The Postman Always Purls Twice

by Anne Canadeo

  “That’s nice of you,” Lucy said. “I’ll have you all over next week. I should have the house back in order by then,” she added, rolling her eyes. “You’d think the police searched our place.”

  Maggie smiled. “Funny, but . . . don’t say that too loud.”

  She hefted the window boxes up to the wire holders on the porch rail and fit them in. She stood back admiring her handiwork. Lucy did, too.

  “There . . . what do you think?”

  “Very nice. A good job and it isn’t even nine.”

  “Thanks. On to the rest of my day. Talk to you later.”

  The pansies did look pretty and brightened up the shop, Lucy thought as she headed down the path. I should get some, too.

  Maggie had a way of improving everyplace she passed through. It was a gift, Lucy thought, one she admired. She waved briefly to her as she headed home down Main Street.

  Maggie didn’t give much thought to Jennifer Todd’s visit with the Essex County PD. She expected to hear the basic details on the TV news . . . and any really interesting tidbits from Dana, maybe at the knitting meeting Thursday night.

  The shop wasn’t busy in the morning but picked up around noon.

  Phoebe had classes all day and Maggie was left to fend for herself, scurrying from one side of the store to the other helping customers.

  Quite a few of the customers asked her about the movie, what it was like to have all the movie stars there, and of course there was gossip and speculation about all the dreadful events of the past week. Maggie tried to stay neutral, not offering an opinion one way or the other. Talking to customers was different from talking to good friends, she had long ago discovered. Best to stay away from religion, politics, and gossip.

  She was sorting out her sales for the day, trying to keep the inventory accurate, when two men walked into the shop. She immediately sensed they were detectives, and may have even recognized them from the beach house or news on TV.

  “Mrs. Messina? I’m Detective Howard Craft, with the Essex County PD, and this is my partner, Detective Joe Mazursky.” The officers both showed her their badges.

  She felt a little nervous, but smiled. “Yes, what can I do for you, Detectives?”

  “We need to ask you a few questions regarding Jennifer Todd. This has nothing to do with you personally or your store,” he added quickly. “We’re just looking for some information.”

  Maggie had heard those assurances before. But in this case, she felt she had to trust his promise. “I’m happy to help if I can.”

  He didn’t quite smile, but she could see his expression relax a bit, as he realized he wasn’t going to have to pressure her.

  “Good . . .” He took out a pad and checked a handwritten note. “Did Ms. Todd visit the shop at all between last Thursday night, when the film crew was here, and Sunday, when they returned?”

  Maggie thought a moment. “Yes . . . she did. She stopped by on Saturday morning. On her way to Boston to see her husband in the hospital. He was about to be transferred to Mass General.”

  The detective made a note but didn’t react.

  “Can you tell me exactly what transpired?”

  Maggie was starting to feel nervous; her heartbeat quickened. This seemed . . . serious. She was afraid she would say the wrong thing and get Jennifer in trouble. But all she could do was tell the truth. Though in her experience, that was not always a foolproof protection, even for an innocent person.

  “Let’s see . . . She was being driven in a car by a security guard. I think he stood outside of the car, watching the street. She’s always surrounded by fans,” Maggie added.

  “Yes, go on,” Detective Craft said.

  “I was outside, working on the flower beds. I asked about her husband,” Maggie recalled. “And we talked about gardening a little, too. Oh . . . I don’t know if this is important. She knew a poem about daffodils by heart. She recited it.” Maggie felt silly adding that detail, but he’d said to tell him everything.

  He made a note. “All right. Then what?” He glanced at his partner; they seemed to be waiting for her to say . . . something. Maggie wasn’t sure what.

  “Let me see . . .” She felt nervous and her mind went blank for a moment. “She said she thought she had left her knitting here. She had come with her assistant on Monday night,” Maggie explained, “to get more information for her role in the movie. She was playing the owner of a knitting shop.”

  “Yes, we know. Go on,” he prodded her.

