Murder of a Needled Knitter (25 page)

Debarkation

S
kye watched her father check his watch repeatedly. Her parents' flight left at three o'clock and it was already nearly noon. Most of the other passengers had disembarked a couple of hours ago, but the Fraynes, Boyds, and Denisons had been detained by the FBI. Skye, Jed, Owen, and Trixie were finished with their statements and were currently sitting in the Voyager's Lounge, but Wally and May were still with the agents.

Officer Trencher had been in touch with the federal authorities, and when the ship had docked in Fort Lauderdale at six that morning, two FBI agents had been waiting to board it. Skye was hoping Wally would have some answers when he returned from his interview, because her questions had been met with total silence.

Trixie had been quiet, but now she said, “How much longer do you think they'll keep them?” She and Owen were free to leave the ship, but they were waiting to make sure that May was in the clear before they went ashore.

“I have no clue.” Skye got up, approached a table with refreshments, and made herself a cup of tea. Trixie
followed, and Skye said, “The FBI agent wouldn't tell me anything. How about you?”

“Nope.” Trixie opted for coffee. “And you know that if you and I couldn't wheedle any information from her, Owen and your dad sure couldn't.”

“I wonder what will happen if my folks miss their plane.” Skye lowered her voice and glanced at her father, who was pacing in front of the entrance.

“Maybe they can get on ours.” Trixie grabbed a Danish and offered one to Skye. “We don't leave until five.”

“Maybe.” Skye shook her head at the sweet roll. She'd been nauseated all morning and hadn't been able to eat anything. Was it possible to be seasick when the ship was tied to the dock?

“How about you?” Trixie asked. “When does your plane leave?”

“Wally made all the arrangements and I forgot to ask him.”

“At least, if worse comes to worst, your folks can spend the night and fly home tomorrow,” Trixie said. “All of us have to be back at work bright and early Monday morning.” Trixie added cream to her coffee. “Even Owen, because the guy he hired to take care of the farm animals leaves tonight for Alabama.”

“Look, here comes Wally.” Skye put down her untouched cup of tea. Even the thought of drinking her favorite Earl Grey made her queasy.

“May's right behind me,” Wally said as everyone gathered around him. “I lent her my cell to phone home and no baby yet; then she stopped to use the bathroom.”

“Is everything okay?” Skye asked. “Can we leave?”

“We're all set.” Wally put an arm around her and whispered in her ear, “I've hired a car service, but the official story is that the ship is paying for it.” After Skye nodded and kissed him, he raised his voice and said, “A van will pick us all up in half an hour to take us to
the airport, so we might as well relax here until then.” Wally grinned. “I, for one, need a cup of coffee.”

While everyone was helping themselves to the refreshments, May burst into the room. She paused dramatically and said, “No jail for me, but I might get a free trip to Florida when Ella Ann goes to trial.”

“Seriously, Mom?” Skye raised a brow, then asked, “Aren't you worried about testifying?”

“Well, I probably won't have to.” May shrugged and took a seat on one of the couches. “Special Agent Adelman said that there's a good chance Ella Ann's lawyer will suggest his client take whatever deal she's offered since they have a confession.”

“Phew.” Trixie plopped down next to May. “You did a great job getting her to tell you everything.”

Wally had arranged for Jed and the Fraynes to hear the taped conversation between Ella Ann and May.

“Yes, I did.” May preened.

“What I didn't understand was all that fuss about yarn and pattern designs,” Owen said, taking the chair facing the sofa.

“The best way to explain it is that there's a fine line between a hobby and a mental illness,” Skye said. “When anything becomes an obsession, people will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

“What I can't fathom is why Guinevere was so despicable,” Trixie said. “Stealing people's intellectual property, blackmailing folks, sleeping with another woman's husband, then taunting her about it—that's almost unbelievably evil.”

“Sadly, it isn't as unusual as we'd like to think,” Skye said. “I read those printouts about Guinevere that Owen made. She was extremely blessed. The only child of a well-to-do couple who sent her to the best schools. Beautiful and talented and smart.”

“But shouldn't that make her a nice person?” Owen asked. “From everything I hear about her, she seemed so bitter.”

