by Anne Canadeo
Maggie had finished her salad and also had her knitting out, working on a plum-colored square that was about halfway completed. Her needles moved swiftly, like a knife cutting through butter, Lucy thought. Maggie could easily do an entire blanket on her own, but it was more fun to pool their work together.
“She did insulate him from the usual worries married couples share,” Dana agreed. “She did create an ideal little world for them.”
Suzanne bit her lip. “It was sweet. I don’t think she told him about that nasty Mike. No, I don’t think he knows.”
“We’re sort of stuck,” Maggie decided. “We have to assume he doesn’t know. And we can’t tell him. He’s had enough shock these last two weeks. He doesn’t need this bag of trash tossed on top, tarnishing his good memories.”
“I agree.” Suzanne picked out a juicy calamata olive from the leftovers on her plate and popped it in her mouth. “How much can the poor guy take? But we should tell him something. I mean, he really must get the police involved again.”
“Yes, he should go back to the police,” Dana agreed. “We can tell him that we’ve been thinking about the person who came to the door that night, and about the wineglasses, and it all seemed more suspicious to us. Did the police really look into the possibility of foul play?” Dana practiced. “How does that sound?”
“It sounds good,” Lucy told her. “After that shakedown from those two hoods, he might be more inclined to think in that direction.”
“Yes, he might. That must have been scary.” Suzanne wiped her fingers with a napkin and pushed her dish aside. “Do you think he’s coming by tonight? Because I did a property search for him on the Internet and the results came back. I wanted to give it to him.”
“Property search? What was that?” Dana asked curiously.
Maggie rose and piled their plates to take them inside. “He’s gone through Gloria’s papers, but still can’t tell how much property she owns.”
“Won’t the executor of her estate tell him that?” Lucy asked.
“Well, not exactly.” Dana turned and handed Maggie a few more dishes. “The inventory of her assets is part of the estate and Martin Lewis has to pull all that information together, verify it, and then have all the property appraised. He can show Jamie his list. But I don’t know at what state, or how long it will take before he does that.”
“But Jamie can probably find it out on his own and get some idea of what she had, is that what you’re saying?” Lucy asked.
“It was very easy to do,” Suzanne cut in. “I didn’t even need to look through any files. I just did a Lexus search on the ’Net. All the real estate transactions are public record. You just type in some information and the records come back in twenty-four hours.”
Suzanne reached into her knitting bag and pulled out a file folder. “It’s all in here … reads like a telephone book of Plum Harbor. She owned quite a nice piece of the pie.”
“I think when she sold her share of the Avalon Group she invested most of the proceeds in real estate,” Maggie recalled. “Of course, the market was booming then. But she probably bought in at exactly the wrong time.”
Maggie went inside with the tray of dishes. Lucy rose to stretch her legs. “Can I see that printout?” she asked Suzanne, knowing she was being nosy. “I’m just curious,” she admitted.
“Sure, take a look.” Suzanne handed her the folder.
Lucy opened it and scanned the first sheet. The listing of the property was long, with dates and information about the various transactions. She hardly knew what she was reading, but skimmed the pages anyway. She recognized some of the street names, but some were unknown to her. Not all of the property was in Plum Harbor, of course. The names of the individuals or corporations who had owned the property prior to Gloria were also listed.
One name jumped out at the bottom of page three: Michael Novak. A property that he owned had been transferred to Gloria for the sum of … one dollar?
Wait … there was another one, Lucy realized, noticing another similar transaction on the same page.
Lucy’s head popped up. Suzanne and Dana were both knitting and didn’t spare her a glance. She felt like she was suddenly vibrating. She’d felt she might have just stumbled on something significant … but she had no idea what it meant.
Before she could say a word, sounding the alarm, she heard heavy steps coming up the porch. She glanced over to see Jamie. She forced a smile and quickly closed the folder, then slid it across the table, back to Suzanne.
“Hi, Jamie, we were wondering if you were going to drop by,” Dana greeted him. “How are you doing?”
