But Belinda had texted that she’d followed Lia’s advice and taken a lawyer with her to speak to the police. Thank goodness for that! And apparently there’d been nothing to hold her on, since she said she was home. That didn’t necessarily mean she was cleared. It was early days for that—if ever. She’d claimed to be exhausted, which Lia could understand, and promised to call with more details sometime later.
The newsman talked about Joan’s popularity as an artist and her long participation in the Crandalsburg Craft Fair. A video of a police spokesman eventually came up, asking the public for any information that would help their investigation. Lia could picture the police being flooded with reports of Joan’s social media diatribe against Belinda and the aforementioned craft fair, which she couldn’t imagine them being unaware of. Obviously they needed more evidence, or Belinda wouldn’t be at home now. But the court of public opinion wasn’t always so scrupulous. Belinda and the craft fair could be in major difficulties because of that.
Lia was mulling this over when her phone rang. Lia sighed, wondering if one of the Ninth Street Knitters hadn’t gotten word from Maureen about letting her be for a while. Instead, she saw it was her daughter.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Hayley demanded the instant Lia said hello.
“You heard?”
“I saw! Jessica had the news on, and she suddenly screeches, ‘That’s your mom!’ I come running in, thinking it was something about the craft fair and your knitting. But it’s another crime scene! Mom, what’s going on?”
Lia first explained how she hadn’t wanted to bother Hayley at work. “But I didn’t realize there were cameras around while I was there.”
“They don’t need TV crews anymore. Just someone showing up with a cell phone and sending their video to the station. So what happened to that crazy woman? The Philly station didn’t say much.”
“There isn’t much to say, so far.” Lia told Hayley what she knew, including her role in it and emphasizing more than once that she was fine.
Nevertheless, Hayley said, “I’m coming home.”
“Hayley, no, there’s no need. Really.”
“You’d say that even if there was. But I want to be there. And . . . I was going to come anyway, just maybe not so soon. I was planning to tell you. I quit my job.”
“Oh.” Lia felt her stomach clench. “So you made your decision.”
“I did. And I think it’s the right one for me, Mom. Can we wait to talk about it until I get there?”
“Of course, dear. And in that case you should definitely come. How soon?”
“Sometime tomorrow. I’m not sure, exactly. I’ll let you know.”
Daphne jumped onto the sofa cushion next to her, and Lia urged her over to her lap. The comfort of the soft, cuddly, problem-free cat was something she could definitely use right then.
* * *
* * *
Lia had been tossing and turning in bed after having turned off the light at least an hour before, when her phone rang. She scrabbled for the device to learn it was Belinda.
“Did I wake you?”
“No,” Lia assured her, sitting up and switching on her bedside lamp. “I guess you can’t sleep either?”
“The way I feel right now, I may never sleep again.”
“I’m glad you called. Tell me about your meeting with the police. Was it rough?”
“Not rough, exactly. Having Seth, my lawyer, there made a difference, and thank you for that. It’s just that it’s pretty horrible to feel like every word you say is being taken as a lie because there’s no way to back it up.”
“You said you’d gone to a coffee shop on Saturday evening to meet Joan. Someone there must remember you.”
“Yeah, probably, and Seth’s looking into that. But I was pretty steamed when I walked out of that place, and they’ll also remember that. Plus I went straight home and stayed there all night. Nobody can confirm that.”
Lia heard a huge sigh through the phone and was at a loss to come up with anything comforting.
“I found out how she was killed,” Belinda said. “Blunt object to the head.”
“Oh.” The same method used for Darren. Lia realized she’d been hoping for a gunshot. Belinda, she was sure, owned no gun.
“And something else.” Lia waited, knowing it must be bad. “One of her paintings.”
“Yes?”
“A farm scene. Lots of barnyard animals? It had been slit.”
“Oh?”
“It was pushed over her head.”
Lia gasped. The memory of Darren Peebles’s murder scene rushed in, his body bizarrely surrounded by craft fair items. Now Joan, left just as strangely.
