by Mary Kruger
“You don’t know of any young girls she might have helped?”
“No.” She frowned. “What is all this?”
“Just trying to get more of a picture of her,” Charlie said. “Winston hinted that she’d willed her money to charity.”
Something flickered in Debbie’s eyes. “I know she donated to the Salvation Army, things like that. Oh, and she’d go to parties put on to benefit charities, but that’s all I know about.”
“Mm-hm.” Briggs sat back. “Would it surprise you to know that she was actively involved in several organizations helping disadvantaged women?”
“Was she?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, it would surprise me—no.” Again she frowned. “No, maybe it doesn’t. She was awfully good to me, and she did say she liked seeing women getting ahead in business.”
“Such as you.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“With her magazine.”
“I told you, I don’t know! I don’t know what she planned.”
“Hm.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You didn’t know for sure,” Josh said quietly.
“No,” she admitted after a moment. “But if you’re thinking I did anything to her to get the magazine, you’re wrong. I loved that woman.”
“Hm,” Briggs murmured again.
“I did! I know I acted weird this morning, but I was in shock.” She looked away. “She was like a mother to me.”
No one said anything for a few minutes. “But you wouldn’t mind getting the magazine,” Briggs said.
“Not like this. Not when I knew she was dying anyway.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “Why would I?”
“When you say she was like a mother, what do you mean?” Charlie asked.
“She was good to me. She helped me with things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I didn’t know how to dress, for one thing, so she took me shopping. She invited me to dinner, a lot.” She smiled. “She even tried to fix me up with people.”
“She did?”
“I know, that’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Mostly they were her friends’ sons, and we didn’t have much to say to each other.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “They were from places like Danbury and they went to Yale or Princeton or something like that. Out of my league.”
“Why is that?”
She looked at them for a moment. Her gaze was shrewd, measuring, and for the first time Josh could guess what Felicia had seen in her. “I was trailer trash,” she said flatly. “My father took off when I was young, and my mother—well, let’s just say she wasn’t motherly. She was bitter. She worked hard as an aide at a nursing home, but there was never enough money. She’d have boyfriends, too, but none of them would last. She used to say that if she didn’t have a kid she could have gone places.”
“Could she have?”
“I doubt it. She drank a lot, and when I got to be a teenager we fought all the time. She wanted me to quit school when I was sixteen and go to work, but I knew if I did I’d end up like her. Finally I went to live with an aunt, and things got a little better. At least my aunt thought I should finish high school.”
“Did you?”
“Of course,” she said scornfully. “And college, too. I got a scholarship to a state school. It wasn’t much and I had to work my tail off to stay in school, but I graduated.”
“Is that when you came to New York?”
She shook her head. “No, I never planned on that. I was going to be a teacher, but I couldn’t get a job. So instead I subbed, and I freelanced as a writer. I didn’t know much about a lot of things, but I did know how to research. So I wrote articles about all sorts of things, and one of them was crafts.”
“Knitting articles?” Josh said.
“A few, but not in Knit It Up! if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“How did you get the job, then?”
“By chance, really. One of my roommates moved to New York and she’d really gotten into knitting. I went to a knit lit group meeting with her one time when I was visiting, and Felicia was there.”
“Knit lit?” Briggs interrupted. “What’s that?”
“It’s a group where people get together to knit while someone else reads aloud. Sort of a knitting book club. Anyway, Felicia terrified everyone. She terrified me.”
“Why?”
“The knitters, because she could be so critical, but for me it was just her. You saw how she looked—no, you didn’t, did you? Well, she looked classy, all in black, like everyone else in Manhattan, and with her hair up and understated jewelry. She was everything I wasn’t.”
“How did you get the job, then?” Josh asked.
“About a month after I went home, my friend called to tell me she’d heard of a job opening at Knit It Up!”
“So that’s when you became Felicia’s assistant?”
“Oh, gosh, no, I wasn’t experienced enough for that. The job was for a general office assistant. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really want it. It didn’t pay enough for me to live in the city, but my friend convinced me to try. So when I interviewed with Felicia, I really didn’t care what she did. I told her that I would still write for other magazines if I was hired, because I had to make a living. She didn’t like it, so I thought that was it. I was really surprised when Beth called and offered me the job.”
“Beth Marley?”
“Yes, she was still Felicia’s assistant. The only condition was that I couldn’t write for any competing magazines. So, I thought, what the heck—I’m young and I thought living in New York might be fun.”
“But how did you end up becoming Felicia’s assistant?”
“Oh, that didn’t happen for a long time. My job wasn’t much, you know, not at first. I ran errands and made coffee and generally did whatever anyone wanted me to do. But one day Felicia called me into her office. She’d read one of my early articles. She criticized it, of course, because she wouldn’t have been Felicia if she didn’t, but she also promoted me. I became a staff writer. And things went from there.”
