Lace and Lies

by Nancy Warren

  I leaned forward, and I was sure there was a stupid expression on my face. “Come again?”

  He grinned at me. “I know. It sounds mad, but it’s true. My many times great-grandfather owed Rafe his life, or so the legend goes. He promised that his son and all his son’s sons would look after his master after he was gone.” He shrugged. “And we always have.”

  This sounded like feudal times. “And none of you ever said, ‘You know, you’re a great guy, Rafe, but I’d rather be a cobbler or join the circus or try out for astronaut school?’”

  “No. Never. Each of us teaches our eldest son how to serve Rafe, and when he’s old enough, he takes over and we retire.” He leaned forward, and his eyes were intent. “Loyalty, duty and honor. They aren’t concepts that are as revered now as they used to be, but we Threshers would give our lives for Rafe. It’s who we are.”

  I felt out of my depth here. Somehow, I thought he’d been brainwashed by his father, who’d been brainwashed by his and so on back down the line. “But you’re stuck out here in this admittedly beautiful manor house. You could have your own restaurant in London or New York. You are that good.” Okay, I wasn’t the world’s preeminent food critic, but I read those magazines on the plane that were always showcasing the latest, greatest new chef. William was easily as good as any chef or new restaurant I’d read about or even visited.

  He shook his head. “I like it here. Maybe it’s bred in my bones and marrow, but I wouldn’t leave Rafe. I’m his until death.”

  “And I thank you for your loyalty, William.” Rafe strolled in, dapper in a navy summer suit. “Ready, Lucy?”

  William didn’t turn a hair at our conversation being overheard, but I jumped up, feeling the blood rush to my face. “Yes. I just have to brush my teeth. I’ll meet you at the car.”

  “No hurry.”

  I made horrible faces at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. When was I going to learn to stay out of things that weren’t my business?

  I received a text during lunch, and to my surprise, it was from Ian. We used to text each other a lot, during that brief time we dated each other, but I’d assumed he’d deleted my number. Turned out he hadn’t. The text said, “I know you’re closed, but my auntie has run short of wool. Any chance I could stop by later and pick some up?”

  I thought that was sweet that he was such a devoted great-nephew. Also, I had no problem with him coming to my shop out of hours. If I did him a professional favor, he might give me some information and perhaps share some of his initial findings in Enid Selfe’s murder.

  I texted back, “No problem. Come at seven.” We were scheduled to shoot until six, and I wanted to be certain everyone was gone before Ian arrived.

  Shortly after that, I received a text from Rafe. “Pick you up at ten PM.”

  I texted back that that was fine and enjoyed the fact that I was going to be the recipient of two gentleman callers this evening. One mortal and one not.

  When Ian arrived, I had the wool all ready for him. I’d followed Gran’s tradition of keeping files on all my customers, so I knew what they’d ordered. Of course, my files were all on computer. He looked a bit sheepish. “That’s very kind of you, Lucy.”

  After he’d paid and I’d put the wool into a bag for him, he said, “I’m afraid I told you a bit of a porkie pie.”

  “You lied to me? What?”

  “It was a white lie, really. My auntie asked me to pick up some more of this wool, but she didn’t need it today. I wanted to talk to you.”

  He looked tired. He was wearing the suit he wore to work, and I suspected he’d been in it for a lot of hours. “You’ve been spending time with a lot of people who knew Enid Selfe. You have good instincts.” He held up his hands in a helpless gesture, and the paper bag rustled. “Honestly, we’re not getting anywhere. I’m asking for your help.”

  I was flattered that he wanted my input. It was smart of him because he was right. I was spending a lot of time with some of the last people to see Enid Selfe alive. “Of course. I’ll tell you whatever I can. And in return, perhaps you’ll tell me a few things.”

  He looked slightly offended. “That’s not how it usually works.”

  “I know. But, as you said, this is a strange case. And I’m pretty heavily involved in it.”

