benton. I didn’t say anything to Brown, but I wondered why Simon Benton failed to share that information when he was discussing murder theories with me yesterday.”

  “That’s something I intend to find out right after lunch,�
�� Ted said. “I have an appointment to talk with Benton at one thirty.”

  “I just think it’s weird that he was throwing out all those theories and neglected to mention that he’s the one who tipped off Brown.” I shrugged. “I guess he was just being flippant with the theories—and I took them as such—but still . . .”

  “I’ll let you know what he says about calling Brown. I plan on asking him why he didn’t divulge that information to us—local law enforcement, I mean.”

  I grinned. “I knew what you meant. I didn’t expect you to go ask, ‘Hey, why didn’t you tell Marcy and me you called Special Agent Brown about Geoffrey Vandehey?’”

  He laughed. “You never know. I might ask him in just that way.” He made his voice a falsetto. “Hey!”

  “Ha-ha. You think you’re so funny.”

  “You think I am, too,” he said.

  “Yeah . . . I do.” I sighed. “I’ll need you to make me laugh after dinner this evening. I’m so nervous about that.”

  “Ah, don’t be. Didn’t I tell you? Mom said I could choose the restaurant. I thought you might want to dine on familiar ground—Captain Moe’s.”

  My jaw dropped and I laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope.”

  “She’ll be appalled,” I said.

  “Maybe, at first . . . but she’ll come around. Captain Moe is a charmer.”

  I laughed again. “I love you so much.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  After lunch, the shop got very busy for a little while. Customers came in for hoops, frames, cloth, floss, and needles. And then the slump hit. During the school year, there was a slump every day around three or three thirty. I thought maybe that’s when children were getting out of school, so parents and grandparents were either picking them up or making sure they were home when their children arrived. Yet, even now in the summer, the three o’clock slump persisted. Was it merely coincidental that the slump was during the school dismissal hour? Or was the slump at that time because even in the summer, the ingrained routine remained? I was pondering this deep question of the universe when George Vandehey came into the shop.