Thread End: An Embroidery Mystery (2 page)

“Aw, it won’t be so bad,” I said. “They’ll be discreet, and it’ll give them something to do while we’re mooning over the textiles.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said. “I just wanted us to have one night out when our guys would truly be off duty.”

T
ed arrived at my house at about a quarter past six o’clock. We were to be at the museum at seven, and I was still putting the finishing touches on my makeup. I had short platinum hair, so I liked to take special care in playing up my eyes when I was getting dressed up and wanted to feel glamorous.

“Come in,” I called from the top of the stairs, mascara wand in hand, when Ted rang the bell. “I’ll be right down!” I hurried back to the vanity in the bedroom so Ted wouldn’t see me before I was “finished.”

“Anything I can do to help?” he called from the foyer.

“Would you mind letting Angus back inside?” I asked.

“Will do!”

I was fortunate that my master bedroom was big enough to accommodate a vanity. Sure, it was a little crowded, but it was worth it. Having a mom who was a Hollywood costume designer meant that my entire life I’d wanted a vanity like those I’d seen in dressing rooms. I didn’t have a vanity reminiscent of the ones in a makeup and wardrobe department, though. Mine was even better. It was a small distressed white table with an eyelet skirt around the bottom. Baskets with dividers held makeup and other beauty products. There was a basket attached to either side of the vanity. The top held my mirror—regular on one side and magnifying on the other—a pencil cup filled with makeup brushes, and a bottle of my favorite perfume.

I quickly finished applying my mascara and started to brush a rich red lipstick onto my lips. But then I realized I’d like to kiss Ted hello first without either or both of us ending up looking like clowns, so I dropped the lipstick into my beaded clutch and went on downstairs.

I found Ted and Angus in the kitchen. Angus was giving Ted high fives, and Ted was feeding the dog bacon-flavored treats.

Ted turned and gave a low whistle when he heard me approach. “Wow. You look fantastic.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, thinking he looked gorgeous as I took in his glistening black hair, his incredible blue eyes, and the suit that looked as if it had been tailor-made for him. “I haven’t put my lipstick on yet.”

He flipped Angus the last bacon treat he’d been holding and walked slowly toward me. “Really? Why’s that?”

The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth told me he knew exactly why that was, and my heart did a little tap dance. I laughed softly.

He pulled me into his arms. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.” He lowered his head and kissed my mouth until my knees went weak. Then he kissed my neck, and my knees nearly gave out completely.

As his mouth moved back to mine, I murmured, “We really should go.”

“Do we have to?”

“Manu and Reggie will be waiting.”

Ted kissed me one last time and then raised his head. “You’re right. We’ll have to continue this later. How quickly do you think we can get rid of the Singhs tonight?”

I playfully tapped his shoulder. “You’re so mean!” But as I looked into his eyes, I said, “Reggie probably has to work tomorrow.”

“So do you,” he reminded me.

I grinned. “The Stitch doesn’t open as early as the library does.”

“Now who’s mean?”

*   *   *

When we pulled into the museum’s parking lot, there were almost no empty spaces.

“Let me drop you off at the door,” Ted said. “I might have to park in the municipal lot across the street, and you don’t need to walk that far in those heels.”

I was wearing five-inch pumps. Even at that, I only came up to Ted’s shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. I didn’t dream there’d be such a huge turnout for the exhibit, though, did you?”

He shook his head. “The museum staff had better take measures to stay within the maximum-occupancy fire code.”

I laughed. “You’re worried about maximum occupancy when there’s an art thief on the loose?”

“Hey, safety and emergency-exit procedures are no laughing matters.” He pulled into an available space, put the car in park, and shut off the engine. Then he turned to me. “So Reggie told you there might—and the key word here is
might
—be an art thief nosing around the exhibit?”

I nodded. “You aren’t concerned?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “I don’t think the man suspected of being in the area will burst onto the scene with guns blazing and try to steal the pieces on exhibit.”

“Actually, I can’t see any art thief worth his salt doing that,” I said. “The risk of damaging the art would be too high.”

“Precisely, my Inch-High Private Eye. You’re learning.”

