Better Off Thread, page 19
“Poor Charlie. Maybe we should go to another meeting just to let him know Carrie is trying to pull him around by the nose.”
“Don’t you think we might be pushing our luck? You haven’t written that first article yet, you know.”
“No, but Paul is looking over my notes.” She didn’t look up from the sign she was making. “Get out your phone and see when the next meeting is scheduled.”
Since she was making me a gift-certificate sign, I decided to humor her.
“The next meeting is set for tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”
“Good. We can go before you open the Stitch.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I asked. “What are you planning on telling Charlie about Carrie? How will you even bring that up?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. He seems like a nice guy. I don’t want to see him being taken advantage of. Do you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Here. What do you think?” She turned the sign around.
ASK ME ABOUT OUR GIFT CERTIFICATES
“That looks terrific,” I said.
“Good.” She smiled. “I’ll pick you up at seven thirty in the morning. I can be there at seven, if you’d like to swing by MacKenzies’ Mochas and get some coffee and a scone.”
“Seven thirty will be fine.”
* * *
Ted and I arrived at Captain Moe’s at around quarter past six that evening. I was glad to see that the parking lot was just as full as ever. Then a disturbing thought occurred to me.
“Do you think all these cars belong to Captain Moe’s regular customers or that some of these people might be reporters or people who just came because they wanted to get a look at someone accused of murder?”
“I have no idea,” said Ted. “But if any reporters or lookie-loos are here, they’re in for a good meal.”
“I know.”
He put his arm around me and hugged me to his side. “Don’t worry about Captain Moe. He’s a strong guy. He can take care of nosy people.”
We walked inside to find Eric Clapton’s “Layla” playing on the jukebox.
Captain Moe waved at us and then had a server show us to a table. Ted and I sat and ordered our drinks. Before the waiter could return with our sodas, Captain Moe came over to say hello.
“How are two of my favorite people doing this evening?” he asked.
“We’re fine,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Marcy was afraid the place might be infiltrated with reporters or rubberneckers,” Ted said.
“Ah, Tink, their money spends as well as anyone’s.” He winked.
“I know. I just don’t want anyone harassing you—that’s all.”
Captain Moe’s eyes sparkled as he addressed Ted. “What was it the Bard said in A Midsummer Night’s Dream? ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’”
Ted laughed. “It’s like he had a crystal ball.”
“Ain’t it the truth?”
The waiter arrived with our sodas, and Captain Moe left so the man could take our order. He promised to come back and check on us again soon.
“So, what do you think?” I asked Ted when the waiter had walked away.
“I think you are fierce.”
I huffed. “About Captain Moe?”
“Well, I doubt he’s as fierce as you are, but—”
“Ted, you know what I mean!”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Babe, how were you when you were a murder suspect?”
“That was different. I wasn’t actually arrested. Had I been, I think I’d have been in much more of a panicked state.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. You’d have done as Captain Moe is doing and tried to go on with your life while praying that Riley and the detectives on the case found the real killer.”
“I just wish there was something we could do.”
“There is. Didn’t you see how Captain Moe’s face lit up at the sight of you? Knowing he has the support of his friends means a lot to him.”
“Have I told you tonight how wonderful you are?” I asked.
“Not since we were in the car. I was beginning to doubt.”
“Never doubt.”
* * *
We were almost finished eating when Captain Moe was able to get back to our table. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
“So, what are you two doing for the rest of your evening?” he asked.
“We’re going shopping. I went this morning, but I didn’t get very far before running into Carrie Monahan and Charlie Emerson. She’s the head nurse on the pediatric ward, and he’s a security guard at Tallulah County General.”
“I don’t think I’ve met her, but I do remember Charlie. We had . . . an unfortunate encounter.”
“I know,” I said. “I shouldn’t have even brought him up, but I wanted to ask you about Carrie.” I looked around to make sure most of the other patrons were either out of earshot or not paying any attention to us. “Do you know anything about John Martin?”
Captain Moe shook his head. “No. Why?”
“We get the impression he’s something of a bully,” said Ted. “He’s engaged to Carrie Monahan, and she was a finalist for the hospital-administrator position.”
“You think he bumped off Sandy so Carrie could have the job?” Captain Moe stroked his beard. “Doesn’t seem likely. Why would a bully—who would likely be controlling—want his fiancée working longer hours?”
“Why would she be working longer hours?” I asked. “I’d have thought the hospital-administrator job would be the easier of the two.”
Captain Moe shook his head. “Not from what I could see. It seemed like Sandy was on call all the time. Every little fire that sprang up, someone was calling to have her put it out.”
Given the weight of the arrest on everyone’s mind, it was easy to overlook the fact that Captain Moe and Sandra Vincent had been dating. “How are you doing—dealing with her loss, I mean?”
