The Stitching Hour Page 11

  “Is there anything you need for me to do?” Ted asked.

  “You could tell me that Keira’s killer has been arrested and that he or she gave a full confession and the case is closed.”

  “I wish I could, sweetheart. I’m working on it.”

  I rested my face against his broad chest. “I know.”

  He dropped a kiss on my head. “In the meantime, try not to worry so much.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Actually, it’s not. I want to find this killer every bit as much as you do.”

  “Let’s hope Captain Moe can at least give us a little bit more insight into Ken Sherman,” I said.

  “I’ve only seen the man a time or two—when he’s come into the station to talk with Manu—but there’s something about him that gets my guard up. For one thing, he seems more angry than grief-stricken about his daughter’s homicide,” he said. “I know anger is one of the stages of grief and all, but something strikes me as not being quite right about that guy.”

  “You don’t think . . . maybe he had something to do with Keira’s death, do you?”

  “I don’t think he’d hurt his own daughter. Plus, he has an alibi for the time of her murder. But I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Ken Sherman has his fair share of enemies.”

  “Most powerful businessmen do,” I said.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That must be Captain Moe.” I hurried to the front door to find that I’d been correct in my assumption.

  “Hello, Tinkerbell!” His voice boomed into the entryway and beyond as he handed me a bouquet of mixed fall flowers. “Thank you again for inviting me to dinner this evening.”

  “We’re glad you accepted. Ted’s in the kitchen. Come on back.”

  Ted and Captain Moe exchanged pleasantries while I put the flowers in a vase and placed them in the center of the table.

  “Where’s my friend Angus?” Captain Moe asked.

  “He’s in the backyard,” I said. “He’s been playing hide-and-seek with a squirrel for the majority of the afternoon. I’ll bring him in to say hi after dinner.”

  “What’re you drinking, my good man?” Ted asked.

  “What’ve you got?”

  Ted listed off the beverages we had, and Captain Moe settled on peach tea.

  “I’ll have the same,” I said as I took the chicken out of the oven.

  “This looks great, Tink. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “Thank you. That’s high praise coming from the best chef in Depoe Bay.”

  “Aw, I wouldn’t say that,” said Captain Moe. “I won’t object if you say it, I just won’t say it myself.”

  We all laughed.

  I finished putting the food onto serving platters and placed them on the table. I did one last check to see if we needed anything else before we all sat down.

  “I had lunch with Riley today,” I told Captain Moe. I explained how she and I had gone to the Seven-Year Stitch to count the key rings left in the box I’d ordered.

  “That sounds like Riley. When she gets something on the brain, she has to know immediately. So how many were in the box?”

  “Four hundred ninety-seven. That accounts for the one I gave to Christine Willoughby, and as for the two others . . .” I shrugged. “Either someone came in and took a couple while the box was sitting on the counter, or the factory shorted me.”

  “I doubt the factory shorted you,” said Captain Moe. “If it’s a reputable company, they know it would come back on them if they didn’t provide what they’d promised.”

  “The captain’s right. Most factories have quality-control systems in place to ensure the customers get what they pay for.”

  “So now we just need to figure out who took them and why,” I said. “We don’t know whether someone is trying to set up me or Christine, or if it was simply a coincidence that a Seven-Year Stitch key ring was found with Keira’s body.”

  “Captain Moe, you mentioned Ken Sherman the other night,” said Ted. “How familiar with him are you?”

  Captain Moe inclined his head and didn’t look up from the chicken breast he was cutting. “I don’t know him all that well, but I’ve heard plenty of rumors.”

  “You think it might be one of those where there’s smoke, there’s fire type things?” Ted asked.

  Captain Moe met Ted’s eyes and nodded. “I don’t think Ken Sherman is someone I’d care to do business with.”

  “What kinds of things have you heard about him?” I asked.

  Captain Moe savored a bite of the chicken. “This is delicious, Marcy. Thanks again.”

  Marcy. Not Tinkerbell. He’s dodging the question.

  Ted ate a forkful of green beans. I got the impression that I shouldn’t ask anything else about Ken Sherman . . . that Captain Moe would tell us whatever he wanted us to know if and when he felt like it. But I also resisted the urge to change the subject.

  After a couple of minutes of eating in companionable silence, Captain Moe said, “I’ve heard he launders money for a drug dealer.”

  Ted was reaching for his glass and nearly knocked it over. “What?”

  “Ken Sherman,” he said. “I’ve heard that those businesses he franchises are fronts for money-laundering operations.”

  “That’s why he doesn’t really care whether or not they succeed,” I said.

  “Right,” said Captain Moe. “Although I don’t think that was his initial plan for the MacKenzies’ Mochas franchise—and I’d hate for it to get out that I’d said such a thing. I have no way of knowing whether or not the rumors are true. And you said he was opening the coffee shop for his daughter.” He shrugged.

  “Your secret’s safe with us,” said Ted. “We won’t tell a soul. But I will discreetly look into Mr. Sherman’s business operations. I mean, we’re doing that anyway, but I’ll look a little closer now to see whether or not Mr. Sherman might have had an enemy who could have hurt Keira to get back at her father for some reason.”