“Yeah, well, I prefer leaving the investigating up to you,” I said.

“Since when?” He chuckled. “However, if you should happen to see this man . . .” He took a photo from his breast pocket and handed it to me. “Then please quietly let me know.”

I dutifully studied the photo of the small, balding man with large round glasses, but I knew full well that if the man came anywhere near the museum tonight, Ted would be the first to spot him. My guy never missed anything.

“He looks nice enough,” I murmured. “Timid, too. He doesn’t seem the heist-y type.”

“As far as we know, he only stole one painting, but it was priceless. Before he turned to a life of crime—or, in this case, an
incident
of crime—he was an art history professor somewhere in Canada.”

“Wonder what it was about that one painting that made it so irresistible to him,” I said.

“I don’t know. He stole the piece in Seattle and left a note saying he simply couldn’t stand to see the painting in the hands of such a boorish, unappreciative collector,” Ted said.

“What was the painting?”

“It was an early work by Cézanne,” he said. “It was similar to his skull paintings. Are you familiar with those?”

“I seem to recall he liked doing still-life paintings with skulls in them,” I said.

“Yeah. The man apparently had a touch of the macabre. Professor Vandehey was in Seattle authenticating the painting.”

“He must’ve been sure it was the real thing to have given up everything for it,” I said.

“He must have.” He suddenly smiled and waved. “There are Manu and Reggie. Sit tight.” He got out of the car and came around to open my door.

Chivalry is alive, well, and sexy,
I thought as I took his hand.

Reggie and Manu were heading toward us. She looked lovely in her coral sari. It had silver beading and sequins and was very elegant. Reggie was even wearing low-heeled silver sandals. She typically wore flats, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing her in heels before.

“You look beautiful,” I said.

“So do you,” she said with a warm smile.

Manu cleared his throat.

“And you look dashing, Manu,” I said.

“Thank you.” He adjusted his black tie. He really did look nice in his black suit and white shirt. He even had a white pocket square. I was accustomed to seeing him in jeans and plaid shirts, so this was a nice change.

“Oh, yes, smooth out his ruffled feathers,” Reggie teased. She looked around the parking lot and then at the crowd gathering at the door. “I had no idea there were so many people interested in textiles.”

“They’re not,” said Manu. “We live in a small town, and there’s nothing else to do.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Ted said. “There are some pretty decent reruns on TV tonight.”

“Then what are we standing around here for?” Manu asked.

“Ha-ha,” Reggie said, taking his arm and heading toward the entrance.

“Ted’s worried about maximum-occupancy laws,” I said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Reggie shook her head. “Manu said the exact same thing!”

“It’s our duty to serve and to
protect
,” Manu said. “That includes getting your butts out of there safely in case of an emergency.”

“As well as everyone else’s butts,” Ted added. “Can you imagine what a field day the press would have if there were some sort of emergency here tonight, fire codes weren’t being followed, and Tallulah Falls’s chief of police and head detective were on the scene?”

I squeezed his hand. “It would be all right. We’d have Vera’s boyfriend spin it.”

“I’ll spin you,” he said with a wink.

“Promise?” I grinned.

“Aw, get a room!” Manu said. “By the way, that’s something
else
we could be—ow! Stop pinching me, woman. I was only kidding . . . sort of.”

“Please behave yourself,” Reggie said. “I’ve been looking forward to this night for weeks, and I know Marcy has been, too.”

Manu turned to Ted and me and shrugged like a chastised schoolboy. Then, just as quickly, he turned serious. “Those two guys at the door had better be counting. I’m going to ask when we get up there, and they’d better know exactly how many people are in that building.”

Before we went inside the museum, Manu showed the men his badge and asked how many people were in the building. One of the men gave a satisfactory answer and assured Manu that when they neared the maximum-capacity limit, they would keep people out until others exited. Once inside, Manu and Ted excused themselves and went to speak with the head of the security staff.

“They’re going to make sure the staff is aware of . . . the professor,” Reggie said.

“Good. That gives us some time to linger over the pieces we like best without feeling that we’re boring them to death,” I said.

