Better Off Thread, page 11
“He was such a heart-rending child that I went right over to him. Carrie took me aside afterward and congratulated me on fawning over Dr. Carstairs’s son. But I didn’t single him out. I just went to him first.”
“I know, babe.” He lifted my chin and kissed me. “You’re wonderful.”
We sat in easy silence for a few minutes.
“I spoke with Tiffany today,” he said. “She and Mark really are considering leaving Washington.”
“Do you think they’ll move to Tallulah Falls?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it. Portland would be more their cup of tea. But it would be nice to have them closer.”
“It would . . . especially for you and Jackson. It’s clear that you adore each other,” I said.
“That’s true. And you might be surprised to hear this, but Tiffany is really starting to like you.”
* * *
On Friday morning, Angus and I were kinda droopy when we first got to the Seven-Year Stitch. Well, I was, anyway; I hadn’t slept well the night before. Angus often takes his cues from me, so if I’m tired, he’s tired. I flopped onto a red club chair and propped my feet on the ottoman. I held the Christmas ornament currently in progress—a puppy with a bone tied up in red ribbon—but I didn’t feel like working on it just yet. The coffee was still percolating, and I was impatiently waiting for it to finish and infuse me with some energy.
“So, how was your night, Jill?”
I knew good and well that my mannequin couldn’t speak, but I talked to her sometimes, anyway . . . especially when I was feeling particularly goofy and/or hadn’t had a restful night.
It was fantastic. I caught up on some reading, and then I stood here looking out the window. There were some interesting people at the Brew Crew last night—ask Todd about it—and later, I was startled by a raccoon leaping off our roof.
“Wow. Was the raccoon okay?”
Oh, sure. They’re pretty keen little acrobats, I think. So, why are you so drowsy this morning? Did you and Ted have a night on the town?
“No. Actually, it’s this case that’s keeping me awake. Did you know that Captain Moe didn’t have any blood on him when he was discovered standing over Sandra Vincent?”
Hmm. Let me play devil’s advocate here, Marce. If he’d killed her, he wouldn’t have called for help upon “finding” her until he’d cleaned himself up, right? I mean, say I was going to do such a nefarious deed. I’d have a change of clothing on hand—which he did. I’d kill my victim, go wash up in the restroom, change clothes, and then go back to the body and start screaming my head off.
“You’ve got a good point there. But what about the bloody clothes you’d have taken off?”
Good question. I’d have stashed them somewhere so I could destroy them or dispose of them later. You know, like in an incinerator or something.
“But where could you have put them that the police wouldn’t have found them?”
I have no idea. Has Captain Moe been back to the hospital since he was first questioned about the murder?
“Jill! You don’t think Captain Moe could be guilty, do you?”
I don’t think anything! I’m talking through your imagination. Do you think he could be guilty?
“No, I definitely don’t. I’m just tired, that’s all.” I got up and went to see if my coffee was ready.
* * *
I’d had two cups of coffee and was feeling much more alert when a customer came in and asked if I could show her how to do a turkey stitch.
“In embroidery or knitting?” I asked.
“There’s turkey stitching in knitting?” The woman’s eyes widened behind her large round-framed glasses, giving her a comical expression.
“Yes, but it’s actually called a Turkish stitch. It’s a lace stitch. So, I take it you want to learn the embroidery stitch.”
“Yes, please. It’s on a pattern I’m using, and I have no idea what it is,” she said.
“Turkey work is generally used to make something fuzzy. Does that make sense with your pattern?”
“It does. There’s a teddy bear where the pattern indicates turkey work.”
“Did you happen to bring your project with you?”
“I did.” She reached into her tote bag and brought out the embroidery hoop containing her work and her pattern.
“Let’s go over here to the sit-and-stitch square, and I’ll help you.”
* * *
The rest of the day passed in much the same way. Customers came in to buy supplies and to get help with their projects. Vera dropped in to say hello. Ted brought lunch—I requested nachos this time.
It was a mild day, so after work Angus and I went to the beach for a walk before heading home. Our walk made me feel less guilty about leaving him all evening to go to Dani’s mom’s visitation and to the party at Veronica’s condominium complex.
I chose to wear a black V-neck dress with lace sleeves. I hoped it would be somber enough for the funeral home and yet festive enough for the party.
Ted arrived to pick me up. He looked scrumptious in a black suit with a crisp white dress shirt.
I kissed Angus on the head and promised him we’d be back as soon as possible. I left the living room and kitchen lights on for hi, and then looked around to see if there was anything else I needed to do before we left. There wasn’t.
“You’re dreading this, aren’t you?” Ted asked, as he walked me out to his car.
“Yeah. It’s awkward going to pay my respects to a woman I never even met. But given the way I found Dani on Tuesday evening—or, rather, the condition she was in when she found me—I feel obligated to go. We’ll just say a quick hello and then be on our way.”
“All right.”
“I have to admit, I’m kind of dreading the party at your mom’s place, too.” I sighed. “All those high-society people . . .”
“Marcy Singer, you grew up around some of Hollywood’s A-listers. You’re worried about a few members of the country-club set?”
