Knitted and Knifed

by Tracey Drew

  So that’s why the detective was paying Isabel a visit. “Was the caller male or female?”

  “They disguised their voice, but we think it was a man.”

  My brain spun with possibilities. “A man? But what if…?”

  Eric stepped away from me with a grimace. “No more ‘what-ifs.’ You need to walk away now and let me do my job. We can take it from here.”

  Lucas Kerr’s murderer was still on the loose, and pardon me for noticing, the police seemed no closer to catching her. Or him…

  Although Eric-the-detective had tolerated my interference so far, I wasn’t deluded enough to believe I could continue debating with him.

  I showed him both palms. “Backing off, Detective. As of this moment, I will only use my crime-solving skills to find out who broke into the pantry and chewed off the end of a fresh loaf of bread.”

  “Good luck with that.” The look that followed was clearly meant to dissuade me from any further chitchat.

  Let the professionals be professional. Right.

  With a cheery wave instead of a rebellious middle finger—not that I would, but I could be a rebel, if only in my head—I stalked away from Isabel’s house.

  The anonymous tip-off Eric mentioned kept niggling at the back of my mind. If the caller was telling the truth, Isabel had lied about never visiting the store after hours. And who’d been out at that time of night, in that particular part of town, close enough to recognize Isabel?

  Because whoever made that call could be an innocent witness…or they could be the killer.

  By lunchtime the next day, I needed to get some fresh air before I truly did turn into a crazy cat lady. Or a cantankerous one, more accurately.

  Everything had got up my proverbial nose since my encounter with the tall, dark, and irritatingly smug detective yesterday. Unraveled’s customers were more demanding than usual. Kit was constantly under my feet, trying to herd me in the direction of his food bowl. Pearl left a disemboweled mouse on my pillow. My mum had insisted I come to dinner tonight—and I could only get out of it if a bus ran me over and I was in a medically induced coma. Even Harry wasn’t his usual cheerful self.

  Not to mention my own frustration at being back at ground zero, trying to figure out who’d murdered Lucas Kerr.

  An hour tops, I told myself as I flipped over the ‘Back in a Tick!’ sign and slipped out Unraveled’s front door. One hour without customers, cats, or thinking about killers. I’d stroll along the beach and then afterward pick up some delicious treats for the Crafting for Calmness class tonight. Hard to believe it was nearly a week since I’d stumbled upon Lucas’s body…

  And there went my vow not to think about killers.

  The main street seemed busier than usual. As my gaze swept over both strangers and locals, I didn’t know who I was looking for until I spotted Dylan Werth entering the Daily Grind. If I had to start from scratch, go back to the drawing board, hit reset, and every other cliché that meant I’d struck out on the amateur sleuthing front, then talking to Dylan again was as good a place as any to start. He still hadn’t given me a satisfactory explanation as to why he’d been hanging around Lucas Kerr. Perhaps I could find out more without his parents lurking in the background.

  A visit to Rosie’s café twice in one week wasn’t as unpleasant as line dancing in your underwear, but it was close. Sure enough, Rosie herself stood at the cash register, most likely rubbing her hands together in glee at the influx of customers wanting scoops of her overpriced homemade gelato since the day was so warm.

  Dylan had joined the line, which was long enough that he stood only a step inside the door. To pass the time while he waited, he stared at the community noticeboard—filled with printed flyers about roommates wanted, lost animals, garage sales, and the like.

  I sidled up behind him and peered around him, trying to see what had captured his attention. Ah, the fundraising photo competition.

  Win $200 in vouchers! Which of these Cape Discovery locals do you recognize? Gold coin donation to enter. All proceeds go to Cape Discovery’s after-school Kidz Club.

  Below the headline was a dozen color photocopied photos of kids, ranging from drooling babies to chubby-faced preschoolers. I hadn’t had time to enter the competition, but I immediately recognized my mum’s frizzy hair and Harvey, the scruffy white rabbit she was cuddling and still owned. A few of the other kids had features that remained into adulthood. No one could miss hair salon owner Angelica Wigham’s piercing green eyes.

