Free Stitch Me Deadly by Amanda Lee Page B

and flipped on the lights in the entryway before turning back toward us. “I imagine she’ll sell it, and although it would be nice to have the Ralston family home, it’s too much house for me.”
    Cary went on into the living room and turned on the lights. Mom and I followed.
    “Look at this exquisite architecture,” Mom breathed. “It’s incredible.”
    I was looking at the Victorian furniture. A mahogany sofa with striped, floral upholstery sat near the fireplace. Two matching chairs were placed diagonally near each corner of the sofa so Mrs. Ralston’s guests could sit around the fireplace and chat. A Persian rug lay on the polished mahogany floor between the sofa and the pair of chairs, and on the rug sat an oval marble-topped coffee table. Three matching end tables were located throughout the room. One by the window held a fern. There was also one by the sofa and another one by the chair to the sofa’s right. These two tables held Victorian-style lamps featuring marble cherubs and frilly, ornate shades.
    Cary gave us the grand tour of the house. Mrs. Ralston had carried the Victorian theme throughout. The result was an elegant, classy home that looked as if it had stopped moving through time and was stuck somewhere before the turn of the century. It was gorgeous, but I felt it would be hard for me to make myself at ease in a house like this. I’d feel like I was living in a museum rather than a home.
    “Has the home always been this well maintained?” Mom asked.
    “No. If I’m not mistaken, it needed a lot of work when Aunt Louisa and Uncle Frank bought it.”
    “I understand it was an orphanage at one time,” I said.
    “Something like that, I believe,” Cary said. “It changed hands several times before it became the dollhouse of Aunt Louisa and Uncle Frank. I think it took them two or three years to completely get it to the point it’s at now.”
    “It was certainly worth the effort,” Mom said.
    We were passing through the dining room on our way back to the foyer when I noticed a piece of ribbon sticking out of a drawer on the hutch.
    “Um . . . Cary,” I said, “would it be all right if I tuck that ribbon back in the drawer? It’s the only thing in the room that’s out of place.”
    He chuckled. “Of course.”
    I opened the drawer and saw that the ribbon was stuck inside a photo album. “Do you think there are photos of little Cary in here?”
    He smiled. “Take it out, and we’ll see.”
    With a mischievous grin, I did as he instructed. The three of us gathered around the opulent dining room table to examine the old photos. There was indeed an adorable photo of little Carrington Ellis, smiling broadly with one front tooth missing.
    “Even at that age you had a sense of fashion,” Mom said. “See that impeccable suit and striped bow tie, Marcy?”
    “I do,” I said. “The kid had flair.”
    Cary laughed. “My mother likely had to bribe or threaten me to wear that suit for picture day.”
    We flipped through the book quickly, stopping only once or twice when Cary pointed out his parents and Louisa’s husband. Near the end there was a photograph of the baby whose picture was in the locket with Louisa’s. There was no indication of the baby’s identity, but the date on the photograph was March 3, 1947. Cary took out the photo and flipped it over, but nothing was written on the back.
    “Very curious,” he murmured. “I really must talk with Mother and Adam to see if either of them knows anything about this child.”

    At home after Cary had dropped us off, Mom and I took another look at Mrs. Ralston’s sampler.
    “You need to get this framed as quickly as you can,” Mom said. “Even if someone in the Ralston family does decide to ask you to return it, it’s so old and fragile, I’m afraid it might fall apart if you don’t.”
    “So am I.”
    “I’ll be happy to drop it off at a frame shop tomorrow morning while you’re working,” she said, “if you’ll point me