“I know it seems silly, but the Hollywood A-listers were our friends or, at the very least, our acquaintances. These people are your mother’s friends, and I’m afraid that anything I do or say wrong will reflect badly on her.”
“You let Mom worry about what her friends think.” He chuckled. “In fact, she’s the one who’ll tell them what they think if they start to get out of line, so don’t worry about that.”
Our first stop was the funeral home. It was a brick building with white trim. Ted parked and came around to open my door and escort me inside. Solemn ushers greeted us kindly as we walked up the ramp to the front door.
We went inside, and I desperately hoped Dani’s mom was the only person for whom services were being held this evening. I had no idea of either of their last names. There was a sign directing us to THE SPENCER FAMILY.
We strode down a green-carpeted floor until we came to a room that was austere despite the decorator’s attempts at creating a comforting atmosphere. The focal point of the room was an ornate white fireplace with a faux floral arrangement and a small mountain landscape painting over the mantel. In front of the fireplace sat a Victorian-style sofa in a floral print. Solid light blue chairs sat on either side of the fireplace, and the sofa was flanked by end tables with lamps that cast soft light into the room.
The room was full of strangers—to us, anyway. And judging by their expressions, they were wondering who Ted and I were. I spoke to an elderly woman who seemed especially kind.
“Hi. I’m looking for Dani.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe I know a Dani.”
“Of course, you do, Mother.” A woman in a gray suit put her arm around the elderly lady. “She’s Emma’s daughter.” She turned to Ted and me. “Dani is right over there in the corner.”
“Thank you.”
I headed over to where Dani was talking with a man in khaki pants and a blue-striped dress shirt.
“Marcy!” she cried when she saw me. “Thank you so much for coming. This is my husband, Joe.”
Ted and I exchanged pleasantries with Joe.
“I realize I didn’t know your mom, and I barely know you,” I told Dani, “but I wanted to pay my respects.”
“I’m so glad you did. I told Joe how kind you were to me the other night.”
“I was afraid for her to drive before she’d had an opportunity to calm down a little,” I said.
“I appreciate your looking out for her.”
We made small talk for a few more minutes, and then I told Dani to let me know if there was anything I could do to help.
We were leaving when I spotted Charlie the security guard.
“Charlie, hi,” I said. “It’s me—Marcy . . . the Elf.”
“Marcy, yeah, sure! How are you?”
“I’m fine.” I introduced Charlie and Ted.
“How did you know Emma?” Charlie asked me.
“I didn’t. I know her daughter, Dani. She’s, um, a patron at the Seven-Year Stitch, my embroidery shop.”
“Dani’s a real nice girl. I know she’s devastated by her mother’s death. I sure was.”
“You were close to Emma?” I asked.
“Oh no. I mean, I knew Emma, but what I intended to say was that I was devastated when my own mom died a couple of months ago. She was on the list for a heart transplant, and she never got it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Anyhow, that’s how I came to know Emma and Dani. Emma had been waiting for a liver.” He shrugged. “It’s a strange thing for people to bond over. But when you’re searching for a way to help someone you love, you share information.”
I lowered my voice. “Dani said her mother was supposed to have received a transplant but got bumped down on the list.”
Charlie’s face darkened. “That happens more often than you know. It’s a shame.”
“Who makes the call to bump someone in favor of someone else?” Ted asked.
“At Tallulah County General, it’s the hospital administrator. I hope they put Carrie Monahan in the job this time. She promised us she’d be making some changes to the program when she applied for the position the last time, but somehow Sandra Vincent knocked her out of the job.”
“How’d she do that?” I asked. “Was Ms. Vincent more qualified?”
“My guess is that she knew someone on the board of directors who wanted her to have the position, for whatever reason.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ted and I left behind the somber ambiance of the funeral home for the festive atmosphere of the condominium complex. Bill, the doorman, greeted us happily and told us how wonderful we looked. Ted tipped him, and he looked even happier.
Ted, who’d reluctantly been to parties here before, led me to the ballroom. Whereas the funeral-home décor had been designed to comfort, the ballroom had been designed to impress. Three ornate crystal chandeliers hung from the center of the ceiling, there was a polished wooden floor for dancing, and upon a stage sat a gleaming black baby-grand piano. Round tables covered with long white linen tablecloths lined the dance area. Six plush burgundy chairs circled the tables. In front of each chair was an exquisite place setting of white china, crystal water and wineglasses, and elegant silverware wrapped in a burgundy linen napkin.
As soon as we walked into the ballroom, Veronica met us and propelled us to the side of the room where two sophisticated-looking couples were standing with Tiffany, Mark, and Jackson—who, by the way, had on the cutest little suit I’d ever seen.
“Ted, Marcy, I’d like you to meet Harold and Constance Carstairs, as well as their son, Dr. Bellamy Carstairs, and their daughter-in-law, Melanie,” Veronica said.
So these were the snooty Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs, their influential son, and their despised daughter-in-law. Harold was a tall man whose paunch spilled over the top of his pants. He unabashedly looked both Ted and me up and down, from the tops of our heads to our shoes, so, I imagined, he could make an informed judgment about us based on how we were dressed. Constance was petite and had silvery blond hair, and her pale blue eyes were forever flying to her husband’s face so she could tell how she was supposed to be feeling or what she was to be thinking at any given moment.
