Thread on Arrival (3 page)

Reggie hesitated, and I could tell she was struggling.

“It’ll be fine,” I continued. “I won’t be pushy. If Adam won’t allow me into the house, then I’ll leave.”

“Dad usually leaves for work at seven in the morning,” Melanie said. “Mom doesn’t leave until eight. If you got there just after Dad left and were gone before he comes back home at lunchtime, it should be okay.”

I looked at Reggie. “What do you think?”

Reggie blew out a breath. “I don’t like it, but if you’re game—and if Mary and Melanie think it will help get them all to safety—then we’ll do it.” She bit her lip. “Let’s just not tell Ted until after the fact.”

* * *

After class, Reggie and I went to MacKenzies’ Mochas to work out all the details of our plan. Sadie greeted us at the door and escorted us to a table in the corner.

“How did the class go?” she asked.

“It went fine,” Reggie said. “Thanks for asking. How about a decaf latte, please, with extra whipped cream?”

“Sure. Marcy?” Sadie asked.

“I’ll have the same.”

With a nod, Sadie hurried off to get our drinks. I knew she had wanted to hear about the meeting in more satisfying detail, but Reggie and I needed to hammer out our plan and get home—her to Manu, and me to Angus. Besides, Sadie could rest assured that I’d tell her everything tomorrow.

“The library does have a bookmobile,” Reggie said. “But I’m driving.”

Sadie returned with our lattes, gave me another odd look, and then left.

“But what if Adam Cantor sees you driving the van?” I asked. “Won’t he find it suspicious that the library director is doing her own grunt work?”

“Of course not,” she said. “What could be more natural than a librarian driving a bookmobile? Besides, there’s no way I’m letting you go to the Cantor place by yourself. Adam has an assault record a mile long. He’s been sentenced to anger management sessions twice, and he served a year in county lockup for assault with a deadly weapon when Melanie was still in elementary school. But none of that seems to help.”

“I’m so sorry for Mary and Melanie,” I said. “They seem sweet.”

“They are,” Reggie said. “I’ve never met Chester, but he doesn’t appear to be anything like his son.”

“Isn’t that unusual?” I asked. “I thought abuse typically ran in families.”

“It does. From what I’ve heard, Adam suffered his abuse at the hands of his stepfather. Chester and Adam’s mother divorced when Adam was still a baby. I don’t think Chester made the most of his time with his son until Adam was in his early teens.” She shook her head. “By then, the damage had already been done.”

As I sipped my latte, I thought about what Reggie had said about Adam. His jail sentence and anger management classes had apparently not mellowed him out much. “Adam must be pretty mean.”

“He is,” Reggie said. “But he can be charming too. Otherwise, Mary never would have fallen for him.”

I nodded. Charming or not, if this man found out we were duping him, he was going to be furious.

Reggie looked at her watch. “I’ve got to run. I’ll pick you up in the morning between seven and seven fifteen.”

“All right. See you then.”

Reggie’s chair hadn’t got cold before Sadie slid into it. “Okay. Spill.”

“Spill what?” I asked, merely prolonging the inevitable.

“Tell me what you and Reggie are up to,” she said. “I thought I heard the name Adam Cantor mentioned.”

“She and I need to talk with Adam’s father, so we’re going to the house under the guise of a bookmobile visit,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal,” she insisted. “Adam Cantor is bad news.” She turned and motioned for Blake.

“What’s up?” Blake asked, arriving at our table while drying his hands on his black apron.

“Marcy is going to Adam Cantor’s house in the morning,” Sadie said.

Blake’s eyes widened. “What? No way.” He pulled up a chair and sat down.

I blew out a breath. “It’s not that big a deal, guys. Reggie and I are going by the house tomorrow after Adam has left for work. If anyone sees us there, we’ll look like we’re just the friendly, neighborhood bookmobile.”

“And what if Adam or the neighbors want to know why you didn’t visit any
other
houses?” Blake asked.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sadie said.

Actually, I hadn’t either, so I scrambled for an answer. “The reason we’re only visiting the Cantors’ house is . . . because patrons have to sign up for the service at the library and give Reggie their information there.” I nodded, satisfied that my explanation sounded reasonable. “We can say Mary put her father-in-law on the program because he’s a shut-in who enjoys reading.”

They both simply looked at me, making me feel as if I were their reckless teenage daughter and they were my parents. Even though we were all three fairly close in age, they had always treated me as if I were their baby sister.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Reggie will be there.”

“Why are you going there in the first place?” Blake asked.

“Mary wanted Reggie to talk with her father-in-law about leaving with her and Melanie—Mary and Adam’s daughter,” I said.

