Frannie Ryan had originally been one of the students on the high school newspaper that Trixie and Skye sponsored. She was now a junior in college and had become a good friend. Frannie and Loretta, Skye’s sister-in-law and fellow Alpha Sigma Alpha sorority alum, had been Skye’s bridesmaids. Trixie had been her matron of honor.
“Ooh. I want to get some of that fabric, too.” Trixie skipped along beside Skye, pulling her husband after her. “Owen wants to get a couple of bottles of Guavaberry Barbecue Sauce at the Guavaberry Emporium. Maybe he and Wally can do that while we shop?”
“Great idea, Trixie.” Wally looked at Skye. “If you don’t mind splitting up, I’d like to buy some rum for the guys at work and your brother, and maybe get some for my dad and cousin, too.”
“No problem.” Skye squeezed his hand. “I read that rum is the national liqueur of St. Maarten. The shopping hostess said it comes in all kinds of flavors like mango, lime, orange, passion fruit, almond, vanilla, and, of course, guavaberry.”
“Should I get some for us too?” Wally herded the group out of the middle of the road. “I bet you’d like the vanilla and the lime.”
“Sure.” Skye reached for her beach bag. “I’d better take this.”
“I don’t mind carrying it, darlin’.” Wally kept hold of the handles.
“I know, sweetie.” Skye stroked his cheek. “But since I didn’t bring a purse and don’t have any pockets, I stuck my cruise ID, Visa, and some cash in the zippered compartment, and I’ll need the money if I want to buy anything.”
“Okay.” Wally handed over the bright pink-and-green tote. “We’ll meet you back at Island Wraps in about forty-five minutes.” He started to walk away, then turned back and said, “Don’t leave there without us.”
“Yes, sir.” Trixie saluted, grabbed Skye’s hand, and yanked her toward the shop’s entrance, calling over her shoulder, “Have fun, boys.”
As Skye and Trixie entered the store, Skye gazed in wonder at the fabulous material on display. Leaves, flowers, insects, and birds had been stamped onto the brightly dyed cotton cloth that was draped artfully over stands to catch the eye of anyone who stepped inside the door.
The clerks were busy with other customers, and Skye and Trixie drifted from table to table admiring the beautiful fabric. Skye’s senses were flooded with the variety of colors and patterns. The aroma of the wax used in the dying process added to her feeling of hyperstimulation. She was mesmerized and was having difficulty focusing enough to narrow down her choices.
Trixie held a length of peach cotton with an intricate tulip design up to her face and said, “What do you think of this?”
“Terrific.” Skye forced herself to concentrate. “That shade is great with your hair and eyes. And the tulips are cute.” She looked around, spotted an available clerk, and waved at the smiling woman. “We should ask how many yards we need to make a sundress.”
“Beautiful ladies want beautiful batik?” the clerk asked, gliding up to them.
“Oh, I love your accent,” Trixie squealed. “Are you from St. Maarten?”
“All my life.” The clerk smiled and Skye was sure the poor woman answered that same question a million times a day. “Can I help you?”
“If we wanted to have a sundress made out of your fabric”—Trixie held up the bolt of orange cloth—“how much would we need?”
“In yards or centimeters?” the woman asked, tilting her head.
“Yards,” Trixie answered.
“For you?” The clerk narrowed her eyes. “I would advise two and a half.” She examined Skye. “You would need a little more.”
“Of course.” Skye quirked her lips. She no longer got upset when she was reminded that she was curvier than was considered fashionable. “How much is a little?”
“An additional yard.” The clerk picked up a bolt of aqua blue fabric with a sea green shell design. “I would suggest this one for your coloring.”
“I love it.” Skye fingered the soft cloth. “I also want material for two of my friends.” She turned to Trixie. “Frannie and I are about the same size and Loretta is so tall, she’d have to have extra fabric, as well, don’t you think?”
“Definitely.” Trixie nodded. “She’s about six foot, isn’t she?”
