A Murderous Yarn

and he told me he was thinking about going back to wait for Father to die.”

“Was that likely to have happened soon? I mean, do you know how dangerously ill your father was?”

“Last time I talked to Mother, before all this happened, she said the doctor told her that Father would have a serious stroke within six months if he didn’t slow down.”

“Did Bro know this?”

“I don’t know. I think so. If Mother told me, she probably told Bro, Tommy, and David, too.”

“Was your father supposed to give up the cars, too?”

“Oh, no. They were a hobby. I’m reasonably sure it never occurred to anyone to tell the doctor that he worked as hard on those cars as he did at running his company.”

“Did you know he was thinking about starting a company to supply parts to antique car collectors?”

Lisa sighed. “No, but that sounds a lot like Father.”

“Do you have any idea how valuable his antique cars are?”

“The Maxwells are fairly common. Mother will probably get the best price for the Fuller. That’s a really rare car.”

“Fuller? I thought all your father collected were Maxwells.”

“He did, except he bought this one Fuller. It’s a Nebraska Fuller, not a Michigan, a high wheeler from 1910.”

Betsy hadn’t been this confused since she first worked in Crewel World and someone asked her if DMC 312 could be substituted for Paternayan 552. Betsy hadn’t even known the customer was talking about embroidery floss. “High wheeler?” she repeated now, in the same tone that she’d echoed, “Paternayan?”

“Oh!” said Lisa. “I thought since you volunteered to work on the Antique Car Run that you knew something about these old cars.”

“Well, I don’t. What’s a high wheeler?”

“The wheels are bigger in circumference, like buggy wheels. Automobile wheels are smaller. I think Father bought the Fuller because Adam wanted it.”

“Do you mean Adam Smith?”

“Yes. He and Father were kind of rivals. You know how they keep saying, ‘This isn’t a race, the run isn’t a race’?”

Betsy nodded.

“Well, not everyone believes that. And whenever Adam beat one of Father’s Maxwells in one of his frail old rarities, Father was fit to be tied. Adam collects rarities and he wanted that Fuller very badly. Father bought it mostly to annoy him.”

“And partly because-?”

“Oh, once Father was sure Adam had given up trying to get it, he was going to sell it at a profit. He’d already had a couple of bids on it from other collectors.”

“So this wasn’t a friendly rivalry.”

Lisa hesitated, then decided candor was necessary. “At first it was. Then Adam bought a 1910 Maxwell that Father wanted badly. His plan was to resell it to Father at a nice profit. But Father, just to spite him, bought a different 1910 Maxwell-and it turned out to be a cantankerous machine, always something wrong with it. So Father was doubly angry with Adam. I think Adam was feeling guilty about the trick, but then Father bought the Fuller and wouldn’t sell it to Adam at any price. Adam was furious.”

“Couldn’t they have gotten together on some kind of trade, maybe with cash added to make it even? I assume the Fuller was worth quite a bit more than the Maxwell.”

“Yes, quite a bit, but neither was willing to talk to the other. In fact, Mother told me that the last time Adam and Father’s paths crossed, Adam told Father that he was looking forward to Father’s death, so he could come to the estate sale and buy that Fuller.” She looked at her watch and jumped to her feet. “I’m supposed to take Mother to the lawyer’s office, and I’ll be late if I don’t leave right now.” She plunged her hand into her small white purse and pulled out a card. “Are you on the Internet?”

“Yes.”

“Good. This has my e-mail address on it, contact me that way if you have any more questions. If Bro finds out I’m talking to you, he’ll be angry, so I’d better not come out here anymore. And you can’t call me. With everyone at home, e-mail’s the only way to guarantee a private conversation. Bye.” She grabbed up her purchases and left. Since they had been put into a Crewel World plastic drawstring bag, it was likely at least some of the family knew where she had been. This would serve as a reason why. But the metro area was scattered with needlework shops, most of them closer to Roseville than Crewel World, so most would quickly figure out why Lisa found it necessary to travel all the way out here to buy a cross stitch pattern.

Betsy rinsed the cups and went out front to assist a customer who came in to buy the threads for a pattern she’d found at a garage sale. Betsy managed to find all but one, which had been given the unhelpful name “Dawn’s Favorite.” But by consulting the pattern and locating where the unknown color was to be used, then looking at the colors around it, she realized it must be a shade of pink not already selected. She pulled three related shades from a spinner rack and, by giving the customer her choice, made her a collaborator and less likely to decide later she was unsatisfied with the color.

“Did Lisa help you decide Broward is a murderer?” asked Godwin when the customer was gone.

“No. In fact, she gave me a new suspect, Adam Smith.”

“I thought you liked Adam Smith.”

“I do. But it’s a shame how many nice people commit murder.”

10

The shop was closed, but Betsy remained, restoring order to the sale bins, restocking spinner racks, washing coffee cups. Saving the best for last, she opened a box containing an order of twelve clear glass Christmas tree ornaments. She was making a small display of them on a shelf in the back area when someone knocked on the front door.

It was Jill, bent over so the night light fell on her face as she peered around the needlepointed Closed sign. She was wearing a very pale yellow blouse and tan capri pants.

Betsy unlocked the door, and Jill said, “I rang the bell to your apartment but there was no answer so I decided to see if you were in here.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Betsy.

“No, I have the night off, Lars is doing something strange to his Stanley, and I just wanted to talk. Mind?”

“Not at all. Come in,” said Betsy. “I’m working in back.” Jill went on through the opening between the high stacks of box shelves, into the counted cross stitch section, while Betsy relocked the door and reset the alarm.

Betsy had turned off the ceiling lights in back, turning the many models hung on the walls into angled shadows.

“Whatcha doin’ with those?” Jill asked when she saw the ornaments. “Isn’t it kind of early for Christmas?”

Betsy said, “RCTN gave me the idea. You take these plain ornaments and fill them with orts.” Ort is a crossword-puzzle word whose dictionary meaning is “morsel, as of food.” But RCTN, the Internet news group of needleworkers, had adapted it to mean the little ends of floss or thread left over from stitching. Most threw orts away, but some collected them, filling old glass jars with the tiny fragments and displaying them. Betsy had seen the ornaments at an after-Christmas sale, and had bought one to fill with her own orts. Long before it was filled, she saw how beautiful it was going to be, and was sorry she hadn’t bought more to sell in the shop. Then a few weeks ago she’d seen the ornaments in a catalog and ordered a dozen.

Now, she picked up her ort-filled ornament and handed it to Jill. “What do you think?”

“Say, this is nice! What a great idea! How much is one?”

“Empty, three dollars. I haven’t set a price for filled yet.”

“Who wants one full of someone else’s leavings? It’ll be fun filling it with my own. In fact, I’ll take two.”

Pleased at this early evidence of a success, Betsy said, “I’ll put them aside for you-my cash register’s closed