A Wicked Yarn

by Emmie Caldwell

  “We all do it. It’s human nature. The important thing is now you see it all clearly, right?”

  “The rose-colored glasses turned gray a long time ago.”

  “Not gray. Clear. You won’t make the same mistakes again.”

  “Took me long enough,” Belinda grumbled.

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is the here and now and the life you have ahead of you.”

  “As long as it’s not spent in prison.”

  Lia shook her head. “It won’t be. You know you’re innocent. I know. We just have to find out who’s guilty.”

  “Just?”

  “We’ll do it.” Lia stood. “But first we have to clean this table up.”

  Belinda dragged herself up. “There’s always a catch.” But Lia saw the beginnings of a smile and knew she’d managed to buck up her friend—at least for the time being.

  They were loading the dishwasher when Hayley returned and followed the clinking sounds to the kitchen.

  “Hey, Miss Belinda! I thought that was your car outside. How are you?”

  “Much better than I was a couple of hours ago.” She set down a plate and stepped over to give Hayley a hearty hug.

  “Did you eat?” Lia asked. “We had Chinese. There’s plenty left.”

  “No, I’m good. Brady knows all the best fast-but-good-food places in town.”

  “Brady?” Belinda asked.

  “My old friend from school.” She heard a ping signaling a text. “Excuse me.” Hayley left the kitchen to tend to it. Lia and Belinda finished their cleanup, and when they joined her in the living room, Hayley explained, “Brady just wanted to check I got home okay.” She grinned. “Like there’s anything to worry about in Crandalsburg?” She winced. “I meant, of course, regarding muggers, not, well, you know . . .”

  “We know,” Lia said. “Brady is a police officer,” she told Belinda. “New to the force, but he’s been able to help us a bit.”

  “Yeah,” Hayley said. “Like, tonight he gave me Joan’s time of death. But not that helpful, it turns out. He said because her body was found so late, the ME could only give a range of several hours: between eight p.m. Saturday and eight a.m. Sunday.”

  Lia grimaced. “That doesn’t help us to eliminate anyone.” She turned to Belinda. “What time did Joan call when she asked you to meet her at the coffee shop?”

  Belinda looked surprised. “Did I say it was a call? Actually she texted. Twice. I showed them to the police. They were sent around seven thirty Saturday night.”

  “Can I see them?” Lia asked.

  Belinda dug her phone out of her purse. She pulled up the texts and handed the phone to Lia.

  “The texts just show a phone number, not her name,” Lia said.

  “But she identifies herself. People get new numbers sometimes. Or have second phones. And since the text was about the craft fair, I didn’t question it.” She looked worried. “Should I have?”

  Lia and Hayley exchanged looks. “It probably was fake,” Hayley said. “Someone wanted to lure you out around the time of Joan’s murder. I think you got a text from the murderer.”

  Belinda grabbed her phone and stared at it in horror, as if the words on the screen had suddenly turned venomous, which in a way they had. She was seeing them for the first time for what they really were: an evil attempt to destroy her by a person who’d already destroyed two others. She threw the phone onto the sofa, causing Daphne, who’d been lying nearby, to jump.

  “What monster is doing this?” she cried.

  “Whoever it is won’t be doing it much longer,” Lia said. “That I guarantee,” she added, though her words sounded much more confident than she felt.

  Chapter 32

  Lia tried to convince Belinda to stay with her and Hayley, at least for the night, but she refused. She seemed to have recovered from her shock over the text messages, though how much of that was bravado Lia couldn’t tell. But she at least allowed Lia to pack up the leftover take-out food to take with her, along with a container of frozen meatballs in sauce, which made Lia feel a bit better. Belinda would probably be eating General Tso’s chicken for breakfast the next day, but that was out of Lia’s hands.

  The next morning, as Hayley cleared away their breakfast dishes, Lia got a call from her craft fair neighbor Olivia.

  “I meant to call earlier,” she explained, “but Michael was down with a cold. Are you okay, Lia? It must have been so awful to find Joan like that.”

