Sins & Needles

by Reagan Davis

  I wrestle with the large, awkward cardboard poster while trying not to step on Sophie, who is napping in the sunny window. Connie is heading toward Knitorious, walking as fast as she can without breaking into a run.

  Something’s wrong. She’s walking like she’s on a mission. I lay the poster against the easel, sidestep the sleeping corgi, and squeeze out of the window. I rush to the door, open it, and with Sophie awake and now in tow, jog toward her, meeting her in front of the local deli.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Haven’t you heard the news, my dear?” Connie asks, hooking her arm through mine and leading me toward Knitorious.

  “What news?” I ask.

  “Look at any of Claire Rivera’s social media accounts,” she instructs.

  I pat my hip pockets. No phone. “My phone is in the store,” I say, as we arrive at Knitorious. I open the door and make a beeline for the counter with my gaze locked on my phone. I unlock my phone, open the first social media app I see, and navigate to Claire’s account. “Wow!” I gasp, bringing my hand to my mouth.

  “What is it?” Adam asks from the bulky-yarn section where he’s shelving Shark Attack: Between A Rock and A Shark Place, my dad’s latest book.

  “Claire Rivera is ending the Familia series,” I reply.

  Claire’s social media post is short and to the point. It reads, “The next installment in the Familia series will be the last. It’s time for me, Mama, and the rest of the Familia to turn the page and start a new chapter. Thank you, dear readers, for ten wonderful years!”

  “Why?” he asks, joining Connie and me at the counter. I hand him my phone so he can read Claire’s social media post. “That’s too bad,” Adam says. “I love that series. I’ve read all the books.”

  “Think about the publicity her announcement will bring to the Between the Covers Book Fair,” Connie adds. “People will flock here! They’ll want to see Claire and get her to sign their books before she retires.”

  “She didn’t say she’s retiring,” I point out.

  Yesterday when she left, Claire told me she was ready to write the next chapter of her life and wanted to end this chapter with no loose ends. This must be what she meant.

  We discuss the possibility that Claire’s post is a publicity stunt, or that she’s retiring the series in its current form but will continue it another way, like a spin-off series featuring another character, or a prequel series when my phone rings.

  “It’s Rick,” I tell Connie and Adam. Rick Ransan is a local property investor. He owns a few lakeside rental cottages, including the one Claire Rivera and Dina Langley rented for their stay in Harmony Lake.

  “Hello?”

  “Megan? It’s Rick. I’m trying to get in touch with Eric, but he’s not answering my calls or texts.” Besides a telltale echo that tells me Rick is calling from his car, there’s a sense of urgency in his voice.

  “He’s here,” I say. “Hang on, Rick, I’ll get him for you.”

  I hustle to the storage room where Eric is shelving books and yarn.

  “Rick is trying to reach you,” I tell him. “It sounds important.”

  Eric pats his pockets. “My phone must be in the car.”

  I hand him my phone, and he puts it on speaker. I close the storage room door.

  “Hey, Rick. It’s Eric. What’s up?”

  “There’s a problem at one of my rental cottages,” Rick explains. “Someone locked themselves in the den. Her friend says the woman in the den isn’t answering her phone and isn’t answering when she knocks on the door.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1?” Eric asks.

  “No,” Rick replies. “The woman locked in the den is Claire Rivera. She was very specific when she rented the cottage that privacy is her biggest priority. I don’t want to cause a big scene if she’s having a nap or something. I’m on my way there with the spare key. Maybe you could meet me there. You know, just in case? Her friend sounds worried.”

  Eric nods, even though Rick can’t see him.

  “I’m on my way. Tell Megan the address. She’ll text it to me in the car.”

  “If I get there before you, should I use my key to unlock the den door?” Rick asks.

  “You won’t get there before me,” Eric says with confidence, then hands me the phone.

  “Hang on, Rick.” I put the call on hold.

  “I’m sorry, babe, I have to deal with this. I’ll be back as soon as I can to help you finish getting the store ready for your dad’s book signing.” He runs a hand through his short, brown hair.

