While My Pretty One Knits (8 page)

Maggie returned holding a mug that said “I’d Rather Be Knitting.” She curled into the corner of the sofa. “So what did this intruder look like? You didn’t say.”

“I didn’t get much of a look. It all happened in about ten seconds. And my face was full of snow as they were running away.”

“Too bad…I don’t have a very good alibi, either,” Maggie added with a sigh. Lucy stared at her and noticed a smile.

“Maggie, please. I think you’re all worked up over nothing. Did the detectives get in touch with you again?”

“No, I haven’t heard another word. But it’s only been a day,” she reminded Lucy. “Do you think they let you knit in prison?” she asked suddenly. “Probably not, right? Since the needles are so sharp. The airlines hardly let you knit on a plane anymore. All those new security rules.”

“Come on. I’m sure you’re not the prime suspect. The police must be hot on some other trail by now. Now they have this intruder to consider. Maybe it wasn’t just a petty thief who knew the shop was empty. Maybe it was someone connected to the murder and the police will have to start looking in a completely new direction.”

“Maybe…but I’m not counting on it. Jack Haeger gave me the name of a good criminal attorney, just in case.”

“Just in case of…what?”

“In case the police pursue this insanity any further. In case they really start to think I killed Amanda.”

Maggie’s hair looked very curly today. She’d either just washed it or had been working out. A chunk bounced into her face and she impatiently pushed it back with her hand.

Lucy didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think Maggie really needed an attorney, but the recommendation obviously made her feel better. Lucy didn’t see how it could hurt.

Maggie moved to the end of the couch and picked up some knitting off a side table, a project that didn’t look familiar. It must have been something Maggie had started over the weekend. Maggie was such a fast knitter, it was well under way.

“What you are making?” Lucy asked her.

“That big satchel from Cara’s felting book. For Julie. If she doesn’t like it, I’ll keep it for myself.”

“I think she’ll like it. It’s great for carrying books. Have you heard anything more about Amanda?” Lucy found it hard to say “about the murder,” even hard to say Amanda’s name.

“Peter is holding a service at that old cemetery on the road to the beach. It’s set for Tuesday morning.”

“Who told you that?”

“Edie Steiber called me. Amanda belonged to the chamber of commerce, though she wasn’t at the meetings much. Edie was calling the members to make sure we knew about Peter’s arrangements.”

Maggie sat silently for a moment, her gaze fixed on her knitting, her fingers nimbly feeding the yarn and looping stitches. “I guess I’ll go,” she said finally.

“You will?” Lucy couldn’t hide her surprise.

Maggie looked up at her. “Why not? I’d like to pay my last respects.”

“Sure you want to do that? The murderer always shows up at the funeral in books and movies,” Lucy teased her. “It might make the police suspect you more.”

“Good thing I found that lawyer. They still give you one phone call, right?” Maggie flipped her knitting over.

Lucy was relieved to see she still had some sense of humor about the situation.

“I know it sounds insane,” Maggie said after a moment, “but I’m going to miss Amanda. She was a royal pain, but she was part of my life. Whenever she got annoyed with me, it usually meant I was doing something really interesting at the shop. When you think about it, she gave me a lot of attention. She made me feel…important.” Maggie picked her knitting up again and shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe in some ways, you miss your enemies when they go as much as you miss your friends.”

Lucy didn’t know what to say. Maggie’s insight rang true, though Lucy had never thought of it that way. “I can go to the service with you,” Lucy offered. “If you want.”

“Would you? Gee, thanks. It will feel sort of strange there.”

“I don’t mind. I guess I’m curious.”

Maybe it was purely lurid fascination, like being unable to look away when you pass a car accident. But Lucy guessed she wouldn’t be the only person with no close ties to the deceased, who had just tagged along because they were curious.

L
ucy fully expected the county detectives to get in touch with her about the police report she had filed. But it was still a surprise when Detectives Walsh and Reyes appeared at her front door early Monday morning.

