Twisted Threads

by Lea Wait

  I was worried about Gram—not for what she might say, but for assumptions that might be made. Like the assumption she might be a murderer, despite there being no proof. But I had faith the police wouldn’t hold her long. Despite all that was happening, at heart I was a glass—or teacup—half-full person.

  In the meantime sitting and worrying accomplished nothing. Gram and I’d already separated the bills and statements Lattimore gave us, so we could correlate them with Gram’s notes as to what work Jacques had gotten for the group, to whom it had been assigned, and what had been completed. Gram had two cartons of finished needlepoint that Jacques should have picked up and delivered.

  Now that we’d divided the money from Jacques, my next priority was contacting those customers, asking their understanding for what had happened, and, hopefully, delivering the needlework and picking up checks.

  I sat on the couch and sorted through the papers Jacques had brought that we hadn’t looked at yet, picking out orders that hadn’t been completed. I found the one for the chair seat I’d seen at Dave’s house. A work in progress. And there were several orders for specific wall hangings or pillow covers: a geometric design in pinks and reds, a harbor scene including a sailboat owned by the man who ordered it, a pair of pillow covers with teddy bears on them, and children’s names. I hoped most of those orders had been completed.

  I was almost through sorting the last of Lattimore’s papers when I came to several computer printouts of e-mails clipped together. I assumed they were notes between Jacques and customers. Then I looked again.

  Every one of the notes was between Lattimore and Katie Titicomb. Had she been working on a project so complicated she needed to stay directly in touch with him? I’d thought Gram did that coordinating after orders came in.

  Curious, I sorted the e-mails by message dates and began reading.

  From Lattimore:

  The Olsons were thrilled with those tiebacks

  you did for their drapes.

  They said your work was beautiful, and the

  pattern and colors were perfect matches to the

  painting over their fireplace, exactly as they’d

  hoped. Thank you!

  From Katie:

  So glad the Olsons are happy! It was a fun

  project. I’m now working on the cushions

  Malcolm McIntyre wanted for the media room

  he’s building. Monograms are simple work. I’ll be

  ready for another assignment in a week or so. I

  hope Charlotte has one for me! I get bored

  without needlepoint to do.

  From Lattimore:

  I’ll make sure Charlotte assigns you a new

  project as soon as the cushions are finished.

  You’re the best stitcher in the group; I never

  worry when Charlotte entrusts our most

  challenging work to you.

  From Katie:

  I appreciate your trust! And thank you for

  talking to Charlotte. Sometimes she assigns

  work to the next person on her list, not to the

  most appropriate needlepointer. I hate having

  time between projects.

  From Lattimore:

  Charlotte’s a lovely person, of course, but she is

  getting on a bit in years. Have any of the other

  needlepointers had problems with her?

  Questioned her judgment?

  From Katie:

  She’s sometimes slow to assign work. And we

  don’t always get our floss and canvas supplies at

  the same time we’re given a project. She says the

  supply houses are back-ordered. Maybe she

  should keep a larger supply of the threads and

  canvases we use most often.

  From Lattimore:

  Excellent idea, to keep a larger stock of supplies.

  An organized manager should have thought of

  that. You’re practical as well as creative! (And

  lovely, I might add, if your husband doesn’t mind

  my saying so.)

  From Katie:

  Thanks. But I’m not a manager. I just see what

  needs to be done.

  From Lattimore:

  That’s what a good manager does. It’s too bad

  Charlotte’s organizing the needlepointers. You’d

  do a great job.

  From Katie:

  Sweet of you to say. But Charlotte started the

  business. Without her, there wouldn’t be a

  Mainely Needlepoint.

  From Lattimore:

  If there were to be a major screwup—say, if

  people weren’t getting paid on time—do you

  think the other needlepointers could be

  encouraged to vote her out? To vote in another

  person—you, for instance?

  From Katie:

  Not getting paid on time would be a major

  problem for everyone except maybe me. My

  earnings are for pin money, not groceries.

  Mainely Needlepoint would fall apart if people

  weren’t paid.

  From Lattimore:

  Maybe paid some. Enough to keep people

  stitching, but angry.

  From Katie:

  What are you suggesting?

  From Lattimore:

  I’d love to see you head up Mainely

  Needlepoint. Maybe I could hold back on

  payments due. If anyone contacted me directly, I

  could say Charlotte got the orders mixed up.

  From Katie:

  That wouldn’t be fair to the needleworkers or

  to Charlotte.

  From Lattimore:

  It wouldn’t be for long. I’d suggest to the others

  that you’d do a great job replacing her. You’d like

  that, wouldn’t you?

  From Katie:

  Assuming I’d go along with that . . . what would

  you get out of a change in management?

  From Lattimore:

  Besides working with a lovely lady who could

  run the business better than Charlotte . . . I’d

  want a change in my contract. Fifty percent of

  the profits instead of forty.