  “It’s fine,” I assure him. “Drive safe, please.” I stand on my tippy toes and kiss him. “Let me know how it goes.” I open the storage-room door.

  “It’s probably nothing,” he says, hugging me and kissing the top of my head. “I’ll be back before your dad and Zoe arrive. I want to make a good first impression.”

  “Stop worrying about that,” I say.

  Eric disappears out the back door, and I text him the address Rick gives me, then I look around, taking in the empty room. My eyes land on the business cards I stuck to the fridge yesterday. I take a photo of each card with my phone, then rip them up into tiny pieces, and drop the pieces in the recycling bin. I wouldn’t want to be the reason some crazed fan gets hold of Jules Janssen’s or Claire Rivera’s contact information.

  A wall of warmth hits me when I open the door to Artsy Tartsy. The bakery always smells like warm, doughy bread and comfort.

  “Hey, Megapop!” April greets me from behind the counter. “Are you here to pick up your strawberry dream cake?” she asks.

  I ordered a strawberry dream cake for dessert tonight. It’s one of my dad and Zoe’s favourite desserts.

  I nod. “Yes, but will it keep until tomorrow? Dad and Zoe called, and they won’t be here until tomorrow.”

  “It’ll be fine. Keep it in the fridge,” April replies. “Are Mitchell and Zoe all right?” There’s a hint of concern in her voice.

  “They’re fine,” I assure her. “My dad had a sudden surge of inspiration. They followed his muse off the highway to the nearest Wi-Fi signal so he could capture his ideas before they disappear. They don’t like to drive at night, so they’ll finish the drive to Harmony Lake tomorrow morning. Zoe said they found a hotel two hours south of here.”

  This is typical of my father. Adam likes to say Mitchell exists in his own time zone, MST: Mitchell Standard Time. He often shows up a day early or a day late. Time is something my father is not a slave to. Time and cell phones. He only turns on his phone when it’s convenient for him, and he never turns it on when he’s in the car because, according to him, some of his best ideas come to him when he’s driving, and a ringing cell phone would scare away his muse.

  “So, Eric gets to stay nervous about meeting your dad until tomorrow,” April points out.

  “I haven’t told him yet. He went to work. Something came up,” I respond. “I don’t know why he’s so anxious.” I shrug. “It must be because he’s a fan of the Shark Attack series,” I theorize.

  “I think it’s more than that, Megnolia,” April says, as she boxes my cake. “He wants your dad to like him because he loves you. As far as Eric is concerned, he’s meeting his future father-in-law. It wouldn’t surprise me if Eric asks Mitchell for your hand in marriage,” she teases. At least, I hope she’s teasing.

  “Whoa!” I raise my hands in a stop motion. “Settle down. I haven’t even wrapped my head around moving in together yet. Anyway, who asks the bride’s father for permission to propose nowadays? This isn’t a Jane Austen novel.” We laugh.

  Eric wants us to get married, and so do I. Someday. There’s no rush, and certainly no need for him to ask my father for permission. Some traditions are best left in the past.

  I spy some fresh eclairs in the display. Adam and Connie’s favourite. “Can you give me a few eclairs?” I ask, changing the subject. “Adam and Connie were amazing today. They helped me rearrange the store for Mitchell’s book signi
ng. The least I can do is thank them with treats.”

  While April boxes the eclairs, my phone rings.

  “Eric,” I tell her as I accept the call. “Hello?”

  “Hey, babe. I’m sorry I haven’t come back to help you at the store.”

  “It’s OK,” I assure him. “Police business is more important than a book signing.”

  Brief pause, followed by a sigh. “I don’t think I’ll make it home in time for dinner with your dad and Zoe. I’m sorry. Hopefully he understands.”

  “You won’t miss dinner,” I tell him. “They checked into a hotel for the night. They won’t get here until tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Another sigh, but this one is a sigh of relief. “This situation is more complicated than I expected. I’ll be here for a while.”

  “Did you get into the den?” I ask. “Is she OK?”

