by Anne Canadeo
“It sounds real bad for Rebecca when you tell it that way, Dana.” Suzanne seemed genuinely disturbed. “You sound as if you think the poor girl is guilty.”
“I didn’t say that. But let’s try to be a tiny bit objective. Just look at the facts. Let’s say, just for argument’s sake, he did fake his death and she didn’t know he was alive until he got in touch the other day. Now Rebecca is the only one who does know he’s alive and knows where he is. And maybe she’s gotten used to her new net worth of a few million dollars and doesn’t like the idea of running off to Thailand or Dubai and living life on the lam.”
“Dana, really. I’ve known Rebecca since she was a little girl. She’s just not capable of such a thing,” Maggie protested, sounding truly distressed.
Dana offered a small smile and shook her head. “We’d all like to think that we know what people are capable of. But the truth is, no matter how people act in public, we know so little about them. About what’s going on under the surface. Case in point: Jeremy,” she reminded them.
“I believe Rebecca,” Lucy said, jumping in. “I really do. It’s just unfortunate that Jeremy never told her what, or whom, he was running from.”
“All we know for sure is that Jeremy set fire to the lab to escape some threat by playing dead,” Suzanne reminded them. “Maybe he had gambling debts or some horrendous secret he was running from.”
“That might be true,” Lucy agreed. “But I think it had to do with his work, his research. It keeps going back to that, don’t you think?”
“I agree with Lucy,” Maggie said firmly. “I think it’s about this mysterious glue formula. Maybe he was trying to steal the invention and run away with it. It sounds like it was all his own work. Maybe he believed he had a right to keep it and didn’t care about saving the family company.”
“Employees doing creative work or research usually have to sign a disclaimer form, saying that everything they create or discover is the intellectual property of the company,” Lucy pointed out. “Do you think his father made him sign something like that?”
“His father sounds pretty hard-nosed and there was a lot of tension between them. Maybe they argued about the formula, whether it belonged to Jeremy or the company?” Maggie suggested.
“His father might have argued about this with Lewis Atkins, too,” Dana said.
“But from what you overheard at the service, Maggie, his sister said Jeremy’s research was on record. All they had to do was put the pieces together again,” Lucy recalled.
“Unless Jeremy kept a lot in his head and never documented the complete formula,” Maggie pointed out. “Remember those little scraps of paper Nora mentioned? It sounds like his formula was so sensitive and unique that one tiny missing ingredient would render it useless.”
“No one’s ever said if the formula was protected by a patent. But if it was so radical and valuable, it must be, right?” Lucy said. “I wonder if there’s some way to look that up.”
“There must be. Let me ask Jack about it,” Dana said. “He’s my go-to guy for legal research.”
Phoebe had left the table to make more tea but now returned with both the teapot and a platter of fortune cookies that had come with the takeout. “Hey, we forgot the most important part of the meal. I’m going to spin it and everybody take one.”
“Do you have to spin it?” Maggie watched the plate go round, bouncing on the tabletop. “That’s one of my favorite platters.”
“That’s part of the fun, Mag. It’s like a wheel of fortune or something,” Phoebe explained.
Finally the plate stopped. “Okay, everyone take a cookie,” Phoebe instructed. “Let’s open them at the same time.”
Lucy felt a little silly, as did the rest of her friends, she noticed, but they all went along with Phoebe’s instructions. The little exercise lightened the mood a bit.
They all tore open the cellophane wrappers at once, creating a small but irritating racket. Then they crunched open the cookies and read their fortunes.
“‘Your hard work will be recognized and suitably rewarded,’” Suzanne read. “Great. Maybe I’ll sell a house this week. I’d settle for a rental,” she added.
“‘The greatest wisdom is kindness,’” Maggie read. “That’s not really a fortune. But it is true,” she conceded.
“‘Beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing,’” Dana read. She laughed out loud. “Well, one has just revealed himself. If you consider Jeremy in the wolf category.”
