The Stitching Hour Page 18

  “They’re coming along well. I’m just finishing up the goodie bags. Sadie and Blake will be bringing over refreshments tomorrow.”

  “Something delicious, I’m sure.”

  “Some crudités, a cheese platter, some cookies . . . things like that. I wish you could be here.”

  “I will be . . . in spirit, at least.” He chuckled. “I hate to rush off, my dear, but I have a meeting.”

  “Okay. If there was anything you thought I should know about Mom, you’d tell me . . . wouldn’t you?”

  “You know I would.”

  • • •

  I took Angus home at five. I gave Mom her gifts from Priscilla and Nellie and told her how many people had been in to check on her.

  “That’s awfully sweet,” she said. “Had I been to the emergency room at home, no one would’ve known unless I didn’t show up at work the next day . . . other than Alfred, of course. It seems Alfred knows just about everything. Even he had heard of my misadventure.”

  “I’m sorry, but I needed to know if you’d had anything like that happen before,” I said. “I knew you wouldn’t tell me because you wouldn’t want me to worry, but Alfred would shoot straight with me.”

  “It’s all right. I just hate to cause him undue concern.”

  Taking a page from Alfred’s book, I changed the subject. “Check out this DVD Priscilla Atwood sent you. And, by the way, I don’t think they’re as famous as they let on. I did an Internet search for them, and it appears they’ve only been performing for a couple of years.”

  “Or maybe they only recently adopted the stage names Claude and Priscilla Atwood.” She shrugged. “There’s a famous story about Walter Matthau where he was credited for a cameo appearance in Earthquake using the name Walter Matuschanskayasky. Fans assumed this was Matthau’s real name, but it wasn’t. It was Walter Matthow. He changed it to Matthau because that was the current American spelling of the name. Incidentally, his nickname was Jake.”

  “Okay. Well, maybe we can watch the DVD when I get home. Or you can go ahead and watch it if you’d rather.” She was obviously miffed at me for calling Alfred, so who knew what she’d do?

  “We’ll see.”

  I fed Angus, grabbed a protein bar, and headed back to work.

  • • •

  Mom had texted me before class was over and told me she was tired and was going on to bed. Although I understood, I was a little hurt by it. Was her health worse than she’d led me to believe? Had even Alfred kept me in the dark about her true condition? Or was she merely in a snit because I’d called Alfred to tell him about her trip to the emergency room? I hated that we hadn’t had much time together since she’d been here.

  I called Ted and asked if he’d like some company. He said he’d love some.

  He met me at the door with a slice of chocolate cheesecake and two forks. “You sounded a little down over the phone.”

  “You always know how to make me feel better.”

  We went on into his kitchen and sat down at the table in the breakfast nook. Ted’s kitchen had a more modern decor than mine. The appliances were stainless steel, the countertops were dark gray granite, and the cabinets were a glossy black with silver handles. Skylights and recessed lighting over the island and a chandelier over the table kept the room from being too dark.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Do you have decaf? I don’t want it keeping me awake all night.”

  “Of course.” He made the coffee, poured us cups, and then sat down at the table where we savored the cheesecake.

  “This is fabulous,” I said.

  “Thank you. I keep it on hand for the occasional bout of the blues.”

  I smiled. I’d never known Ted to have “the blues.” He must’ve been referring to my blues.

  “It’s not that bad really. I just . . . Well, Mom isn’t doing what I’d like her to do.”

  “Parents. You do your best to raise them right, but you’re never quite sure how they’ll turn out.”

  “Ha-ha. I missed her at the store today. I mean, I’m glad she was able to spend time with Vera and your mom, but I thought that at least we’d have some time this evening.” I explained how she’d seemed upset with me for calling Alfred.

  “What’s the deal with those two anyway?” he asked. “Lifelong friends only? Romantic spark?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve always thought Alfred would be perfect for Mom. Of course, he was married when Dad died. I think his marriage had been in trouble anyway, and it fell apart a few years after Dad’s death. Neither he nor Mom ever remarried.”