He shrugged and jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “The same, I guess …”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Dana said sympathetically. “Come, sit down.” She pulled out a chair for him. “We’ve been working on a project for a charity,” she explained. “We’re all knitting squares in different colors, then we’ll put them together and make a blanket.”
Jamie picked up one of the plum-colored squares that Maggie had completed and left out on the table. “Nice and soft,” he said, fingering the wool. “This will make a great blanket.”
“That’s what we’re hoping,” Maggie explained. She came outside again, carrying a tray with coffee, cups, and a large tart filled with fresh peaches.
“Hmm, did you make that, Maggie?” Suzanne asked.
“Yes, I did. I sort of had a craving for it. Peaches aren’t really in season, but I mixed some ripe ones up with blueberries. Cooking’s just like knitting. Sometimes you have to improvise,” she added.
“Good things can happen by accident,” Jamie agreed.
Maggie cut the tart and gave everyone a slice with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.
“This is delicious. I love fresh peaches, they’re the best,” Suzanne oozed.
Lucy was enjoying her tart just as much, but preferred to savor it in silence. Everyone was quiet, she noticed, all mulling over the same question right now—how were they going to tell Jamie about their suspicions and encourage him to talk to the police again?
“I have that information you wanted, Jamie,” Suzanne said. She handed him over the file. “All the property records, addresses, dates of transfer. It’s all there.”
Jamie flipped open the folder. “Wow … thanks. How did you pull this together so quickly?”
“I’d like to take a lot of credit, but it was actually very simple. There’s a special search site. I didn’t do much at all.”
“I really appreciate it,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t have a clue about where to start.”
“It wasn’t any trouble. I can go over it sometime if you want. I’m familiar with most of those areas and what the houses are worth.”
“Oh good … that would help, too,” he said, taking a big bite of tart.
“When do you meet with Martin Lewis again?” Maggie asked.
“I’m not sure. He said he would call and keep me posted.” Pretty vague, Lucy thought. This was going to be a long process. Poor Jamie. He really didn’t have a clue, did he?
It grew quiet again. Lucy glanced around, wondering who was going to start. Or would they chicken out?
She looked at Maggie, but Maggie averted her glance and focused on her tart. Suzanne sipped her coffee, then met Lucy’s gaze … and discreetly shook her head.
Lucy looked at Dana, but she was staring at Jamie. Dana sat back and took a breath, a deep, centering breath, and Lucy guessed that Dana was about to jump in.
“We were all talking about Gloria before you came, Jamie. Especially about the night she died,” Dana began slowly.
Jamie sat up and put his fork down. “Really … what about it?”
“We have some concerns about the way the police investigated. We don’t think they did a very thorough job. It’s hard to explain,” she said, pausing to gather her thoughts.
Yes, it is. Especially if you have to leave out Mike Novak. Very hard to explain without that card on the
table, Lucy thought.
“We’re still troubled by the question of who came to visit her that night,” Dana added.
Jamie looked confused. Lucy wondered if he even remembered what Dana was talking about.
“When I spoke to her on the phone about showing the house that Saturday, the doorbell rang and she said she had to go,” Suzanne reminded him.
“Oh … right.” He looked like he remembered now. “You told the police about that, right?”
“Yes, I did. But I don’t think they did a very good job of following up. Did they ever tell you who it was?” Suzanne asked him.
Jamie shook his head. “No … they didn’t. But I didn’t really think too much about it. I mean, maybe she got takeout or something.”
“That would have been pretty easy to trace,” Dana pointed out.
“And I saw her at the Main Street Café that night. I don’t think Gloria would have had two dinners. She barely ate one,” Lucy added.
He sighed and sat back. Lucy felt bad for overwhelming him when he already had so much on his mind.
“You know, people were coming back at all hours of the night, with papers for her to sign, dropping things off, picking things up. I just didn’t think much of it, to tell you the truth.”
It sounded to Lucy like he thought they were just getting into some hysterical female speculation. Making a big deal out of nothing. Were they? she wondered.