  “Just be careful.” Captain Moe took a drink of his tea. “As I told you, I don’t know anything, but I’ve heard that some of the people Ken Sherman deals with aren’t very nice.”

  “When Riley and I were leaving the Stitch today, we heard Mr. Sherman yelling accusations at Blake MacKenzie,” I said. “It seemed he was blaming Blake for Keira’s death.”

  “Then that’s another lead for our fine detective to pursue, isn’t it, Tink?”

  I smiled, glad we were back to my nickname and that the conversation appeared to have lightened. “Indeed it is. You know, sometimes you sound just like your niece.”

  He laughed. “Hopefully, some of the lessons her father and I taught her served her well.”

  “Are you going to see the baby while you’re in Tallulah Falls?” I asked.

  “Now, do you honestly think I’d miss an opportunity to see wee Laura?”

  “No, I don’t believe you would.”

  • • •

  After Captain Moe left, I was tidying up the kitchen when Ted came up behind me and snaked his arms around my waist. He kissed my shoulder.

  “Thank you for dinner. It was terrific,” he said.

  “Thank you for walking Angus after he ate,” I said. “He’d have been content to go back out into the backyard and squirrel hunt, you know.”

  “I know, but it was starting to rain, and it’s time for little doggies to get settled in for the evening.”

  I laughed at his calling Angus little. “You’re good with him.”

  “He’s good with me.”

  I turned in his embrace. “You’re good with me too.”

  We kissed, and then I took Ted’s hand and walked into the living room. Angus was already snoozing in front of the hearth.

  “I think Captain Moe’s visit tired him out,” I said as Ted
and I snuggled on the sofa.

  “The good captain certainly gave me a few new leads to pursue.”

  “So you really think Ken Sherman might be laundering money for some drug dealer?” I asked.

  “It’s entirely possible. And it would explain the start-up businesses that he doesn’t seem to care whether or not they fail.”

  I ran my fingers lightly over Ted’s hand. “But how will you be able to confirm that? It’s not like Mr. Sherman will have accounts labeled JOHN BROWN, DRUG DEALER.”

  “We’ll simply have to investigate all of his clients to make sure they are who he says they are,” Ted said.

  “And how will you do that without Mr. Sherman becoming suspicious?”

  “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “What’s really on your mind?” Ted asked.

  “Blake . . . and Sadie. You don’t think Blake knew Ken Sherman is laundering money for a drug dealer, do you?”

  “Sweetheart, we don’t know that Ken Sherman is laundering money for a drug dealer. Right now, it’s purely conjecture.” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “That said, I don’t think Blake would’ve volunteered the MacKenzies’ Mochas logo to someone planning to open a franchise used to launder drug money.”

  “I don’t either,” I said. “But I’m worried about their financial situation. They took on the extra work with the Horror Emporium. Blake obviously wanted to pursue this business venture with Keira and her dad. . . . I can’t help but wonder how far they are in the red and how far they—or, at least, Blake—would go to get them into the black?”

  “You do know that’s none of your business and that if you poke that bear, Sadie and Blake are gonna be pretty angry, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, I do. I’m as bad as Todd.” I told Ted about talking with Todd about Keira and his asking whether or not I thought Sadie had feared Blake was cheating with Keira before Detective Poston had put that thought into her head. “He said, ‘I’d hate to think she killed the competition.’ Of course, he laughed as he said it, but I couldn’t believe he’d say such a thing even as a joke. I mean, this was Sadie we were talking about.”

  Ted was silent and still.

  I was snuggled against him, but I turned to look at his face. It was a carefully constructed blank mask.

  “You don’t think Sadie had anything to do with Keira’s death, do you?” I asked.

  “At this point, I can’t say for sure. You know I have to remain objective and that everyone is a suspect right now.”

  “But you don’t think Todd actually believes Sadie could’ve had anything to do with Keira’s death, do you?”

  “You’d have to ask Todd that,” he said.

  “I know Sadie . . . and I know Blake,” I said. “They might be having money problems, but they’re good, honest people. They wouldn’t do anything that might get someone else hurt.”

  They wouldn’t. I knew they wouldn’t. And yet, I was scared.

  Chapter Twelve

  Angus and I got to the Seven-Year Stitch an hour early because I was so anxious to talk with Sadie. I called her and asked if she could come over.

  “Um . . . yeah. . . . We’re really busy, Marce, but I’ll be there as soon as I can spare a few minutes. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, everything’s fine.”

  “Want me to bring you anything?” she asked.

  For once, I passed on the low-fat vanilla latte with cinnamon. That’s how Sadie knew something was wrong, pulled one of her waitresses from the floor to help Blake behind the counter, and hurried to the Stitch.

  “I got here as quickly as I could,” she said as she hurried through the door. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s sit down.”

  She followed me over to the sit-and-stitch square. “I thought you wanted to talk about your menu, but when you refused your usual latte, I knew something was up.”

  “I’m worried about you . . . and Blake.”

