by Anne Canadeo
Maggie sympathized. Her own experience with the police in town had been much the same. But she didn’t want to fuel Ellie’s anxiety.
“What does your attorney think?” Maggie asked.
Ellie glanced at her and sighed. “He asked if there were any blocks of time that might be unaccounted for. Ben doesn’t really remember. He wasn’t on the computer the whole time. He went downstairs to make a snack. He dozed off awhile watching TV. It might have been the same time that Ridley was killed. The police haven’t told us specifically when that happened. Why would they?” Ellie sighed again and shook her head.
“Have they told you anything they’ve found out so far?” Lucy asked gently.
“Only that the spindle used to stab Ridley came from our farm. It was one of the souvenirs we made up for the festival. I thought it was such a clever publicity gimmick. Now it’s being used to frame my husband for murder.”
Her eyes had filled with tears again, and she covered her face with her hands, shaking with sobs.
Dana leaned over and rested a comforting hand on Ellie’s back. “I know it looks bad but, you said it yourself, you gave out dozens of those spindles. Anyone at the festival could have taken one and used it to kill Ridley. That fact alone makes any case against Ben very weak.”
Ellie sat up and took a deep breath. They waited for her to calm herself. “Yes, I know. We thought of that. But I’m starting to think it was better when we lied. At least that covered the whole night, including the time Ridley was killed. I know it sounds terrible, but I would have stuck to that story for Ben. And a wife doesn’t have to testify against her husband in court,” she reminded them.
Ellie sounded desperate. But who could blame her? She and Ben were in a bind. Nobody said a word. Maggie felt so sorry for Ellie and wished that there were some way to help her. She sensed that her friends felt the same.
“The police are focusing on Ben more and more every day. And now that Ridley’s daughter’s in town, it’s going to get even worse,” Ellie added.
“I spoke to Janine Ridley today. She came into the knitting shop.” Maggie looked over at Ellie.
Ellie sat up, suddenly alert. “Really? Did she mention us?”
“Not at first. I told her that I knew you and Ben, and that I didn’t believe he had anything to do with her father’s death,” she added quickly.
“But she thinks so. I just know it. She’ll be pestering the police every minute to arrest him.”
“Ellie, it doesn’t work like that. Detectives are trained to ignore emotional relatives,” Dana assured her.
Suzanne had been quietly eating her pasta and now put her empty dish aside. “Follow the money. That’s what the police have to do. That’s how they can find the person who killed Ridley.”
Everyone looked at her. “What money?” Lucy asked.
“You’re kidding me, right? Don’t you hear that sound?” Suzanne cocked her head, listening. “Flapping wings high above? The development vultures circling, looking for prey. Property owners ready to sign on the dotted line. Once that open space zoning is off the books around here, they’ll swoop down for the kill. There’s huge money in this debate, ladies.” Suzanne took out her knitting and began to work—one of the fast and easy hat patterns, Maggie noticed. “Justin Ridley was definitely gumming up the works. A lot of people are secretly—and not so secretly—happy that he’s out of the way.”
“So you think his killer was connected to this zoning issue? Someone who wants the open space laws to expire and is willing to take another life to ensure that?”
“Yes, I do.” Suzanne stretched out a length of yarn and began stitching. “Someone who has a lot to gain and didn’t want Ridley and his group screwing up their payday. Maybe someone who has some bad history with him already?”
“But what about the rest of the Friends of Farmland? Eliminating Ridley doesn’t stop them. It might even energize their efforts,” Lucy pointed out.
“It could work either way, I think,” Dana said. “Sometimes when a group like that loses its leader, it does fall apart. But Suzanne has a point. It could have been someone who had issues with him in the past for other reasons. This was just the last straw.”
Maggie sat in silence a moment, recalling her meeting with Janine Ridley.
“His daughter said she wasn’t surprised that he was killed. Isn’t that an odd thing to say? When I asked her why, she said it was because he was so different and some people react to that with fear and want to lash out.”
