Hanging by a Thread

by Margaret Evans

  The Comm Center took the place of Lieutenant Keene’s old office and was filled with a wall of monitors and a row of work stations with two-way communications. Police officers and other employees continuously watched traffic cameras and officer activities from dashboard cameras that were now in all Raging Ford police vehicles. A second anonymous donation had come in very recently, just months before, slated for the purchase of the new sound- and motion-activated dash cams. The little town of Raging Ford was now near the top of the top and only lacked body cameras. The bigger cities had them, but county and state money for the smaller municipalities with lower crime rates, such as Raging Ford, had dropped in recent years with the economic downturn. Fitzpatrick wondered if another anonymous donation would be forthcoming to fill in that gap.

  Flynn likely would have joined the force along with Connor but for the loss of part of a leg in the Army during a tour of duty in the Middle Eastern conflict. He had once been the star quarterback of the Raging Ford High School football team with Connor as tight end, and the pair remained good friends through the years. Fitzpatrick had supported his friend through the transition in his life and been instrumental in getting him trained and ready to apply for the position at the station.

  “I’ll help you shop for the shower, if you like,” Laura offered.

  “Thanks, but I know how to look up gift registries. Unless you want to go in on a bigger ticket item. We can share the cost.”

  “Let’s both look over the list and get back on this.”

  At the back door, he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

  “That’s it?” she asked.

  “Any more and I won’t want to go to work this morning.”

  She considered that and let him go reluctantly then moments later, stood, hands on hips, looking at the blank front window display. She’d removed the Valentine’s Day décor and had left the window in limbo. Butcher paper was taped across the glass so her customers couldn’t see the changes she was making.

  She scratched her head and look around.

  “Where’s that dang cat when you need help?”

  As if on cue, the mysterious and aristocratically inclined Empress Isabella sauntered over to Laura from behind the cash register, with a swathe of green satin ribbon around her neck trailing along the floor as she approached the human she owned.

  “Well, that’s obvious,” Laura commented. But it did give her an idea. She smiled at Isabella and thanked her, turning toward the inside of the store.

  She glanced at walls, fixtures, furniture, even the floor, considering what she now wanted to do to celebrate the upcoming Irish holiday. It was a big deal in Raging Ford, even though Irish blood ran in very few of the residents’ veins. The cost to put her ideas into design wouldn’t be a lot, just some investment of her limited time. But there was always time for fun.

  A knock on the front door caught her attention, and she whirled to see her next door neighbor Erica Rollins with a bunch of yellow roses in her arms, Laura’s weekly order, dropped from every three days in an effort to grow more frugal with her spending.

  Erica and Laura had grown up together and been part of the Fab Four group or whatever they had called themselves on any one particular day, along with Jenna Buckley and Kelly Rogers. Erica managed her father’s florist shop and was working with her boyfriend on the beginnings of a business that was her real passion: hair design.

  Laura relocked the door behind Erica and left the Open sign turned inward.

  “Hi, Erica. Thanks for bringing these over.”

  “Well, it looked a little like rain, so I wanted to get them over to you before the sky fell.”

  On the way to the back room, Erica stooped to pick up the green ribbon now lying by itself in a small heap on the floor.

  “Are you decorating with green ribbons?”

  Laura barely glanced behind her; she’d not even worried that Erica might have seen the cat. Because of Isabella’s random antics, by now she was not only quite comfortable knowing that no one else saw the cat except her, she counted on it.

  “I’m thinking about several options. I also have an idea for having a large pot of gold in the front window with a contest on guessing how many gold coins are in it. Maybe a pair of movie tickets for the prize?”

  “You’re not talking about real gold, are you? Or even plastic pieces of gold—has to be something better than plastic to keep everyone’s attention. Also, you have to charge for each entry, even something nominal. Tickets sound good for the prize, but maybe tickets to a play at the Guthrie in Minneapolis. Make it worth their while to guess. And make sure you have a Plan B if there is more than one winner. Or if it’s a kid that wins and not an adult. Maybe they should be eighteen to enter. And what you plan to do if somebody guesses one over or one under and nobody guessed the exact right number.”

  Laura liked the idea of a really tempting prize, but she hadn’t thought about charging for the guesses yet or what to do if more than one person was declared the winner. Each contest entry and guess would have to cost customers a little something. Tickets to the Guthrie were not cheap. Come to think of it, neither was the gold.

  “I’m thinking gold-foil-wrapped chocolate coins. Hundreds of them—maybe more. The green ribbons will just be part of the rainbow-colored ribbons that flow along the ceiling of the shop from a puffy cloud and lead to the pot in the window. What do you think?”

  “Your biggest cost will be the chocolate, but I love the idea. You should be able to get that and the tickets covered with a minimal cost per guess. Do it. Let me know if you need help with the ribbons…or someone to eat up the chocolate when the contest’s over.”

  With no time for coffee and another chat under the threat of imminent rain, Laura dug into her wallet in the kitchenette drawer to pay Erica for the flowers. After her friend left, she cut and trimmed the roses and placed them in a vase of fresh water on the counter, something she did to remind her of the good memories of her childhood.

