by Anne Canadeo
“Everyone at school is singing a different song, too,” Nora reported. “Her class finally put on their play and all the parents who came apologized to her. Well, not all, but a lot of them did,” Nora reported with satisfaction. “It was really an adorable little show. I went over to help with the refreshments and take some photos.”
She dug around in her knitting bag and removed an envelope, then took out some photos, which she showed to Maggie first.
“Rebecca was the wolf. The kids loved that . . . and here’s her principal. He surprised the kids and dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood. He really brought the house down . . .”
Lucy watched Maggie nodding, stitching away, eyes glazed over as she looked at the photos, a sagging smile on her face. Maggie had seen her share of school plays, that was for sure. Another version of that classic tale, even with a surprise star turn by the school principal, could not impress her very much.
“Can I see?” Suzanne eagerly reached for the photos. “I loved it when the kids were in little plays at school. They’re all getting so big now,” she said. “Though Natalie says she might join the theater club next semester. She’s a wonderful dancer, too. She’s really got the Broadway bug.”
There was no more conversation about Lewis Atkins, or speculation about his guilt or innocence. Perhaps they all felt self-conscious with Nora there, Lucy realized. She seemed so sure that Atkins was guilty and so happy her daughter was no longer a suspect, no one had the heart to consider other possibilities.
It was just as well, Lucy thought as she drove home that night. There was no final answer to this question. They would just have to wait and see if the police came up with more evidence that linked Atkins to the murder. Or, if he confessed. Which was also a possibility.
She knew where Maggie stood. But thought her friend’s usually clear judgment was clouded on this one. He was charming and smart and she was probably even a little attracted to him. Though she’d never admit that. Not even to her good friends.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy didn’t think she’d be returning to the knitting shop the next day, but she was out doing errands and needed to change the yarn she’d chosen for the new afghan. Tink’s tail had not been the best way to match the paint color and the shade was a bit off.
When she went in, Maggie had just finished teaching a class, Birds of a Feather, again, which was turning out to be very popular. The student knitters strolled out together, chatting, some of them already admiring their newly knitted amigurumi birds.
Lucy walked to the back of the shop, where Maggie was clearing the table, putting away needles and bits of polyester filling.
“That class turned out to be a hit. The town is going to be filled with those little birds.”
“It’s going viral, as the kids say,” Maggie agreed. “It would be great advertising for me. If only they were knitting little black sheep.”
“I think that could catch on. You just have to figure out the pattern.”
Maggie nodded. She seemed distracted. A bit edgy, too, Lucy noticed.
“Listen, I have to change that yarn I bought for the afghan. I need a different shade. It didn’t match the new paint that well.”
“No problem. You know where everything is.” Maggie swept some tiny clippings of yarn off the table with her hand. “What color did you finally agree on? You never said.”
“Sort of a wheaty, golden shade. I think the paint is called Amber Waves.” Who names this stuff, Lucy always wondered. That was a job she’d like to have someday. “It’s not as cheerful as the yellow I wanted. But it’s not Matt’s Vulture Egg blue, either.”
Maggie finally smiled at her description of the compromise.
“Sounds very warm and cozy. Bedroom colors are important. Sets the tone for . . . a lot of things.”
While Lucy sifted through the baskets of yarn, looking for her color, Maggie went over to the counter and pulled out a folder. “Come here a minute, I want you to look at something. Tell me what you think.”
Lucy left the yarn and walked over. “Is something bothering you, Maggie? You don’t seem yourself today.”
“Something is bothering me. Look at these pictures a minute. Nora left them behind last night.” She took out the photo that showed Rebecca’s class play. Even the children on stage were doubled over with laughter at the sight of the school principal dressed as Riding Hood.
There were a few photos that included him, facing the audience and standing with his back turned. There was one where he raced across the stage and swatted at the big, bad wolf with an umbrella.
“I don’t remember Riding Hood chasing the wolf away. But that’s a very empowering ending for little girls,” Lucy remarked with a smile. “He’s quite a comedian, isn’t he?”
