by Anne Canadeo
Edie sighed. “How about Jimmy Hubbard? Does he have an airtight story for that night, too? Charles told Maggie that this Quentin kid and Jimmy had a big blowout on Sunday, the very day Jimmy was killed.”
“He did?” Lucy glanced at Maggie. She nodded, not wanting to interrupt Dana.
“Quentin admitted that they argued but said it was no big deal. Jimmy supplied him with drugs to sell and he said he had no reason to cut off his pipeline. But Jimmy had brought another dealer into Quentin’s territory and Quentin didn’t like that. Quentin claims they cut a deal and smoothed it over. Everything was settled by Sunday afternoon. He told the police to check some text messages he and Jimmy had exchanged that prove there was no ill will.”
“Anyone can send pleasant messages by day and still plan to kill you come nightfall,” Maggie said. “In fact, it’s a classic tactic.”
“He has an alibi for that night, too. He was with a girlfriend,” Dana added. “Though it’s not as airtight as the other. Even though there’s possible motive for Jimmy, the police can’t find any physical evidence to tie him to that crime.”
“Are they still holding him?” Lucy asked.
“He’s scheduled to go before a judge for sentencing on the drug charges this morning, and should be out on bail by this afternoon.”
“So, even though Quentin Kestler had lots of contact with both victims, and seemed to connect the dots, he wasn’t their killer,” Lucy said.
“That seems to be the bottom line. I don’t think the police will dig any deeper here,” Dana replied. She opened her coffee and took a sip.
“So they’re pretty much back where they started from,” Maggie added.
“Right back to Nora, you might as well say.” Edie’s tone was gruff, tempered by anger and fear. She sat low in her seat, looking like a deflated balloon.
“Don’t say that, Edie. They have other leads,” Dana assured her. “Leads we don’t know about.”
“Oh sure . . . but this one’s a no-brainer. I’m sure that part appeals to them. Nora was the last name on Cassandra’s appointment list, the last to see her alive . . . except for her killer. She doesn’t have any sort of alibi and now the cat’s out of the bag about how she was duped by the sicko psychic and her own husband. The police have every good reason to think Nora figured it out before Richard came clean, and maybe confronted that witch at their session and got crazy.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say. Edie had laid out a good case against her own dear niece and it was hard to poke holes in it. She glanced at Dana, who had already tried to downplay Nora’s place in the investigation. Lucy sat quietly, too.
“We all know Nora could have never done such a thing,” Lucy said finally. “The police will see that, too. They have to.”
“You’d think so. But I wouldn’t take a bet on it.” Edie suddenly stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’ll see you later, ladies. Got to run.”
She quickly headed for the door, her big shoes making a squeaking sound. Maggie jumped up and followed her.
But she didn’t know what to say. The words “Don’t worry” came to mind, of course. But for some reason, she couldn’t offer that ever-ready bromide anymore.
“Take care, Edie. I’ll stop by later. And I’ll call if I hear anything,” she added. Edie just nodded and marched on.
Maggie returned to Lucy and Dana. “Edie’s so upset. Do you really think the police are going to focus on Nora now? There must be an entire list of people who had been taken in and felt stung by Cassandra.”
“Especially when you look at her past history, all the dirt I dug up on her,” Lucy replied.
“I think so, too. But these leads aren’t coming up with any blackmail threats. Or anything more than people feeling foolish and chagrined by their own gullibility. And it’s happened in secret, just between them and Cassandra, now dead,” Dana explained.
“Humiliation might inspire some homicidal fantasies. But usually, when it’s been a public situation, or some romantic bond is involved, people don’t like to admit what’s actually happened.”
“So you’re saying, most people are likely to take their lumps and slink away, not wanting anyone to find out they’d been made a fool.” Maggie stood behind the counter, trying to get ready to open, but unable to really focus.
“That’s right. Which is why so few of her clients ever complained to the police, and even fewer pressed charges,” Dana said. “It’s a lot like someone getting cheated by a prostitute or a drug dealer. Even though a psychic’s services are not technically illegal. Not unless they steal from you.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Lucy said. “I just wish some wildcard would pop up. Something we can’t see, or have never considered.”