  As Dylan became aware of me hovering behind his arm, I swear he flinched. “Oh. Hey,” he said amicably enough, but his gaze flicked back to the photos. “Isn’t number three your mum?”

  “Have you entered yet?” I matched his just being friendly tone. “Because confirming that number three is my mum would give you an unfair advantage.”

  He gave a small chuckle. “Nah. The vouchers are all for dumb stuff like manicures and ten free coffees. I don’t drink coffee.”

  Funny, because right now, Dylan was jittering like a deprived caffeine addict.

  He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Besides, I already have an unfair advantage; Brian’s on the Kidz Club board of trustees, and I helped him scan all the photos and format the sign because, you know, technology and the olds don’t mix.”

  I gave him my most reassuring harmless-grown-up smile. “I bet he sends you text messages all in capitals too.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. Then he pointed to a couple of photos and told me who they were. “Most of the others are pretty obvious.”

  He tapped another photo, this one featuring two young girls in matching party dresses, blowing out candles on a bright-green frosted birthday cake. “That’s my mum and her sister.”

  The two girls bore a striking resemblance to each other. “Twins?”

  “Yep.”

  The line began to move, and we inched past the noticeboard. I wanted to keep Dylan talking. “You hanging out with friends today?” I asked.

  His shoulders sagged, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts. “Maybe this afternoon. Got some chores and study to do first.”

  “Not your idea, I take it.”

  A shrug. “Brian’s.”

  “Ah.” I dipped my chin toward the shelves of healthy-looking sandwiches and filled rolls. “You’re making a supply run, huh?”

  His gaze flicked longingly over to where an assistant scooped gelato into waffle cones. “Yep. Been let out for an hour on good behavior.”

  Not above a touch of bribery, I pointed toward the freezer. “How about I spring for an ice cream that you can eat before you’re incarcerated again?”

  “You’re offering to buy me ice cream?” His voice was filled with an unspoken what’s the catch?

  “If we can have a chat outside?”

  Dylan screwed up his nose as he considered my offer. Then he shrugged, as I’d hoped he would. Free junk food in exchange for letting some weird lady talk his ear off for ten minutes…? Sounded fair.

  “Double scoop.”

  The kid was playing hardball. “Deal.”

  Rosie didn’t say anything snarky when she asked what I wanted, but her sharp gaze darted from me to Dylan when I ordered two gelatos.

  “I wanted to thank you for the extra goodies you gave me last week,” I added while she keyed in our order.

  “You’re welcome,” she said without looking at me.

  While Dylan wandered off to decide what flavors he wanted, I endured Rosie’s silent judgment for as long as I could. Approximately ten seconds.

  “It’s not what you think.” I dug around in my shoulder bag for my wallet.

  “You’ve no idea what I’m thinking.” Rosie drummed inch-long nails on the service counter.

  Little Ms. Impatience. I’d show her. I plucked the wallet triumphantly from my bag and proceeded to count out the exact change in a few months’ accumulation of loose coins.

  “Do I want to?” I took in her raised—and perfectly gr
oomed—eyebrows and shook my head. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that.” I plonked three one dollar coins and two fifty cent coins on the counter. Rummaged some more. “Your opinion of me couldn’t drop much lower.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself.” Rosie’s grin reminded me of a small, cute mammal with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. She folded her arms on the service counter and leaned in. “You still trying to find out who killed Lucas Kerr?”

  I froze mid-transfer of a handful of twenty and ten cent coins, which I’d intended to make Rosie count. Yeah, petty. But if I’d failed to beat her at her mind games through high school, I could grub some small satisfaction from hoping she’d break a nail counting coins.

  I was drawn down into a co-conspirator’s pose. “Do you know something?”

  Her gaze slid left, to where Dylan tapped the glass above one of the flavors.

