Killer Cables

by Reagan Davis

  “Do I need to do anything? Add water, put one of those flower pills in the water to keep them alive?”

  Confession time: Plants die on my watch. I try to keep them alive, I honestly do, but I’m better at keeping people and pets alive. If you can scream for food and water, you have a better chance of survival with me as your caregiver.

  He looks horrified and starts waving his hands in front of him and shaking his head.

  “No. Do nothing. I’ll do everything. I’m just next door, I’ll pop over and make sure they’re getting what they need.”

  “Thank you, Phillip.” I put my index finger up, showing that he should wait here for a moment.

  I go to the back room, reappear with a bag of Barkery dog treats, and hand him the bag.

  “For Kevin,” I tell him. “April and Tamara asked me to drop them off to you.”

  He opens the bag and pulls out a small, cookie shaped like a shoe.

  “Tell them thank you,” he says, then he waves his hand like a verbal eraser. “Actually, never mind. I’ll tell them myself. I’ll text them as soon as I get back to the shop.”

  He walks to the door, and as he’s turning the handle, he turns to me.

  “Please don’t do anything to the flowers, Megan. Seriously, I’ll take care of it.”

  And he leaves, closing the door behind him.

  I hope these flowers don’t die, or Phillip might bring me fake ones next month.

  I talk to Sophie about the flowers, ask her if she can smell them, and tell her how lucky we are to have such fun and interesting friends and neighbours.

  The bell over the door jingles, and I peer around my large floral arrangement to see Eric placing one of two to-go cups from Latte Da on the counter.

  “Thank you,” I say, walking to the counter to get my coffee.

  This is the first time we’ve seen each other since Saturday night, when he hopped in his car and chased Anne-Marie’s ambulance to the hospital. He looks more relaxed, the muscles in his face are less tense, and his jaw is lax. He looks like he did before Laura died.

  “Are things slowing down for you? Now that you’ve solved the case?” I sip my latte.

  “I think you mean since we solved the case,” he says. “It wouldn’t have been solved as quickly or as easily without you. Thank you.”

  “I’m happy to help, and the flowers are thanks enough. They’re beautiful.” I gesture toward the floral arrangement on the coffee table.

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  Is he blushing? I think he is.

  “How is Anne-Marie? Is she still in the hospital?” I ask.

  He nods. “For now. They’ve moved her to the psychiatric unit for evaluation. I’ve been able to speak with her though.”

  I sit on the sofa in front of my flowers and Eric joins me.

  “And what has she said?” I ask.

  “Not much more than what she said on Saturday night,” he replies. “She’s fragile right now, so we have to question her slowly and carefully. But I have been busy confirming her story.”

  “Oh?”

  “Brian’s dad was prescribed digoxin. I followed up with the late Mr. Sweeney’s doctor, and he’d been taking the medication for the last few years of his life. And the pharmacy confirmed that when Mrs. Sweeney handed in his old meds, she didn’t hand in any digoxin.”

  “So, everything she said was true. I guess she had no reason to lie, she thought she was going to die that night,” I say.

  “She’ll be charged. When she gets approval from the doctors, she’ll be moved to a detention centre, and her care will be transferred as well.”

  “I still can’t believe we’ve had three murders in less than six months. We went from no murders ever to having three so close together.” I shake my head.

  “I wanted to see you sooner,” he tells me. “But the last two days have been crazy with all the paperwork and reports that go along with a case like this.”

  I nod.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I bailed on you on Saturday.”

  I think this is apology number eight, but the first one in person.

  “I get it. Really, I do. Please stop apologizing.”

  He acts like he abandoned me in the middle of nowhere, not ten minutes from home and where I knew pretty much every person around me.

  “Well…” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe I can make it up to you by taking you out for dinner?”

  I want to reply, but I don’t know how to reply in a way that sounds laid back and chill. Yelling YES at the top of my lungs while I jump up and down would come across more eager than I’d like, but that’s the only response I can think of right now.

  “I like you, and not just because you’re good at solving murders,” he says.

