Free The Stitching Hour by Amanda Lee

your fault
platitudes, a female deputy called my name. I told Blake I’d see him in a few, and then I followed the deputy into the interrogation room.
    I was ushered into the room with the detective I’d never met. There was a small metal table with two of the orange chairs the department seemed to favor placed on either side. The detective sat facing the door. There was some digital recording equipment to his left, a water bottle on his right, and an old-fashioned notepad and pen directly in front of him.
    â€œMs. Singer, my name is Mark Poston. I’m with the Tallulah County Police Department, and Chief Singh called me in to help take statements in this matter.” I’d later learn that he’d taken Manu’s, Ted’s, and Reggie’s statements in addition to mine. Manu thought it would be wise to have an outsider interview us so no one could later claim that any one of us was shown impartiality by the police department.
    I told Detective Poston that it was nice to meet him. He turned on a recorder and asked me to state my name for the record.
    â€œMy name is Marcy Singer.”
    â€œHow did you happen to be at the party at the Horror Emporium?” he asked.
    â€œSince my shop is right next door to the Horror Emporium, Claude and Priscilla Atwood extended an invitation to me,” I said, feeling the need to be very formal and precise with this middle-aged detective with the suspicious gray eyes. “It was my understanding that the Atwoods were inviting all the merchants on the block.”
    â€œDid you know the victim?”
    â€œNot well. I knew her from MacKenzies’ Mochas, but she and I didn’t socialize.”
    â€œAre you aware that a key ring bearing your shop’s logo—the Seven-Year Stitch—was found
underneath
the victim?” he asked.
    â€œYes, I am aware of that. Detective Nash showed me the key ring and asked me about it.”
    â€œHow did that key ring get beneath the body of the victim?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œMay I see your key ring please?”
    I opened my purse and fished out my I MY IRISH WOLFHOUND key ring and placed it on the table between us. I supposed he was trying to see if he could tell whether or not the key ring found under Keira’s body could’ve fallen off or been torn off my set of keys during a struggle or something.
    â€œYou do realize I was with the Tallulah Falls Chief of Police and head detective the
entire
time this . . . ordeal . . . was taking place, don’t you?” I asked.
    â€œI do, Ms. Singer, and that’s why I was brought in on this case—to make sure this is an uncompromised investigation. Do you believe that what happened to the victim found lying outside the Horror Emporium was an accident?”
    â€œGiven the fact that she had two puncture wounds in her neck, I don’t see how it could’ve been an accident. Do you?”
    He pursed his thin lips together. “I’m the one doing the interrogation here. I’ll ask the questions. Why do you think it wasn’t an accident, Ms. Singer?”
    â€œI didn’t see anything to indicate foul play except for the two bite marks, but that was enough to indicate that Keira had suffered some sort of attack,” I said. “The obvious culprit would be a snake . . . and I’m pretty sure that the Atwoods took every precaution to secure their Lair of the Serpent.” I shrugged. “I didn’t examine the wounds myself. They could’ve been fake. Keira might’ve put those marks on her neck at the Atwoods’ suggestion, for all I know. When we first came upon the body, I think everyone in our group thought the discovery was part of the production—one last gotcha.”
    â€œYou talk about the victim as if you knew her personally,” said Detective Poston.
    â€œAs I told you, I knew her from MacKenzies’ Mochas. She’d waited on me