“Yeah, I know,” Belinda said, guessing her thoughts. “Kinda like Darren.”
“Did the police point that out?”
“It was mentioned.” Another long sigh.
Who was doing this? And why? Lia caught herself. Why might not matter that much. And, yes, it was bad for Belinda and for the craft fair. But it was so much worse for the two victims. Maybe the important question should be, Who might be next?
Chapter 28
The next morning, after managing a short few hours of sleep, Lia had barely thrown on some clothes and downed half a cup of coffee when she heard a knock at her door. Much too early for Hayley, she thought as she left her kitchen to answer it. And Sharon certainly wouldn’t be bringing more food—though that wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome, she thought with a smile.
“Oh! Good morning,” Lia said, surprised as she opened the door. Eva Mathis stood on her doorstep, with Eloise at the end of her pink leash, sniffing at Lia’s shrubs. Had they made an appointment? Lia didn’t think so, but the last twenty-four hours had been such a blur. Their chat in the park now seemed like weeks ago.
“I decided to come right after today’s walk,” Eva said without apology. “We were both so excited about the new sweater!” We apparently meaning Eva and Eloise, who, at the moment, appeared much more interested in Lia’s azaleas. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Um, no, of course not.” Lia stepped back politely to invite the pair inside, wishing she’d put on something besides the stretched-out tee and jeans she’d grabbed. She suddenly remembered Daphne and caught a blur of tan-and-white fur flying up the stairs. “Coffee?” she asked, leading Eva to her table and clearing away the newspaper she’d spread out.
“No, water will be fine,” Eva said. “Mineral water, if you have it.” She took a chair and lifted her little dog onto her lap, where Lia hoped she’d remain. “I have Eloise’s measurements,” Eva said and held out a slip of paper. “You said you have patterns?”
“I do. They’re upstairs. Just give me a second.”
Lia left Eva, having to make do with a tumbler of iced tap water and stroking her little pet contentedly. At least there wouldn’t be any dog hairs left behind to agitate Daphne. As Lia slipped into her bedroom, she spotted the cat’s dark eyes at the edge of her bed’s dust ruffle.
“Just me,” Lia assured her and pulled out her box of knitting patterns to search through. While there, she considered exchanging her old tee for something better but decided to let it be. Not that Eva wasn’t worth the trouble. It seemed more likely that she wouldn’t have cared or even noticed. Lia’s clothing, after all, had nothing to do with her beloved dog. When Lia left, she closed the door behind her for Daphne’s sake, then dearly hoped a need for the litter box wasn’t looming.
“Here we are,” Lia said as she rejoined her self-invited guest. She laid two pattern books on the table and tapped at one. “This one’s my favorite, but you might find something you like from the other.”
Eva opened the first book eagerly and began paging, quickly exclaiming, “Look, Eloise. A pink sweater! Would you like that?” followed by, “Oh, this one has a little hood. Wouldn’t that be cute!” After man
y minutes of the same, she asked Lia questions about particular sweaters, wondering if they were buttoned on and if they were washable, which Lia hoped meant a decision was coming soon. But Eva continued to flip pages until Lia, her patience growing thin, threw out a suggestion.
“How about we start with just one sweater, then choose more later on? That way you wouldn’t feel like you’re eliminating any, and Eloise would eventually have a whole wardrobe of sweaters.”
Eva’s face lit up. “I like that! Would you like that, Eloise?” she asked the dog, her voice switching to the baby-talk pitch that made Lia’s teeth hurt. But Eloise seemed agreeable, so a pattern was settled on and then a yarn color, without too much trouble.
“How soon will it be ready?” Eva asked.
“I’m going to give this to one of our Ninth Street Knitters, Tracy, to handle. She’s made loads of wonderful baby sweaters and is a very fast knitter with the small needles that this pattern calls for. I’ll check with her on a time frame, but it shouldn’t be long.”
