Read The Quick and the Thread for Free Online Page A

murder. “Um . . . yes. Is . . . is Mr. Trelawney there? I have a question for him.”
    “Oh, certainly. He’s just now finishing up his dinner. You take care, dear, and I’ll be in to see you soon. Now, let me get Bill.”
    I really wondered why Mrs. Trelawney hadn’t said anything about Timothy Enright. Could there possibly be someone in town who hadn’t heard of the man’s fatal visit to my storeroom?
    Bill Trelawney came on the line. “Hello, Marcy. How are you, dear?”
    “I’m fine, Mr. Trelawney. And I hope you are.”
    “Yes, I—”
    “I’m calling to ask you about Timothy Enright.”
    “I heard his behavior was deplorable at your reception, and I’m sorry about that.”
    “Um . . . thank you. Did . . . did you not hear about . . . about my finding him in the storeroom?”
    “Oh, now, that is truly unacceptable. I made it clear to Mr. Enright that he was not to disturb you in any way. All of his belongings should have been moved out of that shop long before you arrived.”
    “Mr. Trelawney, I don’t think you understand. When I found Mr. Enright in the storeroom, he was dead.”
    “Are you quite sure?”
    “Quite.”
    “Oh, my.” There was a long pause. “That’s another matter altogether, isn’t it?”
    “I’m afraid so. It’s very upsetting. The death.”
    “Yes, yes,” he said. “A real shock.”
    “I wanted to ask . . . It’s not necessarily relevant, but I just have to know. . . . Mrs. Enright came by my house yesterday evening and accused me of putting her husband out of business.”
    “Now, we both know that’s nonsense. Don’t allow Lorraine Enright to befuddle you. I imagine she’s terribly distraught.”
    “I realize that, of course. Even though she and Mr. Enright were going through a divorce—”
    “Were they?”
    “That’s my understanding.” I was getting frustrated with the entire conversation, so I decided to say something off-the-wall myself. “Say, does the phrase four square fifth mean anything to you?”
    Mr. Trelawney got so quiet, I was afraid we’d been disconnected. “Mr. Trelawney?”
    “Where did you hear that?” he asked softly.
    “Mr. Enright wrote it on the storeroom wall before he died.”
    “He shouldn’t have done that. Did he write anything else?”
    “I believe he meant to. There was a w following fifth .”
    “Can I come over to look at it?”
    “Sure, but not until tomorrow. The police closed my shop while they investigated, and then a cleaning crew is supposed to be coming in.”
    “The police?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s disturbing,” he mumbled.
    “Um. . . yes, it was. Finding Mr. Enright dead in the storeroom was very disturbing, also.”
    “I’ll be there tomorrow morning, then.”
    “Okay, any—” I realized Mr. Trelawney had hung up. I wondered why the phrase had brought about such a reaction from him. I also wondered why neither he nor his wife seemed to know about Timothy Enright’s death. The rest of the town certainly was abuzz over it.
     
     
    When I arrived at the Seven-Year Stitch the next morning, I was relieved to see that everything looked tidy and clean. The hazmat cleaners had assured me they’d put the shop back in order, but I wasn’t convinced until I’d seen it for myself. The samplers and dolls were on their shelves, Jill was at the register, the yarns and threads were in their proper order, and the furniture looked freshly vacuumed. Of course, this wasn’t the area I’d been most concerned with.
    After depositing Angus in the bathroom with the promise “It’s only for a couple minutes,” I timidly went to check the storeroom. It looked great. The hazmat team had done a wonderful job. The fabrics had been neatly returned to their boxes, the tapestry needles had been gathered and reboxed, and the foul odor was gone. If not for the words still scratched in the wall, no one would ever suspect what had transpired here night before last.
    I bent down to take a closer look at the odd