Murder of a Needled Knitter

by Denise Swanson

  “Then—” Trixie started say something.

  “Is it okay for you two to be sitting here?” Skye had suddenly remembered that they were in a reserved section. “This area is for suite guests only.”

  “No way could I afford a suite on this tub.” Owen fingered his ornate horseshoe-shaped belt buckle and looked at Wally as if for confirmation.

  “Yeah,” Wally quickly interjected. “I know what you mean, man.” He chuckled. “We’d be in the cheap seats if Dad’s boss hadn’t insisted on paying for our honeymoon as his wedding present to us.”

  With the exception of Skye, no one from Scumble River knew that Wally’s father was a millionaire, or that Wally’s mother had left him a hefty trust fund when she died. Wally was careful to live within his means, and if anyone noticed that Wally’s father seemed to have more money than he should, the story was that the CEO of the company that Carson Boyd worked for was very generous.

  Before either Trixie or Owen could wonder why Carson’s boss would give his employee’s son such a lavish gift, Skye said, “We’d better find somewhere else to sit. We’ll move so we can be together.”

  “No need to do that,” Owen assured her. “As of five p.m. today we are occupying the St. Maarten suite.”

  “You were upgraded?” Skye squeezed Trixie’s hand, thrilled for her friend.

  “Not exactly.” Trixie twisted her mouth. “We’ve been through hell since we boarded and the suite is sort of a consolation prize.”

  “What happened?” Skye asked. “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?”

  “We’re fine.” Owen crossed his arms. “But a lot of our stuff isn’t.”

  “First it was the air-conditioning,” Trixie said, taking over the story. “When we got to our cabin yesterday it was too warm. We complained and they sent someone to fix it. Apparently, whatever the repairman did to the AC made it worse, because during the night it got hotter than hades.”

  “Since we were in an interior cabin with no way to get any fresh air, we ended up sleeping out on deck,” Owen interjected.

  “This morning,” Trixie continued, “we complained again and this time the guy really screwed something up because both the toilet and the shower stopped working. We notified the purser’s office just before we went over to the island this afternoon and when we got back, evidently the sewer system had had some sort of eruption and everything that we had left out in or near the bathroom was covered with you-know-what.”

  “Oh, my gosh!” Skye bit her lip. “How horrible. So much for a dream vacation.”

  “It was ridiculous.” Owen’s nostrils flared. “How could a cruise line let something like that happen?”

  “On the bright side,” Trixie went on, “the purser moved us to a suite and gave us vouchers for the shops on board so we can replace our belongings.” She bounced in her seat, smiling widely. “Now we can sit together, and have breakfast in the special restaurant together, and do all the things together that the suite people get to do.” Suddenly she frowned. “Wait a minute.” She turned to Wally. “You said something about knitting.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “That’s the big group the travel agency from town booked. Why?”

  Trixie looked at Skye. “Didn’t you say that your folks were taking a knitting cruise?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Your mom . . .”

  “Exactly,” Skye confirmed. “Odds are that my parents are on board, too.”

  “No.” Trixie pointed below to the main floor of the theater. “Your mom is down there and she just poured her drink over some lady’s head.”

  They all peered over the balcony railing. Skye gasped and clutched Wally’s hand. May was standing nose to nose with a soaked Guinevere Stallings, and both women were screaming bloody murder.

  CHAPTER 4

  Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

  “Eleven o’clock and all’s hell,” Skye muttered to herself as she stared at her soaked and battered mother, slumped in the chair next to her.

  “What do you mean?” May slurred. “Did I knock out that witch?”

  “Don’t say a word,” Skye hissed. “If you have something to say, put up your hand.”

  May waved.

  “Now put your palm over your mouth,” Skye instructed. “Wally’s studying up on maritime law on the Internet, trying to figure out what your rights are since we’re in international waters. Do you realize you could be charged with battery?”

