Trixie leaped into the awkward silence. “I just hate it when people are nasty.”
“Me, too,” Ms. Bouffant agreed. “We were in the salon at the same time and Guinevere made a rude comment about my coiffure.” The woman winked. “But I just said right back to her that in Texas we believe that the higher the hair, the closer to God.”
Everyone laughed, and Ms. Bouffant added, “I felt sorry for the stylist. Guinevere really raked poor Nicolette over the coals, and then I heard Nicolette say to the receptionist that this and all Guinevere’s future appointments were on the house. So the poor girl didn’t even get paid for all her hard work.”
As they all tsked, a woman stepped onto the small stage where three barstools were lined up. She took the microphone from the stand and asked, “Are we ready to find out who’s going to play Knitter’s Jeopardy!?”
“Is that the person taking over as your new leader?” Skye asked, nodding to the woman. Skye knew she’d seen her on Countess Cay and at the cocktail party, but she couldn’t recall her name. Betty Jo? Bobbie Sue? Something like that.
“No.” May shook her head. “The cruise line will take care of scheduling rooms and tours and such, but some of the more experienced members agreed to take turns leading the events. That’s Ella Ann Adamson. She said that due to her R.A. she wasn’t comfortable running any of the actual knitting activities, so she’d volunteer for this one.”
“R.A.?” Trixie asked, a confused look on her face.
“Rheumatoid arthritis,” May explained. “Evidently it’s getting worse, especially in her hands, and she’s already lost some of her dexterity. Right now, as long as she takes her pills and wears those therapeutic gloves, she’s fine, but she’s afraid that pretty soon she won’t be able to knit at all, at least not at her previous skill level.”
Skye remembered seeing the white gloves when she’d first noticed Ella Ann at the resort. She realized now that the woman hadn’t been dressed up for tea; she’d been seeking relief for her pain. A little ashamed about her snarky thoughts, Skye refocused on the conversation.
“The poor thing was one of the most talented knitters and designers around,” one of women at the table offered. “I feel so bad for her.”
There was a general murmur of agreement; then Ella Ann’s voice drew their attention back to the stage. “Our first contestant is Dylan Moody.”
There was spattering of applause when one of the only two men present took a chair.
“Next is Jane Harkin,” Ella Ann announced. When no one got up, she added, “Now don’t be shy.”
The dishwater blonde with the elegant English accent that Skye remembered from the cocktail party stood slowly, chugged the rest of her martini, and said, “As you all know, I am anything but shy. I just wanted to finish my drink since I paid an outrageous price for it.”
Everyone laughed politely, and Ella Ann reached into the bright red gift bag she held and pulled out a third slip of paper. “Our final player is May Denison.”
“Me?” May squealed and leaped to her feet. “I never get picked.”
Skye clapped loudly and Trixie put her fingers to her mouth and whistled as May joined the others. Once the three contestants were settled and each had been handed a small bell, Ella Ann joined a handsome blond, blue-eyed man sitting at a small table directly in front of the stage.
“This is how the game is going to work.” Ella Ann spoke into the mike. “I’ll read the clue, and my husband, Scott, will determine which of you has rung your bell first. You must put your answer in the form of a question, and of course be correct, in order to get a point.”
Since May was so short, barely five-two, her feet didn’t quite reach the stool’s footrest, but she straightened her back and clutched her bell. She was nothing if not extremely competitive.
“The stitch a beginning knitter who wants to make the easiest scarf possible should use,” Ella Ann read from the stack of index cards her husband had handed to her.
Jane rang her bell, and after Scott pointed to her, she said, “What is the garter stitch?”
“Correct.” Ella Ann smiled, then read, “The TV character who started the trend of fans knitting their own red, orange, and yellow hats.”
Dylan was the first to ring in and said, “Who is Jayne Cobb of Firefly?”
“Correct.” Ella Ann nodded and read, “The assassin-style competition that brings knitters together from around the world.”
