A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (11 page)

She wondered if any of her friends had seen the morning news today. If they had, they would soon be calling her.

Sure enough, when Maggie emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel, there was a text from Lucy on her cell phone.

Did you see the news? Tried Phoebe. Not picking up. Hope she’s OK. Call me.

Maggie quickly texted Lucy back:

Long story. Not a happy one. Phoebe is OK. Come to the shop @ lunchtime. Or call later.

Lucy often took a midday break if her work deadline wasn’t too pressing. She liked to stretch those long legs of hers and might walk downtown to hear Maggie’s—and Phoebe’s—sad story.

After two mugs of coffee and some oatmeal, Maggie stood dressed and ready to go, her purse and knitting bag in hand. She peeked into the guest room, where Phoebe was still fast asleep; her newly adopted pal, Van Gogh, slept curled in a ball, his head burrowed into Phoebe’s knee. He was either snoring or purring in his sleep. He sounded like a little furry motor.

Phoebe slept with a distressed expression on her fragile features. She certainly looked exhausted, and Maggie did not have the heart to wake her.

After waiting at the crime scene for more than an hour
and then sitting in the police station, giving statements to Detectives Reyes and Mossbacher for even longer, Phoebe was exhausted, alternating between free-flowing tears and a catatonic stare. When Maggie suggested that she come back to her house, Phoebe had only nodded numbly and allowed Maggie to care for her.

They were both very disturbed by Beth Shelton’s death. Phoebe even more so, since she had known the girl a bit and discovered the body.

Maggie carefully closed the door and left a note for her guest on the kitchen table, then headed for town.

Maggie should have guessed. A few hours later as lunchtime rolled around, she was expecting not only Lucy but also Suzanne and Dana, who had learned the bare bones of the story from the television news and wanted all the gritty, inside details.

The police would be working on the case intensely, and Maggie guessed that Dana already had some inside information from her husband, Jack, who knew everyone on the force from his bygone days in law enforcement and heard a lot of inside gossip.

Phoebe arrived first, at about half past eleven. She carried a large paper carton and set it on the counter. Maggie could hear something moving around inside and occasionally offering a plaintive meow.

Maggie hoped this cat business worked out. She didn’t want to think about it right now, though. “How are you feeling? Did you get enough sleep?”

Phoebe shrugged. “I guess so, but I had some really bad dreams,” she added quietly.

“I’m not surprised.” Maggie glanced at the box. “I think the
cat slept well. He was cuddled up right next to you, snoring away when I left the house.”

Phoebe managed a small smile, one that seemed to draw on all her energy. She looked so drained. Maggie was sure a week of sleep could not make up for last night’s ordeal. Remnants of makeup ringed her eyes, and her dark hair, streaked with magenta and choppy on one side, was clipped in at the back of her head in an unattractive lump.

Maggie had loaned her some clothes—a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt she found up in her daughter Julie’s room. Julie was smaller than Maggie, but Phoebe still looked as if she were wearing a collapsed tent.

“Everyone is concerned about you. Suzanne, Dana, Lucy. They’re coming at lunchtime. But if you don’t feel up to seeing them . . .”

“I want to see them. I want to stay down in the shop today and work. It will be distracting.”

Maggie knew that was true. The steady stream of customers she’d dealt with so far had kept her from thinking too much about last night’s crime scene . . . and where Charlotte might be.

Everyone wanted to know that.

Maggie wanted to ask Phoebe if she’d heard from Charlotte yet. But of course, she would have said something if she had. The police were waiting, too. Phoebe had promised to let them know if she’d had any contact with her friend at all.

Of course, the police weren’t going to wait for a message from Charlotte to Phoebe . . . or anyone else for that matter. Detective Reyes had told them last night that the search for
Charlotte was well under way. Investigators were not only relying on the information from Phoebe and Maggie about last night but also looking for anyone on the Whitaker campus who may have spotted her as they tried to track her movements after the art show.

They would find her soon, Maggie felt sure of it. Isn’t that the way it always went when you watched some detective show on TV?

Phoebe went up to her apartment to shower and change her clothes, and get Van Gogh settled in. Maggie returned to the task at hand, following up on special orders with a few different yarn companies. The morning rush had cleared off, and there weren’t any customers in the shop, waiting for help. For once she hoped no one would come in. Not until her friends had come and gone.

