Thread Reckoning (18 page)

Mom had called. I knew I should call her back, but I put it off until tomorrow. I dreaded telling her about Francesca Ortega. After all, Mom was in New York, and I didn’t want her to catch the first plane out when there was nothing she could do, anyway.

I called David, and he answered on the first ring.

“David Frist,” he said.

“You sound very official,” I said.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I didn’t recognize your number, and I thought it might be someone calling me about a job. You wouldn’t believe how many résumés I’ve sent out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you used to work with Frederic Ortega?” I asked.

“
Um
. . . who? Frederic Ortega?”

“Yes. You remember, don’t you? He was in my shop the other morning because his mother was killed on the sidewalk outside the Seven-Year Stitch.”

“Oh yeah,” David said. “I thought that guy looked familiar. Man, I can’t believe I didn’t put the face with the name sooner.”

“He recognized you, too. He said you worked at the Santiago Corporation together.”

“Right.” He drew the word out. “Small world,
huh
? So,
um
, did you think about what we spoke about yesterday—relocating to San Fran?”

“I don’t think so. I’m happy here, David.”

“Maybe I need to expand my job search to include Oregon, then. Or call off the job search altogether and go into business with you.”

“I’m not in the market for a business partner,” I said. Furthermore, I didn’t want to argue with David tonight. “I need to go. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Too busy to have dinner with me?”

“I’m afraid so.” I could’ve been cordial enough to suggest another evening, but I didn’t want to have dinner with David. I’d tried to make it clear to him that he and I were through. “Good night.”

“Talk with you in a day or so.”

“Good night,” I repeated, and ended the call.

I still didn’t believe David was a murderer. But I was becoming more and more convinced that his being in Tallulah Falls had less to do with me and more to do with the Santiago Corporation.

I wouldn’t say Tuesday was a sunny day, but at least it wasn’t raining. I was glad of that for Frederic’s sake. The funeral was at eleven o’clock. I planned to be at the shop by nine thirty and post a note that I’d be out from eleven until noon. I put on a black wool suit with a white silk blouse and left Angus playing in the backyard. Once again, getting into the Jeep wearing a pencil skirt was not an easy task. I sometimes regretted not buying a snazzy little sports car instead of the Jeep, but Angus would never fit into a sports car.

Even though it wasn’t raining, it was cold. The first thing I did when I got to the shop was turn up the heat. I kept a pair of ballet flats stashed in my office, so I exchanged my stilettos for those while I worked. I replenished the yarn bins, and I made note of the colors I was getting low on. I didn’t want to overbuy, though, because spring was just around the corner. I’d probably need to invest in some lighter-weight yarns.

The purse Vera wanted me to make for her led me to believe a ribbon embroidery display would be a good idea. I decided to make two ribbon embroidery purses and create a window display using the purse I wasn’t giving to Vera. I could add an assortment of ribbon and a couple of books on ribbon embroidery. I also considered offering a class on ribbon embroidery in the spring. I know a lot of people are intimidated by ribbon embroidery at first because they believe it would be hard to do, but it’s surprisingly simple.

I went into the office and printed out a sign saying that I’d gone to a funeral but would be back at noon. I didn’t want to merely leave my little clock on the door indicating I’d return at twelve p.m. without further explanation when I was going to be away from the shop for such a long period of time.

I was able to finish up the Kuba cloth quilt before I had to leave, and I was happy about that. Now I could get the quilt to the Lincoln City antique festival next week and, hopefully, get some good publicity for the Seven-Year Stitch.

The funeral was being held at the graveside. Although it wasn’t raining today, it had done enough yesterday to ensure that the ground was a muddy mess. Having put back on my stilettos, I slid out of the Jeep and instantly sank, oh, about four inches. Fortunately, Ted had been watching for me. He came over, put one arm around my waist, and lifted me out of the mud.

“I think I just plucked the fairest flower in the garden,” he whispered, barely suppressing a laugh.

The funeral director had placed green indooroutdoor carpet around the casket. The carpet allowed them to place three rows of chairs facing the casket and the flowers behind it.

“Can you just help me get over there to that carpet?” I asked. “I can stand behind the chairs until the service is over.”