“Yes, the classic type, going for the broad laugh one minute, crying the next. Take a look at this photo,” she said, pulling out another.
Lucy recognized the scene, Rebecca and Jeremy’s wedding. It was a picture Suzanne had taken of the flower girl. “Look in the background. Do you see him there, sitting on the aisle?”
Lucy realized she was supposed to be looking for the school principal again and found him easily. This time his face was covered with his hands, his head bowed as he sobbed. He looked bereft, as if he was sitting at a funeral.
“Wow, he looks so sad. He’s not just, you know, moved by the wedding and all mushy the way Suzanne gets.”
“No, he’s crushed. His heart is broken, Lucy.” Maggie picked up the other picture again, from the class play. “I bet he felt a lot better when he heard that Jeremy had died in the fire and Rebecca was a widow. But when Jeremy popped up, alive again, and he’d lost his second chance, Stewart Campbell had to do something about it,” Maggie concluded. “I think that Stewart, dressed in his Little Red Riding Hood wig and an old coat and maybe one of Rebecca’s knitted hats that she donated to the costume box, was the mysterious woman who visited Jeremy at the motel . . . and took his life.”
Lucy stared at her, then looked back at the photographs. Could it really be? It seemed so . . . absurd. And yet, when she looked at the photos and considered everything they knew, it did seem plausible. The pieces fell into place.
Even more so than Lewis Atkins murdering Jeremy over the formula.
In fact, all that rivalry would have provided the perfect screen for the crime.
“. . . and I’ll tell you another thing I found out today,” Maggie added, looking even more sure of her hunch. “I called the school district food service and asked if the cafeteria at Rebecca’s school ever served whole wheat linguine.” She smiled. “The lady on the phone said that they had it on the menu very recently. In fact, just in time for the leftovers, packed in the cafeteria trash, to end up on my car.”
Lucy stared at Maggie and blinked. “How did you ever figure that out?”
Maggie shrugged. “I knew the car smelled like something so familiar to me—beyond the rotten eggs. And I looked at the photos of the play again this morning and thought about that multipurpose room at the school where the stage is. That room’s also used as a cafeteria. It all came together for me then. Even trashing the car that way is a childish expression of anger, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re right. Have you told anybody about all this? Have you called Detective Reyes?” Lucy asked quickly.
“I called a little while ago, before the class. She heard me out. But didn’t say much. She told me to scan the photos and e-mail them, and she’d look into it.”
“Oh . . . that’s sort of deflating. Here I am, thinking you just broke the case wide open and she’d rush over to the school and drag him out in handcuffs.”
Maggie shrugged. “I think she will follow up. In her thorough, methodical way. It’s just not like it is in the movies, Lucy.”
But only a few hours later, Maggie found out that Detective Reyes had proved her wrong. The able detective’s police work was very much like the movies.
Nora Bailey ca
lled Maggie that night, just a few minutes before eleven, and told her that Rebecca and a group of friends from her school had been out at a Mexican restaurant in town, helping Rebecca celebrate that the police had arrested Atkins. Nora named a hot spot where Maggie knew the margarita happy hour was a popular Friday-night draw. She could imagine the scene.
“They’d just sat down to dinner when two police officers came in and arrested Stewart Campbell. They took him out of the restaurant in handcuffs, saying he’d murdered Jeremy. Rebecca was so upset. No one can believe it. There must be some mistake,” Nora insisted.
Maggie didn’t know what to say at first. She wondered if she should tell Nora that she had instigated this shocking turn of events.
“I don’t know what to say, either,” she answered honestly. “What did the police say? Did Rebecca hear anything?”
“She went to the station and tried to help him. She called his wife, Pam. She was terribly angry at Rebecca, for some strange reason, and said some really hurtful things . . . Oh, I don’t understand anything.”
