Thread Reckoning Page 9

  “I know. David was totally obnoxious last night. And it didn’t just come about gradually. He was like that from the moment he walked through my front door. It was as if he and I had nothing in common whatsoever. I couldn’t even find anything to talk to him about anymore. I would say it was like we were total strangers, but I can usually make conversation with strangers.”

  “Did you tell this guy to go back to California and never come back?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I pretty much just wanted to get last night over with before dealing with another drama.” I blew out a breath. “You can’t believe the week I’ve had.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve been trying to keep up with you—and everyone else—through the newspapers and the grapevine. I should’ve called you before now. Do the police have any leads on whoever stabbed that woman outside your shop?”

  “No. And that whole situation keeps getting weirder and weirder.” I told Riley about the gemstones Francesca had given Cassandra and Frederic to go on the wedding gown. “I—and I think Cassandra and Frederic—thought they were fake. But it turned out they were real. After Francesca’s death, Frederic confided to me about his mother losing the job she’d held for twenty years and what dire financial straits she’d found herself in.”

  “So, where’d she get the jewels?” Riley asked.

  “That’s the mystery.” I explained how the junior Santiago had fired Francesca on the basis that he’d caught her snooping through his desk. “Now, apparently, the senior Santiago seemed to think very highly of Francesca, and yet he allowed his son to fire her.”

  “Do you think she stole the gems from the Santiagos?”

  “I don’t know. But there has to be a reason that Mr. Santiago spoke so highly of Francesca but still allowed her to lose her job,” I said. “I mean, it was his company. He must still have some clout. Had he wanted her to stay with the company—even in a different capacity—wouldn’t he have been given his way?”

  “Santiago,” Riley mused. “Why is that name ringing a bell?”

  “I don’t know. Do you buy your office supplies online from the Santiago Corporation?”

  “No, that’s not it. Wait a sec.” I heard her riffling through papers on the other end of the phone line. “Here it is. It was in the newspaper a couple days ago. The Santiago Corporation’s chief executive officer, Caleb Santiago Jr., is going to be in Toledo Saturday afternoon for a meeting at the Grand Mountain Lodge with potential investors. It says here that the investors are trying to bring new businesses—including a branch of the Santiago Corporation—to the Toledo area.”

  “Toledo. That’s only about half an hour from here, right?” I asked.

  “Um . . . I don’t think just anyone can attend the meeting, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No, but anyone can visit the hotel and wait for Mr. Santiago to go into or come out of the meeting. What time will he be there?”

  “The dinner meeting is to take place at five o’clock p.m. in the main conference room,” Riley read.

  “If I close up the shop an hour early, I could get there before he goes into the meeting,” I said. “Maybe he’ll agree to talk with me either before or after the meeting.”

  “Good luck. Keep me posted. This bed rest thing is killing me. I’ll be thrilled to do whatever I can to help . . . using my laptop and phone, of course.”

  “Thanks, Riley.”

  The phone call from Riley woke me up a little bit, although I think the prospect of going to Toledo and trying to see Caleb Santiago Jr. perked me up even more. I needed to find out the deal with those jewels and try to determine who had ordered Francesca to be killed.

  I put away the Kuba cloth quilt and pulled up my phone’s navigational system. I was more used to traveling north than south since I’d been here in Oregon. I pulled up the browser to get an address for the Grand Mountain Lodge, and then typed in that address to get driving directions and an estimate for the amount of time it would take me to get to the lodge. Within seconds, a map popped up with detailed directions and the prediction that it would take me thirty-eight minutes to reach the lodge from here.

  I glanced up to see David open the door for a customer before coming into the store himself.

  “Good morning,” he said. “No need to call me, because here I am.” He laughed.