She was glad that they all wanted to see Phoebe and rally around her. Phoebe needed their support and friendship now.

Maggie only knew a little about Phoebe’s family and background. She’d grown up in New Hampshire, and her father had left the house when she was about seven. Her mother, who had died a few years ago, had faced her own demons. Phoebe and her brother had been shifted around to stay with relatives and had more or less brought themselves up. Phoebe was close to her older brother, Sam, growing up. But he was in the navy now and always out at sea somewhere. He sent e-mails and letters. Sometimes they Skyped. But she was lucky to see him in person once a year. If that much.

There may have been an aunt and uncle or a grandmother somewhere. Phoebe had never mentioned them. She seemed
very much alone in the world for one so young. Maggie had realized that last night, at the police station.

Phoebe was very independent, to be sure. But sometimes Maggie wondered if that was her true nature or simply a survival skill she’d picked up along the way. Ditto for her sometimes defensive, even prickly attitude. Maggie gave her a pass for that as well.

Phoebe wasn’t in any trouble, Maggie hurried to remind herself. The police just needed to rule her out. It was all very routine. But the situation had been stressful, and most people her age would have called a parent. Phoebe called me, Maggie reminded herself. It was a great compliment . . . and a responsibility.

No matter. She was happy to help Phoebe right now in any way she could, and she knew the rest of her knitting circle felt the same.

*  *  *

Dana and Suzanne arrived at the same time and, after a quick greeting, walked straight back to the worktable, where they set out their lunches.

Dana opened her blue thermal pouch and began to set out containers. Maggie would be willing to bet at least one contained seaweed salad.

“How’s Phoebe?” Dana asked. “She must be very upset.”

“Yes, she is . . . She called me right after she called nine-one-one. At first, we thought it was Charlotte.”

“Good Lord . . . that must have been awful . . .” Suzanne had opened a brown paper bag and now took out a plastic spoon.

“She was very shaken . . . and only a little relieved to hear
it wasn’t Charlotte. She knew the girl who was killed—Beth Shelton—but not very well. Phoebe said Beth was a really nice kid. Another art student.” Maggie sighed. It was all so sad and senseless. It was hard to ask the question, but Maggie wanted to know. “How was she killed? Was she smothered or something in all that knitting?”

Detective Reyes had made Maggie and Phoebe promise not to talk about the investigation, especially the crime scene. But Dana obviously already knew, and Maggie was finding it hard—well, impossible actually—not to talk about it with her friends. It couldn’t be kept secret forever. It would soon be in the news, she rationalized.

“I’m not supposed to tell,” Dana began, obviously wrestling with her conscience, too. “But they’ve pretty much pieced it together. Someone came through a back window while Beth was in the bedroom, watching TV. There were signs of a brief struggle, but the intruder overpowered her quickly with some fast-acting drug she inhaled, chloroform or something like that pressed to her face. Then the killer smothered her and . . . well, wrapped her in big sections of knitting. Most of her face was covered. That’s why Phoebe didn’t realize it wasn’t Charlotte.”

Maggie nodded but couldn’t speak. The image was very unsettling. Poor Beth. What a tragic, senseless loss of life.

“That is so weird . . . Why was the girl in Charlotte’s apartment?” Suzanne had unwrapped a container of soup and an apple but had put it aside. This conversation could take away anyone’s appetite—even Suzanne’s, Maggie realized.

“Phoebe thinks Beth was having roommate problems and Charlotte invited her to stay over,” Maggie recalled.

“I think police have confirmed it. One of Beth’s roommates told them Charlotte planned to leave town very soon and Beth was going to take over her apartment. Beth wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. But Beth and her roommates got into an argument and it came out. Needless to say, the roommates are very sorry now that they’d been so mean and driven the poor girl out that night.”

“As well they should be,” Suzanne said huffily. “Alexis is quite a few years from college. But I’m already worried about her living on her own. My heart just breaks when I think of Beth’s parents. Did she come from around here?”

Dana shook her head. She’d put aside her salad—seaweed, just as Maggie had suspected—and taken out her knitting. “No, she’s from Maine. Carlisle, I think. It will be a few days before the police can release her body. Her parents are already in town. Of course they want to be close to the investigation.”