Maggie sighed. “Nora, I think Stewart had an intense attachment to Rebecca. It’s not impossible to imagine that he resented Jeremy . . . and may have even been happy when it seemed Jeremy was killed in the fire and Rebecca was single again.”
“No . . . do you really think that?”
“I do,” Maggie said sadly.
But before Maggie could explain what she’d seen in the photos, Nora suddenly said, “I’m sorry. I have to go. That’s Rebecca on call waiting. I need to talk to her.”
“That’s okay, Nora. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Maggie hung up, greatly relieved. By the time she spoke to Nora tomorrow, perhaps Stewart will have made a full confession. She wouldn’t doubt it. He didn’t look like the type who would stonewall. Just the opposite, in fact.
Maggie had just opened the shop on Saturday morning when Detective Reyes walked in. Wearing Saturday-looking clothes, Maggie noticed: a sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers, in place of her usual tailored pants and blazer.
“I was on the way to my daughter’s soccer practice and just wanted to stop by a minute,” she explained.
Maggie had never pictured her taking time out from solving crimes to be a soccer mom. But today she certainly looked the part. “Are you the coach?”
“Just an assistant. That’s enough work.” She smiled, then looked serious again. “We took Stewart Campbell into custody last night. You’ll read about it in the newspaper anyway, so I’ll tell you now. He confessed to killing Jeremy and even vandalizing your car.”
Maggie took a breath. She wasn’t surprised, but after feeling puzzled by this for so long, it all seemed to fall together so fast.
“I did hear late last night that the police took him in for questioning. Nora Bailey called me. She was shocked, of course,” she added.
“So was Rebecca. She never suspected a thing.” The detective caught herself. She said a bit more than she’d intended, Maggie realized. She checked her watch and stuck her hands into her sweatshirt pockets. “Well, I have to run. I just wanted to tell you that and thank you for your input . . . though I’m not encouraging any more knitting club involvement in murder investigations. I hope you understand that.”
Behind her stern tone, Maggie detected a note of good humor. Or she hoped she did.
“I understand, Detective.” She nodded contritely, though she didn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again. Knitters had to do what knitters had to do.
Detective Reyes took a step toward the door and paused. “I’m still wondering . . . how did you put that all together? I have to be honest, it was staring me right in the face. And I didn’t see it.”
“Oh . . . I’m not sure. I didn’t see it at first, either. But I did spend time at the school one afternoon and had seen Stewart in a costume. Maybe it just stuck in my subconscious or something. There was always something a little off about him. Something that made my big toe tingle,” she added with a grin.
“Your big toe?” Detective Reyes asked in her serious way.
“That’s just a joke around here. Never mind.” Maggie shook her head. “Have a good game. I hope your girls win. If they want to knit any uniform accessories in team colors, let me know. I’ll give you all a good discount.”
“Thank you, Maggie. I’ll keep that in mind.”
A few minutes after Detective Reyes left the store, Phoebe walked in. She’d been at her boyfriend’s house but was on time for work today . . . almost, Maggie thought.
“You just missed Detective Reyes,” Maggie told her. “The police questioned Stewart Campbell last night and he confessed to Jeremy’s murder.”
“Wow . . .” Phoebe’s sleepy, slacker expression was suddenly alert. “That is so totally weird. What did he say? Why did he do it? How did Stewart even find Jeremy?”
Maggie started setting up for a class and put out a basket of round needles. “Good questions. She didn’t let me in on any of that. Maybe she’s not allowed to go into the details.”
“Right . . . but Dana always can. Is she coming over this morning?” Phoebe asked eagerly.
“Not that I know of, but I can always call her.” Maggie smiled and picked up the phone. “She has yoga this morning,” she recalled, “but maybe she’ll drop by right after.”
Dana happily agreed to drop by and she did have the scoop about Stewart’s confession. It was a big break for the county detectives and everyone in law enforcement in town was talking about it. Jack had already heard a lot of the details during an early-morning golf game.
By the time Dana arrived, Lucy and Suzanne were at the shop, too. They often stopped in on Saturday afternoon, just to hang out and knit a while, so Maggie alerted them to Dana’s visit.