Sneak attack, she decided, though it was nearly nine, an hour when most decent people were already showered, dressed, and out of the house. She’d been working late several nights in a row and had allowed herself an extra few minutes of sleep. So now they’d caught her in her bathrobe before she’d even had a chance to brush her teeth or down a cup of coffee.

“Are we catching you at a bad time, Ms. Binger?” Detective Reyes asked politely.

What do you think? Lucy nearly replied.

“Not at all, come right in,” she said instead. She opened the door and tightened the belt on her robe. “I was working pretty late last night. I missed my alarm.”

“What do you do for a living?” Detective Walsh asked. The way he was looking at her made her nervous. Did he think she was a pole dancer or something?

“I’m a graphic artist. I have my own business and I work at home.”

“Lucky you.” Detective Reyes smiled for a moment, then looked more serious. “We received a message from the Plum Harbor Police. You reported seeing an intruder at the Knitting Nest yesterday morning?”

Lucy nodded. “I went to a yoga class across the street, at the Nirvana Yoga Center. When the class was over, I was just standing on the sidewalk, talking with my friends—”

Detective Walsh had his pad out and looked down at it. “That would be Suzanne Cavanaugh and Dana Haeger?”

“That’s right.”

“Go on,” Detective Reyes told her. “So you were standing there, talking?”

“Right. I happened to be looking at the Knitting Nest, thinking about Amanda Goran and what had happened to her. Then I thought I saw someone inside the shop. I told my friends, but they didn’t believe me,” she added. “So I decided to just take a look and find out if I’d been imagining it.”

“Didn’t you notice the crime-scene tape?” Detective Walsh asked. “That bright yellow stuff?”

His sarcastic tone made Lucy nervous again. “Yeah…but…I wasn’t going inside, honestly. I just wanted a quick look through the window and then we were going to call the police.”

He looked down at his pad again. “The report says you went to the north side of the building, is that correct?”

Lucy nodded, omitting that she’d felt the front was too obvious and she’d be more apt to be caught.

“It was dark inside. I couldn’t see much. But finally, I did see someone in there…and a few moments later, whoever it was ran out the back door and into someone else’s yard.”

“And you couldn’t say for sure if it was a man or a woman? And you didn’t see the person’s face.” Detective Walsh’s tone was challenging, as if he doubted what he read in the report.

“That’s right. They just sort of dashed past. And I had slipped in the snow, facedown. So basically, while they were passing I was rubbing snow out of my eyes.”

Detective Reyes seemed ready to say something, but when she looked at Walsh, she decided not to. Walsh rubbed his jaw. He looked genuinely annoyed, as if Lucy was purposely being obstreperous.

“Could you take a guess?” Detective Walsh coaxed her. “Was the person tall? Thin? Heavy? Did they have broad shoulders? Slim shoulders?”

“Not that tall,” Lucy answered. “Maybe about my height? Or a little taller. They had on this baggy black sweatshirt and jeans. Pretty nondescript. Sneakers, maybe? That’s all I saw, honestly.”

Lucy was five feet seven, so that guess was probably not much help in determining whether the intruder was male or female.

“Why didn’t you call the police from Hobson Street? Why did you wait and go into the village?” He tilted his head to the side, waiting for her to answer and looking as if he already doubted her explanation.

“Well…we thought about calling nine-one-one but it seemed silly. Whoever ran out of that building was long gone. We thought it would be a waste of time for the police to come there. And to tell you the truth, Detective,” she added, “my clothes were all wet and I felt really cold.”

He stared at her and let out a long noisy sigh.

“We’ve spoken to a few residents in the area,” Detective Reyes said. “No one else saw this person in the neighborhood.”

“Oh? Well…I guess it was early and a Sunday morning. And maybe the person who ran out of the shop had a car parked nearby?”

“Could be,” Detective Reyes agreed. “We have a few more residents to speak to.”

Lucy felt a funny nervous ripple in her stomach. Did they think she was lying? Making it all up? For what possible reason?

“Where was Ms. Messina?” Walsh asked suddenly. “How come she didn’t go to the yoga class?”

“She wasn’t interested. I’m pretty sure she was at home all morning. But you’d better check that with her.”

