Killer Cables

by Reagan Davis

  Killer Cables

  A Knitorious Murder Mystery

  Reagan Davis

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 by Reagan Davis/Carpe Filum Press - All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-9990435-3-7 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-9990435-2-0 (print)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Murder & Merino

  Also by Reagan Davis

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday January 7th

  “Who’s a smart girl? It’s you! That’s right, you’re a smart girl!” I say with a high-pitched and excited voice.

  I squeeze the plush duckie to make it quack and toss it across the room.

  “Go get it, Sophie!”

  Sophie scurries across the wood floor and down the hall. She doesn’t apply her corgi-brakes fast enough and slides past the duckie and into the carpet by the front door. She shakes it off, picks up the duckie and prances back to me proudly with her head held high.

  Sophie has been staying with me since last week when her human, Laura Pingle, slipped on a patch of ice while taking her trash to the curb and broke her leg in two places. Laura was rushed to the hospital, had to have emergency surgery, and I jumped at the opportunity to look after Sophie until she gets home.

  “Which sweater do you want to wear today, Sophie?”

  Laura is a knitter, so Sophie has an impressive wardrobe of hand-knit dog sweaters. I grabbed about eight of them when I picked up Sophie’s supplies at Laura’s house, and I left behind at least eight more. Most of them have some shade of purple as either the main colour or an accent colour.

  “How about this one?” I ask, holding up her purple and black hounds tooth sweater with a folded turtleneck.

  She doesn’t disagree since she’s an easy-going roommate, so I slip the sweater over her head. By instinct, she lifts one paw, then the other so I can feed them through the impossibly short sleeves of the sweater. She’s done this before and knows the drill.

  I attach her purple leash to her purple collar, slip on my winter boots, crush my curly, chestnut-brown hair under a hand-knit hat, wrap the matching scarf around my neck, and put on my coat.

  I check my pockets to make sure my gloves are there, check Sophie’s leash to make sure we have enough poop bags for the day and grab my cranberry-coloured tote bag.

  I take a last look in the mirror by the door, and I remove a stray eyelash from under one of my hazel eyes. Then I pull my lip balm from my purse and smear a layer on my lips to act as a barrier against the cold, dry, winter air.

  “Oscar, I’m leaving,” I say into the void.

  “OK. I’m arming the house,” Oscar replies in a humanoid voice.

  Oscar is a digital voice assistant. This is my second Oscar. My ex-husband, Adam, and our eighteen-year-old daughter, Hannah, gave him to me for Christmas.

  I call him Oscar 2.0. because Oscar 1.0 died suddenly last September when he was shot by someone who broke into my house to kill me. Thankfully, Oscar 1.0 was the only fatality that night. The killer’s previous two victims weren’t as lucky. They lost their lives, while I only lost a WI-FI enabled device.

  Sophie and I leave the house and I hear the door lock behind me. Good job, Oscar.

  I started the car ten minutes ago using the remote starter on my keychain. It’s too cold to walk to Water Street, so Sophie and I get in the warm car for the short drive to work.

  I park in the small parking lot behind the store, and instead of going in through the back door like I would normally, Sophie and I walk around to the front of the store and across the street to the park so Sophie can have a walk and do her business.

  This time of year, this early in the day, and this close to the lake, it’s too cold to stay outside for very long. As soon as Sophie finishes her business, we high-tail it back across the street to Knitorious.

  I unlock the front door and kick the snow off my boots against the brick wall next to it. Then I turn the knob and open the door, listening for the jingle of the bell. It's one of my favourite sounds.

  Knitorious is warm, cozy, and feels like home. Other than my house, it’s the only place where walking through the door makes me feel both relaxed and reinvigorated at the same time.

  I undo Sophie’s leash and take her sweater off. She gives herself a shake and follows me to the back room where I put our outerwear and her leash away. I freshen Sophie’s water bowl, turn on the lights in the store, and flip the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.

  “It’s showtime,” I say to Sophie, just like Connie always says to me when she unlocks the door and turns the sign.

  Tuesdays aren’t our busiest day of the week, but we’re in the midst of the winter tourist season, so I expect a steady flow of customers.

  Despite Harmony Lake’s small size, we squeeze in a large population of tourists during the winter and summer tourist seasons.

  In the winter, tourists flock to the two ski resorts in the Harmony Hills Mountains, staying at various rental houses or the new condominium development at the end of Water Street. In the summer, they flock to the same places to exchange their city lives for life by the lake and the small-town-living experience.

  Besides being small, Harmony Lake is secluded which gives it the feeling of being farther away from the hustle and bustle of the city than it is.