“I’m coping with it. I’m ashamed to say that her death has taken a backseat to the other matter at hand.”
“It’s easy to see why,” said Ted. “You didn’t do it, and you’re desperate to find out who did so you can be exonerated. No shame in that.”
“None at all,” I agreed.
“Thanks for coming in, guys. I appreciate your stopping by.”
* * *
As we drove to the mall, I ticked off my seatbelt by leaning over against Ted’s shoulder. The belt protested by becoming tight and uncomfortable, but I didn’t care.
“You okay?” Ted asked. “If you’re not up to going shopping, we can go on home.”
“I’m okay. Just thinking about Captain Moe. Are you up to going shopping?”
“I’m up to going shopping. Tell me what you’re thinking about Captain Moe.”
“I’m just thinking about what he said about Carrie Monahan and John Martin,” I said. “It hadn’t dawned on me that someone as big a bully as John Martin wouldn’t want his fiancée putting in longer hours at the hospital. He might not want her to have that job.”
“Unless her having the job would pave the way for Martin Brothers Construction on future projects.”
“True. But if Bellamy Carstairs was angry about the work Martin Brothers did for him, and if he truly has as much sway with the board as everyone seems to think he does, then maybe Martin Brothers Construction is out of luck with the hospital, no matter who gets the job as hospital administrator.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Vera picked me up at seven thirty on Friday morning. She had already gone by MacKenzies’ Mochas and got us lattes and scones.
“Just try not to get crumbs in my car,” she said. “But if you do, don’t worry about it. I’ll just take it by the detailing shop and get them vacuumed out.”
“I’ll do my best not to be crummy.”
“And please try to hurry and drink that before we get to the hospital. We probably shouldn’t take our own refreshments inside, since they have coffee there.”
“Maybe so, but theirs is nasty.”
“That’s why we shouldn’t take ours inside, dear. Somebody might turn vicious on us and try to take our coffee.”
I merely shook my head at Vera. But I did finish my latte before we went into the hospital, and so did she.
As we walked inside, Vera asked me to take her arm. I did so. The steps were wet and slippery because it had been raining off and on since last night. It was currently only sprinkling, but the dampness and chill hung heavily in the air.
Charlie Emerson came over to join us. “Ladies, may I have a word with you in the hallway before we begin?”
“Of course.” I looked at Vera.
Charlie offered his meaty forearm to Vera. She took it but gave him a reproachful look.
“How old do you think I am?” she asked.
“Just being polite,” he said.
“What would you like to talk with us about?” I asked.
“I’m just wondering when your article will be out.”
“That’s why we’re back today: to take more notes,” Vera said. “I’ve already turned my first set of notes over to Paul, but he needed more information before writing his article.”
“I think you’ve likely got all the information you need from these people,” he said. “I imagine you need to talk with some of the doctors and other staff to round out your article. I’ll try to get you a list of the people you should speak with.”
“That’s kind of you.” Vera patted his arm. “How sweet of you to help us this way.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but you looked so happy with Carrie Monahan yesterday morning.”
“And?” His face hardened.
“It’s just . . . You know she’s engaged, right? To John Martin?”
He squinted. “Are you sure?”
“She introduced him to me as her fiancé, but I might’ve misunderstood.”
“I’m sure you did.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “You seem like a really nice person, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
His face remained like granite. “I won’t. But thank you for your concern. I should get back inside.”
* * *
My first customer of the day was Muriel. But she wasn’t there to buy anything. She’d sewn herself to her latest embroidery project and couldn’t figure out how to save both her sweater and the stitches she’d so laboriously put into her project.
“I think the only way out of this predicament is to undo the stitches that have attached your work to your sleeve.”
“Thank goodness,” she said. “I knew if anyone could fix it, you could.”
If you’ll recall, Muriel is the one who doesn’t hear well.
I retrieved a long embroidery needle with a blunt end from my office. I didn’t want to accidentally hurt Muriel should she jerk against the needle. Then I sat on the sofa beside her and began gently pulling out the stitches.
She lurched backward. “What’re you doing? I thought you could fix this without hurting either my work or my sweater.”
“No, I told you that the only way to get you untangled without damaging your sweater was to take out the stitches.”
She shook her head, setting her white curls to bobbing. “No, of course you can’t cut the sweater. It’s one of my favorites. You’ll have to think of something else.”
“Yes. I’ll have to remove these stitches.”
“I can’t take off my sweater! I don’t have anything on under it except my bra.”
I raised my voice. “How about this? I’ll take out the stitches that connect your sleeve to your embroidery project, and then I’ll put the stitches back in. Will that work?”
“You’ll fix it?”
“I’ll fix it!”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I carefully removed the stitches. Muriel had obviously worked for at least an hour before realizing she was attached to her project. Finally, I got her loose. Neither the sweater nor the project was the worse for wear—except, of course, the project was now missing some stitches, which I’d told Muriel I’d put back in.