  He looked to the space where the collection of antique knitting needles had hung and no longer did. I’d taken the entire display down and hidden it in the back room. It would be a long time before I could look at those antique knitting and crochet items without feeling sick. Molly had found me a nice poster of Teddy posing with his new book to put in its place.

  Ian said, “All right. I can’t tell you everything, but if you give me your word to keep anything I tell you quiet, I’ll answer some questions.” I nodded. He’d said to keep it quiet, not that I couldn’t tell anyone. I felt that was enough permission that I could share whatever I learned with Theodore and Rafe.

  “Well?” I asked. “What do you want to know?”

  He let out a huge sigh. “Anything. Anything you can tell me that might steer us in the right direction would be very helpful.”

  I felt sorry for Ian. It must be so difficult to try to find the one single person who might have murdered someone so very unpleasant. “You’ve taken a look at the three husbands, I assume?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, rather testily. “What I want to know from you is more about the students in this class. Even the tech people behind the cameras. What do you know about them? You sit around all day knitting. Does anyone seem suspicious?”

  “I’d start by taking a look at Gunnar.”

  He pulled out a notebook, and folded into it was a copy of the class list, slightly the worse for wear. “Gunnar is the Norwegian. Used to work on an oil rig.” He glanced up at me. “It’s funny you should mention him first. We’re having trouble finding out about his background. The Norwegian authorities are saying they can’t find him.”

  “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not sure he’s Norwegian at all. He swears in Danish.”

  Ian’s eyes opened wide at that. “He swears in Danish?” He shrugged his shoulders up and down once. “Sometimes I swear in German.” He thought about that. “In German, a curse sounds more like you mean it.”

  While I thought he had a point, I said, “Okay, this will sound even more stupid, but he looked confused when someone mentioned Preikestolen.”

  Now I really had Ian’s interest. “Pulpit Rock?”

  “You see. Even you’ve heard of it. And you’re not Norwegian.”

  “No. That is odd. Of course, if we could fingerprint him, we might find out who he is, but there isn’t enough reason to.” He stared at the class list. “What else do you know about Gunnar?”

  “Almost nothing. He listens more than he speaks. Maybe that’s why I noticed it when he would fumble a stitch and then swear. It was unusual to hear his voice.”

  “Right. Anything else?”

  “He said he wouldn’t have agreed to go on this program if he’d had any idea a woman would be murdered, but I expect we all feel that way.”

  I didn’t know how much to tell. I didn’t want to get nice people in trouble with the police. On the other hand, we did have a dead woman to find justice for. “I’m just throwing out some things for you. I have no idea if any of this is relevant, but Ryan was adopted. He told us all in class the first day. Enid Selfe said she gave up a child about his age. She joked that she could be his mother. Like it meant nothing to her. He never tried to find his birth mother, and she never tried to find her son. He said that if she turned out to be his mother he’d have to kill either himself or her. He said it in a sarcastic way, so I know it’s a stretch, but I think it’s worth checking out.”

  I could tell he thought it was a stretch, too. “All right. I’m willing to grasp at straws here. I’ll look into it.”

  “While you’re grasping, Annabel’s family originally came from Jamaica. And Ryan has a Jamaican grandmother.
Enid’s second husband was with the immigration department. When his name was mentioned, I got the feeling that Annabel had heard his name before.”

  “More straws,” he said, but he made a note in his notebook.

  He was right. I had enough straws to weave a basket. “And today, Enid’s daughter came to the shop.”

  He didn’t look surprised at that. “The older one? Amelia?”

  “That’s right.”

  “She wanted to know everything she could about her mother’s death. We told her the basics. I’m not really surprised that she came here. Awkward for you, though.”

  “No. I’d have wanted to come here, too, if I was her. Besides, we think Enid might have been like the evil stepmother in Cinderella. The mother of the horrible stepsisters. She’s awful to Cinderella but dotes on her own girls. Maybe Enid Selfe was like that. Horrible to most people, but her girls were everything to her. Amelia seemed devastated to have lost her.”