  I can see the lake from the front window of the store. It's across the street just beyond the park where I walked Sophie. Behind me, to the north, are the Harmony Hills Mountains. Tiny, as mountain ranges go, it's still a popular destination for weekend skiers and snowboarders. Geographically, Harmony Lake can’t be a bigger town without moving either a lake or a small mountain range.

  Knitorious is closed on Sundays and Mondays, so I spend Tuesdays returning phone calls, answering emails, and processing online orders placed on the store website over the weekend. I turn on the laptop and power it up while I check the store voicemail.

  The bell over the door jingles, and a well-wrapped Connie comes in from the cold.

  “Good morning, Megan, my dear.”

  She always says it in a sing-song voice.

  Sophie jumps up from her dog bed to greet Connie. She wags her Corgi butt while following Connie to the back room.

  “Good morning to you, too, Sophie,” Connie sings from the back room.

  Connie is my mother-friend, and I’m her daughter-friend.

  We met sixteen years ago when Adam, Hannah, and I first moved to Harmony Lake. We became instant friends and soon after we
became family.

  I lost my mum just after Hannah’s first birthday, and Hannah was born when I was barely twenty-one, so when Connie and I met, I was young, newly married, a new mum, and grieving. She welcomed us, nurtured us and filled the mother and grandmother-shaped holes we had in our hearts. At almost seventy years young, she’s the most beautiful, smart, and sophisticated woman I know.

  I started working here part-time about five years ago and became the store owner a few months ago when Connie decided it was time for her to retire and move out of the upstairs apartment. She moved into a new condo with her boyfriend, Archie, and I took over as owner of Knitorious. So, now I own Knitorious and Connie works here part time. We’ve come full circle.

  “Today feels bittersweet,” Connie says as she crouches down to pet Sophie.

  “I know. It’ll be hard to let her go,” I say. “It’s been nice having a pet in the store again, and we fit together so well, you know? We’re like kindred spirits. At home, we both like to eat, nap, and cuddle. At the store, we both like to greet the customers and visit with everyone. I’ll miss her.”

  “Well, Archie and I are going south in a couple of weeks, so you’ll have Harlow to help you run the store and keep you company while we’re away. I know Laura has missed Sophie dearly and can’t wait to see her.”

  Harlow is Connie’s cat. When Connie owned the store and lived upstairs, Harlow had unrestricted access to both the store and the apartment. He was a fixture here. Even non-knitters would come in just to visit him. The store feels incomplete without him here, but I get custody of him when Connie and Archie travel, so he stays at Knitorious while they’re away.

  “Phillip said he’s picking Laura up from the hospital and taking her home this morning. Once she’s settled, I’ll take Sophie home to her," I explain. “According to Phillip, Laura’s looking at six weeks in a cast, so he and I will work out a schedule to take turns walking her—Sophie, I mean, not Laura.”

  Phillip Wilde is my neighbour. He owns Wilde Flowers, the florist next door to Knitorious, and he lives next door to me. We’re work neighbours and home neighbours.

  Ding! I have a text.

  April: Coffee?

  Me: Yes! Please!

  April and I have been best friends since we met at a Mommy-and-Me group sixteen years ago. Her daughter, Rachel, and my Hannah are the same age and best friends. They’re just starting their second semester of university in Toronto. April and her wife, Tamara, also have a son, Zach, who’s fifteen, plays hockey, and eats them out of house and home, according to his mothers.

  April and Tamara are the owners of Artsy Tartsy, the bakery up the street from Knitorious. Tamara is a talented pastry chef.

  About ten minutes after we text, April arrives. She is a tall, blue-eyed, blonde angel bearing the gift of caffeine. She sets a tray of three to-go cups from the Latte Da café on the counter, then pulls off her mitts, puts them in her coat pockets, and pulls a paper bag from her coat pocket.

  “Courtesy of T,” she says, dropping the paper bag on the counter. “Dog treats from the latest test batch. We hope Sophie likes them.”

  I open the bag and remove a small, round treat that looks like a tennis ball. Sophie is sitting at attention, staring intently at my hand with the treat in it.

  She takes her role as taste tester seriously.

  “Here you go, Soph!”

  I toss the small treat onto her dog bed, and she devours it.

  “She likes it,” I say to April.

  Tamara is creating a line of organic, artisanal dog and cat treats to donate to the upcoming silent auction that will benefit our local animal shelter.

  Connie and her friends are celebrating their fiftieth high school reunion soon and have decided to host a fundraising event that will be open to the entire town. It will benefit The Vanity Fur Centre for Animal Health & Wellness. (We locals call it the Animal Centre or the AC, for short).

  Most local businesses are donating items for the silent auction portion of the fundraiser, and April and Tamara are donating pet treats. At least, they are if Tamara perfects a recipe she’s happy with.

  Sophie is part of their focus group and enjoys free samples in exchange for her opinion. Her opinion is always the same: more treats please!