  I smiled stiffly and stood to greet both him and the customer. “Good morning.” I placed my phone on the counter and approached the customer. “I’m Marcy Singer. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Nice to meet you, Marcy. I’m Cheryl, and I’m looking for either a crochet or knitting how-to kit,” the woman said. She appeared to be in her early to midfifties, had light brown hair styled to perfection, and had a pleasant smile. “I’m getting ready to become a grandmother for the very first time, and I’d like to be able to either knit or crochet the baby a blanket.”

  “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” I led Cheryl to the knitting and crocheting section. “Some people seem to think crocheting is easier and that it goes faster than knitting. If you have a few minutes, I can teach you some basic stitches for either one.”

  “Really? That’d be great. Can you get me started with crochet?” she asked.

  “Sure. What color yarn would you like to use?”

  She tilted her head as she examined the colors of yarn I had in the bins. “What about yellow? I think that would be pretty.”

  “Yellow it is.” I picked up a skein of yellow yarn, a medium-size crochet hook, and a pattern book. “Let’s go over here to the seating area.”

  I led the woman to the sit-and-stitch square where David had sat down on the sofa facing away from the window. He shot me an impatient look, but I refused to be intimidated. After all, this was my business. I was at work doing what I was supposed to be doing.

  “Let’s start with the chain stitch.” I showed Cheryl how to make the stitch and then watched her face light up with delight as she made a row of joined loops.

  “This is fun!” she said. She smiled at me and then at David, who grinned tightly in return.

  After she’d mastered the chain stitch, I showed Cheryl how to do the slip stitch and the yarn over stitch.

  “Let’s find a pattern you like, so I can be sure to show you the stitches you’ll need to know in order to complete your grandchild’s blanket,” I said, opening the pattern book.

  We found a baby blanket pattern for beginners. It called for single crochet, V-stitch, and double crochet stitches.

  It took us about an hour, but by the time Cheryl left, she had nearly one-fourth of her blanket completed. She paid for her yarn, hook, and pattern book and thanked me for my assistance.

  “I feel confident you’ll be able to finish the blanket on your own,” I said, “but if you need any more help, you know where to find me.”

  “I sure do. Thanks again, Marcy. You’ve been a tremendous help to me this morning.”

  Cheryl left, and I turned to David with a huge smile. David looked irritated.

  “Wasn’t that great?” I asked.

  “It was pretty rude, if you want my opinion. You could’ve excused yourself, found out what I wanted, and then helped her,” he said.

  “I guess I could have done that. But during work hours, customers come first except in an emergency.” I sat back down on the sofa across from the one where David sat. “Do you have an emergency?”

  “No. I just wanted to find out what time we’re going out tonight, and if we can go somewhere decent this time.”

  “Actually, I have other plans tonight. I’m closing the shop early and driving to Toledo,” I said.

  “Toledo, Ohio?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Toledo, Oregon. It’s not all that far from here.”

  “What’s in Toledo?”

  “The Grand Mountain Lodge,” I said.

  The bells over the shop door jingled. I glanced up, but David didn’t seem to notice.

  “So, who’s getting the al
l-nighter?” He sneered. “Beer boy?”

  Since it was Todd who’d entered the shop, he took this as his cue. “Good morning, darling,” he said, his rich voice reverberating throughout the store. “Beer boy at your service.” He came over and sat down beside me on the sofa, draping an arm across my shoulders. “What did you tell Dave here about our all-nighter, beer girl?”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. “I didn’t tell him anything. Do you want to explain about our trip to the Grand Mountain Lodge?”

  “I’d be delighted.” He leaned forward, eager to spin his yarn. I was looking forward to hearing it myself.

  Angus came up and placed his head on Todd’s knee. Even he couldn’t wait to hear this!

  Scratching Angus behind the ears, Todd began his tale. “Grand Mountain is one of the ritziest hotels around here. I thought we’d start with a nice dinner.” He winked at David. “Gotta keep up our strength, you know. Then we’ll dance for a couple hours in the main ballroom . . . have some wine . . . maybe some strawberries dipped in chocolate.” He looked at me.