My favorite was a biblical tapestry depicting the battle between David and Goliath that dated back to the early 1500s. It was a large piece that—when the panels were placed side by side as they were displayed—was seventy-five feet long and ten feet wide. The information card reported that it had been woven in the Flemish city of Arras. It comprised three panels. One panel showed the Israelite army encamped on one mountain looking anxiously into the valley. The center panel was, of course, that of David poised to throw a stone from his sling at the jeering giant. The third panel showed the Philistine army on the other mountainside gloating over what they presumed would be a quick victory for Goliath.

Although Reggie loved the Sivas kilim she’d seen on the Web site, her favorite was a vintage Sharkoy kilim rug from the Balkans. It had been woven in shades of brown, blue, cream, and rose, and it had burdock and amulet motifs.

“That rug would go beautifully in my living room,” Reggie said.

“Well, Vera said the collector was willing to sell a few of the pieces,” I said lightly. “You could ask.”

She laughed. “As if I could afford to pay whatever the asking price would be for an antique rug . . . and then put it on my floor and walk on it.”

“But you could always hang it up.”

“Of course I could. Maybe I can get Manu to cash in his pension,” she said.

We were laughing at that thought when Manu and Ted joined us.

“You two are having entirely too much fun at this staid gathering,” Ted said, putting his arm around me and pulling me against his side.

“I’m trying to talk Reggie into buying this rug,” I said.

Manu’s eyes bulged. “Oh, no, you aren’t!”

“This stuff isn’t really for sale, is it?” Ted asked.

“Vera said Paul interviewed the collector and that some of the pieces are,” I said. “In fact, she told me to let her know if I saw anything I liked. I said that the museum might be interested in acquiring something to display full-time but that I certainly couldn’t afford anything.”

“Neither can we,” Manu said.

“I know, my darling,” Reggie said. “We were only joking around.”

“Do you two feel confident that the museum is secure?” I asked.

“We do,” Ted said. “The FBI even sent someone from their art theft division down from Portland to keep an eye out for Professor Vandehey.”

“And there are a group of people waiting outside for someone to leave so they can come in,” Manu said. “I think the security team here is on top of things.”

“It wasn’t that we really
doubted
them.” Ted’s glance at Manu belied his words. “But we knew they’d never handled an exhibit of this size before.”

“Exactly.” Manu nodded. “Everything here is under control, and we can all enjoy the exhibit.”

I noticed the young woman who’d been in my shop earlier in the day walking around looking uncomfortable and out of place. I got her attention and waved her over.

“Hi! I’m glad you decided to come.” I introduced her to Ted, Manu, and Reggie. “And this is . . . ? I didn’t get your name this morning.”

“It’s Kelly,” she said. “Kelly Conrad. It’s nice to meet all of you.”

Everyone exchanged pleasantries, and then the curator joined us. He was a short, trim man, fairly attractive, with neatly cut auburn hair and green eyes.

“Good evening,” he said. “I’m Josh Ingle. Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“We are,” I said.

“Glad to hear it,” Josh said. “If you need anything, please let me know.” He looked pointedly at Kelly. “Good to see you.”

She nodded.

“I’d like to talk with you later, if you have time,” he said.

“I was actually on my way out,” Kelly said.

“Wait,” Josh began.

“Thanks, Marcy,” she said. “See you soon.” With that, she hurried off through the crowd.

Josh frowned after her and then turned back to us and smiled. “Again, I’ll be around should you guys need anything. Back to mingling.”

“That was odd,” Ted said after Josh had walked away.

“Yeah, wonder what that was about,” Manu said. “Must be some history there.”

“She told me when she came into the shop this morning that she wanted to come tonight but that she preferred to avoid the curator,” I said. “She said he went out with her sister a couple of times.”

“Those must have been a few terrible dates,” Reggie said.

I
’d stayed up too late the night before; but even sleep-deprived, I was chipper as Angus and I pulled into our usual parking spot outside the Seven-Year Stitch. I had seen Vera and Paul only briefly at the museum exhibit, so I supposed Vera would be in sometime today. I hoped she would, anyway. It would be fun to relive the evening with her . . . going over the pieces we’d liked best. I wondered if she’d made the collector any offers. I grinned. Knowing Vera, she probably had.

