“No.” May shook her head. “Neither man is married. Plus the guy in the picture is too muscular to be Dylan and Otto is bald.”
“How many women are traveling with their husbands?” Wally asked.
“Not as many as I thought there would be,” May said, then chewed her lip before continuing. “Most of the ladies paired up with other women from their home knitting clubs and left the men at home.” She held up her fingers and ticked off names as she talked. “Me, Lucy, Christine, Ella Ann, and Betty are the only ones who brought along their husbands.”
“I think we can eliminate Dad”—Skye winked at her father—“so how about the other guys? Do any of them look like the man in the photo?”
“Lucy and Betty’s husbands are much older than this guy,” May said, shaking her head. “But it could be Christine’s Kevin or Ella Ann’s Scott.”
Skye picked up the photo and studied it again. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Kevin, but Scott had kept score at the Knitter’s Jeopardy! She closed her eyes and tried to remember the details of that night. Scott had been sitting at a table so it was difficult to judge his height, but the profile of the man in the picture seemed like a good match. Also, Yuri had said the man was a blue-eyed blond, which matched her memory of Scott.
She frowned. Wait—there was something else. What was it? Skye shut her eyes and concentrated. Suddenly her lids snapped open and she said, “I know what illness the awareness bracelet represents.” As she had visualized the scene during the Jeopardy! game, she’d recalled Ella Ann fingering a bright blue plastic bracelet. “It’s for rheumatoid arthritis.”
“Then the killer is . . .” May’s eyes widened.
“Right.” Skye nodded at her mother. “I think Ella Ann is the murderer.”
CHAPTER 23
Dead Reckoning
Skye’s announcement was met with a split second of silence, then simultaneously May, Trixie, and Owen started interrogating her. After several minutes of excited queries, the voices rocketed to a level just under the volume of a military band playing a Sousa march, and Skye put her hands over her ears.
Wally gave his wife a sympathetic glance, stood, and barked, “Quiet down, everyone. Give her room to breathe. We all have questions. Let her explain.”
Once everyone stopped shouting at her, Skye smiled her thanks at Wally, and talked them through her thought process, summarizing her arguments with, “The person who stole Trixie’s camera and my beach bag could have been a woman. The guy in the photo looks a lot like Scott. Ella Ann wears a blue silicone bracelet, and she has rheumatoid arthritis. Everyone was talking about how sad it is that her condition has begun to impact her ability to knit.”
“That could all be a coincidence,” Owen protested. “No jury would ever convict her without some real evidence.”
“Okay.” Skye nodded her acceptance of Owen’s objections. “How about this? Ella Ann and Guinevere are from the same hometown. During the knitter’s cocktail party, I overheard a group talking about them both being from Harbor Oak, Georgia.”
“That’s true,” Owen said. “There was something in one of those pieces on Guinevere that I printed out yesterday morning about how odd it was to have two such famous knitters from one small town.” He shook his head. “With us getting back so late from port, and the hurry to eat and look at the pictures, we never got around to reading the articles.” He hit his head with his palm. “Damn! I meant to look them over this morning, but forgot about them.”
“I know it seems longer,” Wally said, “but it’s only been twenty-four hours since you printed them.”
“Right.” Skye sat forward. “And thanks to you, we have proof that Scott and Guinevere could easily have had a previous acquaintance.”
“Wait!” May jumped up. “Now that you mention all this, I remember seeing Guinevere grinding against Scott during the dancing Sunday night at the sail-away party. From the way she kept touching him, I sort of wondered if they had some sort of intimate relationship.”
“And supposedly Ella Ann accused Guinevere of making some kind of outrageous demands of the local yarn shop.” Skye squinted, remembering the conversation at the cocktail party. “Guinevere almost put the owner out of business.”
“That’s all good stuff.” Wally grabbed one of the discarded crime scene photos and started taking notes on the back.
“Trixie, can you find out what’s written on the RA bracelets?” Skye asked.
