Knit One Murder Two

by Reagan Davis

  We climb the wooden staircase, and at the end of the hall, on the right, we enter Adam’s future office. It’s already furnished in the same ornately-carved-wooden theme that was prevalent on the main floor. I look around and decide it’s a professional, lawyerly, Adam-like office.

  Adam tells me his new neighbours are an accountant, an insurance broker, a financial planner, and a psychologist who specializes in relationship and family counseling.

  Despite my disappointment that he isn’t moving to 845 Mountain Road to live, I do my best to join in Adam’s excitement, and decide not to tell him about my interaction with Stephanie because he’s happier, and more hopeful than I’ve seen him in ages.

  We FaceTime Hannah to give her a tour, too, and when we hang up, I notice it’s almost 2:30 p.m.

  “I need to get going. I want to get to the bank before it closes, then stop by the hardware store,” I say.

  I need to replace my bank card and get another set of keys cut. Since there’s no way to know when the police will return my things, I’ve decided to replace them.

  “I’ll walk you out,” he says as we leave his new office and turn off the light.

  I say goodbye to Lin and tell her it was nice to meet her.

  “Congratulations on your new office, it’s really great,” I say on the porch.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you at home after your errands.”

  Adam keeps watch from the porch while I walk to my car, lock myself inside, and drive off.

  Seeing how concerned Adam is about our safety is making me paranoid that I’m not concerned enough about it. Was the knitting needle a warning that I could be next? I shudder at the thought, and when I arrive at the bank, I decide to pay to park in a metered spot on the visible and well populated street in front of the bank instead of parking for free in the less visible, more secluded parking lot behind the bank. It makes me sad to change my routine because of this situation, but maybe right now, feeling safe is more important than not feeling sad.

  Chapter 25

  When I get home with my new bank card and keys, I’m shocked to see Ryan Wright kneeling on the front porch, apparently changing the lock on the front door.

  “Hey, Ryan!” I stop and smile at him. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Hey, Megan.” He pauses his work to talk to me. “Adam texted me last night and asked if I could come over today and re-key the house. So, here I am.”

  He smiles and shrugs.

  “Oh, he didn’t mention it.”

  I’m careful not to let the tone of my voice give away how annoyed I am right now. Thanks for talking to me about the new locks, Adam!

  “Listen, Ryan, I’m sorry I questioned your alibi, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I thought you’re a murderer. I spoke with your Dad, and I know you didn’t have anything to do with Paul’s murder,” I say, placing my hand gently on his arm. “Also, congratulations on your three-year chip. I’m really proud of you, and I promise your secret is safe with me. I’d never disclose that to anybody.”

  “I know you won’t say anything.” Ryan smiles at me. “And I’m not ashamed of being a recovering alcoholic, but my livelihood depends on people being comfortable enough to let me into their homes and businesses and near their families. Some people would think twice if they knew about my past…issues.”

  “You’ll always have work at chez Martel! The three of us are useless at fixing anything, and if it weren’t for you and Archie, we’d be sitting on boxes of flat-packed furniture waiting to be assembled, surrounded by drippy faucets and broken appliances,” I joke. Sort of.

  I walk past Ryan and go into the house. I hear Adam speaking and assume he’s on the phone. Once I’m in the kitchen, I see that he isn’t on the phone; he’s at the kitchen table on his computer.

  “Oscar, stop!” he says when he sees me.

  “OK, transcription stopped,” Oscar responds.

  “It’s a transcription app,” Adam explains. “Instead of typing a letter, or email, or whatever, I dictate it to the app and a summary is automatically emailed to me. Then I can forward it to whomever I hire as a legal secretary to clean it up and format it for me.”

  “That sounds cool,” I reply. “It could be a real time-saver.”

  I’m still annoyed about Adam having the locks changed and not talking to me about it first.

  “Why is Ryan changing the locks?” I ask, trying to sound non-confrontational.

  “Because yesterday a killer had access to your purse and everything in it, including the keys to the house,” Adam explains.

  And the keys to Knitorious, I realize. I make a mental note to ask Ryan to re-key Knitorious.

  “I wish you’d talked to me about it first, since I live here too. In fact, I’m supposed to be the only one of us who lives here. We had a plan, Adam, and you were supposed to find somewhere to live this month, not find new office space. Have you even started looking for an apartment?”

  I look at him, waiting for a response.

  “I’m not moving out until whoever killed Paul has been arrested,” he replies.

  “What if no one is ever arrested? What if this turns into one of those cold cases?”

  I can hear the frustration in my voice.

  “Meg, I’m not budging on this. We might not be together anymore, but right now you’re still my wife, and you’ll always be Hannah’s mother, and we’ll always be family. I’m not moving out so you can live alone while a killer roams around town, rummaging around in your purse whenever they feel like it. If you want to deny the seriousness of the situation, that’s fine, but you and your denial should get used to having me as a roommate until this murder is solved and the killer is behind bars.”

  I’m seething. He’s decided all of this without talking to me about any of it, and on top of everything else, he’s using his condescending lawyer voice.