Lucy’s was short and to the point. “‘Trust your intuition.’ Okay, I can go with that.”
“Wait, mine’s the best,” Phoebe announced. She cleared her throat, then read it aloud. “‘If love is the glue that holds the world together, guilt must be the staples.’”
Dana laughed. “That is a good one. I might use that in my practice sometime.”
“It does ring true, doesn’t it?” Lucy said.
“It’s sort of uncanny if you ask me, with all this talk tonight about Jeremy’s glue formula. A message from the fortune cookie gods that we’re on the right track?” Maggie said playfully.
“So what are we saying here?” Phoebe asked. “Someone was after the glue formula and killed Jeremy in order to get it? Is that too obvious?”
“Not at all. I think that’s a strong possibility. Even more likely than Rebecca wanting to hang on to the money she inherited,” Dana conceded. “I’m sure the police must be following that line of reasoning, too.”
“Too bad Rebecca can’t tell us more about his work,” Lucy mused. “That might help us figure out who was after him.”
“There was one woman in his life who did understand,” Maggie reminded them. “Who worked with him side by side in his lab. Until very recently.”
“In his lab . . . and in his bed, if you believe what you hear at funerals,” Dana quipped.
“I usually do,” Maggie replied. “It would be fun to ask Erica Ferris a few questions. She could really shed some light.”
Suzanne was paging through a knitting magazine and suddenly looked up at Maggie. “Why would she talk to us? She doesn’t even know us.”
“That’s true, but . . . leave it to me. I’ll figure something out,” Maggie promised.
Lucy looked over at her, wondering what she had up her hand-knit sleeve. But she had long ago learned to never underestimate the owner of the Black Sheep Knitting Shop.
Dana gave Maggie a look, too. “Do you really want to get involved in this, Maggie? The police are on the job, in force. I don’t think they really need our help.”
“I’m not so sure about that. And I’m not doing it to help the police. I’m doing it to help Nora and Rebecca. You urged her to find a lawyer. So you obviously agree that they need some advocates?” Maggie asked.
Dana gave her a look. But didn’t answer.
“I want to help them, too, if I can,” Lucy said.
“Me, too,” Suzanne agreed.
“Me, three,” Phoebe echoed.
“I’m just concerned. Let’s not get carried away and get ourselves in trouble again. Agreed?” Dana looked around at the circle of friends.
They all nodded solemnly. But Lucy thought she caught Maggie winking at her.
Chapter Eight
Maggie arrived at the shop the next morning and stood for a few moments on the front porch, thinking about cold-weather pansies. Shouldn’t they be in the nursery soon? She was eager to brighten up the storefront with some flowers.
The new window display was attractive, she decided. The amigurumi birds were cute and the knitting tote looked bountiful. She wasn’t sure if it had attracted any new customers, though.
But staring at it suddenly gave her an idea of how she might lure Jeremy’s former flame and lab partner over for a chat. A long shot, but worth a try, she decided.
As usual, she’d arrived well before nine, and left the front door sign flipped to the closed position, SORRY WE MISSED YOU! WE’RE RESTING OUR NEEDLES RIGHT NOW.
She liked
time alone in the morning to survey her cozy kingdom. She put on a pot of coffee and looked over the displays, making sure the stock was arranged to its best advantage. She turned to the counter next. A respectable pile of forms filled the basket by the register. Several people had thrown their names in to win the knitting tote in the window. She’d planned to keep it out there a while longer before announcing the winner.
But there would be two raffle baskets now. Fair or not, she already knew who the winner of the one in the window would be.
With the shop arranged to her standards, Maggie sat down with her coffee cup and the phone receiver, preparing for her performance.
She was glad Phoebe was not working this morning. It was best to do things like this alone, without answering a million questions. An audience would have made her too self-conscious.
She had already looked up At-Las Technologies online the night before and jotted down the phone number. She’d also Googled Erica Ferris, but didn’t find out much more than she already knew. Erica did have a PhD after her name and had published many scientific articles. Most had to do with something called polymers. Maggie had Googled Jeremy, too, and found even more credits for articles on his pages.