  He smiles at me and I tell the butterflies in my stomach to settle down.

  “I wanted to ask you out the day Laura died, when we were walking to her house,” he explains. “But you said you weren’t ready to date, then Laura died, and things got crazy.”

  I nod, still resisting the urge to scream, YES and jump up and down.

  “Then I saw how close you and Adam still are, so I backed off in case you two were working things out. But then you went out with Craig, and I thought maybe when you said you weren’t ready to date, you meant you weren’t ready to date me. Now I’m rambling, and I’m tired of trying to figure this out, so I’ll just put it out there. I like you. I want to spend time with you and see if maybe you could like me too.”

  “I’d like that,” I say calmly without jumping up and down.

  I smile and shrug, doing my best impression of casual and chill, while the butterflies in my stomach flutter out of control.

  “Good,” he says with a sigh, sounding relieved. “How about tonight? We could go somewhere in Harmony Hills, where we won’t be gossiped about before we order an appetizer. You can tell me that story about the cat who became the town councillor.”

  Before we can finish our conversation, the bell above the door jingles.

  I stand up to see over the flowers, and Mrs. Pearson is closing the door behind her.

  “Hi, Mrs. Pearson. How are you?” I ask.

  “I’m fine, thank you, which is more than I can say for my sock.”

  It’s Tuesday, and she’s here for Stitch-Fix, a weekly drop-in where knitters can bring their knitting mistakes, and we help fix them. I say we, but this week it’s just me. She greets Eric and joins us in the cozy sitting area. She drops herself with a sigh into an overstuffed chair across from Eric and me and pulls a mostly finished sock from her bag.

  “I was so involved in the movie I was watching last night that I finished the leg and started the foot of this sock without knitting the heel.” She shakes her head, laughing.

  “Beautiful flowers,” she says as we reach around them to exchange the sock.

  “Thank you,” I say for both the compliment and the socks.

  “I’m not sure what type of heel the pattern calls for, but how do you feel about an afterthought heel? Or we can rip out the foot and you can knit the heel in the pattern.”

  “Afterthought is fine,” she says. “Oh, and Megan, thank you so much for introducing Craig to that lovely Amy Andrews. They hit it off so well at the fundraiser. It’s too bad all that unpleasantness happened, and she and her dog had to work.”

  “I’m glad they like each other. They’re both nice people,” I say.

  “They’ve been texting constantly since Saturday.” She grins. “They’re going on a date tonight.”

  I wonder who’s happier about the date, Craig, Amy, or Mrs. Pearson?

  “That’s great,” I say. “I hope it works out for them.”

  “Me too!” she says. “Let’s cross our fingers and hope there’s no unpleasantness tonight that might cut their date short.”

  The three of us cross our fingers.

  Continue reading for a sneak peek of Murder & Merino: A Knitorious murder mystery book 3.

  Downlo
ad Murder & Merino: A Knitorious murder mystery book 3 here.

  Download the pattern Megan used to knit Glenda’s socks here.

  Murder & Merino

  Chapter 1

  Thursday April 2nd

  Where can I put five hundred and twenty-eight eggs? That’s the question. Eleven boxes with forty-eight eggs in each box. They were just delivered to my yarn store, Knitorious.

  Every year, on the Saturday of Easter weekend, Harmony Lake hosts an Easter egg hunt. The Water Street Business Association—we locals call it the WSBA—contributes to the event by stuffing eggs with treats. This year, I volunteered to receive the eggs, divide them up among the businesses on Water Street, and deliver them to each store.

  These aren’t the plastic Easter eggs of our youth. These are new and improved eggs. They look and feel like the same pastel-coloured, plastic eggs, but these are eco eggs. They’re sustainable, made from 100% recycled plastic, non-toxic, and BPA free.

  For now, I’ve stacked the boxes on the long wooden harvest table near the back of the store, but I think I’ll move them to the back room until I have time to divvy them up and deliver them. Because I’ll forget otherwise, I make a note in my planner, reminding myself to deal with the Easter eggs over the next few days.

