Needle you mind, p.1
Needle You Mind, page 1
NEEDLE YOU MIND
STITCHES IN CRIME
BOOK 11
ACF BOOKENS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Also by ACF Bookens
1
The tiny bunches of snowdrops planted in the unkept beds in front of the cottage were a true delight. Their dangling white heads made me think that pushing up through the partially frozen ground had been tiring, and the best they could do now was to dance in the wind with weariness.
They were a fitting match to the craftsman style of the house in one of the older neighborhoods of Octonia. I could almost picture the original owners stepping out on these first warm-ish days of spring and smiling at the bobbing flowers in their serpentine beds. Though now the old grass almost covered the flowers, the field stones that had once lined the winding beds were mostly buried in the soil. The house and garden had definitely seen better days.
But at least the new owners weren’t tearing the house down. Sure, they were gutting it, and I imagined they had that modern white-gray, open-concept style that was the current trend in mind for the renovation. Still, the outside of the house, with its wide front porch and gabled windows, would keep its original flavor, and I was glad for that.
I was also grateful that the owners had allowed me to salvage some of the original details from the house. I had paid them a fair price for the chance to visit before they began demolition, and I was now ready to dig in.
It was a Friday afternoon, and Sawyer was with me. I hadn’t taken him on salvage jobs before because, well, he had been a liability more than a help. But lately, he’d expressed interest in seeing what exactly I did in the “old buildings,” as he called them, and if he was well-rested and well-fed, he could do a fair bit of work now that he was a bit older.
So I’d plied him with ice cream and promised him macaroni and cheese with broccoli, his new favorite combination, for dinner if he helped me get all the doorknobs off. He had been excited, and I had to admit, so was I.
When Sawyer’s dad and I split, I wasn’t sure how I would make ends meet, and it had been hard in the first months of this work. I’d had to get a lot of help and make some tough choices, choices that other people didn’t like, about how to care for my child the best I could.
Things weren’t exactly hunky-dory yet, but they were certainly better and easier. One of the things that had gotten much easier was that Sawyer was helpful in some of the best ways when he was fed and rested.
“Now, Saw, your job is to get the screws out of the doorknobs, okay?”
“Yep. Righty tighty, lefty loosey,” Sawyer said in his still high-pitched voice. “You don’t need to give me more constructions, Mama. I know what to do.”
I smiled at my son’s adorable malapropism and said, “Okay, no more instructions. Let’s get to it.”
Ignoring the lockbox, I let him do the honors of unlocking the front door and was delighted to see that almost everything was intact and that none of the woodwork had been painted. There was a fortune in wormy chestnut and maple finishes here, and my investment would pay for itself just in these two front rooms.
Right in the center of the front rooms, a hallway split the house going toward the back, and I could see it was lined with doors with crystal doorknobs.
“All right, Saw, I’m going to walk through the house while you get these doorknobs off. Let me know if you need help.”
While I surreptitiously watched from the end of the hallway, he went to work on the first doorknob, slipping the first screw out of the door and into his pocket. He’d been sure to wear pants with pockets today.
Confident that he would make good progress or I’d hear the frustrated slam of a screwdriver against the floor if he didn’t, I stepped into the kitchen, which mirrored the front two rooms of the house and was flanked by two entrances, one at each side of the room.
Directly in front of where I stood was a lovely dining room, with bright sunlight shining on a huge rectangular table from the massive windows beyond it. A hutch stood on the wall to my right, and to my left, the galley kitchen began with its black and white tile and stainless steel countertops. The space was lovely, and I could not imagine taking all this out in favor of marble and white cabinets—but it wasn’t my house, and I was an “old soul,” as my father always said.
I made my way around the corner to take a gander at the rest of the kitchen and poke at the tiles to see what I might be able to salvage, but as soon as I stepped into the full length of the space, I stopped cold.
In the middle of the floor was a woman—an unmoving woman. I rushed over to her and knelt to see if she was conscious. Her eyes were closed, and I couldn’t see her chest rising with breath.
I slid my fingers against her throat, trying to do that thing people do in movies to see if someone was alive, but I couldn’t tell if I was doing it right because I couldn’t feel anything except the warmth of her body under my fingertips.
Just then, I heard the footfall of my little boy coming toward me, so I jumped up and intercepted him as he walked into the dining room, three crystal doorknobs in his hands. “Look what I got,” he said with pure joy.
“Oh, that’s great, Saw. Wow.” I turned him back toward the hallway. “Show me where you got those.”
We walked up the hall as Saw chattered about the doorknobs and showed me how he’d unscrewed each screw. Meanwhile, I quickly texted my husband, Santiago, the local sheriff. “Dead woman in the cottage. Come now. Sawyer is here.”
His response was immediate. “Stay on the porch. You can’t leave, but tell Saw I’m bringing him a surprise.”