Maggie dialed the number and was soon connected to Erica. “Dr. Ferris?” she asked boldly. “This is Maggie Messina. I’m calling from the Black Sheep Knitting Shop.”
“Are you selling something? I’m not interested . . . How do you people get office phone numbers anyway? Isn’t there some sort of law—”
“Please don’t hang up. I’m not a salesperson. This is important.” Maggie spoke quickly, hoping to catch her attention. “You’ve won a prize. A Black Sheep ‘You Can Knit! Starter Kit’—a complete set of needles, a bag, how-to books, and enough high-quality yarn to complete two beginner patterns. And three free knitting lessons,” she said quickly.
The scientist did not answer for a long moment. Now she really has hung up, Maggie thought.
“There must be some mistake. I never entered any contest at a knitting shop. You must have the wrong number.”
“I don’t. I’m sure of it,” Maggie insisted. “Maybe someone entered your name without your knowing. Don’t you know anyone who knits?”
She was going out on a limb here. But everyone knows someone who knits . . . don’t they?
“My sister-in-law, Janet. This must be her idea of a joke.”
“Maybe Janet wants some company,” Maggie suggested. “Or maybe she wants the set. I think we allowed only one entry per person.”
There had not been any such rule. That last line had been truly inspired.
“But I’m not—”
“I can drop it off at your office, or your home,” Maggie rolled on. “Or you could come to the shop and pick it up anytime. It’s worth at least . . . two hundred dollars,” Maggie added, exaggerating a bit. “If you don’t want to give it to Janet, you could sell it on eBay, for goodness’ sake.”
Erica sighed. “All right . . . what time do you close tonight? I work pretty late.”
“We’re open tonight until . . . nine. At least. Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you,” Maggie said.
Once she hung up, she wondered if it was wise to talk to Erica alone in the shop. Maggie somehow doubted Jeremy had been murdered by his old flame. But it wasn’t completely out of the question. The woman could be dangerous.
Phoebe was working in the afternoon, but would not even be in her apartment upstairs in the evening. Her boyfriend Josh’s band was performing at a bar in Rockport and Phoebe was needed to lead the cheering section, move equipment, and sell their self-published CDs. She would complain endlessly about her many duties as the unofficial manager of the Babies, but everyone knew she actually loved it.
Unless she called a friend to come over and act the part of a customer, Maggie would definitely be totally alone tonight for Erica’s visit. If Erica Ferris had somehow found out Jeremy was still alive after the fire, she had good reason to confront him.
His siblings believed she still loved him and had never gotten over the breakup. What if she’d tried to convince him to take her with him, instead of Rebecca? When he’d refused—rejecting her for the second time—had she lost control?
Would a chemist be more likely to kill someone in a neater, more clinical fashion than strangulation with a knitted scarf? Or was that a cliché? Scientists were not immune to passionate, even dangerous liaisons. Even Albert Einstein had his torrid love affairs.
But Maggie eventually decided she would take her chances and deal with Erica on her own. If Lucy or Dana hung around in the knitting nook, pretending to be customers, Erica might feel self-conscious talking freely.
From their brief conversation, there was no doubt the young woman was very discerning. Not the type to let her guard down easily. But somehow, Maggie thought she could get Erica talking about Jeremy. He was one of her favorite subjects, wasn’t he? And from there, the work they did together and the formula she’d taken part in developing with him.
Those must have been special, meaningful days for her, working side by side on an exciting project with the man she loved. She was probably proud of that time in her life.
Maggie left the knitting tote, along with the sign about the raffle, sitting in the middle of the front window, so it would all look very legitimate and convincing.
Not that it was a subterfuge . . . entirely, she reminded herself. Though this was costing her a few dollars and she would have to replace the prize tomorrow and eventually give it away to one of her real customers.
