Night of the Living Thread (A Threadville Mystery)

by Janet Bolin

  She read, “Weave a willow-wand boat by moonlight, and in the boat, tie an amulet representing the person with whom you wish to spend eternity on the sun. The amulet must lie on cushions of flowers and face the sky. On a dark night, launch the boat on a flowing river close to where it enters a larger body of water. Chant these words to the sky.” Opal murmured a bunch of syllables in a spooky voice. I thought I heard the name of the Egyptian sun god, Ra, several times. She marked the words with her finger and looked up at us. “And here’s Isis’s English version: ‘Using my magic, you and I will reincarnate ourselves, and we’ll cross the sky together every day in our own blaze of glory. Go, now, to the afterlife where I will join you.’”

  Edna asked, “Joining the sun in the sky was considered a good afterlife in Egyptian mythology?”

  Haylee laughed. “The ancient Egyptians must not have understood how hot the sun actually is.”

  Opal lifted pages and turned them with loving care. “There’s more.”

  We all commented on Isis’s artistic talent. One picture showed a mummy case and a bunch of crockery urns. “What’s that one about?” I asked.

  Opal scanned the article. “The dead had to be able to put all their body parts back together, and to do that, they had to be mummified, while specific organs were placed in specific jars.”

  Juliette piped up, “Ugh! Wouldn’t it have made life, I mean death, easier for the dead people if they’d left the organs where they were in the first place?”

  Winding yarn around the tip of her needle, Patricia shivered as if she were cold. But how could she be? She was closer than any of us to the fire, and she was wearing that heavy turtleneck sweater, besides.

  Opal answered, “They believed the organs had to be preserved differently from the rest of the body, and if they couldn’t reassemble themselves, they wouldn’t be able to go to any sort of afterlife. In ancient Egypt, mummification was for the upper classes.” She read silently for a moment, and then summarized, “Isis makes a point that her book is for everyone. We can all, she claims, cast spells for ourselves and for others.”

  She read a few incantations, both in English and in phonetically spelled translations of authentic-looking hieroglyphs.

  Opal came to another illustration of boats on a river.

  I asked her, “Would you read that one, too?”

  She said, “Isis seemed particularly fond of tailoring other people’s afterlives for them. This incantation is for sending someone to an afterlife different than your own, for people you don’t want to spend eternity with.”

  Mrs. Battersby turned her little sweater to start a new row. “That’s the best idea that woman has come up with yet.”

  Naomi looked wide-eyed at her. Haylee and I exchanged grins.

  Opal went on as if Mrs. Battersby hadn’t interrupted. “She says to craft a willow-wand boat by moonlight, tie an amulet representing the unfavored person head down in a boat, call out that person’s name, launch the boat into a stream or river near where it flows into a larger body of water, and hold it underwater while reciting the spell.”

  Remembering Isis on the riverbank Wednesday night in the mist, I felt a little seasick. Maybe I shouldn’t have been paying such close attention to my moving knitting needles.

  Opal read a bunch of other syllables in a ghostly voice. This time, I heard the sun god’s name, Ra, only once. And then, in a flatter voice devoid of her usual humor, Opal read the English translation. “Go to the deepest, darkest river! Go to the bowels of the earth. Fall apart. Scatter. Go where you will never rise!”

  I set my knitting down, or I’d have dropped stitches for sure. I’d heard Isis shouting parts of this spell. And I’d found the boat with the upside-down amulet representing Edna. The groom doll had been tied facing the sky, as if Isis had planned to spend eternity with Gord, maybe the two of them blazing across the sky with the sun.

  Edna must have recognized the horror on my face. “It means nothing, Willow,” she said.

  Opal gave a grim laugh. “Isis even included ‘Helpful Hints’ in sidebars for some of the curses and spells. The Helpful Hint for the upside-down amulet curse says, ‘For best results in taking someone else’s place in an afterlife of your choosing and consigning them to a different one, wear or carry something belonging to that person.’”

