Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8)

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  “I’m delighted to have everyone here, but I have to warn you we have no idea what we’re doing. We bought yarn and needles, but have no idea how to use them,” Lacy said.

  “We’ll teach you,” Marcia assured her.

  “It’s a cinch,” Celia said. Her capable, no-nonsense demeanor made Lacy think most things were a cinch for her. “Let’s see your yarn.”

  Riley pulled out her yarn and handed it over for Celia’s inspection. Celia took the needles and immediately began explaining how to knit.

  Only one of Lacy’s needles was in the bag. She set down the bag, retraced her steps, and found the missing needle in the parking lot under a shiny silver Cadillac. She squatted and reached for it, knocking it farther under the car. She got down on her hands and knees, but it was still a centimeter out of reach. At last she lay down and shimmied under the car until her fingers brushed the needle.

  As she began to shimmy back out, her hair became tangled on something under the car. Her right hand worked on detangling, but it couldn’t do the job alone. She dropped the needle from her left hand and used all her fingers to untangle her hair. Once she was free, she stood up and looked down. She had left the needle on the ground. When she took a step forward to reach for it, she kicked it back under the car.

  Going back to her hands and knees, she peered under the car and saw that it was too far on the other side. She stood and went around to the opposite side of the car. Bending, she bashed her head on the mirror and stumbled into the car door. The alarm began to screech. She retrieved her missing needle and glanced around furtively.

  Celia appeared a minute later and clicked the alarm off.

  “Found my needle,” Lacy said holding it triumphantly aloft.

  Celia didn’t comment as she turned and went back inside.

  Lacy took a step to follow and dropped the needle again.

  By the time she recovered it again and went inside, she could only imagine how she looked. Part of her hair had come free of its band and was sticking up, the entire front of her was covered in grime and motor oil, and one of her wooden knitting needles was now gray.

  She dodged into Kimber’s store for a quick repair.

  Kimber looked up and shook her head. “Girl,” she said as she offered up a mirror. Lacy smoothed her hair and dusted her clothes. There was nothing to be done for the needle. Maybe no one would notice that her needles were different colors.

  She handed Kimber the mirror and returned to the knitting circle.

  Riley looked up from a patch of knitting that was a few inches wide now. She scanned Lacy up and down, rolled her eyes, and returned to her knitting.

  “I dropped my needle,” Lacy said in answer to the questioning stares being directed at her. In her absence, another woman had joined the circle. She was young and pretty. She and Marcia were in deep conversation, but they paused when Lacy appeared.

  “This is my friend, Amelia,” Marcia said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Lacy said. Amelia wasn’t wearing as much makeup as Marcia. She looked young and fresh. By comparison, Lacy felt grimy and gross. Why hadn’t she showered and changed before she left home? Not that a shower would have made much difference since she had spent the last fifteen minutes rolling on the pavement, but she would have felt better and less intimidated. Like Marcia, Amelia seemed to know what she was doing. Both were working on large, intricate-looking projects.

  Lacy pulled out her other needle and spool of yarn.

  “Let’s get your yarn started, and I’ll show you what to do,” Celia said. Her voice held no judgment, and Lacy was thankful. After catching her in two embarrassing situations—first trapped by balls in the locker room and then groping under cars—she had every right to judge.

  Lacy tugged on the string hanging off the yarn. It let out a few inches and stuck. She set down the needles and devoted her full attention to the yarn. She yanked again, and a few more inches released, but not easily. Maybe it was stuck on the paper wrapper. If she took that off, she might have an easier time unwinding the yarn.

  She peeled off the paper, gave the string another pull, and watched while the entire ball exploded into one massive, immobile knot.

  She glanced up helplessly. Celia was staring at her but quickly looked down and pretended she hadn’t seen. No one else had yet noticed that she had a moon-sized yarn knot in her lap.

  Suppressing a sigh, she began the long work of detangling her yarn. As she worked, she listened to the women talk.

  “Do you think Deborah will come tonight?” Amelia asked.

  “I can’t imagine she would. I wouldn’t, if my ex-husband had just died,” Celia said.

  Lacy’s ears pricked. Their town was small; how many men could have recently died?

  “And the way he went. So horrible,” Amelia said.

  “I know. I haven’t been able to put it out of my mind since Dan told me about it,” Marcia said.

  “What happened?” Lacy asked.

  “Bob Hoskins, the mechanic, was crushed by a car lift at his repair shop,” Marcia supplied.

  “Did you know him?” Lacy asked.

  “Sort of. Dan used him for repairs whenever he needed body work done at the dealership,” Marcia said.

  “Body work is the only reason to use a mechanic,” Celia interjected. “Everything else can be done at home, if you take the time to learn.”

  “His ex-wife, Deborah, is part of our group,” Amelia added. “Has anyone talked to her?”

  “I tried, but she didn’t return my call,” Marcia said. “I feel so bad for her.”

  Ding, ding, ding, Lacy thought. There’s my in. I need to track down the ex and ask her some questions.

  “Celia, how’s your mother?” Amelia asked.

  “The same,” Celia replied.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Marcia said, and the women chuckled.