May rang her bell and as soon as Scott pointed to her, she blurted out, “What is Sock Wars?”
“Correct.” Ella Ann beamed.
As the game continued, Skye looked around. Although no one in the room seemed capable of shoving a pair of knitting needles into another human being’s throat, she knew that someone had done just that. Was that person here right now? Like May, many of the knitters were too short, but that still left both of the men and at least half of the women.
An hour later, they had made it through the first two rounds of the game and were starting Final Jeopardy. Skye still had no clue as to who Guinevere’s killer might be. No one had conveniently stood up and declared their guilt—or, for that matter, said anything more about their fallen leader.
Focusing back on the stage, she watched her mother as Ella Ann read from the last index card in the stack, “The First Lady of knitting.”
The three contestants had previously written their wagers on slips of paper and given them to Ella Ann. Now as someone whistled the familiar Jeopardy! countdown music, the players scribbled furiously on small whiteboards. While she waited, Ella Ann fingered the blue rubber bracelet on her right wrist.
Skye’s glance went between Ella Ann and her husband. Was it just her imagination or did the couple seem emotionally distant from each other? She knew she was lucky that Wally was so affectionate and demonstrative, and not all husbands were like that, but there was an air of separateness about Scott and his wife. They seemed a million miles apart while being in the same room. Had Ella Ann’s R.A. impacted their relationship? If so, then the poor woman was in danger of losing more than her knitting skills to the disease.
In the next second, Ella Ann and Scott exchanged a private glance and Skye shook her head. She was getting like her mother and imagining problems that didn’t exist. Honeymoonitis must be impairing her judgment.
At the last note of the Jeopardy! music, Ella Ann announced time and said, “Dylan, show us your question.”
He flipped over his board. On it he’d written, WHO IS JACQUELINE KENNEDY ONASSIS?
“Sorry, no.” Ella Ann nodded to Jane.
Jane’s question read, WHO IS MARTHA WASHINGTON? Ella Ann informed her that she was wrong, too. Since all three contestants had wagered everything, the game’s conclusion came down to May.
Skye held her breath as her mother revealed her answer. WHO IS ELEANOR ROOSEVELT? Everyone’s eyes went to Ella Ann, who grabbed a small trophy, marched up to the stage, and said, “During World War II, Eleanor Roosevelt urged Americans to knit warm clothing for the troops and she is thus considered the First Lady of knitting.”
May leaped from her stool, grabbed the trophy, and raised it above her head in triumph.
Skye rushed up to her mom and hugged her. For a brief moment, she forgot all about the murder and reveled in her mother’s happiness. Tomorrow, they’d continue the investigation. Tonight they’d celebrate May’s win.
CHAPTER 14
Port of Call
Wally and Skye had another lovely breakfast at Raphael’s and afterward came close to winning at trivia when Angel knew the correct answer to the last question: How did pound cake get its name? Her response, from the one-pound quantities of the four main ingredients in the original recipe, gave them nineteen points. But as it had yesterday, Harry’s team scored a perfect twenty and claimed the prizes—key chains with the Diamond Countess logo.
Once again
, Skye had managed to secure the table behind Harry’s team, but she didn’t see anything fishy in their behavior. Deciding that her suspicions regarding Harry and Guinevere were probably unfounded, Skye considered skipping trivia the next day. But she recognized that at this point it would be unfair to abandon Angel, Robert, Wendy, and Neil, so she and Wally agreed to play the next morning. They were all determined to come up with at least one win.
As Wally and Skye waited in the security line to disembark onto the island of St. Thomas, Skye couldn’t stop thinking about Harry’s team. How did they keep coming up with all the right answers?
As she pondered various scenarios, she overheard the woman in front of her say to the man who was scanning her cruise card, “Does the crew sleep on board the ship?”
“Yes, madam. The crew quarters are on the lower three decks.” He handed back the woman’s identification. “We’ve found the shorter commute assists the staff in providing our guests with the excellent service for which Countess Cruise Lines is famous.”