  “Aren’t you a Gloomhilda?” May gripped her daughter’s arm. “I just want to tell you—”

  “Wait.” Skye got up and looked around the small office. When she didn’t see any recording devices or cameras, she returned to her seat, and said, “Okay. You can talk while we’re alone, but keep your voice low and don’t admit anything to anyone who comes in here.”

  Skye, Wally, Trixie, and Owen had raced down the stairs to the theater’s main floor, arriving just in time to see Guinevere retaliate for the Bloody Mary shower that May had given her by throwing her glass of red wine into May’s face. A split second later, the two women had been rolling in the aisle tearing at each other’s hair.

  Wally had grabbed Skye by the waist when she tried to go to her mother’s rescue, and before she could free herself from his grasp, two security men had arrived and broken up the fight. As May and Guinevere had been led away, Wally had directed Skye to go with her mom and keep her quiet until he got there.

  May had been taken to a room behind the passenger services counter. When the security man had tried to stop Skye from following, Skye had claimed that May had a heart condition and might need medication that only Skye could administer.

  Now, as they waited for the head honcho to arrive, Skye scolded her mother. “I can’t believe you did that. Normally, you’d die of embarrassment at making such a spectacle of yourself with a crowd of strangers staring at you.” She leaned forward to gaze into eyes that were the same shade of emerald green as her own. “What in the world possessed you to attack Guinevere Stallings?”

  “Are you and Wally having a good time? Did you like the suite? I can’t wait to see it.” May hiccupped, ignoring both Skye’s reprimand and her query. “I bet you two were surprised to see me and your dad.” She hiccupped again. “And was that Trixie and Owen with you? I had no idea they were part of the group.”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” Skye answered May’s stream of questions. “And yes.”

  “I told Wally you’d be thrilled with a cruise for your honeymoon.” May grabbed a Kleenex from the desk, nearly falling out of her chair as she leaned forward to reach the box. “I hope this doesn’t leave a stain.” She scrubbed at the wet wine spot on the front of her dress, apparently not noticing that a good portion of the lace had been shredded.

  “Mom.” Skye waited until her mother stopped rubbing the tissue against her bodice and looked at her. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Hmmm. Not too much because I took one of those seasick pills and the instructions on the box said not to mix it with alcohol.” May screwed up her face. “Dad and I each had two beers at the bar on Countess Cay—they’re cheaper if you buy a bucket of four.” She frowned. “You know how your dad likes his Budweiser. If Jed had his way we’d have danced to ‘There’s a Tear in My Beer’ at our wedding.”

  “And when you got back to the ship?” Skye tried to keep her mother focused. “What did you drink then?”

  “I had a margarita before supper and a couple of glasses of wine while we ate.” May counted on her fingers. “So that makes five.”

  “How about after dinner?” Skye figured her parents had probably hung out at the bar or the casino waiting for the show to start.

  “Oh. Yeah.” May wrinkled her brow. “I had a grasshopper at the Pilothouse Bar.”

  “So that’s six, plus whatever you managed to consume of the Bloody Mary before you th
rew it at Guinevere.” Skye raised two more fingers on her mother’s other hand. “So you are officially drunk.”

  “I am not,” May protested, then hiccupped. “Maybe a teeny, tiny bit tipsy, but not hammered.”

  “More like feeling no pain,” Skye retorted, then repeated her previous inquiry. “What on God’s green earth ever possessed you to attack Guinevere Stallings?”

  “Yes.” A trim woman dressed in an officer’s uniform marched through the office door. “I’d like to know the answer to that question as well.” She took a seat behind the desk and said half under her breath, “Not that a lot of people haven’t wanted to do exactly that.”

  May opened her mouth, but Skye clapped her palm over her mom’s lips, and said, “We’re waiting for my husband to arrive before we respond.” Even in this situation, Skye felt a little thrill when she said the word husband.

  “Is he an attorney?” the woman asked, leaning forward and offering her hand. “By the way, I’m Security Officer Lucille Trencher.”