“Then why are
you
going?” Sadie asked.

“Because Chester—the father-in-law—wants me to determine the authenticity of a tapestry he believes to be an antique.” I shrugged. “Reggie will work everything out to where we’ll be safe. I trust her.”

“I trust her too,” Blake said. “But she’s no match for Adam Cantor. Did you know he’s served jail time for assault?”

I nodded. “Reggie told me about it.”

“Did she tell you that he committed this assault at the Brew Crew and that he did over five thousand dollars’ worth of damage to Todd’s bar with a baseball bat?” he asked.

“No.” I had a feeling I’d be getting a call from Todd later and that he too would try to convince me not to go to the Cantor house tomorrow morning. “I can’t bail on Reggie—or Mary and Melanie—at this point. Adam Cantor has no reason to be suspicious of me . . . no reason to harm me. . . . I’m merely delivering library books to his father.”

“And trying to convince his father, his wife, and his daughter to leave him,” Sadie said.

“Not the wife and daughter,” I said. “They’re already poised for flight. They just don’t want to leave the poor old guy there to fend for himself.”

Sadie squeezed my hand. “Promise me you’ll be careful . . . and that this will be a onetime thing and that you won’t get in over your head.”

“I promise.” And when I said it, I had every intention of keeping that promise.

Chapter Three

I
’d just let Angus out into our fenced backyard when Reggie arrived the next morning. I was surprised to see that Officer Dayton was with her.

“Good morning, Ms. Singer,” Officer Dayton said.

“Please, call me Marcy,” I said.

“Then, please, call me Audrey,” she said with a smile. She was dressed casually in black slacks, a bulky black sweater, and black flats. Noticing me looking at her clothes, she asked, “Are you wondering about my husky ninja costume?”

I inclined my head. “Maybe a little.”

She pulled up her right pant leg to reveal an ankle holster with a small gun. Then she turned and slightly raised her sweater so I could see the Taser located at the small of her back. “I’m not expecting any trouble, but I’m prepared if there is any.”

After getting the lecture last night from Sadie and Blake about the dangers of Adam Cantor, I was glad to see that Officer Dayton—Audrey—had our backs. Surprisingly, I hadn’t heard from Todd last night. I didn’t know whether Sadie had been unable to reach him or it had been too late when he’d finished up at the Brew Crew to call me and add his two cents to the Adam Cantor warning.

Reggie looked at her watch. “We should be moving along. Marcy, Audrey will be in the back of the van out of sight.”

I grinned. “I feel like we’re going on a secret undercover mission.”

“I’ll agree it’s kind of exciting,” Reggie said. “Usually, it’s Manu who gets to do all the fun stuff.”

“It won’t be fun if we have a confrontation with Mr. Cantor,” Audrey said.

Reggie and I glanced at each other. I knew we were both thinking that it might be fun to see Audrey spring into supercop mode.

When we arrived at the Cantor residence, a handsome man who appeared to be in his late thirties was pulling away from the curb in a white late-model SUV.

“Oh, crap,” I mumbled.

“It’ll be all right,” Reggie said.

The man in the SUV circled around and came back to see what we were doing. He pulled up beside the van and put his window down. “What are you doing here?” His question sounded more curious than demanding, but there was an undercurrent of steel that warned that Adam Cantor was not a man to be crossed.

Reggie lowered the driver’s-side window of the van. “Good morning, Mr. Cantor. We’re here to see your father.”

“What do you want with him?”

“We’ve brought him a selection of books we thought might interest him.” She glanced down and rifled through a couple blank papers. “It says here he likes nonfiction . . . history?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, showing even white teeth. “Yeah, he does. It’s pretty early for a delivery, though, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Reggie agreed. “I don’t like the bookmobile to interfere with regular library operations, so we typically run it before and after library hours.”

Adam squinted into the van at me. “You don’t look all that familiar to me. I don’t think I’ve seen you at the library before.”

“I’m not an actual employee,” I said. “I’m just here to help Reggie this morning. I have an embroidery shop in town, so I don’t have to go to work until ten a.m.”

“Nice of you to give up your morning like this,” Adam said.

I smiled. “I think it’s important that everybody has access to books. Besides, it’s only a couple days a week. I can spare that.”

He nodded. “So you brought books to show to Dad? I’ll go back inside with you. There might be something there I’d like to read.”

“Of course,” Reggie said.

This was not in the plan. She and I were both smiling, but I knew her mind had to be racing even faster than mine was. We needed to get rid of Adam Cantor, or else our intended conversations would never take place. But if we tried to get rid of him, he’d be more suspicious than he probably already was and would never allow us into his home.