“That reminds me . . . we never told Maggie about Daphne Mullens. Unless you did, Lucy,” Dana said.
“No . . . I forgot.”
“You saw who?” Maggie looked up from the register, where she’d been counting out change. She met Lucy’s glance, wondering who they were talking about.
“Daphne Mullens. Cassandra’s daughter who lives in Sedona,” Lucy reminded her.
“Oh, right. I forgot about her,” Maggie said. “You saw her here in town?”
Dana glanced at Lucy and answered first. “We think it was her. We were riding past Cassandra’s house on Saturday and we saw two police officers go inside with a young woman, twenty-something, I’d guess. She looked a lot like Cassandra, even from a distance.”
“There was just something about her,” Lucy agreed. “I don’t think we both imagined the resemblance. If it’s not her daughter, I’d bet it was some relative.”
“Interesting. So she did have some relationship with her mother after all,” Maggie mused. “Did you ask Jack about her?”
“I guess it slipped my mind. But I will.” Dana stood up and grabbed her bag.
“She must be here to claim her mother’s remains,” Maggie said.
“And her property,” Dana added. “If the police can ever sort that out.”
The story about Edie’s heirloom watch came to mind, then floated on the tip of Maggie’s tongue. She decided it was not her story to relay, even to Lucy and Dana. Edie had trusted her with that precious confidence.
“I hope if anyone fell prey to that bad-energy scam, their valuables will be returned to them,” Maggie said finally.
“That will take a while,” Dana said. “Even longer than finding Cassandra’s killer.”
* * *
Lucy’s turn had come to hold the knitting meeting at her house, but Maggie called Wednesday night and asked if they could hold it at her shop instead.
“I stopped by the diner just before I headed home,” Maggie explained. “Edie’s in a state and Nora was there, too. I asked if they wanted to knit with us. I hope you all don’t mind, but I didn’t know what else to do for them. They’d both like to come, but Edie can’t leave the Schooner for too long. It would only work out if we meet in the store.”
“That’s fine with me.” Lucy felt relieved. “I just turned in a project. The only thing I did so far for the meeting was make a long list of everything I have to do tomorrow.”
“That works out well then.” Maggie sounded pleased, even though the change would make more work for her.
“I’ll make dinner and bring it,” Lucy said. “You don’t have to get stuck with that job again. Dana is going to bring dessert.”
“Dana? She barely knows the meaning of the word.”
Lucy had to agree. “I can pop a pan of brownies in the oven, just in case her choice is too strange. But I don’t want to make her feel bad.”
“Edie wants to bring something from the diner. That should work. Dana won’t even know it’s a backup.”
“Perfect solution . . . and I love that Schooner Strawberry-Raspberry pie. Edie only serves it in the summer.”
“It is a rare treat. Even Dana won’t be insulted by seeing that item added to the menu. I’ll ask Edie to bring one,” Maggie said
decisively.
Having worked out a new plan, Lucy sent a group text to alert the rest of their friends. She was glad to get a pass on entertaining and also interested to hear what Edie and Nora would have to say tomorrow night.
So far, the police had not called Nora in for more questioning. All remained quiet on that front and Lucy wondered if Edie had been worrying for nothing.
Maybe a new victim of Cassandra’s unscrupulous talents had been identified, and there had been a blackmail scheme, or an even worse motive for murder. Cassandra had clearly been capable of darker and more twisted hoaxes than she’d perpetrated on Nora. And she had betrayed many other trusting souls in her path.
Lucy was also eager to finish her tote project. If she didn’t have to clean and fuss with the house for the meeting, she could definitely get it done by tomorrow. Motivated by Maggie’s promise to display it in the shop window, like a carrot—maybe even a brownie—dangled from a stick. Lucy felt a bit childish about that. But smiled to herself as she picked up her needles and stitched on.
* * *
“Look, I finished the tote.” Lucy held up the piece, trying to show how it would look once it was sewn together.
Maggie looked up from her knitting, genuinely impressed. “I love it. Definitely window-display quality.”
