Purls and Poison

by Anne Canadeo

  He stared straight ahead, holding an ice pack against his nose. A spot above his left eye had puffed up and turned a deep shade of reddish purple. He definitely needed more ice when they got home, but he’d still have one heck of a shiner. A medal of honor for a boy that age, she guessed.

  Wait until Kevin sees him. He won’t be happy about this. Not one bit.

  Her first impulse was to scold, but she decided to take a softer approach. Her family had been through a lot the last few days, all on her account. She felt bad about that, as if Ryan’s acting out was really her fault.

  “It’s not like you to fight. I’m surprised. Who started it? Can you at least tell me that?”

  “He did. Andy Stahl. I already told you and I told Krugman, too,” he added.

  “Vice Principal Krugman,” she reminded him. “Let’s show respect to adults, please.”

  Even if you don’t always hear your mother speaking respectfully. Ugh . . . she had to get a handle on that. She’d definitely learned her lesson.

  “Vice Principal Krugman,” he corrected in a pained tone. “Andy started it. I don’t go around just slugging kids for no reason, Mom.”

  “I know you don’t. That’s why I’m surprised.”

  Suzanne had a good idea why and how this clash had come about. She was almost certain.

  “Did this boy, this Andy . . . did he say something about me? Is that what made you mad?”

  Ryan glanced at her and then out the window again. He didn’t reply.

  “Come on, honey. You can tell me. I had a feeling kids might talk at school today.” She did have a feeling, after she saw the local news last night that included a video of her slinking out of the police station with her coat pulled over her head.

  Not to mention, the surprise and confusion the children had experienced, watching the forensic team march in to search the house. Kevin had quickly whisked the kids over to his mother’s, but when they were able to return last night, the wake of the search was disturbing. Suzanne had stayed up into the small hours, putting her home back together again. As much as she was able.

  She’d been so tired this morning, Kevin had brought the boys to school and she had no chance to warn them. He obviously had not, even though they had watched the news coverage together.

  The report had been horrifying, but she’d been unable to take her eyes away. Like watching a slow motion train wreck.

  Suzanne Cavanaugh has been named as a person of interest in the murder investigation of Liza Devereaux.

  Of course, there had been more. But her heart had nearly stopped when she’d heard those words, and she had barely listened to the rest.

  She pulled the car into the driveway, relieved there were no media vans parked on the street, or reporters waiting on the porch to interview her. To be on the safe side, she opened the garage door with the remote, pulled the SUV inside, and closed the door quickly behind them. With the driveway empty, maybe the media would think she wasn’t home.

  She and her son got out of the car and headed into the house. “I should have warned you,” she said. “You know about that woman in my office who died, right?”

  “Liza something? You found the body the other night, and called the police.” They stood together in the mudroom and he pulled off his jacket.

  “Her name was Liza, that’s right. She died in the office and I found her.” She swallowed hard, trying to sound calm. “The thing is, the police are trying to find out who killed her and . . .”

  They think your Mom did it?

  No . . . that was not a good thing to tell your child.

  “They need my help.” That was not a lie, she comforted herself. It was definitely true, from her perspective. She was helping by trying to convince them she was innocent and they had to look harder for the real killer.

  “That’s why they need to keep asking me questions,” she explained.

  “Andy said you killed her. He said his parents saw it on TV.”

  “That’s not true. That’s not true at all, honey. All they said on TV was that the police asked me questions. That’s all . . . honestly.” Suzanne thought she might burst into tears but blinked them back furiously.

  “I know, Mom. That’s why I punched him.”

  “Oh, Ryan . . .” Suzanne leaned over and hugged her son, pressing his head to her chest. “You wanted to defend me. I understand. I’m touched, honey. Honestly. That means a lot to me.” She ruffled his hair, then stood back and looked down at him. “Next time, please just ignore those wise guys? Your mom didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Except to say really bad things about someone, which has gotten me in all this hot water, she silently added. And which I’ve always told you not to do.