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  David stood, his eyes spitting venom at me. “After the way you treated me last night—acting all frigid when we kissed, taking me to that nasty little diner, and then saying you had a headache and needed to go home—you’re going to a hotel tonight with this Neanderthal? If the beer boy is what you want, then you can have him!” He turned and stalked out of the shop.

  “Give it a minute,” I said to Todd. “Wait until he gets out of sight.”

  When David was out of sight, Todd and I doubled over in a fit of laughter.

  “I’m sorry,” Todd said. “I couldn’t help myself. You want me to tell him it was all a joke?”

  “No,” I said. “Besides, I really am going to the Grand Mountain Lodge tonight.”

  He raised his brows. “I’ll get out my dancing shoes.”

  I laughed again. “I’m not planning on dancing.” I explained my plan about talking with Caleb Santiago. “I want to ask him what he thought of Francesca Ortega and why he fired her. There’s something that doesn’t add up with that story.”

  “I agree. My assistant manager is off tonight, but I can—”

  “Nonsense. I can handle this.” I smiled. “You’ve already helped out more than you know.”

  “I’ll tell David the truth if you want me to,” Todd said.

  “I don’t want you to. I’m fed up with him. I can’t believe I was actually going to marry that man at one point in my life. Do you know how miserable I’d be right now if I had?” I shook my head in disbelief. “But when he didn’t show up for our wedding, I was heartbroken. He cannot possibly be the same guy I thought I was in love with.”

  “Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re not the same girl.”

  “Either way, I’m glad he’s gone,” I said. “We’re not right for each other.”

  “I’m glad.” Todd searched my face with his warm brown eyes. “Maybe someday that trip to the Grand Mountain Lodge won’t be so far-fetched.”

  “Maybe it won’t.”

  “Be careful tonight, and call me if you need me,” he said. “Santiago might not be willing to talk about his former employees with a stranger, and your audacity in asking might tick him off.”

  “That may be true, but I’ve got to try. And I’ll be tactful.” I shrugged. “Besides, the worst he can do is have Grand Mountain’s security people throw me out, right?”

  At around three o’clock that afternoon, I called Ted. I wanted to see if there had been any new developments in the case before I went to Toledo to talk with Mr. Santiago.

  “Hi,” I said when he answered his phone. “Do you have a second?”

  “Always for you,” he said.

  “I know you aren’t supposed to discuss this with me, so it’s okay if you can’t tell me anything. But have there been any new developments in the Francesca Ortega murder?”

  He lowered his voice. “Her purse was found in a Dumpster between Depoe Bay and Lincoln City early this morning. There were no prints on it.”

  “Not even Francesca’s?” I asked.

  “No. It was wiped clean.” He paused. “I hear your brain cells buzzing. What are you up to?”

  “Caleb Santiago Jr. will be at the Grand Mountain Lodge in Toledo later this afternoon,” I said. “I’m going to try to talk with him.”

  “About what?” Ted asked. “There’s nothing to tie him to Ms. Ortega’s murder.”

  “But, like I’ve heard a certain law officer say over and over again, everyone’s a suspect.”

  “Marcy, you can’t just wander up to the man and ask him if he killed Francesca Ortega.”

  “I know that,” I said. “I’ll be subtle. I—we—have to find out where the jewels came from. Once we know that, we’ll be able to find the killer. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do agree, but I don’t like you veering off on your own and pretending to be Nancy Drew or Jessica Fletcher.”

  “I prefer Nancy. She’s a little stuffy, but she’s a lot younger than Jess.”

  “This isn’t a joke,” he said.

  “I know. But don’t you agree that I’m in a better position to ask off-the-wall questions of Mr. Santiago than you are?” I asked. “I can come across as a ditzy but concerned citizen who’s afraid somebody out there thinks I still have some of the jewels Ms. Ortega brought me.”