  “Have Alfred and your mom ever dated?”

  “No . . . not that I know of. I did bring it up with her just the other night.” I lifted and dropped one shoulder. “She said they’re afraid that if they’d date, they’d end up ruining their friendship.”

  “Maybe. But it might be worth the gamble—don’t you think?”

  “I think so, yes. As for what Mom thinks . . . Who knows?” I took a bite of cheesecake and savored the rich, velvety chocolate. “And while I love being here with you, I’d really wanted to spend some time with Mom tonight. Priscilla brought over this DVD called The Amazing Atwoods, and I thought she and I would get a kick out of watching it together.”

  “Sounds like a winner. Do they sing, dance, do a variety show?”

  “I think it’s some sort of magic act.” I shook my head. “I looked them up after Priscilla brought by the DVD but couldn’t find much about them. According to the information I could find online, the two of them have only been performing—at least, as Claude and Priscilla Atwood—for the past two or three years. Did Priscilla mention to you or Manu that she’s originally from this area?”

  “Manu interviewed her, so I don’t know. I can check her statement tomorrow to see. Why?”

  “Captain Moe was in today, and he recognized Priscilla. He asked about her father. She didn’t seem terribly friendly with Captain Moe and made an excuse to leave as soon as she’d dropped off the DVD and a flower for Mom.”

  “Who doesn’t like Captain Moe?”

  “That’s what I was wondering myself. It made me really curious as to what Priscilla’s story is . . . and Claude’s too, for that matter. Where are they from? Who are they really? And what are they hiding behind those outlandish outfits they always wear?”

  By then, we’d polished off the cheesecake. Ted took our plate and forks to the sink, rinsed them off, and then put them in the dishwasher.

  “They’re personas,” Ted said. “I suppose we all are in a way. The Atwoods are just more obvious about theirs. Maybe Priscilla didn’t want Captain Moe to blow her exotic cover. For the Horror Emporium to be a success, I believe that Claude and Priscilla feel they have to portray themselves as eccentrics. For Captain Moe to recognize her as a small-town girl might’ve been a threat to her facade.”

  “You’re ever so deep, Detective Nash.”

  He sat back down at the table and took a sip of his coffee. “As for your mom, she might be scared. I don’t think she’d intentionally hide anything from you, but she wouldn’t want you to worry either. You know how that is. I’ve seen you do the same thing with her.”

  “That’s true. But that’s different.”

  “Of course it is.” He smiled. “Now about that video . . . you don’t happen to have it with you, do you?”

  “I don’t, but I promise we’ll watch it together soon.”

  “Are you ready for Friday?” he asked.

  “Yep. The goodie bags are all stuffed and in a basket in the storeroom. I’ll put the basket on the counter Friday afternoon. The door prizes are finished, framed, and wrapped. And, I’m sure Sadie has the food under control.”

  “No nervous jitters? No nightmares about your first party at the Seven-Year Stitch?”

  “No . . . not really
. I mean, no nightmares. Plenty of jitters. It sounds bad to say this, but I feel like the worst thing that could happen this year has already happened,” I said. “What could be worse than Keira’s death?”

  “Shhh. Don’t jinx it.”

  My eyes widened.

  “I’m kidding,” he said.

  “I know you really can’t talk about it, but do you have any leads in Keira’s murder?”

  “We’re still following the leads we have, but we do have a couple of new developments. I can tell you with the utmost certainty that vampire fangs did not make the puncture wounds in Keira’s neck.”

  “What about Detective Poston?” I asked. “Is he still on the case?”

  “He is. Why?”

  “I didn’t care much for him. He was too abrasive.”

  “I knew you didn’t like him. That’s why after the initial interview, we didn’t have you talk with him anymore. Besides, you’d been with Manu and me. You weren’t a suspect.”