  “This might go on for a while,” she warned him. “Until the police find the person who did it. You can’t come home from school with a bloody nose every day.”

  She and Kevin definitely needed to have a long talk with the kids tonight. She wasn’t the only one affected. The family needed a game plan.

  Ryan stared back at her. She wondered if anything she’d said had gotten through. “I believe you. But if you didn’t do anything, why are you wearing that weird outfit?”

  Her outfit was strange—a black hoody and matching spandex yoga pants, a baseball cap, and large glasses. Perhaps drawing more attention than it deflected? But it seemed a good idea early this morning, when the vice principal had called, before she’d even had a cup of coffee. She’d peered out the window, car keys in hand, to find at least five reporters on the lawn and a minivan with a transmitter on top.

  It had taken driving skills worthy of an action film hero to escape the paparazzi. When the call had come from school to collect her son, combat mode seemed the only choice. She’d hunkered down behind the steering wheel with a baseball hat covering her head and big sunglasses obscuring her face.

  She’d opened the garage door with the remote, and backed out as fast as she dared, praying the daredevil photographers would jump out of her path in time. She didn’t want to maim anyone on top of all her other legal troubles.

  A few had pursued, but she’d shaken them off and finally arrived at the middle school with no one tailing.

  All in all, it had been quite a morning. After a long and unhappy night.

  “The outfit is not my usual style. I need to keep a low profile.”

  “I know. Just yanking your chain.” He laughed and picked up his backpack. “I don’t know about ignoring kids who diss you, Mom. Getting the day off from school isn’t so bad.”

  “Very funny. You’ll do your schoolwork before any video games, my friend.” She took off the glasses, which had been a silly touch, since it was cloudy outside.

  He could find the day’s assignments online. The school was very efficient that way. The police had taken her laptop but had left the other computers. She was thankful for that much.

  Suzanne hadn’t even removed her baseball cap when she heard the doorbell buzz as if someone was just leaning on it. More reporters. What had she done to deserve this?

  “Should I get the door?”

  Suzanne shook her head. “Just ignore it. They’ll go away soon.”

  “Can I have some lunch?”

  She knew he ate early at school, but this was ridiculous. Her boys were at an age when they could eat twelve meals a day. “It’s not even ten o’clock. Make a snack and start your schoolwork.”

  She heard her son groan, but he dutifully followed her from the mudroom toward the kitchen.

  She stopped in the hallway and listened. Someone was on the deck, knocking on the glass slider. She pressed herself against the wall, as if they were on a secret mission, and placed a finger on her lips.

  “Hold up,” she whispered. “Sounds like they came around the back. I should have locked the gate.”

  The knocking grew louder and she heard someone shout her name. More than one person, it sounded like.

  “Sounds like they know you, Mom.”

 
“Just a trick. Didn’t you ever see reporters call out to celebrities? Do they say, ‘Ms. Jolie!’ or ‘Ms. Kardashian!’? No, they say, ‘Angelina!’ or ‘Kim! Kim!’ ”

  He rolled his eyes but didn’t reply. The voices grew even louder.

  “Suzanne? It’s us. . . . We just want to know if you’re all right.”

  Through the haze of her media paranoia, she recognized Maggie’s familiar voice. She peered around the doorway and, instead of a pack of rabid reporters on the deck, saw only her friends, their faces pressed against the glass of the French door slider.

  They spotted her and jumped up and down, waving wildly.

  Ryan had been excited at the prospect of reporters trying to break into the house. But now said, “Just your crazy friends. Better let them in before they bust the door down.”

  “Yeah, I’d better.” Suzanne had never felt happier in her life to see them.

  She pulled open the door, and they entered, single file. Maggie led the group and hugs were exchanged all around.

  “Sorry to scare you but we tried the front door,” Maggie said. “And we left a million messages on your cell phone and the landline. I guess you shut the sound off the message machine?”

