Thread on Arrival (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

T
he next morning, I looked at the pho
tos I’d taken of Chester’s tapestry and had uploaded from my phone to my computer. I printed them out, pieced them together, and pinned them to the bulletin board in my office so I could look at the tapestry as a whole. To be on the safe side, I got a piece of green felt from the storage room to tack over the photos in case anyone happened to walk in. It would be just my luck for someone to see the board and deduce that I’d killed Chester Cantor to get at his treasure.

I stood back and surveyed the photos. Was it possible that this lovely old piece of embroidery held the key to finding a sunken treasure? There were longitude and latitude indicators . . . an
X
where the
Delia
had apparently sunk . . . towns—including Tallulah Falls—along the shoreline. . . .

I was so caught up in my reverie that when Angus suddenly began barking, I gasped and nearly jumped a foot off the ground. I threw the felt over the bulletin board and then hurried to see what all the commotion was about.

It was a bird. That’s it . . . just a tiny sparrow that was pecking on the window. Angus was dying to play with it. He was in front of the window with his head down at bird level and his wagging tail up in the air while he barked a blue streak.

When I could no longer take Angus’s and the bird’s shenanigans—in particular, Angus’s loud barks and playful rumbles—I went to the counter and retrieved his leash and the cardboard clock with the plastic hands that told the world that I was out but that I would be back at the indicated time. I placed the hands five minutes in the future, placed the clock on the door, snapped the leash to Angus’s collar, and we went for a quick jaunt down the street. As we walked, the scheme that had started forming in my brain last night fully awoke and began turning into a full-fledged plan.

When Angus and I got back to the Seven-Year Stitch, I waited on a customer who was making a needlepoint rug and needed strong yarn and tapestry needles. And
then
I called the treasure hunter, Jack Powell. He answered on the first ring. I introduced myself and then got right down to business.

“Jack, do you honestly believe Chester Cantor’s map could lead us to the
Delia
?”

“I thought I made that clear to you the other day,” he told me. “There’s a better-than-passing average that the map could’ve led us to the wreckage, but with no map and no money, it doesn’t do us any good to dwell on it.”

“What if I said I might be able to get my hands on the map
and
the money?” I asked. “Would you be interested in spearheading the hunt?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he asked in almost a whisper, “Are you serious?”

“I am. I can’t promise anything yet,” I said. “But if I’m able to get the funding, would you head up the search team?”

“You bet I would,” he said. “But wait. What’s in it for you?”

“Chester’s share—I want it to go to his family.”

“If there’s anything to divvy up, I’ll be glad to pass along a share to the Cantors,” Jack said. “How sure are you that you can make this happen?” There was a note of excitement creeping into his voice.

“On a scale of one to ten, I’d say, four point seven five,” I answered. I realized those weren’t great odds, but I didn’t want to get his hopes up too high in case my plan failed. “Let me make some calls, and I’ll get back in touch with you as soon as I have something more concrete.”

Since reality television had become such a major part of almost every network, I thought the hunt for the
Delia
’s treasure might be of interest to someone. Even if no treasure was found, a documentary film crew might finance the search and would pay the Cantors for their role in the film—the story behind Chester’s tapestry, the use of the tapestry/map to try to locate the treasure. . . . Even Chester’s assertion that his ancestors were the Ramsays of Oregon treasure lore could provide interesting fodder for viewers. It might not be the windfall Chester had hoped for, but at least it would be something . . . maybe enough to put in a trust for Melanie’s college education.

The rain from yesterday had abated to a light mist today, and a lot more customers were out and about. That was wonderful for business, but it was terrible for sneaking off to my office to make phone calls. After speaking with Jack Powell, it was over an hour before I was able to get a few minutes to call Mary Cantor.

Unlike Jack, Mary did not answer on the first ring. In fact, I was afraid I was going to have to give up when at last she answered.

“Mary, hi. It’s Marcy Singer. Can you talk?”

“Yes, Marcy. Adam is out at the moment. If my tone changes, you’ll know he’s come in and that I have to go,” Mary said.

