by Reagan Davis
“Why did you kill Fred? Was it because he found out you killed Paul?”
“No, he was convinced it was either you or Adam.”
As she speaks, I open the fridge and get the wine, then turn to face her again.
“After Paul died, we found out he had no insurance. My sister couldn’t afford his final expenses, so Fred and I paid for everything. Fred was angry about all the money Paul had cost us, so he decided to follow through with Paul’s plan to burglarize the salon. I told him not to because he’d go to jail, but he didn’t listen to me. On Friday night, he told me there was a problem at work, and he had to go in for a few hours.”
I open the bottle and leave it on the counter to breathe while I choose my moment.
“I had a feeling he was lying and I was right. I have a GPS tracker on his car, too, and it showed him at a location that isn’t his work. I went there, and it was a truck rental place. I knew right away what he was up to, so I drove to the salon and found him. He’d just parked the truck by the back door. I tried to reason with him. I begged him not to do it. He told me this was all my fault because of the affair. He said if I hadn't had an affair, then you and Adam wouldn’t have killed Paul to keep it a secret, and Paul wouldn’t have died before he could pay us back.”
Boy did Fred have that wrong. I pour some wine into the glass.
“When he turned away from me to open the rolling door on the back of the truck, I picked up the rock by the salon door and hit him in the head with it. The top of his body fell into the open truck, I just had to lift the bottom half of his body up there, too. After I locked him in the back of the truck, I had to decide what to do next. I’d been watching Adam’s GPS, and knew he’d been spending time at 845 Mountain Road, so that’s where I decided to leave Fred and the truck. I pointed the evidence back to you and Adam every chance I got. After I dropped off Fred, I even pretended to be you when I hailed a passing cab. It was late, I was too tired to walk back to Water Street. I had the cab driver drop me off outside Knitorious, then I walked back to the salon to get my car and the rock.”
Murder must be exhausting. I pick up the wine glass and swirl the contents around in the glass.
“I told the driver my name was Megan. It was dark, we have similar hair, and similar body types, so I figured if the police asked the cab driver who was in his cab, he’d lead them to you.” She shrugs one shoulder.
Now or never, I guess. I put the wine glass to my mouth and take a small sip. When I place the glass back on the counter, I intentionally miss and the glass shatters on the wood floor.
“Darn it!” I yell as the wine glass hits the floor. I jump back, away from the shattered glass and splattered wine.
Stephanie grabs the gun and stands up. My plan required her to be so startled that she jumps up without grabbing the gun first. She looks cautiously from me to the mess on the floor, then back to me.
“I better pick these up.”
With my eye on the biggest, sharpest shard of glass, I bend down to pick it up.
“Stop!” Stephanie shouts. “Don’t move!”
I hear something click and assume she cocked the gun. I put my hands up by my shoulders and slowly stand up.
“OK, transcription stopped,” says Oscar’s humanoid voice.
I guess Adam hasn’t gotten around to uninstalling the dictation app.
Stephanie looks in the direction Oscar’s voice came from, then looks back at me.
“Who said that and what does it mean?” She’s holding the gun higher. Now, it’s aimed at my head.
I tell her about Oscar and explain the dictation app that Adam installed.
“You know Adam and technology,” I say, trying to de-escalate her stress level since she’s pointing a gun at my head. “He has to try all the new gadgets, he just can’t help himself.”
I explain that this particular app seems to have a glitch and sometimes starts recording when it’s not supposed to.
“How do we erase it?”
I can hear panic in her voice.
“We don’t,” I tell her. “The transcript is sent to Adam’s email. It’s probably already in his inbox.”
She looks scared, and I hope she’s scared enough to make a mistake but not scared enough to shoot me.
“Go get it and bring it here,” she demands, waving the gun between me and Oscar.
With my hands still up, I walk slowly to the end table. I can see the front door from here. I could be out of the house in less than three seconds. I squat slowly, turning my head toward Stephanie to tell her I have to lower my hands to move the table and pull the plug out of the wall.
I could simply pull the cord out of the back of Oscar, but I have a new plan.
She nods and as I turn my head away from her and back to Oscar, I see a brief, moving blur out of the corner of my eye, near the front door. I’m convinced the stress of this situation is making my eyes play tricks on me.
I lower my hands and pretend to reach behind the table, but I pick up the heavy ceramic yarn bowl instead. I begin to stand up, my back still to Stephanie, and hold the yarn bowl against my chest like a Frisbee.
I turn quickly and hurl the yarn bowl, as though it were a Frisbee, through the air at Stephanie’s head. She instinctively raises her hands to protect her face and points the gun at the ceiling.
I run.
“Oscar! Unlock the door,” I shout.
“OK.” Oscar replies.
As I turn the doorknob, I’m aware of a shuffling sound behind me and, without looking, assume Stephanie is coming after me. As the door opens, I hear a single gunshot followed by a thud.
Police come rushing through the door I just opened. The first cop shoves me into the corner and stands, gun drawn, with his back to me like a human shield. I crouch down to make myself the smallest target possible and try to peek around and through his legs.