“This all sounds very likely to me.” Ellie’s voice sounded stronger and steadier than it had all evening, Maggie noticed. “People will do a lot of things when money is at stake. Even at the risk of turning Ridley into some sort of martyr.”
“Well, maybe he was,” Lucy said simply. “Not all martyrs were really nice guys—or women—you’d like to hang out with.”
“Saint or curmudgeon, this line of reasoning definitely lets Ben off the hook,” Maggie asserted. “What about your other neighbors, Ellie? Do you know of anyone who’s eager to sell their property if the laws expire? Maybe someone who also had issues with Ridley? Let’s try to follow the money and see where we go.”
Maggie sent a playful glance Suzanne’s way.
Ellie sat thinking a moment. “Good question. I’m not really sure. We don’t know all the other landowners around us very well. There’s a vineyard directly behind our orchard. Red Hawk Winery. They have a very good business going, so I don’t think they’re ready to sell. But there’s a farmer on the other side, Walter Kranowski. He grows potatoes and some vegetables. Cabbage and kale, I think. I heard his wife died a few years ago and he’s getting ready to retire.”
“Or has some grown kids who are saying, ‘Hey, Dad, you’re sitting on a gold mine here. Let’s cash in these potatoes for some lettuce,’ ” Suzanne chimed in.
“Suzanne? That was a really bad one.” Lucy had also taken out her knitting. A scarf was starting to take shape on big needles, another charity fund-raising project.
Dana glanced at Suzanne, too, but didn’t comment on the pun. “How did he feel about Ridley and the Friends of Farmland? Do you know?”
“We haven’t spoken to him much. But one time we were chatting and Ridley’s name came up. It was clear that Mr. Kranowski didn’t like Ridley and also thought the man was an oddball,” Ellie explained. “He also made a few nasty remarks about the Friends of Farmland,” she added.
“Don’t you think the police questioned him and know all this?” Maggie asked the others.
“They took statements from all the property owners in the area after the murder. That’s routine procedure. But Kranowski isn’t in the crosshairs, the way they’ve focused on Ben.” Dana knew these things from her conversations with her husband. “He either alibied out, or they didn’t think his grievances against Ridley were the type to inspire homicide.”
“I wouldn’t cross Farmer Kranowski off the list yet just because our local police force has,” Maggie said. “Anyone else you can think of, Ellie?”
“There are the hippie organic farmers farther down the road, just past Kranowski’s place. They mainly raise goats and make cheese. They’re definitely Friends of Farmland. But I think they’re pretty harmless. Angelica Rossi’s farm, Sweet Meadow, is over in that direction, too. We know what side of the question she’s on.”
“Yes, well . . . I still wouldn’t cross her off. She always seems nice enough. Very professional. But there’s something about her I don’t trust,” Maggie said bluntly.
“Me, either,” Ellie agreed. “But I have even more reason. I’ve told you about the rumors she spreads about our products. She’ll say anything. She doesn’t have any ethics or conscience at all. Not when it comes to business. Maybe she tells herself all’s fair in love, war, and business.”
“She was close to Ridley, too,” Dana pointed out. “They ran the group together. It is statistically true that most murder victims are killed by someone familiar. Someone they have
a close relationship with.”
“I saw her come and go a few times from Ridley’s property,” Ellie recalled. “I wondered at the time if she was just using him to spy on my farm.”
“Did they have a romance or something going on?” Suzanne’s thoughts predictably turned in that direction, Maggie knew. But this time the question was pertinent.
Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You never know. It could very well be,” Suzanne said to the others. “Which would make Angelica even more likely to be the killer . . . if you ask me.”
“I’m not sure if they were in that kind of partnership,” Maggie said. “But I do know there’s nothing like a common enemy to draw people together. Maybe they were working together to harass you and Ben?” Maggie said to Ellie.