  “For a change.” I gave him a wry smile.

  He lifted my hand to his lips. “Poston is currently investigating business owners who might be linked to Ken Sherman. We think one of those people might’ve killed Keira or know who did.”

  “Including Jared Willoughby?”

  “I’ve said too much already,” he said.

  “I know. We should stop all this talking.” I leaned in for a kiss.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I got up on Thursday morning, I heard Mom messing around downstairs. From the scents of bacon and maple wafting up the stairs, I deduced she was making breakfast. I quickly showered, dressed, and joined her in the kitchen.

  “Good morning, darling,” she said.

  “Hi. Are you feeling better?”

  “I am. I made you pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Angus has already had his bacon and eggs and is outside. He also enjoyed half of the banana I put on my oatmeal.”

  “Mom, you had oatmeal, and you made me all this?” I gestured toward the table.

  “Well, it isn’t all for you. I invited Ted, but he can’t get away. So I asked Todd to come by. He should be here—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, the doorbell rang.

  “Come on in!” she called.

  Todd came in, strode into the kitchen, and swept Mom up into a hug. “Good morning, ladies! Thanks for thinking of me, Ms. Singer.”

  “You’re welcome. You two go ahead and sit down.”

  Todd and I sat down at the table, and like siblings, reached for the same pancake.

  “I’m the guest,” he said.

  “I’m the girl. Guys are always supposed to defer to the girl.”

  “Well, if you want that giant pancake on your hips . . .”

  I glared at him. “Fine. Take it.”

  “Oh, no. Go ahead.”

  “Children.” Mom stood with her hands on her hips looking at us. “There’s enough to go around.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Todd and I spoke in unison, and then laughed.

  “So how are you feeling, Ms. Singer?” he asked.

  “Much better . . . and it’s Beverly. Ms. Singer makes me sound old.” She got herself some coffee and joined us at the table. “Did you know that Marcella actually called and told on me to Alfred last night?”

  Todd looked at me. “Tattletale.”

  I poked my tongue out at him and then poured syrup on my pancake—the one under the one Todd had claimed. “I just wanted to find out if anything like that had happened before. You know you wouldn’t tell me if it had, Mom.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to worry . . . especially not right now when you’re getting ready to celebrate the Seven-Year Stitch’s anniversary.” She sipped her coffee. “But nothing like that has happened to me before. And I’m sure I’ll get a clean bill of health from the cardiologist.”

  “I should take off and go with you to that appointment,” I said.

  “No, you should not. I promise I’ll tell you if anything’s wrong.” She turned to Todd. “Do you argue like this with your parents?”

  “Of course. It’s an adult child’s job. It keeps you guys on your toes.”

  “Gee, thanks. So our children are trying to keep our old minds sharp, is that it?”

  Todd looked at me. “I did not say that. Now I see where you get it.”

  I smirked at him.

  “By the way, Todd, I’m sorry about Keira,” Mom said. “I know the two of you weren’t together anymore and that you’d both moved on, but it still must’ve been quite a shock for you when she died.”

  “It was. Thank you.”

  My mind raced. Had I even thought of Todd during this ordeal? Not really. Not as someone who had dated Keira in the past. Granted, they’d dated only casually and just a time or two, but she’d been crazy about him.

  Todd silently read the expressions flitting across my face and winked. “Now aren’t you glad you let me have the biggest pancake?”

  “Yes.” I pushed my plate over. “You can even have the rest of mine.”

  He pushed it back. “No, thanks. I don’t want your cooties.”

  Mom laughed. “You two are impossible.”

  I had a sudden thought. “Did Keira’s dad ever try to invest in the Brew Crew?”

  “He bought a couple of beers one night. Does that count?”

  “No.” I explained Adalyn’s tale about Jared wanting to expand his business. “Given Mr. Sherman’s penchant for trying to get people to franchise, I thought he might’ve approached you.”