  I grabbed the edges of my chair seat to keep myself from toppling onto the floor. Isis must have followed her own advice and put on Edna’s super-decorated, heavy wedding skirt. And Vicki had told me that Isis had been found with a piece of one of the skirt’s frills in her pocket.

  Isis had to be the person who had carried Edna’s scissors to the bandstand.

  “‘What goes around comes around,’” Patricia quoted.

  Mouth dropping open, I stared at her, but only for a second. I didn’t want her guessing that I had detected a note of satisfaction in her voice. What did Patricia know about Isis’s threats against Edna? Or was she merely making guesses based on Isis’s having been inside that giant skirt?

  Opal plucked a printed sheet of paper from inside the back cover of the book. “A price list. Wow, she was charging several hundred dollars for each of her books.”

  “The books are worth that,” Georgina guessed, “to people who collect handmade books like this.”

  Edna commented in a soft voice, “Her work was amazing.”

  “What?” Haylee teased. “I don’t see any crystals glued to the book.”

  Edna tapped Haylee’s arm. “I’m sure she would have added crystals if she’d had time. She could have bought perfect ones from me. I’d even have given her a discount.”

  I picked up the price list. “She was selling more than books. She has individual prices for personally casting her curses, incantations, and spells.” I checked the numbers. “She charged twice as much for ‘everlasting damnation among the palace slaves’ as she did for ‘gentle escort into a pharaoh’s afterlife.’” Had she been serious? At a hundred dollars per spell, even the “gentle escort” prices were steep.

  Mrs. Battersby flung the tiny sweater, already completed, down on top of an equally tiny pom-pom cap. “What a bunch of hooey.” She began casting on another project.

  “What are you making?” Juliette asked her.

  “Sweaters and caps for premature babies. Someone has to do it.”

  Opal picked one up. “They’re beautiful, Mrs. Battersby. I remember watching you knit when I was a child, and that’s what got me started, but in all the years since, I’ve never seen anyone else knit so well so quickly. Do you have a pattern for the sweaters and caps? An address where we could send any that we knit?”

  “I’ve made so many of the things I no longer need a pattern, but I can find you the website with the information.”

  We all agreed that we wanted that website address, and maybe it was my imagination, but Mrs. Battersby’s frown may have softened.

  Patricia looked at her watch, gasped, and pushed her chair back.

  Looking startled, Juliette asked her, “Is it time to go?”

  Patricia nodded. “We’d better hurry.”

  The rest of us looked mystified.

  Juliette rose from the table. “Dare Drayton is giving a reading at the Elderberry Bay Lodge at nine.”

  “Isn’t that rather late?” Mrs. Battersby asked.

  Georgina stood. “Is it open to the public?”

  Juliette said it was, and that Dare was hoping someone besides zombies and his cousin would show up.

  Clay was going? I shoved my knitting into my bag.

  The librarian and postmistress decided to go to the reading with Patricia, Juliette, and Georgina.

  Haylee and her three mothers began tossing each other meaningful looks.

  I knew these women pretty well. They were not leaving.

  And then I understood. Now was our chance to snoo
p around Opal’s guest room, where Patricia was staying, and around Naomi’s guest room, where Juliette was staying. I sat back and let Patricia, Juliette, the postmistress, Georgina, and the librarian go without me. I’d see Clay the next night anyway.

  Edna cast a sideways glance at her mother.

  I read that look, also.

  Edna and her friends did not want to include Mrs. Battersby in their sleuthing.

  23

  Mrs. Battersby seemed to be completely ensconced in her chair, however, and not about to stop her rapid-fire casting-on.

  Edna looked at her watch and said with a great show of reluctance. “I guess it’s time to adjourn the meeting.”

  “Why?” Mrs. Battersby started her first row. “You said we’d go on until nine or after. I finished the sweater, and planned to make a cap, and I’ve only begun the cap.”

  “Everyone left,” Naomi tried.

  Mrs. Battersby retorted, “We’re still here. Or aren’t we important?”

  Opal yawned. “And Willow, weren’t you up very late last night?”

  “Yes, but don’t stop on my account.”

  “I should think not,” Mrs. Battersby agreed. “Willow can go home if she’s that tired.”

