Knit, Purl, Die

by Anne Canadeo

  But it was not Ellen, Lucy realized once she heard a voice speaking. It was Maggie.

  “Hey, Mag. What’s up?” Lucy answered cheerfully.

  “Are you walking the dog into town this morning?” Maggie’s tone was even, but tense. As if she were struggling to remain calm.

  “Probably. I just have to jump in the shower. I’m getting a late start.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Well, if you do come this way, stop by. I want to show you something.”

  This sounded important, despite Maggie’s low-key manner.

  “What do you need to show me?”

  “I can’t explain over the phone,” she said impatiently. “Just come. You’ll see.” Then she hung up.

  The spare but intriguing message got Lucy motivated. She took a quick shower, yanked on shorts and a T-shirt, and pulled her wet hair back in a ponytail.

  Tink was used to going out earlier and did a little hysterical dance of need by the back door, which made it even more challenging to secure the leash.

  “Where is the Dog Whisperer when you really need him?” Lucy grumbled as Tink tugged her out the door. Once outside, Tink was happy to race into town. She thought Lucy’s double-time pace was a new game.

  They reached Maggie’s shop in half the usual time, and after Lucy tied the leash on the porch and filled Tink’s portable bowl, she went straight inside.

  “I’m here,” Lucy announced herself. “What’s going on?”

  “Come in the storeroom. I’ll show you,” Maggie called from the back.

  Lucy walked back to the storeroom. Maggie was at the sink, washing her hands. Lucy saw streams of red running into the sink, as if Maggie had just been dyeing something.

  “There, on the table,” Maggie said, slanting her head.

  Lucy walked over to the small table in the center of the room. It looked like a dead animal laid out on a black plastic trash bag.

  It was stabbed through several times with long knitting needles and streaked with bright red blood.

  “Oh geez … what is that?” Lucy jumped back and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Looks like a voodoo doll, doesn’t it?” Maggie asked, almost laughing. Was she in shock? Lucy wondered.

  “Where did you find it? Is it a raccoon or something?”

  Maggie stepped over from the sink, drying her hands on a paper towel. “No, thank goodness, I wouldn’t have gone near one of those, dead or alive. Look closer, Lucy, don’t you recognize it? I think your dog would.”

  Lucy allowed herself a longer look. Then she felt awfully stupid. “Oh … for goodness sake. It’s just one of those stuffed sheep from the front window…. But who in the world did that to it? And where did you find it?” she repeated. “Did someone get in here last night?”

  “I thought that at first, too. But there are still three sheep in the window. Someone must have gone out of their way and bought this one, to make a point. I found it outside the front door, dangling from a piece of yarn that was hooked onto the porch ceiling.”

  “Didn’t something like that happen in a movie with Michael Douglas and Glenn Close?”

  “That was a pet rabbit. Boiled in a pot,” Maggie reminded her.

  “Not too far off. This was definitely the work of a bunny boiler, I’ll tell you that much.”

  Now that she knew it was not, nor had ever been, a living creature, Lucy felt better. Free to poke the mutilated sheep with her finger.

  “Watch it, that red stuff is horribly sticky. But it did wash off my hands, thank goodness.”

  “Is it paint?” Lucy checked a dot of the stuff stuck to her fingertip.

  “I don’t think so. It’s probably ketchup mixed with something oily. It smells like ketchup. I didn’t taste it, though,” Maggie added.

  “Let the police taste it,” Lucy suggested.

  When Maggie didn’t answer right away, she said, “You’ve called them … didn’t you?”

  “I called you. Then I thought about calling them. But … I’m not sure what to do.”

  Before Lucy could argue with her, she turned and picked up a piece of paper from the counter. A simple sheet torn from a spiral notebook, frizzed edges and all.

  “There was a note, too.”

  “Yes, I see,” Lucy murmured as she scanned the sheet. It was written in block letters with thick black marker.

  BLACK SHEEP—STAY OUT OF IT.

  OR YOU’LL BE SORRY.