“Sure.” Trixie typed something into her netbook. “There are a few different sayings for RA.” She peered at the small screen. LET’S MOVE TOGETHER is one.” She clicked on an image, then turned the computer to face the group. “See this blue bracelet that has HOPE COURAGE FAITH printed on it, with the ribbon symbol between courage and faith? It seems to be the most common bracelet, at least the one that comes up most in the search engine.”
“That’s it.” Skye tapped the screen. “See, it has the capital E from the end of the word courage, the ribbon, and then a capital F from the beginning of the word faith. It fits the bloody impression.”
“Ella Ann might not be the only one on board with that bracelet,” Owen said. “And if she has arthritis, would she be strong enough to stab Guinevere with her knitting needles?”
“She’s the only member of the group with one of those plastic bracelets. I notice stuff like that.” May spoke with utter conviction. “And Ella Ann told me that if she takes her pills and wears her gloves, most days she’s fine.”
“Speaking of the gloves,” Wally said, “do you know if she has more than one pair?”
“She has two,” May answered after thinking it over. “A white pair and a tan pair. She mentioned that she prefers the white ones because they have full fingers and the tan ones don’t have fingertips.”
“I saw her wearing the white ones Monday on Countess Cay,” Skye interjected. “Was she wearing them on Tuesday during your knitting event, Mom?”
“Yes,” May said. “I remember because she didn’t want photos taken with them on and Guinevere kept snapping pictures of her anyway.”
“Which gloves did she wear on Wednesday?” Wally asked.
“The tan ones.” May nodded to herself. “Someone commented, and she said the white ones had gotten dirty and were still drying.”
“Did she have the white pair on the next day?” Skye asked.
“Yes.” May dug her nails into Skye’s knees. “Is that important?”
“Very,” Skye said. “Because that means she didn’t dispose of them.”
Wally had obviously followed his wife’s line of reasoning. “She may have washed them, but she wouldn’t have sent them to the laundry covered in blood, so she had to have done it herself. And in all probability, she doesn’t travel with bleach.” He smiled grimly. “It’s damn hard to completely remove all traces of blood.”
“That’s one piece of possible physical evidence,” Owen said. “But we’ll need more than that to get security to turn her over to the FBI as a possible suspect.”
“I wish I knew whether or not she showered with that bracelet on,” Wally muttered.
“I bet she doesn’t,” May said. “When we all went swimming together, she took it off. She said it’s a little big and she was afraid it would slip off in the water.”
“Then there’s a good chance there are traces of blood on it, as well as the gloves,” Skye said. “And it just occurred to me, but I bet the steward can identify Scott. He would have seen him full face because he mentioned that the guy coming out of Guinevere’s cabin was zipping his pants.”
“Good.” Wally jotted down another note. “Anything else we can bring to Officer Trencher?”
“Whatever she used to cut the beach bag handle and the camera strap will have Skye and Trixie’s blood on it,” Jed said, speaking for the first time. “If it’s a pocketknife like this,” he held out his own three-inch penknife, “i
t’ll have lots of crevices.”
“Right,” Wally said. “Most likely Ella Ann mugged them both. She doubtlessly saw Trixie photographing the scene and realized we’d want to print the pictures off the ship. She has probably followed us at every port.” Wally looked at his wife. “The person who stole both the camera and the beach bag could have been her, right?”
“Definitely.” Skye nodded. “The thief was about her height and build. She’s pretty flat chested, so if she stuffed her hair under the ball cap she could pass for a guy.” Skye paused. “And she’s about my height, which means the angle of the knitting needles in Guinevere’s throat would fit, too.”
“What do we do now?” Trixie asked.
“Turn this all over to security.” Owen crossed his arms. “What else?”
“If we were on land and in the U.S., I’d agree,” Wally said. “But considering the ineffectual laws and lack of clear jurisdiction, we need a confession to make our accusation stick.”