She was relieved to be free. She stretched her arm this way and that.
“It might take a little while for me to replace the stitches. Would you like for me to bring you the project later, or do you want to wait?”
“I’ll wait,” she said. “I don’t have to be anywhere. Is that coffee I smell?”
“It is. May I get you a cup?”
“Please.”
I was getting her coffee when the bells over the door jangled.
“Be right out!” I called.
“Take your time.”
Something about that voice sent a chill down my spine. I stepped into the shop and saw that it was John Martin.
“Good morning, Ms. Singer.”
“H-hi. May I get you some coffee?” I asked, trying to pretend that I wasn’t disturbed by his presence.
“Her coffee isn’t anywhere near as good as you can get at that place down the street, but hers doesn’t cost anything!”
Thank you, Muriel, for that glowing review.
“I’m not here for coffee,” said Mr. Martin.
“What can I do for you, then?”
“I thought I’d made myself clear to you once: I don’t like people intruding into my concerns. You apparently thought I was joking.”
Angus emitted a low, menacing rumble.
“I wasn’t aware that I’d been intruding into your business, Mr. Martin.”
Todd burst through the door with a baseball bat. Blake was right on his heels.
“What’s going on here?” Blake asked.
“Oh, mercy!” Muriel clapped her hands together. “I haven’t played softball in years! I don’t even know if I can anymore. But if you need me, I’ll give it a try.”
John Martin looked a bit bemused by Muriel, but then looked at Todd and Blake. “So, who are you clowns? The bodyguards?”
“We’re the stand-ins,” said Todd. “The main bodyguard is on his way.”
“With backup,” Blake said. “Not that any of us will need help to mop the floor with you.”
I worked my way into the midst of the three men. I didn’t want there to be any bloodshed here in my shop today. Poor little Muriel might have a coronary. And so might I.
“Everything is fine,” I said. “Mr. Martin and I have apparently had a misunderstanding, wherein he thinks I’m trying to meddle in his business. Mr. Martin, I couldn’t care less about your business, your romance, your aspirations, or anything about you. And I’ll most definitely find someone else to build my gazebo.”
“You’re building a gazebo?” asked Todd. “I could probably do that.”
“Yeah, gazebos are easy, Marce. Todd and I could knock out a good-sized gazebo in a weekend.”
I looked up at these two men that I was beginning to see more and more as brothers. I was kinda sorry I’d missed out on siblings growing up, but I was certainly appreciating them now. Tears pricked my eyes, more from being touched by their protectiveness than from fear of John Martin. But that’s not how Todd and Blake saw it.
Blake pushed me behind his back, and Todd stepped forward.
“You need to get out of here and never come back.” He half raised the bat. “Got it?”
At that point, Ted entered the shop. Thank goodness he didn’t have his gun drawn, but he did have his jacket pushed back and his hand on his hip so he could bring it out if necessary. Like Blake, he put himself between John Martin and me.
“How many boyfriends have you got, lady?”
“Don’t speak to her,” said Ted. “You’re under arrest for trespassing and criminal threat.”
“Hey, I’m going,” said Mr. Martin. “I just don’t want your girlfriend here nosing around in my business.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” said Ted.
“I said I’m going!”
“Just let him go, Ted,” I said. “You can arrest him if he ever comes back. Okay?”
Ted gave me a hard stare and then jerked his head at John Martin. “Get out.”
Mr. Martin stormed out the door.
“Thank you,” I said.
Ted took me by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“She was in tears,” said Blake. “What did he say to you?”
“I wasn’t in tears. Not really. And he just told me to mind my own business.”
Ted hugged me. “Thank you both for getting here so quickly and for calling me.”
“Anytime,” said Todd. “And she was in tears. I saw it, too.”
“Martin had just better be glad I was the one took Todd’s call instead of Sadie,” said Blake. “He wouldn’t have left here in one piece if she’d been here.”
The mental image of Sadie thrashing John Martin made me giggle. “That’s true.”
“Gotta get back,” said Todd. “Will and I are just across the street if you need us.”
“Same for Sadie and me.” Blake patted my back. “We’ll check on you later.”
They left, and Ted walked me over to the sofa across from Muriel.
“Do you think they’ll want me to play in the softball game?” she asked.
Chapter Twenty-seven
When Ted returned with lunch that afternoon, we laughed—pretty much—about the morning’s events.
“I finally had to tell Muriel that the softball team wouldn’t need her until the spring,” I said. “Hopefully, she’ll forget all about it by then.”
“I’d say she forgot about it by the time she got back home. Did you repair her project?”
“I did. It took about an hour, but it wasn’t hard. Poor Muriel. How in the world did she manage to sew her sweater to her embroidery?”