Josh leaned forward. All this was interesting, but it didn’t answer the central question. Did Debbie know that her chances of benefiting from Felicia’s death had been jeopardized? “Ms. Patrino, did anyone ever visit Felicia for something that didn’t have to do with the magazine?”
“Not when I was there. Why do you ask?”
“A young woman, about your age or older.”
“Or maybe she got a letter,” Charlie put in.
“Well, I didn’t read her mail. Who would you be talking about?”
“Someone you didn’t know.”
Debbie’s brow furrowed. “There was something. Someone called a few weeks ago for Felicia and wouldn’t give her name. I didn’t think anything of it because Felicia gets odd calls all the time. She kept calling back, and finally she told me to tell Felicia, ‘Hartford CSS.’ ”
“What?”
“ ‘Hartford CSS.’ I don’t know what it means, either. It sounds like some sort of crime show, doesn’t it?”
Briggs grunted in reply. “Go on.”
“When I told Felicia, she told me to let the woman through when she called.”
“Did she call again?”
“Yes, the next day.”
“And you put the call through?”
“Actually Felicia was standing at my desk when the call came.”
“How did she react?”
Debbie shrugged. “She looked pale, but she was looking pale all the time anyway. Anyway, I transferred the call to her office, and that was that.”
“Didn’t you think it was strange?” Briggs asked.
“A little, but I was busy, so after a while I forgot about it. It didn’t seem that important.”
“How did Felicia act afterward?”
“Look, what is this?” Debbie asked. “What does it have to do with anything?”
; Josh shook his head. “Maybe nothing. Did you ever find out what this woman’s name was?”
“No. I told you, I forgot about it until you asked me just now.” She sat back, arms crossed on her chest, looking seriously disgruntled. “Why is she important, anyway?”
“We have to look into everything.” Briggs rose. “Thank you for helping us, Ms. Patrino.”
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”
“You’ve been helpful. We’re done for now.”
“Then can I leave?”
Charlie shook his head. “Only to go to the other barn.”
“Why didn’t I guess that?” she said, and turned to the door. Trooper Lopes was there to escort her. They were not about to let a possible suspect wander around on her own.
“Well,” Charlie said into the silence left after her departure.
“Well?” Briggs echoed.
“Didn’t get much out of her, did we?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He stretched. “We confirmed that someone did contact Felicia.”
“What does ‘CSS’ mean?” Josh said, more to himself than to the others.
“You think Ms. Patrino was telling the truth?” Charlie asked. “I’m not sure I do.”
Briggs shrugged. “Hard to tell. If Felicia’s husband didn’t know the woman’s name, it’s possible Ms. Patrino didn’t, either.”
“That’s not the point,” Josh said. “What matters is if she knew the woman was Felicia’s daughter.”
“Looks like Felicia played this one close to the vest,” Charlie said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if no one knows about her.”
Briggs reached for his cell phone as it rang. “Briggs,” he said, and then looked up at the others. “Good. Yes, I have a pen and paper. Go ahead.” He scribbled something down as he listened. “You’re sure about that?” he said, his voice suddenly sharp. “OK. Yeah, I see what you mean. When will we get the full report?”
“The autopsy report?” Charlie muttered.
“Monday? That’s not good enough. Yeah, well look. Most of our suspects are from out of town. We can’t keep them here beyond tomorrow.” Briggs paused. “Yeah, true, I do know the important facts. Okay. If that’s the way it has to be, then that’s it.” Briggs snapped his phone shut. “Preliminary autopsy report.”
“And?” Charlie said.
“Nothing we didn’t already know.” He pulled reading glasses from his pocket and studied the paper. “Damn. Can’t read my own writing. Cause of death was a stab wound consistent with the knitting needle. The angle of entry is steep, as if the killer was shorter than the victim. It penetrated between her ribs and went through her heart.” He looked up. “This is the troubling part,” he said. “To be that exact requires either luck or knowledge. It’s not easy to find the exact place where something could penetrate past the ribs to the heart, especially not at that angle.”
“Then how did Felicia survive as long as she did?”
“The wound wasn’t deep enough to kill right away. The needle was bent,” he went on, reading from his notes again. “The killer had to use force, and it wasn’t strong enough to hold up.”
“Just strong enough to do the job.”
“Yeah.” He put down the paper. “We could be looking for someone with medical knowledge.”
“That means checking backgrounds again,” Josh said.
“There’s no time for it,” Briggs said. “You said it yourself just now. After tomorrow, they’re gone.”
“Not Ms. Evans.”
Josh gazed fixedly down at his linked hands. They weren’t using Ari enough, he thought. She had more insight into the people involved than they did, even if she didn’t know them well. The killer’s world was hers, or had been. How well had Ari really known Felicia?
“Considering the time factor, Ari couldn’t have done it,” Josh said, letting his annoyance show at last.
“I meant that she’ll be around if we have more questions about the victim and the people here,” Briggs said mildly.
“Yeah.”