  From Katie:

  If we can do it without Charlotte’s knowing

  we’ve been contacting each other.

  From Lattimore:

  Leave that to me.

  That was the end. I went back and re-read the messages.

  Had Lattimore followed through with his plan? Had he intentionally withheld payments to make Gram look bad, so he could push Katie Titicomb into replacing her?

  But so far as I could tell, no one had blamed Gram for the lack of money. They’d blamed Lattimore. And Katie hadn’t replaced Gram. The group had decided I’d replace Lattimore, and would take on some of Gram’s responsibilities as well.

  So . . . when he died, did Lattimore have more of the money he owed people? Was he waiting to get Katie installed as the new head of Mainely Needlepoint before he paid it?

  I’d assumed he’d gambled it away.

  Or maybe, knowing the plan wasn’t working as she’d hoped, Katie had decided to get rid of Lattimore so he couldn’t blame her if anyone discovered she’d conspired with him. She could have gotten medications relatively easily. And if she knew Lattimore drank, she could have made sure she had pills that would interact with alcohol.

  I called Ethan Trask; as part of his investigation he should have checked Lattimore’s assets. If there was any chance Jacques still had the money he owed the needleworkers, we could put in a claim on his estate. It was a small chance.... If Lattimore had any money, why hadn’t he paid his rent? But if there was any chance at all, I wanted it checked out.

  I waited as Ethan’s phone rang. He didn’t pick up. But, of course, he was busy. He was questioning Gram.

  How would she
feel if she found out one of her needlepointers had been plotting against her?

  I folded the incriminating e-mails and hid them in my room. I wouldn’t tell Gram about them until I was sure.

  In the meantime I needed to talk to Katie Titicomb.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Behold o’er deaths bewildering wave

  The rainbow hope arise

  A bridge of glory o’er the grave

  That bears beyond the skies.

  Sure if one blessing Heaven on man bestows

  Tis the pure peace that concious virtue knows.

  —Sampler worked by Betsy Nason Googins, age nine, in Saco, Maine, 1808

  Someone once told me the rhythm of a small town is like a child’s heartbeat, regular and steady.

  That person didn’t remember that both towns and children change. Residents change. Ideologies change. Economies change. Perceptions change. Children don’t always sit with hands folded. Sometimes they run and skip and fear ghosts under their beds. Hearts’ rhythms change. Become erratic. Undependable.

  Murder was a beat out of order. It was discordant. It distracted from the normal rhythm of life.

  Or towns.

  The Titicombs were one of the most respected families in Haven Harbor: the surgeon and his gracious wife and my friend Cindy, their private-schooled daughter. Could Katie have fallen into Lattimore’s plot because she wanted a larger role in town? Or because she really thought she could do a better job managing Mainely Needlepoint than Gram could?

  I hoped Cindy and her kids had returned home. I didn’t want her overhearing my conversation with her mother.

  Katie answered the door quickly. “Good morning, Angie. Cindy’s gone back to Blue Hill, if you were looking for her.”

  I shook my head. “No. I came to see you.”

  She opened the door wider and gestured that I should come in. I didn’t have to ask what I’d interrupted. A pile of toys on one of the living-room chairs and a vacuum cleaner in the hall said Katie’d been cleaning up after her daughter and grandchildren had left.

  She gestured toward the living room.

  “So. Congratulations on your new job. Welcome to Mainely Needlepoint!” she said. She didn’t act as though she resented my being the new director—the job that Lattimore had tried to wrangle for her.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I came to ask you about something.”

  “Yes?” Katie and I sat on chairs facing each other across a coffee table covered with Legos.

  “I’ve been sorting through the files Jacques Lattimore gave my grandmother right before he died. Most of them are lists of customers and orders. But among the papers I found a series of e-mails—messages between you and Lattimore.”

  She sat back. “You must think I’m a horrible woman. I never dreamed he’d print those out. Has Charlotte seen them?”

  “No. Just me.”

  “Thank goodness.” Katie’s voice was soft and hesitant. “I hoped he’d deleted those. I deleted my copies.”

  I didn’t tell her that a good computer technician would still be able find the messages, even if she’d pressed the delete key.

  “Last fall, right before Thanksgiving, Jacques started contacting me directly about orders. He’d never done that before. At first I thought he was checking up on me, that maybe he was getting complaints from customers about my work. But he never said that. In fact, he kept praising my work. It made me very uncomfortable.”

  “Your notes back to him didn’t sound that way.”

  “Good. You see, at first I thought he was interested in me. Personally. And let me assure you, I wasn’t interested in him at all. I was interested in the orders he brought in. But I thought if I played along a little—after all, it was online, not in person—then maybe he’d get me more orders. Challenging designs. Ones that would be fun to work on.”

  I listened and watched her face. “Then his messages got more personal, and, finally, he offered you a deal.”

