Free Thread Reckoning by Amanda Lee

running things. I got sick of it, acquired a job with another company, and left. Mom stayed. She wasn’t happy working there, either, but she had a vested interest and all that. As it turned out, though, the Santiagos pulled that rug out from under her, too.”
    “Let me run next door and get the sandwiches. I’ll be right back.” I hated to cut Frederic off at this point in his conversation, but I didn’t want Sadie running in with the sandwiches and asking awkward questions, either.
    I hurried to MacKenzies′ Mochas to pick up and pay for the sandwiches.
    “I guess David is keeping you company?” Blake asked. He tried to keep the negative tone out of his voice, but he failed.
    “No. It’s Frederic Ortega,” I said. “The police are questioning Cassandra, and he’s going to join her at the station in a little while. He’s really having a rough time.”
    Blake nodded, his relief that the other sandwich wasn’t for David evident on his expressive face. “I can imagine.”
    “And Cassandra isn’t being very sympathetic.”
    “I can imagine that, too,” he said. “Did he say anything about . . . you know, about his mom?”
    “He said the coroner told him his mother didn’t suffer,” I said.
    “That’s good . . . I mean, all things considered.”
    I nodded and handed Blake some money for the sandwiches. He tried not to take it, but I insisted. Then I rushed back to the shop.
    Frederic was on his cell phone finishing up a call. “He must have been watching for her . . . following her or something. They said he struck one definitive blow with the knife, and she went down.”
    I set the bag on the coffee table as quietly as I could.
    “Probably not until Monday or Tuesday,” Frederic said. “I still have to make all the arrangements. When will you be here? . . . Good. See you then.” He looked at me as he ended the call. “My brother.”
    “Where does he live?” I asked.
    “New Mexico. He’ll be here Saturday.” He nodded toward the bag. “Those croissants smell good. May I?”
    “Of course.”
    He dug into the bag, setting one croissant and bag of sea salted potato chips on the table for me and putting the other in front of himself. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled these.” He unwrapped the croissant. “Have you ever lost someone close to you, Marcy?”
    “My dad,” I said. “I was too young when he died to remember much about him, but I can recall his smile . . . and his laugh. He laughed a lot.”
    “Mom laughed a lot, too,” Frederic said, “though not so much in the past year as she used to.”
    “She seemed to approve of your marriage to Cassandra,” I said. “So that’s good.”
    “She’d come to terms with it. Let’s put it that way.” He bit into the croissant. “You were right. This is good.”
    She’d come to terms with it. I took that to mean that Francesca hadn’t approved of the union at first. I wondered why, but then I remembered he was marrying Cassandra. What mother would want her son shackled to that piece of work? Or herself, for that matter, if she was going to live with the couple?
    “Are you planning on calling Mr. Santiago?” I asked. “The one your mother worked with for eighteen years, I mean.”
    “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Frederic said. “I suppose I should, but I barely had the presence of mind to call Dom. I haven’t even called the funeral home yet.”
    I unwrapped my croissant and started eating. Like Frederic, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until then. I’d only picked at the muffin Sadie had brought me earlier that morning.
    Frederic opened his chips. “About Mom and Cass . . . they got along well in the beginning. But when Cass started planning this wedding, she changed.”
    “I’ve heard of women turning into the dreaded beast—Bridezilla,” I said with a grin.
    “You can say that again. I realize her family will be paying for the wedding, but I was taught to be more frugal. Mom raised