I hopped out of the Jeep and snapped Angus’s leash onto his collar. He jumped out and sniffed the sidewalk while I unlocked the front door. As soon as we got inside, I took the leash off. Angus bounded over to the sit-and-stitch square where he’d left his favorite toy—a Kodiak bear Vera had brought him back from a trip she’d taken a few months ago.

I relocked the door. I still had about half an hour until the shop opened, and I liked to have the shop tidy and restocked when customers started coming in. The first order of business every Saturday morning was to take the trash out. The sanitation truck ran at noon every Saturday, so all the shops on our side of the street scrambled to get their garbage out to the receptacles before then.

Fortunately for me, the Seven-Year Stitch didn’t generate a lot of trash . . . especially when compared to MacKenzies’ Mochas. That shop produced more garbage in a day than the Stitch did in a week. In fact, Blake had to take their garbage out twice a day—double-bagged so the food scraps wouldn’t attract bears.

I was thinking about bears, Blake, Sadie, and how Sadie had talked me into coming to Tallulah Falls and opening my shop—for which I would be forever grateful—when I stepped out the back door with my bag of trash. I tossed the bag into the bin, turned, and then gasped as I saw something lying against the wall.

For the world, the . . . thing . . . looked like the kilim Reggie had admired so much last night at the exhibit. But it couldn’t be . . . could it?

I crept closer. It
was
the rug—I recognized the colors and the unmistakable patterns. But what was it doing
here
?

I took another step toward the rolled-up kilim and saw that it was badly stained. Had someone bought it, got something all over it, and left it here for the sanitation crew to dispose of? Surely not.

Maybe Vera had bought it, gotten it stained, and then left it here at the back of my store to see if I could clean it. No, that didn’t make any sense to me either, but I was really grasping at straws.

I took one more step closer and nudged the rug with my foot. I wasn’t about to touch such a valuable kilim until I found out why it was lying outside my shop.

When I pushed it, the rug rolled slightly. Then I spotted something . . . a
hand
! And the hand was attached to a body . . . that was attached to a face . . . a face that looked vaguely familiar.

With trembling hands, I fumbled my cell phone from the front pocket of my jeans and called Ted.

“You’ve got to come,” I said when he answered. “Here . . . to the shop . . . please. There’s this guy . . . a
dead
guy . . . wrapped up in Reggie’s rug.”

“What? Babe, you aren’t making sense.”

I couldn’t answer. I’d begun to hyperventilate.

“Sweetheart, I’m on my way. Sit down and put your head between your knees,” he said. “Is anyone with you?”

When I didn’t answer, he repeated that he was on his way.

I became vaguely aware that Ted had ended the call, and I returned my phone to my pocket. I didn’t know what to do. Maybe the man wasn’t dead after all. I guessed I could take his pulse to see. Or I should probably wait for Ted. The gray cast to the man’s skin made me fairly certain that there was nothing I could do to help him. And it wasn’t a stretch to assume that the stain on the rug was blood. I’d wait for Ted.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps pounding up the alley behind me. I whirled around, stumbled, and would have fallen had I not been righted by Blake—he whose thundering footsteps had startled me while he was sprinting toward me with a white paper bag in one hand.

“Ted called,” he said, panting for breath. “Are you all right? He said you were hyperventilating. Here—breathe into this. Let’s get you inside.”

I was sort of wondering if maybe Blake didn’t need the paper bag more than I did, but I simply nodded. With one strong arm around my shoulders, Blake started to lead me back into the shop.

As he turned, he noticed the body. “What the—?”

“Exactly,” I said. “Let’s go inside until Ted gets here. This is freaking me out.”

“You and me both.”

We went inside. Blake was now every bit as shaken as I was but was determined to be strong for me.

Angus was thrilled to see Blake and immediately bounded up to him.

“In a minute, boy,” Blake said softly. “First, let’s get Marcy settled on the sofa.”

Sensing something was wrong, Angus sat down and began to whine.