“Shall I cut these fabrics for your friends while you browse?” the clerk asked, picking up the two bolts that had been chosen.
“Yes, please.” Skye nodded and glanced at her watch—twenty minutes had already gone by. She needed to make a decision. She turned to Trixie. “I know Loretta likes yellow, and it looks amazing with her ebony skin. What color do you think Frannie would like?”
“Purple,” Trixie answered without hesitation. “Just the other day she said it was the ‘in’ color this year.” Trixie pointed to a butterfly patterned swatch. “This shade of lavender would be great on her.”
“Grab it for me, okay?” Skye asked, then said, “I’ll get this primrose colored material with the hummingbirds for Loretta.”
With their selections made, Skye and Trixie stood by the front counter, and Skye asked the clerk, “Can you tell me the history behind the batik fabric?”
As she measured and cut, the woman said, “It is thought to have originated in Egypt and the Middle East, but for hundreds of years it’s been found in India, Turkey, Japan, West Africa, and China.”
“Ah.” Skye wished she had a paper and pen to take notes. This was fascinating.
“Most experts agree that batik started as a royal art form,” the clerk continued. “And while the royal women may have inspired traditional patterns, it’s highly unlikely that they did any more than the first wax application. The messy work of dyeing and waxing was probably left to court artisans who would have worked under their supervision.”
“Sounds like some of the big name authors who provide the ideas for books, but have ghostwriters to do the real writing,” Trixie said with a snort of disdain.
“Cotton is most often used for the cloth because the wax that is applied must be readily absorbed.” The clerk finished cutting and began packaging the material. “Nowadays, the cotton is washed and boiled to remove all traces of any sizing materials, but in olden times it was pounded with a wooden mallet. Then the design is put on with a copper stamp. The stamp is pronounced chop but is spelled C-A-P.”
“Thank you so much for sharing your knowledge with us,” Skye said as she reached into her beach bag. “How much do I owe you?”
“Let’s see.” The clerk jotted numbers on a pad of paper. “That’s three and half yards times three, so ten and a half total. At fifteen dollars per yard that’s one fifty-seven fifty.”
“You do take credit cards?” Skye asked, not sure she had that much cash on her. When the woman nodded, Skye handed over her Visa and turned to Trixie. “Phew! I should have asked that first.”
“Me, too.” Trixie fanned her face with her fingers. “I didn’t take much money with me.”
Once they had paid and stuffed their purchases into Skye’s beach bag, Skye checked the time. “The guys should be here any minute.”
Trixie headed for the door and Skye followed, sliding the handles of her tote over her crooked arm. Just as she stepped through the exit, someone dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved chambray shirt, baseball cap, and dark glasses rammed into her. Immediately there was a hard jerk on her bag and then a sharp pain in her side.
Skye froze. The person who had bumped into her had grabbed her tote. She yelled to Trixie, “My beach bag’s been stolen!” Skye ran after the crook, shouting, “Help! Stop! Thief!”
Trixie darted past Skye and raced after the fleeing figure. Skye tried to keep up with her friend, but she was already losing ground when she felt something warm dripping down her outer thigh. Suddenly she felt dizzy. She looked down and stared in horror at the blood oozing through her shirt. Lifting her top, she saw a gash in her
side. The purse-snatcher must have slashed the straps of her tote with a knife and the blade had accidentally cut her.
Or had the assailant’s intent been to stab her all along? Already light-headed, Skye sank to her knees. Maybe the robber was really an assassin.
CHAPTER 12
Sail Away
Acrowd gathered quickly around Skye and several people helped her to a bench in front of the batik store. One of the women produced a wad of Kleenex from her purse and pressed it to Skye’s wound. As the group peppered her with questions, Skye wondered if there were any vital organs on the right side just above the waist. Wasn’t that where the liver was located?
Before she could panic, Skye spotted Wally and Owen carrying large cardboard boxes and walking toward her. She rose shakily to her feet, and holding the crude compress to her side with one hand, she waved her other arm over her head. Wally smiled, and then as he seemed to notice the crowd around her, he said something to Owen, and they both started running.