“Yes, I wondered that myself. I even told that to the police,” Ellie added. “Not that it made any difference in their thinking.”
“Let’s just skip over why Angelica may have done it,” Suzanne suggested. “Could she have done it? She had easy access to Ridley and certainly knows how to handle a spindle,” Suzanne pointed out. “And we all saw her take one of the spindles from the festival. Which was, by the way, already coated with fiber from Ellie’s llamas and would have been an ideal weapon to frame Ellie or Ben.”
“That’s very true. Have the police questioned her?” Maggie asked Ellie.
“I don’t know. I guess we can get our lawyer to find out.”
Dana had also taken out her knitting. She was adding fringe to the striped scarf, which was otherwise completed. She looked up, energized by this line of reasoning. “Even if no one saw her around his farm at the time of the murder, she was one of his few friends. She could have come and gone without anyone knowing. Even his dogs knew her and wouldn’t have made a fuss.”
“Good point, Dana. We might be on to something.” Lucy turned to Maggie. “We know she has a tough side. Maggie saw it when Angelica pressed her to drop all the other organic yarns and carry her products exclusively.”
“But you refused her?” Ellie asked.
Maggie realized that Ellie had not been at the shop the night she related that story. “That’s right. I think Sweet Meadow is a very high-quality yarn. But I like to carry a wide selection and give everyone a chance. I’m not going to be told by anyone what I can and cannot sell. Some shops did take her deal. It was sweet,” she conceded. “But I didn’t like her yarn that much.”
“That’s our girl. Nobody’s going to push Maggie around,” Suzanne said proudly.
“Not at this stage in my life,” Maggie said with certainty. “Certainly not Angelica Rossi.”
“I wouldn’t doubt that she and Ridley were scheming together to get us off the farm. They both had their reasons for wanting us out,” Ellie said quietly.
“They could have been close but had some sort of falling-out,” Dana speculated. “It certainly would be to her advantage to try to frame you or Ben.”
“There you go. We’re not following the money now. But we are following the fiber. It’s almost the same thing,” Suzanne pointed out.
“In this case, it is,” Ellie agreed. “It’s all so confusing.” She paused and took in a long breath. Then she looked around at the circle of friends. “It’s fine to speculate like this. It does give me hope. But if the police aren’t thinking this way and looking into any of these possibilities, what good is it for me and Ben?”
Maggie and her friends exchanged glances. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d stepped in and helped the police solve a crime. Not that local enforcement ever welcomed their assistance. Quite the opposite. In fact, they’d been warned several times to mind their own business.
But the welfare of a friend—especially a knitting friend—was always their business. How could they not offer to help Ellie and Ben if it was within their powers?
“I have a good idea.” Suzanne sat up, her knitting in her lap. “Why don’t we all go to the town council meeting Thursday night? I bet most of the players in this game will be there. Angelica Rossi, definitely. And probably Walter Kranowski. We can just sit and observe and try to figure out who’s really hot to unload their property. Or had bad blood with Ridley.”
“I planned on going anyway, out of curiosity. But now I have a real theory to work on. Reading body language and all that fun stuff.” Dana seemed excited about the prospect of putting her skills to use.
“I’m going to research the properties around your farm, Ellie, and do a few rough appraisals,” Suzanne told her. “Then we can match up the landowners with their likely payouts.”
“Great idea, Suzanne,” Maggie noted. “That will definitely give us a better picture of what’s at stake.”
“I think hearing what everyone has to say at the meeting should help, too,” Lucy said.
Maggie felt the same. “The meeting could be very enlightening.”
Maggie believed that was true. For Ellie and Ben’s sake, she hoped so even more.
She knew that the knitting group was getting involved again in police business, and if they went any further, they’d soon be hearing from Detective Walsh or some other police officer involved in the investigation.
But knitters had to do what knitters had to do. They couldn’t sit idly by and watch poor Ben get railroaded into an arrest for a crime he did not commit.
