Stitch Me Deadly, page 4
I was instructed to sit on one side of the gray table. Manu had to sit in a chair near the door, and the detectives sat opposite me at the table.
“Let’s reacquaint ourselves,” said the lead investigator, pressing the PLAY button on a tape recorder. “I’m Detective Bailey.” He had thinning dark blond hair and a bushy mustache. I got the feeling he was attempting to be friendly, but his demeanor barely rose above civil.
Detective Bailey gestured to his partner. “This, of course, is Detective Ray.”
Detective Ray gave me a curt nod. He had thick gunmetal gray hair and brows knit together like two white caterpillars. His demeanor didn’t make it above civil. In fact, I’d say it was a little below.
“Now, let’s get a fresh start here, Ms. Singer,” Detective Bailey said. “You gave us permission to search your business and home, did you not?”
“I did.”
“And you were aware that we were searching for a prescription medication called Halumet, were you not?”
I nodded.
“Would you answer the question, please?” he asked.
“Um, yes, I knew what you were looking for.”
“And you knew the reason we were searching for the prescription medication Halumet was because it was found to have contributed to the death of Louisa Ralston, a woman who visited your shop just prior to her demise,” Detective Bailey said. “Is that correct, Ms. Singer?”
“That’s correct.”
“We found this bottle of Halumet at your residence.” He looked at the bottle. “It has been prescribed for someone named Selena Roxanis. Do you know this person?”
“No, I do not.”
“Do you know how this medication came to be at your residence?” Detective Ray asked.
“No. All I know is that my mother stayed in the guest bedroom where the medication was found when she visited a couple weeks ago,” I said. “I’m thinking she must have had it with her for some reason.”
“Does your mother suffer from any type of illness for which Halumet would be prescribed?”
“Not that I know of.”
Detective Ray raised his caterpillar eyebrows. “So then you think she might’ve been prescribed the medication and failed to mention it to you?”
“I suppose that’s possible,” I said. “I don’t know where that bottle came from. If Chief Singh hadn’t been with you, I’d have believed you planted it.” I shot a look of triumph in Manu’s direction, but he was wincing as if he had a headache or something.
“Are you accusing us of planting evidence?” Detective Bailey asked.
“No. I’m only saying that I’ve never heard of this Selena Roxanis, and I’ve never seen her medicine. And even if I had, I would never have used it to hurt anyone—much less an innocent customer I’d just met.”
The investigators told me they’d be in touch, instructed another officer to fingerprint me, and reminded me not to leave town.
I was weary to the bone—physically and emotionally—when I finally drove my Jeep into my driveway. I’d had a class tonight but had called everyone and canceled while Manu drove me to the shop from the police station. I told everyone I had a cold—which was true, so I didn’t really lie. Technically. I just didn’t tell them I wanted to go home and bury my head under the covers because I’d been in a police interrogation room most of the afternoon and was feeling scared and sorry for myself.
As I walked up the sidewalk to the door, I could see from my vantage point Angus jump up and hang his front paws over the back fence at the side of the house.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
He whimpered as he picked up on my deflated tone.
I went to the door, unlocked it, and hurried through the house to let Angus in at the back door. I slumped onto the kitchen floor, and he draped his six-foot, one-hundred-fifty-pound body across my lap. I cuddled him to me, and we stayed that way until the phone rang several minutes later. I started not to answer it, but I was hoping it was Mom. I still hadn’t heard back from her, and so I still didn’t have proof that I had not brought that bottle of Halumet into my house. Hopefully, my fingerprints’ not being on the bottle would clear me of suspicion, but that would take a couple days at best.
The phone rang again, and I slid my petite frame from beneath the lanky gray dog. I got to my feet and answered the phone. I was not disappointed.
“Mom, thank goodness it’s you. Did you get my message?”
“Yes. Are you all right? They didn’t strip-search you or anything, did they?”
“No, I’m fine. You’ve worked on too many prison-movie sets.”
“Nonetheless, I’m flying out first thing tomorrow so we can get this mess resolved.”
“Mom, that isn’t necessary. You can simply type up a statement, have a notary witness your signature, and fax it to the Tallulah County Police Department.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “By noon tomorrow, I’ll be at the Tallulah County Police Department demanding to know why they’re treating my daughter like a common criminal.”
“But what about your production schedule?”
“The assistant costumer can handle it for a few days. I got you into this mess, and now I have to get you out of it.”
“Speaking of getting me into this mess,” I said, “who exactly is Selena Roxanis, and what were you doing with her medication?”
“It’s complicated,” she said.
When I didn’t say anything, she continued. “Selena Roxanis is a haughty little diva, a starlet wannabe who needs to be taken down a notch or two.”
“So you stole her manic depression medication?”
“Like I told you, love, it’s complicated. It isn’t like I got in her purse and took her pill bottle.”
“Then how did you wind up with it, and how did it turn up in the nightstand in my guest room?”
“She came into wardrobe one day throwing a tantrum at me . . . as usual. I told her I had a luncheon appointment, and I picked up my purse to leave. I thought that would spare us both some unpleasantness. But oh, no, she wanted unpleasantness!” Mom gave a dramatic pause. “She blocked my way, and when I tried to go around her, we both spilled our purses. I collected my things, and she collected hers.”