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and listened to my son prattle on about each turn of the screw. When he took a breath, I said, “Santiago is on his way with a surprise. Let’s wait on the porch for him.”
There was nothing that Sawyer loved more in the world than a surprise—well, except for maybe swimming. So it wasn’t hard to steer him to the front door. “What kind of surprise is it?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” I said as I tried to keep my tone light even as my heart pounded against my ribs.
“Can you give me a hint?” he said with a sly smile.
“I’m afraid not. He didn’t tell me anything,” I said truthfully, even as I hoped that Santiago was actually bringing a surprise for the boy.
Not a minute later, Santiago’s cruiser pulled up, and he jumped out with a huge blue balloon in hand. The passenger-side door swung open, and a tall, lean black man, Deputy Forest, my husband’s newest hire, stepped out.
“Sawyer. Hey, bud,” Santiago said as he ruffled the boy’s hair and stepped onto the porch. “I need to ask your help. Do you have a minute?”
Sawyer looked up at me, and I nodded. “You’ve earned your wages for the day and are free to help another person in need,” I said, still trying to keep the situation light until Sawyer was away from the crime scene.
“Okay, I can help,” Sawyer said with a broad smile. “What do you need, Santi?”
“If it’s okay with your mom, I need you to go with Deputy Forest and hang this balloon up at our house.” Santiago’s face was serious. “I want to try an experiment with it this afternoon, and I can’t carry it around all day. Do you mind?”
Sawyer looked up at me again. “Mom, Santi needs me. Are you okay here by yourself?”
I nodded. “I am. Maybe Santiago can try his hand at doorknob removal?” I smiled at my husband.
“Be glad to,” he said. “Laurent, you take my cruiser and assist Sawyer with this special duty, will you?”
Deputy Forest gave a crisp nod. “Glad to help the young lad,” he said in a voice so deep that James Earl Jones would be jealous. “When we get to your house,” he said as he turned to Sawyer, “you can do the siren and lights if you want.”
Sawyer jumped over all the steps on the porch, trailing the giant balloon behind him. “I would love to,” he said as the deputy opened the back door and held the balloon while Saw got himself strapped into the car seat that Santiago now kept there.
“See you later, love bug,” I said as they pulled out. I waited until they turned the corner up the block before I fell against Santiago. “She was still warm,” I said into his chest.
Santiago squeezed me quickly and then moved into the house. “And you’re sure she is dead?”
A pang of panic went through my chest. “Oh no, maybe she’s not. She was just so still, and it didn’t look like she was breathing.” I jogged to catch up to Santi. “What if she wasn’t dead, and I didn’t help her?”
Santiago led the way into the kitchen after I pointed out the doors at the end of the hall and then knelt where the woman was still prone on the black and white tile. He checked her pulse, just as I had, and shook his head. “No, she’s definitely dead, and while not for long, I suspect she was dead when you found her.”
He stood and looked at me. “You couldn’t have saved her, Paisley.” He took out his phone and called the coroner. “They’ll be here in just a few minutes. Want to give me your statement on the porch?”
“Yes, please,” I said as he took my hand and le d me back outside. Sawyer and I had left our water bottles on the porch, and I picked mine up and took a long swig. Then I told my husband what had happened.
“That’s it. You walked in, saw her, checked for a pulse, then texted me?” He looked at me carefully. “Did you notice anything else?”
I drew a very long breath and closed my eyes, trying to do what I knew he needed me to do—notice details.
I went through my thought process as we came into the house—the woodwork, the beautiful table, the— “Yes, there was a glass on the dining room table.” I opened my eyes. “Was it there just now?”
Santiago shook his head. “No. No, it was not. The table was clear. I noticed that specifically.”
A lump the size of a grapefruit formed in my throat. “Someone moved it then while I was here. While Sawyer was here.”
2
The forensics team, a new addition to Octonia’s law enforcement contingent, arrived quickly with the coroner’s van behind. Within an hour, they had dusted the scene for prints, taken photographs, and loaded up the woman’s body for an autopsy.
During that time, news had spread that I had found another body. Unfortunately, I had gained a reputation for being the first on the scene of several murders. While that reputation hadn’t turned into suspicion of me thus far, I was still beginning to feel very self-conscious that I kept finding these bodies.
That unease arose when my best friend Mika showed up just as the coroner left and said, “The reporter from the Charlottesville news station just came by my shop looking for you.”
The blood drained from my upper body. “What did you tell him?”
“That we’d had a huge fight, and you had been banned from my shop.” She grinned. “I figured that would give us one place he couldn’t find you.”
I sighed. “Good thinking. I’ll have to get Saul to lock up the construction yard for a bit.”
“I don’t know about all that,” Saul said as he came onto the cottage’s porch and stood beside me. “I put a couple of guys near your store and instructed them to keep anyone snooping away from you and your shop.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I thought all this would have died down by now.” I leaned against the porch railing. “You’d think people would have other things to do rather than be that interested in what one single mom does.”