  “Again, Adam.” I emphasize his name in the most condescending tone of voice I can, so he knows how it feels. “I’m an adult person who has a right to make her own decisions and have a say in whether our locks are changed and whether you and I continue to live together under the same roof. Maybe I should move out and you should stay here.”

  It’s an empty threat. I’d never leave my home. It’s more my home than his, and we both know that. I chose every piece of furniture, tchotchke, and paint colour. I clean it, maintain it inside and out, and have spent countless nights and weekends alone inside it, raising Hannah, while Adam was elsewhere, focusing on his career.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Meg!”

  He did not just call me dramatic!

  “This house is big enough for both of us to co-exist a little while longer without getting in each other’s way,” he adds.

  “You’re dismissing my feelings, Adam! Stop doing that!”

  “OK, transcription stopped,” Oscar says, interrupting my tirade.

  We both turn and look at the small device on the end table. Oscar’s light changes colour from yellow to blue, and Adam and I look at each other.

  “He recorded our argument?” I ask, pointing at Oscar, “And emailed it to you?” I ask, pointing at Adam’s laptop.

  “Maybe,” Adam says, swiping his fingers across the trackpad on his laptop to wake it up.

  Staring intently at the screen, he starts typing on the keyboard.

  “Sure did! I just got an email of our conversation starting with me saying, ‘I’m not moving out until whoever killed Paul has been arrested.’ Something one of us said before that must’ve triggered Oscar to start the dictation app.”

  I try to think back to what we said that might have triggered Oscar, but it’s a jumble of raised voices and hurt feelings. Oscar probably said something like, “Dictation started,” but we didn’t hear it over our shouting back and forth.

  As if I need another reason to solve this murder, Adam’s determination not to move out until the killer is behind bars just rocketed to the top of the list.

  “That’s creepy. Have you e
ver received emails of our conversations before?” I ask him.

  “No,” he answers without looking away from his laptop screen, “but I only installed the app a few days ago. I should probably delete it.”

  We hear a knock at the door.

  “Ryan,” we say simultaneously.

  “I totally forgot he was here,” I say on my way to answer it.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Ryan says, moving his head from side-to-side in an attempt to look past me into the house, probably to see what all the shouting is about. “Here are your keys.”

  He dangles two keys, and two business cards between his right thumb and forefinger.

  I open my hand and Ryan drops the keys and cards into it. I look at the business cards that have a seven-digit code on the back. Ryan must see my confusion, because he explains that Adam upgraded to smart locks that can be locked and unlocked with either a key, a phone app, or by asking Oscar to lock or unlock the doors.

  “Do you want a demonstration?” he asks.

  I know I’m not interested in downloading another app, so I decline the demonstration and silently resolve to continue locking and unlocking the doors the old-school way, with a key.

  I ask Ryan if he’s available to come by Knitorious and change the locks since my keys to Knitorious were also on my missing key ring. He tells me he’s leaving tonight for a job out of town and won’t be back until Monday night. He says he’ll get his dad to put an extra lock on the inside of the front and back doors at the store tonight, to be safe, and he’ll meet me at the store first thing Tuesday morning to re-key both doors properly.

  Ryan leaves and I give one of the business cards with the code on it to Adam, but don’t give him the key. He won’t be living here much longer anyway, I reason, so he can use the app.

  I open the back door and lift the mat on the back deck. I retrieve the spare key we keep hidden there and replace it with one of the new keys Ryan gave me. When I come back inside, Adam is looking at me.

  “You know you’d never use it anyway,” I say to him. “You love technology and you’ll only ever use the app.”

  He flips the business card over and uses his cell phone to scan the code on the front, so he can download the app and set it up on his phone.

  “Did you know the app works from anywhere in the world? And we can set it so the door locks automatically thirty seconds after it closes?” he asks, super excited about his new tech toy.

  I text Hannah to tell her I misplaced my keys and give her the new door code and app info.

  Chapter 26

  Friday, September 20th

  When I get to work on Friday, I’m happy to see that Archie has installed a sturdy barrel-lock on the inside of both the front and back doors at the store, just like Ryan said he would.

  Connie invites me for a sleepover after work and I accept. Connie and I haven’t had a sleepover in months, and I’m grateful for a day off from seeing Adam.

  We have a yummy spaghetti Bolognese dinner, apply face masks that promise we will look and feel ten years younger, eat too many chocolate covered almonds, drink wine, and binge-watch the first season of a show about three suburban housewives who hold up a grocery store at gunpoint to solve their financial problems and end up working with in international money laundering ring. Hijinks and hilarity ensue.

  Laying in Connie’s spare room with Harlow purring next to my head, I’m more comfortable and relaxed than I have been in days and welcome a good night’s sleep.

  Saturday, September 21st

  The store is busy so the day passes quickly. Life is beginning to return to normal in Harmony Lake. The crime scene tape is gone, the salon is open for business as usual, and while people are still talking about Paul’s murder and theorizing about who did it and why (the latest theory is he ticketed a mob boss for littering and his death might have been a professional hit), people are also talking about other things, and Paul’s murder is beginning to consume a little less of the town’s collective consciousness.