  Sadie’s face tightened, and I knew she’d gone into defense mode.

  “Just hear me out,” I said. “As Riley and I were leaving yesterday, we saw—and heard—Ken Sherman in the alley yelling at Blake. He was blaming Blake for Keira’s death.”

  “I know. The man is grieving. He’s blaming everybody right now.”

  I leaned forward and placed my hand on Sadie’s arm. “That’s not the only thing. Captain Moe told us that Mr. Sherman has a bad reputation . . . that he might not be a completely legitimate businessman.”

  “I’m way ahead of you on that too, Marcy. Blake had heard the rumors, and he broke off the deal last Monday. That’s another reason why he hadn’t felt the need to go into everything with me. He figured what was the point since he’d already backed out.”

  “That’s a valid argument . . . but I know you’re angry that he didn’t tell you he was still considering the deal with Mr. Sherman and was hoping to persuade you to change your mind,” I said.

  “I was angry, but I’m not anymore. I’m over it. I blew it all out of proportion.” She shrugged. “I do that sometimes. Now . . . about your menu.”

  Since Sadie had effectively ended the discussion of Ken Sherman, why he blamed Blake for Keira’s death, and Blake’s reasons for not telling her about everything up front, we spent the next fifteen minutes finalizing the menu for the anniversary party. I wanted to ask if she and Blake were okay financially and to offer help if they needed it, but the stony set to Sadie’s face told me it would do no good to try to talk about that today. She was shutting me out . . . just as Blake had shut her out. Granted, secrets between a husband and wife were entirely different from secrets between best friends—generally, besties knew each other’s secrets—but her putting a wall between us stung.

  After Sadie left, I called Ted.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he said.

  I laughed softly. “Thanks. I needed that this morning.”

  “Well, it’s so dreary in Tallulah Falls today that you’re the only sunshine around.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” I told him about my conversation with Sadie. “So if Blake broke off the deal the Monday before Keira was murdered, do you think maybe that affected Ken Sherman’s customers in some way?”

  “It could have. If one of the drug cartels was already planning on laundering money through Keira’s MacKenzies’ Mochas franchise, then that certainly would’ve thrown a wrench into their plans.”

  “But couldn’t Mr. Sherman have still opened a coffeehouse for Keira under a different name?” I asked. “Although why he would want to launder money through his daughter’s business is beyond me.”

  “I’m looking into all of his business ventures today. Meanwhile, Inch-High, stay out of it . . . please. If what Captain Moe told us is true, then Ken Sherman is a dangerous man.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I said. “You be careful.”

  “Always.”

  After talking with Ted, I went ahead and opened the shop. Then I took my tote bag from behind the counter and sat on the sofa facing the window looking out onto the street. I took out the ribbon embroidery bouquet project I was making to give as a door prize. I really needed to get busy on it since I intended to have it framed by Friday.

  Angus, too, had been in the mood to look outside this morning. He was lying in front of the window. It was his excited bark that brought my attention to the fact that Christine Willoughby was walking past.

  She waved at Angus and me through the glass, and then held up her index finger to suggest she’d be back.

  A few minutes later, she returned with a MacKenzies’ Mochas cup and, after greeting Angus, joined me in the sit-and-stitch square. She sat on the sofa across from me and sipped her drink.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was rude of me not to ask if you wanted anything from MacKenzies�
� Mochas as I walked past, especially knowing that I was coming right back here.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’m good. How are you holding up?”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m scatterbrained. My nerves have been a wreck since I found out about Keira and that key ring.”

  “About the key rings . . . Riley Kendall and I counted them yesterday, and there were only four ninety-seven in the box.”

  Her eyes widened. “That means I didn’t have the only one!”

  “It at least gives you reasonable doubt. Do you have an attorney yet?”

  “Not yet,” said Christine. “To be honest, I can’t really afford it. Jared offered to get a loan against his business for me, but I can’t let him do that. What if they find me guilty anyway, and Jared would lose his mother and his business?”

  “We’re not gonna let that happen. If you’d like, I can call Riley and see who she recommends from legal aid.”

  “Would you?” she asked. “I’d appreciate that so much.”

  I’d picked up the phone to call Riley’s office when a customer came in. I stood, set aside my ribbon embroidery, and greeted the man.

  “Hello! Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch. I’m Marcy.”

  “And who is this?” he asked, stooping slightly to pet Angus.

  “That’s Angus.”

  The man wore a tan trench coat and a brown fedora, and he somehow seemed to have stepped out of another era.

  “I’m looking for a gift for my granddaughter,” he said. “When I saw the name of your shop, I just had to come in. Marilyn Monroe . . . she was one of the greats.”

  “She certainly was.”

  “Lovely woman . . . curvy. . . . Advertisers don’t seem to appreciate women with any meat on their bones anymore, but the men still do.”

  I laughed.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to be indelicate. I just simply don’t understand the direction the world has taken,” he said.

  “That’s quite all right. What did you have in mind for your granddaughter?”

  “I have no earthly idea. I was hoping you’d help me come up with something.”