  “It shook me up,” Lia admitted, “but I’m doing okay now. My daughter is here and will be with me for a while.” The thought came to her that when six-year-old Hayley had a cold, she didn’t get 24/7 fussing from Lia. More like a box of tissues and maybe chicken soup out of a can. Had Lia been a negligent mother? Hayley did, after all, survive and even thrive. But Lia allowed that perhaps Olivia’s son caught worse colds than Hayley’s. And it was very nice of her to call—once Michael’s sneezes apparently had lessened.

  “It’s terrible what happened to Joan,” Olivia said. “Do you think . . . ?” Her voice trailed off.

  “Do I think what?” Lia asked.

  “Oh, I hate to say it, but do you think it could have been someone from the craft fair? I mean, Joan was always so horrible to everyone there. Except her customers, of course. And Ginny.”

  “Ginny?”

  “Well, Ginny gets along with all the craft fair people, doesn’t she? It’s kind of like we’re her family.”

  “Yes, sadly enough. I’m glad to know Joan treated her decently, though she obviously couldn’t bring herself to do the same with Annie. I can’t imagine what brought on that terrible fight between them on Saturday.”

  “Poor Annie,” Olivia said, sighing. “To know that her last words ever with someone were angry ones.”

  Lia doubted Annie would be the only one, but she knew what Olivia meant. And she still would like to know what had brought it on.

  “Well, I’d better go,” Olivia said. “I’ve gotten behind on my herbal soaps. I’m glad you have someone with you. No one should be alone right now.” On those words, intended to be comforting but inadvertently stirring Lia’s worries about Belinda, she hung up.

  To push back those worries, Lia focused on appreciating Olivia’s call. She had said that the craft fair vendors were like family for Ginny, and they were becoming that for Lia, too, a fact that came to the forefront once again when she found Maggie on her doorstep a few minutes later, holding a gorgeous cake in her hands.

  “I didn’t make it,” Maggie immediately said. “It’s Carolyn Hanson’s. She asked me to bring it for her when she knew I was coming by.”

  “How generous of her!” Lia said, knowing the baker’s business had dropped off like everyone else’s at the craft fair. “And of you to come by. Please come in and have some with me.”

  Maggie grinned. “I could be talked into that. But just a tiny piece.” She followed Lia into the house, greeting Daphne along the way to the dining area with a cheery, “Hello, kitty.”

  “Look what we have,” Lia called to Hayley, introducing her to Maggie when she leaned out of the kitchen.

  “Oh wow!” Hayley cried, eyeing the cake.

  Maggie once again gave Carolyn full credit for it. “I’m much better with a needle than I am in the kitchen,” she said, then responded to Lia’s beverage offer with, “Tea, please, with cream. Or milk. Whatever you have.”

  Within minutes Lia was slicing into the cake, which Maggie informed her was carrot cake, “with real buttercream frosting, of course. Carolyn doesn’t skimp. She thought she remembered it was your favorite, Lia, but isn’t it everyone’s? She also sends her sympathy for what you went through on Monday.”

  “Everyone’s being so thoughtful.” Had they responded similarly to Belinda after Darren’s murder? Lia wondered. The circumstances had, of course, been diff
erent, with the murder having shockingly occurred on the crafters’ own premises. With Belinda immediately under suspicion, Lia feared no one besides herself had reached out to her. She passed the plates while Hayley brought in tea and coffee.

  As they enjoyed their treat, Maggie chatted at some length about the quilt she was working on. Just as Hayley’s eyes began to glaze, they snapped clear when Maggie brought up Martin Brewer.

  “After you and I discussed the professor that time,” Maggie said to Lia, “I got to thinking about him, and I’ve been much more aware of what he did—or didn’t—do.”

  “Yes?” Lia asked as Hayley set her fork down.

  “What he didn’t do was show up at the community center Saturday night.”

  “He was supposed to?” Hayley asked.

