Better Off Thread, page 7
“Yes. Ted and I went to the arraignment this morning.”
“Paul will have to report on it now. He doesn’t want to, but now that Moe has been arrested, he has no choice.”
“What’s he going to say?” I asked.
She leaned forward. “What do you know?”
“Something that Paul can’t put in the paper because it isn’t public knowledge.”
“It won’t go any farther than the two of us. . . . At least, until you tell me otherwise.”
“That woman got Captain Moe’s DNA under her fingernails by running her fingers through his hair.”
Her eyes widened. “You are kidding me!”
“I’m not. They had brunch and apparently had a make-out session, and then when he went to the hospital, he found her stabbed to death.”
“What a horrible thing!” She went over to the sofa and sat down. “I mean, you leave someone after basking in her kisses and then find her dead? That’s utterly tragic . . . so Romeo and Juliet.”
“Vera, they aren’t star-crossed teenage lovers. They’re—” It dawned on me that Captain Moe was probably the same age as Paul and Vera.
She pursed her lips. “They’re what? Old fogies?”
“No. They’re real. And he’s about to go on trial for her murder. Now it’s more important than ever that we find out who killed Sandra Vincent. . . . Or at least provide Detectives Ray and Bailey with another viable suspect.”
“That’s true.”
“I’m going there to the hospital tonight,” I said. “I’ll be reading to the children as Marcy the Elf, but I’ll dig a little to see what I can find out.”
“I hope you have more luck than I did.”
“Do you think I’m a bad friend, Vera?”
“No, hon. I think you’re a marvelous friend. Who told you that you aren’t?”
“It just struck me today that there’s so much about Captain Moe that I know nothing about and that maybe I’m insensitive.”
“Oh, you’re the last person I’d call insensitive. Maybe a little self-absorbed once in a while, but aren’t we all?”
“I don’t even know whether or not Captain Moe has any children.”
“Well, for the record, he doesn’t. I think that’s why he’s so crazy about Riley. Moe and Maggie never had any children of their own. I heard that she couldn’t—some condition she was born with, I think—but they always treated Riley like she was their daughter instead of their niece.”
“Tell me about Maggie,” I said softly.
“She was a sweet woman. Petite and a little on the plump side.” Vera’s eyes wandered to the ceiling, as if she could see a scene playing out up there. “Boy, could she cook. We’d have potlucks and things like that—you know, for church or community events like the Fourth of July—and you always had to hurry if you wanted a taste of anything Maggie Patrick had brought. People loved her food.”
“Did she work in the diner?”
Vera nodded. “Moe actually opened the diner for her. John gave them the loan based primarily on the popularity of Maggie’s cooking, I believe.”
John, Vera’s late husband, had been a banker.
“So, if the diner was for Maggie, why is it named after him?” I asked.
“You know as well as I do that Moe can cook, too. But because he’d retired from the fishing-boat business to make her dream come true, she insisted on naming the diner Captain Moe’s.”
“That’s sweet,” I said. “So, where is she now?” I couldn’t imagine that they’d divorced, because they seemed to have loved each other.
“She died of cancer about five years ago. Captain Moe was devastated.”
“I’m so sorry.” I sank down beside her on the sofa. “I should’ve known all this.”
“Darling, how could you have possibly known?”
“I know a lot of things about your past. I know about John and how he died and—”
“That’s because you were there,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to shout my life story from the rooftops, and most other people don’t, either. It’s one of the things people love about you, Marcy. You accept us as we are.”
Chapter Nine
I was in the sit-and-stitch square, working on Christmas ornaments when Captain Moe came into the Seven-Year Stitch. As I greeted him, Angus snapped up his tennis ball and loped over to our guest.
He patted Angus before taking the tennis ball and lobbing it across the room. Angus scampered after it, and Captain Moe joined me on the sofa.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’ve been better.” He answered. “Do you think poorly of me for not telling you I was dating Ms. Vincent?”
Angus returned with the tennis ball, and Captain Moe threw it for him again.
“Of course not. I am curious as to why you didn’t mention it, though.”
“I didn’t want you to think we were unprofessional, especially Sandra. She prided herself on maintaining her image. No one at the hospital knew that she and I had been seeing each other.”
“Vera was in earlier,” I said. “She was talking about your late wife.”
He smiled slightly. “Margaret Ann Patrick was a wonderful woman. She hated that her initials upon marrying me became MAP, but I told her she was the map that had led me to happiness, and that made her okay with it.”
Angus brought the tennis ball again. Rather than toss it, Captain Moe simply rubbed the dog’s ears as if lost in thought.
“I adored that woman,” he said. “She was a saint to have put up with me for as long as she did. I suppose Vera told you I lost Maggie to cancer.”
“She did.”
“Cancer is a cruel executioner, Tinkerbell. I hope you never cross paths with him.”
Angus sensed the shift in mood and placed his head gently on Captain Moe’s knee.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know more about your past, about Maggie, before now,” I said.
