While My Pretty One Knits (4 page)

Maggie had said all the right things about Amanda, but Lucy wondered what Maggie really felt, hearing that her arch rival had suddenly been wiped off the playing field. Along with the shock they all felt, the news must have brought Maggie some private moment of relief, if only to realize she was no longer subjected to Amanda’s ill will and bouts of harassment.

The next morning, after a halfhearted attempt to clean up the cottage—a routine that basically consisted of collecting armfuls of dirty mugs and newspapers, and throwing in a load of laundry—Lucy decided a walk into town would be a good way to clear her head after the previous night’s work marathon.

The bright winter sunlight made her blink and the dry cold air burned her lungs as she attempted a speed walk down the winding side streets to the village.

She made it all the way to the town docks and village green, which fronted the harbor, then started back up Main Street, heading for the Schooner. The Schooner was a coffee shop that had been opened in the 1950s and had not changed much since then in menu, attitude, or decor. The turquoise leather booths and chrome trim were so far out of fashion they were back in.

Edie Steiber, who had inherited the grill from her father, ran the place. She sat behind the cash register like a Buddha in a cardigan—a Christmas cardigan, Lucy noticed, though it was well past Valentine’s Day. Edie had her own style, you might say. Reading glasses dangled around her neck on a beaded cord as she wiped down a stack of plastic menus. Her perch was right near the entrance, at the end of the long counter, and she prided herself on greeting just about everyone who came in or out by name.

“Hey, Lucy. You’re out early. Coffee?” Edie asked as Lucy walked in. Lucy nodded and took a seat at the counter.

“Large, please. To go.”

As Edie poured the coffee, Lucy checked the rack near the register that usually held the local paper, but it stood empty. She riffled through the other slots that held copies of the
Boston Globe
and
U-Sell It
, but didn’t see any stray copies. Had Edie missed her delivery this morning?

“Looking for the
Plum Harbor Times
?” Edie set the paper cup of coffee on the counter, the plastic lid balanced on top. “I might have a copy down here somewhere.” She leaned over and peered under the counter. “Sold out the stack in an hour. That poor Amanda Goran, what a terrible thing…. Oh, here it is.”

She pulled out the paper and laid it on the counter. Lucy had already taken a sip of coffee, but the gulp of hot liquid stuck in her throat.

“Local Merchant Murdered,” the headline read.

A photo of Amanda holding up a knitting project and a picture of the Knitting Nest surrounded by yellow crime-scene tape ran alongside the story.

“She was murdered?” Lucy stared at Edie. “I heard it was an accident.”

“Someone broke into the shop and bashed the poor woman’s head in. That was no accident, hon.” Edie tugged her sweater a little tighter around her chest and ample stomach, as if the conversation gave her a chill.

“Oh my God, that’s horrible….” Lucy quickly scanned the article. Amanda had died from a head injury, as Suzanne had reported, but it had not been caused by a fall or some random accident. She’d died in her shop yesterday morning after being struck repeatedly on the head, the
Plum Harbor Times
reported. Peter Goran, Amanda’s estranged husband, had found her around ten o’clock. He’d put in the call to 911, but it had been too late.

“I’ve been living here all my life. It’s hard to remember the last time something this violent ever happened.” Edie shook her head. “People are horrified. They can’t stop talking about it. It’s a frightening world we’re living in today. I just hope they catch whoever did this. Catch them and make them pay.”

Lucy stared blankly across the counter. Amanda’s death had been shocking enough. Was it really a cold-blooded murder? Who would do such a thing? Sure, Amanda had a knack for rubbing people the wrong way, hoarding every slight—real or imagined—and rarely sparing anyone her opinion. Plenty of people in town had tangled with the proprietor of the Knitting Nest, that was for sure. But did anyone dislike her enough to kill her? Lucy couldn’t imagine it. Not in this town.

“Must have been a break-in,” Edie speculated. “I’ve had problems myself. I had to put a thick metal door with a bar at the kitchen entrance in back. Looks like Fort Knox.”

Lucy nodded at the story. She was still shocked practically speechless by the newspaper headline. It could have been some random act, committed by a total stranger, Lucy thought. Though any criminal mind who found the Knitting Nest a temptation had to be completely desperate…or a real dimwit.

