Thread End: An Embroidery Mystery (13 page)

“Could someone have paid him to take the painting?”

“That’s possible. But it’s also conceivable that my father took the painting but didn’t want to admit it to us.”

I stood and began to pace. “Chad Cummings made twenty million dollars from the insurance company after the Cézanne was stolen. He bragged to me right here in this shop that he made more than ten times what he’d paid for it.”

“And you think he might’ve paid Dad to steal the painting.”

“Think about it,” I said. “Your dad goes to Seattle at Chad Cummings’s bidding to appraise his painting—which had already been appraised for the insurance company. What if Cummings only contacted your father because he’d heard about Libby’s accident and thought Dr. Vandehey might be in need of money to help pay for her health care costs?”

George nodded.

“This thought isn’t new to you.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “In fact, it’s the main reason I’m in Tallulah Falls and plan to stay here until Dad’s murderer has been caught.”

I sat back down and lowered my voice. “You believe Chad Cummings paid your dad to help him commit insurance fraud.”

“Yes, I do,” George said. “And when we found out about the operation that could help Libby, I think Dad contacted Chad for more money.”

“But Cummings blew him off,” I said. “He had a letter confessing that Dr. Vandehey had stolen the painting. Any retraction of that confession would be—in Cummings’s eyes—the word of a thief versus the word of a respected art collector.”

“Not just in Chad Cummings’s eyes. Every law enforcement official on the case would have seen it that way, too.”

“Like Special Agent Floyd Brown.”

“You sound like you’ve had the pleasure of making Special Agent Brown’s acquaintance,” said George.

“I certainly wouldn’t call it a pleasure.” I looked into George’s solemn brown eyes. “Do you think Chad Cummings killed your father?”

“I’m almost sure of it.”

“We need to call Ted,” I told him. “Detective Ted Nash . . . he’s my boyfriend. . . . He’s the lead investigator on the case. We should let him know about this right away.”

“Not right now . . . please. I’m tired, and I’d like to go back to my hotel room and rest.”

“Of course. Would you like to come to my house this evening? The two of you can talk privately there.”

“Possibly,” he said. “I’m afraid any law enforcement officials would ruin my case against Chad until I can gather adequate evidence against him.”

“Not Ted,” I said, scribbling my address on the back of my business card and handing it to George. “He’ll know exactly what to do.”

I
called Ted immediately upon George’s departure. Poor little Angus, still empathizing with George’s depressed demeanor, went to sigh by the window. Thankfully, he’d never seen a silent movie, or else he’d have been lying on the sofa with one paw up over his head à la Theda Bara or Clara Bow.

“You’re missing me already?” Ted asked when he answered my call.

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling,” I said. “I have a new lead on the murder of Geoffrey Vandehey.”

“Let’s have it, Inch-High.”

“George Vandehey came by to see me just now and told me he thinks Chad Cummings killed his dad.”

“Because Dr. Vandehey stole his painting?” Ted asked.

“No, because he thinks Cummings paid his dad to take the painting and write the confession so that Cummings could commit insurance fraud.”

“I don’t know, babe. That could be wishful thinking on George’s part.”

“But it could also be true,” I said. “It’s like he said, at this point, no one would have believed Dr. Vandehey had he gone to the police.”

“Right. So what was the point in Chad Cummings killing him? Had Dr. Vandehey come forward, he would have immediately been arrested,” Ted said. “Now, if you were explaining the motive Vandehey had to kill
Cummings
, that would make more sense.”

“Would you talk to George anyway?” I asked. “I invited him to meet with us at my house after class this evening.”

“Sure, I’ll see what he has to say.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure he’ll come, but he might. I told him you were wonderful.”

He chuckled. “Are you trying to use your feminine wiles on me, Ms. Singer?”

“Mmm-hmm. Is it working?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

I laughed. “See you after class.”

“Looking forward to that . . . seeing you . . . meeting George Vandehey, not so much.”

“By the way, why did you appear to be so uncomfortable at lunch today?” I asked.

“Because Anderson Padgett was right—the chances of him recovering his art collection are slim to none. He’s obviously not in good health, and I didn’t want to admit that to him.”

“He knows, of course.”

“He does,” Ted admitted. “But I’m going to do everything I can to help him get it back. I’m just not optimistic about my efforts paying off.”

“I have confidence in you.”

“Even after yesterday?” he asked.

“Even after yesterday.”

*   *   *

Sadie came over after the lunch rush. I was writing Nellie Davis’s name on the envelope of the ribbon-embroidery card I’d made for her.

“What’s up with that?” Sadie asked. “Is there a little spring-loaded fist in there that’s going to come up and pop Nellie in the nose when she opens the card?”

I giggled. “No. This morning when Angus and I were passing by her shop, she stepped out and gave me a stress candle.”

“A stress-
relief
candle or a stress-
inducing
candle?”

