Thread Reckoning Page 4

  Molly nodded. “Yep. Molly Simcox. Nice to meet everybody.”

  Molly was apparently a woman of few words. “Nice to meet you, Molly,” I said. The other students murmured their assent.

  I went to the counter and got the photos Reggie had sent. “Reggie sends her regards from India.” I started passing the photos at each end of the square. “It looks like she and Manu are having a blast.”

  “It sure does,” Vera said. “I’ve never been to India. I think I might like to go there sometime.”

  “Talk with Reggie when she gets back,” Julie said. “Maybe she can help you make the arrangements.”

  “Maybe so.” Vera smiled. “I will be glad for them to get home, though.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “I miss them.”

  “Not only that,” Vera said. “Something bad always happens when the sheriff is out of town.’

  Chapter Four

  Unfortunately, I’d been unable to come up with a third design idea for the wedding gown that I thought might satisfy Cassandra Wainwright. But, on the other hand, I wasn’t sure I intended to take on the project, anyway. If Cassandra didn’t like either of the two designs I presented her with, maybe she’d take her project elsewhere and I would at least know I had tried. It would be horrible of me to have told her yesterday that I’d be happy to do the work and then cop out on her today because my battered ego made it too hard for me to work on a wedding dress.

  If Cassandra backed out of the project, then fine. If not, I would do the work.

  Since Cassandra and her fiancé were to be coming in today, I’d left Angus at home playing in the backyard this morning. I’d only been at the shop for an hour and was busy replenishing my supply of perle flosses when Cassandra, her fiancé, and an older woman came in. I was thinking the woman had to be Cassandra’s future mother-in-law, given her resemblance to the fiancé. Both the fiancé and his mother had black hair—though it was rather obvious the mom was helping hers stay black at this point—olive complexions, and dark brown eyes. Cassandra’s fiancé was wearing khaki slacks, a cream-colored sweater, and a brown tweed sport coat. I couldn’t tell what the older woman was wearing beneath her black wool coat, but Cassandra was resplendent in a red leather coat and dark denim jeans.

  “Good morning,” I said brightly. “May I take your coats?”

  “No, thank you. Where’s the dog?” Cassandra said, looking all around the shop.

  “I left him at home today,” I said.

  “Oh, good.” She held her open palm toward her fiancé. “This is my fiancé, Frederic Ortega, and his mother, Francesca.”

  “Hello,” I said, shaking hands with both Frederic and his mother. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Have you prepared your design ideas?” Cassandra asked, moving over to the seating area.

  “I have, and I printed them out yesterday,” I said as I went to retrieve the photos from the office. I returned to the seating area, where Cassandra and Frederic were sitting on the sofa facing the window, and Francesca was sitting on one of the red chairs.

  “I only have two that I feel could be done in the time allotted and with the materials you mentioned.” I handed the photos to a dubious-looking Cassandra.

  She gave the first photo—Look One—a cursory glance before tossing it onto the ottoman in front of Francesca. Look Two—the one with the triangular jeweled insets topped with sapphires on the skirt and the jeweled bodice—received a grudging respect.

  “This one has possibilities,” Cassandra said, showing the photo to Frederic. “Don’t you think?”

  “It’s lovely,” he said. “Mom, what do you think?”

  Francesca leaned over to look at the photo in Cassandra’s hand. “I like it.”

  “It could work,” Cassandra said. “I really like how you’ve done the skirt on this one. I’m not so crazy about the big blue jewel at the top of the bodice, but we can work on that. For now, let’s start with you doing the skirt just as you have it in this photo.”

  “All right,” I said.

  Francesca opened her enormous black purse and removed a blue velvet bag. “Here are the gems we’d like you to put on the dress.” She handed me the bag.

  “May I?” I asked before opening the bag.

  At Francesca’s nod, I opened the bag and carefully poured the gems onto the oval coffee table that sat between the two sofas. If I hadn’t known these were fake, I could certainly mistake them for the real things.

  “These are beautiful,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Francesca said. “I’m unable to give much of a gift to my son and his bride on their wedding day, but this I can do.”

  “I think it’s a wonderful gesture,” I said. “And these gems will give the dress such an opulent look.”

  “They will, won’t they?” Cassandra said, her eyes gleaming. She opened her own bag—a red leather clutch that matched her coat—and took out a checkbook. “Do you intend to work by the hour or by the piece?”

  “I typically work by the piece,” I said. “But I can work by the hour if that would be better for you. It’s whatever you want to do.”

  “You can work by the hour, then,” she said. “That way, I won’t feel guilty if I have to have you do something over and over until you get it right.” She smiled, but there really wasn’t a lot of humor there. “I’ll give you a five-hundred-dollar retainer today, and after you’ve finished the skirt, we’ll see where you’re at.”

  “Five hundred?” Frederic said.

  “You don’t think it’s enough?” Cassandra asked.

  “I . . . I suppose it’s all right,” he said.

  I had a feeling he’d been going to object to her giving me a retainer—or, at least, that much of one—but after the “over and over” comment, I kind of felt like I’d need it. I gladly accepted the check and wrote Cassandra a receipt.