“It’s all the drugs at the high school,” Edie added. “The kids are desperate. And daring. They see all this violence in the movies and those video games and say, What the heck. It doesn’t mean a thing to them.”

“Drugs at the high school? I never heard that.”

Edie nodded knowingly. “Oh yeah. It’s bad. People don’t like to talk about it. Brings down the real-estate value and all that baloney, but believe me, it’s going on here, same as everywhere. We’re just close enough to the city, that’s the problem.”

Edie did have a point. Plum Harbor seemed to be a long way from civilization but it was actually quite close to Boston and no place on earth was really immune to the insidious problem.

Lucy reached in her pocket and pulled out some bills, then paid for the coffee and paper. As she was leaving, she passed a group of women seated in a booth by the door. She couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, more speculation about Amanda’s murder, of course.

As Lucy headed up Main Street toward the Black Sheep, she had no doubt the same conversation was going on behind each storefront—the variety and hardware stores, busy with Saturday-morning shoppers. The antique stores and bookshop. The deli and post office. As Lucy passed each doorway, she imagined the shock and speculation voiced within. Edie had her own theories, but she’d been right about one thing. Amanda’s murder was frightening, especially to the shopkeepers, who must now wonder if it could happen again, to one of them.

The Black Sheep didn’t open on Saturdays until eleven, but Lucy had a feeling she’d find Maggie there. She wasn’t surprised to find the shop door open and she walked in. Maggie sat in an armchair in the front room. She had some knitting out, though the needles lay idle in her lap. The newspaper sat open on the tea table in front of the couch.

“I guess you’ve seen the news about Amanda,” Lucy said.

Maggie stared up at her. “Can you believe it?”

“It’s hard to get my brain around it,” Lucy admitted. “Do you really think she was murdered?”

“That’s what the police say. The paper doesn’t give much information, but there must be a good reason. It must have been awful for Peter to have found her like that.”

Lucy didn’t answer. The mere thought made her shudder.

The shop door opened and Dana swept in, her large travel mug in hand. From the look on her face, Lucy could tell she was up to speed on the news.

“My ten thirty canceled, so I have a little time,” she said, sitting down.

A little time to talk about Amanda’s murder, she meant. The newspaper article had been sparse with details and reasons why the police were investigating. Lucy hoped Dana might be able to fill in a few of the blanks.

“Did Jack hear anything about Amanda?” Lucy asked her.

“Yes, what are his police friends saying?” Maggie leaned forward eagerly.

Dana sat down and twisted open her mug. “It’s a huge case. Jack can’t remember the last time this town had a murder to investigate.” Same as Edie said, Lucy thought. “That’s why the county detectives were brought in. It’s beyond the scope of the village police force.”

“I read that in the paper,” Lucy said.

“Peter Goran found her,” she added. “Jack’s buddy said the poor man came out of the shop covered with blood. He was really in shock. Quite a sight when the ER and police got there.” Dana shuddered.

Lucy cringed at the image. “He must have been trying to revive her.”

Maggie slipped on her reading glasses, then picked up her knitting. Her fingers jumped nervously across the row of stitches as she tried to find her place. “I guess he tried to help her. But it was too late…. How awful.”

“He told the police he went over to the Knitting Nest yesterday morning to talk to Amanda about some point they were haggling about in their separation agreement,” Dana continued. “He heard the dogs barking, really going crazy. When she didn’t answer, he used his own key to get in.”

“And found her,” Lucy added.

“She was on the floor in her office. He thought at first maybe she’d fallen and struck her head. But the wounds were not the type you’d get from a fall. More like someone had struck her on the head with a blunt object.”

“The police can tell all that so quickly?” Lucy asked.

Dana nodded, sipping her coffee. “It’s pretty basic medical examiner’s stuff. They’re doing a full autopsy, of course. Jack says the report won’t be in for a few days. I think they had to send the body to Boston.”

Maggie took a breath. “Poor Amanda. She didn’t deserve this.”

“And the shop was a mess. Her office was turned upside down. Whoever broke in must have been looking for cash, or anything valuable they could get their hands on.”

“Sounds like Amanda walked in on a robbery,” Lucy said.