“I’d rather not dwell on losses. Life’s too short to be sad all the time. Maggie and I had a wonderful life together, and I pray we’ll see each other again on the other side. In the meantime, I must have something else to do with my life or else I wouldn’t be here. Would I?”
“No, you wouldn’t. And that something is not going to jail.”
“Are you sure about that, Tink? Do you know something I don’t?”
“I know you didn’t kill Sandra Vincent, and I know the police will find her killer before it’s too late.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
“I know you and Riley have undoubtedly gone over all of this already, but did you see anything that gave you any indication of who might’ve been in that room before you got there?”
He shook his head. “Nothing appeared to be out of place—except, of course, that knife in Sandy’s chest.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I called for help. I hoped she was still alive. It must’ve happened minutes before I got there.”
“Vera said it seemed to her that nobody was neutral about Ms. Vincent—that they either loved her or hated her. Was that your experience, as well?”
“I suppose so. She was an administrator, so naturally she made enemies. She had to make some tough decisions sometimes, and that ruffled more than a few feathers.”
“What about Carstairs—the man whose child she wanted you to be extra nice to?” I asked. “Was he friend or foe?”
“I’m not sure. I imagine Sandy would’ve wanted to count him among friends, since the board can limit what the administration can and can’t do.”
“But you aren’t so sure they were friends?”
“No. I couldn’t say for sure. We didn’t talk too much about her work.”
“Was Ms. Vincent in charge of the organ transplants?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say she was in charge,” he said. “But she did have some knowledge of it, I guess, maybe some control over it . . . I don’t know.”
I realized I was pretty much grilling Captain Moe about his deceased girlfriend and that I needed to be more sensitive.
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” I said. “And I’m sorry I never knew Maggie.”
“Thanks, Tink. I wish you could’ve known Maggie, too.” He patted Angus’s head one more time as he rose from the sofa. “I must be on my way, but I wanted you and Ted to know that I appreciated your support this morning. Riley did, too.”
“We were serious. We’ll do anything we can to help you.”
“I know, my dear. See you soon.”
He left, and Angus gave a slight sigh as he stretched out on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table.
“It’ll be all right, Angus,” I said. “At least, I hope it will.”
* * *
I was restocking the floss bins when Veronica came by the shop. Tiffany wasn’t with her this time, and I was a bit relieved. I liked Tiffany, but it was hard work watching everything I said and did in the hope that she’d like me.
“Hi, there,” I said. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Well, I saw Captain Moe getting indicted for murder on the noonday news. I thought I’d drop in and see what our plan might be.”
I put my now-empty floss basket behind the counter and invited Veronica to join me in the sit-and-stitch square. We took the two club chairs on either end of the coffee table. Angus stayed where he was, halfway dozing beside the window. He tended to give Veronica a wide berth.
I told Veronica of my plan to go to the hospital and read to the children later that afternoon. Since I was giving classes only on Wednesdays during the months of November and December, I had more time to spare.
“And to snoop,” she added.
“That, too. I thought that while I was at the hospital, I’d see what I could find out. Vera didn’t have much luck turning up anything new.”
“So, what do we know so far?”
Just as she said that, Ted came through the door with lunch. “I’d like to hear the answer to that myself.”
“Hello, darling.” Veronica turned and looked over her shoulder at her handsome son.
“I didn’t know you’d be here, or I’d have brought extra. Let me run down to MacKenzies’ Mochas—”
“I’ve already eaten. Marcy, dear, put that paper-clock thing on the door, and let’s get back to business.”
Ted shot me a look of exasperation. I grinned and did as I was told. Angus got up and came to sit on the floor by Ted’s side.
“You were getting ready to give Mom the rundown on what we know about Captain Moe’s case,” Ted said, as I sat beside him on the sofa.
“All right,” I said. “We know that he and Sandra Vincent were dating. We know that she had wanted him to show favoritism to the son of Dr. Bellamy Carstairs—a request that Captain Moe refused.”
“Wait. Carstairs.” Veronica furrowed her brow. “I know that name. I think there’s a couple named Carstairs who live in my complex. Maybe they’re the doctor’s parents. I’ll look into it.”
“Captain Moe came by earlier. He didn’t know of anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt Ms. Vincent, but he did say that she likely made enemies in her business,” I said. “There was a woman who stopped in yesterday whose mother was bumped down on the organ transplant list at the last minute. She said she’d spoken with Ms. Vincent about it.”
“I’d certainly be upset if someone I loved was denied a needed organ,” said Veronica. “Maybe even mad enough to kill.”
“Mother!”
“I’m speaking hypothetically,” she said. “I’m simply saying this woman might’ve had motive to murder Ms. Vincent.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “The woman was very sweet and had a toddler.”
“Yes, but maybe she has a psychotic brother or something.” Veronica raised an index finger. “You never know.”
I looked at Ted. “She has a point.”
“Don’t encourage her.” He opened his box of sweet and sour chicken and began eating.
“She’ll encourage me, and I’ll encourage her right back,” she said. “Someone has to find the real killer. Obviously, those Tallulah County detectives aren’t going to do it.” She brightened. “I’ve got it. We could be like Charlie’s Angels, and you could be our Charlie. What do you say?”