  “I’ll be in tomorrow or the next day to see how you’re doing,” Cassandra said.

  “Great,” I said. “I appreciate your business. Francesca, Frederic, it was a pleasure meeting the two of you.”

  “You as well,” Francesca said.

  Frederic merely nodded and left.

  Once they were out on the street, I could see him engage Cassandra in a rather heated debate. It didn’t last long, though, and it was easy to see that he was letting her have her way on whatever they’d been arguing about—my retainer, I imagined.

  I sat down on the sofa facing the window and reopened the blue velvet bag. I examined each of the gems prior to putting them back into the bag. I wanted to make sure I had enough to make the skirt look as pretty as it did in the photograph. It appeared there were plenty of crystals. Like Cassandra had said, they appeared to be about a third of a carat each. The saltwater pearls varied in size from five millimeters all the way up to nine. There were at least ten of the sapphire-colored gems Cassandra had spoken of. They were dark blue, multifaceted jewels. I’d expected the blue gems to be round like the pearls and crystals. Instead, they were emerald cut. They were beautiful. At first glance, no one would be able to tell these jewels were costume jewelry if they were set in a ring or pendant.

  I made a mental note to ask Francesca where she got them. I’d never seen imitation jewels of this quality before, and I’d love to have some. I’d even like to carry them in the store. Not only would they be great for embroidery projects, but they’d be fantastic for costumes. If I decided to go to the masquerade ball, I’d love to use beads and paste gems like these to make myself some “ruby” jewelry to go with that maroon and black gown Vera had told me about.

  I took the velvet bag and the wedding gown into the office. I then went into the stockroom and got a dress form. I carried the dress form into the office and slipped the wedding dress onto it. I then put the dress form on a wooden stool so I could use straight pins to measure out where the triangular insets would be placed on the dress. Using my tape measure, I made each of the insets four inches long at the base and three inches
apart. That would adequately cover all the yellowing along the skirt’s hem without overwhelming the gown. We wanted opulence, not a blinding Vegasshowgirl wedding gown.

  I’d pinned the dress all the way around the hem when the bells over the shop door indicated I had a customer.

  “Good morning!” I called. I got up off the floor, slid my palms down the sides of my jeans, and set my pin cushion on the desk before going out into the store.

  “Good morning.”

  It wasn’t a customer. It was David. Well, I suppose he could buy something, which would make him a customer, but I doubted he would. I mean, one, he was out of work and, two, he didn’t embroider . . . as far as I knew.

  Okay, so my mind rambles when I’m not prepared for something. You’d think that after yesterday, I’d have been prepared to see David today. But I’d pretty much put yesterday’s visit and the things David had said in a little lead-lined box and stored it in a dark corner of my mind to be ignored until I was ready to deal with it. And I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet.

  “Hi,” I said, wary.

  David nodded toward the rose adorning my countertop. “I see you found it.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He walked slowly toward me. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  I nodded. Had I missed him? Sure. But for a long time—months, I suppose—all I had felt for David and our relationship had been anger and regret. I finally was able to look back on the good times we’d had and smile, but getting to that point had been hard. It was still hard.

  “I just can’t get past what you did to me, David.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” he said. “What do I have to do?”

  “You don’t have to do anything.” I walked over to the seating area and sat on one of the chairs. “I didn’t ask you to come here. I’ve moved on with my life.”

  “Marcy, we were great together. We could have a terrific future . . . starting now. I’ve matured. I’m ready to settle down, buy the house with the picket fence, have a family.”

  I looked down at my hands. I’d once wanted nothing more than to make a life with this man. Was it possible for us to pick up the pieces? After the way he’d hurt me, would I even want us to?

  David sat on the sofa beside my chair and took my hands in his. “I know this whole thing comes as a surprise to you.”

  “A surprise? That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “But I’m willing to give you time,” he said. “I’ll be here for at least a week.”

  “An entire week. That is a lot of time.”

  “Be as sarcastic as you want, but I’m going to be here every day of that week convincing you that giving me another chance—giving us another chance—is the right thing to do.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Have dinner with me tonight. You’ll see. It’ll be just like old times.”

  I pulled my hand away. “I can’t tonight,” I said. “I left Angus at home today, and I’ll have to run home and feed him and then hurry back here for class.”

  “I can’t do this by myself, Marcy.” He blew out a breath. “Do you want to look back at your life ten years from now and wonder what might’ve been if you’d met me halfway?”

  Did I? Maybe I should go out to dinner with him, see if there were any of those old feelings left. If nothing else, it would bring me the closure I hadn’t had before.

  I sighed. “Can we have dinner tomorrow evening? We can do it either before class or after.”

  “Do you have class every freakin’ night?” he asked.

  “I have class Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. If you’ll recall, I had no idea you were coming. You can’t expect me to rearrange my schedule at the last minute.”

  “Let’s just have dinner Friday, then. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Great,” he said, standing. “I’ll see you then.” He stalked out the door.

  I was glad for his semitantrum. It was a good reminder of the side of David I’d glossed over when we were dating.