“My heart goes out to them. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare.” Maggie sighed. What else could one say? The very idea took your breath away. She sipped another cup of coffee. She’d had so little sleep last night, she’d need a whole pot by the time the day was through.

“Where’s Phoebe? Is she still at your place?” Suzanne glanced at Maggie.

“She came back a little while ago. She should be down soon.”

They heard someone at the shop door. Maggie was relieved to see Lucy walk in. She really didn’t feel like taking care of a customer right now.

“Hi, guys . . . Did I miss much?”

“Not really. We were just talking about Beth Shelton and how sad it is for her family.”

“What an awful shock. Have the police figured out yet if Beth was the intended victim or if the intruder had really been after Charlotte?”

“They have to investigate both possibilities at this point. Jack said they’ll still have to rule Charlotte out as a suspect,” Dana added. “They have samples of Charlotte’s DNA in the apartment and can figure out if there’s any on Beth’s body. But so far, there’s no report of any ill will between the two girls. So there’s no real motive.”

“Oh, I don’t think Charlotte had anything to do with it. Do any of you?” Before anyone could answer, Maggie added, “I think she’s running from someone who wants to harm her . . . not from the murder scene. And we already know Charlotte had plans to leave town and didn’t want too many people to know about it.”

Lucy found a chair and sat down. “She did? That sounds important. Where was she going? Did she tell anyone?”

“She didn’t want Quentin to know,” Suzanne cut in. “But she must have told Phoebe.”

Maggie shrugged. “Phoebe said she doesn’t know why Charlotte was moving or where she was going. Just that she wanted to leave Plum Harbor.”

The sound of footsteps on the staircase in the storeroom drew everyone’s attention. Phoebe was coming down, and they all turned at once to see her.

“Here she comes. Let’s ask her,” Suzanne said.

Phoebe appeared in the doorway a moment later, wearing one of her signature outfits—tight black jeans, laced-up boots
that reached to the middle of her shins, and a large turtleneck she’d knit herself made of thick gray yarn flecked with black, purple, pink, and other colors. Lavender socks showed at the edges of the boots, and she carried Charlotte’s cat in her arms.

The “no cats in the shop” rule had gone by the wayside already. But Maggie didn’t have the heart to hold the line. Phoebe just wanted to show everyone the new pet, she guessed. Just this once would be all right, Maggie decided.

“Hey, guys . . . Maggie said you were all coming by.”

“We wanted to see how you were. You had a terrible night.” Suzanne’s voice oozed with concern.

“It was horrible. I felt like I was trapped in a fright film.”

Despite her improved appearance, Phoebe suddenly looked pale and shaky again. Dana rose and put an arm around her shoulder. “Come and sit down with us. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to . . . Who’s this?”

“Vincent Van Gogh. I’m just watching him till Charlotte gets back.”

“Hello, Van Gogh.” Dana was a big feline fan. She owned a rare but crazy Maine coon named Arabelle. Using just her fingertips, she gently massaged Van Gogh behind his chewed-off ear. His eyes closed to narrow slits. “I thought you had a firm rule about pets, Maggie?”

“I do. I mean, I did,” Maggie insisted. “But Charlotte has all these cats, and they were roaming about last night, looking so hungry and forlorn. Phoebe was able to grab this guy, and we decided he could visit a while. Until Charlotte comes back,” she added quickly. “I guess you haven’t heard from her?”

Phoebe shook her head, biting her lower lip. “Not a word.”
She petted Van Gogh in an absentminded way, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I knew Quentin was crazy. I should have told her right away, before the show even, to stay at my place . . . Even though that wouldn’t have helped poor Beth.”

“Phoebe . . . you can’t blame yourself for this. Not any part of it,” Dana said quietly.

“If anything happens to Charlotte, I will,” Phoebe insisted.

No one answered. They were all thinking the same thing, Maggie realized. Hoping Charlotte was all right . . . but wondering if whoever had killed Beth had somehow caught up with Charlotte, too.

“I think she’s all right,” Dana said in a very definite tone. “I really do. The police do, too,” she added. “They’ve questioned Quentin. He has an alibi for last night. Though it isn’t airtight.”