Night of the Living Thread (A Threadville Mystery) Page 28

  I took some pleasure in explaining it to the man who knew it all. “The shoes are fabric. Satin. The tiny piece of glass could have gotten stuck on the satin if the fabric was wet. The water stains on the toes of Juliette’s shoes are subtle, but I was looking for them.”

  Dare gave me a gotcha look. “Why didn’t the pieces of glass fall off after the shoes dried?”

  Vicki smirked. She probably knew I was about to lecture Dare on fabrics or fashion.

  I explained, “Fabrics are often stiffened with a kind of starch called sizing. Starch can become sticky when wet, and then act like glue after it dries. In addition, when the bulbs exploded, pieces of glass would have shot out from them. Some of them could have slipped sort of sideways between sequins.” I swooped my hand, palm flat and fingers straight, through the air like a fragment of glass being propelled sideways. “They could have become wedged underneath the edges of sequins.”

  As if I hadn’t spoken, Dare turned to Detective Neffting. “Be sure to check for similar pieces of glass in the jeans and jacket she says she wasn’t wearing. Your lab can put them together with any lightbulb fragments found at the scene. You did retrieve them all, I hope?”

  Apparently not minding Dare’s patronizing tone, Neffting gave Dare an appreciative nod. “We’ll also look into the death of Hero Crabbe.”

  “Heru,” Patricia muttered.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Juliette complained. “These are all false charges.”

  Sure, including assaulting Vicki, to which there were about a dozen witnesses. I asked Juliette, “Couldn’t you have looked into your crystal ball and predicted all this would happen? And prevented it?”

  Vicki cautioned, “Willow . . .”

  Cursing and staring daggers at me, Juliette wrenched her upper body forward, obviously trying to break free from Neffting.

  46

  It turned out I could rise to my feet in that cloak very quickly after all.

  Clay and Ben were even faster. They put themselves between Juliette and the rest of us.

  But Neffting had a viselike grip on her arm. He marched her outside.

  Clay and Dare shadowed them. Ben stayed behind, still guarding Vicki sitting on the floor and all of the people around her. I could have hugged him. Haylee stared at his back with admiration.

  Mrs. Battersby reached for my hand and held on. She may have been small, but she was mighty. I squeezed back.

  Slowly, my breathing returned to normal. Vicki’s face was greenish, but she hadn’t let herself lie down again. She must have been feeling terrible. Ordinarily, she would have gone outside to help Detective Neffting, but she hadn’t even attempted to get up and sit in a chair. Maybe she’d guessed that Gord would overrule her if she tried.

  The state trooper who had collected Isis’s little boats from the beach strode into the room with another state trooper. They rushed toward Vicki.

  She cried out, “Stop! I’m not the one who needs help. Detective Neffting is outside with the woman who assaulted me and who I suspect murdered Isis Crabbe.”

  “It’s okay,” the cute boat-collector told her. “Two other troopers are out there with him and will help transport her for booking and questioning. He said you could show us evidence that he wanted us to collect.”

  Ben led them to the bowling bag containing the crystal ball and to the wallet and the photos and cards that had spilled from it. With a small camera, a trooper snapped pictures.

  Mrs. Battersby let go of my hand. “Too much excitement,” she announced. “A real granddaughter would not have gone tearing around in that unladylike way. Take me home, Haylee.” She brushed at her royal blue lace dress. “Oh, that’s right. We came in Naomi’s car.” She went over to Ben and tapped his arm. “Young man, you can help me out to the front of the hotel and wait with me while Naomi gets her car.”

  Vicki said, “Please, no one leave before you give these troopers your names and how to reach you.”

  Mrs. Battersby muttered, “As long as I don’t have to answer any more questions from those other two who came barging in and thought I could be mistaken for Willow or Haylee.”

  The troopers circled the room, taking our names and addresses. The boat-collector asked me, “Do you need medical care, also?”