  He nodded. “I noticed that too. Well, anyone would be devastated to lose their mother like that, but she did seem as though she genuinely loved her.”

  “Poor girl.”

  “I’m glad you were kind to her.”

  “Not only me.” And then I told him how surprised I had been that Vinod and she knew each other. “Now here’s the interesting thing. She knew Vinod through his son.”

  “But doesn’t she go to some posh girls’ school?”

  “Yes, she does. It’s a boarding school. Vinod’s son was working in a local Indian restaurant where the girls would sometimes go for a meal. I don’t know how close they were, but it sounds as though Enid found out her daughter was dating a busboy and had a fit.” I felt really uncomfortable casting suspicion on Vinod because I thought he was a very nice man, but very nice people could be driven to murder, especially to protect people they loved. “When Vinod talks about his son, his whole face lights up. He’s that proud. And he seems like a genuinely devoted father. One who’d do anything for his son.”

  Ian caught the slight emphasis I’d put on anything and said, “Including murder?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just telling you everything I’ve observed. Do I think Vinod’s a murderer? No. But I don’t think any of them are.”

  “Speaking of people who’d do anything for the people they love, what about Douglas? Teddy’s partner?”

  I shook my head. “Him, I don’t know. I haven’t spent that much time with him, but he’s definitely someone who would do anything for Teddy.” I looked at the spot where Enid had died. “But as annoying and obstructive as Enid was, I bet Teddy and the filmmakers would’ve found a way to recut the footage so it wouldn’t seem as bad as it was. Why murder her?”

  He nodded. “I don’t know much about how they make television shows, but I imagine you’re right.” He made another note. “I’ll check with Molly.”

  He ran down the list of names. “What about Helen Radcliffe? Know much about her?”

  “She’s a science teacher, a beautiful knitter, seems to be enjoying the class. She and Enid didn’t have much to do with each other.”

  He tapped his pen against his notebook. “And then there’s the new woman.”

  “Margot Dodeson. Yes. She’s certainly thrilled to be here and hangs on Teddy’s every word. But I don’t think she’d murder a woman just to get a spot in Teddy’s class.”

  “Seems unlikely.”

  “And then there’s all the crew,” I reminded him, not wanting suspicion to fall only on the knitters.

  “Found out anything interesting about them?”

  “No. Only that Molly’s under a lot of pressure to bring this in on time and on budget.”

  He looked at me seriously. “This is one of those things that you keep to yourself, but the rumor is that she’s skating on thin ice. She was involved in a disastrous production that cost a lot and never got made. One more failure, and she’ll be out of a job.”

  “Wow. She seems so confident, but I bet TV is the kind of industry that once your name is blackened, it’s really hard to find another job.”

  “And Enid Selfe was putting this whole production in jeopardy. It’s another straw.”

  “But is it the one that broke the camel’s back?”

  Chapter 20

  Ian left, but I couldn’t get that phrase out of my head. The straw that broke the camel’s back. That one tiny thing that, after a load of other things, finally makes a person crack.

  I had an idea. It was like the moment when all the different colored yarns came together in a pattern. If I was right, I knew who’d killed Enid Selfe.

  I glanced at my watch and, making sure Ian was all the way gone, went into the back room. Swiftly and furtively, I pulled up the trapdoor and climbed down into the tunnel. Rafe hated me coming down here alone, but I didn’t have far to go. I made my way quickly to the vampires’ lair and knocked the special knock.

  Gran and Sylvia were all dressed up and ready to go out. “Thank goodness I caught you,” I said.

  Gran hugged me. “How lovely to see you, dear. But whatever is the matter?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. But I want you to look at this list and tell me if you recognize any of the names on it.”

  She looked puzzled. “All right. Is this some kind of quiz?”

  Alfred was sitting in the living room, but, of course, he heard every word. “I love quizzes. I’m very good at pub quizzes. Especially anything to do with history.” He chuckled. “Well, I’ve lived quite a bit of it.”