  “I’m okay.” I would have been happy to drop into bed, but who was going to guarantee that Brianna wouldn’t play loud music and keep me awake? I asked Naomi, “Did you have something you wanted to show Haylee and me? Maybe we should go do that before I keel over.”

  “You might as well run along,” Mrs. Battersby informed me. “You stopped knitting. You’re just wasting time sitting around like that. Life’s too short.”

  Haylee stood and patted Mrs. Battersby’s shoulder. “Will you be okay here, or would you like me to take you back to my apartment before I go with Willow and Naomi?”

  Mrs. Battersby moved the marker on her knitting. “I’ll be fine as long as my hostess stays here and acts like a real hostess, right, Opal?”

  “I’m staying up as long as you are. We have more squares to eat.” Opal didn’t look overjoyed. She undoubtedly wanted to go upstairs and comb through the room where Patricia was staying.

  “I’ll stay with you two, too,” Edna said. “It’ll just be the three of us. Very cozy.” She scooted back in her seat and managed to appear to like the idea. “And I’ve got your key, Haylee, if my mother does decide she wants to go back to her room.”

  Mrs. Battersby snapped, “I don’t. Why are you all so suddenly anxious for me to go to Haylee’s apartment? It’s not like she’s my real granddaughter.”

  Haylee gave her a smile that should fill any grandmother, if she were looking, with pride. “See you later, then.” Carrying her knitting, she started toward the front door. Naomi scooped up the quilt templates she’d been drawing. I grabbed my embroidered bag.

  We left sedately, but as soon as Opal’s door closed behind us, we ran past Edna’s Buttons and Bows to Naomi’s quilt shop.

  The front room of Batty About Quilts was a gallery of beautiful quilted objects. Without slowing to admire them, we continued through the sales rooms, one chock-full of quilting fabrics plus the latest in long-arm quilters, and the other displaying huge rolls of different types of batting.

  At the back of that room, one door led to the parking lot, and another led to the stairs up to Naomi’s apartment. We climbed quietly. At the top, Naomi eased her apartment door open, peeked around the jamb, and gestured for us to follow her.

  Nearly everything in Naomi’s apartment was quilted—upholstery, drapes, and sofa pillows. Even the tablecloth in her dining room and the tea towels hanging in the adjoining kitchen had been pieced together from lightweight linen.

  Naomi led us down the hall leading to bedrooms and bathrooms. She knocked on a closed door. “Juliette?” No answer. She opened the door and whispered to us, “While you’re in there, I’ll go call Opal and tell her I need information from her apartment. That should allow her to get away from Mrs. Battersby for a few minutes.” She headed back toward her living room.

  Haylee seldom looked shocked, but the state of Juliette’s room must have gotten to her. “What a mess!” she said. “How will we find anything? Especially when we have no idea what we should be looking for?”

  Stepping over clothes on the floor, we tried to see everything without moving anything.

  Haylee stared at the night table. “What’s this?” She pointed down at a sheet of paper that had been cut more or less in half.

  Someone—Juliette, I guessed—had printed a series of fortunes on the paper.

  One read, Peace and prosperity will be yours.

  The next one was You will delight in your many grandchildren.

  I giggled. “That one must be for Mrs. Battersby.”

  Haylee groaned. “Isn’t she a stitch?” She pointed at another one. “‘Beauteous happiness.’”

  I asked, “Who says ‘beauteous’? Maybe Juliette was copying fortunes from somewhere else.”

  “I’ve never heard anyone say it.” She read another fortune aloud. “‘A gift of apples.’” She laughed. “She started getting specific.”

  The last fortune read, Despite everything, and then the paper had been cut off.

  I ran out to the living room. Standing guard at the top of her stairs, Naomi was still on the phone. She placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “I’m listening to Opal rustle around in Patricia’s room. She left Edna and Mrs. Battersby downstairs, so she’ll have to hurry back to them before Mrs. Battersby takes a notion to trot around and find out what Opal’s up to.”

  I grinned. “Poor Edna! She loves snooping.”