  “Yup. The drama club put on a play about Mary Todd Lincoln, during the days after the assassination. Martin was supposed to lead a discussion afterward, but he never showed.”

  “Really?” Lia took a sip of her coffee. “Was any reason given?”

  “Just an apology from Nan Bergen, the director. And something about his being indisposed. A good number of us had waited after the final curtain because of him. Instead, the lead actors came out with the director and talked about the play and their roles.”

  “Perhaps he was,” Lia said. “Indisposed, I mean.”

  “Could have been, of course.”

  “Mom!” Hayley cried. “You’re too trusting. Don’t you think the timing is the least bit suspicious?”

  “Of course it’s exactly when Joan was murdered. But what would Martin have to do with Joan? Darren, I can see. But Joan wasn’t planning to demolish the craft fair barn or any other sites that Martin cares about.”

  “There might be other reasons we just don’t know about,” Hayley said.

  “Very true.” Lia turned to Maggie. “Anything you can think of?”

  “Not a thing. But . . .” She paused, her eyebrows wiggling. “Turns out he was seen later that night, driving.”

  “There you are!” Hayley cried.

  “What time?” Lia asked.

  “Around eleven. Abby Williams’s husband, Deshawn, was out walking their dog and saw him. Abby was highly annoyed to hear about it because she felt our professor had skipped out on us.”

  “He might have been picking up something from the drugstore, if he was ill,” Lia said.

  “Mom.”

  “It’s possible,” Lia said, looking at Hayley defensively.

  “You can get things delivered,” Hayley said. “And the timing is still suspicious. More so now that we know he was out and about.”

  “When you can come up with a reason for Martin Brewer to murder Joan, then I’ll agree with you. Until then . . .”

  “Okay, I’ll get working on that!” Hayley grinned, obviously liking the challenge.

  “Then you might start with Penn State,” Maggie said. “It’s where he taught. Maybe Joan was there at the same time to study art?”

  “Good idea,” Hayley said.

  Lia remained skeptical but knew it wouldn’t hurt to try. Martin, after all, was a confrontational person, as Joan had been. If they’d disagreed on something important to each of them, Lia had to admit it wouldn’t have been easily settled. That “something,” though, would need to be extremely important to end in murder.

  Maggie scraped up the last crumbs of her cake and, having shared what she’d come to share about Martin, left it in Lia’s and Hayley’s hands to deal with. With a final pat on Daphne’s head, she took off, wishing them luck.

  Hayley immediately jumped online, and as she worked, Lia’s thoughts turned in another direction. Talking about Martin had reminded her of her last sight of him, when he’d rushed into the sub shop and demanded instant service from Ginny. Olivia had mentioned Ginny as one of the few who got along reasonably well with Joan. Maybe Ginny had a few insights to offer?

  “I’m going out,” she informed Hayley, who, absorbed in her Internet searches, only grunted. “To Tibet,” Lia added. “For a few spices and maybe a yak. I shouldn’t be long.”

  Hayley, staring at her screen, wiggled a hand in farewell. Lia shook her head and left.

  Chapter 33

  After driving halfway to the sub shop, Lia realized she didn’t know how early it opened or even if Ginny would be there. Who knew what her work schedule was? But the ride was a short one and worth taking the chance. If luck was with her on those first two points, it would probably be with her on a third: that Ginny wouldn’t be terribly busy at that midmorning period and would be free to talk.

  Lia pulled her car into a parking spot not far down from the shop, cheered to see the neon sign lit. She winced when she walked into the place and didn’t see the familiar plumpish figure behind the counter. But then Ginny magically appeared, straightening from her crouch behind the counter.

  “Oh!” she said. “It’s you, Lia! I thought it was our delivery guy.”

  “Sorry,” Lia said with a smile. “Just me. With nothing to deliver.”

  Ginny returned the smile. “That’s fine. I’d rather have you. How’ve you been? You must have liked our sub since you’re back so soon.”

  “It was delicious and just what I needed then. But I’m here for another reason today. Do you have a minute to talk? I’d hate to hold you up from your work.”