  “I’m Skye Denison Boyd and this is my mother, May Denison.” Skye shook the security officer’s hand. “My husband is the chief of police in Scumble River, Illinois.” Oh! There was that lovely word again. She fought the smile that was trying to break free. Officer Trencher would think the whole family was crazy if Skye sat there grinning like an idiot.

  “Ah.” Officer Trencher tented her fingers and rested her chin on them as she gazed at Skye. “So you’re afraid that your mother is in hot water.”

  “Maybe,” Skye answered cautiously, unsure what Officer Trencher was up to. “I’m not up on maritime law, but nevertheless, I doubt it’s ever a good idea to self-incriminate.”

  “True.” Officer Trencher flicked a glance at May, who appeared to be dozing off, then said, “What if I were to assure you that the last thing the cruise line wants to do is make this into a major issue?”

  “If you can guarantee that this is off the record, I might allow my mother to enlighten us about the incident,” Skye said. “But how can you be sure that Guinevere won’t press charges?”

  “First, Countess Cruise Lines is Ms. Stallings’s boss and when she signed her contract, she relinquished to the company the right to press charges. The corporation mandates that all employees surrender that privilege in order to avoid any possibility of lawsuits.” Officer Trencher grimaced, making it clear that her own opinion on that matter didn’t match the party line. “Then there’s the fact that Ms. Stallings herself would be in trouble.” Officer Trencher flipped open a manila folder and consulted the page of notes inside. “According to a video of the altercation supplied to us by a helpful witness, which I’ve just finished viewing, it appears Ms. Stallings instigated the unfortunate situation.”

  “Wow!” Skye squeaked. She wished Wally was here to advise them. She wasn’t sure if the video was a positive or a negative in her mother’s situation. Should she demand a copy of it? “At what point did the person start recording the scene?”

  “As the Bloody Mary hit the fan, so to speak.” Officer Trencher chuckled.

  “Okay.” Skye made a decision. Her gut told her that the security officer was a straight shooter, and the woman’s assurances sounded reasonable. “Mom.” Skye shook her mother awake. “Tell us what happened between you and Guinevere. What did she do to make you so mad?”

  “It started yesterday right after we got on board, when the U-knitted Nations group had our meet and greet.” May blinked and yawned. “She asked if I bought my yarn at the dollar store.”

  “And that’s bad?” Skye didn’t knit, but guessed the discount store crack had been an insult.

  “You think?” May glared at her daughter. “It’s like asking a fashion model if she bought her outfit at Sears.”

  “I see,” Skye said, exchanging a puzzled glance with the security chief.

  “Then today on Countess Cays, she was so late for the group photo your dad wouldn’t wait around any longer,” May continued. “He said her time was no more valuable than his, so I had to miss being in the picture and now I won’t have it as a souvenir.”

  “So that’s why Wally and I didn’t see you and Dad there.”

  “That’s the reason, all right,” May confirmed. “Your father can’t abide tardiness.”

  “As I well remember, considering he used to leave me standing in the driveway if I was two seconds late getting to the car,” Skye retorted, then asked her mother, “What did Guinevere do next?”

  “This afternoon, when we got back to the ship, and I complained to Ms. Snobbiness about her not being on time, she said that only peasants watch the clock.” May scowled. “Then the witch had the nerve to say to me that if I was willing to be at some man’s beck and call, it served me right to miss out on the photo op.”

  “Oh, no, she didn’t.” Skye was surprised May hadn’t belted Guinevere then and there. Her mother didn’t take that kind of sass from anyone.

  “What happened in the theater?” Officer Trencher asked, her expression sympathetic. “Did Ms. Stallings make another rude comment?”

  “Worse. I could have handled that. I was already working on a letter of complaint to the cruise line about that woman’s complete lack of professionalism.” May glared. “But she went too far tonight. She made a pass at my husband, Jed.”

  Skye fought to control her expression. Although May’s revelation explained why Skye’s father had chosen to go with Wally to the Internet Café to help research maritime law rather than accompany his wife to the interrogation room, Skye couldn’t figure out why a beautiful and elegant woman like Guinevere would go after Jed, an ordinary man twenty-plus years her senior. Was she the type of woman who flirted with any male in the vicinity? Did she have a need to prove her superiority over other women?