  “Is your mother ill?” Lacy asked.

  “No, she’s difficult,” Celia answered. Lacy and Riley exchanged glances.

  “There’s a lot of that going around lately,” Riley said.

  “Believe me when I tell you that your mother has nothing on mine,” Celia said.

  “I’m fifteen months pregnant with our first child, and my mother’s so bad that my husband fled for self-preservation,” Riley said.

  “My mother’s so bad I could never get a husband,” Celia said.

  “My mother once wrote a note to my middle school counselor and told him to tell me to lose weight,” Lacy said.

  “My mother shaved my head because our neighbors had lice,” Celia said.

  “My mother asked a mentally handicapped boy to be my prom date because she was worried no one else would ask me,” Lacy said.

  “No one else did ask you,” Riley said.

  “Her lack of faith was still hurtful,” Lacy said.

  “Did you go with him?” Amelia asked.

  “No, but I went to his house and played board games instead. It ended up being one of the better nights of my high school existence,” Lacy said.

  “That’s nothing. My mother,” Celia began, but their one-upmanship was interrupted by the arrival of another woman.

  “Hi,” the woman said, and promptly burst into tears.

  “Oh, Deb,” Amelia said. She dropped her knitting and gave Deb a hug. Marcia did the same. Celia continued knitting, as did Riley. Lacy stared. Deb was a slightly plump middle-aged woman. Her hair was trying to go gray; she was fighting a valiant effort with at-home dye to keep it dark brown. Her nails were perfectly manicured and, like Marcia, she tended toward too much makeup.

  “It’s ridiculous. I spent so many years hating him for what he did to me, but now that he’s gone, I miss him.”

  Someone passed her a tissue. She pressed it over her eyes and cried harder. It was obvious that no one knew what to say to her. The awkwardness in the room was palpable. Eventually even she felt it. She removed the tissue from her eyes and used it to dab them.

  “I shouldn’t
have come tonight,” she said.

  “No, don’t say that. We’re glad you’re here,” Marcia said. To Lacy, the platitude lacked conviction.

  “I thought if I went out it might distract me from thinking about it, but I just keep seeing him like that.” The tears started again. Over her head, Marcia and Deb exchanged glances. Celia began to knit faster. Riley remained obliviously focused on her work.

  What did she mean when she said she kept seeing him like that? Lacy wondered. Did she mean she imagined how he must have looked, or had the police called her for some kind of body identification?

  “This was a mistake. I should go,” Deb said. She stuffed her knitting back into her bag.

  “No, Deb, don’t go,” Amelia said, but Deb was determined.

  “Maybe next week,” she said. She stood and left.

  “How sad,” Marcia said, returning to her work.

  As unobtrusively as possible, Lacy set aside her yarn knot and followed Deb. She met up with her at her car, fumbling with her keys.

  “Excuse me,” she called.

  Deb dropped her keys and spun, her hand pressed to her heart.

  “Sorry,” Lacy said.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m a little jumpy lately. Weren’t you at the knitting group?”

  “Yes, I’m Lacy.”

  “Deb,” she said. “I’m sorry about that. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  “I heard about your husband,” Lacy said.

  “Ex-husband,” Deb corrected. “We were divorced for a while.”

  “I’m still sorry. This must be a painful time for you, and I don’t want to make it worse, but I wondered if I might ask you a few questions.”

  Deb’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of questions?”

  “I’m covering Mr. Hoskins’ death for the paper.”

  “Why? Normal people don’t have their deaths written up in the paper,” Deb said.

  “He was a business owner and part of the community, and he had a tragic and unexpected death. In a small town, that’s news.”

  “I can’t talk about this now.”

  “Of course, I understand. Is there a better time?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to think.”

  “I understand. Can I ask one question before you go?”

  “What?”

  “Which was Mr. Hoskins’ dominant hand?” The control for the lift had been found by his right hand. Something about that bugged Lacy, but she didn’t know why. Had she watched him write something with his left hand? She couldn’t remember.

  “He was a lefty,” Deb said.

  Then why would the control for the lift be by his right hand? “Could I ask you one more question, and this is the last one, I promise,” Lacy said.

  Deb gave a long sigh. “One more.”

  “Was there anyone you can think of who had reason to harm him?”

  Deb’s sad expression turned into a sardonic-looking smile. “I can think of one person.”

  “Who?” Lacy asked.

  “Me.”

  Chapter 6

  “Hey, Babe.”

  “Hi, how are you? How’s the class?” Lacy hadn’t expected to hear from Jason. His week was set to be a busy one.

  “It’s good, a lot is going on. What’s new there?”

  I’m almost certain Bob Hoskins was murdered and my mom is somehow connected. Also, I launched my own investigation for the sole purpose of annoying your coworker.

  “I joined the knitting group,” she said

  “Did you make anything?”

  “A knot. Maybe I’m biased, but I think it’s a good one.”

  “That’s my girl. What are you doing now?”

  “I’m on my way to dodgeball.”

  “About that, it occurred to me that I forgot to tell you the rules.”

  “There are rules?” Lacy said.