Dana picked up her knitting again and examined the progress. “And the two wineglasses Suzanne saw,” she continued. This was a slippery slope, Lucy thought. But she trusted Dana to navigate it. “That would also indicate that someone came to visit. Someone that she knew, don’t you think?”
When Jamie didn’t answer right away, Suzanne said, “The last few days we’ve found out a lot about Gloria we weren’t aware of. Doesn’t that also make you wonder?”
Jamie looked about to reply. Then he stopped himself and took a breath.
“I hear what you’re saying. I do,” he said finally. He sighed. “I guess I just don’t want to think about that night too closely. The way she died …” He paused again. “But maybe you’re right, I don’t know. Maybe the police didn’t do a good job of figuring out how this happened. I probably should go back and talk to them again. I will,” he promised. “Because I’ll tell you this, if someone purposely set out to hurt her … or even scare her,” he added, holding up his bandaged wrist, “I’m going to kill them with my bare hands.”
“Oh Jamie … we’re so sorry we upset you.” Maggie’s voice oozed with sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Jamie. But we thought it was important enough to bring to your attention,” Dana added.
“Maybe we are imagining something. I hope so,” Suzanne backtracked. “But there are a lot of loose ends in this story. You might feel better down the road if you’re not left wondering.”
“That’s true. I’m not thinking clearly right now. Once this all settles, I might want more closure.”
It sounded to Lucy as if they had persuaded him. She wondered now how the police—more specifically Detective Walsh—would respond.
They heard voices on the walk. Lucy looked over to see Phoebe and her friend Crystal coming toward the shop.
“Phoebe’s finally here. Oh, she brought her friend,” Maggie noticed.
Phoebe and Crystal came up on the porch and everyone said hello. It suddenly seemed a little crowded with the two young women leaning on the porch rail. There weren’t any empty seats left at the table and they hadn’t thought to bring any over from the other side of the porch.
Jamie stood up and slipped the folder Suzanne had given him under his arm.
“I’ve got to go. Thanks for the dessert, Maggie. It hit the spot.”
“Glad you could stop in. Are you sure you’re okay?” Maggie added quietly.
“I’m fine. Really.” He forced a small smile. “She was your friend, too. I know you’re all concerned.”
“Yes, we are,” Dana said. “That’s what this is all about.”
Jamie seemed to understand and had taken no offense, Lucy thought. She did feel sorry for upsetting him again, though. But it couldn’t be helped.
He gave a quick good-bye around the table and left.
Phoebe dragged a chair over from the other side of the porch and Crystal took the one Jamie had left empty.
“Did you guys have any dinner?” Maggie asked them. “I think there’s some Greek salad left.”
Phoebe made a face. “How about some pie. It looks really good.”
“It’s a peach tart. And it isn’t dinner … is it?” Maggie replied.
“It has fruit. That’s healthy.” Phoebe held out a plate. “Some ice cream on the side would be nice. Thank you.”
Maggie gave her a look, then dished out the tart. “Same for you, Crystal?”
“Yes, please,” Crystal said politely.
Their meal reminded Lucy of one of Gloria’s favorite sayings: Life is short, eat dessert first.
But she didn’t want to share that story again. Her friends had been bogged down enough in their memories and grief.
As the young women ate their peach tart, Maggie settled back in her seat and picked up her knitting. “So Crystal, would you like to learn how to knit tonight? We’re into a very simple project, perfect for beginners.”
Crystal shrugged a boney shoulder. “Sure, I’ll try it. I’m not exactly Miss Coordination.”
“It’s not that hard. Not any harder than using chopsticks,” Phoebe pointed out, “and you can use two hands so it’s probably easier.”
Maggie dug into her knitting bag and pulled out an extra pair of needles and a printed sheet made up with the Black Sheep knitting shop logo on top that showed the very basics for a beginning knitter—how to hold the needles, cast on, and perform the knit and purl stitches. It was really Sesame Street stuff every beginner needed to master.