  “You’ll know this about teenagers already,” she murmured, “but when a bunch of them get together, some sort of herd mentality occurs. They feel safe in their circle of friends and can get caught up in being the cool kid in the group—the ram amongst the sheep, so to speak—and forget there are predators nearby.”

  I blinked at her. “Huh? Teenagers are cool-kid sheep, and you’re suggesting I’m a predator?”

  She rolled her eyes as, with one hot-pink painted fingernail, she tapped my fist, which was still clenched around the damp, sweaty coins. I released them, and they plinked onto the counter, a few rolling off onto the hardwood floor. As we both crouched to retrieve them, I came face to face with Rosie under the counter gap.

  With a soft hiss of frustration, she tried to pry up a stubborn ten cent coin and glared at me. “Listen. Late last year, I heard Dylan and his school buddies talking about extra study aids.”

  “Those caffeine-heavy energy drinks?”

  “That’s what I thought at first. Kerr’s name cropped up, but I still didn’t put two and two together until the cops discovered what was in Lucas’s storeroom.”

  “Oh, no—you mean drug study aids?”

  Rosie gave me another eyebrow raise that said, Well, duh. And I’d earned it. The years I’d spent working with teenagers who struggled with many different issues, including incredible pressure during exam time, should have raised a giant red flag that something more sinister than stress could be involved. But I’d become complacent, assuming the most dangerous problem teenagers encountered in Cape Discovery was a riptide at one end of the beach.

  “I had no idea.” But it went a long way toward explaining Isabel’s comments about Dylan being ‘off’ during his exams last year. “I was about to ask him again why he was hanging around Lucas’s store.”

  Rosie straightened and dumped the coins back onto the counter. Counting, she scraped them one by one into her palm. I didn’t dare interrupt her tally; instead, I picked up a bunch of paper napkins.

  “Here.” She slid a couple of coins back to me. “Whatever Dylan had to do with Lucas, he’s a good kid. Tutored my eldest boy in math a few times when he fell behind.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Lovely to see you again, Rosie.”

  That earned me another eye-roll. Probably deserved that one too.

  Stowing my almost weightless wallet back in my bag, I strolled over and directed Rosie’s assistant to construct me a cone of raspberry gelato.

  Ice creams in hand, Dylan and I walked out of the Daily Grind and crossed the road to the seawall, where we sat and dangled our feet. Once I’d gained lick-control of my rapidly melting gelato, I turned toward Dylan with my sternest former-guidance-counselor stare. The one that had netted me all sorts of confessions in the past.

  “Tell me about the study aids you bought off Lucas Kerr.”

  Thirteen

  A faint ring of chocolate around his mouth, Dylan gaped at me, looking more like a terrified preschooler than a young man rapidly approaching legal adulthood.

  “Uhh.” His gaze skittered away to the beach, perhaps in a silent plea for help from a waddling seagull eyeing up his ice cream.

  “Just to warn you, I’ve heard every possible excuse invented by teenage minds, and I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  I continued to lick my cone, slowly, luxuriating in the silky sweetness. As if I had all the time in the world to listen to his confession. Had to give Rosie her dues: The gelato was delicious.

  “How come? Are you a doctor or something?”

  “Guidance counselor at a high school in Auckland.” Former guidance counselor. But he didn’t need to know that. “You’ll get no judgment from me, but I want to know the truth.” Hopefully, he was naïve enough not to realize he didn’t have to tell me diddly-squat, let alone the truth.

  Dylan resumed eating his cone while giving me the side-eye. After a few licks, he paused. “But you are kind of like a doctor or shrink or something? You can’t, like, tell my parents, because of patient confidentiality, right?”

  Eh, not so much. As per my previous thought, former counselor. But again, this was on a need-to-know basis, and Dylan didn’t need to know. “Sure.”

  He stared challengingly at me for another beat before his shoulders sagged. “I only bought the pills to help me get through exams; I wasn’t trying to get wasted.”

  “What sort of pills?” I asked.

  A shrug. The kind unique to the under-twenty-five crowd, who thought youth made them invincible, no matter what they subjected their bodies to. “Lucas said they’d give me loads of energy and help me focus on nailing the exams.”

