Free The Stitching Hour by Amanda Lee Page A

several times.”
    â€œWas that the extent of your relationship with the victim?”
    â€œAlthough I didn’t have a beef with Keira, she’d made no secret of her dislike of me. She’d once viewed me as a rival for a man’s affections.”
    â€œBut you didn’t share her animosity?”
    â€œI didn’t. Nor did I see myself as her rival,” I said.
    â€œDid you see the victim upon your arrival at the event?” he asked.
    I replied that I had.
    â€œWhat was she doing, and what was her demeanor?”
    â€œShe was serving food, and she didn’t appear to be terribly happy about it,” I said.
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    Again, I shrugged. What was I supposed to do? Act out how miffed Keira had seemed? I guessed I could’ve stood, swiped his water bottle off the table, and then huffed as I tossed it into the garbage can. No . . . there was no garbage can in this room.
    â€œThe recorder cannot see your shrug,” Detective Poston said. “Would you please verbalize your response?”
    â€œShe just didn’t seem to want to be there,” I said. “Granted, I knew from Sadie that the Atwoods’ last-minute request had caused extra work for everyone at MacKenzies’ Mochas—especially since they were short a waitress—and that no one was particularly thrilled with the situation.”
    Detective Poston scribbled a note, but I couldn’t see what he’d written because it was hidden by the notepad cover. “Do you think Sadie and the victim might’ve argued about the party?”
    â€œThey might have.” My eyes widened. “No! I mean, no more than any employer instructing an employee to do something she didn’t want to do. I’m sure that whatever was said, Sadie handled the situation diplomatically.”
    â€œYou’re awfully quick to jump to your friend’s defense, Ms. Singer. What was her working relationship with the victim like?”
    â€œI’ve never seen Sadie treat Keira or any of her employees with anything other than respect.”
    The detective wrote something else on that stupid notepad, making me want to snatch it away from him to see what he was writing.
    He coolly met my eyes. “Tell me what you know about this key ring bearing your shop’s logo that was found near the victim.”
    â€œI ordered a box of those key rings to give away at my anniversary open house next week,” I said.
    â€œHad you already begun distributing the key rings?”
    â€œI gave one to Christine Willoughby. She’d come into the Seven-Year Stitch just after I’d opened the box.”
    He scribbled furiously in that notebook. “And did you give away any others?”
    â€œNo. Right after that, I had to take my dog up the street.”
    â€œAnd do you lock the door when you take him for a walk?”
    â€œNo. I’m usually not gone more than about five minutes . . . certainly no more than ten.”
    â€œWas anyone in the shop when you returned?”
    I brightened. “Yes. Sadie was there. So it’s possible that someone could’ve come in and taken a key ring while I was gone.” I was delighted to be able to throw suspicion off poor Christine. I just knew she wasn’t guilty of harming Keira, and I
had
left the open box on the counter unattended. Anyone could’ve picked up one of the key rings and been gone before Angus and I returned.
    â€œDid you give Sadie a key ring?” asked Detective Poston.
    â€œNo, I didn’t.”
    â€œBut she might’ve helped herself to one while you were out. Isn’t that correct?”
    My heart sank. “She
could
have, but she didn’t.”
    â€œYou know this for certain?”
    â€œWell, no . . . but I know Sadie. Had she taken one, she’d have told me so,” I said. “She was flustered over the last-minute request from the Atwoods, and I