Tie Died

by Carol Dean Jones

  “Hi there, Sarah,” Marjory greeted. “What can we do for you today?” Marjory ran the Resource Room and could always be counted on to steer people to just the right activity.

  “Well, I want to find a sewing class. Actually, what I want to sew is a quilt ... but I don’t know where to begin. Are there any sewing classes that could help me?”

  “We do have a beginning sewing class where you learn how to use your machine, read patterns, and make simple clothing. I’m not sure that’s what you want, though.”

  “No, I can do those things. I want to make a quilt with my husband’s ties as a special gift for my daughter.” Martha had taken her father’s death very hard. She was twenty-three when he died, and she had been the light of his eyes. He had followed Martha’s progress closely through college and was anticipating her completion of her graduate studies that spring. It had been an unbearable loss for her. Sarah felt that Martha had never really gotten over it. Perhaps the ties would give her some comfort.

  “Well, I have an idea. Do you think you would be interested in the Village Quilt Club?”

  “I didn’t even know there was a quilt club here. That would be perfect if they’re willing to take on a novice.”

  “I know they would. They took on me.” Marjory went on to tell Sarah about the club and how she got involved. “I had just had my twins and was desperate to get out of the house for a few hours. Kevin said we could hire a sitter, and I looked around for what I wanted to do. My best friend, Beth, told me about the quilt club right here in the Village. She decided to share with me that she was secretly making baby quilts for my twins, and she said we could work on them together.”

  “How great,” Sarah remarked. “You had both a teacher and someone to go to the quilt club with.”

  “Yes, and Beth was so patient with me. She came to my house when the twins were sleeping and taught me how to use the rotary cutter and how to make a very simple four-patch quilt. She shared her tools with me for the first few months, but finally we went to Stitches, and I got my own tools and the beginnings of my stash.”

  “Stitches? Tools? Stash? So much to learn.” Sarah moaned.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll catch on fast.” Marjory reassured her. “Stitches is our local quilt shop. Actually, its full name is Running Stitches, but we all just call it Stitches. It’s in town, and the shuttle goes in twice a day. There’s a stop right in front of the shop, but it is actually less than a mile and most of us just walk. It’s great exercise, and you can go through the park.”

  “Once you start going to the quilt club,” Marjory continued, “you’ll find other people who want to go fabric shopping, and you can make it a fun day trip. There’s a café right across the street that’s a great place for lunch. I’d be happy to drive you to the shop and introduce you.”

  Marjory went on to tell Sarah about Ruth, the shop owner, and her daughter, Katie, who works with her mother most days. She assured Sarah they could help her get the necessary tools together. “In fact,” she added, “they might even be offering a beginning class. We’ll ask when we go. Are you free this afternoon?”

  “I sure am. When do you get off?”

  “In ten minutes,” Marjory responded. “This is my half-day. If you can wait a few minutes, we’ll go right over there. I need some thread, but I don’t ever need an excuse to go fabric shopping.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Sarah said excitedly. “And when does the quilt club meet?”

  “They meet on the third Thursday of the month in the evening. You can go with me whenever you want. They meet right here in the center.”

  “That would be great.” While Sarah waited for Marjory to get her things together, she began to feel a bit apprehensive. She hadn’t threaded her sewing machine for years and wondered how she would be at quilting. But then she remembered that Andy had said the trick was simply to picture yourself succeeding. So she set her worries aside and, with a confident smile, told herself aloud, “I can do this.” Besides, Marjory had assured her that quilters were not only very nice people but also patient with beginners.

  After a productive afternoon at the quilt shop, Sarah returned home with several Running Stitches tote bags that were filled with all kinds of quilting supplies and some fabric that she couldn’t resist. Ruth had a couple of patterns that she recommended for ties and told Sarah about her beginning quilters’ class starting in a few days. Sarah signed up for the class and was excited about her new venture.

  As she was unlocking her front door, someone asked, “Why the big smile?” Sarah turned to see Andy walking up the street with soggy clothes and wet hair.

  “Well, I’m happy about a new venture, but why are you all wet?”

  “Just left the pool. We have water aerobics on Tuesdays. I’m the only man in the class, and I call it water gossiping because there’s far more of that than aerobics going on,” Andy said jokingly. Sarah noticed that, although he was joking, his eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Never better,” Andy responded, and changing the subject, asked, “So, what’s your new venture?”

  Sarah filled him in on the quilt class at Stitches and her plans to make a quilt with Jonathan’s ties. Andy seemed very interested and asked several questions about her plans for the quilt. “Honestly, Andy, I don’t have any idea how to do this yet, but I’m hoping to learn in this class.”

  “Well, let me tell you why I’m asking,” Andy responded. “My grandmother made a quilt out of my father’s ties. He worked in downtown Washington, D.C. in the Patent Office. He dressed up every day and was very proud of his tie collection. When he died, my mother kept the ties just like you did, but she didn’t know what to do with them. My grandmother, dad’s mother, was pretty old by then, but she was a great quilter. She won ribbons in the county fair ‘most every year. Well, she took the ties and made a beautiful quilt. I want to show it to you. You might like to make something like that.”