The men pushed their way through the throng surrounding Skye, and Wally immediately zeroed in on the bloody makeshift bandage, which was still oozing blood. The color drained from his face and as he hastily put his carton on the ground, he demanded, “Are you all right?”
“I think I’m okay,” Skye said, blinking back tears. “Better now that you’re here.”
“What happened?” He gathered her into his arms and murmured against her hair, “How did you get hurt?”
Skye explained about the thief, then said, “And I’m really worried because Trixie took off after him and she’s not back yet.”
Owen stiffened and swung his head from left to right. “Which way did she go?”
“There.” Skye pointed down an alley.
Owen hurriedly set his box down next to Wally’s and took off running.
“Do you know how long Trixie’s been gone?” Wally had started to pace.
Skye checked her watch. It was four thirty. “Fifteen minutes.”
“That’s not good.” Worry had seeped into Wally’s eyes. “Has anyone called the police?” he asked the few people who remained gathered around them.
Before anyone answered, a tall thin man with keen brown eyes, gorgeous mocha skin, and a shaved head arrived via bicycle. He adjusted the crease on his perfectly pressed navy trousers and checked to make sure his shirt was properly tucked in, then approached Skye.
“Are you the lady who was mugged?” he inquired with the same island lilt as the shop clerk. He looked at the bloody tissue in her hand and said, “We were told that you were injured. I have a first aid kit, or do you need to go to hospital?”
“No hospital, but I’ll take a couple of Band-Aids if you have them.” Skye examined her wound. “It’s almost stopped bleeding. If I need to, I can have the doctor on the Diamond Countess look at it.”
The officer handed Skye two packages of adhesive strips. She opened the first one, which was bright yellow with a picture of Dora the Explorer, and then the second, which was blue with SpongeBob SquarePants’s goofy grin plastered all over it. Skye thanked the officer and applied the bandages.
“Now about your mugging,” the officer said. “Please tell me what happened.”
“The important thing is that our friends went after the purse-snatcher and they aren’t back yet.” Skye gazed worriedly down the street. There was still no sign of Trixie or Owen. “You need to make sure they’re okay.” She described the couple and pointed out which way they’d run. “They’ve been gone a long time.”
The officer clicked on the radio attached to his belt and relayed the information to the police dispatcher, then took a small notebook and pencil from the breast pocket of his white shirt and said, “Now, please describe the incident.”
“About twenty minutes ago, my friend and I were leaving Island Wraps,” Skye started, then continued to tell the officer what had happened, ending with, “So I ran after him, but when I realized that I’d been stabbed, I got woozy and had to stop.” She shrugged, a self-conscious look on her face. “I gave it my all, but it seems that I got to all a lot faster than my friend Trixie did.”
“You were bleeding,” Wally said, sliding an arm around Skye’s shoulders. “I’m sure Trixie and Owen will be okay. Right, Officer?”
The patrolman didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Can you describe the mugger?”
“About my height, maybe a little taller, but a lot slimmer.” Skye closed her eyes, trying to picture the person. “He wore jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, baseball cap, and sunglasses, so I didn’t see his face.”
“How about his hands?” the officer asked. “Did they have distinguishing marks?” When she shook her head, he added, “How about his race?”
“I didn’t really notice his hands or much of anything else, I’m afraid.” Skye snuck a peek at her watch, then said to Wally, “We only have fifteen minutes to get back on the Diamond Countess.” She bit her lip. “But we can’t leave Trixie and Owen.”
“Your ship isn’t scheduled to leave port until six,” the police officer soothed. “They won’t take up the gangplank for another hour.” He flipped to a fresh page. “Let me get your contact information. If we catch the mugger and are able to recover your belongings, we’ll arrange to send them back to you.”
“Thank you.” Skye smiled weakly at the young man whose earnest expression belied the fact that they both knew it was highly unlikely her possessions would be found. Still, she appreciated the thought.