“A stress-relief candle . . . I think. Now that you mention it, I’d better look at the label to be sure.” I looked at the label and then turned it toward Sadie. “Yep. See? It says so right there.”

“Well, I’ll be. What brought that on?”

I explained Nellie’s visit to me yesterday. “She acted like she was scared half to death. Ted went over and talked with her, and then Special Agent Brown did, too. She told me this morning that she appreciated Ted’s visit, but she hadn’t cared for Brown’s attitude. I basically told her welcome to the club.”

“Yeah, that guy’s a jerk. He came to talk with Blake and me Saturday afternoon. He also detained our staff and let business back up while he questioned them, even though the on-duty staff was not the staff that had been working Friday night.” She rolled her eyes. “Manu sent his deputies to talk with the people who’d worked the night before.”

“I have no idea why Brown won’t listen to reason. He seems to have no common sense whatsoever. It’s like he wants to rearrange the facts to make them what he wants them to be. Yesterday he said that I
alleged
stumbling over the body.” I spread my hands. “Like I . . . what? Killed Professor Vandehey, wrapped him in either a rug that I stole or a stolen rug that happened to be lying around in my alley, and then left him until the next morning when I pretended to stumble over his body? How ridiculous is that?”

“That’s pretty out there, Marce. Maybe
Blake
killed the guy, wrapped him in said rug, left him outside your shop so it wouldn’t be too close to MacKenzies’ Mochas, and waited for you to stumble over the body so you could call Ted, Ted could call Blake, and Blake could come and be surprised.”

I laughed. “That is perfect Special Agent Brown logic!”

“So, what was with the old guys you and Ted were lunching with today?” she asked. “They aren’t wedding directors or anything, are they?”

“No, they aren’t wedding directors. One was Anderson Padgett.”

“The guy whose art collection was stolen?”

“The very same,” I said. “He was the older one in the wheelchair. The other man was his friend Simon Benton.”

“Not that it’s any of my business . . .”

“Not that that will stop you from asking . . .” I giggled. “Simon Benton invited us to have lunch with him and Mr. Padgett because he said Mr. Padgett and I could discuss textiles, and they could talk with Ted privately about the case.”

“Privately? In a crowded dining room?” She turned down the corners of her mouth. “Makes sense to me.”

“Maybe it’s Special Agent Brown logic,” I said.

She nodded. “That could be it. SAB logic—we now have a new code word for stupidity.”

“Guess what.” I didn’t give her a chance to guess. When Sadie guessed something, it was usually as outlandish a speculation as anyone could imagine. Before she could provide an answer, I said, “I met Ted’s mother yesterday.”

“Ooh, did you have dinner? Did he take you over to her house? Did he just spring this meeting on you, or did you know about it ahead of time? And if you knew about it, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I knew nothing about it,” I said. “She came into the shop. And she didn’t introduce herself to me, either! I didn’t even know who she was until Ted came in and called her ‘Mother.’”

“The woman went ninja
on you?” Sadie sat on the sofa facing the window and patted the cushion next to her. “Get over here and spill. Blake can handle things for a few more minutes.”

I sat down beside Sadie and told her all about my first encounter with Veronica Nash.

“Well, at least, she stood up for you,” she said. “That’s something . . . right?”

“I don’t know if she was standing up for me or if she was simply showing me that she’s adept at putting people in their place.” I blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to think of her. I mean, she bought a cross-stitch kit and some pattern books and said she might be back today, but I don’t know if she’s for Ted and me or against us.”

“Did Ted know his mother was planning on dropping in on you?”

“No,” I said.

“Did he say why he hadn’t introduced the two of you before?”

“He said it was because he was afraid his mother would jeopardize our relationship,” I said.

“What did Bev say?” she asked.

“I told Mom I was afraid it meant that Ted wasn’t serious about me. She told me he’s over the moon for me and that she believed him—that he didn’t want his domineering mother to intimidate me until we were further along in our relationship,” I said. “What do you think?”

“I think your mom is a wise woman. Ted does love you. Besides, it could’ve been worse. The first time I met Blake’s parents, I was wearing a Xena Warrior Princess costume.”

“Oh, I remember that! There had been that costume party on campus! And his parents had dropped by to bring him some groceries.” I laughed. “You did look beautiful, though! Didn’t Blake’s dad say, ‘Wowza,’ and give him a thumbs-up?”

Sadie threw back her head and laughed, too. “Yes! He did! That didn’t help me win points right away with Blake’s mom, either!” She wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, my goodness, I hadn’t thought about that in forever. I’ll have to remind Blake about it when I get back.”

“You know he’ll want you to dig out that costume again.”

“That’s all right. I still have it.”

“Do you really?” I asked.

“I sure do. And he’s got his Hercules outfit, too.” She stood. “Don’t sweat the mom thing, Marce. When she gets to know you, she’ll love you.” She gave Angus a quick hug before she left. I could see that she was still grinning as she walked past the window.