  She put the note back on the table. “We shouldn’t have even touched it,” Lucy said, remembering how Suzanne had messed up the fingerprints on the wineglasses.

  Maggie laughed. “Lucy, come on. This was a silly prank. Childish, really. You’re taking it much too seriously.”

  It did seem childish. Who could have done it? Lucy’s first guess had been Mike Novak. But a mangled stuffed animal did not seem his style. A certified letter, announcing a lawsuit—that would be more his style.

  Still, Lucy was astounded by the stunt. “Doesn’t it bother you that someone went to so much trouble to try to scare you? To scare all of us? Where did you buy those things anyway, at the toy store in town? We could go over there and ask if they’d sold any recently …”

  “Lucy … let’s not, okay?” Maggie’s tone was half-imploring, half-warning.

  Lucy knew what she was driving at. But if she didn’t want to look into this herself, why not call the police? Maggie grabbed two mugs and the pot of coffee and walked out into the shop and over to the big table. Lucy followed her.

  “It does disturb me a little,” Maggie admitted. “But I don’t want to get involved with the police again. I’d have to visit Detective Walsh and be grilled about all our speculations about Gloria. And who we spoke to about it and when. Not to mention that ill-advised encounter with Mike Novak on Tuesday. Even though I didn’t take part, I’ll be tarred with the same brush, you know.”

  Maggie cast Lucy a look. She had not approved of the idea and felt she’d been proven right when they reported their misadventure.

  Lucy could see her point. Maggie had been traumatized by her last involvement with Walsh and the local police department. Lucy wasn’t surprised that she wanted to avoid them, and admitting that, once again, she and her friends were poking their noses—and knitting needles—where they didn’t belong.

  “Before you know it, Walsh will start accusing me of pushing Gloria into the swimming pool,” Maggie added tartly.

  A wild exaggeration, but Lucy didn’t even try to contradict.

  “All right. It’s your call. Another lead for Jamie’s PI. If he ever hires one.”

  “Oh, he did. He didn’t wait for a firm reply from the police about reopening the investigation. He just went ahead. Jamie said he was going to meet with the man today.”

  That news was welcome. “I guess the investigator will want to speak with us.”

  “Yes, definitely … you can ask Jamie all about it. Here he is.”

  Maggie looked at the front of the shop and Lucy did, too. Jamie had just walked in, a large sketch pad tucked under one arm.

  “I’m going to sit for the portrait this morning,” Maggie explained. “Just to get the spot and the pose right. Phoebe should be here in time. She was at Josh’s place last night,” she added, glancing at her watch.

  Lucy was glad to hear that Phoebe hadn’t been in her apartment upstairs when the sheep vandal had struck, even though the culprit had apparently stayed outside.

  Jamie had walked to the back of the store and greeted them. “Ready to be immortalized?” he joked with Maggie.

  “Is anyone ever ready?” She smiled and shrugged.

  She hadn’t dressed in any special way this morning, Lucy noticed, though perhaps had given a bit more attention to her curly brown hair and added a tiny bit more makeup than usual. But she was having her portrait painted. That qualified for some special primping, didn’t it?

  “Listen, Jamie, before we start, I need to tell you something. I was greeted by a very od
d package at the front door when I came to the shop this morning,” she began.

  He sat down at the table and listened to the story without interrupting. His smooth features darkened with worry. He insisted on going into the storeroom and seeing the desecrated toy sheep, which Maggie had wrapped in a plastic bag and left beside a trash pail.

  “That’s awful. You need to tell the police,” he insisted.

  “She doesn’t want to get involved,” Lucy cut in. “She has her reasons.”

  Jamie looked confused. “I’ll tell them. I have no idea if they’re going to investigate Gloria’s death again. They won’t give me a straight answer. But maybe this will make them sit up and take notice.”

  “Maybe,” Lucy offered. “What about your private investigator?”

  “Yes, when is he coming on the scene?” Maggie asked.

  “He’s coming to town later today. He wants to meet with all of you, hear what you have to say. Do you think we could work that out somehow?”