Briggs leaned back in his chair. “She might have more to tell us than we realize—hold on.” He opened his cell phone, spoke into it, and then closed it again. “Well.”
“What is it?” Charlie asked.
“That was Winston Barr. He thinks he might have seen Felicia’s daughter.”
Chapter 10
Josh stood beside his car, not opening the door in spite of the rain. Winston’s news had galvanized them all; it could mean a break in the case. After much discussion, he, Briggs, and Charlie had decided not to bring Winston back for questioning in light of his worsening health. Instead Josh was being dispatched to talk to him at the bed-and-breakfast where he was staying.
Josh was glad to be leaving the fairgrounds, at least for a while. The atmosphere had become claustrophobic, and he’d been there all day. A change of scenery might give him a fresh view on this whole thing. Bouncing ideas off someone else would help, too.
With sudden decisiveness, Josh turned and strode toward Barn B. Inside, the air was closer and the light dimmer than ever, but he was aware of the small group of women seated to the right of the door. They watched him, all wary, as he approached them. He couldn’t blame them, he thought as he walked in. They’d all been through a lot today, innocent or not.
“Josh?” Ari said as he neared them. “When can we leave?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. But, Ari, we need to speak with you.”
“Again? I’ve told you everything I know.”
Josh shrugged. “There are a few things we want to go over.”
“Darn it,” she grumbled, and reached for her parka. “All right. But I hope this won’t take long.”
“It won’t. But the quicker we can clear this up, the better.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already,” she grumbled as they went out. “Seriously, when is this going to end? It’s getting late.”
“Soon enough. We’re just about done questioning everyone.”
“And?”
“Most people didn’t have anything to do with it, as far as we know.”
“Then who does?”
“Just you and the others in the barn.”
“The Suspects Club,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Oh, that’s just what we’re calling ourselves. What is this?” she asked. They had stopped beside Josh’s car. “I thought we were going to Barn A?”
“No. I need to talk with you.” He opened the passenger door of his Volkswagen and glanced around to make sure nobody saw them. “Here, get in.”
She didn’t move. “Josh, what is this?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“To where?”
“Ari, would you just get in?” he said, exasperated. “Before someone notices.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, and climbed into the car.
“Finally,” he muttered, and went around to his side. Ari was looking at him as warily as any of the suspects in the barn had. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘before someone notices’?”
He put the car in gear and drove toward the gate. “That you’re with me.”
“What?” She stared at him. “Josh, what is going on?”
“I need to ask Winston Barr some questions. And I think you can tell me things we wouldn’t find out otherwise.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.” She was frowning at him. “The state police don’t know about this, do they? Chief Mason and Detective Briggs. They don’t know I’m with you.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Josh, for goodness’ sake!” She shifted in her seat to stare at him. “You’re going to get in trouble.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so. Ari, can you tell me about the others in the barn?”
Ari glanced out the window. They had passed a farm or two, and now they were passing developed land with houses too big for their lots. “You know, I don’t th
ink the Wool Festival will be around for much longer.”
“After this, you mean?”
“The murder? No. It’s not rural enough around here anymore. I can remember when the festival was twice the size it is now.” She paused. “It is a strange place for a murder.”
“Mm. So, what about the others?”
“I don’t know, Josh. I only know them from today. Oh, except for Nancy and Rosalia, of course, who regularly frequent my shop. But I don’t know Rosalia that well.”
“Is she from around here?”
“She’s from Acushnet. She was a year behind me in high school.”
There were houses on both sides of the road now, and traffic grew heavier. It felt strange being in a busy area after the isolation of the wool festival. “So she’s about your age? Almost thirty?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason.” It was odd that so many of the people now left were around the same age, but then, a lot about this case was odd. “Which way do we go?” he asked, as they stopped at a traffic light.
“I don’t know. Where are we going?”
“Sorry. I’ve got to ask Winston Barr something. He’s staying at the Edgewater.”
“Oh. Turn right, then.”
Josh swung the car onto a more heavily traveled road. “What’s your take on him?”
“On Winston? I told you. He’s very gentlemanly.”
“Mm.” He’d struck Josh that way, too. “And you only saw him that once, at the party at his apartment?”
“Yes.”
Again he wondered how well Ari had really known Felicia, but decided not to bring up that topic yet. “He and Debbie seemed close.”
“I know. Like father and daughter. I had no idea.”
He took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her. “Then you didn’t know Debbie in New York?”
“No. I met Beth, but only once. At that same party.”
“What did you think of her? Then, I mean.”
Ari sat still for a moment, her lips pursed. “Now that I think about it, I think I decided she couldn’t be trusted.”
That made Josh look at her in surprise. “Why?”
“I don’t know. There was something she said to me about my success. But I remember she didn’t sound sincere.” Again Ari fell still. “I heard her talking to someone, praising her work, and then later making fun of it to some other person. It made me think she was a backstabber. Oh!”