  “No problem. I’m just tidying after the breakfast rush,” she said, then laughed. “I can walk and chew gum at the same time. What’s up?”

  “I’d like to understand Joan better, after what’s happened to her. I’ve heard that you were one of the very few who got along with her. Is that right?”

  Ginny grimaced. She picked up a cloth to gather up bits of food debris in the work area. “Reasonably well, I suppose. She never yelled or called me names, if that counts.”

  “With Joan, that seemed to count for a lot. Why do you suppose that was? How did you manage to get on her better side?” Lia knew Ginny didn’t buy things at the craft fair, so Joan wouldn’t have been treating her as a valued customer.

  Ginny paused her wiping to think about that. “I don’t know. Maybe because we both were on our own? Kindred spirits of a sort?”

  “Did she talk about that? About any family?”

  “It only came up once, when I mentioned my mother. It happened that Joan’s mother and mine had the same name—Shirley. Hers passed away years before my mom.”

  “Did Joan grow up in Crandalsburg as you did? Are there siblings here?”

  “I think there’s a sister somewhere. But neither of us is from Crandalsburg, originally. Joan moved here from Pittsburgh.”

  “Oh? And where did you grow up?”

  “Before we moved here, we lived in a small town you probably never heard of. Boggs Creek.”

  “You’re right. I never heard of it,” Lia said, adding with a smile, “But I’ve heard of Pittsburgh. So I’m guessing Joan wasn’t close to her sister?”

  Ginny shook her cloth out over the sink. “I got that strong impression. I commented once on one of her paintings, a winter scene of kids skating on a frozen pond with trees nearby. If you looked carefully you could make out that the center branches of one of the trees formed a face, an angry, distorted one. She said she must have been thinking of her sister when she painted it.”

  “Ouch!”

  “I know, right?” Ginny shrugged. “I thought she was at least lucky to have a sister. I always wished I’d had one. Joan gave me one of her watercolors once. Not the skating scene. A different one.”

  “That was nice of her.”

  “Yeah. It was slightly damaged. She probably didn’t think she could sell it. But I managed to fix it. You can hardly see the wrinkle.”

  “Good. Ginny, did Joan ever mention Martin Brewer?”

  “The history guy? Not that I remember. Why?”


  “I wondered if there had ever been a problem between them, or if they even knew each other.”

  Ginny barked out a laugh. “If they knew each other, there was probably a problem, knowing those two.”

  “You know Brewer?”

  “Only from here at the sub shop, and I don’t like him. I can’t see Joan putting up with him, even as a customer.”

  “That’s pretty much what I thought, but I wanted to check.” A phone rang somewhere in the back, and Ginny made a move toward it, then hesitated, looking at Lia. “Go ahead, please,” Lia said. “And thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Ginny smiled. “My pleasure. Good to see you!”

  Lia left the sub shop and got into her car. Before starting it, she pulled out her phone and did a search, then studied the screen. After a minute, she pressed her ignition button and took off, turning after a couple of blocks in the direction opposite her house. She drove about a mile before finding what she was looking for, stopped and parked, then got out of the car and walked over to a particular house. She glanced around a bit, then got back into her car and headed home.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lia was promptly met at the door by Hayley, who announced, “Internet’s down.”

  “Shoot. Why?”

  Hayley shrugged. “Probably a server problem, which means it’ll be back by itself—eventually. I didn’t find anything useful about Joan, by the way. No connection that I can find, so far, between her and Martin Brewer. I’ll try again later. I’m going out.”

  Lia realized Hayley had changed to running clothes. “Good idea. Get some fresh air.”

  “I’ll probably stop at the drugstore on my way back. Need anything?”

  Whenever that question came up unexpectedly, Lia could never think of a thing, so she shook her head and stepped out of the way, knowing she’d probably remember an urgent need once it was too late. As she watched Hayley jog off, she got a call from Jen.

  “Lia, we need to switch the knitters meeting to tonight, or we’ll have to cancel this week. Can you make it?”