  After work Connie and Harlow pack a bag and leave to spend the rest of the weekend at Archie’s place until the locks are changed on Tuesday. I head home and spend the evening washing, drying, and folding laundry while watching the first few episodes of the second season of the show Connie and I watched last night.

  Sunday, September 22nd

  Adam and I have our weekly FaceTime call with Hannah and hear all about university life and life in the big city. We are relieved and happy to see how well she’s adjusting to being away from home. She’s definitely adjusting better than we are, but then she’s not embroiled in a police investigation.

  I spend some time cleaning up the yard, then have a shower and go to April and Tamara’s house for lunch.

  April makes a delicious cheddar pancetta quiche with thyme and Tamara spoils us with homemade chocolate eclairs. They have a knack for making even the most elegant food look easy to prepare. I tell April about the girl’s night Connie and I had on Friday and recommend the show we streamed. While we’re talking, both April and Tamara’s phones chime.

  “It’s the WSBA group chat,” Tamara says.

  “Fred Murphy, Kelly Sinclair’s brother-in-law, has been reported missing,” April reads. “Anyone with information is asked to contact the police. Then it has Eric’s number.”

  “Isn’t that interesting,” I say.

  “I bet he’s done a runner. He did it, and he knows the police are about to arrest him, so he took off.” April shrugs her right shoulder.

  She’s been convinced Fred is the killer since we found out at the pub that he is Paul and Kelly’s brother-in-law.

  “If he did do it, and now he’s on the run, hopefully, he’s far away from here,” Tamara observes. “Someone that desperate might do anything to avoid being caught. If he’s already killed once, he has nothing to lose. Let’s hope none of us run into him.”

  “Let’s hope,” I say.

  “I wonder how long he’s been missing. I saw him on Thursday, after my dramatic exit from Latte Da and from Stephanie. He was on the sidewalk outside.”

  “I didn’t see him on Thursday, but I remember Kelly and Stephanie telling us he was loading the car with stuff from Kelly’s apartment. They were waiting for him to finish up so they could leave, remember?” April asks, nudging me, and I nod.

  “Well, I haven’t seen him since I shook his hand at the pub on Wednesday in the condolence line,” Tamara adds.

  “What if he’s not on the run?” I ask. “What if he found out who the real killer is and now, he’s dead?”

  Ever since the knitting needle from the murder scene turned up in my tote bag, I’ve been afraid it was a message from the killer warning me not to get any closer or ask more questions.

  April and Tamara give me leftovers for Adam, and I successfully resist the urge to eat his eclair on the drive home.

  When I walk in the house, Adam is in the family room watching golf on TV.

  “April and T sent leftovers for you,” I announce, holding up the glass containers with the quiche and eclair inside, “Do you want them now or should I put them in the fridge?”

  He pauses the TV, gets up, and comes into the kitchen. He opens the cutlery drawer, grabs a fork, closes the drawer with his hip, takes the rubber lid off the glass container with the quiche, and starts eating while leaning against the counter.

  “This is fantastic,” he says, using his fork to point at the food in the container.

  “I know, right?” I answer. “Did you hear that Fred Murphy is missing?”

  I throw it out there without any warning.

  “No.” He shakes his head and stabs at a piece of quiche without looking up at me.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “The girls got a message in the WSBA group chat during lunch. It includes Eric’s number and asks for anyone with information to call him.”

  Adam has the last forkful of quiche and puts the container and his fork in the sink, even though the dishwash
er is literally right there, next to the sink. He reaches for the container with the eclair in it.

  “The last time I saw Fred was on Thursday when I left Latte Da, right before I met up with you at your office. When did you last see him?”

  He turns his back to me, to eat the eclair over the sink.

  “Wednesday. At the pub. With you,” he says.

  We stand in silence for a moment. He finishes his eclair, wipes his hands, and turns to me.

  “That was really good. I’m going to text the girls and thank them.”

  He walks back to the family room, resumes his seat on the sofa, unpauses the TV, and picks up his phone.

  Chapter 27

  Tuesday, September 24th

  Shortly after I open the store, Ryan arrives and gets to work changing the locks. Then a yarn order arrives and I start to unpack it at the Harvest table while he works on the front door, causing the bell above to jingle randomly.

  “Thanks for getting here so quickly, Ryan. I know you just got back from working out of town all weekend. I really appreciate it.”

  “Anything for family!” he replies.

  I look at him confused.

  “We’re practically family now. I mean, Archie’s my dad and Connie may as well be your mom, so that kind of makes us...step siblings? I think?”

  It’s his turn to look confused, but he’s right.

  “So, when does Adam officially open for business at his new office on Mountain Road?” he asks.

  I’m shocked by the question. I didn’t realize Adam told anyone about his new practice yet. I’ve only mentioned it to April and Connie. Maybe Connie told Archie, and Archie told Ryan?

  “Sometime next month, I think. I didn’t realize he mentioned it to you,” I respond.

  “He didn’t. Lin told me. I think he’ll like working there. The building is well-maintained, and Dad and I do most of the maintenance, so you know it’s quality work.”