“It’s okay,” I told him as I sank onto the sofa. “Everything’s fine.”

Blake took a seat on the red club chair diagonal to the sofa. “Seriously, breathe into the bag.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“I have no idea,” I said, petting Angus’s head in an effort to soothe us both. “I took out the garbage, and when I turned to come back into the shop, I saw the rug. I thought it strange that someone would throw it away like that, and then I saw the hand and realized someone was wrapped up in the rug.”

“That’s all you saw? A hand?” He shrugged. “Do you think maybe it could be a mannequin?”

“No. I saw the man’s face, too. He was real.” I glanced at the front door and realized it was still locked. “I’ve got to unlock the door.”

Blake jumped up from the chair. “I’ll get it. You sit there and rest.”

“Thank you. The keys are on the counter.”

He unlocked the door. “Do you want me to leave the sign as
Closed
?”

“No. Change it to
Open
, please,” I said.

“Are you sure you’re up to having customers today?”

“Positive.” I smiled slightly. “I’ll take any normalcy I can get right now.”

He returned to his seat. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m still shaky—and I’m sorry for that poor man lying outside—but I’ll be all right.”

Sadie hurried through the front door carrying a large to-go coffee cup. “Marce, how are you?”

I assured her that I was fine. “I’m even better if that’s a low-fat vanilla latte with a dash of cinnamon.”

Sadie saw how my hand shook as I took the cup, and her big brown eyes flew to Blake’s blue ones. He gave her a nod, and they communicated volumes merely by holding each other’s gaze for a few seconds. They’ve only been married for five years, but you’d think they’d been together forever. Like every other couple, they’d had their share of hardships. But they’d always persevered . . . and always would. They’d be lost without each other.

I took a sip of the warm, delicious coffee, and Sadie sat beside me on the sofa.

Angus, still confused and upset by the anxiety in the room, sighed and plopped his head onto his paws.

“Aw, look how pitiful he is,” Sadie said. “Now I wish I’d brought him some biscotti.” She spoke to Angus. “I’ll bring you back some biscotti, sweet boy. Yes, I will.”

Angus wagged his tail. He wasn’t convinced everything was okay yet, but he knew it was getting there.

Sadie took my free hand and gave it a squeeze. Like Angus, she didn’t seem confident she knew what was going on, either. But she wanted me to know that she was there. Dog and human best friends share that trait. I quickly filled her in on the situation.

At last, Ted strode through the door. As he took my latte, set it on the coffee table, and gathered me into his arms, I finally felt that everything was truly going to be all right. So, naturally, I began to weep.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered against his shoulder.

“Everything’s okay, babe. I’ve got you.”

I didn’t know why suddenly feeling secure would make me weep, but it did. Looking back, I usually did hold up fairly well in the midst of a critical moment and fall apart when it was over. Okay, so looking back on my call to Ted, maybe I
didn’t
hold up that well in the critical moment. But what would you have done if you’d found a dead guy wrapped in an antique kilim in
your
alley?

Ted sat on the sofa, pulling me onto his lap. He gently wiped the tears from my cheeks and kissed my forehead.

Angus sat up and placed his head on my knee, making us all laugh. He could be such a clown.

“We should go on out back,” I said to Ted.

“Not yet. Manu is there. He said he’d handle that situation while I made sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Really. You should go—”

“Ted, come out here!” Manu called from the back door. “You’re not going to believe this!”

I got up. “Come on.”

“I think you should stay in here,” Ted said, standing and taking my hand.

“He’s right,” Sadie said. “You’ve had enough of a shock for one day. Who knows what Manu has discovered out there?”

“Besides, you need to be here to wait on your customers,” Blake said. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back down the street.”

Ted shook Blake’s hand. “Thanks for being here for Marcy.”

“Anytime.”

“Yeah, Blake, thank you for coming to my rescue,” I said as Ted headed for the back door. “And you, too, Sadie.”

Sadie stood and gave me a hug. “I need to get back to the shop as well. But call me if you need anything.”

I promised her I would, and then Angus and I were alone in the sit-and-stitch square. I waved to Sadie and Blake as they passed the window en route to MacKenzies’ Mochas. Then I picked up my latte, sat down on the sofa, and sighed.

