Free Cross-Stitch Before Dying by Amanda Lee Page B

asked.
    “They won’t know anything for certain until the autopsy has been done,” I said. “The girl might’ve been exploring and just took a fall.” Yeah, the thought of Babs Tru going off on an exploratory hike sounded hokey even to me, but I didn’t want Vera’s journalist boyfriend thinking—any more than he probably already did—that my mom had been accused of murder. So far, she had not been arrested, and I prayed she wouldn’t be.
    I thanked Vera for watching the shop and asked her to please excuse me while I called students and canceled the evening’s classes.
    “Of course, dear.” Vera gave both Angus and me a quick hug. “Let me know if there’s anything you or Beverly needs. I’m sure Paul would be more than glad to let her tell her side of the story.”
    “Thank you so much.” I was proud to be able to say that without clenching my teeth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    I blew out a breath as the door closed behind Vera and wondered where to begin. Relieved that, at the moment, there were no customers in the shop, I sat on one of the red club chairs and checked my phone. Ted had sent me a text message asking me to call him as soon as I could. I rang his phone.
    “Hey, babe,” he answered, his voice deep, slightly husky, and full of sympathy. “Are you okay? How’s Bev?”
    “We’re all right. . . . Both of us are pretty shook up, though. She asked me to take her home, and I’m going to cancel this evening’s classes so I can be there with her.”
    “That’s good. If you’d like, I can bring dinner.”
    “A pizza with extra everything would be wonderful,” I said. “I think we could use some comfort food.”
    “I’ll also send a patrolman by every so often to make sure the media hounds don’t camp out on your curb,” Ted said. “Most of them will be swarming the movie set—they might already be there if word of Babushka Tru’s death has hit the social media outlets yet—but there might be one or two that try to catch your mom once they find out where she’s staying.”
    “Because she’s the main suspect in the murder?” I asked.
    “Right now the official word is that she and other members of the cast and crew are being called
persons of interest
. The TCPD doesn’t want the media to jump to their own conclusions.”
    “There are bound to be leaks, though. Somebody is always looking for a chance to be the center of attention, settle a grudge, make a little money . . . something.”
    “Bev’s gonna need a top-notch attorney,” Ted said.
    “Alfred is coming tomorrow,” I said. “And that’s a good start. But I’m afraid she’s going to need someone with more criminal law experience.”
    “Yeah, she is. Remember Campbell Whitting, the guy who represented Calloway in the Graham Stott murder trial?”
    “Of course. He was majorly impressive.”
    “Have Bev give him a call,” he said.
    “Do you think he’ll take her on? When he agreed to take Todd’s case, I gathered it was only because he was a friend of the family.”
    Ted barked out a mirthless chuckle. “A high-profile case like this is right up his alley, Marce. He’ll put somebody on the back burner to sign on as your mom’s counsel because he loves being in the spotlight doing what he does best.”

Chapter Eight
    A t Mom’s insistence, I didn’t cancel my Tuesday evening class after all. I’d called and asked Ted to cancel the pizza since Mom insisted I carry on with life as usual.
    I took Angus home for his dinner and realized that Mom had used cooking to try to get her mind off Babs’ murder that afternoon. When I opened the front door, the delectable aromas made my mouth water. They apparently had a strong effect on Angus, too, because he sprinted to the kitchen. I, however, lingered in the foyer in an attempt to guess what dishes Mom had made. I could detect some type of beef . . . the yeasty, buttery scent of freshly baked bread . . . onions . . . potatoes, maybe? And