  I’d merely stepped on a pebble. I shook my head, then saw him gazing in awestruck amazement at my knifed and red-smeared cloak.

  “Oh, this old thing!” I gave a careless shrug. “I borrowed it.”

  He grinned and went on to Patricia.

  Mrs. Battersby told me, “That thing is dreadful and not really your style. I thought you had better taste.”

  I made a horrible face and lurched toward her in my uneven-shouldered, loose-necked gait.

  She batted at me. “Stop that. You’re as bad as everyone else, after all.”

  Smiling, I removed the hooded cloak and draped it over a chair. Ben would undoubtedly help its rightful owner find it.

  Mrs. Battersby stroked the cloak’s scarlet lining. “Real silk. Too bad someone slashed a vintage piece like that and dabbed horrid red stuff all over it.” She shuddered.

  A siren blared. Ambulance attendants dashed into the dining room. They apologized for being delayed by an earlier call, examined Vicki quickly, agreed with Gord that she should be thoroughly checked out at the hospital, and went outside for their gurney.

  Vicki had managed to pack a lot into her oversized evening bag. I’d guessed she had a weapon in it, and I’d seen her radio. Now she pulled out a phone and told the person on the other end that she was fine, but could he—I was pretty sure she was talking to Toby Gartener, her favorite detective—please meet her at the hospital.

  I helped her make certain that she had control of her heavy evening bag even after she was underneath a blanket on the stretcher.

  “See you at the wedding tomorrow,” she called as they wheeled her out of the dining room.

  For some reason, that made me teary. Maybe you were supposed to cry at weddings, but really, the night before, also?

  I wiped my eyes before Brianna might notice and announce again that we were all too disgustingly sappy, but Brianna was gone. She must have slipped out when we weren’t looking.

  She was on her way to my place to pack and leave, I hoped.

  I also hoped that she’d already be gone when Clay took me home.

  I put on my shawl and handed Opal hers, and then Haylee, her three mothers, Gord, Patricia, and I followed Ben and Mrs. Battersby outside.

  Patricia looked at her feet as she walked.

  I tapped her elbow. “Are you okay?”

  She pushed her glasses up her nose and gave me a watered-down smile. “I feel terrible, like I betrayed Juliette’s friendship. In a way, we were both victims of Isis Crabbe and her son. They were horrible people, but Juliette shouldn’t have taken anyone’s life. If I’d known what she was planning, I might have been able to stop her. Now Isis has ruined Juliette’s life, too.”

  I shook my head. “Juliette murdered Isis and possibly Isis’s son, too. You should be proud of yourself for helping catch her.”

  “I suppose.” She said good-bye and stumbled, head down, toward the parking lot.

  Gord and Naomi, who also needed to fetch their vehicles, gave each other looks and sped their pace. They’d catch up with her, no doubt, and chat with her on the way to their cars, and maybe Patricia could stop blaming herself for writing a college application essay that Heru stole and then used to get himself into a school where he could, as Juliette had put it, “get in with the wrong crowd”—a crowd that must have included Juliette.

  Mrs. Battersby settled herself on a Victorian bench. “Sit beside me, Willow, while your escort brings his chariot around. You shouldn’t have to walk another inch. Where are your shoes?”

  I sank down beside her and glanced up the hill. “In the c
hapel. I’ll get them sometime.”

  Ben dashed up the hill.

  Clay gave Mrs. Battersby a big smile. “My pickup truck? A chariot?”

  Mrs. Battersby scowled. “Very romantic.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you young folks. Haylee, too. Driving a truck!”

  Edna sat on the other side of Mrs. Battersby. “Life is short. I’m glad Haylee’s enjoying it with that truck of hers.”

  Clay sent me a special smile, then loped up the pathway that led to the parking lot.

  Gord was the first to return. He helped Edna into his car, made certain that Mrs. Battersby had a ride, and drove off with his bride-to-be.