  “Yes, we got in, but she’s not OK.” Brief pause while Eric inhales a deep breath, then blows it out. “Claire Rivera is dead.”

  Chapter 6

  “Pardon?” I ask, hoping I misheard him.

  I didn’t mishear him. Claire Rivera is dead.

  “It’s not public knowledge yet,” Eric explains. “We still have to notify her family.”

  Another customer enters the bakery, so I wander to the back of the store.

  “I understand,” I whisper. “Does it look suspicious?”

  “No, but we have to treat it as suspicious until the coroner determines otherwise,” he reminds me. “I have to go. The coroner just got here. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  We end the call, and I stare at April as she serves her customer. She knows something is wrong just by looking at me. I don’t need to say anything. April is my best friend. She can gauge my mood from what I say, what I don’t say, my body language, the look on my face––heck, sometimes April knows how I feel before I know how I feel.

  I can tell she’s rushing through the transaction. She hands her customer their box of mini lemon pudding cakes, then hurries from behind the counter, beating her customer to the door. She holds the door for her customer, wishes them a good day, then locks it, and turns the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

  “What happened, Megabuck?”

  Still in shock, I sit at one of the small bistro tables. April sits across from me.

  “You can’t say anything,” I warn her. “It’s a secret.”

  “Of course,” April says. “You know I won’t tell anyone.”

  I look around, despite knowing we’re alone, except for Tamara, but she’s in the kitchen and can’t hear us. “Claire Rivera is dead,” I whisper.

  “What?” April asks, confused, like I broke into a foreign language mid-sentence.

  I shrug. “I know. Unbelievable. Eric is there. He sounded just as shocked as we are.”

  “How?” she asks.

  I shrug again. “I dunno, but he said it doesn’t look suspicious.”

  Starting from Rick’s urgent call to Eric about Claire locking herself in the den, I tell April everything.

  “Her assistant must be beside herself,” April says.

  “I hadn’t thought about Dina.” A wave of guilt washes over me.

  “Maybe you should go there and make sure she’s OK,” April suggests. “And I should go with you to make sure you’re OK.”

  “We can’t just show up at a crime scene,” I argue. “No matter how tempted we are.”

  April shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve done it before,” she points out.

  “Because I was the person who found the body,” I remind her. “This is different.” Despite this, I’m searching for a reason to go there. “Without Claire, Dina is all alone.” Found a reason!

  “And she’s not from here,” April adds. “She doesn’t know anyone in Harmony Lake, except for you.”

  “And she’s a guest in our town,” I continue. “We’re a tight-knit, caring community. It would be neighbourly to check on her.”

  “Yes, it would,” April agrees.

  I remember the business card Claire gave me with her and Dina’s contact information.

  “I think I might have her cell number.” I unlock my cell phone. “I can text her and offer to go there if she needs support,” I propose as a compromise.

  “Do it,” April urges.

  Me: Hi Dina. It’s Megan Martel. Are you OK? I hear there’s a commotion at your cottage.

  Within seconds, three dots appear on the screen, showing that Dina is typing a response. The three dots disappear, and my phone rings.

  “It’s her,” I hiss.

  “Answer it,” April prompts.

  I answer the call, and Dina is in hysterics. Her sobs make it difficult to understand what she’s saying. I’m able to determine she’s not allowed to go inside the cottage, but she’s not allowed to leave. The police asked her a lot of questions but wouldn’t answer the questions she asked them. Claire’s family wants to talk to her, but the police asked her not to talk to them yet. They won’t let her see Claire, and the police said she needs to find somewhere else to stay tonight.

  “Oh, Dina, I’m so sorry,” I say. My heart breaks for her. I know how scary it is to be at a death scene. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Ca-an you co-me he-re? Puh-lees? I do-n’t kn-ow a-ny-one.” She punctuates each syllable with the sharp intake of breath that accompanies hysterical sobbing.

  “Of course,” I say. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I end the call, and April is already behind the counter boxing cookies.