That seemed to satisfy Eva. They discussed a deposit, and as she wrote out a check, Lia mused about how Eva hadn’t brought up Joan Fowler’s murder, which had been all over the news. Did she even watch the news? Adam Mathis’s wife seemed too absorbed in her own world to be interested in things that didn’t directly touch it. The death of a local artist wouldn’t qualify.
But what if the two murders—Joan’s and Darren’s—were somehow connected? Adam had benefited by Darren’s death. Could Joan’s be of some value to him? Lia didn’t see it, but that didn’t eliminate the possibility.
She doubted she’d get any insight into that from Eva, but the woman should at least have been aware of her husband’s whereabouts on the night of Joan’s murder. Lia scoured her thoughts for some way to bring that out.
Eva handed her the check and set Eloise on the floor, ready to leave. As Lia walked them to the door, she threw out the only thing that she’d managed to come up with. “Did you go to the show Saturday night at the community center? I heard it was pretty good.”
“Saturday night? No, we had tickets for the Forrest in Philadelphia. A revival of Chicago.”
“Nice! Did you and your husband enjoy it?”
“Adam couldn’t go, he didn’t feel well, so a friend of mine used his ticket. I had bought a dress specially to wear to it,” she added, apparently pointing out the importance of not canceling altogether. “And I had a hair appointment in the city that afternoon I couldn’t miss.”
“Well then, it all worked out.” And what had Adam been up to during all that? Since Eva scooped up Eloise and took off, Lia wasn’t able to find out—at least not from either of them.
* * *
* * *
Lia called Tracy about the new commission, including whom it was for, since it was Tracy who had clued her in on Eva’s background.
“So you managed to meet the Bearden heiress. What’s she like?”
“Quite attractive, but, as you guessed, not exactly Mensa material. Rather self- and pet-absorbed.”
“Where does the husband fit in?”
“I don’t know. I’d love to meet him but haven’t figured out how yet.”
“Would he like an Ugly Christmas Sweater?” Tracy asked, which brought a laugh from Lia. “How are you doing, Lia?” Tracy asked. “Maureen said not to bother you, so I didn’t. If you’re taking knitting orders, maybe things are getting back to normal for you?”
“I’ve forgotten what normal is, actually. But I’m okay. Any discussion that involves knitting is a nice break from all the other stuff.”
“The other stuff happens to be another murder, one that you discovered.” Tracy’s voice grew softer. “That’s rough stuff, Lia. Maybe you should step away altogether. If the craft fair fails, we’ll find another way to keep on knitting.”
“It’s not only that, though. There’s Belinda. She’s being unfairly dragged through the mud because of it.”
“You’re a good friend, Lia.” There was a long pause. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”
“I promise. Please don’t worry.”
“Hah!”
Lia smiled, appreciating the caring concern, and after ending the call saw that she had a text from Hayley.
Will be there 5-ish. OK?
Lia texted back that it was fine, then put down the phone. Her daughter had quit her first real job and was heading home, unemployed. On to the next worry.
Chapter 29
Lia put concerns about her daughter on the back burner for the time being. Worrisome as Hayley’s job situation was, she wasn’t in danger of being charged for murder, as Belinda was.
Mathis’s name had come up as a possible murder suspect, at least for Darren. But Lia hadn’t yet met the man face-to-face. It was time she did, and she’d thought of a way to do so that wouldn’t broadcast her real motive.
She finished the breakfast that Eva’s visit had interrupted, then changed from her at-home clothes to a more businesslike outfit of skirt and jacket. She had business to do, but not the ordinary kind. What she had in mind was a bit more devious.
* * *
* * *
Lia parked near the office building and sat in her car for several minutes, waiting. Her quarry was Charlotte Pratt, Mathis’s assistant, whom she’d questioned earlier at the tennis courts. According to Brady, Charlotte often went to the coffee shop midmorning, and Lia wanted to catch her on her return. Knowing Charlotte disliked Adam Mathis and her job, Lia hoped that would work to her advantage.