• • •
Maggie closed her shop at half past six on Thursday night, leaving herself plenty of time to get to the village hall for the meeting, which started at seven. The building was so close, she left her car at her shop and took off with her purse and her knitting bag tucked under her arm. It was a pleasant night—perfect sweater weather—and she needed a walk after being cooped up in the shop all day.
But her peaceful mood was soon disturbed by the energy and activity in the village center. Every parking spot along Main Street was filled, and the public lot across from the town hall was filled up, too. Main Street was usually fairly empty at this time of day, but now the sidewalks were full, with streams of people headed to the village hall, coming from all directions. Some looked very serious, wearing business suits and carrying briefcases or stacks of file folders. Others looked like her own friends and neighbors, interested citizens who had come out after dinner. All with the same destination in mind.
Out in front of the building, a group in matching green T-shirts stood in a circle, holding signs and chanting a slogan.
The Friends of Farmland were staging a demonstration. She paused to read the slogans on their signs—“No Farms, No Food” and “Save Some Green Spaces for Our Children.” One or two had blown up photographs of Justin Ridley: “Our Friend Justin. RIP. He Stood Strong for the Land.”
Maggie felt a chill. They were making him a martyr for their cause, just as Ellie had predicted. Did they really believe Ridley had lost his life because of this debate? Or was that just a convenient slogan for the meeting? It was awful to think they would exploit his brutal death to shore up their argument. A cynical thought, but not out of the question.
A young woman offered Maggie a flyer as she passed by. Maggie smiled briefly and tucked it in her purse.
She’d been on her feet all day but quickly abandoned all hope of a comfortable seat when she saw the throng in the village hall lobby. She elbowed her way through the crowd, looking for her friends. Many people seemed in no rush to get into the hearing room and stood in little huddles, consulting quietly with one another.
Suzanne was right. A lot of people took this issue very seriously. All around her, she heard a hushed discussion of business matters. There was money to be made, as Suzanne had pointed out, and high stakes always made the game dangerous.
Maggie worked her way to the door of the hearing room and peered inside.
The large room held rows of seats, more than Maggie had ever seen set up there. But they were just about all filled. The Friends of Farmland had a big presence in here, too, with more green T-shirts filling up several rows in the back
of the room. No signs, she noticed. They must have been told to leave those outside.
Angelica Rossi sat with the group but looked so deep in thought she may as well have been by herself. She sat on the aisle, her head bowed as she read through a sheaf of typed pages in a folder.
There was a long table in the front of the room, set with water pitchers, microphones, and the name plates of the mayor, three trustees, and the town clerk.
Maggie was looking around for her friends again when she heard her phone buzz with a text. She quickly opened a message from Suzanne:
We’re down on the right, toward the front. Saved you a seat.
Maggie looked up and spotted Suzanne on the right side of the room, waving at her. Lucy and Dana were there, too. They had all come with their knitting and were busily stitching away. Maggie headed down the aisle and quickly squeezed in next to them.
It was Thursday night, their usual meeting night, and they were all conditioned by now: It actually felt odd not to be knitting at this hour. Especially when they were gathered together like this. Maggie took out her own knitting and set her bag on the floor. “This is a hot ticket. Who grabbed these seats?”
Suzanne shrugged. “An old mommy trick from attending so many school plays and band concerts. I was in the building this afternoon to check the property lines on one of my listings. So I slipped in here, draped an old raincoat over four chairs, and hoped for the best.”
“Good thinking,” Maggie commended her. “Look, here comes the mayor and trustees. It must be starting.”
The village officials filed in and took their seats. Maggie didn’t know them all by name. One trustee was a woman in her mid-fifties; the other two were men, one fairly young, his late thirties, and the other in his sixties, she’d guess. She did recognize the mayor, Lillian Swabish, who was also in her early sixties and had formerly been a partner in a prominent law firm in town.