  “We’re going to be at Suzanne’s house tonight for a knitting group meeting. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if he stopped by. If that wasn’t too late,” Lucy added. “We usually start at seven.”

  “That should work out. He said he might need to stay over in town one night, to look into everything thoroughly. I’m going to call him later and I’ll let you know,” Jamie promised.

  “It will be a relief to hand off our concerns to a professional,” Maggie confided. “A great relief,” she added.

  “For me, too,” Jamie said. “I guess at first I preferred to believe that poor Gloria died by accident. I just didn’t want to think of her being frightened. Or that someone purposely set out to hurt her.” His voice grew shaky and Lucy thought he might be tearing up. “But we have to find out what really happened. I have to do that for her, at least. I can’t live with myself if I don’t.”

  Lucy reached down and patted his shoulder. “You will find out, Jamie. I know you will.”

  Lucy glanced at Maggie over Jamie’s head. Maggie gazed at him with sympathy. “You’ll be coming to Suzanne’s with the investigator, Jamie, won’t you?”

  “I wanted to come. But he prefers to talk to people alone. He says he gets more candid interviews that way.”

  “That makes sense.” Lucy knew for a fact that there were a few things they had to tell the PI they had purposely kept from Jamie.

  “Why don’t we get started?” Maggie changed the subject in a brighter tone. “I was thinking I could sit in the front room on the love seat. Or maybe out on the porch, on the far side with the morning glory lattice in the background?”

  Jamie seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment, but snapped back to real time. “Outside sounds good. The light should be excellent.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.” Maggie led the way and they headed out.

  Just as Lucy walked out onto the porch she saw Phoebe strolling up the walk. They said hello, but Phoebe seemed most interested in greeting Tink.

  “Hey, doggie. How’s my little Tinker Bell?” A charming name for the large shaggy hound, Lucy thought. “You must be hot in that fur coat, huh, baby?”

  The panting dog sat obediently, grateful for the attention. Phoebe glanced over at Jamie and Maggie, who were already moving around the fan-back wicker chairs at the far corner of the porch.

  “Jamie is going to paint Maggie’s portrait,” Lucy explained. “He’s just making sketches today to start.”

  Phoebe looked over at them again. “If it comes out good, she should hang it in the shop.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Lucy agreed, especially if she was portrayed holding her knitting.

  “Could someone run inside and get my knitting bag?” Maggie asked, as if reading Lucy’s mind. “I think I left it in the storeroom.”

  “I’ll go,” Lucy said. “I think you’re in charge of the shop this morning,” she told Phoebe.

  “Under control,” Phoebe promised as she slipped inside behind Lucy. Lucy found the bag quickly, then noticed a basket with skeins of yarn for the blanket squares. She guessed that everyone would need more yarn tonight, running low the same way she was on their designated color. She brought the basket out, along with the yarn swift. She would sit a while and roll some yarn. She was in no rush to get back to the cottage, with no work pressure right now and a happy glow lingering after her evening with Matt.

  Before she left the shop, she thought to tell Phoebe about the stabbed stuffed sheep incident, but Phoebe was already on a phone call with a customer. Maggie would tell her later, Lucy figured. She didn’t want to hold up the sitting.

  She handed Maggie her knitting bag, then sat a considerate distance away and set up the swift.

  “Thanks, Lucy. Jamie told me not to get up. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do this,” she added doubtfully.

  “Give it a try, that’s all I ask,” he coaxed her.

  Maggie took out her knitting and then a petal pink knitted lace shawl. She draped it over her T-shirt and bare arms. “What do you think? Hides a few wrinkles and my flabby arms?”

  “You don’t have any wrinkles and your arms look fine,” Jamie insisted. He was sitting nearby, already working with a piece of charcoal in hand, the sketch pad opened on his lap. “Gloria worried endlessly about that stuff. I loved her little lines. It told the world she’d lived a full life. That was one of the reasons I fell in love with her.”

  Lucy appreciated Jamie’s thoughtful take on female aging, but she hoped he didn’t voice his opinions in front of any executives of cosmetic companies. They’d put out a contract on him, no question. An entire industry could go under if that point of view ever caught on.