“I’m listening,” I said. “Keep talking.”
“Well, I later found that pill bottle in my purse. I’d picked it up by mistake,” she said. “I couldn’t very well give it back because by the time I noticed it, I was on my way to the airport.”
“But how did the bottle find its way to my guest room nightstand?”
“I didn’t want to miss my flight, so I went on to the airport. Once there, I called the director and told him about the slipup. He said he’d let Selena know so she could get the prescription refilled. When I got to your house, I put the bottle in the nightstand for safekeeping.”
“Why didn’t you throw it away?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t want to run the risk of someone finding it,” she said. “Even though I don’t care for the little snot, I value my clients’—and their casts’—privacy. I wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone selling that juicy piece of information to the tabloids.”
“I guess you have a point. It might ruin her career if it got out that she was taking medication for a manic-depressive disorder.”
“Or the publicity could make her career skyrocket. Either way, I don’t want to be responsible. And, I promise you, Marcella, I’ll straighten this mess out first thing tomorrow.”
“Wait. You said you put the pills in the nightstand. Why didn’t you pack them back up to return to Selena Roxanis when you returned?” I asked.
“Because I forgot about them. Besides, I knew she was bound to have replaced them by then.”
“Maybe not, Mom. Doctors don’t just replace prescription medications upon request.”
“They do for some people, love. Besides, learning a lesson in responsibility and discretion wouldn’t hurt her one bit.”
“Maybe not,” I said, “but it might wind up hurting me.”
Chapter Four
After speaking with Mom, I felt drained. While I certainly had no motive to kill Louisa Ralston, I had the means and the weapon of choice. Who would believe I didn’t know those pills were in the nightstand? If I was on the other side of this investigation, I wouldn’t find my story plausible.
I curled up in my white suede chair and pulled my portable embroidery cart closer. The cart is wonderful. In the skinny top drawer it has a selection of threads, needles, scissors, and needle-minders. The two bottom drawers are larger, and they contain fabric, hoops and frames, pattern books, and projects in progress.
The current projects in progress included a christening gown for Riley’s baby, the burp cloth she’d picked out yesterday, and a small Boulevard of Broken Dreams cross-stitch picture I was making Mom for her birthday in a few weeks. Boulevard of Broken Dreams is a painting by Gottfried Helnwein depicting Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, Elvis Presley, and James Dean in an otherwise empty diner. Mom was totally going to love it.
This evening I chose to work on Baby Kendall’s christening gown. The gown had an intricate ecru-on-white Hardanger border. It was time-consuming, but it was coming together so beautifully that I could hardly wait to see the finished product.
Angus, with his rawhide chew, came to lie at my feet. He understood I was in no mood to play and that I needed to sit still and quietly, peacefully stitch. He seemed content to lie there in a show of support.
I heard the rain pattering outside. While it added to the serenity of the moment, I hoped the weather would clear up tomorrow for Mrs. Ralston’s visitation and funeral service.
When I got too tired to work on the gown any longer, I placed it back inside the rolling cart. I stood, stretched, and noticed Mrs. Ralston’s sewing kit on the hall table. I got the small wooden box and carefully opened it. The lid was hinged, and although Mr. Gray had said Mrs. Ralston usually kept the sewing kit by her side, the hinges were stiff, as if the lid hadn’t been opened lately.
There was a linen handkerchief with a lace border lying on top of Mrs. Ralston’s sewing notions. I picked up the handkerchief and unfolded it. It had an L monogrammed in the right-hand corner. The monogram was pink, and there was a sprig of ivy encircling the letter.
Mrs. Ralston really liked ivy. Maybe Ella was mistaken in her theory that Ivy was a person. Maybe Louisa Ralston simply had a love for the plant itself. Though what she’d thought I could do to help her find more of it was kind of unclear.
With the handkerchief out of the way, I could see a delicate gold chain at the bottom of the box. I reached for the chain and saw that it held a pendant. The pendant was in the shape of a book, and upon closer inspection I saw that it was a locket. I opened it. On the left side was a photo of a young Louisa Ralston. On the right side was a photo of a baby. Even though the photos were in black-and-white, I could tell the baby was a girl because there was a tiny bow in her peach-fuzzy hair. She was so cute with her chubby little baby cheeks! She had to have been Mrs. Ralston’s daughter.
I had to go to Mrs. Ralston’s visitation tomorrow evening and talk with her family. If nothing else, I was sure her daughter would want this locket back. I know I would if I were in her place. I put the locket and handkerchief back into the sewing box and closed the lid.
I kept looking at the clock. I was trying to be inconspicuous, since there were customers in the shop, but Mom’s flight was due to arrive in less than an hour. Although she’d said she would take a cab to the shop, I felt I should be there to meet her . . . partly because she was my mother and deserved to have her loving daughter waiting for her in the airport terminal, and partly because I didn’t know what she might do, and so I felt an almost panic-inducing need to keep an eye on her. Still, I smiled and chatted and rang up threads, canvases, and patterns as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
The last—for the moment—customer departed with her periwinkle “Seven-Year Stitch” bag. She gave me a cheery wave before pulling her coat more tightly about her throat with her free hand and hastening on down the street in the direction of MacKenzies’ Mochas.