  “My knitting group was here that night and we were starting a project. Jennifer started it, too. She liked to knit. I gave her the yarn and pattern in a little recycle-type tote I’ve had made up for my shop. It’s black and it has the store name and logo on it. She told me that she’d had it with her Thursday night, on the movie set, but couldn’t find it. She thought she’d left it here.”

  He nodded, clearly interested in this part of the long, rambling story.

  “What happened next, Mrs. Messina?” his partner leaned forward and asked.

  “The shop was messed up a bit after the police searched it Thursday night. I’d expected that,” Maggie added, not meaning to complain. “On Friday, I’d found a knitting bag with the type of yarn I’d given Jennifer and the pattern. I wasn’t sure who it belonged to and I put it under the counter.” She stepped back and pointed. “Right here.”

  The detectives looked at each other. “All right, go on.”

  “I thought it might be hers, so we went inside to look. She said it was and she was happy. Her husband was pretty much unresponsive and she was going to sit with him all day. She wanted something to do to distract her, calm her down.”

  “Yes, we understand,” Detective Mazursky said quickly.

  “Did you look inside the bag yourself and see the contents? The entire contents?” Detective Craft repeated.

  “Yes, I did. I even put my hand in to check for any personal belongings—an eyeglass case or something that could identify the owner. There wasn’t much to see. Just a few skeins of yarn that I’d given her. There was also a set of needles with a few rows done. Oh, and the pattern sheet. Jennifer recognized that it was all hers,” she added, not sure what they were getting at with all these questions.

  “And you were sure, too?” Detective Mazursky asked.

  “Yes, absolutely.” Maggie met his glance.

  “All right. What happened after that?” Detective Craft asked her.

  “We said good-bye and she left.”

  Maggie felt confused. She squinted at them but knew they wouldn’t tell why they were asking these questions. “Is there anything else?” she asked them.

  Craft shook his head and put the pad back into his pocket. “That’s it for now. Would you be willing to sign a statement?”

  A signed statement that might be used in court, Maggie realized. They were asking if she was willing to be witness in the case. But she wasn’t sure if this strange bit of information would be used to help Jennifer Todd or to hurt her.

  Maggie let out a breath. “Yes, I would. It’s the truth. That’s all I can say,” she added with a shrug.

  The detectives glanced at each other, then looked back at her. They seemed a bit deflated. Detective Craft said, “Thank you for your help, we’ll be in touch.’

  Maggie had her cell phone in hand before the duo closed the shop door behind them. She quickly dialed Dana; if anyone would know why the police were interested in Jennifer Todd’s knitting projects, she would.

  Luckily, Dana picked up quickly. “Hi, what’s up? I’m between patients, but I can talk for a minute.”

  Maggie quickly explained that the police had just came by the shop and asked her questions about Jennifer, about any visits she’d made there and what happened.

  “I told them she came on Saturday morning, looking for the Black Sheep Knitting tote I’d given her. She told me that she’d left it here Thursday night, in all the confusion when Nick fell ill.”

  “Interesting,” Dana s
aid. “I was chatting with Jack today. When I heard that Jennifer Todd was being questioned, I couldn’t help calling him,” she admitted.

  Lucky girl, to have a husband willing to divulge the nitty-gritty. But Jack was not on the police force anymore. It was different for him.

  “Did he know why the police took Jennifer in? They don’t suspect her of anything . . . do they?”

  “I think they do. It seems they’re trying to connect her to Nick’s poisoning. Isn’t that awful? It’s the plastic bottle they found. There were fibers, stuck to the glue where the label had been torn off. The forensics lab has traced the fibers to the yarn that you gave her. So they’re theorizing she put the poison in the bottle and picked it up after he collapsed, then hid it in the knitting bag before she was able to dump it at the park on the harbor. The one right across from the Lord Charles Inn, which makes it a likely place, I guess.”