“I think someone who starts out with all the advantages can go either way.” Skye sat down in the chair next to Owen and Wally perched on the arm. “At some point, they either realize how fortunate they are or they want more. And if they don't think they've lived up to what they thought they'd achieve, or become who they thought they would be, then as they start to get older, the discontent grows until they turn into mean, spiteful people.”

“So you're saying that until recently Guinevere's life had been like living in Disney World,” Trixie mused.

“Exactly.” Skye nodded, then turned pensive. “What happens to someone like that when Fantasyland closes?”

“The same thing that happens to all wicked queens,” Wally said, stroking Skye's hair. “They don't get their happily ever after.” He kissed her cheek. “But we do.” He stood up, and pulled her to her feet. “Are you ready to go home?”

Skye was more than ready. She couldn't wait to see what direction her life would take now that she was married. She already felt different. Who knew where the next leg of her life's journey would lead
her?

Don't miss Denise Swanson's next Devereaux Dime Store Mystery

 

Dying for a Cupcake

 

Available wherever print and e-books are sold in March 2015.

Turn the page for an excerpt.

 

A
ttendance at the Saturday Night Prayer Circle was at an all-time high, and despite our group's nickname, it wasn't because any of us had suddenly gotten religion. We met to gripe about our problems, and although an occasional Hail Mary might be muttered under our breath, no one brought rosary beads or dropped to their knees—unless they fell off their stiletto heels.

“Poppy Kincaid.”

“Here.”

“Veronica Ksiazak.”

“Here.”

“Devereaux Sinclair.”

“I'm sitting right in front of you, Winnie,” I grumbled. “What's with this roll call crap anyway?”

“You'll see.” She smiled mysteriously. “It's a surprise.”

I generally found Winnie Todd amusing, but for various reasons, not the least of which was my messed-up love life, I was in a bad mood tonight. I probably should have stayed home, but the chance to avoid my grandmother's questions along with the lure of alcohol had overcome my better judgment.

The fishbowl-sized margaritas and endless bottles of wine that appeared miraculously in front of us whenever our glasses came close to being empty eased a lot of our group's woes. The prompt service could be due to the large tips we always left, but more likely it was because my best friend and fellow circle member, Poppy Kincaid, owned the joint.

Her nightclub, Gossip Central, was the most popular watering hole in Shadow Bend, Missouri—population four thousand twenty-eight. Strictly speaking, Poppy's place wasn't inside the city limits; it was a quarter mile across the line. Although I had never asked her about it, my guess was that she had deliberately chosen a location just outside her police chief father's jurisdiction.

No grown woman wanted her daddy showing up every time the authorities were called to break up a fight at her bar—especially since Poppy wasn't on speaking terms with her dad. In fact, Poppy's issues with her father were one of the main reasons she was a member of our little underground society.

My motives for participating went by the names Deputy U.S. Marshal Jake Del Vecchio and Dr. Noah Underwood—two smoking hot guys who claimed to be interested in me, but who tended to disappear from my life at regular intervals. True, I was having a hard time deciding which guy I really loved, and thus was seeing them both. But seriously, if either of them cared for me as much as they said they did, wouldn't they be spending more time in my company than at their jobs? I mean, I understood long hours and hard work, but it had been weeks since I'd had a date with either man.

I mentally slapped myself. I had vowed not to think about Jake or Noah tonight or my dilemma in trying to figure out which one was the right man for me. Instead, I was going to enjoy being with my friends and maybe even figuring out how to keep my dime store in the black for another quarter. Besides dodging my
grandmother's curiosity about my love life and the opportunity to partake in a glass or three of wine, my presence at the Saturday Night Prayer Circle was largely due to the text from Ronni Ksiazak saying that during the gathering, she planned to present an idea of how to bring tourists into Shadow Bend.

Tourists meant cash. And extra cash was something that I was sure that nearly everyone attending the evening's meeting could use. Ronni needed to fill her huge old Italianate Victorian bed-and-breakfast with paying guests if she was going to repay the loan that her family had given her to buy and renovate the place. Poppy had a serious fashion addiction to support, and Winnie was continuously fund-raising for various charities that constantly had their hands out for additional donations.

Although I didn't know the fifth woman seated across the cocktail table, I was fairly certain she wouldn't object to making a little spare change on the side either. Harlee Ames was eight years older than I was and had only recently returned to town after spending the last twenty years in the service. She'd moved home a few months ago and opened Forever Used, an upscale consignment shop aimed at Shadow Bend's affluent new arrivals.

