A Stitch to Die For (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Book 5) by Lois Winston Read Free Book Online Page B

down to the basement.
    Before Karl died, I used the apartment above our garage as a studio. Once I realized that he’d gambled away all our savings, taken out a second mortgage on the house, failed to pay our taxes, and maxed out our credit cards (the trusting wife really is always the last to know,) I was forced to rent out the apartment for added income. Renting out the apartment did bring Zack into my life. However, it also meant moving my studio down to my unfinished, drafty, poorly lit basement.
    I ushered Spader over to the desk and fired up my laptop to access the camera footage. Only there was no footage. “I don’t understand,” I said, staring at a blank screen.
    Spader grunted. “I’m not surprised. We’re dealing with a pro. Your neighbors’ cameras were also disabled.”
    “Are you telling me this guy went up to every house on the block that has security cameras and disabled all of them without anyone noticing him?”
    Spader shook his head. “He most likely did it remotely ahead of time.”
    “By hacking into the systems?”
    “Exactly. It’s not that hard, especially since most people don’t bother to reset the password supplied by the manufacturer. The makers of these devices even post the universal password on their websites.”
    “But I did reset my password.” Not only had Zack insisted on it, he’d made me change all my passwords to extremely complex ones that included upper and lower case letters, numbers, and symbols to increase my computer security—a different password for each site that required one.
    “There are plenty of hacking programs available on the Internet,” said Spader. “You just have to know where to look.”
    So much for security cameras—or any other form of security for that matter.
    “Was anyone home here during the day?” asked Spader.
    There was only one person who might have seen or heard something relevant to the case earlier that day. “Your favorite person,” I said.
    “You don’t mean—”
    “My mother-in-law.”
    Spader groaned.
    We headed back upstairs and into the dining room. Lucille sat hunched over her plate, shoveling Kung Po chicken into her mouth. Spader planted himself alongside her chair. “Mrs. Pollack, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    Lucille continued shoveling and chewing, giving no indication that she’d heard him, let alone acknowledging his presence. Spader turned to me for assistance.
    “Lucille,” I said, “the detective needs to speak with you.”
    Around a mouthful of food she finally said, “I have nothing to say to that man.”
    Given Lucille’s history with Spader, neither he nor I should have expected her to cooperate. “Mrs. Bentworth was murdered sometime this morning or afternoon,” I said. “I’m sure the detective simply wants to know if you noticed anything out of the ordinary during the day. Isn’t that right, Detective?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “So he can blame me, no doubt. Like last time.”
    Spader heaved a sigh. “No, ma’am. It’s like your daughter-in-law said. I just want to know if you heard or saw anything unusual earlier today. An unfamiliar car parked in the neighborhood, a stranger lurking on the sidewalk, maybe.”
    “Never heard of anyone named Bentworth.”
    “She lives—lived—directly across the street,” I said.
    “So? Doesn’t mean I ever met her.” Lucille finally raised her head and glared at the detective. “I was out all day. I heard nothing; I saw nothing.”
    “If you do happen to remember anything—”
    “I won’t.”
    “Even if she did, she wouldn’t tell you,” said Mama who had remained uncommonly silent until this point. “You know how those Bolsheviks are.”
    Lawrence placed his hand on Mama’s shoulder. “Flora, perhaps you should stay out of this. You’re not helping.”
    She brushed his hand away. “I have a right to my opinion.”
    “I doubt the detective is interested in your opinion of Lucille’s character.”
    In shock, Mama’s