Cross-Stitch Before Dying Page 17

  I placed my cloth into an embroidery frame and came to the conclusion that maybe Henry had said as much to the police. Maybe someone leaked something to Sonny or to the press, and that’s why Sonny went to talk with Henry. I remembered seeing a uniformed Tallulah County Police Department deputy going into Henry’s hotel room a few minutes before Sonny. It was a long shot, but Deputy Preston had been friendly to me. Maybe he could give me some sort of clue as to what had happened yesterday morning.

  I set my framed cloth on the ottoman and went to my office to get Deputy Preston’s card. I called his cell phone number and announced my identity when he answered. I realized, belatedly, that he’d probably seen my name come up on his caller ID.

  “Oh, hey, Marcy,” Deputy Preston said. “Is everything going okay?”

  “Well. . . . I did wonder if you have a few minutes to chat. Is this a bad time?”

  “No, it’s not a bad time at all. In fact, I’m off today, and I’m down the street at MacKenzies’ Mochas. Want me to stop by your shop?”

  “Do you mind?” I asked.

  “Not a bit,” he said. “Want a coffee?”

  “No, thank you, I’m good. But I appreciate your asking.”

  “Be there in a few.”

  After ending the call, I went back to the sit-and-stitch square. I threaded two needles—one with white floss and one with a pale blue—so I could concentrate on the tiny area in the center of the Monet print pattern. I’d work my way from the center out. I wished all of life’s puzzles could be worked out that easily.

  The bells over the door jingled, and I looked up expectantly. Instead of Deputy Preston, however, my visitors were customers. They were sisters who came in often on Saturdays to see if I had anything new.

  “Anything good come in this week?” Janey asked. Janey was the shorter, skinnier of the two middle-aged women, but they both had the same sense of style. Both had chestnut-colored hair with auburn highlights, and they always wore bright red lipstick.

  “Check this out,” I said, leading them over to the Monet prints. “Aren’t they gorgeous? I’m working on one now.”

  “They are beautiful,” said Judy. “But I think they’re a little too complicated for me. You got anything easier?”

  “Judy, you’re always selling yourself short,” Janey said. “You could do this.”

  “I think she’s right,” I said. “The pattern is stamped on the fabric, so it shouldn’t be as hard as it looks.”

  Judy scrunched up her face. “I don’t know. I’m still afraid to try it.” She looked at her sister. “You do it.”

  Janey put her fisted hands on her hips. “I’m not going to if you don’t.”

  “If you want to move away from cross-stitch, I got some adorable needlepoint designs in this week,” I said. I went over to the side of the board where the needlepoint kits were hanging. “Check out these angels that represent each season.”

  “Oh, those are pretty,” Judy said. “What do you think, J? I could do summer, and you could do fall?”

  Janey’s eyes widened, as did her smile. “Yes! And we could enter them in the fair—maybe as a joint entry!”

  The women looked at me and said simultaneously, “We’ll take these two!”

  We laughed as Deputy Preston came into the shop.

  “This must be the place to be this morning,” he said, encompassing all three of us in his smile. “Things are dull as dishwater at the coffeehouse. Then I come in here, and it’s all sunshine and laughter.”

  “Judy and Janey are always full of fun,” I said.

  Deputy Preston looked different out of uniform. You know how you get used to seeing a person present himself or herself a particular way, and then they look odd when “normally” dressed? He wore jeans, motorcycle boots, and a long-sleeved navy blue Henley shirt. He wore some type of medallion around his neck, but it was partially obscured by the collar of his shirt.

  “I’ll be right with you,” I told him as I calculated the sisters’ purchases and put them in separate Seven-Year Stitch bags. “Please bring them in when you’ve completed them. I’d love to see the finished products.”

  “We will,” Janey promised. “If nothing else, we’ll come by here on our way to enter them in the fair.”

  “Good luck!” I called as they left.

  Deputy Preston gave me a comical grimace.

  “What’s that about?” I asked.

  “They’re both going to enter their projects in the fair?” he asked. “I hope one doesn’t beat out the other. It could cause a family feud.”

  I smiled. “They said something about entering them as a joint project.”

  “You can do that?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “For their sake, I hope so. I’m not all that familiar with fair rules and regulations.”

  “Neither am I. I did a little woodworking in my Boy Scout days, but then my uncle got me into riding motorcycles,” he said. “Mom wasn’t too happy with him for that.”

  “No, and I don’t blame her,” I said. “Motorcycles are fun—I’ve ridden them with friends—but they can be dangerous.”

  “They’re not that bad. It’s the cars on the road that don’t have any respect for you that you have to watch out for.”

  “That’s true. How old were you when you started riding?”

  “I was ten,” he said. “Uncle Joe got me a dirt bike. I never looked back.”

  “Did you do motocross?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yep. Won quite a few races.”

  “Why didn’t you continue with it—professionally, I mean?”

  “I wasn’t good enough to make any real money at it,” he said. “I still ride for fun. But you didn’t want me to come by to talk about motorcycles. What’s on your mind?”