*   *   *

Later that afternoon, as I worked on my crewel project, I got to thinking about George Vandehey again. Was Ted right? Was George’s belief that Chad Cummings had asked his father to take the Cézanne nothing more than the hope of a bereaved son? Who could help uncover the truth?

I picked my cell phone up off the coffee table and called Vera. When she answered, I asked if she and Paul were up to some sleuthing.

“Are we ever!” She paused. “At least, I am. I’m not sure about Paul, but I imagine he’ll agree. What’s going on?”

I told her how George Vandehey had been to see me and that he believed Chad Cummings had committed insurance fraud. “He thinks Cummings contacted Dr. Vandehey after hearing about his daughter’s bike accident and asked him to come appraise the painting.”

“And when Vandehey got there, Cummings offered him money to take the painting so that he could collect the insurance money,” said Vera. “That’s brilliant.”

“Ted thinks George is doing some wishful thinking,” I said. “After all, Cummings
did
present a signed confession to police.”

“But that could have been part of the bargain,” Vera said.

“Do you think you and Paul could discreetly poke around and see what you can find out?”

“You bet,” she said. “I’ll call you tonight with a progress report.”

“Great. I—”

I saw Veronica Nash crossing the street and heading in the direction of my shop.

“—appreciate that, Vera. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll call Paul this instant.”

I was ending the call when Veronica stepped into the shop. Angus raised his head but didn’t get up to welcome her this time.

“Hello,” I said.

“Don’t you look beautiful today?”

Did she have to sound so surprised?

“Thank you,” I said.

I started to mention that Ted and I’d had a lunch appointment, but then I decided not to. I’d prefer her to think yesterday was the fluke and that—like her—I always dressed stylishly. Today she was wearing a navy skirt and a paisley tank. She obviously worked out, because her arms were as toned as her legs.

“How did your project go?” I asked.

She joined me on the sofa and took the kit out of her large white purse. “I think I’m doing well. In fact, I stopped by just to show you the progress I’m making.” She handed me the hoop.

I looked down at her cloth and saw that she had indeed got quite a bit done on the open pink rose and rosebud. “You must’ve worked half the night.”

“I worked while listening to some Bach,” she said. “I found the stitching to be tedious at first. But when I saw the image start coming together, I didn’t want to stop.”

“It sounds as if you had a relaxing evening.” I handed the project back to her.

“I did. Did you?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“I don’t want to make you feel awkward,” said Veronica. “I know Ted was reluctant to bring you around because I tend to be critical of the women he dates.”

For not wanting to make me feel awkward, she was doing a fine job of it.

“I despised Jennifer,” she said. “You know about Jennifer, don’t you?”

“Yes. She was Ted’s first wife.”

“Not in my book. In my book, she was simply a mistake.” Veronica compressed her lips in anger before going on. “I never liked her, and I didn’t try to hide that fact. She was immature and selfish.”

“Talk about immature,” I said. “You come here, and I have a giant doll in my store.”

Veronica laughed. It was a light, tinkling chortle, and I couldn’t help laughing right along with her.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I was rather snide about that mannequin. I always have met Ted’s girlfriends prepared not to like them.”

“Even before Jennifer?”

“Yes. Before she came along, I hadn’t wanted to cut the apron strings. He was too young. He wasn’t ready for a relationship. He had his education to think about. Then he met Jennifer and despite—or maybe because of—my protests, he married her. Two years later, he expected me to say,
I told you so
.”

“But you didn’t?” I asked.

“No, but I sure thought it. Mother knows best, and all that jazz.”

“I thought it was
father
knows best.”

Veronica scoffed. “Every woman knows that’s a crock.”

We laughed again.

“After Jennifer, he didn’t date very much,” she continued. “And when he did, he kept the women far away from me.”

“I guess he hasn’t met anyone special enough to bring home to Mother,” I said nonchalantly.

“He hadn’t. Not until you. I’d ask him periodically if he was dating anyone and he’d say no. And then all of a sudden, in every conversation I have with my son, I’m hearing ‘Marcy, Marcy, Marcy, Marcy.’”

I felt the color rise in my cheeks, and I lowered my eyes.

“And so I asked, ‘When am I going to get to meet this Marcy?’ And he would be evasive. He’d tell me we would have dinner together soon, but we never made any definite plans. I came in yesterday because I was tired of waiting. I wanted to meet you.”

I raised my eyes back to hers. “I’m glad we got to meet.”

“I am, too,” she said. “Ted has been so happy these past few months. If he’s that smitten with you, I’m not going to do anything to risk his happiness.”

“He called you.”

She smiled. “He did. He said it worried you that I’d barged in—”

“I never said
barged
!”

“I know,” she said. “But it worried you that Ted didn’t set up the meeting himself.”

“It did concern me. I’m happy, too, Veronica. And, like Ted, I’ve been hurt badly in the past. I was afraid to trust my heart to him, but I finally reached the point where I was afraid not to.”