“Yes, I will.” Detective Walsh offered a tight smile.

Maggie had joked about it, but now Walsh was checking her alibi, wasn’t he? Did he actually think Maggie was the intruder…or that her friends were covering for her in some way? Concocting this story to divert his attention?

Detective Walsh gave her a sour look and closed his pad. He seemed frustrated and, in a way, she didn’t blame him. But she wasn’t going to commit herself to specifics when she could barely recall what she’d seen.

Lucy now regretted giving into her snooping impulse. She hoped she didn’t end up sitting in a witness box one day, still trying to explain how she’d flopped in the snow and really didn’t have anything definitive to offer.

“Thanks for your help,” Detective Reyes said politely. “We may have more questions for you at some point.”

“Oh…okay. I’ll be here.” Lucy made an effort to sound extra cooperative.

“We’ll be in touch, Ms. Binger,” Detective Walsh said as he turned to go. His tone sounded ominous, Lucy thought. Did he suspect her of something now, too?

On Tuesday morning, low nickel-colored clouds filled the sky and a fitful wind tossed the bare branches of trees along the route to the old cemetery.

Perfect weather for a funeral, Lucy thought. She glanced at Maggie, who gripped the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the winding road. As it turned out, Dana and Suzanne had also both been curious and wanted to attend the service. But at the last minute Suzanne was grounded with her twin boys, who were both home from school with a stomach virus. Dana had an emergency appointment with one of her clients, but promised to meet them at the knitting shop around noon for lunch and a full report of the funeral. Phoebe was content to remain at the Black Sheep, minding the store.

Maggie had offered to pick Lucy up, since her house was on the way. They didn’t talk much during the short ride. The burial grounds, one of the oldest around, soon came into view. Surrounded by a stone wall, the entrance was marked with high wrought-iron gates that stood open today. Many grave markers and monuments dated back centuries, especially in the rows close to the gates.

The old headstones looked as if they were melting away, Lucy noticed as they drove past. Some were partially consumed by stains of green moss. The stone markers slanted in the ground at odd angles, as if they were too tired now to stand. As if even the careful deliberate efforts of the living to remember the dead were worn down by the passage of time.

It wasn’t hard to find Amanda’s memorial service, a small cluster of mourners at the edge of the property. Maggie parked her car as close as possible and they walked down a gravel path to the graveside. The group was larger than Lucy had expected and consisted mainly of women, she noticed. She recognized a few faces from town, store owners mostly whom she suspected were also chamber of commerce members. Edie Steiber was there, along with Fiona Seabold, who owned a hardware store with her husband. Lucy also recognized Alex and Judith Friess, who ran a bookshop on Main Street called Book Review.

She also noticed a cluster of women who were avid knitters, regular faces at the Black Sheep, but obviously feeling some attachment to Amanda and the Knitting Nest, too.

Lucy hardly recognized Peter Goran, dressed today in a dark suit and long wool overcoat. He stood with his bare head bowed and hands loosely folded in front. A minister in a black frock and white collar stood next to him. Two or three small flower arrangements stood on the ground, next to the grave.

Maggie and Lucy had just found a place at the back of the group when the minister opened a prayer book and began reading a Scripture passage. Lucy’s thoughts wandered as she glanced around at those gathered in a circle. Was Amanda’s killer here to pay their last respects, maybe even standing nearby? Was he or she secretly gloating at their success? If it had not been a stranger, was it a random robbery gone bad, and if so who had done it? It certainly wasn’t Maggie, that much she knew for sure. The others in the circle seemed highly unlikely, too.

Her gaze came to rest on the newly widowed Peter Goran. He looked appropriately bereaved, standing with his head bowed alongside a large pink-and-white floral wreath. A wide satin ribbon imprinted with gold letters read “Beloved Wife.”

But Amanda hadn’t been much beloved by him lately, had she?

The minister said a few words about the deceased, a generic epitaph Lucy thought captured none of Amanda’s spirit, her sharp intelligence, her challenging, competitive edge. Or her creativity. Whatever you wanted to say about her, she had been very talented.