Skye exchanged an amused glance with Wally. That was the snarkiest response she’d heard to the stupid questions her fellow passengers kept asking. Perhaps because the man was a member of security rather than someone employed to make sure the customers had a good time, he could get away with a bit more attitude.
This time Skye and Wally beat Trixie and Owen off the ship, and while they waited for the other couple, Skye drank in the sight of the beautiful island. The warm air, bright sunshine, and fabulous vistas made her feel as if she were in a movie, or maybe a daydream.
St. Thomas’s picturesque harbor was spectacular. Azure water delicately lapped the sand, and cruise ships of all shapes and sizes lined up at the dock like soldiers in a parade. Other watercraft bobbed gently on their anchors a few feet offshore. On land, red-roofed white buildings peppered the sloping hills of Charlotte Amalie.
Skye noted the taxis parked along the street running across from the pier, so when they got back from their excursion it should be easy to go downtown to do some bargain hunting. Or they could just stay at the wharf. The Diamond Countess had arrived at the West Indian Cruise Ship Dock and the Havensight Mall was right in front of them. Their shopping destination really depended on where they could get prints made of Trixie’s crime scene photos, since that was their top priority.
That reminded Skye of what had happened on St. Maarten. She shivered and said to Wally, “We need to watch for someone following us today. Especially when we get the pictures printed.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” Wally leaned close and spoke softly. “Maybe the four of us should split up. Trixie and Owen can print the photos while you and I find somewhere to watch the front door of the shop.”
“Or maybe Trixie and I should pair up, since it’s likely we’re the intended targets more than you guys are,” Skye suggested. “You and Owen can keep an eye on the entrance. That way if you need to follow the perp, Owen can let us know what happened.”
“That might work.” Wally nodded, then took his cell phone from the pocket of his shorts. “Good. I have a signal, so we can keep in touch if we get separated.” He scrolled through his messages. “When we get back to the ship, I should probably give the police department a ring. Do you want to call and see how Loretta is doing, just in case your mother doesn’t get to a phone?”
“That would be great. I’ve been dying to know if she had the baby yet. I also want to check with Frannie to see if Bingo is okay.” Skye missed her kitty. She’d never left him this long before.
“Mr. Black Cat is fine,” Wally reassured her. “As long as his food bowl is full and his litter is clean, he’s happy.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Skye scanned the area for a billboard with a map of the mall. “We should find out if there’s anywhere around here to get the photos printed or if we have to go into town.”
Wally said, “I looked online this morning and the only place I found was at the American Yacht Harbor. There are probably others, but I didn’t see them. There are pharmacies listed here at Havensight Mall, but I asked one of the crew and she said they don’t do photo printing. No one I asked seem to know anyplace that does. They all print on the ship. Too bad there’s no Walgreens.”
“I say let’s just go to the one we know for sure.” Skye spotted Trixie bouncing down the metal steps with Owen following at a more sedate pace. “Unless the Fraynes have a better idea.”
Skye watched as Owen caught up to his wife at the bottom of the gangway when Trixie was snagged by the photographer for a picture. Having already been similarly ambushed, Skye and Wally exchanged a glance and silently agreed to wait for their friends at a safe distance.
Once the Fraynes were released from the photographer’s clutches, the two couples immediately joined the crowd around the appropriate excursion guide. It was already nine forty-five and they were scheduled to leave at ten. While they waited, they discussed their plans for after the tour. Trixie and Owen agreed with Skye that it was best to go to the shop that they were sure could print the photos rather than try to find a closer one. They also agreed with Wally’s idea to split up. None of them wanted to take a chance on not getting the pictures printed or having the photos stolen again.
Ten minutes later, the tour guide led the group to several open-air safari buses lined up in a small parking area. Wally and Skye lucked into two spaces near the front, but Owen and Trixie were stuck in the last row, sharing their seat with a family that included a twelve-year-old who was already voicing his dissatisfaction.