With the arm he had around my waist, Ted picked me up and strode over to the carpeted area. He set me down but kept his arm around me to steady me.

Harriet—in sensible detective shoes—came to stand beside us. She handed me a tissue. “For the mud.”

“Thanks.” I took the tissue and cleaned the mud off my heels, grateful that Ted was still supporting me with his strong right arm. Then I looked around for something to do with the tissue. Harriet handed me another. I folded the dirty tissue into the clean one and dropped it into my purse.

I followed Harriet’s gaze to where Frederic and Cassandra were sitting in the front-row-center chairs. Frederic was staring at his mother′s coffin. Cassandra was looking at her watch and then looking around to see what the holdup was. She was obviously eager to get the funeral over with.

Harriet shook her head in disgust. “She doesn’t care about him. She only cares about herself.”

“He knows that,” I whispered. “I don’t think he’ll marry her.”

She turned toward me, her eyes sparkling with interest. “Really? You don’t think so?”

“We’ll talk later.” I was glad the rookie detective was treating me with some emotion other than disdain, but this wasn’t the time or the place to discuss Frederic’s relationship.

A black limousine pulled up. A chauffeur exited the car and opened the door for Caleb Santiago Sr. Mr. Santiago, walking with a cane, struggled over to sit in a chair near Frederic. He leaned over and said something to Frederic, and Frederic nodded.

I looked up at Ted, who gave a slight shrug.

Several more people arrived. I was looking around at the other grave sites when I felt Ted’s arm tighten around my waist. I glanced up to see that his hard gaze was fixed somewhere to my left. I followed his gaze to see David. He was speaking with Mr. Santiago.

When I recovered from my shock, I hissed, “What’s he doing here?”

“Shh,”
Ted said. “They’re about to begin.”

After a brief, emotional service, the mourners began to disperse. I didn’t see David among them.

“Take me over to Frederic,” I said to Ted.

“All right.”

Even though the carpet was there, the ground was still soft and uneven. Ted helped me keep my balance as we walked. Harriet went with us.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to Frederic.

“Thank you.” He hugged me and whispered, “We’ll talk in a while.”

I nodded.

Frederic hugged Harriet, too. Cassandra didn’t even shake anyone’s hand. She appeared to be irritated by the intrusion.

“Frederic, we should have lunch now, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” Frederic held Harriet’s eyes a moment before squeezing her hand. “I’ll talk with you later, Harriet. Thank you for everything.”

Mr. Santiago was waiting for his chauffer to come and escort him to the car.

I held out my hand. “Hello, Mr. Santiago. I’m Marcy Singer. We spoke on the phone a few days ago.”

“Of course,” he said. “Thank you for calling me, Marcy. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. May I buy you dinner this evening? I’m only in town the one night, and I hate to dine alone.”

“I’d love to, Mr. Santiago.”

“Please give your address to my chauffeur.” He nodded. “He’s on his way over here now.”

When the chauffeur arrived, I gave him a card with the address of the shop. Mr. Santiago said he’d pick me up at five thirty, and I told him that would be great.

Ted and Harriet walked me to the Jeep.

Ted lifted me into the driver′s seat. “What’re you up to, Inch-High?”

I ignored his question and spoke to Harriet. “He calls me Inch-High Private Eye. That’s not very flattering, is it?”

“I’m with him. What are you up to?”

“Can you come by the shop?” I asked.

“We’ll bring lunch,” Ted said. “Chicken salad croissant from MacKenzies′?”

“Sounds great. See you in a few.”

As soon as I got to the shop, I began calling the students in tonight’s class and canceling. I was on my last one when Ted and Harriet came into the shop. I held up an index finger for them to give me a minute to finish my call.

“That’s right,” I said. “Same time next week. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

Ted set the bag from MacKenzies′ Mochas on the coffee table. “We didn’t get drinks.”

“I have sodas in my minifridge,” I said as I pressed the button to end my call. “What would you like?”

“Let me see what you have,” he said.

“A diet soda would be great if you’ve got it,” Harriet said.

“Let me see what you have?” I mocked once he and I were alone in the office. “Could you be more obvious?”