  Putting the cap back on my fountain pen, the jingle of the bell over the door gets my and Sophie’s attention. We look up and Eric is closing the door behind him. He’s not alone. He has a large black Labrador retriever with him. The dog is wearing a bright red nylon collar. Instead of a leash, Eric is holding a rope tied to the dog’s collar.

  “Hey, Handsome!” I say.

  Eric grins. “Hello.” He blushes and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand.

  “I was talking to Cardinal,” I say with a wink.

  Actually, I was talking to Eric. He’s super attractive. Downright hot. I get a flutter in my belly every time I see him. Or smell him. Or hear his voice. Or think about him.

  Eric is my tenant. He lives in the apartment above the store. He’s a detective sergeant with the Harmony Lake Police Department, and we’ve been dating for about three months. It’s casual. My eighteen-year-old daughter, Hannah, calls it a situationship. Apparently, that’s what the young people call an undefined relationship situation.

  “You know him!?” Eric exclaims. “I was hoping you would. You know every pet in town.”

  Sophie is thrilled there’s another dog in the store. She runs up to him, wagging her Corgi butt excitedly, yelping, and sniffing the lab’s paws.

  “Yes, I know him. Cardinal belongs to Father Daniel, over on Mountain Road. Why is he with you? And where’s his leash?” I ask.

  Father Daniel Lambert is a retired priest. He’s in his eighties and lives in his childhood home on Mountain Road.

  “I found him running back and forth across Water Street,” Eric explains. “He almost became road kill, more than once. I pulled over, opened the car door, and whistled. He came running over and jumped right into the car. I was on my way to the Animal Centre to drop him off, but I got a call about a missing person, so I have to go there instead. Would it be OK if I leave him here with you until a patrol car can pick him up and take him to the Animal Centre?”

  “No need for a patrol car,” I say, walking from the counter to where Eric and Cardinal are standing. “I’ll take him home. April and I are going for lunch soon, and we can drop off Cardinal on our way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course!” I reassure him. “Anyway, Father Daniel is older and is easily confused, a call from The AC might add to his confusion. Can I keep your rope-leash until I drop him off?”

  “Absolutely! Thanks, Megan. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Hello, Eric. Hello, Cardinal,” Marla says as she enters the store from the back room.

  Marla Pearson started working here part-time a few months ago. She’s lived in Harmony Lake all her life and is part of the town’s human landscape. She’s an avid knitter, and her son, Craig, and I even went out on a date once. She’s a great addition to the Knitorious team, except I keep calling her Mrs. Pearson instead of Marla. Calling her Marla after calling her Mrs. Pearson for so many years is a tough transition.

  “Hi, Mrs. Pearson—I mean, hi, Marla,” Eric says.

  I’m not the only one struggling with the transition. And Eric’s only known her for six months.

  “Did he escape again?” she asks, walking over to Cardinal and rubbing his head. “Houdini would’ve been a better name for him than Cardinal. I’ll take him into the kitchen and get him some water and a treat.”

  She holds out her hand, and Eric hands over the rope-leash. She and Cardinal walk through the store and into the kitchenette with Sophie trotting happily behind them.

  “How’s your day so far?” Eric sidles up to me now that we’re alone.

  He smells good. Like a forest after it rains and the sun comes out. One more deep breath, Megan.

  “Any day I don’t find a dead body is a good day,” I tell him.

  “Wow, your standards for a good day are low,” he teases.

  “Only since I’ve met you,” I joke back.

  We met when I found a dead body. He was the investigating detective. After we solved that case, we found a body together, and solved that case too.

  He takes my hand.

  I tell the butterflies in my belly to settle down.

  “I have to go take this missing person report. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

  “Sure, if you’re not busy searching for someone. Who’s missing?”

  “I’m not sure yet. An adult female. I’ll know more when I get there,” he winks.

  I swoon internally.

  “It’s my turn to cook,” I say. “You cooked last time. Beef Stroganoff?”