  “Had to. And the police took my cell phone . . . and my laptop,” she reported.

  “Bummer!” Phoebe sounded genuinely shocked at the thought of being stripped of all technology.

  “We figured that.” Lucy reached out and patted her shoulder.

  “I thought you were reporters. They’ve been hounding me all morning. I think that video clip of my perp walk went viral.”

  “It was not a perp walk,” Lucy cut in. “You were leaving the station. Not even charged with a parking ticket.”

  “Thanks, pal. But do you really think anyone knows the difference when you’re filmed running with your coat over your head and the police call you ‘a person of interest’? Hey, I’m a celebrity now. Fleeing the paparazzi. Everyone gets their fifteen minutes, right?”

  She tried to strike a light note, as if none of this upset her. When in fact it had shaken her to the core.

  “You’re definitely dressed for the part.” Dana’s sweeping glance took in Suzanne’s sleek black outfit.

  “Wait.” Suzanne picked up the dark glasses and her hat. “The accessories make the look, right?”

  “As always.” Maggie sighed but definitely looked amused. “We just wanted to know that you’re all right. We don’t have to stay. You must be exhausted.”

  After being released from the police station late last night, Suzanne had sent her friends a group text to let them know she was out and basically all right.

  She knew they were dying to hear the details of her latest ordeal, but never would have asked them to upset their Monday morning schedules like this for her. It appeared that Maggie had even closed the shop. Now that they were here, she couldn’t let them leave that easily.

  “Exhausted, yes. But I can definitely use some company. I had to run over to the school as soon as I got up this morning. Long story, but somebody”—she pointed upstairs as she lowered her voice—“got a black eye, defending his mom’s honor.” Her son had gone up to his room, but she guessed he was listening.

  “Oh my, that sounds painful. Is he okay?” Maggie asked.

  “He’ll be fine. I think he’s proud of it,” Suzanne replied. “Still, I don’t like hearing he got into a fight at school because of my problems. And all the gossip about me.”

  “Which will pass soon, we hope,” Lucy said.

  Suzanne didn’t see even a flickering light at the end of this dark tunnel, but didn’t want to be contrary.

  “Hope being the operative word.” She forced a smile. “I didn’t even have my coffee yet. Anyone interested in a cup? And maybe some scrambled eggs?”

  Lucy looked interested. “Sounds good to me. I skipped breakfast, too.”

  “I’d love some tea,” Dana said.

  “We brought some treats from the bakery. To lift your spirits.” Maggie produced a white bakery bag from her tote, the fragrance of fresh bread and coffee cake wafting in Suzanne’s direction, an instant elixir.

  “And we brought our knitting, of course.” Phoebe pulled out her latest project, multicolor-striped booties for the baby wear donation.

  Her friends quickly shed their jackets and joined her in the kitchen. A short time later, they sat at the big kitchen island, enjoying the late breakfast Suzanne had whipped up with their help—scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, tomato bits, and avocado. With plates of buttered toast and bakery confections on the side. Even Dana could not resist.

  Suzanne slipped in to her usual role of hostess and chef with ease, though worries that these gatherings—and her entire way of life—were now threatened, crept across her consciousness like small black spiders.

  Dana met her glance and smiled, but with a somber light in her eyes. Suzanne guessed what Dana was thinking—that she’d slipped in to denial about her situation. Well . . . maybe a bit. It was easier with her friends here, than when she was alone.

  “Okay, we’re all fed and fueled. Tell us what happened. Why did the police drag you down to the station again?” Lucy prodded.

  “We heard the police say they found new evidence. What was it?” Maggie asked.

  Suzanne sat back and licked a cake crumb off her fingertip. Scrambled eggs were easy. This part was hard.