  Naomi came next. Opal slid in behind Naomi. Ben raced to the porte cochere, handed me my shoes, helped Mrs. Battersby into the passenger seat, closed the door, and opened the one behind it for Haylee. After she was seated, he leaned over the top of the door. I overheard his gentle, “See you tomorrow.” He shut her door.

  Clay arrived in his chariot, hopped out, and opened the passenger door for me. I tossed my shoes and evening bag in first, then, clutching my shawl around my shoulders, I managed to clamber in without stumbling over my feet or anything else.

  Clay eased out of the circular driveway. “Is Edna okay? The disruption wasn’t until after dinner, but it must have put a blight on her evening anyway.” Concern etched lines on his forehead.

  I turned quickly toward him. “Edna’s nearly always okay. She always makes the best of everything.”

  He laughed. “She must have learned that as a defense mechanism against her mother.”

  “What a character! I’m supposed to keep Mrs. Battersby out of mischief at the wedding tomorrow. Haylee, Naomi, and Opal are in the wedding party and won’t be able to.”

  “I might be able to help a little between ushering people up the aisle. I get a kick out of her. What about the reception? Who’s going to keep her out of trouble then? You’ll be dancing. With me, I hope.”

  I managed to answer calmly, “Opal, Naomi, and Haylee will keep an eye on her. And you know Gord will dance at least once with her.”

  “And Ben had better be available for a few dances with Haylee,” he said.

  I sighed. “She was afraid to invite him to the wedding and reception as her date.”

  “Edna and Gord invited him. He’ll be an usher tomorrow.”

  I grinned. “And Haylee’s a bridesmaid. Perfect!”

  “Gord and Edna invited nearly everyone, including Dare. He’s going.” Clay didn’t sound terribly happy about it.

  I suggested, “So he can make more fun of our rustic ways?”

  “He joined our rustic ways tonight. He became the Great Detective.”

  I laughed. “The next thing you know, he’ll move here.”

  Clay gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.

  I put a hand on his arm. “Don’t tell me he’s moving in with you!”

  “He says his research in the area could take the rest of autumn, and winter, too.”

  I made appropriately sympathetic—and perhaps rude—noises. “I made a list of sewing and quilting shops for Brianna to visit on her way home.”

  “Good luck.” He parked the truck next to the curb. Right behind Brianna’s car. “I’ll come around and open that door for you,” he said, “so I can catch you when you tumble off your seat.”

  Until that moment, falling down into his arms hadn’t occurred to me. I’d done it once already that evening, and he had unceremoniously plunked me into a chair and run off in pursuit of a murderer.

  But this was different. It was around eleven at night on a street lit only by streetlights, and I didn’t see anyone else around.

  Smiling, Clay opened the truck door.

  I fell out of his passenger seat and into his arms.

  He gazed down into my face. “What an evening,” he whispered.

  I checked. My bare feet were on terra firma. Although my hands were full of shoes and my bag, I put my arms around his neck.

  He lowered his head.

  “Clay and Willow!”

  I pulled out of Clay’s arms and turned to see who was shouting.

  Outside Naomi’s shop, Opal and Naomi waved madly at us.

  Two state police cars drove slowly up Lake Street toward them.

  Naomi beckoned to the cruisers. She would take the investigators through her shop and up to her apartment, where they could search through everything Juliette had left there, and then she would go off to spend the night with Opal or Haylee.

  I grabbed Clay’s hand and pulled him toward the front porch of In Stitches. I didn’t have to pull hard.

  As always, a night-light burned inside my shop. Our silhouettes would be easily seen among the shadows on the porch. Naomi and Opal were probably distracted by the investigators, but if anything was going to happen between Clay and me, I wanted it to be private.

  I unlocked the shop’s front door.

  Clay stroked my upper arm with the lightest of touches.

  I opened the door, glanced up into his eyes, and murmured, “Come downstairs with me?”