  “I like a quiz, too,” Sylvia added.

  Gran shook her head. “You can’t touch her on movies and theater.”

  Cold horror gripped my chest. “Gran, you’re not going to pub quizzes, are you?”

  She waved a hand in front of her face. “Not in Oxford, dear. But in Dublin. No one knows me in Dublin. It’s such a pleasure to get out among people.”

  And Sylvia and Rafe were working to get her there. All that stood between her and the weekly pub quiz in Temple Bar was me and my selfish desire to keep her here.

  She couldn’t come to much harm in Dublin. The chances that one of her customers from Cardinal Woolsey’s in Oxford would end up in a pub quiz in Dublin were extremely slim. And I thought it was far enough away that she could brazen it out and pretend to be someone else if that ghastly possibility ever became a reality. Anyone would believe they’d seen someone who looked like Gran rather than jump to the conclusion that my beloved grandmother was undead. At least I hoped they would.

  We’d talk about her moving to Dublin, and soon, but right now, I had other things on my mind.

  “This isn’t a quiz. You knew most of your customers by name, didn’t you?”

  She looked quite indignant. “Not most of them. All of the regulars. And I hope you do, too. Individual customer service is what sets us apart from any old wool merchant you can find on the Internet.”

  I had heard this argument before. I assured her that as much as I was able, I was following in her footsteps with customer service. Or at least I was trying. I handed her the paper, and she ran her gaze down the page. It was still strange to see her without her glasses. But, of course, she didn’t need them anymore.

  She nodded and pointed to a name. “That one, of course. An excellent customer and an excellent knitter.”

  I pointed to another name. “What about that one?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  I went over to the super-powerful computer that sat on a priceless regency desk in the corner. I pulled up the file of class participants, including photographs, and showed Gran.

  “Oh, yes, of course, I know that one.” As she said the name, suddenly all those straws made themselves into a basket to catch a killer.

  We were gathered together for the last time, those of us who were taking part in Teddy Lamont’s lace class for Larch Wools. We were more subdued than we might have been. Enid Selfe’s death hung heavy over us.

  Margot Dodeson had stayed up most of the night,
she said, to finish her cushion cover. It was beautiful. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be abstract, but it looked like a sunrise to me. From indigo to fuchsia, her colors blended and announced a beautiful day, a new beginning.

  Everyone clapped. She was a much more pleasant class participant than her predecessor. She was quiet, eager to please and easily pleased herself. Teddy had taken quite a shine to her. It was ironic; Enid had hoped to be the class pet by virtue of her superb knitting skills, while her replacement, the mild and meek Margot, had become the class pet by being the opposite of her. Margot was an excellent knitter, but she was humble about it and obviously felt that it was a much higher talent to be good with color and design than to execute perfect stitches. Since Teddy absolutely agreed with her, they got on well.

  In spite of the trauma and the setbacks, all of us had managed to finish our cushion covers. Mine was never going to win any awards, and due to my inept skills, it didn’t look enough like a pentagram that anyone would point to it and scream witch. This was a good thing. And yet, I knew what I’d created. I planned to display it on the couch upstairs in my living room, a reminder of my heritage. Like most witches, my cushion would be hiding in plain sight.

  I’d called and left a message with Ian, but he didn’t call back until we were about to break for coffee. I excused myself and stepped outside to take the call.

  “Ian, I think I know who did it,” I said, trying to whisper but still be heard as a cyclist rode by singing opera. Only in Oxford.

  “Well done, Lucy. Yes, we’ve got there too. Don’t let anyone leave. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay.” I would have liked to share my information, but it seemed I didn’t need to.

  We only had time for a quick coffee break at Elderflower before Molly was hurrying us all back. “We need to get all our filming finished today. The budget can’t extend to overtime. Come on.”

  Teddy was in the highest of spirits and, even though my heart was heavy with dread, even I managed to smile and laugh at his antics.