  “Files from Liza’s office computer turned up on the desktop of my office computer. Private files. Her earnings and leads, her special client list, and her “hot” file, notes about leads on new listings. We all save notes like that—keeping track of gossip you pick up around town. Like learning that an old person is going into a nursing home, or a retired couple is downsizing. Or someone is being transferred. Or divorced. You want to be the first to make contact and swoop in,” she explained. “It’s hardly the sort of information you give to other salespeople.”

  “The police found her files, of that type, on your computer? How could that have happened?” Maggie was the least tech savvy in the group, though Suzanne didn’t pretend to be any sort of computer geek.

  “We have an office network and you can share files between computers, if you want. But she didn’t share them with me; I can promise you that.” Suzanne took another slug of coffee, though she knew she’d had more than enough for the day.

  “So someone got on her computer and sent the files to yours. To make it look as if you’d hacked into her private, valuable information?” Lucy asked.

  “That’s right. When the police accused me of doing that, I had to laugh. I need one of my kids just to print out a contract, no less hack into someone else’s computer. What am I, a ‘dark web’ spook? The entire idea is preposterous.”

  Suzanne was trying to laugh off this latest accusation, but it was getting harder every day.

  “What did the police say?” Lucy had her knitting out. She’d started on the baby jacket and it was coming along quickly, Suzanne noticed.

  “As usual, they just kept asking the question different ways. As my attorney pointed out, even if I was capable of such a thing, it still doesn’t prove I killed Liza. And, why would I steal the files and leave them on my office computer? Where someone else could easily see them? That part is plain dumb. I’d definitely be smarter than that.”

  Suzanne heard her voice getting louder and forced herself to simmer down.

  “Totally smarter. And smarter than using a bottle of your own diet drink. Or vandalizing her car the same day you planned to kill her. It’s so obvious someone did all that stuff to mess you up.” Phoebe was knitting quickly, the tiny boots taking shape.

  “When were the files transferred? Did they tell you?” Dana asked. “The computer would have recorded that information.”

  “The police didn’t tell anyone at first, but Helen made them. The files were moved on Wednesday, the day before the murder. Unfortunately, I was in the office that day, but I never noticed,” Suzanne admitted. “Some
body stuck the files in different folders on my desktop—Quick Chicken Recipes. And Cute Shoes.”

  “You keep a folder of cute shoes?” Lucy munched on a piece of toast crust.

  Suzanne shrugged. “So? What do you save? Cute dog toys?”

  Lucy laughed. Suzanne could see she’d caught her. “Point taken.”

  “It’s just more circumstantial evidence.” Dana snipped a strand of yarn as she finished off a row. She was also making a baby jacket in a rich, turquoise blue.

  “But all this circumstantial evidence is piling up,” Maggie cut in. “Like one of those days when the weatherman predicts a flurry and a few hours later you look outside and there’s a foot or two of snow. It’s worrisome. Did the police come at you with anything else?”

  Suzanne bit her lip and nodded. “This one is even worse. They must have been searching since Liza’s autopsy. Some empty vials from a Botox kit turned up in the town dump. From the same type of kit I bought at Janine’s party.”

  “Well, the killer tossed them out and didn’t think the police would look that hard,” Maggie said calmly.

  “The police knew what they were looking for and must have put a lot of man power on finding those vials,” Dana said. “Are they trying to link you with fingerprints?”

  “Better than that. The trash came from a house that’s one of my listings. A cute little saltbox, in Lucy’s neighborhood. An older couple, the Gertwigs, have it listed for a low price. I got a lot of action on an ad and I’d been in and out of there a hundred times last week. The vials were in a bag that definitely came from their house. It had some junk mail in it and a few other bits with their names on it.”

  “That was clever. It’s almost as incriminating as if it came from your house,” Lucy said.

  Phoebe was clearly upset by the direction the conversation had taken. She’d tangled up her yarn and she never did that, Suzanne noticed. “Yeah, well . . . maybe even worse. It makes it look as if Suzanne was trying to hide the vials. But the police were smarter. I hate when that happens.”