“Of course. I . . . I don’t mean to be insensitive here, but Chester indicated that you and Adam have . . . had . . . money issues?” This call went better in my head before I’d actually dialed the number.

“I don’t see that our financial situation is any of your business.” Mary’s voice was cool.

“It isn’t in the least,” I agreed. “It’s just that I’ve been studying photographs I took of the tapestry, and there’s a slight possibility that it really could be a treasure map. Certainly, the tapestry is old.”

“Marcy, I don’t really think this is the proper time to get everybody’s hopes up for something that will never be. Do you?”

“No.” I forged ahead. “But it could be the perfect time to get out from under your financial burden. You know how reality shows are all the rage? Well, what if we could get a producer interested in finding the treasure of the
Delia
?”

Mary sighed. “You said there was a
slight
possibility that the tapestry is a treasure map. If that isn’t the case, then what?”

“Then the production company might still be interested in making a documentary or a reality show about searching for the treasure,” I said. “Wouldn’t it at least be worth a shot?”

“I don’t know. What are the odds that anyone would listen to this idea for a show?” she asked.

“Oh, trust me. I believe I can get the right people to listen. And if I can, would you be interested in talking with them?”

“Sure.” Her voice changed, indicating Adam had returned. “Adam and I do so appreciate your concern. Thank you for calling.”

After getting Mary’s green light, I called Mom. “Mom, I need a favor.”

“Marcella, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Remember that treasure map tapestry I told you about?”

“The one that possibly got Chester Cantor killed? Yes, I remember your mentioning that,” Mom said. “I’m sitting. Should I lie down?”

“If you think it would help,” I said. “I’m calling to ask if you know a documentary filmmaker who might be willing to finance the treasure hunt?”

“Ah, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “I’m not sure what I imagined you might be doing with regard to this treasure that may or may not be at the bottom of the ocean, but you’re actually making a reasonable request.”

“I doubt everyone around here will share your opinion, but we’ll see.”

“I’m drawing a blank on filmmakers, darling, but there’s a new network called Explore Nation
that’s launching next year,” Mom said. “Your proposal should be perfect for them.”

“Do you have an in?”

“As a matter of fact, I do have an in—a rather powerful in. He’s a major investor in the network. Let me give him a call and see what he thinks.”

“Thanks, Mom. You rock!”

“I do, don’t I?” She chuckled. “I’ll keep you posted.”

* * *

After talking with Mom, I’d wanted to call Ted and tell him my plan. But, as had been par for the course today, a steady stream of customers and phone calls had made it impossible to do so. That’s why I was especially delighted to see him strolling in with lunch at a little past noon. He sat on the sofa while I checked out a customer who was buying knitting needles in a variety of sizes but no yarn, an oddity I might’ve commented on, had I been less busy. And then I waited on a customer who was buying a beaded embroidery kit for his wife.

As the last customer was heading out the door, I sprinted over to Ted and threw my arms around his neck. “I’m so glad to see you! I’ve been wanting to talk with you all morning.”

“Ditto. Has the Stitch been a madhouse all day?”

“It has been,” I said.

He nodded toward the bag. “I brought subs and chips. I’ll mind the store while you go eat. You need a break.”

I gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks for the offer, but I want to eat with you. My customers can spare me for twenty minutes.” I put the clock on the door, and then Ted, Angus, and I went into the office.

“I brought tuna salad for you, turkey for me, and roast beef for Angus,” Ted said.

“You brought Angus his own sub?” I asked. “How sweet.”

“Those compelling eyes kill me. And I’m pretty hungry, so I figured if I had to share anyway, I might as well get him his own.”

I laughed and hoped my compelling eyes would work on him as well when I confessed what I hoped to accomplish with regard to the search for the treasure of the
Delia.

Ted stopped right in the middle of taking our food from the bag. “What?” he asked.

“What do you mean
what
?”

“You know exactly what I mean. What have you done?”

“You didn’t make head detective just because of your good looks, did you?” I smiled.

Ted did not smile. He looked apprehensive.