Angus looked up at me and sighed. He’d napped most of the morning. I think my melancholy mood was having an adverse effect on him.
“It’s okay, Mr. O’Ruff,” I said, prompting him to stand and wander over to the stool behind the counter, where I sat. “This will work itself out somehow.”
He whimpered and placed his head on my thigh.
“It will,” I said more confidently, lovingly stroking his head.
I spotted Todd outside on the sidewalk. He was heading our way. I smiled. “Todd will cheer us up,” I told Angus.
Todd came in smiling as if it were the greatest day ever. Of course, he didn’t have the police keeping tabs on him while they investigated a murder.
“Hey, there, bright eyes,” he said. “If that smile was as bright as your eyes, Angus and I would have our own personal ray of sunshine to fill up this shop. So why isn’t it?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I asked as Angus trotted over to greet Todd. “Like the cloud of suspicion hanging directly above my head?”
“I’m not forgetting it,” he said. “I’m simply not succumbing to it. Are you?”
“I’m trying not to . . . but it’s hard. Of course, Mom is flying in today, and she can provide the police with a plausible—for Mom, anyway— explanation about the pills they found in the nightstand in my guest room.”
He followed my gaze to the clock. “What time is her flight scheduled to arrive?”
“In about thirty minutes.”
“Do you need to pick her up?”
I lifted one shoulder. “I should . . . but I really hate to lock up the store. Business has been super today, and I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone who’s come to town specifically for my dazzling array of embroidery supplies,” I said with a wink. Although, I admit, all the colorful flosses and threads were pretty dazzling.
“Go on and pick up your mom. I’ll mind the store.”
“You?” I giggled.
“Do you doubt me?” He placed a hand over his heart in mock anguish. “Granted, I don’t know much about embroidery, but I can run a cash register and make change. I figure your customers know pretty much what they’re looking for.”
“That’s true,” I said, “but what about the Brew Crew?”
“The assistant manager will keep things running smoothly until I get back . . . probably more smoothly than I could. Besides, I need to score a few brownie points with your mom.”
I smiled. Mom had been careful to avoid revealing her opinions on Todd, Ted Nash, or even Tallulah Falls in general during her last visit. The only things she’d really appeared to be pleased with were the shop and the house. And she did mention that if I should decide to pull up stakes, she’d help me re-create both of those things “at home” in San Francisco.
Like Mom, I didn’t always like to tip my hand. So I answered Todd with, “You can never have too many brownie points, I guess. Besides, I’m really scared Mom will do something stupid and wind up getting herself in trouble.”
With that, I grabbed my coat, gloves, and umbrella, kissed Todd’s cheek, and rushed out the door. Too bad for me, though. When I got to the airport, I learned that Mom’s flight had arrived early, but she was nowhere in sight.
Frantic, I called her cell phone.
“Beverly Singer,” she said in such a chirpy, trilling, singsong voice that, given the circumstances, it made me want to scream.
“Mom, where are you? I’m here at the airport, and I was told your flight arrived early and—”
“I’m in a cab on my way to the Tallulah County Police Department to set the record straight.”
I huffed. “I’ll be right there. Please don’t talk to anyone until I get there.” Yeah, I knew I was wasting my breath, but I figured I’d give it a shot anyway.
As I strode back to the airport parking lot, I called the shop.
“Hey, there! Thank you for calling the Seven-Year Stitch, where we have the finest in . . . embroidery . . . stuff. What can I help you with?”
“Todd, it’s me.”
“Great. So how’d I do? I’ve been trying to come up with a catchy slogan, but you haven’t given me very much time. That’s the best I could do off the cuff. I’ll work on it.”
“Um . . . no, itʹs . . . it’s great.” Telling him there was no need for a slogan was rather pointless given the Brew Crew’s greeting: Hi, this is the Brew Crew, home of custom-designed beer. If you can think it, we’ll help you drink it. What’ll it be?
I shook off the thought and explained my situation as I climbed into the Jeep. “I’m truly sorry about this, and I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
“No problem,” Todd said. “Take as long as you need. It’ll give Angus and me more time to hone that slogan.”
I really needed to get back to the shop as quickly as possible.
As I pulled up to the Tallulah County Police Department, I saw a cab sitting out front. I held my breath in anticipation but was disappointed when I parked beside the cab and saw that only the driver was inside.
I hopped out and hurried to the driver’s-side window. “The woman you’re waiting on,” I began, “is her luggage in your trunk?”
He nodded.
I noticed the meter was still running. “I’m her daughter. If you’ll help me get her luggage out of the trunk, I’ll pay your fare and you can go on about your day.”
He rolled his eyes but agreed, then got out of the car and walked around to the back. He slipped the key into the lock and opened the trunk. He appeared to be moving in slow motion.
“Please,” I said, “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
He looked annoyed but sped things up a nanosecond. He took Mom’s three Louis Vuitton monogrammed canvas suitcases and set them on the pavement. He then announced his fee and started toward the front of the car.