  Maggie felt a jolt of shock. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “But she must have told the police she’d left the bag here and didn’t retrieve it until Saturday morning. All the yarn I gave her was in there. I had to look through it and I noticed. So that scenario doesn’t work out with their timing. They found the bottle in a collection of trash from Friday, didn’t they?”

  “That’s right. It doesn’t fit.” Dana was silent a moment. “Jack wasn’t really supposed to tell me this but . . . there was also some other physical evidence on the bottle. A microscopic bloodstain. It might not hold up in court. But it’s enough for the police to pin a suspect and build a case from there. Investigators are so desperate now, they’re trying to see if they can make a match to anyone involved. DNA tests haven’t come back yet, but they do know the blood type.”

  Maggie was afraid to ask the next question. But she did anyway. “Did it match Jennifer’s blood type?”

  “Yes, it does. But it’s not a rare type, so it doesn’t prove anything definitely.”

  “But it would sound bad in court,” Maggie mused.

  “Yes, it would, and will sound bad if the newspapers get hold of the information. But it’s privy to the investigation right now. A DNA match would be conclusive. Jack said Jennifer was already lawyered up and advised not to give a DNA sample. Legally, she doesn’t have to.”

  Maggie had heard that. But reluctance to cooperate tended to cast a shadow of guilt. Then again, many were known to cooperate and incriminate themselves. There were risks either way.

  “I guess her lawyer doesn’t want to dignify the whole thing,” said Dana. “And see the newspapers pounce all over it.”

  “I can just hear the TV commentators now,” Maggie said.

  “I think you helped her, Maggie. You backed up her claim.”

  “I just told the truth. But I really don’t believe she’s involved in any of this . . . do you?”

  Dana didn’t answer right away. “There was something else. I was going to tell everyone tomorrow night, but you might as well know now. They found some text messages on Heath’s phone and emails in his computer. Between him and Jen. Of an intimate nature, you’d have to say.”

  “They were having an affair?” Maggie said. “I know they dated when they were young, but I thought she and Nick had a good marriage.”

  “The messages weren’t that recent. Jennifer didn’t deny it. But said it had been over for a while. Before they started the movie. She told the police that she and her husband had hit a rough spot in their relationship and she’d turned to Heath for sympathy. He’d always been such a good friend. But she was sorry afterward and had ended it.”

  Maggie’s head was reeling with this last disclosure. She did have a certain image of Jennifer Todd as a “nice” person, not the type to fool around on her husband. But it wasn’t fair to judge anyone about such matters.

  “I guess in the eyes of the investigators, that ties her to Heath’s murder, too, doesn’t it?” said Maggie.

  “Yes, it does. But they aren’t speculating how. Not openly.”

  “I did see some tension between Jennifer and Nick. He wasn’t that . . . warm to her, somehow. Do you know what I mean, Dana?”

  “I do. I don’t think it was easy to combine two high-powered careers and also direct, star in, and produce a movie together. The pressure would wear on anyone’s relationship.” Dana paused. “There’s my patient. I have to run.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  By tomorrow night’s knitting meeting, Dana would surely have more juicy details to share. But no more evidence mounting up against Jennifer Todd, Maggie hoped. She didn’t know why. She just didn’t feel that Jennifer was responsible for any of this. Though she had no idea who might be.

  Maggie wished she could talk to Charles about it. But she wouldn’t be able to disclose all the specifics Dana had told her.

  She hated keeping secrets. But she didn’t want to get Dana and Jack in trouble.

  She’d just have to wait. Maybe the case would be solved by Saturday when she met Charles for dinner. He’d be free then to share all the details without compromising his ethics. But before the case was solved, she really couldn’t put him in that position.

  Although Maggie expected Charles to call her Wednesday night, she didn’t expect to find him at her front door. It was half past seven and she was just about to have dinner.

  “Mind if I come in?” he asked politely.

  “Not at all. I was just warming up some leftovers. There’s plenty. Would you like a bite?”