  Then Laura opened the shop and didn’t realize it would be the last calm moment of the next few weeks of her life.

  two

  With the lights on and the shop open, Laura pulled a bag from the back room to go through between customers. With the promised rain, customers would be fewer than normal. There would be a little time to go through the donations left at her door, and she had been trained by her mother never to waste good time. She had just pulled out a men’s sports coat that looked fairly new and set it on the counter next to her when Eric Williams jangled the bells on the front door with his entrance, the first sprinkles of rain dotting him.

  Eric had also played on the high school football team as a talented wide receiver, sometimes safety depending on who was out with an injury or illness. His unique skills on both defensive and offensive positions promised him a future career in college and professional football, but a chance accident and a broken jaw that wired him up for a year missing a whole season changed his attitude toward playing football at all. He was on his third marriage and had a reputation for drinking a little too much. His career was selling all kinds of insurance, and he bothered Laura constantly, trying to sell her more policies of every type and amount of coverage. Thus far, she had succeeded in managing his efforts.

  Laura gave him a brief smile and greeting but still held onto the sports jacket. A sparkle on it had caught her eye, and she peeked into the bag to see if there was anything else valuable in there. Nope, just old children’s clothing.

  “Yes, Eric, I’ve got the security cameras installed and the software on my computer. I need two more months to pay that off and then I can contract with the security surveillance company. Just two months.”

  Eric rolled his eyes.

  “Do you know how many people put it off for even a short time and regret it? Surveillance cannot be overvalued.”

  She stopped to think. Eric was adamant
she get the contract in place, yet he had nothing to gain from it.

  “How do you know so much about crime and what could happen? You talk as if you’re experienced in it.”

  His face went blank.

  “I’ve never been arrested for anything.”

  Laura knew that meant nothing, as her father the cop had often told her that many people walked around guilty of breaking the law and never got arrested or sent to jail for a variety of reasons. It could have been undiscovered as yet, people looking the other way, witnesses not wanting to get involved, or it might not have been obvious that a crime had been committed at all.

  Williams took her silence as the doubt that it was.

  “I hear a lot of stories selling insurance. Sometimes I think I’ve heard it all and then some new twist shows up. That’s a really nice sports jacket you’ve got there.”

  “It showed up in a bag someone left on my doorstep last night.”

  He frowned a bit, pulled out a closed pen and poked at the label.

  “This is a hand-tailored jacket from Ben Dorfman’s in Minneapolis. See the label? And look over here,” he continued, poking into the lapels further with the butt end of the pen. “Here’s the name of the man the jacket was made for…”

  Laura looked at him as his voice faded into silence.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when he didn’t immediately continue.

  “This guy went missing a couple of years ago. I remember reading about it online, and a big deal was made of it because he worked at the Raging Ford Bank and Trust Company. They think he met with…misfortune of some kind.”

  “How so?”

  “His apartment was tossed, and his wallet and a smashed cell phone were left behind. You didn’t hear about this in D.C.?”

  She shook her head, thinking of all the murders, hit-and-run accidents, burglaries, break-ins, drug dealing, gang-related and other crimes in Maryland, as in any other sprawling metropolitan area. One missing person probably wouldn’t have made the news unless he or she was a foreign diplomat or a member of Congress, or a local child.

  “And he was never found?”

  Williams shook his head.

  “So I wonder where the jacket came from. Was he married, did he have a girl friend, a family?” Laura asked.

  “Nope. The news reports said he was a loner. Hey, this jacket looks pretty new. What about the other stuff in the bag?”

  “I don’t know. Looks like well-worn children’s clothing.”

  “If I were you, I’d let Connor know we may finally have a lead on the guy.”

  “‘We?’”

  “You know what I mean. A lead. Tell him to go check at Ben Dorfman’s and see when the jacket was ordered and who paid for it and how, and who picked it up and when. He’ll know what to do.”

  Laura was silent a moment, staring at the jacket, and wondering where Eric had picked up the cop directions and details he was using. Surely, he’d had more encounters with the police than he was sharing.

  “Oh, and by the way,” he continued, causing her to look up. “The Paris gift basket thing you sold me was a success for Valentine’s Day. The wife loved it. We had a nice weekend. Well worth the seventy-five bucks you charged me. Thanks.”

  She could tell it was hard for him to thank her.

  “I’m glad.”

  Secretly, Laura was ecstatic with the success and hoped she was off the hook for all his attention going forward. The dream baskets were an ongoing bit hit; she would have to come up with some Irish ones if she had time.

  On his way out, he waved and reminded her about the surveillance contract and to tell Connor about the jacket. Then he rushed into the now pouring rain. There was no chance he’d miss any of these raindrops.

  •••

  Just as Laura was pursuing a golden thread sticking out of the breast pocket of the jacket, the door jangled again, and a customer greeted Laura. The jacket was set aside. In fact, business boomed with a let-up in the pounding of the rain until well into the lunch hour when Lara usually closed for thirty minutes. It was almost one-thirty when she turned the Closed sign outward with a handwritten time of return on it and was about to lock the door when she spotted her friend Jenna Buckley hurrying down the sidewalk under an umbrella toward her store.