  “Henry Beaumont.”

  He wagged a finger. “Now you know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with a civilian.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s just that yesterday at the police station, Mom, Ted, and I were watching the surveillance tape, and we saw a deputy go up to Henry’s room at about eleven o’clock.”

  “Yep. That was me. I had some follow-up questions for Mr. Beaumont.”

  “Did he seem all right to you then?” I asked. “Did he look pale? Seem to be having any discomfort? Anything?”

  Deputy Preston shook his head. “Appeared to be right as rain.”

  “Do you think he was murdered?” I asked.

  “The cause of Mr. Beaumont’s death has not yet been determined.” He grinned to offset the official statement. “Look, the TCPD is looking at every angle. Trust us to get to the bottom of this, whether Mr. Beaumont was murdered or not.”

  “Do you think he was?”

  “Marcy. . . .”

  “I know, I know,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my mom found him, and she was one of the last people to see Babs alive, and I’m worried for her.”

  “I understand,” he said. “But, again, you need to trust us.”

  “It’s hard to trust when your mother’s life is at stake.”

  “I understand,” he said softly. “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “Thanks.” I bit my lower lip. “Could you make sure Detectives Ray and Bailey are talking with Sonny Carlisle? He was visiting Henry immediately before my mother.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He turned to leave. “Take care of yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  • • •

  I had made an imperceptible dent in my cross-stitch project when Vera swept through the door.

  “I’m glad to see you’re here today,” she said. “I was afraid you might be sick or something. I came by yesterday but you’d left. I intended to call you last night but then one thing led to another, and I simply let time get away from me. I’m sorry for blatherin
g on. Is everything okay?”

  I blew out a breath. “I suppose you heard about Henry.”

  “Henry Beaumont? No. What about him?”

  “He was found dead in his hotel room yesterday,” I said.

  “Oh, my goodness, how terrible! What happened?”

  “The Tallulah County Police Department is currently looking into that. I had to leave yesterday because Mom was the one who found Henry.”

  “No! That poor dear,” she said, coming over to the sofa to give me a quick hug. “And poor you. This entire movie deal was supposed to be a dream job for you, and it has turned into a horrible nightmare.”

  “I don’t know that I’d have called it a dream job,” I said. “But it would have been nice to have worked with Mom.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll get to work with her on another project. Surely they’ll drop this one now that both the star and the producer-director are dead, won’t they?” She gasped. “Wait. Do the police think the deaths are connected? What if both Babs and Henry were murdered to keep this movie from going forward? What if there’s some deep dark secret about Sonam Zakaria that someone doesn’t want revealed?”

  I offered a tight smile. “Yeah . . . that would be something.”

  “Seriously, we just don’t know, do we? I only hope that the killer doesn’t think any of the rest of us know the secret and come after us.” Her wide eyes took in the shop, as if the killer was going to jump up from behind one of the sofas wearing a mask and wielding a chain saw any second.

  “Maybe Henry had a heart attack,” I said. “We don’t know there was anything nefarious at all about his death.”

  No sooner had those words left my mouth than Ted came rushing into the shop. “Marcy, you need to go home.”

  I leapt up off the sofa. “Is it Mom? What’s happened?”

  “The medical examiner smelled a bitter almond odor on Henry,” he said. “He tested for cyanide and found that Henry was poisoned.”

  I frowned, not understanding why that would necessitate my going home.

  “Detectives Bailey and Ray are getting a search warrant for your house,” Ted continued. “Someone in the department alerted Manu. You should go home and be there when they arrive.”

  I turned toward Vera.

  “Go,” she said. “I’ll watch the shop until you get back.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ted and I hurried to my house, where Mom, Alfred Benton, and Cam Whitting were already waiting.

  “Manu told us what was going on,” Ted said. “What can we do to help?”

  “I think perhaps Angus would be more comfortable in another location,” Alfred said.

  “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that, but we definitely don’t want him here with crime scene techs tearing the house and yard apart,” I said. I avoided looking at Mom. I hadn’t meant that the way it sounded, but she took it that way anyway.

  “I’m so sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble, Marcella. If I’d had any idea my coming here would’ve brought this mess down upon you, I’d never have come.”

  I sighed. “Mom, this isn’t your fault.”

  She simply turned away and went into the kitchen.

  I heaved another sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to sound like I blamed Mom in any way.”

  I looked at the three men. The two attorneys looked down at the floor, and Ted gave me a one-armed hug.

  “It’s all right, babe,” Ted said. “Tensions are running high today. Why don’t you take Angus over to the Stitch so Vera can keep an eye on him?”

  I nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  I retrieved Angus’s leash from the entryway and called him to me. He bounded to me, excited that he was going to be taking a ride. He knew that most often when we were at home, I let him out into the backyard to play. Here, the leash meant he was going for a ride. At the shop, the leash meant he was going for a walk. Either way, Angus identified his leash with good things.