  “Let me go with you,” Ted said. “I’ll wear plainclothes. He’ll never peg me as a cop.”

  “I’d peg you as a cop if you were wearing your pajamas,” I said. “Trust me. I can handle this.”

  “All right, but if you need me, call me.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  “And as soon as you talk with Santiago, call me and let me know what he said.”

  “Okay. Wish me luck.”

  “Marcy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful. Please.” He sighed. “You’re a magnet for mishap.”

  Chapter Ten

  I closed up the shop shortly after talking with Ted and took Angus home. I fed him and then put him outside before bathing and changing clothes. I’d worn jeans to work today, but I wanted to wear something nicer to the Grand Mountain Lodge. I was guessing that the businessmen—including Mr. Santiago—would be wearing suits to the meeting. I had an adorable navy tweed suit with white ribbon accents that would be perfect for a business meeting. Sure, I realized I wouldn’t be allowed into the meeting, but a girl has to look the part. Right?

  Four-inch navy stilettos and a pencil skirt do not make for easy access into the Jeep. I thought for a moment I was going to have to get a block to step up on in order to get in. Finally, I was able to grab on to the steering wheel and pull myself up without ripping my skirt or getting a run in my hose. That was a major accomplishment.

  I typed the Grand Mountain Lodge address into my GPS and headed for Toledo. I noticed a strange black sedan fall in behind me seconds after I left the driveway. I didn’t think much of it until it began to take every turn I took. It made me uneasy. Still, it wasn’t even four thirty in the afternoon yet. Who preys on a woman in broad—or, in this case, overcast, dusky, rather narrow—daylight? I shivered at the remembrance that Francesca Ortega had been stabbed outside my shop during the early-morning rush, and no one had admitted to seeing anything.

  Hoping it was just a coincidence and that I was being paranoid, but keeping an eye on the car anyway, I drove on to the Grand Mountain Lodge. I pulled up to the front entrance where a valet rushed over to open the door for me.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said. “May I park your car for you?”

  “Please,” I said.

  He took my hand and helped me out of the Jeep. That was worth a whopping tip right there. I thanked him, gave him the tip, and walked up to the door.

  The doorman opened the door, and I took a quick glance over my shoulder before stepping into the warm interior of the hotel. The car that had been following m
e was nowhere in sight.

  I looked around the lobby. The room was decorated in rich browns and wines. Gleaming leather sofas and overstuffed armchairs were grouped around a fireplace in the left corner. To my right was the registration desk. A young, thin man wearing a tan suit was currently manning the desk.

  I walked over and gave him what I hoped was my most charming smile. “Hi, there. I’m looking for the meeting room.”

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “For the Santiago Corporation.”

  He instructed me to go down the hallway and to my right.

  I easily found the meeting room. I peeped inside and saw a long, glass-topped table surrounded by gray executive armchairs. A man and a woman were already in the room, and they appeared to be getting everything set up. The man was placing portfolios in front of the chairs, and the woman was pouring water into tumblers and setting those on the table.

  “May I help you?” the man asked.

  “I take it Caleb isn’t here yet?” I asked.

  “No, but he’ll be down in a few minutes,” he said. “Shall I tell him you’re here?”

  “Oh no,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to rush him.”

  “Would you like to come on in and sit down?” the woman asked.

  “No, thank you. I’ve been driving and would like to stretch my legs for a few minutes.” With a smile, I turned and walked back up the hallway. If I hung around in this corridor, I was bound to meet up with Caleb Santiago.

  I paced and watched for what seemed like an hour but was really more like fifteen minutes. Finally, my perseverance paid off. Caleb Santiago came rushing down the hall flanked by assistants. One assistant—a leggy blonde in a red suit—was on the phone. The other assistant was a man wearing gray pinstripes and talking with Santiago. It appeared he was trying to set out a game plan for the meeting.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Santiago,” I said. “I’m Marcy Singer. May I have a brief word with you?”