I see a gun on the floor in the family room. My human shield adjusts his stance slightly, and I can see the top half of Stephanie. She’s face down and has a knee wedged in her back. Someone is cuffing her hands behind her back. The cop on her back leans forward. It’s Eric.
“He’s been hit!” a woman’s voice yells.
Who was hit? He who? Did Stephanie shoot Eric?
“Who was hit?” I ask my human shield.
He either doesn’t hear me or is ignoring me; either way he doesn’t answer. I ask louder. Still no answer.
There are police officers all over the house, inside and out, and police lights reflecting on the walls through the windows.
“All clear!” the woman yells.
The human shield moves aside, turns to face me, takes my arm, and helps me up from my crouched position.
“Are you OK?” he asks, looking me over for signs of injury.
I nod.
Physically I’m OK. Other than that, well, I’m not sure yet, stay tuned.
Eric removes his knee from Stephanie’s back, stands up, and comes over.
“Were you shot?” I ask, looking for evidence of a gunshot wound.
“No one was shot,” he says, smiling.
How can he smile? Smiles in the face of murder, turns down fresh oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, definitely a freak. A freak who just saved my life.
“I heard a gunshot,” I insist. “I heard someone say, ‘He’s been hit.’”
“She was holding up Oscar when she said that,” he explains. “Stephanie shot Oscar. He was the only casualty here. Well, Oscar and your yarn bowl.”
“Poor Oscar,” I say.
I’ll miss him.
Eric got the photos I texted to him of the cab and the information about the driver. When I didn't answer his text or phone call, he knew there was a problem, so he came to the house, peered in a few windows, and assessed what was happening. Then he contacted Adam who used the app on his phone to unlock the house. Back-up arrived without lights and sirens, and the officers surrounded the house, carefully positioning themselves so Stephanie wouldn’t see the
m if she looked outside. This explains the movement I saw in the back garden.
Eric sneaked in and hid, biding his time until the gun was pointed away from me and it was safe to intervene. He was the blur I saw near the front door just before I made my escape attempt. Hurtling the yarn bowl at Stephanie’s head gave him the opportunity he needed to sneak up behind her and take her down, and gave me the opportunity to get out of the line of fire. That was the shuffling sound, gunshot, and thud I heard when I opened the door. Eric lunged at her from behind and grabbed both of her wrists, commandeering her arms. With her arm extended, and the gun pointed toward the end table with Oscar on it, the gun discharged, then she went down face first with Eric on her back. Oscar was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Chapter 31
Wednesday, October 2nd
April and I went to Toronto for a few days to visit Hannah and Rachel. We did some shopping, saw a musical, then stopped on our way home for two days of pampering and spa treatments at Ste. Anne’s Spa. The break gave me the time and space to process everything that happened last week with Stephanie.
When I got home last night, there were boxes scattered around the kitchen and dining room. Moving boxes. Adam is moving! He’s moving into one of the new condos at the Harbourview Condominiums. He gets possession this weekend and plans to move on Saturday, if I’m sure I’m ready to be alone in the house. I am.
Besides, while I was away, he had a state-of-the-art security system installed, complete with cameras, so I probably live in the safest house in Harmony Lake.
I’m off this morning, but I’m working this afternoon. I decide to walk to work and stop at Latte Da on my way to the store.
I’m standing in line, trying to decide what to order, when Kelly comes in.
“I saw you walk past the salon and took a chance that you would stop for coffee,” she says hesitantly.
I throw my arms around her. We hug tightly and both start crying. Ugly crying. Sobbing. The kind of loud, wet, messy crying that can’t be done discreetly. We help ourselves to napkins and find a quiet corner where we begin apologizing profusely to each other.
She’s sorry for not realizing her sister is a psychopath. I’m sorry she lost so many people. She’s sorry she didn’t tell me as soon as she realized her sister was having an affair with Adam. I’m sorry I suspected her of murder. She’s sorry she hasn’t called since Stephanie almost killed me. I’m sorry I didn’t call her to warn her as soon as I figured out Stephanie was the killer. When we’re out of tears and apologies, we get back in line to order our coffees.
“Eric let me see Stephanie,” Kelly says softly while we’re waiting for our orders. “I asked her to take responsibility for everything she’s done and not cause any more suffering with a trial. She agreed.”
“It’s over? Like, completely over?” I ask.
“It’s over,” she assures me.
We get our coffees and go outside. After one more hug, we agree to meet at Ho Lee Chow for dinner tonight after work. She goes back to the salon, and I continue on my way to Knitorious.
The jingle of the bell above the door, and the warm, comforting smell of the store hit me at the same time, and I realize how much I’ve missed being here. I close the door behind me and stand still for a moment letting the comfort wash over me and through me.
“Welcome back, my dear.”
Connie comes over and gives me a long hug.
“This store hasn’t been the same without you,” she says when she finally lets me go.
Archie stands up and gives me a hug.
“Welcome back, Megan. Thank goodness you’re OK.”
We sit down in the cozy area, Harlow wakes up from his nap in the front window, has a long stretch, slinks over to us, and graces my lap with his presence. While he purrs, Connie and Archie ask after Hannah and Rachel, so I pull out my phone and show them photos of our visit while Connie fusses over me and strokes my hair.