  She held the door until Jenna slipped through it, then closed and locked it.

  “Just leave your brolly open here, handle down, so it can dry out. Time for lunch, finally,” Laura announced and led the way to the kitchenette in the back and pulled out fixings for sandwiches. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, I have, but you go ahead.”

  Laura made enough for two and the pair shared coffee across the little table. Jenna ended up eating the second sandwich, dripping with juices from Laura’s amazing meatloaf. A small plate of fudgy brownies sat in the middle of the table next to a napkin holder. Laura was halfway through her sandwich when she pretended not to see her friend taking a napkin and one of the brownies, as well.

  As they finished their coffee, Laura shared her idea for decorating the shop and holding the contest. The ensuing silence was so long that Laura feared her friend might need an after-dessert nap. Or maybe Jenna just hated the whole premise.

  “A contest is a good idea,” Jenna responded at last. “It will draw more customers, but perhaps a different age group, maybe younger people. Have you thought about that?”

  “You’re right. With all the breakables in here, I don’t want a lot of kids running about the store. If we bring in kids, I’ll need activities for them or things they’ll beg their mothers to buy. I’ve ordered a couple hundred more green wax teeth. Any other ideas?”

  “Maybe something to help them pretend they’re leprechauns? A costume or something?”

  “Hey, what about one of those cut-out frames you stick your head through? It could be a picture of a leprechaun. We can take digital shots and print them out for the cost of the photo paper. I can eat the ink cost or split it between the shop and the tax business. Lord knows enough people still want paper copies of their tax returns. Or we can add to the cost and donate a portion to the police station.”

  “Maybe we can convince Kelly to design it for you. I like this. All you’d need to do is get some small plywood sheets and put on some hinges so it would have sides to keep it standing. Kelly can just paint on the front surface. She’s such a talented artist.”

  Kelly’s last masterpiece, an inviting fireplace with realistic flames, was still on display in the shop. It helped to sell lots of quilts Laura had picked up at estate sales.

  “Kids can get wild…we might need to fasten it to something.”

  “You’re right. We’ll need to anchor it somehow. Maybe Max and Nicky could help.”

  Max Downey and Nicky Rayles were lifelong friends of Connor’s and had often helped, as a favor to Connor, with odd jobs in the store too difficult or heavy for Laura to do herself.

  Laura checked the clock.

  “Sounds like I have a plan. Now back to the shop.”

  As the pair passed the counter, Jenna’s eye was caught by the sports jacket.

  “Now there’s some money been spent,” she commented.

  “So Eric Williams tells me. He knew the tailor and the expense.”

  Jenna looked up in surprise.

  “Eric Williams knowing about this tailor is weird. But look at this thread,” she continued, pulling the golden thread out of the pocket and turning it over in her hands. “And there’s more here,” she said, pulling open the jacket and finding clumps of the golden threads stuck into the sleeves and under the collar.

  “I know this thread,” Jenna continued, staring at the gold. “It’s made with real gold. They have a process for getting the gold into a thread that can be woven into fabric. Pretty amazing, huh? There’s only one designer in this country who us
es it and her boutique is in Minneapolis. Even I can’t afford it on my allowance from Mom.”

  Laura tilted her head in question.

  “Gems by Jem.”

  “I’ve heard of the designer but don’t know anything about her,” Laura said.

  “Wow,” Jenna continued, then opened the jacket further and noticed the embroidered name. “Hey, I think this is the name of the man who disappeared a couple of years ago. Big press on it. Some suspected he was murdered, but his body was never found. This jacket looks new and smells like lavender,” she said, pulling the garment closer to her nose. She set it down. “I think you better talk to Connor about this.”

  Twice in one day, Laura thought and wondered, too, about the expensive golden threads all over the hand-tailored, brand-spanking-new sports jacket that supposedly belonged to someone who disappeared two years ago. She picked up her iPhone and took lots of pictures of the jacket and the positioning of the golden threads. Then she called Connor.

  three

  Jessica Wright’s hands shook a little over her computer keyboard. She took a deep breath and continued her work. Jessica was an accountant at Raging Ford Bank and Trust Company, and today she was focused on her accounts and others where she found problems.

  With the disappearance of the man she thought had been a good friend but who had vanished from his job at the bank one day and then terrorized her for a year, she had recently felt calm and resumed her duties. Until yesterday when she received what she believed was a postcard from him in Miami Beach. There had been another postcard a couple of months back, from San Francisco, with the block-printed message, “Having a great time. Wish you were here.” She hadn’t given it another thought, just tossed it. But this time, the handwriting reminded her of his.

  Now the shakes started again. Would he come after her for money again?

  Everyone had presumed he had met with grave misfortune. His apartment had been ransacked, but the police had no suspects and no leads. The case remained open, and foul play was suspected but no proof or body ever found.