I’d never seen Ted so completely absorbed by his food before. He ignored his mother and kept shoveling in that chicken.
Undeterred, she turned to me. “We can do this. You, me, and Vera. We’ll find out who’s behind this. Why, this person might even be framing Captain Moe.”
I looked at Ted. He was still looking down into that box of chicken as if it contained the answers to all the questions in the universe.
She stood and got her purse. “Oh, well, I’ll be off. Let me know what you find out tonight.” She kissed the top of Ted’s bent head before she left.
“Later, Mother.” He looked up at me. “Let her know what you find out tonight?”
“Um, yeah. Didn’t I tell you? I’m reading to a group of children at the hospital as Marcy the Elf this evening.”
“You hadn’t mentioned that.”
“Well, that’s because I was going to tell you after you got here.” I smiled. “Want to tag along?”
“I believe I’ll pass.” He addressed Angus. “What do you say, pal? Want to watch some television while Inch-High Private Eye meddles at the hospital?”
The dog looked at him adoringly and panted.
“Good. It’s a plan.” He broke his fortune cookie in half and gave part of it to Angus.
“What does your fortune say?”
“Two beautiful women will be the death of you.”
“Aw . . . you think your mom and I are beautiful.”
* * *
Not long after lunch, a young woman came in. She appeared timid and unsure of herself. Sensing her general discomfort, Angus stayed where he was near the window.
“Hi, I’m Marcy. Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch. How may I help you?”
“I’m working on a pillow for a project in my art class? I’m in college?”
I hoped that when she gained more confidence, she would outgrow the habit of making everything into a question.
“And the instructions said I need to finish the pillow using a Palestine stitch? Do you know what I mean?”
“I believe you’re talking about a Palestrina stitch.” I went over to the shelf, took down a book on embroidery stitches, and turned to the Palestrina-stitch illustrations. “Is this how the pillow was finished in your instructions?”
“Yes.” Her face broke into a smile of relief. “Could you show me how?”
“Of course. I wish you’d brought the pillow with you. We could simply complete it here.”
“Wait. I could do that? You’d help me?”
“Sure. I mean, I don’t want to get you into any trouble with your instructor. . . .”
“Oh, I won’t get into trouble,” she said. “Let me run home and get the pillow, and I’ll be back. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine. I close at five.”
“I only live about fifteen minutes away.” She hurried out the door.
I decided I should probably take Angus up the street before the young woman returned. When she got back, we were likely to be busy working on her project until almost closing time. I put my cell phone in my pocket and snapped Angus’s leash onto his collar.
He hadn’t seemed particularly eager to leave his sanctuary by the window, but once I opened the door, he took off like a shot. It was all I could do to hang on to him.
I barely missed a customer coming out of Nellie Davis’s aromatherapy shop, Scentsibilities. She was a woman wearing nursing scrubs.
“I’m sorry!” I called over my shoulder.
“No problem.” I could hear laughter in her tone.
We got up to the town square, a grassy area flanked by wooden and wrought-iron benches. Angus made a beeline for the large clock at the top center of the square. He sniffed all around the base of the clock and then went to snuffle the benches.
My phone rang. Glad that Angus was calmly investigating the square so I could answer, I fished the phone from my purse. It was Veronica calling.
“Hi,” I said. “Have you solved the case already? If so, you’re really quick.”
“I wish. I did confirm that the Carstairs who have a unit in my condo building have a son who is a doctor and also on the board of directors at Tallulah County General. I’m lunching with them tomorrow.”
“Did they mention a grandson who’s ill?”
“No, but I’ll see what I can find out,” she said.
Chapter Ten
After talking with Veronica, I called Rajani “Reggie” Singh, our local librarian. She is also married to Manu Singh, Chief of Police. I explained to Reggie that I needed a few Christmas books to read to the children at Tallulah General Hospital that evening.
“Would you mind pulling a few for me, and I’ll leave early so I can run by the library and pick them up before you close?”
“Actually, I’m in dire need of a coffee break, so I’ll bring them over in a few minutes. Will that work?”
“That would be fantastic.”
When Reggie arrived, she brought not only the Christmas books, but also a dog biscuit for Angus. She and Manu had no dogs of their own, but she kept the treats on hand for her library patrons to pass along to her favorite pets.
Unlike her husband, Reggie favored her traditional Indian dress. Today, she was wearing a turquoise tunic and matching slacks embellished with white embroidery. She spread the books out on the counter. There were some familiar titles—A Christmas Carol, How the Grinch Stole Christmas—and some unfamiliar ones, like The Christmas Puppy and Snowmen at Christmas.
She held up one book titled Junie B. Jones and the Yucky Blucky Fruitcake, with an impish little girl on the cover. “This is Junie B. I don’t know if you’ll have time to read one of these books or not, but the kids love them. This one isn’t Christmassy—the Christmas book is checked out, and I don’t think you’d have time to read it, anyway—but there is a fruitcake in this one.”