“How are we going to get that?” Skye asked. “We can’t exactly pull her in for an interrogation.”
“We’re going to have to trick her.” Wally turned to May. “And you’ll have to be the one to do it.”
May opened her mouth. Closed it. And opened it again.
Skye smiled to herself. It was rare to see her mother speechless and she was enjoying the sight.
CHAPTER 24
Rough Waters
After Wally outlined his plan to trick Ella Ann into confessing, the three couples scouted out Cloud Walkers, the location of the knitters’ farewell party. As Officer Trencher had mentioned, the lounge had been in constant use for various events, and if it had been cordoned off after the murder, there would have been a lot of canceled activities and unhappy passengers.
Trixie had remembered that Cloud Walkers had a service closet with a pantry located just off the main lounge, and after examining it, Wally declared it the perfect spot for May to induce a confession from Ella Ann. He instructed May to find a way to get Ella Ann into that closet for a private conversation as soon as possible after the party started at nine.
Wally and Skye then went to speak to Officer Trencher and shared their theory about the murderer. The security officer agreed to meet the Boyds at eight forty-five and hide inside the pantry, where they could record the conversation between May and Ella Ann. Lucky for them, the ship was in international waters, where there was no law against recording someone’s conversation without their consent.
By eight fifty-five, Officer Trencher, Wally, and Skye were in their places. Now it all depended on May. As Skye waited, she smoothed her dress, a gorgeous coral taffeta with a tiered skirt that ended just above her knees. She’d been saving it for their final evening, but now she wished she had worn it on the first formal night. She didn’t want to associate a murderer’s confession with her beautiful outfit.
Skye checked her watch for the twentieth time. How long would it take her mother to get Ella Ann alone? Fifteen torturous minutes later, Skye heard May’s voice in the pantry, followed by Ella Ann’s huskier tones.
Almost immediately, Ella Ann demanded, “What did you want to see me about?”
They had coached May for several hours that afternoon, and Skye held her breath. Could her mother pull this off without making Ella Ann suspicious?
May’s voice’s was a little shaky as she said, “This is a photo taken at the crime scene right after Guinevere’s murder.”
“Why are you showing that to me?” Ella Ann’s words were nonchalant, but Skye detected an underlying anxiety.
“Because if you look closely, you can see letters imprinted in blood on the door.” May drew in a noisy breath. “They match the ones on that bracelet around your wrist.”
“A lot of people have this bracelet,” Ella Ann retorted. “Are you accusing me of murder?”
“Yes,” May said. “I know your husband was having an affair with Guinevere. I also have a photo of him coming out of her cabin zipping up his pants.”
“So?” Ella Ann’s tone was dismissive.
“So, I want fifty thousand dollars to keep quiet.”
Ella Ann gave a short bark of laughter. “What makes you think I have that kind of money? My husband and I live from paycheck to paycheck.”
“You must have something of value,” May countered.
“No. Really I don’t. We took out a second mortgage to take this cruise.” Ella Ann sighed. “It was supposed to be a last hurrah for my knitting career and then Guinevere turned up. She wasn’t scheduled to lead this group.”
“Sucks for you,” May said indifferently, playing the part of a cold-blooded blackmailer to a T. “Okay, here’s an alternative. You tell me the truth about what happened and I write a book about it. I’ve always wanted to be a published author.” May added, “Since I’m the number one suspect, it will sell like hotcakes.”
The book idea had been Trixie’s contribution to the scenario, and Skye half suspected her friend really did intend to use the plot in the mystery she was writing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ella Ann insisted.
“Don’t try my patience.” May’s foot stomping on the linoleum echoed through the walls. “I’ve guessed most of it. I just need the ending.”
“I didn’t kill her so how can I tell you the ending?” Ella Ann’s Southern accent was growing thicker.