  “Oh, Andy, I’d love to see it. Can you bring it by this week so I can see it before I start my class?”

  “Sure,” he said, but then he hesitated and added, “Actually, I’m going away for a few days. Would it be okay to drop by with it this evening?” They agreed he would come by around seven.

  Later that evening, Andy rang her doorbell. “I can’t stay, Sarah. I realized that I need to get my packing done so I can leave very early in the morning.” Andy seemed nervous and distracted. He kept looking up the street toward his house.

  “Can’t you step in for a few minutes? Maybe just for a cup of coffee?” Sarah asked.

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I’ve got to go, but please go ahead and enjoy the quilt and I’ll come by for it when I get back. See you next week,” he added and rushed off.

  As much as Sarah wanted to see the quilt and take it with her to the quilt shop, she mainly wanted to look at it with Andy and hear the stories he had to tell about his father. She put the box in the closet until Andy returned.

  Little did she know that she might never have the chance to hear Andy’s stories.

  Chapter 11

  Early the next morning as Sarah was leaving the house, she noticed that there was some sort of commotion up the street but didn’t have time to see what was going on. It was going to be a very busy day. Unfortunately, at that very moment, her phone began to ring. She ran back into the house to answer it but decided to let it go to the machine. “Good morning, Ms. Miller. This is Vicky Barnett at the nursing home. I think I may have found the perfect person for you to visit. Please call me when you get a chance.”

  Sarah sighed. She didn’t have time for this right now and still wasn’t sure if she wanted to get involved at the nursing home at all. She decided she would stop by Vicky’s office after her class, and she hurried off to the computer lab.

  Sarah had signed up for a class in word processing. She’d been thinking about writing down some of her memories: a few anecdotes from her childhood per
haps and maybe some thoughts about life with their father—nothing fancy, just some reminiscences that she thought the kids might enjoy reading someday. She often tried to talk about her childhood, but the kids really didn’t seem interested. Maybe someday they will be, she told herself.

  Sarah had taken typing in high school. Of course that was on a manual typewriter, so it was much different from typing on a computer keyboard, but she quickly learned. After a couple of hours of instruction, she felt comfortable enough with the program to start recording some of her memories. She decided not to try to put them in any order. She was just going to type her thoughts as they came to her. The instructor left at 2:30, and at 4:30 Sarah realized she was still sitting there typing. “I need to catch Vicky before she leaves her office,” she muttered as she quickly gathered up her papers and hurried over to the nursing home.

  “Hi, Vicky. I was hoping you would still be here,” Sarah said breathlessly as she rushed into the office. She started to take off her jacket but abruptly stopped and turned to Vicky. “Oh. Is this a good time?” she asked.

  “It’s a perfect time,” Vicky responded with a smile. “And I’m so glad you stopped by. I left a message for you this morning. There’s something I wanted to talk about with you.” Sarah took her jacket the rest of the way off and sat in the upholstered chair across from Vicky’s desk. Vicky continued, “I was aware of your discomfort when you were visiting our in-patient facility, but I had an idea. Last year we had a patient who came to us following a massive stroke. He came here for rehab, but when he was discharged he felt uncomfortable about going back to his home. He decided to put the house on the market and move into one of our homes here in the Village.”

  “Why does he need a visitor?” Sarah asked.

  “Well, even though he’s made remarkable progress physically, he’s sort of isolated himself. He’s a widower, and his children don’t live in the area. He seems to be very lonely, and I think he could benefit from an occasional visit or even phone calls. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah responded hesitantly. “I hadn’t considered visiting a man.”

  “Well, if you’re worried about your safety, I can tell you he’s a retired police officer. If you want, you can always meet in the coffee shop.”

  “Hmm. It’s not that, but let me think about this, and I’ll call you back.” Sarah knew she would need to mull this over for a few days. What would I find to talk about with a retired policeman? she wondered.

  * * * * *

  As Sarah approached the house, she could hear the phone ringing, but before she could get to it, it stopped. She hung up her jacket and hurried to the phone to see who had called and was surprised to see there were eight other messages. She started playing them, and the first four were from Sophie, sounding very distressed and asking her to call immediately. Sarah decided not to play the rest of the messages and called Sophie.

  “It’s about time!” Sophie yelled into the phone. “You don’t know what I’ve been going through.”

  “What’s going on, Sophie?” Sarah asked, attempting to sound pleasant but actually feeling annoyed with Sophie’s impatience.

  “Have you heard about Andy?” Sophie asked abruptly.

  “No, Sophie. What’s happened?” Sarah asked, suddenly attentive.

  “He’s dead.” Sophie sobbed.

  “What?” Sarah cried, holding her chest and sitting down. “What happened?”

  “They found his body early this morning. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. They’re saying it was not an accident. It looks like he might have been murdered.”

  “How can that be possible? Who would do that? And how could it happen here in a secured community? Does he have family?” Sarah realized she was nervously bombarding Sophie with questions she certainly couldn’t answer.

  “May I come over?” Sophie asked through her tears.

  “Of course. I’ll put the coffeepot on. I don’t want to be alone either.” Sarah hung up the phone and stood motionless. A chill slowly crept up her spine.