  I’d followed Ted to my house in the Jeep, so I had Angus climb into the backseat and off we went. We met a car driven by Detective Bailey—Ray was in the passenger seat—on its way to my house. I sped up to five miles over the speed limit. I didn’t want to risk getting a citation, but I wanted to hurry to the Seven-Year Stitch and get back before the crime scene techs started taking my house apart. Hopefully, Ted and the attorneys would make them be as neat and orderly as possible.

  This entire situation made me angry. As if Mom would poison Henry Beaumont! It was ridiculous. Surely the police would see that . . . wouldn’t they?

  I pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of the Seven-Year Stitch. There was a customer there looking at embroidery floss.

  “Ah, there she is!” the young woman said when Angus and I walked into the shop.

  She was a regular customer, but her name escaped me at the moment. All I could think about was getting back home to Mom. Still, I realized the need to be polite. My problems were certainly not her fault. As if reading my mind, Angus sauntered over and nudged the customer in the rib cage with his big nose. She immediately began petting him and telling him what a sweet boy he was.

  I saw Paul Samms sitting on the sofa beside Vera. I figured she’d called him as soon as Ted and I had left. He raised his hand in a friendly wave, and I waved back.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular today?” I asked the customer, whose name I remembered was Trisha.

  “I am,” she said. “I need a soft pink metallic floss, but it appears you’re all out.”

  “Let me check the storeroom.” I went into the storeroom, and sure enough, I had a few skeins of pink metallic floss. I brought them out. “Would this do?”

  “That’ll be perfect!”

  I rang up her purchase, and she breezed out the door.

  I stepped over to Vera and Paul. “I’m sorry to do this to you, but could you guys watch the shop just a little longer . . . and keep Angus with you? The attorneys didn’t think it was such a good idea for Angus to be there during the search, but I want to go back while the crime scene techs are there.”

  “Of course you do,” Vera said. “We’ll stay as long as you need us to.”

  “And if you need us to lock up the shop and bring Angus home at closing time, we’ll be happy to do that too,” Paul added.

  “I appreciate that, but I’ll be sure to be back here before then,” I said. I’d make a point of it. I didn’t know Paul all that well, and I didn’t want Mom to feel like I’d brought a reporter to see her being humiliated by the police while we were trying so desperately to keep the rest of the media in the dark. I thanked them again, and quickly left the shop before another customer arrived.

  By the time I got back to my house, the crime scene technologists’ truck was there. When I went inside, there were people I’d never seen before tramping around in my living room wearing latex gloves and paper booties. I was glad to see that they were at least not tracking dirt all over my carpet.

  I went into the kitchen, where Detectives Bailey and Ray were heading up the search. They, too, had on gloves and booties. With their backs to me and unaware of my presence, I heard them talking about the case.

  “...rare to have a poisoning like this around here,” Detective Ray was saying. “We’ve only had one other cyanide poisoning in the past five years.”

  “Yeah, but our suspects aren’t from around here,” Detective Bailey said. He looked over his shoulder and saw me standing there. “You’re not allowed in this room while we’re conducting our search, Ms. Singer.”

  “Where am I allowed to be?” I asked. “I’m looking for my mom and her attorneys.” I stressed the word attorneys to remind them that they’d better be doing everything aboveboard. And although I knew better than to say it, there had better be another team of investigators searching Sonn
y Carlisle’s hotel room.

  “They’re in the backyard,” Detective Ray said.

  “Thank you.” I moved past them and went out onto the back porch. Mom and Alfred were sitting on the swing so often favored by Angus, while Ted and Cam were sitting in chairs. I sat on the picnic table and glared at the door. “Does anyone know yet whether or not Sonny Carlisle has been subjected to a search? After all, he was the one who was there before Mom arrived and found Henry unconscious.”

  “He has,” Alfred said. “In fact, they searched his hotel room early this morning.”

  “Did they find anything?” I asked.

  “They weren’t at liberty to say,” Alfred said. He and Ted shared a look. I caught the meaning. Had they found cyanide in Sonny’s hotel room, they wouldn’t be looking for it here.

  “I’m sorry for all of this,” Mom said. “I really am.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It isn’t the first time my home has been searched.” It was then that I noticed a stern-looking uniformed deputy standing at the corner of the porch. I gave him a tight smile. He didn’t smile back. He made me wish Deputy Preston hadn’t been off duty today.

  We sat there in silence for a long while, listening to the birds chirp, watching the grass grow, hoping the detectives wouldn’t find anything linking my mother to Henry Beaumont’s murder. I didn’t think I had anything containing cyanide, but who knew? Could the drain cleaner contain cyanide? I played the phony commercial in my mind. Smiling woman with beautifully coiffed hair and a double strand of pearls to complement her 1950s-style dress says, “With just a hint of cyanide, Drain Buster eats through anything that could clog your sink!” Voice-over man rapidly warns, “Keep Drain Buster out of reach of children, pets, elderly people, the mail carrier, rodents, and movie producers. May be harmful if swallowed, touched, inhaled, or looked at without protective eyewear.”