  “Opal said to go over there after you’re done here. She said to look at what’s on Patricia’s computer screen. Meanwhile, she’ll think of some reason why you need to go up into her apartment without her.”

  “The whatever-it-is you’re showing us needs to be taken to her apartment?”

  Naomi touched my hand. “Good idea. I’ll tell her to go into her shop where she can’t see her back door. Then you and Haylee can smuggle some fabric through the back door. On your way in, whisper to Mrs. Battersby that you have to sneak up to Opal’s living room to see if the fabric matches Opal’s couch because we’re making sofa pillows as a surprise for Opal. You’ll have to tell Mrs. Battersby that it’s up to her to keep Opal from following you or even knowing you’re there. That’ll keep Mrs. Battersby out of the investigations.”

  I held up one thumb. “Perfect.” Then I remembered why I’d come barreling out of Juliette’s room. “Do you have a camera? I’d like to photograph some fortunes that Juliette must have written, in case they hold a clue we can figure out later.”

  She nodded. “Guard the door.”

  A few seconds later, she handed me a small camera. I carried it into Juliette’s room. Kneeling on the floor beside an open suitcase, Haylee was using one of her knitting needles to poke among wrinkled clothing. “I haven’t found anything interesting,” she reported. “Except I don’t think much of her packing methods.”

  I photographed the half page of fortunes.

  Heaped clothing on the closet floor prevented the door from closing. The heel of one of Juliette’s sequined party shoes stuck out underneath the hem of the long skirt she’d worn the evening before. I lifted the skirt off a pair of black jeans and found a matching black denim blazer.

  Haylee commented, “A black denim pantsuit? That doesn’t seem like Juliette’s style.”

  I agreed. “It’s similar to the one Patricia was wearing last night, except Patricia’s jacket was a traditional jean jacket. The jacket on the person I saw sneaking toward the park was more like this blazer, and I think it was unbuttoned.”

  Haylee frowned down at the jumble of clothing. “Patricia and Juliette are about as tall as Dare and Floyd.”

  “And Dare was wearing an unbuttoned blazer, but Fl
oyd had on his suit. Double-breasted and buttoned up. Maybe he unbuttoned his suit jacket while unspooling thread.”

  She laughed. “Isn’t that what everyone does? Was Patricia wearing her jacket open or fastened?”

  “Open.” I snapped photos, then bent for a better look at the bottom hems of Juliette’s jeans.

  A tiny bit of mud smudged one of them.

  24

  Afraid that Juliette might somehow bypass Naomi guarding the door to the apartment and catch me gawking at the mud smeared on her pant leg, I whispered to Haylee, “Let’s get out of here!” Besides, we needed time to search Patricia’s room. “Opal said we were to check out the screen of Patricia’s computer.”

  I photographed the mud on the jeans and repositioned the skirt on top of the jeans, jacket, and shoes. The mess of clothes on the floor of the closet looked similar to the way we’d found it—Juliette should never be able to guess that we had tampered with her things. We slipped out of the room.

  With a mischievous smile on her face and a bulging quilted drawstring bag in her hands, Naomi waited for us in her living room.

  I handed her the camera. “Can you e-mail me the photos I just took?”

  “Sure.”

  I also asked her, “Do you know where Juliette was and what she was doing last night after we showed Edna her wedding skirt?”

  The light went out of Naomi’s eyes. “No, sorry, I don’t. Opal and I were working on our bridesmaid dresses in Haylee’s workroom. So Opal won’t know where Patricia was, either.”

  Haylee added to me, “I was going to help Opal and Naomi after I settled Mrs. Battersby and her headache into a nice dark room, but the siren on the roof of the fire station went off and I had to leave.”

  Naomi handed me the bag. “Here. Smuggle this into Opal’s apartment.”

  “Huh?” Haylee asked.

  “I’ll explain on the way,” I told her, gripping Naomi’s bag and my embroidered knitting bag. “You’re sure you don’t want to come along, Naomi?”

  She grinned. “I’d better not. Mrs. Battersby would be sure she was invited up into Patricia’s room. You two have a good time.”