I tell them that Adam is moving out. They already know. Apparently, I’m the last one to find out.
“It’ll be nice to have him as a neighbour,” Connie says.
She and Archie exchange a sneaky glance.
“I don’t follow,” I say.
“Well, my dear, Archie and I also purchased one of the new condos. We’ve decided it’s time to take our relationship to the next level. I was going to move to Archie’s house”—she gestures to Archie—“but Ryan lives there, too, and he probably doesn’t want to live with two senior citizens.”
“And I’d love to move here,” Archie adds, “but the stairs to the apartment are too much for my hip.”
He sways his hips to illustrate his point.
“So, we decided a new condo would be perfect. It’s not his, it’s not mine, it’s ours.”
She’s so happy that she’s positively glowing.
“And it’s perfect for the ‘retirement lifestyle’ we’re trying out,” Archie says, using air quotes around “retirement lifestyle.”
Wow. A lot can happen in a week.
“I’m happy for you. It’s wonderful news. So, is that what all your mystery appointments have been about? You were house hunting?”
“Yes!” Connie taps my knee. “I’m so glad we’ve decided, and it’s over. If I never shop for another house or condo again, that will be fine with me.”
“I assume Harlow will move with you to the condo. Or will he be commuting daily?” I ask.
Connie and Archie laugh.
“He’s coming with us, but we’re planning to do some travelling, and we’d like leave him here at the store while we’re away. If that’s OK with you, my dear.”
Of course, it’s OK with me. Harlow belongs here. He’s as much a part of Knitorious as Connie and the yarn.
“Who will run Knitorious while you two are travelling and trying out a ‘retirement lifestyle?’" I ask, using air quotes for the first time in my life.
“Why, you will of course,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “This store needs you and you need this store. I’m not the only one starting a new phase of my life. You aren’t a wife and full-time mother anymore. You’re a soon-to-be-single woman with a grown child and a business to run.”
“So, you want me to work here full-time?” I clarify.
“I want you to own it, my dear. We’ll work out the details later, but trust me, you need this store and this store needs you. I knew when I met you almost seventeen years ago that you would take over this store one day.”
For the second time today, I feel myself tearing up. Connie takes my hand and Archie gets the box of tissues from the counter.
“I’ll still be here part-time, when we aren’t travelling,” she explains, waggling her index finger. “You’ll never get rid of me completely, no matter how hard you try. But it’s time for me to move aside and watch you blossom and make this store your own.”
I don’t know what to say and I don’t think I’m able to say anything through the lump in my throat, so I nod and reach over to hug her, squishing Harlow in the process.
The bell above the door jingles. Connie gets up and greets Eric while I dry my eyes and pull myself together. She and Archie are telling him about their new condo. Why is it, every time I see him, I’ve either just been crying, or I’m on the verge of crying? He must think I’m an emotionally unstable mess. I stand up and turn around to face them.
“Hi Eric,” I say.
He hasn’t gotten any less attractive while I was away. On the contrary, he’s even hotter than I remember.
“Hi Megan. Welcome home. Don’t worry, I’m not here to question you.”
I think this is the first time I’ve heard him have a sense of humour. Solving this case agrees with him, this is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him.
“I’m returning the items we took into evidence. The huge purse and its contents,” he says handing me a gift bag and a large evidence bag filled with smaller evidence bags. “Except the knitting needle. We hav
e to keep that.”
He can keep the knitting needle forever, that’s fine with me. I never want to see it again. I put the evidence bag behind the counter and start to open the gift bag.
“It’s a small token of my appreciation for all the help you gave me with this case,” he says.
It’s a new sheep-shaped yarn bowl. To replace the one that broke when I hurled it at Stephanie’s head.
“I know it’s not the same as the one you made,” he explains, “but Connie gave me the number of a local potter who makes yarn bowls, so I could get you a replacement.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s so thoughtful. I love it. Actually, I have something for you, too.”
I go back to the sofa and reach into my caramel-coloured tote, pull out a gift bag, and hand it to him.
“I was going to drop it off at the station later. It’s a small thank you for saving my life, and my reputation, and believing I was innocent.”
He opens the bag and pulls out the hat and scarf I knitted for him with yarn I picked up at Romni Wools while April and I were in Toronto. I was able to knit them mostly in the car when it was April’s turn to drive, and at the spa. I chose a worsted weight, merino blend in the same shade of forest green as the polo shirt he wore the night we had dinner at the store and he questioned me. The yarn has honey-coloured flecks of tweed that match the honey-coloured flecks in his eyes.
He did save my life; it’s the least I could do.
He looks visibly touched by the gift. Or he has good manners and is a good actor. He clears his throat.
“Thank you. I love them. No one has ever knit me anything before.”
“Really? Well, I knit a small gift of appreciation for everyone who saves my life, so if you ever save me again, there will be more knitted gifts in your future.”
He laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So, what’s next for you?” I ask. “I’m sure you’re happy to wave goodbye to our quirky little town and watch us fade in your rear-view mirror as you move on to bigger and better cases.”