Aida time, p.1
Aida Time, page 1
AIDA TIME
STITCHES IN CRIME
BOOK 10
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
Epilogue
A FREE cozy set in San Francisco
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About the Author
1
I have a knack for two things—starting projects at the worst possible time and starting too many projects at once. Fortunately, my second problem wasn’t as much of a problem right now because the shop was well-staffed by Claire, and I didn’t have to do any salvaging or run the store for the rest of the week.
The first problem, though? Now that was a big one because it was approximately 853 degrees outside, and if it were more humid, I would be swimming. This was definitely not the ideal time of year to start a renovation project in Virginia.
But I wanted to finish this project before our friends from out of town arrived in two weeks so that they could crash on cots in the space without roasting to death. Plus, I wanted the room for my at-home office when it wasn’t being used as a guestroom.
The summer kitchen had been standing since my old farmhouse was built about 1850 and was in great shape. In fact, you could still see the soot marks on the ceiling from where the stove had been, and the floorboards were mostly intact. All in all, the bulk of the work was going to be on making the space comfortable. I couldn’t imagine being a likely enslaved woman working in this space. It must have been so very hot.
Now, with Sawyer off at preschool and a full five hours of open time ahead of me, I was ready to begin. I stood outside the ten-by-twelve building and smiled. She was already a beauty, and I was so excited to turn her into more than a storage spot. And that was where I was going to begin—hauling out all the stuff.
I began with the old makeshift shelves that the previous owners had installed. They were made of reused plywood and strips of leftover lumber and came down easily with a few whacks of the crowbar. Then I hauled the leftover baseboards and crown molding off the rafters where they had been stored and stacked them by the driveway to take to the shop later. Finally, I removed a few totes of holiday decorations I had stored in there and decided I’d have to make part of the rafters a storage loft since my small house had no space for these things. For now, though, they were waterproof enough to sit under the eaves for a few days.
I was already soaked through when I heard a car pull up, and I walked around the house to see my fiancé, Santiago, standing next to his car in torn jeans and a T-shirt.
“I’m ready to work,” he said.
I laughed. “I thought you were on duty today?” Santi was the sheriff in town, and given that we only had a few police officers, he wasn’t often able to get a day off.
“Watson is covering,” he said, “and that new deputy from over in Albemarle is great. Didn’t need much training at all, so the two of them have it covered.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Now, I’m here to help us get our new office ready.”
Santi moved in with me a few months back and has been all about the projects ever since. Our yard was now landscaped beautifully, and all the walls that Sawyer had “decorated” with markers were repainted, except for Santi’s closet, which he insisted on keeping as-is. He loved the whimsical scribbles of his soon-to-be stepson. We even had a new permanent island in the kitchen. The house was in good shape.
This project was next on the list, and I was not going to turn down Santi’s help, especially since the labor was going to be extensive. “Okay, then, first things first. We need to contend with that back corner where the floor rotted through.” It looked like the old chimney had leaked at some point, and the previous owners had patched the rotting floor with a piece of thick plywood. It was a great fix for a storage shed but not so great for a guest or office space.
We walked to the back corner, and I immediately decided we needed lights. Now, I could have rented those construction lights that would have lit up the space like a movie shoot, but that would have required me to think ahead. Instead, I duct-taped my flashlight to the rafter, and we set to work.
A lot of grunting later, we had the plywood up, and it was clear that a lot of the floor in this part of the building would need to be replaced. “So, I have some boards at the shop we can use. They won’t be an exact match, but it’ll be close enough,” I said.
“Alrighty then. I saw your dad’s truck out front. You borrowing it?” Santi asked.
“Yep, just for today so we can haul what we need. I figured we could drop off the stuff out front and pick up the boards. Maybe do a quick run to the hardware store for insulation and Sheetrock?”
“Sounds perfect,” he said, “as long as we get to go to Murphy’s for their maple bacon bagel.”
“Of course. What would a workday be without bacon, maple-pistachio cream cheese, and a cinnamon bagel.” This place had the best bagels, and we tried to go there as often as our budget allowed. “Plus, I think I’m due a free latte on my punch card.”
“Bonus,” Santi said as he helped me load the boards into the truck before we headed up the road to my shop and my friend Saul’s construction yard. It was prime building season for his team, so when we pulled in, the place was pretty empty except for Claire’s car and one other in the lot by the shop.
“Let’s just stack this over there,” I said, pointing to the lean-top at the edge of the house that now housed my shop. The two of us unloaded all the wood and then stood back, admiring our work. “Well, that’s probably enough for the day?” I joked.
“Absolutely,” Santi said as he stretched. “But maybe we should, you know, check in with Claire to be sure she doesn’t need anything. Keep up appearances as business owners.”