  “Of course there are rules. There are rules for every sport, but they’re simple. Basically you want to stay on your half of the court and try to catch any ball that comes your way. If you catch, then the person who threw is out. But you can’t hold the ball; you have to toss it away immediately, or you’re out. Also…”

  He continued on for a while. Lacy zoned out.

  “Got that?” he said.

  “Yes, don’t get dead,” she said.

  “Close enough. It doesn’t matter anyway because Travis is going to be there. He’s going to look out for you. It’s going to be fine,” he said.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she repeated with no real conviction.

  “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not your thing,” he said.

  “It’s no big deal. I’m glad to do it,” she said. She checked the sky to make sure lightning wasn’t about to strike her dead for the lies.

  “You’re the best girlfriend ever,” he said.

  “Are you wearing the t-shirt I bought you that says so?” she asked.

  “Every day,” he said.

  “How is it there? Are you learning a lot?”

  “Almost too much. I’m afraid I won’t be able to remember it all. I’ve already filled a book with notes. The days start early and end late, but it’s good. There’s not much time to miss you.”

  “Is there a communal shower?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you clean it?” she asked.

  “Every day so far, but I wake up before everyone else, so my secret is safe,” he said. “I hate to cut this short, but I’m at the mess hall.”

  “How’s the food?” she asked.

  “Edible, but not fresh. I miss green lettuce. Here it’s white and wilted.”

  “When you come home, I’ll make you a kale salad and let you organize my sweater drawers.”

  “Stop it. Don’t talk like that when I’m too far away to do anything about it. Tease,” he accused.

  “And people think I’m the weird one,” she said. “After this week is over, can we agree that we’ll never, ever, ever be apart again?”

  “Sounds reasonable and healthy,” he said. “I have classes tonight, but text me and let me know how dodgeball goes.”

  “Will do,” she promised.

  “Good luck. You’re going to do great.”

  “Every time you lie, a baby dove dies,” she said.

  “Doves are basically pigeons, so my conscience is clear,” he said.

  There was a lull, but the silence wasn’t awkward. Neither wanted to be the first to say goodbye.

  “If I don’t go eat, all the good gruel is going to get taken,” Jason said.

  “All right,” she said, but they still lingered.

  “Never going to be apart after this again, right?” he said.

  “Never, ever,” she promised.

  “All right. I’ll call when I can. Love you.”

  “Love you,” she said, and they hung up. There was no time to feel sad because she had to change for dodgeball. She had purposely cut it close so she wouldn’t have time to panic.

  Travis met her on the court. “Nice face mask. Are you umping a baseball game after this?”

  “Words hurt,” Lacy said, popping out her mouth guard so she could speak.

  “Not as bad as that thing on your face, I bet. Did Jason go over the rules with you?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not,” she said.

  “It’s okay. Just stay by me,” he said.

  The whistle blew to start the game. Lacy shoved her mouth guard in just in time. A ball whizzed at her and crashed hard against her ribs. She made an “oof” sound as the air whooshed out of her.

  “Out!” the referee called and pointed to her.

  She turned and made her way toward the edge of the court, relieved it was over so quickly.

  A ball smacked the backs of her calves. She stumbled and quickened her step.

  Another ball beaned her in the shoulder. Her trot turned into a jo
g.

  Two more balls hit her in the back. She started to sprint.

  As she reached the edge of the court, a ball smacked her in the back of the head so hard that she tumbled forward. Landing on her hands and knees, she started to crawl. It was apparent to her now that nowhere was safe in this game. Even if she made it off the court, the balls would find her. And probably kill her.

  Ahead, she saw an opening behind the bleachers. It was like a dark beacon of hope. If she could make it there, she could hide until the rest of the game was over.

  A ball pinged off the side of her thigh and her knee gave out. She dragged that leg behind her and continued forward.

  The bleachers seemed forever away. Meanwhile the hits kept coming. Three in a row pelted her in the face. If not for her mouth guard, they might have loosened a few teeth.

  At last she reached the opening of the bleachers and scuttled inside. Balls began to rebound off the bleachers—BAM! BAM! BAM! To Lacy, each hit felt personal, as if it had been meant for her. She closed her eyes, put her hands over her ears, and waited for it to be over.

  Someone touched her arm. She screamed and dropped her mouth guard.

  “Lacy, it’s me, it’s Travis.” He shook her. She opened her eyes and blinked at him. She could barely make out his outline in the darkness.

  “Travis? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s over.”

  “The game is over?”

  “It’s been over for a while, but it took some time to find you,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You’re in the fetal position with your hands up. You look like a praying mantis,” he said.

  “Would you believe me if I said I was doing yoga?” she said.

  “Would you want me to? Because, I gotta tell you, it’s not exactly normal to be doing yoga under the bleachers in the middle of a dodgeball game,” he returned.

  “You have a point there. Can we not tell Jason about this?” she said.

  “It depends. What will you give me?”

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “I have a date next weekend. I need help getting ready for it,” he said.

  “What kind of help?” she asked. The last time he went on a date, he ended up losing his lunch in her bushes.