“Maybe. Just a case of bad timing.” Dana shrugged.

“What about the dogs?” Lucy asked. “Wouldn’t they have tried to protect her?”

“I’ve heard crooks have ways of dealing with dogs. They toss them some meat or sticks of butter,” Maggie said.

“Amanda wouldn’t have been subdued so easily,” Lucy replied. “She wouldn’t have given in meekly if she came face-to-face with an intruder.”

“No, she was never meek…but she didn’t have much luck, did she?” Maggie sounded genuinely grieved for her former foe.

The shop door opened and they all looked up to find a couple standing in the doorway. Lucy didn’t recognize them. The man was about Maggie’s age, tall and thin, dressed in a long, navy blue, all-weather-type coat. A brimmed hat shadowed his thin face. The woman looked younger, wearing a tailored wool coat over dark pants. They didn’t look like a married couple, Lucy thought. In fact, they didn’t seem to match at all, except for their serious expressions.

“Good morning. I’m Detective Walsh. From the Essex County Police. This is Detective Reyes,” he added, introducing his partner. “We’re looking for Ms. Messina?” He stared around at the group of women and removed his hat.

Maggie’s eyes widened. “I’m Maggie Messina.” She stood up and put down her knitting. “Can I help you with something?”

The county detectives had not stopped by for advice on their cable stitch, Lucy was sure of that.

As Maggie walked toward them, the two detectives took out official ID from their coat pockets and flashed the cards for her to see.

“We’re gathering information about Amanda Goran,” Detective Reyes said. “You may have known her?”

“Of course. We were just talking about Amanda,” Maggie replied. “Very sad news.”

“Yes, it is.” Detective Walsh agreed and nodded. The expression in his eyes suggested he’d seen a lot of sad situations, Lucy thought, and would see a lot more before he was through.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions, Ms. Messina,” Detective Reyes said. “Is there somewhere private where we can talk?” She glanced over at Dana and Lucy, sparing a small smile.

Maggie shrugged. “I don’t mind talking to you here. These are my good friends. You might want to speak with them, too. They knew Amanda. At least a little.”

Detective Walsh tilted his head. “I’ve heard that you knew her through your business. That the two of you were rivals. Is that a fair description?”

Obviously, the Black Sheep was not their first stop, though they probably didn’t have to question too many people in order to hear about Amanda and Maggie’s contentious relationship.

“I guess you could call us rivals,” Maggie replied, “though you make it sound like we were dueling with knitting needles or something.”

“Point taken.” The detective responded with a small smile. Lucy thought it looked as if it pained him just a bit, but he was making the effort, possibly to get Maggie talking.

“How would you describe your relationship with her, Ms. Messina?” Detective Reyes followed up in a quiet tone.

“There was some friction,” Maggie admitted. “Mainly on her side.”

For a small person, Maggie had a surprisingly strong, deep voice. She could summon an authoritative edge, too, honed during years of managing surly high school students.

Detective Walsh took a slim pad and pen from the breast pocket of his coat and flipped it open. “What do you think Ms. Goran’s grievances were. Did she ever tell you?”

Maggie shrugged. “I’m not sure where to start. Amanda acted as if I had no right to open a knitting shop because of her place, which was over on the other side of town and didn’t even get enough traffic to stay open regular hours. I think she would have resented anyone opening a knitting store within twenty miles of here.” Maggie shrugged and glanced at Detective Walsh. He showed no reaction. She looked over at Detective Reyes, whose expression seemed a bit more sympathetic. “I didn’t take it personally. I mean, I tried not to. Though she made it personal,” Maggie explained.

Detective Reyes nodded. She was pretty, Lucy noticed, though obviously downplaying her looks, with her dark hair pulled back in a clip and little or no makeup. Lucy guessed it was still difficult for a woman in law enforcement and hard to rise to the rank of detective. “How long have you had this business, Ms. Messina?” she asked.

“Oh…about three years. I used to teach at the high school, in the art department. I’d always wanted to open a knitting store when I retired. But Bill—my husband—died about four years ago,” she explained simply.

Lucy heard the catch in her voice. Maggie still grew emotional talking about Bill. She’d carried on with her life, but there remained a great yawning gap that could not be repaired.