  “The scarf is a nice touch, Maggie. It reminds me of the one Gloria was making,” Lucy noted, then realized maybe she shouldn’t have said that. Jamie flinched visibly, but didn’t pick up his head.

  “The stitch is similar,” Maggie admitted, though Lucy thought she also felt awkward with the comparison. “Gloria was working with a much finer gauge yarn and needles.”

  Lucy decided it was time to get to work on her yarn rolling. She opened the first skein and stretched it, then clipped the tiny strand that held it together. Then she fit the yarn on the umbrella-style wooden swift.

  “Are you rolling some yarn for us? That’s a good deed, Lucy,” Maggie said.

  “I can do something useful while I sit here a few minutes. We’ll all need more tonight.” She hadn’t brought along her knitting, she’d left the house in such a rush.

  “Too bad you can’t come to Suzanne’s, she’s a great cook,” Maggie told Jamie.

  “I wish I could. But I don’t want to step on the PI’s toes. He told me specifically to stay away.”

  “How did you find him?” Lucy asked. “Did you call Dana’s husband?”

  “I’d planned to, then my friend Kenny told me that his brother is a cop in Boston. He knows a lot of very capable guys in this line of work. I figured a recommendation from a police officer would be reliable.”

  Sounded good to Lucy. Since the investigator wasn’t local, he would view the situation and cast of characters with a fresh eye. That might help, too.

  Jamie could be self-sufficient. He didn’t always have to be led by the hand … a woman’s hand, more specifically.

  “How is it going with the estate probate? Any progress?” Maggie asked him.

  “It’s a long process, Maggie. Longer than I thought. Lewis is still making an inventory of Gloria’s assets. And then all the property has to be appraised for its market value and all of that information submitted to the court. I’ve been spending a lot of time looking through records in her office, trying to make a rough estimate. Trying to figure out what she had and what she owed.”

  “Have you been able to get anywhere with it?”

  He sounded worn-out just talking about it, Lucy noticed. He knew very little about business and real estate matters. She probably knew even less, and would have found that task daunting and the ma
terial indecipherable.

  “From what I can see so far, a lot of the properties are heavily mortgaged. She was borrowing from one to make the payments on the other.”

  “Oh … that’s too bad.” Maggie looked surprised. Lucy felt the same.

  Jamie didn’t say anything, just offered her a grim smile. He paused and rubbed out a line with his thumb. Then he stared at the page a minute and flipped it in disgust.

  Gloria had kept up a brave front, Lucy realized, but she was struggling just to stay afloat financially. A woeful metaphor for her tragic death.

  “I guess that’s why she resorted to borrowing from those thugs. Did they ever come back?” Lucy paused with the swift, waiting for his answer.

  “Not yet. But I know they will.” His tone was flat and unemotional, his fast-moving hand blocking out the sketch. “I’ve applied for a loan against the house. Suzanne helped me with the paperwork. That’s the only way I’m going to be able to pay them off and get rid of them. It still won’t be enough. I’m hoping they’ll negotiate.”

  “But Gloria took the loan. You’re not responsible for her debts,” Maggie reminded him.

  “Not in a court of law. Not as far as the estate is concerned. But these guys don’t follow that playbook, Maggie. They have their own terms, and it’s best not to ask too many questions.”

  The bandage on his hand was gone, but the base of his finger and thumb were still black and blue, Lucy noticed.

  She snuck a peak at the sketch pad. He was good, very good. He had a distinctive style. It came as a surprise since his personality seemed so yielding and accommodating in many ways. She hadn’t expected his artwork to project a bold voice.

  “I didn’t think about it much right after Gloria died,” he continued. “I was in shock, I guess. But now I do wonder what else was going on in her private life, her business life, the part she kept hidden from me. I let her handle the finances, no questions asked. It was all her money and I didn’t think I had the right to butt in,” he admitted. “But, if somebody intentionally … hurt her,” he said, when Lucy knew he really meant “murdered her,” “I think it must have had something to do with her business deals. What else could it be?”