  “How did you find out Lucas was selling pills?”

  “Some mates.” He shook his head. “I won’t nark on them if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No. I understand how word gets around school. Exam time’s pretty stressful, especially when last year’s results can determine which university you’ll get into.”

  “Yeah,” he said gloomily. “I just hope I’ve done better than scrape through; otherwise I might end up like Lucas.” He bit into the wafer cone with a crunch and scrambled to his feet. “Thanks for the ice cream, but I gotta go.”

  Shading my eyes from the blinding midday sun, I squinted up at him. “You’re welcome. But, hey, do you think your parents know you took pills?”

  Dylan barked out a short laugh. “No way. They would’ve killed me if they found out.” His brow furrowed. “You won’t say anything to them, will you?”

  Not if I didn’t have to. “Planning to do drugs again, Dylan?”

  He swiped the back of his hand across his chocolate-smeared mouth. “Nah. The crash after the buzz wasn’t worth it. So, we good?”

  “We’re good.”

  He jogged away, the seagull who’d been spying on him now circling above his head, waiting for the kid to drop a tidbit. I brushed crumbs off my legs and stood. Closing my eyes, I let the sound of the waves hissing ashore, the fresh scent of salt and seaweed, and the warmth of the sunshine on my upturned face steady me.

  Aside from my determination to discover who’d killed Lucas—I was invested now, and I blamed my stubborn mule-headedness on the Wakefield side of the family—I had the more personal issue of figuring out what to do next in my life. Summer was half over, and I couldn’t continue freeloading off Harry while I made up my mind.

  I sighed, knowing I’d hear all about it and much more over tonight’s family dinner.

  But as I made my way back to Unraveled—more locals recognized me now and stopped me to chat—one thought kept bouncing around in my brain. Dylan had jokingly said his parents would kill him if they found out he’d experimented with drugs. But what if they had found out?

  Would they have murdered the man who’d sold them to their son?

  Being summoned to a family dinner by my mother meant one of two things: a sibling had done something right and was worth boasting about, or I’d done something wrong. That was possibly an unfair generalization, but it felt true in the same way that the oldest sibling is often the bossiest and the youngest is often the most
spoiled.

  Usually, Dad opened the front door while my mother barked out orders like an army general to whichever of my siblings she’d cornered in the kitchen. Tonight, however, instead of Dad’s sheepish but warm smile greeting me, Mum threw open the door. Before I could ask why she was smiling at me, she wrapped me in a boa constrictor hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  My face scrunched up above the chin I’d rested on her shoulder. What on earth was she thanking me for? Surely not the bottle of grocery store wine I held in one hand? “Um, sure, Mum. No worries.”

  I drew back and thrust the wine at her. “It’s just a cheap chardonnay, but I know you like this one.”

  She took the bottle from my hand and looked at me as if I’d developed a sudden concussion on the walk to the family home. “I’m not thanking you for the wine, silly girl. I’m thanking you for what you’ve been doing for your brother; for restoring his good reputation around town.”

  I wouldn’t go so far as to say Sean had a good reputation before Lucas Kerr inconveniently got himself killed. But when it came to Mum, I’d take whatever praise I could get.

  “He’s family. Of course I’d do anything for him.”

  Patting my arm, she peered around me. “Where’s Harry?”

  “Getting ready for the Crafting for Calmness class this evening. He’s baking a cake, though I saw him dump grated carrot in the mixing bowl, so I think he’s forgotten he’s making a banana cake.” I chuckled, remembering his barely contained excitement as the afternoon wore on—like a kid waiting for his birthday party guests to arrive. “Don’t worry, I made him soup and a sandwich for dinner.”

  Appearing mollified, she waved me inside. “Of course you did. Dad and I are so grateful and proud of the good care you take of Harry.”

  Now I truly felt as though I’d stepped into some sort of weird alternative universe, one where it was possible my mum approved of, or at least accepted my life choices.