  “Not me. And I’m glad of it given everything I’m hearing about him now. Besides, I’ve always been a stand-on-my-own-two-feet kinda guy.”

  “Me too. I mean, I told Adalyn I was happy with the Seven-Year Stitch the way it is now and that I didn’t see myself expanding anytime soon.”

  “What did she say to that?” Mom asked.

  “She said that I might change my mind whenever I decided to have a family.”

  Todd shrugged. “She’s got a point. As nice as Jill is, I don’t think she’d be the world’s best nanny.”

  I had a fleeting thought of my mannequin turning into Mary Poppins.

  “Maybe by then, I’ll be ready to give up showbiz,” said Mom.

  “I doubt that.” I dug back into my pancake before realizing Todd and Mom were staring at the top of my head. “What?”

  “Is there some news you’d like to share with the rest of us?” Todd asked.

  “No, there isn’t.” I simply couldn’t see Mom ready to give up show business before I was ready to have a child. In fact, I couldn’t see Mom ever ready to give up her career.

  • • •

  Mom, Angus, and I barely had time to get into the Stitch before actors started coming in. The young man who was afraid of dogs basically said hello and left. But the others lingered. In the sit-and-stitch square. For hours.

  Priscilla and Claude came in wearing matching black tuxedos. At first, they acted as if they were disappointed that their actors had come over to “bother Ms. Singer” and were going to herd them back up the street, but then they joined the party. Priscilla stood at the prime spot to Mom’s right until the girl sitting there moved and let her boss have her seat. The girl promptly plopped onto the floor at Mom’s feet.

  While I waited on customers, Mom entertained the neighbors with Hollywood anecdotes. I heard snatches of conversations now and then, but mostly I restocked bins and waited on needle crafters. I’d been afraid all the attention would wear Mom out, but she seemed to be really enjoying herself.

  When they all finally left, I asked Mom if she’d found any budding talents among the actors.

  “Maybe,” she said. “I told them I’d keep my eyes open, and I steered them toward some reputable agencies.”

  “That’s go
od.”

  “Yeah.” She brushed at the sleeve of her sweater. I didn’t see any hair or lint there, so I wasn’t sure what she was doing. Finally, she spoke again. “Does Tallulah Falls have a community theater?”

  “Probably. If not, I’m sure there’s one not terribly far from here. Why? Are you thinking the actors need more practice?”

  “No, I was thinking about what you said this morning at breakfast about starting a family . . . How you felt like that would happen long before I retire.”

  I sat down beside her. “And?”

  She shrugged but still didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to miss spending time with my grandchild while I was off on first one movie set and then another. I made that mistake when you were growing up.”

  “I think I had a terrific childhood.”

  “Still. . . . Maybe the other night was a wake-up call. Maybe it’s time to start thinking about retirement.”

  “Mom, that would destroy you,” I said. “I saw what a wonderful time you were having with those actors. You need that in your life.”

  “But I need you too.”

  I took her hand. “And you’ve got me. You’d never be happy doing community theater.”

  “I might.”

  She looked at me, and I arched a brow.

  “Or I might not,” she admitted. “But I’d be willing to give it a try.”

  “You’re really concerned about your health, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m worried that I won’t be here for you when you need me.” She quickly corrected herself. “I don’t mean be here as in living. I mean be here as in Tallulah Falls.”

  “You’ve always been around when I needed you, Mom. And you always will be.”

  She smiled softly and lowered her eyes.

  “And I want to be there for you,” I continued. “Let me go with you to the doctor when you get back home. Or let me make an appointment for you with a cardiologist here in Oregon. Then you’ll at least have a better idea of your condition.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine, darling. I think I’d know if there was something wrong with my heart. And I think the ER doctor would too. Had she suspected anything truly serious, she’d have either kept me in the hospital or referred me to a cardiologist right away. She wouldn’t have advised me to wait until I got back home.”