  Chapter 12

  It didn’t come as any surprise to Sarah that it was raining on the day of Andy’s funeral. The sea of black umbrellas encircled the grave site. Sarah knew nothing about his family but learned the previous night at the viewing that he had an ex-wife and three stepchildren. The children were in their thirties and forties and had children of their own.

  Andy’s sister was there with her husband. All of Andy’s friends from the Village came to the viewing and the funeral. There was some scruffy-looking man at the funeral no one seemed to know. He left immediately after the service, and no one saw him at the cemetery.

  Later that day, Sarah was finally able to get a few details and learned Andy had been found in his own living room. The Village security officers noticed that Andy’s front door was ajar when they drove past around 2:00 in the morning, and all the lights were on. They assumed he had just stepped outside, but when they returned around 3:00, the door was still open. They stopped and went in and immediately saw Andy lying on the floor in the living room. At first they assumed he had fallen and hit his head; however, once the police arrived, it became apparent that he had been beaten as well.

  Sarah and Sophie were devastated by the news of their treasured friend. They both loved Andy. “Who would ever want to hurt Andy?”

  Not only did they miss Andy, but they also found it troublesome to know that his murder had happened right on their street. Sarah often took long walks through the community in the evening and felt perfectly safe. She hadn’t been out at night since Andy’s death and had stopped her evening walks. “Maybe I can find someone to walk with me; at least I wouldn’t be out there alone,” she told herself one evening. It was right at dusk and a beautiful night. She was tempted to walk anyway but decided to succumb to her fears and stay home.

  “A dog.” she suddenly exclaimed to herself. “I need a dog.”

  * * * * *

  Although all of Andy’s friends were being interviewed by the police, so far no one had any useful information. Andy was liked by everyone and never seemed to have a worry in the world. No one could even speculate as to why he would have been murdered.

  While they were gathered in the center for the interviews, Sarah noticed Andy’s sister standing alone on the sidelines. Her husband stood nearby but was talking with one of the officers. Sarah approached her and said, “Hello. My name is Sarah Miller. Andy lived up the street from me and was a good friend of mine. I wanted to express my sympathies to you. I know it’s hard to lose a loved one.”

  “Thank you,” the sister responded. “I’m Brenda Thompson. That’s my husband over there with the officer. I don’t know why they keep asking us questions. I haven’t seen Andy for two or three years, and of course I haven’t seen George since the early 90s.”

  “George? Who’s George?”

  “Andy never told you about George?” Brenda asked. “George is his twin brother. They were identical twins but were like night and day.”

  “Is George here?” Sarah asked, looking around. She was surprised to learn Andy had a brother that he had never mentioned.

  “Oh no. George has been in prison for years. He was a difficult child, a wild teenager, and a mean man. Andy and I both kept our distance once we were grown.” Brenda hesitated as if trying to decide whether to go on. She then added, “He got into a bar fight in the early 90s and was charged with murder. He negotiated his way down to manslaughter and was sent to prison. I guess he’s still there. I don’t know and don’t want to know.” Brenda looked angry.

  “Do you think he could have anything to do with Andy’s death?” Sarah asked.

  Brenda looked surprised but then said, “Well, I assume he’s still in prison. I told the detective about him, but he didn’t seem particularly interested. I didn’t even see him write it down.” Sarah thought that was strange but was sure the police would follow up on it.

  “Well, Brenda, I just wanted you to know I’m
very sorry for your loss. I guess you’ll be getting the house ready to sell. If you need any assistance with that, I’d be more than happy to help you. Just give me a call.” She handed Brenda a scrap of paper with her name and phone number.

  “Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate it. I don’t think I’ll be doing anything for a few months. My husband has a temporary assignment in Dubai, and I’m going with him.” Sarah wondered what her husband did but decided not to ask.

  Detective Shields walked up and introduced himself. He asked Sarah to come over to the table where he was conducting interviews. Sarah had already been interviewed by two police officers because it seemed she was the only person Andy told he would be away for a couple of days. She was sorry she hadn’t pressed him about where he was going, but she was not one to intrude on another’s privacy. He hadn’t offered any explanation, and she hadn’t pried.

  Detective Shields asked her to go over everything she knew about Andy’s last day. “Are you sure he didn’t say anything about his plans, Mrs. Miller?” the detective asked for the second time. “He simply said he would be away for a few days—nothing about where he was going or why?” Sarah was aware of an accusatory tone in the officer’s voice.

  “Yes, I’m sure he didn’t say any more than that,” Sarah responded impatiently. “I’ve told this to you several times and to the other officers who talked to me. I’m beginning to feel like a suspect.”

  “Oh? And why is that, Mrs. Miller?” the detective asked, raising one eyebrow.

  Exasperated, Sarah said she just wanted to go home, and the detective told her she was free to leave, but she should contact him if she thought of anything else. He gave her his card: Det. Mark Shields. Then, with what sounded like an afterthought, he said, “Don’t leave town.” Sarah turned to face him looking indignant and was ready to blast him with how she felt about his attitude, but she thought better of it, turned on her heel, and left.