Maggie seemed to have the handouts stashed in every purse and tote, always ready to give them out to anyone who showed the slightest interest in learning how to knit. She was sort of a Johnny Appleseed of knitting, Lucy thought, wandering around, spreading the seeds for future knitters.
“Let’s see, what yarn should I give you?” Maggie asked herself aloud as she peered into a basket that now sat in the middle of the table. “We’re making squares for a blanket. Blue, plum, and gold. We wanted two people on each color … but we lost one of our … of our knitters,” she said simply, meaning Gloria, who had intended to work on the blanket with them. Right after she finished her scarf.
“We could use another person working in plum.” Maggie picked up a ball of plum-colored yarn and showed it to the new recruit.
“Okay. Cool.” Crystal stretched out a length of the yarn and looked it over. She appeared to like it, despite her spare style of expressing herself.
“Good. It definitely helps if you like the yarn you’re working with. Especially on your first project,” Maggie encouraged her.
Little did Crystal know that once you got hooked on knitting you would not merely “like the yarn you were working with,” but become obsessed with the stuff, craving it, longing for it, fascinated by yarn as if you were under a spell. You’d see a skein of yarn somewhere and feel you just had to have it … or die.
Different colors and textures, thickness and weight. Ribbon yarn, cashmere, hand-spun, and hand-dyed colors. The sight of yarn would do something to your brain and you would lose control, mindlessly carrying skeins to the cash register, whether you knew what you wanted to do with that yarn or not. You would sock these coveted treasures away for future use, then go out and buy more. Every true knitter’s guilty pleasure. And that’s how you acquired your stash.
This poor child did not have any idea of what was potentially ahead for her, starting with this innocent, simple lesson.
Maggie showed her how to cast on and demonstrated the simple stocking stitch for the square. “When you get to the end of the row, you’ll need to turn it over an
d start on the other side. I’ll show you,” Maggie promised.
Phoebe had also finished with her dessert/dinner and pulled her knitting out of her knapsack, tucked her long legs under her, and set to work on her square. She was working with the same color as Lucy, a rich shade of dark blue.
The group knit steadily without talking for a few minutes. Since the project was so simple, no one had to start fretting about a goof-up, or stop to rip out stitches, or ask Maggie to make it right. Crystal seemed to get the hang of it quickly.
Then Maggie said, “Jamie gave me a lot of Gloria’s yarn. I was thinking, since she wasn’t able to help with the blanket but wanted to, it would be nice to include a square in her honor. We do need one extra one in the center.”
Dana stopped working and put her knitting down. “Maggie, that’s a lovely idea. So thoughtful of you.”
“Oh well … I miss her,” Maggie admitted. “It would help me feel a little better to honor her memory in some small way.”
“Me, too,” Lucy agreed. “How about a square in the center with a star? I’d always thought of her as sort of a star in the group. Someone special who sits in.”
She had thought of Gloria that way, though sincerely hoped no one would ask her to knit a square with a star, which was a bit beyond her abilities right now. There would be something in the center, but it might look more like a wriggling starfish when she was done with it.
“A star … I like that idea.” Suzanne looked up and smiled.
“She was a star,” Maggie agreed. “A shooting star that lit up the sky for a brief time. A rare sight.”
She swallowed hard and Lucy hoped her suggestion wouldn’t make Maggie cry again.
“I like it, too,” Dana said, “but you’ll have to make that one for us, Maggie. A shooting star is a bit beyond any of our modest skills.”
“Oh, you’re all very good. You’re just lazy. You rush too much,” Maggie chided them. “And you skip the gauge, which catches up to you. Save time up front, waste time later.”
Lucy hated to knit a gauge for a pattern, a small sample piece that tested the number of stitches you would need per inch, which could vary from the pattern due to the tension of your own stitches, the needles, and the thickness of yarn used. Good, methodical knitters like Maggie knit gauges … the rest of them, Lucy included, just charged ahead and called for backup when they messed things up.