“It’s great, Lucy. So stylish. You can bring it to our beach weekend,” Dana said.
“I still need to put it together and felt it. But it should be done by then.”
Lucy hadn’t felted many projects. Maggie would coach her on that part, she was sure, wanting the piece to look perfect for her display.
“That will give you a deadline.” Suzanne gave Lucy a look, one that made Lucy suspect that her well-intentioned friend might bring up Matt again. Suzanne had never followed up their last deadline conversation, had she?
Lucy had decided that she was not going to initiate any heavy talks with Matt about their future, marriage, engagement rings—or any related topics. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It was her decision to make and no one else’s. If she had to lock horns with well-meaning Suzanne, so be it.
A knock interrupted the conversation and Lucy’s rambling thoughts. “That must be Edie and Nora,” Maggie said. “Come in, door’s open,” she called out and everyone turned to greet them.
Edie handed Maggie a white pastry box, which Lucy knew held the pie. A good thing Edie had remembered it, Lucy thought, since Dana’s dessert was some sort of slimy-looking, chia seed pudding. Lucy hadn’t found the courage yet to ask what was in it.
Maggie set the box on the sideboard while Edie and her niece found seats at the table and Lucy poured them each a glass of wine.
“This is so nice. Just what we needed, right Nora?” Edie sat back in her chair and caught her breath. She looked tired and vexed, Lucy thought, but determined to put on a happy face for the evening.
“Hey, before I forget, I want to invite you all to my place on Saturday night,” Edie said, “my annual Fourth of July blowout barbecue. It should be perfect weather for the fireworks. I hope you all can come.”
“How gracious of you, Edie.” Maggie handed her a glass of wine and gave one to Nora, too.
“Not at all. The more the merrier. And Phoebe, too, of course. Don’t be shy now, half the town will be there.”
Lucy had been invited before to Edie’s annual party and knew that was true. The party was always held in the spacious backyard of the big old house where Edie had grown up and had lived, ever since her parents had passed on.
The looming Victorian was set at the end of a row of houses perched on a cliff that overlooked the water, a perfect spot for Edie’s old-fashioned Fourth of July gathering and for viewing the fireworks show, set off each year over the harbor soon after sunset.
Lucy did think, with all the troubles plaguing Nora and Richard, that Edie might skip her party this year. But the Steibers were the sort of clan that doubled down and circled the wagons whenever there was trouble. With Edie’s many children and grandchildren, and other relatives and friends assembled and having fun, perhaps the hickory-smoked revelry would be the perfect distraction for everyone’s worries. Talk about smoking out the bad vibes. This was one way to do it, Lucy realized.
Suzanne was the first to respond. “Thank you, Edie. We wouldn’t miss it.”
“Count us in, too,” Dana said. “Your barbecue is the best.”
“Charles mentioned watching the fireworks from his boat,” Maggie said, “but I’d be crazy to miss your delicious ribs. They’ve spoiled me for any others.”
“Stop now, you’ll give me a swelled head. I do have the racks marinating already in the secret rub. Must be half—no, probably a whole—cow in that cold box,” Edie confided with a quiet chuckle.
“She won’t even tell me the recipe,” Nora said.
“I’ll leave it to you in my will, honey.” Edie winked at her.
“It is a lot of work for you, Edie. I hope you have some helpers.” Maggie sounded concerned. Lucy knew she was thinking of Edie’s heart condition. Edie herself did tend to ignore it.
“Yes, I have helpers, no worries. And I’m stronger than I look. Although that old lady act does come in handy,” she added.
Nora smiled for a moment, then seemed distracted.
She didn’t look nearly as carefree and animated as she had that Sunday morning in the diner, when Lucy and her friends had seen her with Cassandra. But she didn’t look as depressed and vacant as she had at some points in the past two years. After Kyle died, for instance. Her state of mind seemed somewhere in between, Lucy gauged. Nora was dressed neatly, her hair pulled back in a clip, and she had put on a dab of makeup and some lipstick. Her eyes looked a bit glassy. The effect of some tranquilizer or mood stabilizer? Lucy thought she might ask Dana about that later.