  No music boomed from my apartment. Brianna’s car was outside, but maybe by some miracle she’d fallen asleep without turning on her music.

  I left my shoes near the cash desk and tiptoed across the shop.

  At the door leading down to my apartment, Clay was right behind me, his breath warm on the back of my head. I again considered turning around, throwing my arms around him, and clinging, but that night-light seemed altogether too bright.

  I quietly opened the door.

  Gesturing to him to follow, I started down the stairs.

  I didn’t turn on a light. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

  With one of my hands covering his, I guided him the rest of the way down the almost-dark stairway to my apartment.

  The only light in my great room was the one over the wall oven.

  At the foot of the stairs, I took a deep breath and turned toward Clay.

  Smiling, he pulled me to him.

  Brianna’s door banged open. We jumped away from it. And from each other.

  Light poured from Brianna’s room. She stomped out, turned on the overhead lights, and said loudly into the phone, “She just came sneaking in with her boyfriend. Here she is.”

  47

  Brianna thrust my phone toward me. “Your mother needs to talk to you.”

  “Sneaking in?” my mother said into my ear. I couldn’t be sure if her amusement was real.

  “Not exactly.” My voice didn’t work.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Not really.” Did Clay know what I was denying? Knowing Brianna was probably in my apartment, I shouldn’t have invited him inside.

  Clay must have thought the same thing. He waved and let himself out the patio door.

  Brianna plopped down on my couch, hugged one of my sofa pillows, and sneered at me.

  “A big, lavish wedding down here would help erase your reputation,” my mother suggested.

  “My what?”

  My mother let out one of her glassy laughs. “Oh, not your reputation with men, Willow, honey, but Todd Shrevedale called me just now with a tale about you interfering with the police.” She became very serious. “You do realize that if you injured a policewoman you could end my career? I might not even be able to return to being a physician.”

  “I didn’t! I prevented an attack from being worse than it was.”

  “Brianna warned me you’d say something like that.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes it is. You did say what she told me you’d say.”

  “Mother, I think you should get some sleep. And maybe talk to someone else who was there.”

  “Like the boyfriend?”

 
“And about ten other witnesses.”

  “Why would Brianna make things up?”

  To discredit me and therefore you. But I wasn’t going to explain that in front of Brianna. “I have some theories. I’ll e-mail them to you.”

  Brianna glowered at me. She must have understood that my “theories” were about her. She threw the pillow down, padded into her room, and slammed the door.

  I asked my mother, “When’s she leaving?”

  “Leaving? Not until after the wedding she’s helping you with.”

  I nearly choked.

  My mother went on, “And I’ve told her she can use your home as a base while she tours that part of the country.”

  This time, I did choke. “No,” I stated firmly. “Absolutely not. This is my home, and I do not want her here.”

  “You’ve often told me your guest suite was for your father and me. I’m just giving her our share until we can come up and visit.” Her voice took on those syrupy tones that should frighten me. “Now don’t disappoint me by being ungracious to the child, honey. I know you can be hospitable if you really, really try.”

  “No,” I said again, with even more force. “The whole time she’s been here, she’s tried to make trouble in an attempt to discredit both you and me so that her father will stop supporting you. We wouldn’t want her damaging your campaign any more than she already has, would we.” It wasn’t a question. “As I said, I’ll e-mail you the details. But it’s late, and I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow. Good night, Mother.” I hung up.

  I sounded so much like my mother that I scared myself.

  • • •

  The sky was that painful, pure blue of October. The temperature was perfect for an outdoor wedding. Lake Erie rippled and danced in the sunshine.

  Mrs. Battersby insisted on passing up the other ushers and waiting until Ben and Clay were free to usher us to our front row seats, and then she took Ben’s arm. I looped my hand into the crook of Clay’s elbow. He placed his hand over mine for a moment and smiled down at me, and then we slowly walked up the aisle behind Ben and Mrs. Battersby.