She hoped the effort was worth it.
As Maggie expected, the shop was empty when Erica finally walked in. It was nearly eight o’clock. But the sign that read COME ON IN, WE’RE STILL HERE STITCHING hung from the door and all the lights were on.
Maggie sat behind the counter, working on her bookkeeping.
She recognized the stunning brunette the moment Erica stepped through the door. She wore a red flair coat, black leather boots, and smooth kid gloves.
Maggie had to remind herself that the young woman did not remember her from the funeral. Or know that she had any connection to Jeremy and his family.
“You must be Maggie?” Erica approached her. She looked tired and annoyed to have to stop on her way home from work.
“That’s me. Can I help you?”
“I’m Dr. Ferris. We spoke this morning. About the mysterious raffle prize?” Erica spoke to her as if she were senile. For goodness’ sake, she wasn’t that old.
“Oh, yes . . . of course. I lost track. I was just doing some bookkeeping.” Maggie slipped off her reading glasses but didn’t hurry to come out from behind the counter. “So, you’ve come for your prize. I’m glad. You might like it more than you think. Have you ever tried any knitting?”
Erica gave her another look. “It’s one of those pastimes I’m saving for my golden years. Like bridge or Sudoku.”
Maggie knew plenty of young people who enjoyed bridge and Sudoku. But she understood Erica’s gibe.
“Well, maybe you’ll consider it. You’ve won everything you need to get you started and three free lessons. You may not want to pass along this bounty after all.”
“Can you get the prize? It’s been a long day,” Erica said and glanced at her watch.
Maggie ambled over to the window and moved the backdrop for her arrangement.
“By the way, can I see my entry form?”
Maggie turned. “Entry form? Oh, you mean the slip of paper I pulled. It’s around somewhere,” she lied. “Do you want it back for your taxes or something?”
She hadn’t the slightest idea if Erica needed it for her tax records or not. But she didn’t know what else to say.
“I just wanted to see the handwriting. I still don’t know who entered my name,” Erica replied in a flat, logical tone. She sighed and flipped her silky hair off her shoulder.
Maggie turned back to the window display. “This will take just a minute. I’ve clamped it down wit
h some masking tape, so it wouldn’t spill out . . .”
“Right. No rush. Anytime this week would be fine,” Erica mumbled under her breath. Then there was another pained sigh.
While Maggie hated to make snap judgments about people, the young woman’s breathtaking good looks were totally at odds with her social skills. In short, she seemed to have an awful personality and the derisive comments of Jeremy’s siblings rang true. She suddenly recalled their nickname for her. Icky, wasn’t it?
“Here we go. Sorry that took a while.” Maggie finally produced the tote. “Just one more thing . . . the free patterns and certificate for the lessons. I have to fill in your name.” Still carrying the tote, Maggie ran back to the counter. She pulled out her gift certificate book and flipped the pages.
“You know, you look awfully familiar. I’ve been trying to figure out where I’ve seen you. Do you attend the First Congregational?” Maggie named the church she’d attended for the past twenty or so years. She knew very well Erica wasn’t a member. But I have to start somewhere, she thought.
Erica shook her head. “I don’t belong to a church. Sorry.”
“No apology necessary. To each his own. I’m just thinking, it was some sort of service, I’m almost sure . . .” She shook her head, writing out the certificates. She could have put all three lessons on one ticket, but decided to drag it out.
“I remember now. Weren’t you at Jeremy Lassiter’s memorial service? Last Friday?”
Erica had been peering over the edge of the counter, obviously wondering why Maggie was taking so long. She lifted her pointy chin and stared at Maggie curiously.
“Yes, I was there.”
Maggie sighed. “What a tragedy. Such a young man. So brilliant. Did you know him well?”
“Yes, I did. Did you?”
“Not very well, no . . . But I’m friends of the family,” she fudged. His wife’s family, she should have said. “How did you know him? Oh, right . . . you work for At-Las Technologies. Did you two work together?”