  “What did Ms. Stallings do?” Officer Trencher asked as she made a note in the file.

  “She’d been flirting with Jed ever since she took the seat next to him.” May seemed a lot more sober now than she had a few minutes ago. “She kept touching his arm and his leg, and teasing him about his impatience on the island.” May’s lips formed a disapproving line. “She said that in the future he should realize that she was worth the wait.” May turned to Skye. “And that fool man was eating it up. He was actually talking to her.”

  “Wow.” Skye shook her head. Jed was a guy who never used two words when one would do. His chatting with Guinevere was akin to another man inviting her for a drink back in his cabin. He had definitely been flattered by the knitting guru’s attention and responding to her flirtation, which made Skye realize just how ticked off her mother had been.

  “And just FYI now that you’re a married woman,” May went on, pursuing another tangent, “never let your husband’s mind wander.” May giggled, apparently forgetting that she was angry with her own husband. “It’s too little to be allowed out alone.”

  “Right.” Skye wondered if her mother had been memorizing the sayings on T-shirts again. “Got it. Now, how much did Dad have to drink?”

  “Stop that.” May swatted Skye’s shoulder. “Neither your father nor I were drunk. Just because you can’t hold your liquor doesn’t mean we can’t. We didn’t have any more to drink than we do on a normal Saturday night at the bowling alley or the VFW.”

  “But that motion sickness pill you took exacerbates the effects of alcohol,” Skye pointed out, then asked, “Did Dad take a Dramamine, too?”

  “Of course not.” May harrumphed. “Your father was in the navy, for heaven’s sake. It was a court-martialing offense to get seasick.”

  “Back to the incident,” Officer Trencher said, clearing her throat. She had a bemused look on her face, but hastily resumed her neutral expression and asked, “How exactly did Ms. Stallings make this pass at your husband, Mrs. Denison?”

  “She took his hand and pressed it to her boobies.” May’s voice rose. “Supposedly, she wante
d him to feel how soft the crepe merino yarn was that she had used to knit her shawl, but if that was the case, all she had to do was take the dang thing off and give it to him.”

  “Oh.” For a second, Officer Trencher appeared to be at a loss for words. Then she asked, “And that was when you poured your drink over her head?”

  “No.” May narrowed her eyes. “I stood up and told her she had five seconds to take her cotton-picking hands off my husband.” May gritted her teeth. “But instead of letting him go, she pushed me aside and kissed him.”

  “You know, to some people a kiss is just a handshake with lips.” Although Skye herself was a little shocked at Guinevere’s actions, she tried to make light of the incident in order to defuse her mother’s anger.

  May harrumphed, her eyes cold.

  “So the kiss was the last straw for you?” Officer Trencher persisted, apparently wanting to get all the facts straight, no matter how difficult it was to keep May focused on her story. “But why pour your Bloody Mary on her?”

  “I was aiming at Jed and she got in the way.” May raised her chin. “Tomato juice is the only thing that gets rid of the stink of a skunk.”

  • • •

  “Have a seat.” Skye ushered her parents and the Fraynes into her suite. When she and May had emerged from Lucille Trencher’s office, they had found Wally, Jed, Trixie, and Owen waiting for them at the passenger services counter. May had wanted to go to a nearby bar to hear a Frank Sinatra impersonator, but Skye had put her foot down and led everyone to her and Wally’s cabin.

  “Wow!” May gazed around the spacious stateroom. “This is real nice.”

  “Yep.” Jed moved to one of two sets of sliding glass doors and opened it. “We don’t have a window, let alone a balcony.” He disappeared out into the darkness, but his voice drifted back into the cabin. “Ma, you gotta see this.”

  May ignored her husband, trailing her fingers on the sofa’s rich upholstery. She paused to caress the smooth marble and glass coffee table, then strolled into the bathroom.