She perked up as she spotted the woman approaching from the opposite direction, a large take-out coffee cup, likely meant for Mathis, in hand. Lia jumped out to meet up with the woman as she closed in on the building’s entrance.
“Hello, Charlotte,” Lia called out and saw puzzlement on the woman’s face. “Lia Geiger. We met at last week’s tennis lesson?”
Charlotte’s face cleared. “Oh yes! Sorry, it took me a minute.”
“I had the advantage. I saw you first. We both look different in our street clothes, don’t we?”
“That’s what threw me off—no tennis shoes. Nice to see you. You coming in?” Charlotte asked as she reached for the door.
“I am, and I’m heading to the same place you are,” Lia said.
“My office?”
“Yes, and running into you could be very fortunate for me.”
Charlotte shot her a questioning look as she stepped in, holding the door back for Lia.
“I want to speak to Mr. Mathis, and I don’t have an appointment.”
“Ah.” Charlotte headed to the elevator and pressed the call button. They were alone in the small, faux-marble lobby. “What about?”
“The Schumacher barn.” At Charlotte’s look of surprise, she added, “But I mainly want to get an idea of what he’s like.”
“In that case, get him mad.” The elevator doors opened, and they got in. “If he thinks you’re of some use to him, he’ll be all charm. Aggravate him and his true side will come out.”
“I think I can manage that,” Lia said. A small smile curled her lips, which Charlotte returned. When the elevator reached her floor, she exited into the hall and led the way to the office. Her glance back showed that smile was growing with each step.
“Give me a minute,” she told Lia as they entered the waiting area. She knocked on an inner door, then took the coffee in, returning after a minute to say, “I gave you a small start on the aggravation.” She slipped behind her desk. “The shop didn’t have his usual. He has to make do with a lesser brand.”
“Poor thing,” Lia murmured back, bringing a low chuckle from Charlotte.
“I told him you had an appointment. He never checks the book.”
“Great. Thanks.” Lia picked up a magazine and paged through it, assuming Mathis would spend a few minutes on his coffee. Th
e waiting area was pleasant, decorated in shades of gray and white, and the genuine leather chair she sat in was comfortable. The pictures on the wall were generic landscape scenes, the frames probably more valuable than the prints, but altogether, like in most waiting rooms, the décor was inoffensive.
A second woman sat at another desk, several feet to the right of Charlotte’s and in front of a second office door, possibly Darren’s. Though she seemed occupied, Lia wondered what she had to do with at least one boss no longer there. The thirty-something woman with long auburn hair glanced up and noticed Lia’s gaze. Her brows pulled together in annoyance, and Lia looked down at her magazine. Apparently the stress in the office that Charlotte had previously described hadn’t totally disappeared.
Charlotte continued to busy herself until she got the signal. She beckoned Lia and led her into the inner office. “Mrs. Geiger is here to see you, Mr. Mathis.”
Mathis greeted Lia and held out his hand, which she shook before taking the chair he gestured toward. Possibly in his mid-fifties, he was not a tall man, perhaps only an inch or two over Lia’s average height, which she judged while they were standing. Seated, however, she found herself having to look up to meet his eyes. An elevated chair?
She also noticed his thick mane of hair—a rich chestnut brown that was attractive but didn’t quite match his middle-aged face with its share of sags and wrinkles. Hair dye? Not unusual, she knew, for men with much younger wives or who wanted to project youthful energy in the business world. She doubted it had ever crossed Tom’s mind, but to each his own.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Geiger?” Mathis asked, smiling broadly, his hands clasped before him on the desk.
“I happen to be a good friend of Belinda Peebles,” Lia began and watched the smile fade. “Before Darren died, he intended to buy the Schumacher farm and tear the barn down. This would affect quite a few people negatively, but most of all Belinda, whose means of income would be taken away. As a vendor at the fair myself, I want to know what your plans for the barn are, Mr. Mathis. I hope you won’t be following through on Darren’s.”
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