Melanie was an attractive, athletically built brunette who gave us a warm smile when we were introduced but looked back at her in-laws as if she wished the floor would simply open up and swallow her . . . or them. Bellamy had his father’s height and his mother’s blond good looks. Had I asked him, I’m sure he would have assured me that he was chiseled perfection. Yep. Chiseled out of cold, slick marble.
He sandwiched my hand between both of his in a gesture that would’ve seemed warm if offered by a person who appeared to be more sincere than Bellamy Carstairs. “Marcy . . . That’s not a very common name around here. You wouldn’t happen to be Marcy the Elf, would you?”
“Yes, I have dressed up as an elf for the hospital on a few occasions.”
“You’re too modest.” He turned to the others in our little group. “This woman is far too modest. Head Nurse Carrie Monahan told me about how Marcy lavished attention on our little Brendan on Thursday night and made him feel very special.” He turned back to me. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “But I have to say that entertaining those children and being able to make them laugh and forget about their problems for a little while meant as much to me as it did to them.”
He squeezed my hand before letting it go. “You aren’t looking for a job as a nanny, are you?”
I realized he was joking, but I wasn’t quite sure how to answer. So I merely said, “I’m afraid not. I own the Seven-Year Stitch—the embroidery specialty shop in town—and there’s no one to whom I can hand the reins of that job.”
Dr. Carstairs laughed. “Well, you must at least come to our home and visit Brendan. I understand that when you were with the Santa Claus last Friday evening, you brought a large dog with you. Brendan found him quite amazing.”
I smiled. “Yes, that’s Angus. And he is an amazing dog.”
“So, what do you say?” he continued. “Would Marcy the Elf please bring her furry friend from the North Pole to visit Brendan on Sunday? His doctors have him stabilized, and he’s coming home tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said.
“Yes. And we’d love to have you and—Angus, did you say?—come and welcome Brendan home on Sunday. Wouldn’t we, darling?”
Melanie Carstairs chimed in for the first time since being introduced. “Of course.”
“So what do you say?” he asked.
I hesitated, and Dr. Carstairs’s parents jumped in to help persuade me.
“Brendan is an absolutely charming little boy,” said Constance. “I know you’ll be completely enamored of him once you get to know him.”
“We’ll be happy to pay you for your time,” said Harold.
“Payment certainly isn’t necessary,” I said. “But, you see, I can’t be Marcy the Elf because I turned the costume back in to Carrie Monahan last night. I guess we could tell Brendan it’s the elf’s day off.”
Bellamy Carstairs didn’t laugh. Instead he looked smug. “I’ve got you covered, my dear. I rented that costume this morning and had it dry cleaned. It’s in our hall closet, awaiting your arrival.”
“Wow. You’ve thought of everything. How did you know you could even find me?” He was pretty sure of himself, too.
“I knew Carrie had your number, and I was planning to call you first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “Brendan is everything to us, isn’t he, darling?” Instead of giving Melanie a chance to answer, he continued. “So, will you come?”
“How could I refuse such a generous invitation?” I looked at Ted. He read my pleading expression perfectly. Unlike Bellamy, however, I didn’t want to back anyone into a corner, so I didn’t voice my entreaty.
“Would you like me to come with you and help out with Angus?” Ted asked.
I nearly kissed him right then and there, but I restrained myself. Instead I turned back to the Carstairs. “Yes. I think that’s a wonderful idea, don’t you?”
“Splendid! Then it’s settled.” Bellamy reached into his inside breast pocket and took out a business card. He flipped it over, took out a pen, and scribbled something. “I’ve written our home address on the back. Could you please be there around eleven o’clock Sunday morning?”
“That’ll be great.” I took the card and dropped it into my purse.
“Listen, babe. They’re playing our song.” Ted held his hand out to me. “If you’ll excuse us, we really have to dance to this one.”
He led me onto the dance floor.
I expelled a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Although I didn’t realize ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ was our song.”
He twirled me around the dance floor. “‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ would have been our song if that’s what the band had struck up. I was dying to get away from the Carstairs, and I could tell you were, too.”
“How’d we get talked into going to their house tomorrow?”
“It was a clear case of manipulation. He put you in such a position that you could hardly refuse.”
“True,” I said. “But we can turn this into a win-win situation. I can make Brendan happy and we can see what we can find out about the Carstairs that might help Captain Moe with his case.” I began to sing along with the song. “I ought to say no, no, no, sir.”
Ted knew the words, too. “Mind if I move in closer?”
I threw back my head and laughed, and he kissed my throat.
I gave a little yelp. “Your mom might be watching.”
“So?” He laughed and then whispered in my ear. “I love you, Inch-High.”
Minutes after we’d finished our dance, dinner was served. I was relieved that once Ted, Veronica, Tiffany, Mark, Jackson, and I were seated—including a high chair for Jackson—there wasn’t room for the Carstairs. And I was doubly relieved to see that they were within waving distance but not speaking distance.