As she started to recite her address, she glanced over the officer’s shoulder. Trixie was running toward them waving Skye’s bright pink-and-green beach bag triumphantly over her head. Owen was by his wife’s side, holding her hand and grinning from ear to ear.
“Look what I have.” Trixie bounced up to Skye and thrust the tote at her.
“My bag!” Skye hugged her friend, then grabbed Trixie by the shoulders. “How did you get it back? Did you wrestle it off the thief?”
“No.” Trixie’s smile faded. “He went around a corner and disappeared. I wasn’t that far behind him, but when I turned down the street he’d taken, there were only tourists. I kept going, hoping I’d pick up his trail, and a few minutes later, I spotted your bag by the side of the road. Lucky I got to it before someone else took it. He must have thrown it away when he saw me following him.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay and both back in time to make the ship.” Skye dug through the tote. “It looks as if everything but the cash is here—my cruise card, Visa, and the fabric we bought.”
“Not everything.” Wally peered over Skye’s shoulder as she rifled through the bag. “The prints of Trixie’s pictures are gone.”
“You’re right.” Skye dumped the tote’s contents onto the bench behind her.
“Shoot! That must have been what he burned.” Trixie frowned. “The bag was right next to a small pile of papers that were on fire.”
“Yeah.” Owen put his arm around his wife. “Trixie was stamping out the blaze when I found her. We didn’t realize it was the photos.”
“Isn’t that an odd thing for the purse-snatcher to choose?” Skye said, then realized the implication. “I wonder if that was retaliation on the thief’s part because there were only a few dollars for him to take.” She knew instinctively not to mention the photos’ significance to the officer. And when she saw Wally’s slight nod, she knew she’d done the right thing. There was nothing the officer could do, and she didn’t want to risk being held up at the police station for more questioning and possibly missing the ship.
Thanking the patrolman for his time, and assuring him that she was fine and her injury was superficial, Skye waited for Wally and Owen to retrieve their cartons of rum, then took her husband’s arm. The two couples were silent as they hurried down the pier, lost in their own thoughts and intent on reaching the ship on time.
Once they boarded, t
he men were required to hand the liquor over to security. It would be delivered to them the night before they disembarked in Fort Lauderdale. One good thing about getting back so late, there was no line for the X-ray machine and they were the only ones waiting for an elevator.
As she pushed the UP button, Skye said, “I need to take a shower, put some Neosporin on my cut, and telephone Mom before someone tells her about the mugging. I recognized a couple of her knitting buddies from the cocktail party Mom and I attended among those who helped me when I was injured. Even if they don’t know I’m her daughter, I’m sure my assault will be a hot topic of discussion among the group.”
“No doubt.” Wally’s expression was wry. “You do realize she’ll want to see that you’re okay with her own two eyes, right?”
“I wish I didn’t have to tell her.” Skye rubbed her temples. “Last time something like this happened to me, she said I got myself into more jams than a judge at the county fair.”
Wally chuckled. “We might as well go ahead and have dinner with your folks.”
“It would be the easiest way to handle my mother.” Skye pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“A couple hours with them in the restaurant is better than having her break into our cabin or rappel down onto our balcony.” Wally’s tone was good-natured. “How bad can it be?”
Skye smiled at her husband, stepped inside the elevator car, and said to Trixie and Owen, “Do you two want to meet up with us in an hour to watch the sail-away together?”
“Sounds like fun.” Trixie beamed. “Come to our suite this time and we’ll make it a party. We can open up the free champagne the purser sent us because of the fiasco with our first cabin and order some snacks from room service.”
“Okay.” Skye sagged against the wall, suddenly exhausted and disheartened. “But we really don’t have anything to celebrate.”
“Sure we do.” Trixie patted the waterproof pack strapped to her waist. “We may have lost the prints, but we still have the flash drive.”
Murder of a Needled Knitter Page 12