  She nodded and leaned forward. “By the time he’d done that, I’d talked to Ob Winslow. Ob did a carving for my husband’s office a few years back. He and my husband got to know each other pretty well. They had more than just a doctor-patient relationship. Ob and Anna, his wife, are our friends. In fact, Ob took up needlepoint because my husband recommended it. So when I realized what direction Jacques’ notes were taking, and I panicked, I needed to talk with someone. I trusted Ob to be straight with me.”

  “And?”

  “First I asked him if he was having any problems with Charlotte. And can you guess what he said?”

  I shook my head.

  “He asked me if I’d been talking with Jacques Lattimore.”

  “Really!” That I hadn’t expected.

  She nodded. “Turned out Lattimore had been telling him the same story he’d been telling me. He even told Ob to document every time he talked to Charlotte to prove she wasn’t doing a good job. And that maybe Ob should replace her.”

  “The same line he’d given you.”

  “Exactly. So then Ob and I checked with Sarah. He’d contacted her, too. I don’t know if he’d gotten in touch with Lauren or Dave. At that point we knew enough. Together, the three of us called Lattimore and told him to stop. That we were all happy with Charlotte, and this wasn’t the way to change his contract. We told him he had to pay us the money he’d withheld.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It wasn’t good. By that time it was January. He easily owed us a full month’s money, but he denied it. He denied everything he’d written in the e-mails. He said he’d pay us when he had the money, and not before—that we weren’t to be trusted.” Katie shook her head. “Can you believe that man? We couldn’t be trusted! He hung up, and that was the end of it. People like Ob and Lauren were hurting. And you know what happened after that. A few more dollars came in after our call in January, and that was the end.”

  “Did you ever tell Gram what Lattimore tried to do?”

  “No. And I don’t think Ob or Sarah did, either. We didn’t think it would make a difference. It wouldn’t get our money, which we figured Jacques had already spent, and Charlotte would have been more upset than she already was.”

  “What do you think was really happening, Katie? Was Lattimore just looking for a better contract, as he said?”

  “Ob and I’ve talked about that. We think Lattimore was in trouble. Most likely, as you’ve confirmed, he had a gambling problem. He probably collected the money when he delivered completed work in early November, but for some reason—addiction, habit, or chance—he took more than his share of the receipts and lost all of it at the casino. After that, the situation got worse. He’d be paid a little, and hoped he could win it all back by gambling.”

  “And, of course, that didn’t work,” I agreed. “So he tried to cover himself by dividing the group. Sorry to say, that makes sense.”

  “When your grandmother called last week and said you were bringing Jacques to her home, I was worried he’d pull out those old e-mails and make it look as though I’d been complaining about Charlotte or conspiring against her. Or bring Ob and Sarah into it. Luckily, although from what you’ve said he still had the e-mails, he didn’t bring them up at the meeting.” She hesitated. “Or he was poisoned before he had a chance.”

  “Did you see anyone add anything to the teapot? Or to his cup?”

  She shook her head. “No. Honestly, I wasn’t paying any attention to what people were eating or drinking. I didn’t even have tea myself. I was crossing my fingers that Charlotte wouldn’t find out that, even for a few days, I’d complained about her management of the business. I was furious with Jacques for what he’d done. And with myself for allowing myself to betray Charlotte, even briefly. I didn’t kill him, Angie, but that man deserved to die. I’m just sorry he didn’t come up with more of our money first. I’m guessing it’s long gone.”

  I sat for a few minutes, trying to digest all Katie was saying. “I haven’t been here, Katie,
so I don’t know exactly what Gram was doing or not doing. But as I read the e-mails, I thought you made good points. Since you’ve all entrusted me with Mainely Needlepoint now, I’m going to try to do what you suggested. As soon as we get the financial situation straightened out, I’m going to take some of our earnings and invest more in basic materials.”

  “Good,” Katie said. “But maybe I shouldn’t have complained. It wouldn’t pay to order a great deal. We’re not a needlework shop. And special supplies, like gold and silver thread, or beads or unusual colors, would still have to be ordered as they were needed. Keeping a few more backup canvases and basic flosses does make sense.”

  “I agree,” I said. “And I’ll try to ensure that the turnaround on orders is quick.”

  She nodded.

  “But I’m new at this. Totally new. So if you have any other ideas you think would make it easier for those of you filling orders, or would save Mainely Needlepoint money, please let me know. I’ll need all the help I can get to put the business back on track and keep it there.”

  “I’m glad you’re taking over, Angie. We all are. The business needs a new start. I don’t know why Charlotte decided to resign, but I’m excited about working with you.”

  “Thank you. I’m excited, too.” I couldn’t tell her why Gram had decided to back away from the business. That was Gram’s secret to tell.

  I headed toward home. I needed to destroy those incriminating e-mails. Katie was right. Gram didn’t need to know what had happened last fall.

  Two murders in one small town. My investigative skills weren’t helping me. I hadn’t made progress on either case today.