I laughed. “Fair enough.” We wandered into my shop and found Claire at the register, tagging more crystal doorknobs from our back stock. These were consistently my bestseller, and now, my friends and family were looking for them at yard sales and even in people’s junk drawers. We sold a lot just as doorknobs, but Claire had also begun to create some amazing coat hangers and these abstract pieces of reclaimed wood and mandala-like shapes from the knobs. They were gorgeous, and I planned to buy one from myself for our house soon.
“Busy morning?” I asked my clerk as she looked up and smiled.
“Steady. Got a call about these.” She tapped a couple of doorknobs with her long nail. “So I wanted to be sure we had plenty ready.”
“Nice. If you hear of someone with a secret stash of knobs in their attic—”
“I know who to call,” she said. “Got prices in mind for what you just brought?”
“Nah. Most of it’s pretty contemporary stuff, so sell it by the piece or the lot for whatever you think.” Anything I’d make on those items was profit, after all.
“Got it,” Claire said as she resumed pricing. “Anything else you need me to focus on today?”
“Nah, I just wanted to check in,” I said with a glance toward Santi. “He said it’s what I’m supposed to do as a business owner.”
“You’re the owner?” a man said from the stairwell to my left.
After I calmed my heartrate from the startle, I smiled and put out my hand. “Sure am. Paisley Sutton. Can I help you with something?”
The big, bear-like man shook my hand. “Horatio Denver,” he said. “I’m an architect, and I hear you have some of the best salvage in the Blue Ridge.”
I blushed. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, I can’t say I disagree. Were you looking for anything in particular?”
“Big stuff, actually,” he said. “Mantels. Doorframes. Stained glass windows.”
This was the kind of customer I loved most. They knew what they wanted and what was reasonable to pay, and while they might haggle a bit, they were mostly willing to pay what I asked. Plus, I got to clear some floor space.
Santi laughed. “Oh boy, you’re in for a treat, sir.”
Horatio smiled. “Thanks, Sheriff.”
“He’s not wrong,” I said with a grin at my fiancé. “We have a large selection of those things out under the barn. Claire can show you around, and we can have anything you need to be delivered later in the week, free of charge.”
“Hot dog,” he said. “Mind if I ask? Do you have any really big stained glass pieces? Like six feet by three feet or so?”
This sale was getting better and better. “We just salvaged an entire church’s worth.” I turned to Claire. “You know where we put those, right?”
“Back of the barn in the sliders?” she asked.
“Exactly,” I said as I held out my hand to Horatio again. “You’re in good hands with Claire, but don’t hesitate to email me if you have any specific questions or need anything special. Sometimes I can rustle up requests.” I handed him my card and waved as Santiago and I headed back to the truck.
“Cha-ching,” Santi said as he got into the truck's passenger side. “That should be a great payday.”
I nodded. “Especially if he takes some of that stained glass. They’re beautiful pieces but huge and not the right fit for everyone’s home.” I started the truck and got us back on the road. “I had thought a new church might want them or maybe a bar or something, but if he wants to buy one for a house, by all means.”
“I hav e a hard time picturing good ole St. Peter in the living room myself, but to each his own,” Santi said with a laugh.
I knew what he meant. I loved the pieces myself, especially since they were done in such vibrant colors. And my friend Wayne Cain, who was a master stained glass craftsman down below Charlottesville, had said they were well-made and in good shape. But I just couldn’t picture them in our old farmhouse.
When we pulled up to the farmhouse, I glanced at the thermometer hanging on the porch—ninety-two in the shade, and the office was in full sun. It was going to be a hot day, and that called for the southern solution to humid heat—sweet tea. Fortunately, I’d brewed a batch the night before, so I poured Santi and myself big glasses full and followed him back outside.
I stared at the back of the building for a moment as I took a long sip of my tea, and then I finally said, “I guess I’ve put this off long enough.”
“Here we go, huh?” Santi said as he picked up the crowbar. “You want to do the honors?”
“Sure,” I said and put down my glass. The floorboards were so weak that they came out as more powder than wood, and by the time I’d gotten through three pieces, I knew we were going to have to take up most of the floor. “Termites!” I shouted over and over as I jerked up fragments of the flooring.
Finally, probably fearing for his own safety, Santi took the crowbar from me and said, “Alright there, GI Jane. Let me take over for a while.”
I rolled my eyes and headed over to my glass, which Santi had thoughtfully covered with a fragment of Sheetrock to protect it from the insect-made dust in the air. I pulled long and hard on the glass as I watched Santi test each board and then pull it up as he made his way toward me and the front of the office.
He was about halfway across the small room when the crowbar went right through the board, as it had been doing, but this time, it made a cracking sound as it reached the ground. Instinctively, I winced. Nothing ever good came from that sound.