Our community's population consisted of the locals—mostly farmers, ranchers, and factory workers who had lived in or around the town all their lives—and transplants from Kansas City who had relocated to the area for the fresh air and the cheap land. A huge chasm separated the two groups, and I worried that Harlee's store would widen the gap between the have and have-nots all the more. Even secondhand, the designer clothing and accessories her shop specialized in cost more than a lot of the original Shadow Benders earned in a week.

But I couldn't put my finger on whether that was what bothered me about Harlee, or if it was something else. As I mused about my reaction to our group's newest member, Ronni brought our gathering to order.

Raising her drink, the B & B owner said, “Here's to the Saturday Sisterhood. May we all make a lot of moola.” Ronni was nearly as driven and competitive as I was, so I wasn't surprised when she added, “And may we also leave our male competitors in the dust.”

“Hear, hear!” Winnie Todd clanked her wineglass with mine. “Ronni's idea will put my cooking school on the map. Especially since she's arranged media coverage.”

Ah, that was why Winnie was playing teacher. She was opening a cooking school. Considering that she had come of age in the sixties, and was rumored to be growing pot in her basement, I wondered if her specialty would be “magic” brownies. Maybe the weed was for her culinary classes rather than for her personal consumption.

Certainly, Winnie's wardrobe looked as if she were living in Haight-Ashbury. Tonight she had on a white vinyl minidress with a cutout midriff. The metal chains that fastened the bodice to the skirt rattled every time she took a deep breath. It was like sitting next to the ghost of Psychedelic Christmas Past.

“How many of you know who Kizzy Cutler is?” Ronni asked, breaking into my musings about Winnie's fashion choice.

The name sounded familiar, but a face didn't immediately come to my mind. Poppy was silent, and Winnie had a similarly puzzled expression, as if she too was trying to dredge up an elusive memory. Harlee was the only one who spoke up.

“Kizzy was in my class in high school. Why?”

“She lives in Chicago now and she owns the über successful Kizzy Cutler's Cupcakes,” Ronni explained. “She was a client of the advertising firm I used to work for and I was a part of the team that handled her account. She's the one who first told me about Shadow Bend.” Ronni took a swallow of her martini. “Kizzy always spoke so fondly of her hometown that when I
decided I'd had enough of city life, I took a look at what was available here.”

“I always wondered how you ended up in our little burg,” Poppy commented.

“Me too,” I said, sipping my wine. I loved Shadow Bend, but was curious why someone without any friends or relatives had chosen to relocate and open a business in our small community.

“Seems like a lot of people end up here for various reasons.” Winnie winked at me. “Like your hunky marshal.”

Grrr!
I forced a smile. Winnie was harmless, and I didn't want to snap at her a second time tonight, but I had just started to relax and now that she mentioned Jake, the conversation he and I had had that afternoon popped into my mind. I'd been so happy to see his picture on my cell phone's screen. Contact with him when he was on the job was sporadic at best, and his current case—tracking down a serial killer called the Doll Maker who had kidnapped Jake's ex-wife Meg—was even more intense than his usual assignments. Too bad his news hadn't been what I was hoping to hear. Instead of reporting that his team was making progress in finding Meg, Jake had said that the Doll Maker was still running him around Saint Louis with promises and threats.

Ronni interrupted my brooding. “Kizzy and I still keep in touch, and when she mentioned that she was starting a new themed cupcake line called the Flavors of Your Life, I suggested that she should kick it off with a contest to find the most original cupcake flavor. I recommended that because she currently distributes in the Midwest and South, the competition should be limited to those regions and—”

“And Kizzy agreed to hold the final rounds of baking and judging here in Shadow Bend!” Winnie shouted.

Ronni shot Winnie an exasperated look, clearly unhappy that the older woman had blurted out the news before she could make the announcement, then she
gave a tiny shrug and said, “I told Kizzy I could provide accommodations for the judges and media at my B and B, and that the contestants can stay at the Cattlemen's Motel.” Ronni consulted her notes. “We can use Winnie's cooking school for the actual baking and I thought that Poppy could handle the evening entertainment here at Gossip Central.”

“Sure.” Poppy's expression turned serious as she grabbed a pen from her pocket and started scribbling on a paper napkin. “How many people and what kind of events are we talking about?”