“We might as well get together all in one place, at one time and hear the last chapter of this saga. When I don’t have anything going on here with real customers,” Maggie said.
Dana strolled in, still in her yoga outfit, with a take-out bag from her favorite health food café.
“Well, here I am. I normally don’t like to talk about negative things right after yoga. Definitely ruins the mood. But the class was even talking about Stewart Campbell. I guess this is big news,” she said as she took a seat.
“I just had my hair done. The salon was buzzing,” Suzanne reported. “Everybody’s heard that he did it. But nobody knows how and why and all that. What’s the story, Dana? Was he madly in love with Rebecca? That’s what Maggie thinks.”
“Something like that. I wouldn’t call it love. More of an obsession. He and Rebecca were friends in college. They dated briefly. She decided it wasn’t working for her, but they remained friendly.”
“Bad idea, right there. That never works out.” Suzanne shook her head.
“Suzanne, please, let her finish? And it can work out. Sometimes,” Maggie added.
Dana glanced at both of them. “So time passes, they end up teaching in the same district and become friendly again. Or at least, cordial acquaintances. Eventually, he’s promoted to principal and transferred to her school. Last year, I think that happened. By now he’s married to Pam . . . and unhappy. Rebecca is single, and Stewart decides he’s still in love with her. Maybe even more so. But Rebecca meets Jeremy, right under Stewart’s nose. There’s a whirlwind courtship and before Stewart can get his act together to win her over again, she’s engaged to be married—”
“—and Stewart has lost out again,” Suzanne finished for her.
“Exactly. Which is why he looks so heartbroken in those wedding photos,” Maggie reminded them.
“But when he heard Jeremy was killed in the fire, he believed he’d been given another chance. He would be there for Rebecca, show her how much she needed him, how she really belonged with him anyway. That was his plan,” Dana told the others. “It was going along fine. Until Rebecca got the text from Jeremy and found out he was alive.”
“How did Stewart find out about that text message? Did Rebecca te
ll him?” Lucy asked.
“No, she didn’t tell anyone. But Stewart had been sitting next to her in the teacher’s lounge. They were having lunch and he noticed her reading a message that disturbed her. A short time later, she came to his office and claimed to have a migraine, and said she needed to leave for the day. He was very solicitous, of course, but sensed that something was up. He followed her when she left the building. He told the police he just wanted to make sure she got home all right . . .”
“Yeah . . . right. Tell me another one.” Phoebe rolled her eyes.
“Of course, he followed her to the motel and caught sight of Jeremy there,” Dana continued. “He says he went back that night, intending to just talk to him. He claimed that he had no idea what Jeremy was up to. But it was already a crime to fake his death and he didn’t want to see Rebecca dragged into something that would ruin her life, too.” Dana paused. “He was angry about that. I guess in some way, he felt he wanted to protect her. Or defend her. He said Jeremy didn’t deserve her or care about her. He was an egomaniac, and all he really cared about was his glue formula.”
“Well . . . he had a point there. Jeremy was obsessed with the glue formula at the end. That much is true,” Maggie agreed quietly.
“So? They fought over Rebecca and Stewart killed him?”
Dana squinted a bit. “He didn’t explain it exactly that way. Jeremy told Stewart that Rebecca was going to leave the country with him and he had to stay out of it. He offered to pay him for his silence. Which really put Stewart over the edge. They fought and Stewart claims Jeremy was trying to kill him, so he wouldn’t give him away. He claims he strangled Jeremy as self-defense.”
“He can say anything he likes now.” Lucy shrugged. Her afghan was coming along nicely, Maggie noticed. She liked this second yarn color better than the first, too.
“Well, not exactly. There’s forensic evidence that will support or refute certain aspects of Stewart’s story. Just the marks the scarf left on Jeremy’s neck for instance. They might show that Jeremy was strangled from behind. Which is rarely the case in a situation of self-defense.”