“You are overestimating the amount of interesting things in Octonia, dear girl,” Saul said. “Besides, you are pretty interesting.”
I sighed again. A few weeks earlier, a local reporter had done a story on me, ostensibly to highlight my business and work in architectural salvage. Instead, he’d spun the story to make it about the murders I’d helped to solve in the past few years. He’d gone so far as to suggest, carefully to avoid libel, that I might have been at least pleased with my discoveries if not outright involved in the deaths that created all those bodies.
The newspaper article had created a maelstrom of controversy in our small town. Most of the people of Octonia had rallied to my defense and taken on the “outsider” who dared malign one of their own. But, unfortunately, one of the board of supervisors had seized upon the opportunity to try to increase her chances of winning the next election and had asked Sheriff Shifflett, a man she somehow didn’t know was my husband, to investigate me.
He had outright refused, and she had threatened him, a fact that became front-page news itself. For weeks, Santi and I were the talk of the town. It had even gotten so bad that Sawyer had come home one day and asked if murder was good for business, a phrase he’d heard one of his teachers use.
We'd downplayed that comment as being silly and had, thus far, kept Sawyer out of most of the fray around these rumors, but this new body, and his presence when I found it, was going to make things so much harder to keep from him.
Not to mention that this could affect my business. Just thinking through all that so soon after the shock of finding that woman on the floor left me so weak I could hardly stand. So I decided not to and let my body slide to the porch floor, my water bottle grasped between my knees.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” I said as I put my forehead on the top of the bottle. “Maybe I need to find another line of work.”
Mika slid down to sit next to me. “Absolutely not. You are so good at this work, Paisley. People love what you do and your stories about what you find. You cannot quit.” She smiled at me with a gleam of mischief that I could see even from the corner of my eye. “We need to get in front of this story.”
I heard what she said, but it took me a minute to process it. When I finally looked up at her, she had that little furrow between her brows that meant she was scheming. “What do you mean? Mika, no shenanigans.”
“Never,” she said with more force than necessary. “All I mean is that you should solve this murder and write about it in your newsletter before anyone else can. Show that you’re aware of your penchant for finding dead people and that you are as committed to solving these crimes as anyone.”
“What’s this about solving crimes?” Santiago asked as he sat down on the other side of me. “You two aren’t planning anything, are you?”
“No,” I said. “Mika just has some loony idea that I could solve this murder and write about the case before the news can get hold of it.”
“Um,” Santi said as he stood up. “I think it may be too late for that.” He looked over the railing to where the local news truck was setting up across the street. “Slip out the alleyway. I’ll get your car and bring it around,” he said as he straightened his hat and walked up the sidewalk to meet the quickly approaching reporter.
I didn’t hesitate and quickly went down the front steps, around the side, and up the alley toward the back. I was tempted to pull my shirt over my head just like the people do outside courthouses when they don’t want to be photographed, but I figured that might just draw more, not less, attention to me.
A few moments later, Santiago drove my Subaru up the small alley behind the house, and I got into the passenger seat. “How did you get rid of him?”
“I threatened to have harassment charges brought against him if I saw him within a hundred feet of you.” Santi smiled. “That seemed to work.”
I groaned. “This is awful.” I put my hands over my face. “But not as bad as it was for that poor woman. Do we know who she was? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.”
Santi shook his head. “No idea. We didn’t find a purse or ID or anything, so she’s a Jane Doe until we can identify her.”
“I expect you’re already doing this, but did you talk to the owners of the house?”
He smiled and patted my hand on my leg. “Yes, we will do that. You have their contact info, right?”
“I do,” I said. “Maybe I should tell them.” I really didn’t want to do that, but I’d never been good at determining what was a real responsibility of mine and what I just felt like I should do because I felt responsible for everything.
“No, love. I’ll tell them, and we’ll figure out the next steps for your salvage job together, okay?”
For a few moments, I just let my nervous system settle, but then a thought occurred to me. “What was with the balloon?”
Santi huffed out a quick chuckle. “It was the best surprise I could think of at the moment. The dispatcher’s birthday was today, and she’d had a delivery. Was happy for me to take the balloon off her hands.”
“Smart thinking,” I said. “What did you tell Forest to do with it?”
“Hang it on the porch and tell Saw it was a weather balloon.”
I looked over at my husband. “A weather balloon?”
“Well, he’ll at least be able to tell if it’s windy.”
I sighed out a laugh and put my head back on the seat.
When we got home, I was relieved to find that I could sit back entirely while Santi did all the work. The owners of the house, Mr. and Mrs. Cubbins, identified the dead woman as Viola McNamara, the daughter of the people they had bought the house from. Deputy Forest had gone by their house as soon as my dad had come to stay with Saw, and they’d immediately recognized Ms. McNamara from the photo he showed them.