As I walked over, Santi peered below the partially removed board, shook his head, and then pulled up the rest of it. He then looked up at me, said, “I’m so sorry,” and pulled up another three feet of boards in front of him, even though many of them seemed intact.
With a lot of will, I forced myself to watch without bemoaning the loss of all that beautiful hardwood that was splintering with every tug of Santi’s arms. But I knew my fiancé would not destroy more than what was necessary, and I guess, somewhere deep down, I probably knew why he was ripping up even more of the floor.
Sure enough, when he stopped feverishly removing the boards and stood back as the dust settled, there it was, a human skeleton right below where I had planned to place my clerk’s desk.
I threw back my head and moaned.
2
At some point, a person has to consider that they might be the cause of their own strife. I was that person at that moment. This was the tenth body I’d found, and I was seriously concerned about what energy I had put into the universe if the universe kept sending me bodies.
Perhaps the only thing that kept me from totally sinking into a well of self-pity and despair was that my fiancé, the county sheriff, never implied any such thing. In fact, he seemed to think it a sort of boon that I was helping to bring answers and sometimes healing to the families and friends of these victims. I was in two minds about that.
On the one hand, I was glad we were discovering these bodies and solving their murders, but on the other, I was ready to pass the baton and let someone else continue the race for justice.
Today, though, I was in the thick of it, and Santi and I had to do some quick work to manage the situation. First, I called my dad and asked him to pick up Sawyer from school. I didn’t need a busy preschooler coming in with his little shovel to help dig up bones. He was currently big into dinosaurs, and I could just see him thinking he was on a dig for the latest T. rex skeleton.
Meanwhile, Santi now had to deal with a crime scene, so he called Savannah Watson, his head deputy, and then gave our friend Alex, the coroner, a ring.
With all our calls made and our people squared, Santi and I moved to the edge of the office door and sat down. We couldn’t do anything more on the office or the skeleton until Santi and his team cleared the scene, and I knew that would be a long afternoon and evening of work.
I put my head against his shoulder and moaned again. “I really just wanted to get my office ready.”
He kissed the crown of my head and said, “I know, Pais. I know. We’ll take care of this situation ASAP, and we still have the rest of the week to finish the office.”
I sat up and looked at him. “The rest of the week?”
“Yep, I was going to surprise you each morning, but I think it might be helpful for you to know now that I took the entire week off to do this project with you.” A small crease formed between his eyebrows. “Is that okay?
“Okay?” I said. “That’s more than okay. That’s amazing. Thank you.” I kissed him on the cheek, aware that someone’s remains lay in the dirt behind us. “And that news makes me determined to see some hope in this situation.” I stood and stretched as I looked back toward the poor person tucked under my office.
“Like what?” Santi said as he rose from the floor and put his arm on my shoulders.
“Well, first, Sawyer didn’t find the body.” Just the idea of it made me shudder. That boy had brought me dog poop in a pizza box, the skin of a deer, and any number of partially maimed worms. It would not be a stretch for him to carry a human femur into the living room to show me.
“That’s a big one,” Santi said. “What else?”
“As you always say, this is the chance to find answers and hopefully help someone who has a lot of questions.”
He nodded. “Two very good things.”
I felt a little mischievous, so I said, “And finally, I get to solve another murder.”
At this, the sheriff rolled his eyes. “Really?”
“I have the week off, and I hear the sheriff is off this week, too. So I have the time, and there appears to be a need.” I grinned at him.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he said as he headed toward the sound of tires on my gravel driveway. Someone was already here.
When we came around the house, Savannah was standing in the driveway with her hands folded in front of her.
“You okay?” I said as I walked over and hugged her.
“Are you okay? You just found a body at your house, Paisley,” she said.
I nodded. “It’s a skeleton, so that helps. At least the person didn’t die recently,” I said. “But yeah, it’s a lot.”
“I’ll say,” she said. “Where are we working?”
Santi led her around the house while I slipped inside to get her a glass of tea and put another pitcher out in the sun to brew. The heat wasn’t going to quit, and we couldn’t either. Someone needed to be identified and accounted for, and none of us would stop until that happened.
By the time Alex had removed the body an hour or so later, we knew the victim was male, probably African American, and had been under my office for a very, very long time. Alex wasn’t yet ready to speculate on how long “very, very” was, but I didn’t have a good feeling about that projected time frame, given the history of my property.
The house was built sometime in the mid-nineteenth century—at least, that’s the best I could tell from the shape of the nail heads in my attic. Given that the land around us was still largely rural, pastured, and very, very rich, I expected this farmstead had been one that used enslaved laborers to assist with farm chores.
My property would never have been a plantation in the formal sense, given that it was small and probably required the White owners to work alongside the Black people they enslaved, yet I had always assumed people had been enslaved here. We even had two depressions in the backyard that seemed like they could be the remnants of where slave quarters had once stood.