“I’ll start grabbing the books,” I said to Reggie, hopefully giving Audrey time to hide before I opened the van’s back door.

“Be right there,” Reggie said, taking out a pen and scribbling on one of the blank papers before placing it in a folder.

I hopped out of the van, went around to the back, and opened up the door. I saw Audrey standing just to the side of a small cart filled with books.

“Take the entire cart,” she whispered.

By that time, Reggie had joined me.

“Can you grab that end?” I asked, getting the handle of the cart closest to me.

“Of course,” she said, her sunny affect never wavering.

We’d barely had time to shut the door before Adam Cantor came around Reggie’s side of the van.

“So these are the books?” he asked, craning his neck to read the titles.

“These are all we have this trip,” Reggie answered. “If there’s something specific you’d like, I can put in a request and hopefully we’ll be able to bring it to you next time.”

“All right. Can you two manage that cart okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

He checked his watch. “I’ll run back into the house for a second, but then I need to get to work. Maybe the next time you come, it won’t be such a surprise.”

Reggie and I got the cart up onto the curb as Adam Cantor jogged up the sidewalk and into the house.

Adam graciously held the door open for us and invited us in. “Pop!” he called, over his shoulder. “You’d better get out here. There are some mighty pretty ladies here to see you!” He winked at us. “He’s just finishing up his breakfast. He’ll be right with you. In the meantime, make yourselves at home here in the living room.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mary just inside the door nervously fingering the hem of her gray cardigan.

Adam turned toward her. “Mary, don’t just stand there. Come and introduce yourself.”

“We’ve met,” Reggie said. “Remember, Mrs. Cantor, when you signed your father-in-law up for the bookmobile delivery?”

“Oh, of course. It’s good to see you.” Mary said.

I held out my hand. “Hi, Mrs. Cantor. I’m Marcy Singer. I don’t work for the library, but I’m helping Reggie out this morning.”

Mary shook my hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me we had company coming this morning, Mary? I’d have called in and said I’d be late for work.” Adam was smiling, but his eyes and his voice were like flint. He looked at his watch before shooting an accusatory glare at Mary.

Mary glanced up at her husband and then down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Adam. I must’ve forgotten about it.”

“Yes, you must have. If I don’t go on, I’ll be late.” He turned back to Reggie and me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Singer. Mrs. Singh, I appreciate your kindness to my father.”

“Anytime,” Reggie said.

I wheeled the cart farther into the living room. “Mrs. Cantor, would you care to take a look at the books we brought for your father-in-law to choose from?”

Mary stood staring at the door, watching Adam stride down the sidewalk. She raised her hand and waved slightly, but I doubt he saw her. When at last his vehicle roared away, she visibly relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” Reggie said. “We thought he’d be gone before now. Are you in trouble?”

Mary nodded. “A little. It’s probably not that bad, though . . . nothing I can’t handle. Besides, hopefully, I won’t be here to face his wrath when he gets home.” A metallic scraping sound from the kitchen nabbed her attention, and she hurried into the other room. “Coming, Pop. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need any help,” Chester Cantor said, struggling to get his walker through the narrow door leading from the kitchen to the living room. He smiled when he saw Reggie and me. “Well, hello there. To what do I owe this honor?”

I loved him on sight. He was short—almost as short as me—and rather square. He kind of reminded me of the elderly man in the animated movie
Up
.

Reggie did a quick check over her shoulder to make sure Adam Cantor hadn’t doubled back on us. “We’re here to bring you some books. We’d also like to talk with you about letting us get you, Mary, and Melanie to safety.”

He raised a hand and flicked his wrist as if he were shooing away a fly. “I’ve got a plan. Soon I’m going to be able to get us all somewhere safe . . . and then we’ll make Adam get some help so he won’t lose his entire family like I did once.”

“I hear you have a tapestry you’d like for me to look at,” I said.

His face brightened. “You’re the gal from the embroidery shop?”

“That’s me.”

“Seen many tapestries, have you?” His eyes were sparkling with excitement.

“I’ve seen quite a few,” I said. “You might even say I’m an expert on old tapestries.”

He grinned. “Come with me, young lady.” He looked around at Mary and Reggie. “You two stay here.”

“Melanie and I have to leave soon,” Mary said, “or else she and I are going to be late for school and work.”

“Well, you two go on and do what you need to do,” Chester said. “I’ll be fine with . . . What’s your name?”

“Marcy,” I answered.

“I’ll be just fine with Marcy here.” He jerked his head toward the door leading to the narrow hallway. “Let’s go.”

