Cross-Stitch Before Dying Read online

  “I feel sorry for the crime scene people. It’s unfair for the police chief to do them that way simply to accommodate Henry Beaumont’s shooting schedule.” I sat down beside Ted. “Until today, Henry didn’t even have Tallulah County on his shooting schedule.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess that’s how it goes when you have a fifteen-year-old daughter who dreams of being the next Babushka Tru,” Ted said.

  “You heard about that, huh?”

  He nodded. “And the new computer system too.”

  “Well, at least, there will be officers on hand to secure the crime scene and to provide another level of protection,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t put too much faith in that extra security, Inch-High.”

  • • •

  Despite staying up until after one a.m. talking with me, after Ted dropped us off following dinner the night before, Mom was wide awake and raring to go by eight o’clock Tuesday morning. She was in the kitchen making breakfast when I went downstairs.

  I kissed her on the cheek before I sat down at the table. “You seem to be feeling happier than you were when we went to bed last night.”

  She put a cup of coffee in front of me. “I’m not sure happier is the word I’d use. It might be better to say that after sleeping on it, I’m more accepting of the situation.” She shrugged. “I came to the conclusion that I need to either scrap the project or come to terms with Babs.”

  “And you’re not about to let some no-talent diva knock you out of the running for an Oscar?” I asked.

  She grinned. “You’ve got it.” She hurried back to the stove to flip the pancakes she was making. “How many of these can you eat?”

  “Two,” I answered.

  “That’s what I was guessing. Angus has already had his and is outside running them off.”

  “Them? Mom, how many did you give him?”

  “Only two,” she said. “Although he is a growing boy.”

  We ate, and Mom insisted on cleaning the kitchen back up while I went up and got dressed. She was being very sunny and domestic, and I hoped she wouldn’t have a run-in with Babs that would change her demeanor from June Cleaver to Meat Cleaver.

  We got to the Seven-Year Stitch at about a quarter before ten. Mom fluffed the sofa cushions and neatened the yarn and floss bins as I readied the coffeepot and called Vera and Reggie. Vera informed me that she would “report for duty” within the hour. Reggie, however, would be unable to make an appearance until lunchtime.

  “I never dreamed we’d be needed so quickly,” Reggie said.

  “Neither did I,” I said. “Mom just arrived last night.”

  “I can try to take tomorrow off, but I can’t promise anything. Unless it’s an emergency, we try to give one another at least a week’s notice since the library has such a small staff.”

  “I understand.” And I did. Besides, based on what I’d read about chikankari, even working around the clock, we wouldn’t be able to put together a decent outfit with the time constraints we’d been given. Lowering my voice so Mom wouldn’t hear, I added, “I don’t know how we’re going to pull this off. I mean, I have class tonight and tomorrow night. . . . and your taking a day off won’t make much difference either way.”

  “Maybe we can use something I’ve already got,” she said.

  “Oh, hey, that could work. I’ll see what Mom thinks about your idea. Thanks, Reggie.”

  After talking with Reggie, I ran her idea by Mom. “We’re not trying to be slackers, of course; it’s just that we didn’t know we were going to have to pull this all together so soon. Plus, Vera and I aren’t experienced in chikankari, and Reggie can’t take today off. She’s going to try to take tomorrow, but she’s not sure she can.”

  “I know, darling. Everything will work out. We just need to stay positive, that’s all. Using something Reggie already has might work wonderfully with just a bit of tweaking.” As she bent and picked up Angus’s tennis ball, I could almost hear that June Cleaver/fifties theme song music playing in my head.

  She tossed the ball, and Angus chased it into the hallway.

  “I’ll get with Reggie sometime later today,” Mom said, turning to me with a smile. “She might have the very garment we need hanging in her closet.”

  To be honest, I was concerned that Mom’s cheery disposition was steeped in denial. I was afraid she was about to get a rude awakening. It came even sooner than I’d expected.

  Before Vera could get to the shop so Mom could give us our instructions, Henry called. He needed for Mom to come out to the set right away and was sending Sonny over to get her.

  “Duty calls,” she said breezily.

  “What do you want Vera and me to do until you get back?” I asked.

  “Just work on the tunics you’ve started. Even if we don’t use them now, we’ll need them eventually.”

  • • •

  Vera and I were working diligently on our tunics when Sadie came into the Seven-Year Stitch.

  “I heard your movie crew is thinking of shooting some scenes near Ford’s Mill,” she said, as she petted Angus on the head.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know where Ford’s Mill is. Reggie and I did take them to a spot on the outskirts of town where we had to pull off the road and hike up a steep hill, but I didn’t see a mill.”

  “Then you didn’t go far enough around the hill.” Sadie sat beside me on the sofa. “I’m sure the place you’re talking about is Ford’s Mill. Just tell your mom to have everybody be careful up there. The mill and outbuildings are dilapidated and about to fall down in some places, and some of the county people use it as everything from a homeless shelter to a landfill to a place to deal drugs.”