After another prayer, the mourners were invited to each take a flower and drop it on the headstone as they left.

Lucy and Maggie were among the last. They dropped their flowers and stopped to say a few words to Peter, who stood with the minister a short distance from the grave.

Lucy shook his hand first, offering her sympathy.

“Thank you for coming.” He briefly met her glance. He wasn’t bad-looking, she noticed, with pale blue eyes and fair hair going gray. She’d never seen him close up before, only from a distance as he rode around town in an old red pickup truck, his looks obscured by a baseball cap and a few days’ growth of beard.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Peter,” Maggie said sincerely, stepping forward.

He took her hand and shook it. “I know you two weren’t the best of friends. But Amanda looked up to you. In her way.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Lucy could tell Maggie was having trouble accepting the compliment. “I’m sure it’s been an awful shock. I lost my husband suddenly, too,” she explained.

“We had our problems. But who could ever imagine something like this? I mean, what kind of a person…” Peter’s eyes turned glassy and he looked away. Lucy thought he might start crying. He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

“I know. It’s very hard,” Maggie said kindly. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

Peter sighed as he stuffed the hanky back in his coat pocket. “Now that you mention it, there is something I wanted to speak to you about. It’s about Amanda’s shop.”

“Yes?” Maggie looked surprised and tilted her head to one side.

“I’m trying to sort out her affairs, the store and all. I have to clear out the Knitting Nest. Maybe you’d like to take a look, see if you want to buy anything in there?”

“The yarn, you mean?” Maggie asked.

“The yarn, the fixtures, whatever’s in there. I’m not even sure myself and I know zip about that stuff.”

Lucy could see Maggie was surprised by the offer and at Amanda’s graveside, no less. It seemed so odd, so…cold-blooded. Minutes ago, he’d been so mournful, practically weeping.

“I see. Well, I’ll think about it.” Maggie’s tone was neutral.

“Just call if you’re interested. I guess I can get some auction house to come by and take a look. But I’d rather not deal with a big company if I don’t have to.”

He was obviously in a hurry to get rid of everything, letting Maggie know if she wasn’t interested he’d find someone else who was. Maybe he couldn’t afford the rent on the store?

“I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know one way or the other,” Maggie said in a more definite tone.

“That would be fine.” He nodded. It looked to Lucy like he wanted to smile, but realized it wasn’t appropriate. “Thanks again for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Maggie turned. Lucy said good-bye to him and followed.

They didn’t speak until they were seated in Maggie’s car. Lucy yanked out her seat belt and clipped it. “So, that’s that. Not much of a send-off.”

“No frills, that’s for sure.” Maggie turned the key and started the engine. “I know they were in the middle of a divorce but I think he could have done a little better.”

“Maybe he didn’t know what to do. Men can be sort of inept.”

“Some men,” Maggie agreed. “Peter’s the fumbling type, that’s for sure. Which is why he was happy to let Amanda run the show.”

“At first he seemed so broken up. Then he was all business, in a rush to clear out her store. That was…bizarre.”

“Wasn’t it? Still think he doesn’t have a dark side?” Maggie prodded her.

“We all have one of those,” Lucy conceded. Though some people get the deluxe version, with more twists and turns.

Lucy glanced out her window, watching the slow procession of headstones roll by. “But I still don’t think he did it.”

Maggie carefully steered the car down the narrow lane between the rows of graves. “I guess that’s for the police to figure out.”

“Speaking of law enforcement, isn’t that our friends, Detective Walsh and Detective Reyes?”

“Where?” Maggie turned so quickly, Lucy was afraid she might drive right into a tree.

“Over there, parked near the gate.”

Maggie slowed the car as they approached the high arched gates and they both checked out the passengers of a black Toyota Camry, parked a few car lengths back from the entrance, facing the flow of traffic.

Lucy saw them clearly. Detective Walsh was seated behind the wheel with a grim expression and Detective Reyes was in the front passenger seat, looking alert, but not quite as stressed out.

“Should we wave or something?” Lucy joked.