  “Perfect,” he says, reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll text you later.”

  And he’s gone.

  I take two of the Easter egg boxes into the back room, place them on a shelf, then go into the kitchenette and use my phone to snap a photo of the tag on Cardinal’s collar. The tag has Father Daniel’s phone number on it.

  “Thanks for giving him water and treats, Marla.”

  “Anytime. He’s a good boy. He just has a tendency to wander. Often.”

  Cardinal is a famous escape artist in Harmony Lake. Father Daniel has a fenced yard, but Cardinal is a tall dog and can scale the fence. He can also dig underneath it and get out that way.

  According to Jill Plumb, Father Daniel has become forgetful, and sometimes when he puts Cardinal in the backyard, he gets distracted and forgets to watch him. Jill is one of Father Daniel’s caregivers. She’s also a local crafter. We carry some of her buttons and stitch markers at Knitorious.

  I pick up the landline and dial Father Daniel’s number.

  “llo?”

  (Hello?)

  “Hi, Father Daniel. It’s Megan Martel. How are you?”

  “Oui... Madame Martel! Ça va?”

  (Yes... Mrs. Martel. How are you?)

  “En Anglais, s’il vous plaît, Father Daniel.”

  (English, please, Father Daniel.)

  Father Daniel is bilingual. He grew up in a French-speaking home. Because of our proximity to the Quebec border, there are quite a few francophones in our area. I’m not one of them. Despite twenty years of French in-laws, I’m about as fluent as a French toddler.

  “Apologies. How are you, Mrs. Martel?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I’m calling to let you know Cardinal is with me. I’m heading out in a few minutes, and I’ll drop him off if that works for you.”

  “Cardinal! I forgot about Cardinal! I put him outside. Jill didn’t show up this morning, and Cardinal can’t wait all day, so I let him into the backyard. Thank you for finding him,” he says with his thick French accent.

  “No problem. I’ll bring him home soon.”

  We hang up, and I check the time. April will be here any minute, and Sophie still needs her midday walk. />
  Marla assures me she’ll be fine if I leave her in the store with Cardinal. I glance over at him, and he’s asleep on the floor in front of one of the sofas in the cozy sitting area. His romp through town must have tired him out.

  I slip on my rain boots and trench coat, then attach Sophie’s leash. We cross Water Street and go to the park for a quick walk. Our timing is good, there’s a break in the rain. The air is thick and damp, and I can feel my curly hair expanding as it absorbs the humidity while we walk. The ground is wet and muddy, with lots of puddles for Sophie to hop over; she doesn’t like to get her paws wet if she can avoid it.

  Water Street is to Harmony Lake what Main Street is to other small towns. It’s called Water Street because it runs parallel with the waterfront. Most of the stores and businesses on Water Street are on the north side, and the south side has the park and waterfront. To the north, the town borders the Harmony Hills Mountain Range. The buffer provided by the mountains and the water make Harmony Lake feel farther away from the city and more secluded than it is.

  Between the two resorts in the mountains and the rental accommodation around the lake, Harmony Lake is full of tourists in the winter and summer. We’re between tourist seasons right now, but in about six weeks, Harmony Lake will be full of escapees from the city.

  When Sophie and I get back to the store, April is waiting for us. She’s sitting on one of the sofas, stroking Cardinal, who’s loving the attention.

  April and I met sixteen years ago at a mommy and baby playgroup, and we’ve been best friends since. Our daughters are the same age and are in Toronto together, attending their first year of university. Watching my daughter pack up and move to Toronto has been hard, but April and I are grateful that the girls have each other, and we have each other to help us through the transition.

  We might be soul sisters, but physically, April and I are a study in opposites. She’s tall and lithe, I’m short and curvy. Her hair is blonde and stick-straight, and I have chestnut brown, curly hair. She has large, blue eyes, and mine are deep-set and hazel. April has a year-round bronzed glow, while my skin is fair with peachy undertones. There’s no risk of confusing one of us for the other.