  “Oh, my,” Vera said. “Paul will have to look into that. It might make a good investigative piece.”

  “Well, remember the gunman who shot at Ted?” I asked. “His body was found out there on the property, and a dirt biker nearly ran us over as we were hiking up the hill.”

  “A guy’s body was found there, and the movie people are still interested in using the location?” Sadie asked.

  I nodded. “Go figure. But, at least it will be secure. Since the property became a crime scene yesterday, the Tallulah County Police Department is posting a twenty-four-hour guard around the site.”

  “Still,” Sadie said, “ask your mom to be careful.”

  “I will. She’s pretty feisty, though. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  I had a full five minutes before I was forced to eat those words.

  Mom called my cell phone. “Marcella, I’m at the Tallulah County Police Station.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Babs was killed this morning,” she said.

  “What?!” I realized Vera and Sadie were gaping at me.

  “I had nothing to do with it, but the police have brought me in for questioning,” Mom said.

  “What happened to her?” I asked.

  “She fell. The police think she was pushed.”

  “But why are they interrogating you, Mom?”

  “Because she and I had been arguing. Look, I’ll tell you everything I know later,” said Mom. “But could you please come to the station and give me a ride home?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

  I ended the call and, still openmouthed, returned my phone to the pocket of my jeans.

  “What is it, dear?” Vera asked.

  “It’s Mom. . . . The Tallulah County Police Department is questioning her. Babushka Tru has apparently been murdered, and they must think Mom did it.”

  “She didn’t, did she?” Sadie asked.

  “Of course she didn’t!” I was ninety-nine percent sure of that.

  “You go on and see to Beverly,” Vera said. “I’ll watch the shop and Angus while you’re gone.” She w
as already taking her phone from her purse, and I knew she was bursting at the seams to fill Paul Samms in on this latest development.

  “Do you need me to drive you?” Sadie asked.

  “No, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.” I turned to Vera. “And thank you for keeping an eye on Angus and the shop. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  She waved me on as her call was answered. “Hi, it’s me. Have you heard about Babs Tru?”

  As I hurried out the door, I hoped Vera wouldn’t include the bit about my mother being a suspect as she relayed to Paul the scintillating news of Babs’ murder. But I knew it was bound to come out sooner or later.

  Chapter Seven

  I was familiar with the location of the Tallulah County Police Department because I’d been questioned there myself after an elderly woman named Louisa Ralston had collapsed in the Seven-Year Stitch a few months earlier. Ms. Ralston had died, and her death had been ruled a homicide. Come to think of it, Mom had been questioned by the TCPD during their investigation into Ms. Ralston’s death too. She’d been determined to exonerate me as a suspect in Ms. Ralston’s homicide and had not endeared herself to the detectives in charge during that interrogation. As I swung the Jeep into the first available parking space, I hoped her attitude then wouldn’t come back to bite her in the butt now.

  I rushed inside where the dour-faced deputy-secretary sat behind a bulletproof-glass enclosure. She was chatting on the phone and turned away from the window. From her demeanor, I could tell she was on a personal call, and she’d turned her back to me while my mother was undergoing the Tallulah County Inquisition somewhere in the recesses of this building!

  I banged my palm against the glass. She continued to ignore me.

  I took my phone from my pocket, looked up the phone number, and called the Tallulah County Police Department. The deputy-secretary turned to put the first call on hold so she could take the incoming call.

  “Tallulah County Police Department,” she droned. “What is the nature of your call?”

  “I need to speak with someone in charge so that I can report a rude secretary who’s ignoring me while she takes a personal call.”

  Glaring at me, the deputy-secretary slammed down the receiver and buzzed me in. Before allowing me to proceed, she scanned my body with a metal-detecting wand and examined the contents of my purse. She then called someone to come and escort me before buzzing me through another door.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She merely aimed another baleful look in my direction before resuming her phone call.

  When I stepped through the door, I was greeted by a familiar—albeit not particularly friendly—face.

  “Well, well, well, Ms. Singer, I guessed you’d be paying us a visit today.”

  “Your instincts are dead-on.” I regretted using the phrase dead on to Detective Bailey as soon as I’d said it, given the circumstances; but once said, I couldn’t very well reel the words back so I let them go, acting as if it wasn’t awkward after all.

  Warmer weather had made him trade the tweed sport jackets I’d previously seen him in for a lighter-weight navy jacket. His dark blond mustache still obscured his upper lip, though, and his bald spot reflected the overhead fluorescent lights as we walked down the hall.

  “How’s Detective Ray?” I asked, glancing at the framed photos of groups of officers that lined the hallway.

  “Ask him yourself.” Detective Bailey opened the door to an interrogation room.

  Amid the sea of yellow and green plaid carpet, Mom sat at a gray metal table that had been bolted to the floor. I’d expected her to appear frightened or intimidated. Maybe it was some sort of projection of my own feelings because it was not a projection of hers.