“Hear me out,” I continued.

He groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Please,” I said.

“Okay.” He lowered his hand, but he still looked like he dreaded what was coming.

“It’s not that bad. Seriously,” I said. “It’s just that I got to thinking that Chester’s tapestry might be worth something—a lot even—whether it’s a map leading to the discovery of a sunken treasure or not.”

“You mean the tapestry itself . . . because it’s an antique?” Ted asked. He looked relieved.

“Not exactly.”

Ted’s look of relief disappeared.

“I mean, I did look into that,” I said. “But it isn’t worth as much as you might think. Anyway, you know how hot reality shows are, right?”

He nodded and started unwrapping his sandwich. Angus licked his lips and inched closer.

I explained about the television network set to launch next year and how Mom said she’d ask one of the network executives about doing a documentary on the search for the treasure. “Even if it’s a bust like that time Geraldo Rivera opened Al Capone’s vault, it could still make for some interesting television. Don’t you think?”

Ted’s eyes widened. “You’re having your mom pitch the treasure hunt to a TV network?”

I nodded. “And Jack Powell has agreed to head up the expedition. So, provided the network goes for it, and they need a treasure hunter, we’re good to go.”

His jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it great? I figure this plan—if the network goes for it—will accomplish two things. First, it will bring in some money for Chester’s family . . . maybe not as much as he’d hoped, but some. And, if the tapestry was the reason Chester was killed, this will draw out the murderer.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?”

“Of course,” I said. “Don’t you?” I unwrapped my sub and took a bite. “Mmm . . . this is terrific. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He shook his head. “What does any of this have to do with Geraldo Rivera and Al Capone’s vault?”

“Nothing really. I only brought up that show to illustrate that people will tune in to something even if it turns out to be a disappointment.” I grabbed two sodas from the mini-fridge and placed them on the desk. “See, back in 1986, Geraldo Rivera opened Al Capone’s secret vault beneath the Lexington Hotel in Chicago. Rivera was so certain there was going to be some super-creepy stuff in there that he even had a medical examiner on hand in case there were human remains. Turned out, the vault’s contents were far less exciting than anticipated.”

“What was in there?” Ted asked.

“Trash, mostly.”

He laughed. “And you know all this because . . . ?”

“Because it’s legendary in the movie and TV business,” I said. “And even though the program itself was an epic failure, it proved that people will tune in to shows like that . . . out of curiosity if nothing else. Look at some of the garbage that passes for TV shows these days. Don’t you think a documented hunt for sunken treasure would be more entertaining than some of those?”

“I do.” He tore a hunk off the roast beef sub and handed it to Angus. “I just don’t know how you’re going to pull this off.”

“Well, I might not. I mean, if the network isn’t interested, then I guess that’s that.” I shrugged. “But if they are interested, then I’ll talk with Mary again—and include Adam this time—and—”

“
We’ll
talk with Mary and Adam,” he interrupted. “I don’t want you talking to that man without me. I don’t believe he killed Chester, but I don’t doubt that he’s dangerous.”

“Okay.” I sipped my soda. “This could turn out to be a good thing. Wait and see.”

Ted merely grinned tightly before taking a bite out of his sub. He didn’t seem to have much confidence in my plan, but I really thought it could work.

* * *

At around three o’clock that afternoon, I got a call from “John Trammel, but everybody calls me J.T.”

That was the extent of his introduction so I said, “Hi, J.T. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it appears your mother put a bug in my boss’s ear, and now he’s all fired up about us going on a treasure hunt.”

“You’re with Explore Nation,” I said excitedly. “So we’re really doing it?”

He chuckled—a rich, robust laugh that, along with his Texas twang, made me think J. T. Trammel was a hearty man.

“I don’t know how much literal involvement you’ll have,” he said. “But I’ll be down your way first thing tomorrow morning to get all the particulars from you and to, hopefully, start the ball rolling if this proves to be a project we’re interested in pursuing further.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Just tell me when and where you’d like to meet and what you’d like for me to bring to the meeting.”