  “Knowing your cooking, that’s very tempting. But I have to get back to the station. I just wanted to say hello. I know you had a visit from the police today. I was just wondering how that went. Are you okay?”

  He followed her into the living room and they sat down on opposite ends of the sofa.

  “It was fine. The questions they asked me seemed odd. But . . .” She shrugged. She didn’t want to add that Dana had told her what the police were really asking about. “I told them the truth. Everything I could remember. What else could I say?”

  Charles nodded. “I’m sure you did.”

  She met his glance, confused about what he was getting at. Or why he’d really come. “Aren’t you able to read accounts of people who are interviewed . . . like me? I thought it was one big case, all the information shared.”

  “I did read the report of your interview.”

  “And?”

  “Well . . . I’m wondering if you’re really sure it was her bag. I think you told Craft that you weren’t sure who had left the bag.”

  “I did say that. I wasn’t sure at first. But when I took a better look with Jen, she saw a note I’d made on her pattern sheet. That’s how we knew it was definitely hers.”

  “Oh . . . that wasn’t in the report.”

  “I just remembered. They only asked if I was sure, and I said that I had been very sure it was hers . . . and that there was nothing else in it besides the yarn, pattern, and knitting needles,” she added. But quickly regretted that.

  His gaze narrowed. He was sharp; no wonder he was a detective. “Nothing else as in . . . what?’

  Maggie shrugged again, trying to act as if she didn’t know what he was getting at. “They asked me about the contents. It seemed important to them. I told them I’d put my hand in to feel for any personal belongings that could identify the owner. That’s all I meant.”

  Well . . . that was a lie. But she couldn’t help it, she decided.

  He sighed and leaned forward, then glanced at his watch.

  “All right, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I was concerned about you, getting a visit like that. I wanted to call you to give you a heads-up, but—”

  “—you weren’t allowed,” she finished for him. “I know that. It’s all right. I was glad to help.”

  It was nice to know he’d been worried about her.

  “You did help,” he assured her. “But I just need to say one thing. I hope you don’t take offense.”

  She braced herself, trying to look as if sh
e was totally open to anything he might say . . . though she was suddenly deeply worried.

  “Go ahead. I won’t take offense,” she promised.

  “We know things that you don’t. That’s all I can say. We see the players in a much different light. I know Jennifer Todd is a very charming woman. Absolutely charismatic. She could charm a dog off a meat wagon,” he said bluntly. “But she’s an actress. An award-winning, professional actress. She’s not your friend, Maggie. You’ll never hear from her, or see her, again, once she leaves town.”

  Maggie felt stung. “Are you trying to say that I’m . . . starstruck? That I’m trying to protect her?”

  Charles looked immediately sorry for being so forthcoming. “I don’t think that you’re intentionally holding back any information. But I’m afraid if you did know something, you might not come forward with it. I’m sorry, I have to be honest with you. I know you have an interest in the investigation—you and your friends. But it does no good to meddle and poke around and try to figure things out, as if this was a parlor game. It’s practically a double homicide,” he said, his voice rising a notch. “Trying to find out details of the case and interfering with the investigation doesn’t help us. It can only help the person who is really guilty. Whoever that may be,” he added quickly.

  Maggie sat for a moment, considering his words.

  “I’m sorry, Charles. I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now. I certainly don’t want to add to that. The problem is, I’m just so curious about all this. It’s only natural for me. Everyone in town is talking about it. But I hate to feel a certain tension when we’re together, as if you’re afraid I’m going to pressure you to tell me things you can’t say . . . and then I’m all self-conscious and tiptoeing around it. And then there’s a huge elephant in the room,” she concluded, her tone a bit more emotional than she’d hoped it would sound. “A poisoned elephant,” she added.

  Charles sat back, looking surprised at her reaction. He frowned but didn’t say anything.

  Were they having their first fight? Seemed so.

  “Yes, there is some tension about my work. I noticed that, too,” he said quietly. He glanced up at her, then looked down again.