  “Detective Ray, would you be a dear and top off my coffee please?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “Ms. Singer—Marcy—you can have ten minutes with your mother in the company of Detective Bailey and me.”

  I looked over at the square-bodied, gray-haired Detective Ray, and he raised his hand in a gesture that was not so much a wave as an acknowledgment of my presence. I nodded.

  “I’ll be right back.” Detective Ray took Mom’s coffee cup from the table. “Bailey?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  I wasn’t offered a beverage. I sat on the rust-cushioned metal chair across from Mom. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I’m fine, darling. How are you? You look upset.”

  “Mom, I am upset. You’re being questioned in a homicide investigation. This is not simply coffee and catching up with our buddies, Detectives Bailey and Ray.”

  “Oh, I know that,” she said. “Although it has been delightful catching up with you.” This comment was directed to Detective Bailey. “But don’t get so jumpy, Marcella. I’m not the only one being questioned, and I’ve called Alfred. He’s on his way.”

  Alfred Benton had been Mom’s attorney for the past thirty years. My father had died when I was young, so Alfred had been a surrogate dad to me almost all my life.

  “You heard that,” I said to Detective Bailey. “Her attorney is on his way. You have no right to question her without her attorney being present.”

  “That’s correct,” he said. “We don’t. Your mother chose to speak with us voluntarily.”

  I turned back to Mom. “Are you sure that’s wise? Wouldn’t you rather wait until Alfred gets here to give a statement?”

  “Not really, darling. My statement is simple: I’m innocent. In fact, I’m not sure Babs’ death was a murder at all. She might’ve just slipped and fell.”

  Detective Ray returned. He put Mom’s coffee in front of her and then sat on the chair beside me.

  “Mom, what happened?” I asked.

  “Babs was messing around that old mill, and she fell,” Mom said.

  “Blunt-force trauma to the back of the victim’s head combined with a possible murder weapon found at the crime scene indicate that the victim didn’t fall but was knocked down through the hole to the floor eighteen feet below,” Detective Bailey said.

  “How do you know she didn’t get the trauma when she fell?” Mom asked. “Falling eighteen feet is bound to have an adverse effect on one’s body.” She looked at me. “This is the issue the detectives and I keep going around and around on. We simply can’t agree.”

  “Trust us,” said Detective Ray. “We know that some of the victim’s injuries occurred perimortem.”

  “How can you be sure of that?” I asked. “Has the autopsy been done?”

  “No, but I saw the body myself,” Detective Ray said. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you know some things without having the benefit of the autopsy.”

  “Why do you think my mother had anything to do with Ms. Tru’s death?”

  “Like she said, we’re talking with everybody,” said Detective Ray. “But she was reportedly the last person to see the victim alive.”

  “And they were overheard having a heated argument,” Detective Bailey added. He looked at his watch. “I’m afraid your time is up, Marcy. If you’d like to wait out in the hall, you may drive your mother back to Tallulah Falls when we’re done talking with her.”

  I pushed back my chair. “Mom, would you like for me to call Riley Kendall?”

  “No, thank you, darling. Alfred will be here tomorrow. Just let me finish up with Detectives Ray and Bailey, and I’ll be right out.”

  I had to wonder if on the inside she was as nonchalant about this whole ordeal as she appeared to be on the outside.

  • • •

  A few minutes later, Mom stepped out of the interrogation room. I started to hug her, but she kept walking. I couldn’t blame her. I was eager to put this place behind me too.

  “Let us know if you plan to leave town, Ms. Singer,” Detective Bailey said.


  “I will,” Mom and I said simultaneously.

  I smiled uncomfortably and gave the officer a little wave before turning and following Mom down the hall.

  We left the building and got into the Jeep. She remained stoic until I’d pulled out of the parking lot. Then she uttered a slight squeak and slumped in her seat.

  I put on my signal light to move onto the shoulder of the road.

  “Don’t you dare stop here,” Mom said. “I don’t want them to see us and think I’m upset. Take me to your place.”

  “Okay.” I turned the signal light off and accelerated. “What happened when you went to the set this morning?”

  “Henry said Babs was aggravated with me because the initial costumes I’d made for her didn’t fit properly.” She huffed. “If you’d seen how that girl has been gorging herself at the hospitality table, you’d understand why the clothes I fitted her with last week will barely button now.”

  “So Henry called you over there to get new measurements?” I asked.

  “Yes. So I went to the tent the crew has set up near an old mill. Ms. Hoity-Toity was in the tent waiting for me, attitude and all.” Mom checked herself for a second. “I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead, and it’s a tragedy she died so young. But that’s just the way it happened. We had words.”

  “That would be where the heated argument overheard by witnesses comes in.”

  “Hey, she started it, not me,” Mom said. “She insinuated that I’d measured her incorrectly the first time. She told me that if I’d known what I was doing to start with, we wouldn’t be doing this again.”

  I pursed my lips. Ouch.

  “I told her that if she’d ever met a cookie she could resist, we wouldn’t be remeasuring,” she said.