“There are ten finalists, three judges, and the Dessert Channel has said they'd be interested in covering the contest, so we'd need to include whatever crew they send. Plus Kizzy, her partner, and her executive assistant.” Ronni ticked the attendees off on her fingers. “And if we get the buzz we hope for, there should be lots of day-trippers here to join in the fun, so we want to keep it family friendly.”

“Isn't this the coolest thing you've ever heard of?” Winnie did a little go-go dance in her white patent leather knee-high boots. “I just wish my facility was larger. I can accommodate the ten bakers and the television crew, but there won't be room for observers.” She frowned, then brightened. “Oh, well. The universe must have a reason, which will be revealed at the proper time.”

Ronni turned to me. “Because of the cooking school's limitations, we need your place, Dev. Kizzy is willing to rent the area above Devereaux's Dime Store and pay to have it cleaned and decorated so we can display the cupcakes and do the two rounds of judging there.”

“I see,” I said, wondering how intrusive the competition would be on my regulars. The contest people would have to march through the store to get to the flight of stairs leading to the second story. “I'm not sure my top floor will work for what you have in mind. It's three
offices with tiny reception areas—not one big room.” I hadn't been able to figure out a good retail use of the space so I'd kept it intact, hoping I could rent it out to an insurance agent or Realtor. So far, there hadn't been any takers.

“Hmm. We can look into removing the walls.” Ronni took her iPad from her tote bag, brushed her finger over the screen, then said, “Or we could use the offices for the judging and maybe a lounge area. And we could have the big reception and award ceremony in your actual store on Sunday since you're closed that day anyway.”

“That might work,” I agreed, visions of rent money and new shoppers running through my head. “Removing a couple of the walls would be okay with me too.” With that area cleared, I could put merchandise up there. Maybe stock a whole new kind of product.

“Good. Because you'll probably want to extend your store's hours and open up on Sunday to take advantage of last-minute customers.” Ronni turned to Harlee and said, “Since the majority of people interested in a cupcake contest will probably be women, we thought one of the additional activities could be a fashion show. Would you be up for that?”

“Definitely.” Harlee pursed her lips. “I'll need to find models, but that shouldn't be too tough. I can put an ad in the local paper.”

“When will the contest take place?” I asked. It was already the beginning of June and I wondered if this would be a fall or winter event.

“The July Fourth weekend.” Ronni didn't look up from her iPad.

“But that's not even a month away!” I yelped, then checked my math. Yep. Less than four weeks. “How are we going to be ready in time?”

“No problem.” Ronni grinned. “I've got the workers lined up to start on your second floor whenever you
give them the go-ahead. The PR campaign is ready, and the preliminary rounds of the competition have already started.”

Ronni tossed a contract into my lap, and as I flipped through the multipage document, I heard a strident voice from the stairs yell, “Devereaux Sinclair, don't tell me you're alone on a Saturday night.”

Gossip Central had started out life as a cattle barn, and when Poppy had remodeled the building, she'd decorated it to reflect its origins. The center area contained the stage, dance floor, and bar, and off to the sides, the stalls formed secluded lounges, each with its own individually themed decor. We were in the Hayloft, the second-story space reserved for private parties, but this didn't stop my archenemy, Gwen Bourne, from marching uninvited up the steps and zeroing her malevolent gaze on me.

Gwen had quite a crush on Noah, and that he preferred to date me, someone she considered inferior in both looks and social status, drove Gwen bat-shit crazy. I could have told her that even if I was out of the picture, she wouldn't have a chance in hell with the handsome doctor. The problem wasn't that she was a few years older than he was; it was that she was too much like his mother—a high-maintenance snob.

“I'm hardly alone.” I swept my arm around the group. “Oh, that's right. You don't consider other women people, do you? To you they're just rivals.”

“Gwen.” Poppy slid from her stool and took the intruder's arm. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to go back down to the bar. You know the Hayloft is a restricted area.”

“What's the big secret?” Gwen narrowed her color-contact-lens-enhanced blue eyes. “Are you witches stirring up trouble in your cauldron?”

The witch allusion was Gwen's favorite metaphor when attacking me—although generally, she pronounced
a “b” instead of the “w”—so going along with her theme, I said, “Yes, we are. We're brewing up love potions, and from what I hear about your lack of beaux, perhaps you'd like to put in an order.”