As the bus chugged along Skyline Drive, Skye put the murder investigation out of her head and enjoyed the sights. At the first scenic overlook, she took pictures of the harbor and their ship. It was amazing how small the port appeared from where she stood. She’d been aware that they were traveling upward because her ears had popped and the view confirmed just how high they were.
Wally and Owen wandered around the small clearing while their wives snapped photos. Skye was happy to see the men getting along so well. She hoped that the result of this trip would be a much closer friendship between them.
At the next photo op, Skye was able to shoot the nearby islands and Frenchtown, a village famous for its fishing industry as well as for its fine restaurants. The guide explained that the small community had been founded by Huguenots who had left France during the religious intolerance of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
Between the picture stops, the tour leader told stories about St. Thomas’s other early settlers and the pirates who were among them. The island was once the home of the Ciboney tribe, the Taino or Arawak tribe, and the Caribs, but diseases brought by Europeans immigrants, raids by Spanish settlers from the neighboring islands, and immigration to other islands had wiped out the Indian populations. Skye tsked along with everyone else, wondering what St. Thomas would be like today if the original inhabitants had survived.
The excursion’s first extended stop was at St. Peter Great House. As the group got off the bus, the guide said, “Located high in the volcanic peaks of the island, the residence was originally built in the eighteen hundreds. Today the property consists of over twenty thousand square feet and offers a large outdoor observation deck with incredible views that allow for unique photographic opportunities.” He took a breath and continued his clearly memorized patter. “From here, you can see more than fifteen other islands. There is a botanical garden and a nature trail with waterfalls, tropical birds, ponds, and over a hundred and fifty species of fruit trees, as well as more than twenty varieties of orchids. We’ll be here for an hour.”
Skye was excited to stroll through the magnificent estate with Wally and the Fraynes. She loved the feeling of the past that permeated every inch of the plantation house. The rooms of the classic West Indian structure were paneled in gorgeous wood and had beautiful tiled floors. Examples of local artwork were on display and Skye lingered to study the p
aintings and carvings.
After finishing with the interior, they climbed two flights of outdoor stairs to the raised walkway. As the couples leaned on the rail, Skye contemplated the many different blues of the Atlantic Ocean. When Wally and the Fraynes went to find a bathroom, she followed the deck around the house and came to a secluded section screened on three sides by a wooden lattice and potted palms. Rounding the corner, she heard a female voice slur, “It was about time someone killed Guinevere.”
Skye quickly stepped back behind the partition, then peeked through the lattice. Harry, the trivia superstar, and his wife, Jessica, were standing near the edge of the deck admiring the view.
“I know you didn’t like her.” Harry sighed. “But that’s pretty harsh.”
“I suppose so,” Jessica admitted. “But did I tell you what she did to—”
“Damn!” Harry interrupted her and tapped his watch. “Look at the time. If we want to make the botanical garden tour, we have to get down there right now.” He took his wife’s hand. “You can tell me all about it later. I hear there’s a nice bar at Mountain Top where we can sit and be alone. If you’re going to talk about a murder victim, you don’t want anyone eavesdropping.”
“Fine.” As Jessica hurried to keep up with her husband, she tripped and fell to her knees.
“Must you be so clumsy?” Harry came back to help her to her feet.
“I am not a klutz,” Jessica protested. “It’s just that the deck has it in for me, the furniture hates me, and the walls are bullies.”
Skye snickered silently, then sighed. She’d have to follow Jessica and Harry around at their next stop if she wanted to hear whom else the knitting guru had ticked off. How big was Mountain Top and how hard would it be to keep tabs on the couple? Heck! Was it even worth attempting?
As Skye plotted her next move, Wally sprinted up to her and said, “Trixie and Owen are holding our spots on the nature tour, but it leaves in two or three minutes so we have to hurry.”
Murder of a Needled Knitter Page 14