Stitch Me Deadly by Amanda Lee

guess we all have our good and evil sides, Tinkerbell, but other than that, I don’t have a clue.”
    “I have a surprise for you.” I reached into my voluminous purse and pulled out the baby’s christening gown. “I finished it just last night.”
    Mr. Patrick took the garment almost reverently. “This is for Riley’s baby? My grandbaby?”
    I nodded. “It’s her christening gown.”
    His eyes welled with tears. “I won’t be there to see her in it.”
    “Maybe not,” I said, “but you know Riley will have someone videotape the ceremony from before it begins until well after it ends. And you’ll be out of here in plenty of time to get to know your granddaughter. You’ll likely even have the opportunity to do your share of diaper duty.”
    “I’ll do it happily,” he said with a smile. “Maybe wearing a gas mask, but I’ll do it.”
     
     
    Mom and I stopped for dinner near Lincoln City on the way home. We decided to try an Italian restaurant, and fortunately we didn’t need reservations. There was a slight wait, but we were seated within half an hour.
    As we perused the menu, I caught Mom staring at a man sitting at the bar. I had to admit he wasn’t bad-looking. He had sandy blond hair, neatly combed to the left . . . good build . . . nicely dressed in dark jeans, a striped shirt, and a brown blazer.
    “He’s a little young,” I said, “but cougars are all the rage these days.”
    She huffed. “I’m not interested in the man, Marcella. Not that way. I think I saw him at the prison.”
    “You mean, you think he’s one of the guards? Or was he visiting someone?”
    “No, he wasn’t actually at the prison. I saw him in the parking lot across the street. I noticed him because he was driving a really nice car—a Lexus—and he was standing outside his car, watching the prison. I thought maybe he was someone’s lawyer and didn’t want to park in the prison lot or something.” She frowned. “And now he’s here.”
    “What a coincidence,” I said.
    “I don’t think so. Why would some guy come forty miles out of his way for a drink?”
    “Maybe he’s meeting someone, Mom.”
    “Or maybe he’s following us.”
    The waitress arrived to ask if we’d decided on what we’d like to eat.
    “Give us about five more minutes, please,” Mom said.
    “Sure.” The waitress scurried off to another table.
    “You don’t seriously think we’re being followed, do you?” I asked. “What possible reason would anyone have to follow us?”
    “I don’t know.” She glanced at the man from over the top of her menu. “I just have a strange feeling about this.”
    “Well, let’s decide on what we’re having for dinner so we’ll be prepared when the waitress returns, and we’ll simply keep an eye on the man and see what he does.”
    “All right.”
    “He hasn’t even looked over here,” I said. “Are you sure he’s the same guy you saw before?”
    “Positive. I never forget a face. Names, yes; faces, never.”
    I wanted to point out that she could barely even see his face since he was in profile to us, but I didn’t. Instead I said, “I think I’ll have the fettuccini. How about you?”
    “Chicken parmigiana,” she said, closing her menu and looking at the man again.
    “Okay,” I said, exasperated that she wouldn’t let this go. “Why would this man be following us, Mom? As I’ve already pointed out, he hasn’t even looked over here.”
    Just as I got those words out of my mouth, he not only looked our way but raised his glass in a mock salute or greeting.
    “If the waitress comes, give her my order,” I said. I rose from the table and straightened my shirt.
    “What are you doing?” Mom hissed. “You can’t let him know we’re on to him. Let’s just go.”
    But she was too late. I was already headed his way.
    “Hi,” I said. “Do we know each other?”
    “Not yet. I saw you looking at me and thought I’d let you know I’m interested, too,” he said. He held out