“Big morning, huh, Angus?”

In response, he moved closer to me and lay at my feet.

I took a drink of the now lukewarm latte and mused aloud to my faithful hound, “I wonder who that guy out there is. And why did he look familiar.”

I fell silent as Angus rolled onto his side for a nap, and I searched my memory for a different image of the balding gentleman who’d been wrapped in a rug and dumped in the alley behind the Stitch. The man didn’t work in any of the local shops. The museum—was that where I’d seen him? I tried to recall the faces of the people I’d mingled with at the exhibit opening last night, but I couldn’t place the victim’s face. Still, I kept fixating on the museum. Then it dawned on me—the photograph. The victim was Dr. Vandehey, the professor turned art thief.

I scrambled out of my seat, startling Angus, and hurried to the back door. He came chasing after me, but I didn’t allow him to follow me outside. He jumped up so he could peep out and bark at all the excitement.

“Isn’t that the man from the picture you showed me last night?” I asked Ted. “The art thief?”

“The
alleged
art thief,” Manu said.

“But didn’t he confess?” I asked.

Ted took me gently by the shoulders. “You’re right about the identity of the victim, but I still don’t think you should be out here.”

“Right,” said Manu. “You could accidentally contaminate the crime scene.”

“Crime scene?” I slumped against Ted. “This doesn’t mean you have to close down my shop, does it?”

“No, sweetheart. We’ll just cordon off this part of the alley. The inside of your shop will be business as usual.”

“Thank goodness,” I said. “I suppose I should go back in. My being out here is driving Angus crazy.”

A black SUV rolled right up to the yellow crime scene tape, and a short man wearing a dark suit stepped out of the vehicle. He had a “standard-issue” buzz cut and sunglasses. I think all of us—me, Ted, Manu, and the crime scene technicians, heck, maybe even Angus—knew before he’d introduced himself that he was FBI.

He flashed a badge. “Special Agent Floyd Brown of the Portland office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Art Theft Division. What have we got here, and why did I have to hear about it over the police scanner rather than through a personal phone call from the chief of police?”

Manu drew himself up to his full five feet seven inches. He was taller than Agent Brown by at least two inches—maybe three. “Agent Brown—”

“
Special
Agent Brown,” the man interrupted.

“You weren’t notified because we haven’t made a positive ID of the victim yet,” Manu continued. “Therefore, we don’t know that an investigation of this death falls within your jurisdiction.”

“It looks like Vandehey to me,” Special Agent Brown said.

“Well, just because it looks like him doesn’t mean it is,” Manu said. “Now I respectfully request that you step back and allow our crime scene techs to do their jobs.”

Since Angus was still barking and scratching at the door, I excused myself to go back inside.

“Wait,” said Special Agent Brown. “Who are you?”

“I’m Marcy Singer. This is my shop.”

“Are you the one who found the body?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll come inside and take your statement,” he said.

Manu started to protest, but I shook my head slightly. If Brown was in the shop taking my statement, he’d be out of Manu’s and Ted’s hair.

“Right this way,” I said.

I opened the door and took Angus’s collar, gently moving the dog back so Special Agent Brown and I could get inside.

“Come on, Angus,” I said. “Special Agent Brown, would you like some coffee? It won’t take but a minute to put on a pot.”

“No, thank you,” he said, ignoring Angus, who was snuffling his pant leg.

I led the agent to the sit-and-stitch square, and he sat down on the sofa facing the window. I took the red club chair.

“Is there something you can do with him?” He jerked his head toward Angus, who was now checking out the man’s jacket pocket.

“I can put him in the bathroom, but he’ll bark so much, we won’t be able to hear each other over the racket,” I said. “If you’ll pet him, he’ll probably go on and leave you alone.”

Special Agent Brown sighed, patted Angus’s head, and said, “Nice dog. Now, go away.”

I picked up Angus’s yellow tennis ball and gave it a toss. The dog loped after it and brought it back for me to throw again. As I played fetch with Angus, I relayed my statement to Special Agent Brown.