  “Have you decided what you’re donating to the silent auction yet?” April asks me as she hands a coffee to Connie who’s sitting on the sofa in the cozy sitting area of the store.

  I nod while swallowing my first satisfying sip of coffee and feel its warmth spread through my body. “Yes. The winning bidder will get a bespoke pair of socks, hand knit by me, in a yarn of their choice.”

  Coffee in hand, I walk over to join them on the comfy, overstuffed furniture.

  “I’ve also been knitting baby blankets using leftover yarn for the charity knitting guild’s donation to the AC,” I say. “We have about ten so far. The AC uses them to line the kennels for the shelter animals and wrap up preemie and sick animals to keep them warm.”

  “Who will be your date, my dear?” Connie asks.

  Here we go.

  “I’m a confident, independent woman who enjoys her own company and can attend a function alone,” I reply.

  To be honest, I haven’t decided for sure if I’m going yet, but if I do, I thought I might take Sophie as my plus one. I could knit her a little corgi-sized dress to wear. After all, it is a fundraiser to benefit animals and Laura is the founder and executive director of the AC. But it might also earn me a crazy-dog-lady label that I don’t need.

  “You should be dating!” Connie declares, throwing her hands into the air with dramatic flair.

  Connie is a hand-talker who visually punctuates her words when she speaks.

  “Thirty-nine is too young to be alone. You should be having fun and meeting people,” she says.

  “And by people, I mean men,” she clarifies, in case I don’t know what she means.

  April nods in agreement to everything Connie says. It’s two against one.

  “What do you think, Detective Sergeant?” Connie asks, looking behind me. “Don’t you agree that Megan is too young for a life of solitude?”

  I turn around to see Eric standing near the counter. He’s blushing. I look back at Connie who has a look of smug enjoyment on her face for making him blush. She teases him about being shy when he is supposed to be a case-hardened cop.

  Eric is my tenant. He lives in the apartment above the store, and he’s new to Harmony Lake.

  Last fall, when Harmony Lake had its first murder ever (technically, our first two murders), the Harmony Lake Police Department borrowed Eric Sloane from a larger department because they didn’t have a major crimes unit.

  After he solved both murders (with a little help) and prevented a third murder (mine), Harmony Lake implemented its own unit and offered him a job. He is now the major crimes unit. Just him.

  He’s forty-ish, divorced, no kids, and hot. Seriously hot. He’s distractingly attractive. I’ve had to train myself to not stare.

  “Hi, Eric.” I smile.

  I walk over to the counter, silently thanking him for his good timing and interrupting an uncomfortable conversation.

  “Hi, Megan,” he says. “Do you have a package for me?”

  I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows. A package? Am I meant to have a package? Did I forget about a package for Eric? I shake my head.

  “Phillip was supposed to drop off a package of hand-knit dog sweaters for me to pick up. Laura Pingle is donating them to the silent auction.”

  I shake my head. “No, Phillip hasn’t dropped anything off.”

  “Amy is expecting me to bring it to the station today.”

  Officer Amy Andrews is organizing the silent auction portion of the fundraiser. The AC provides free veterinary care for PSD Tundra, Harmony Lake’s police dog. Amy is his handler and supporting the AC is important to her. I’ve heard from some other business owners that she takes her role as organizer seriously. One person likened her
to a bride on one of those Bridezilla reality shows.

  “I’ll text Phillip,” I offer.

  I text Phillip and ask if he has a package for Eric. While I’m waiting for a response, Connie asks April if there’s been any more news about Mega Mart and the AC.

  Mega Mart is a huge multi-national big box store that wants to put down roots in Harmony Lake. Residents and town council are divided. Half of them welcome the jobs and one-stop convenience the store would bring. Half of them don’t want a large, faceless corporation invading our cozy, sweet town and competing with locally owned, small businesses.

  “When I was at the town council meeting in December, the council was divided right down the middle,” April says, using her hand like a knife and slicing it through the air. “Laura was there, and she told the pro-Mega-Mart council members that a Mega Mart would go on that land ‘over my dead body.’ Those were her exact words. Then she said, ‘not even over my dead body, because I intend to donate the land before I die to ensure it will always be The Vanity Fur Centre for Animal Health & Wellness.’ Then she stomped out of the meeting.”

  April attends town council meetings on behalf of the Water Street Business Association (WSBA). Each year a different member takes a turn attending the meetings, reporting any relevant details to the rest of the WSBA, and advocating on our behalf.

  Ding! I check my phone.

  “Laura didn’t give him anything for you,” I tell Eric. “He says he dropped Laura off at home a couple of hours ago and is going back at lunch to check on her and take her some soup. He says he’ll ask her about the sweaters then.”

  Eric rubs the back of his neck with his hand.