He chuckled and pulled me to him for a hug. “The flowers look good.”

“They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”

“So, will you go with me to the masquerade ball?” he asked.

“I’d love to.”

“Is there anything you need to tell me that you can’t talk about in front of Harriet?” Ted asked.

“Yes. You’re cute.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Do you trust her?”

He nodded.

“Then that’s good enough for me,” I said. I took two diet sodas from the fridge and let Ted look for himself. There was diet soda, regular soda, and mango juice. He chose a mango juice, and we returned to the sit-and-stitch square.

Harriet was sitting in one of the chairs, so Ted and I sat on the sofa facing the window.

“At the funeral, you said you didn’t think Frederic would marry Cassandra,” Harriet said. “Why is that?”

“He pretty much said so. When he was here yesterday, he said he loved her but that he didn’t think she was right for him. He doesn’t think their priorities are the same.” I shrugged. “I told him it was better to find that out before the wedding than after.”

“I don’t think Cassandra truly loves Frederic,” she said. “If she did, she’d put his feelings first. She wouldn’t be able to even think of having a wedding so soon after his mother died.”

“I agree. She’s cold,” I said.

“Do you think she’s cold enough to kill someone?” Harriet asked.

“I don’t know.” I opened my soda and took a drink. “Ted, why do you think David was at the funeral?”

“I’d have thought he was just following you until I saw him speaking with Santiago,” Ted said. “Which brings me to your dinner date this evening. What’s up with that?”

“You heard him. He’s only in town for the evening. He hates to dine alone.” I glanced at him from the corners of my eyes.

“Not buying it,” he said. “You’re usually not that quick to cancel your classes.”

I opened the bag. “Whose sandwich is whose?”

“Marcy.” There was a serious tone in his voice.

I quit digging through the bag. “Okay. Todd fixed me up with this FBI agent.”

“Calloway fixed you up?” he asked.

“Not that kind of fixed up,” I said. “Arranged a meeting. Anyway, the guy is a jewel expert and wants to talk with Frederic. He thinks Frederic had something to do with the stolen jewels Francesca had. The agent believes Francesca stole some jewelry from Mrs. Santiago, and I only have one day to find some answers.”

Ted pressed his fingertips into his temples. “Back up, start from the beginning, and go slowly.”

“Okay.” I relayed to Harriet and Ted how Todd had called and told me he had a friend with the FBI who might be able to discover if the jewels Francesca had given me to put on the dress were stolen. The agent—Jason Daltrey—had called me, asked about the jewels, and had linked them to some jewelry stolen from Mrs. Santiago. I said that Caleb Santiago Jr. never mentioned that any of his mother′s jewelry had been stolen. I also told Ted and Harriet how Frederic cued me in to the fact that David Frist had recently worked for the Santiago Corporation.

“I’m with you so far,” Ted said. “But how does all this translate into your having one day to find answers?”

“The agent wanted to talk with Frederic last night,” I said. “I told him that the funeral was today and asked him to have some compassion. Besides, I kinda told Frederic that Caleb Santiago Jr. might be setting him up—which he might be— and Frederic was going to look around at his mother′s house to see if he could find any evidence of where the jewels came from.”

“You’re afraid that if the federal agent gets involved, Frederic won’t help you anymore,” Harriet said.

“You’re in over your head, Marcy,” Ted said. “Let the investigators do the investigating. Give me Agent Daltrey’s number. Harriet and I will take it from here.”

“But I think I can get more help from Frederic than the government can because the government sees him as a suspect,” I said.

“He is a suspect,” Ted said.

“True, but everyone’s a suspect.” I grinned. “Besides, if Frederic is guilty, he’ll be more likely to let something slip to me than to you or an FBI agent.”

Ted sighed, snatched up the MacKenzies′ bag, and asked, “Whose sandwich is whose?”

Sometimes he knew better than to argue.

Chapter Sixteen

Vera arrived shortly after lunch with the rest of the materials I needed to make her purse. I was eager to get started on it.

I took the black linen and smoothed it out on the coffee table. “This is great. I’ll take the gold ribbon and make lots of spiderweb roses, and I’ll add accent leaves with the dark green. I’ll put some beading on it, too.”