I shot a look at Reggie, and she gave me a combination shrug-slash-nod that I guessed meant I should go with Mr. Cantor, check out the tapestry, and get the lowdown on his plan.

As I followed Mr. Cantor down the tight hallway, Melanie burst through her bedroom door, kissed the man on the cheek, and said, “Bye, Grandpa! See you later! Bye, Marcy!”

Mr. Cantor shook his head. “Always in a rush, that one. Oh, well, it’s good to hurry while you’ve got some hurry left in you, I reckon.” He opened a door at the end of the hall to reveal a small bedroom. The room had a full-sized four-poster bed, an oak dresser and the matching chest of drawers, a navy blue recliner that had seen better days, and a TV that was mounted in the corner of the room across from the bed and the recliner. The room smelled of menthol muscle rub, and I imagined Mr. Cantor spent much of his time in this tiny place. I looked around for the tapestry he’d spoken of, but the walls were bare with the exception of a few framed family photographs.

He gestured toward the neatly made bed. “Have a seat there on the foot of the bed—or in the recliner if you’d rather—while I get the tapestry.”

I didn’t want to mess up the bed, so I perched on the edge of the recliner. Mr. Cantor opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, emptied the socks, scarves, and gloves it contained onto the bed, and flipped it over. Taped to the bottom of the drawer was a large manila envelope. He carefully removed the tapestry from the envelope, unfolded and smoothed it out on the bed where I could see it.

The tapestry appeared to be an ancient map of the Oregon coast. Besides Tallulah Falls, I recognized the names Lincoln City, Coos Bay, and Waldport. Near Tallulah Falls, there was the depiction of a schooner sinking into the ocean. Beneath the ship was the name
Delia
. And beneath the ship’s name was an
X
.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said. The background was dark brown wool. Dark wools were often indicative of textiles from the Civil War era. “It must be well over a hundred years old.” As I said it I realized Mary would be disappointed I had confirmed it was an antique. Still, I couldn’t deny the truth of that.

“It sure is.” Mr. Cantor tapped the
X
. “And look here. It’s a treasure map.”

I was trying to humor him, but I didn’t see how he’d decided that this tapestry was a
real
treasure map. “It does remind you of a treasure map, doesn’t it? May I pick it up?”

He nodded.

I took the tapestry and held it closer to the light. There were no holes, little wear and tear on the bindings and edges, and only a couple of tiny stains. I turned the cloth over, but there was nothing on the back except the work that made the beautiful map on the front.

“You don’t believe it’s a map, do you?” Chester asked. “Let me explain. My great-grandmother was a Ramsay.”

I nodded slowly, still having no idea where he was going with his story and not sure he had a clue himself. I carefully placed the tapestry back onto the bed.

He pushed his walker out of the way and sat down beside the tapestry. “The Clatsop Indians used to tell stories about Jack and George Ramsay. Jack had fair skin, red hair, and freckles. They were the children of an English sailor and a Clatsop woman.”

“And you believe your great-grandmother was related to these people?”

“Indeed I do,” he said. “Mother said Grandmother Wells—she was born a Ramsay, married a Wells—had the prettiest head of red hair you ever did see. And I believe she made this tapestry after years of hearing her parents talk about this shipwreck off the coast of Tallulah Falls.” He studied the delicate fabric. “They lived up in Vancouver, and I believe Grandmother made this tapestry in the hope that one day she or one of her children would return to the Oregon coast and find that treasure.”

I reached over and gently placed my hand on his arm. “Mr. Cantor, don’t you think someone would’ve found it by now?”

“Treasures are still being discovered every day, Marcy.” He looked up at me. “Oh, I see what you’re saying. You’re thinking I’m too old to be searching the seas for treasure.”

“I’m not saying that at all. I just don’t think it’s the solution to your current problem.”

“It couldn’t hurt. Adam and Mary are always fighting about money. There’s never enough. He thinks she mismanages it, but she does the best she can.” He smiled sadly. “I am old. And I’m out of ideas. But I’ve been in touch with a treasure hunter, and he thinks there could be something of the
Delia
left for us to find. As late as July of 2010, gold coins and a bronze cannon from a 1715 shipwreck were found off the coast of Florida.”

“But, Mr. Cantor, you and Mary and Melanie need to get to safety now. You can
still
locate the treasure,” I said. “Take the tapestry with you.”

“And let someone
steal
it from me at that
homeless
shelter? Steal the tapestry
and
the treasure?” He shook his head in obvious alarm.

“Then give it to someone you trust to hold on to it . . . your attorney, maybe. Or put it in a safe – deposit box.”

He sighed. “They want to leave, don’t they? Mary and Melanie, I mean.”