  He walked in the direction of MacKenzies′Mochas. I didn’t think he’d go into the coffee shop, given his feelings about Blake and Sadie—and vice versa—but I guessed he’d had to park near there. And I also guessed Sadie would catch a glimpse of him walking past her window and would be over here as soon as she could.

  I was a good guesser.

  Sadie hadn’t even stopped to grab a coat before rushing out of the shop and up the street to the Seven-Year Stitch. “What is up with him?” she asked as soon as she opened the door.

  “He wants me. He needs me. He loves me. He can’t live without me,” I said.

  “And it took him over a year to come to these conclusions?” she asked, coming over and flopping onto the sofa.

  “It was mean of you to call Todd to come over here yesterday to chase away the big rat,” I said.

  “Yeah, well . . . ,” she huffed. “I wanted to remind you that David isn’t your only option. Todd’s ten times better looking than David. And he’s a good guy. If he made a promise to you, he’d keep it.”

  “I know you meant well, but it made all of us very uncomfortable—Todd included.”

  “I know,” she said. “He called and fussed at me, too. So, what’s the deal? Are you considering getting back with David?”

  “No,” I said. “But I need to get some closure. We’re having dinner together Friday night.”

  “That won’t give you enough time,” she said, pushing a strand of her long dark hair out of her face. “He’ll act as perfect as he can, and you’ll think he’s come to his senses.”

  “I’ll know, Sadie. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” she said. “It’s him I don’t trust.”

  I laughed. “Do you know how many fathers of teenage girls just uttered that exact same phrase? It’s probably echoing somewhere in outer space in every language in the universe.”

  “Just guard your heart, Marce. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  When the alarm went off the next morning, it seemed as loud as a foghorn. Which was appropriate, I supposed, because I felt like I was in a fog. I reached over and slapped the clock. Snooze. Ten more minutes. Just ten....

  Suddenly a bell rang. It was loud. Grandfatherclock-in-my-head loud. I slapped the clock again, but the bell still rang. As I tried to shake off the fog and open my eyes to determine the source of the noise, it rang a third time.

  I finally pried my eyes open and realized that it was the phone. I grabbed it. “What?” Okay. So it wasn’t my usual chipper greeting, but I really hadn’t slept well the night before and someone was calling me before I was even awake and I was foul over it.

  “Marcy, this is Ted Nash.”

  “Oh, good grief. Did Sadie ask you to call me?”

  “No. I . . . I’m afraid I need you to come on down to the shop,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “There’s been an accident.”

  My alarm went off for the second time. I fumbled around and turned it off.

  “What kind of accident?” I asked. “A fire?” I shot up in bed. “Did my shop catch on fire?”

  “No, it wasn’t a fire. The shop is fine. However, there was a woman stabbed outside the store this morning. We found your name and number written on a piece of paper in her coat pocket. Get here as soon as you can, all right?” And then he hung up.

  Now I was wide awake, but dread was holding me to the bed, urging me to get back under the covers and hide. I fought the dread—mainly because I didn’t want Ted to come and drag me out of my house in my pj’s—and got up. I quickly dressed and brushed my teeth. This could not be happening to me again. Could it?

  I let Angus out into the backyard. I put his food and water out there with him, and I left. I wanted to take Angus with me so badly, especially since I’d left him home yesterday. But, if the Seven-Year Stitch was once again a crime scene, it was the l
ast place he needed to be.

  My heart had been racing as I drove to the shop, but when I got close enough to see the police cars and the ambulance, I thought it would stop beating entirely. I pulled closer and was stopped by a tall, uniformed police officer with blond hair and piercing green eyes.

  “This is a crime scene,” said the young officer, whose nameplate read Moore. “You can’t go any farther.”

  “It’s okay, Andrew,” Ted called, approaching us. “This is Marcy Singer. It’s her shop. Let her through.”

  Ted’s deep blue eyes searched my face as he gave me instructions on where to park. I wanted to tell him I was all right, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I was or not. When I got out of the Jeep, he accompanied me to the sidewalk where a portion had been cordoned off with yellow police tape. In my sneakers, I only reached Ted’s chest. Part of me wanted to hide my face in his gray oxford shirt, but I knew I had to look.

  Crime scene technicians were bending over the body. I couldn’t see much . . . just her shoes. They were black, thick-heeled pumps. One shoe had been knocked off.

  Keeping a hand at my lower back, Ted instructed the technicians to back away so I could view the body. I was glad of his support. Maybe if I fainted, he’d either catch me or at least keep me from cracking my head open on the concrete.

  When the techs moved away, I gasped. “Francesca!”

  “So you do know the victim?” Ted asked.

  I nodded. “Francesca Ortega. She’s Cassandra Wainwright’s future mother-in-law.”

  “Not anymore, she isn’t.”

  I turned to see who the woman with the abrasive voice—and attitude—was. It was the pretty woman I’d seen Ted with on Tuesday. I ignored her and looked back at Ted. “What happened?”

  “She was stabbed here early this morning,” he said.

  “Was it a robbery?” I asked.

  “We’re not positive yet, but we think so. The victim didn’t have a purse on her when we arrived.” He nodded, and the crime scene investigators returned to their duties. “You’re shivering. Let’s go inside.”