Free Thread Reckoning by Amanda Lee Page A

my brother and me by herself.” He ate a chip. “I understand Cass wanting to have a lavish wedding, but I can’t help thinking how far some of that money would go on a home.”
    “I can understand your point. My own mom put quite a bit of money into my wedding, and then it didn’t happen.” I shook my head. “There we were with the gorgeous dress, the flowers, the cake, the catered meal, the band . . . and no groom. It was such a waste.” My anger at David sparked all over again.
    “Whoa,” Frederic said. “I’m sorry.”
    “Yeah, well . . . it happens.”
    “Cass thinks we can still get married on Valentine’s Day, but I don’t see that happening now,” he said. “Dom and I will have to bury Mom next week. It’s just too soon. I . . . I can’t get married while I’m still grieving the loss of my mother.”
    “I understand,” I said.
    “Maybe you do. But will Cass?”
    I didn’t say so, but I highly doubted it.

Chapter Seven
    Frederic called for a cab rather than have the police station send a car for him. I can’t say that I blamed him. I’d much rather leave my shop in a cab than in a squad car. Nellie Davis, who owned the aromatherapy shop down the street, would simply adore seeing me escorted from the premises by an officer. She’d repeatedly voiced her opinion that all my “bad luck” was detrimental for the business of the shopping center in general. Frankly, my shop was doing well, thank you very much.
    I remembered seeing David in Nellie’s shop prior to his coming to the Seven-Year Stitch—when I still thought maybe I was imagining things. It made me wonder if Nellie had somehow found out about David and persuaded him to come here and take me back to California. I realized that was a stretch; but when a murder takes place just outside your shop—especially after two others have been linked to your shop in some way—you begin to get a little paranoid.
    I decided to call Mom and tell her the latest.
    “Hi,” I said when she answered the phone. “What are you doing?”
    “Finishing up my packing for New York,” she said. “What are you doing?”
    “I just had lunch with the man whose mother was stabbed to death outside my shop this morning.” As soon as I said that, I held the phone away from my ear because I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t.
    “You what!” she shrieked. “Is this some kind of a joke? Because if it is, Marcella Singer, I swear I’ll—”
    “No joke, Mom.” I explained to her about Francesca Ortega. “Remember those fake gems I told you she’d wanted me to use to embellish Cassandra’s wedding gown? The police had them appraised, and they weren’t fake.”
    “And the killer knew that?”
    “Maybe. I know he killed her with one blow, and no one seems to have heard or seen anything,” I said.
    “Was she stabbed in the front or in the back?” she asked.
    “Front. Why?”
    “Then she didn’t know her attacker,” Mom said. “Had she known the person, she’d have been afraid and reacted—turned to run or something. She thought the person was simply passing her on the street, and then he stabbed her.”
    “Unless it was someone she wasn’t afraid of. Frederic told me his mother had lost her job and was going to be living with him and Cassandra. I don’t think Cassandra would have been very pleased about that,” I said.
    “Still, that’s no reason to kill her. Just because Cassandra is a drama queen with a venomous attitude doesn’t mean she’s a killer. Of course, it doesn’t mean that she’s not, either.” Mom sighed. “Let me hang up and cancel my flight to New York and schedule one to—”
    “No way,” I interrupted. “You missed enough work because of me the last time you came for an unscheduled visit. I’m fine.”
    “But—”
    “No buts. Sadie, Todd, and Ted are looking out for me. And, of course, right now David is, too.” I paused. “Mom, do you think he deserves a second chance?”
    “I’ve already told you,