The Quick and the Thread by Amanda Lee

Author:Amanda Lee [Lee, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9780451230966
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2010-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I went by the house to bathe, change clothes, and drop off Angus before going to Bill Trelawney’s visitation. I wore a navy pencil skirt, a white button-down blouse, and a triple strand of pearls. My intention was to greet Mrs. Trelawney, once again express my sympathy, and then make a discreet exit before the funeral started.

I had barely known him . . . or his wife, for that matter. But Mr. Trelawney had always been pleasant to me. He’d loved to chat, so I could—up until now—anticipate collection of the rent to be a drawn-out, time-consuming affair. Blake liked to joke that it took Mr. Trelawney a month to collect the rent from all of his lessees because he made it a daily undertaking so he could tell the same stories to different people. For me, the conversations with Mr. Trelawney had always been amiable and interesting.

For some reason, that thought brought to mind Ted Nash’s grim question: If you’d already killed two people to keep your secret safe, would you risk the chance of a third person knowing?

It was a safe bet that anything the talkative Bill Trelawney knew, his wife knew also.

I pulled into the parking lot, glad it didn’t appear to be overly crowded yet. Keeping my skirt in place, I slid carefully out of the Jeep. A hand took hold of my elbow to steady me as I made my descent. I turned, pleasantly surprised to see Todd.

“Thank you,” I told him.

“Anytime,” he said. “It must be a lot trickier to get in and out of that Jeep in a skirt than it is when you’re wearing jeans.”

“A lot trickier. Are you staying for the funeral?”

“No. I just want to pay my respects to the family.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I have a class tonight, and I need to be there even if none of my students show up.”

“It’ll likely be a slow night at the Brew Crew, too.”

“Mind if I stop by after class?”

He smiled. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

We went on into the funeral home and stood in line to speak with Mrs. Trelawney. I recognized Riley Kendall several people ahead of us. She was with a tall, dark-skinned man whom I recognized from the photographs in her office. It was also evident he was her husband from the way his hand lingered proprietarily at the small of her back.

The door opened, chilling me with a blast of cool air. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Vera Langhorne coming in.

“Hello, Marcy,” she said, hurrying over to me. “I want you to meet my husband, John.” She looked up at her husband, who was not only tall but painfully thin. “John, this is Marcy Singer.”

Mr. Langhorne extended his hand. It felt cold and brittle, and I ended the handshake as quickly as possible without appearing rude.

“Ms. Singer,” he said, “I’ve heard great things about you. To hear Vera extol your talents, one would think you are the Picasso of needlecraft.”

I laughed softly. “Vera is too kind.

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