“So, what are we knitting tonight? Any new stitches up your sleeve, Maggie?”
“Lucy was just showing us the tote she made. She still has to felt it and add handles. We’ve mainly been working on that project lately,” Maggie explained, pushing the knitted swath to the center of the table.
“That’s lovely.” Nora smoothed her hand over the piece, first smiling a bit, then looking thoughtful, Lucy noticed. Did the colors and even the mohair strands remind her of Cassandra’s flowing blue garments and shawl? Lucy would not have been surprised about that.
“So many textures and tones. Was that in the pattern?” Nora asked.
“I just wanted to use up some of my stash,” Lucy replied. “I didn’t make a dent.”
“Nice work,” Edie said, fingering the stitches. “Looks fast and easy. Maybe I can do something like that in yellow yarn . . . for a cute diaper bag.”
Leave it to Edie to translate every project into a baby gift, Lucy thought.
“It’s possible, I suppose.” Maggie glanced at Lucy, looking amused, too, obviously thinking the same thing.
“I could fill this room with tote bags and I wouldn’t make a dent in my stash. I’ve started hiding boxes of yarn in the attic, so Jack won’t get annoyed that I keep buying more,” Dana confessed.
“Breaking news . . . Dana Haeger confesses to secret vice.” Suzanne looked genuinely pleased at Dana’s admission.
“Come on, you already knew that.” Dana smiled and waved at her. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“No, it isn’t. And definitely not a vice,” Maggie clarified. “Though it does annoy our significant others. That’s a perk of living alone. I store my stash in the best closet in the house. I don’t have to hide it from anyone,” Maggie boasted. “Which reminds me, I did find a project that might also look interesting with different weights and textures of yarn mixed together. A summer shawl, open work. Not very difficult and should be very fast knitting. You can use a large needle and thicker yarn, if you choose.”
Maggie looked straight at Lucy, the Queen of No. 50 Needles. At least I’m the queen of something, Lucy thought, suddenly recalling the card Cassandra had assigned to her, the
Queen of Cups.
She glanced at the pattern and picture Maggie had passed around, then heard the timer go off in the stockroom kitchen and went back to check on dinner. The pasta dish she’d brought over seemed warm enough. In the midst of a taste test, she heard a knock at the front door.
Phoebe, coming in late. It was her day off and she’d gone to the beach with the guy she liked, the potter. But it was odd that she’d knock and not just walk in. Or use her own key.
Then Lucy heard unfamiliar voices and heavy steps on the shop’s wooden floor. She dropped the oven mitt and trotted out to see what was going on.
Detective Marisol Ruiz walked up to the table where the knitters were seated. A uniformed police officer followed.
“Mrs. Gordon, some new information has come to our attention in the investigation of the death of Cassandra Waters. It’s important that we talk to you. At the station. Can you come with us now, please?”
Nora looked terrified, her mouth hanging open as if she was about to scream, but no sound came out.
Edie stood up and blocked her niece from view with her big body. Like a female polar bear, protecting a cub.
“Are you arresting her? On what grounds? Do you have a warrant? You can’t just walk in here and drag her off. That’s not how it works. This is still a free country!” she shouted.
Detective Ruiz didn’t look the least bit fazed by Edie’s outburst. She stood perfectly straight and still, as if waiting for a huge wave to crash on the shoreline and then slide back into the sea.
“We’re not arresting you, Mrs. Gordon. But you are a person of interest in this investigation. It’s in your best interest to cooperate and come with me to the station for an interview. Otherwise, we may have to arrest you. For obstruction.”
A person of interest? Uh-oh, Lucy thought. The phrase was chilling and would set Edie off on another tirade.
Nora looked up at her aunt, her face like a little girl’s. She was twisting her hands nervously, uncontrollably. Lucy saw that her fingers were red and chapped.
“I’d better go with them, Aunt Edie. I don’t want to make a scene. I didn’t do anything. I loved Cassandra. I have nothing to hide.” Her chin trembled, her voice close to tears.