“If that’s how you want to be, I guess I’ll go to security.” May paused dramatically. “No, I’ll go to the FBI once we reach Fort Lauderdale tomorrow. They’ve got the forensics to convict you.”
“You’re crazy!” Ella Ann squeaked.
“Fine,” May said. “But my son-in-law is a police chief and he tells me blood doesn’t come out with a simple washing, and I doubt you had access to bleach. Which means it’ll still be on your gloves, your bracelet, and the knife you used to stab my daughter and her friend.”
“No!” Ella Ann shouted, then said, “Please don’t go to the FBI. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just promise to change the names in the book when you write it.”
“Okay, start with why you killed her.”
“Throughout my career, Guinevere has always managed to steal everything important from me.” Ella Ann’s voice was flat. “She grabbed the rare wool I wanted before I could get it—you know the wool that’s so soft, so fine, it’s a legend? She plagiarized my knitting designs, she beat me in competitions, and she got all the good book and magazine contracts.”
“And?” May probed. “All that happened in the past. What changed?”
“I saw her and Scott kissing.” Ella Ann’s tone hardened. “I forgot my needles in the lounge after the knitting session Tuesday morning, so I came back to get them and found that slut in my husband’s arms. Something in me snapped. Scott said he was sorry and left, but Guinevere just laughed at me. She said she had everything else in my life and now she was taking my husband, too. He was going to divorce me and marry her.” Ella Ann’s voice broke. “Then she laughed again, and I stabbed her with the knitting needles that I was holding.”
“Anything else?” May asked.
Skye could tell her mother was getting nervous and she edged closer to the doorway, prepared to intercede if things went south.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Ella Ann sobbed. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t even realize what I had done until I saw her fall. I heard someone call out, and I didn’t want them to see me, so I ran out the service door. But then I wanted to know if Guinevere was going to be okay, so I opened the door a little bit and I saw your daughter’s friend taking pictures. Who takes pictures of a woman dying?” Ella Ann whined. “It isn’t right.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” May snapped, then added, “Just get on with the story.”
“Since I was pretty darn sure they wouldn’t get those gory snapshots printed on t
he ship, I made sure to follow them in St. Maarten. I watched them print out the photos and I knew I had to get the pictures in case there was any kind of incriminating evidence on them. Ship’s security hadn’t bothered to photograph the scene so I knew they were the only record.”
“So you mugged Skye,” May said.
“I had to destroy the photos,” Ella Ann insisted. “But I was worried they’d just print another set since the camera’s memory card wasn’t in the bag. In St. Thomas, I rented a car and parked it near the taxi stand; then I hung around your daughter’s group until I heard one of them say where they were going to print the photos. Luckily, I was able to get there first and tape an out of order sign to the machine, but I knew I had to get that memory card, so I snatched the friend’s camera in Grand Turk. By the time I realized that the pictures of Guinevere weren’t on the camera, it was too late and I couldn’t find your daughter and her friends again. That must have been when they finally got the photos printed.”
“Yep.” May nodded. “Now back to the actual murder. When you saw Skye and Trixie after you stabbed Guinevere, what did you do?” May asked.
“Like I said, I kept the service door open a crack and watched them until I heard security arriving. I closed the door anytime your daughter’s friend walked toward it. Once security got there, I left and found Scott, and told him that if we were questioned he’d better be my alibi or he’d look just as guilty as me.” Ella Ann hesitated. “There wasn’t much blood on me, just a little on my hands and knees, and the soles of my shoes, but I took those off and carried them so I didn’t leave a trail. I knew there wouldn’t be fingerprints since I was wearing my gloves, so I cleaned up in our cabin, washed out the gloves, and threw the towels overboard. Scott assured me that no one knew about his affair with Guinevere, so no one would think I had a motive.”
“One last thing.” May was improvising now and Sky’s stomach did a backflip. “Didn’t you feel guilty knowing I was under suspicion and might be thrown in jail for something you did?”
Murder of a Needled Knitter Page 23