  “For the first responders,” she explains. “And I’ll bring a case of water too.”

  “I’ll ask Connie to watch the store, and look after Sophie,” I say. “Pick you up in ten minutes?”

  My compact SUV is a tight fit as I steer it along the long, winding, gravel driveway at the cottage. The emergency vehicles parked along the edges make the already narrow driveway even narrower. It’s like driving through an obstacle course. About halfway up, I parallel park between two police cruisers, and we walk the rest of the way. April carries the cookies, and I carry the case of water.

  If, like Rick said, privacy was Claire’s priority, she chose the right cottage. We can’t even see the cottage from where we parked. Thickets of century-old trees line both sides of the driveway and cottage, and the driveway is disguised as an unassumed road. If I didn’t have GPS, I doubt I would’ve found the place.

  At the top of the driveway, a uniformed officer stands guard.

  “Uh-oh,” April mutters. “Will he let us pass?”

  “I think so,” I reply. “I know him. He has a crush on Hannah. You offer cookies, I’ll try to get us past him.”

  She nods in acknowledgement.

  “Hi, Lucas,” I say as we approach the young officer.

  “Hi, Megan.” He smiles. “That looks heavy. Let me help you.” He jogs over and relieves me of the case of water.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling. “We brought them for you and the other responders. If you have to stay at your post, I can deliver them,” I offer.

  “Cookie?” April smiles and opens the confectionery box.

  Lucas takes a shortbread cookie and tells me he’ll call someone to pick up the case of water because he has to stay at his post. I take a few bottles out of the case and thank him. April and I continue walking; he doesn’t stop us.

  “Megan!” Dina is waving her hand above her head and running toward us. “It’s so nice to see a familiar face.” She throws herself into my arms.

  We sway and I rub circles in her back while Dina squeezes me like a lifebuoy and cries. Meanwhile, April reaches into my tote bag and finds the portable tissue case. When I pull away from Dina, I introduce her to April. I hand Dina a bottle of water, and April offers her a tissue.

  Dina leads us to the Muskoka chairs that surround the fire pit beside the cottage. She sniffles and places her hand over mine. The skin around her red, swollen eyes is puffy and blotchy.

&nbs
p; “Claire is dead,” she says.

  “I’m sorry,” I respond, not letting on that I already know.

  “She was my best friend.” Dina breaks into a loud sob as she finishes her sentence.

  This isn’t what Claire said. I’m sure she said Dina was just her assistant, and they were barely friends. Maybe Claire misled me about their relationship to protect her privacy. When Claire gave me her business card, she said she keeps her professional and private lives separate. And Rick mentioned that privacy was her biggest priority when choosing rental accommodation.

  I suppose it’s possible Dina’s interpretation of their relationship differs from Claire’s. Regardless of how close their friendship was, they spent a lot of time together, even staying in the same cottage.

  “I’m so happy you’re here,” Dina says when she composes herself. “Thank you both for coming.” She looks at April, then back to me. “How did you get my number?” she asks.

  “Claire gave me her card,” I explain. “It has contact information for both of you.”

  She nods. “I’m glad she did.”

  An officer comes over and asks Dina if he can speak with her. She excuses herself, takes a couple of tissues for the road, and steps away with him.

  “I heard you were here!” Eric says, walking toward us. He bends down and kisses the top of my head. “Why are you here?” he rubs my shoulders.

  “Dina asked me to come,” I reply.

  “Why?” he asks, looking confused.

  I shrug. “I’m the only person she knows in Harmony Lake, and it’s scary to be at a crime scene alone. Also, I brought you a couple of sandwiches since you’re working late. They’re in my car.”

  April offers Eric a cookie, and he chooses oatmeal chocolate chip––I knew he would––and I give him a bottle of water. His phone dings.

  “Claire’s agent is here,” he says. “I need to talk to him. I’ll see you later.”

  April gives him the box of cookies and instructs him to share them with his colleagues.

  “Oooh, who’s the mysterious-looking, handsome guy?” April asks, using her chin to point behind me.