Died in the Wool

by Mary Kruger

  Ari heard paper rustling, presumably her printout of the website. After a moment Paul came back on the line and rattled off the address. It was the same one she’d used. “I can’t find it, Paul.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been trying the address and the different links, and it’s simply not there.”

  “It has to be. Hold on.” This time she heard computer keys clicking. “Hey,” he said after a minute. “That’s weird.”

  “What?”

  “Damned if you’re not right. It’s not there.”

  “What could have happened to it?”

  Silence hummed through the line. “A hidden link,” Paul said finally.

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s changed the address. The only way someone could get to the new one would be to know it directly.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “To make it difficult to trace her.”

  A chill went through Ari. That this had happened so close to Sarah’s death was too coincidental. The murderer was behind it. “Could you still do it, though?”

  “Oh, sure, with some work. We’d need a warrant first, but we’ve got someone working on it—wait a minute. Josh wants to talk to you.”

  There was some mumbling on the other end, as if Paul had put his hand over the receiver, and then Josh’s voice came on. “Ari? Paul just told me about the website.”

  “Strange, isn’t it? What happened in the meeting?”

  Josh drew breath in through his teeth, by the sound of it, and then let it out. “We’re going to trace her through the Internet,” he said in a low voice. “Also, the postal inspectors are going to watch the Boston P.O. box.”

  “Good.”

  “It might not mean anything. Whoever this is, isn’t necessarily our murderer.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “No.” Again his breath whistled out. “If she’s not, it’s damned coincidental.”

  “I know. After what Sarah told me—oh, darn.”

  “What?”

  “A memory trying to get through. I’ve got a few of those.”

  “Such as?”

  “If I knew, I’d’ve remembered them, wouldn’t I? I’ve just got this feeling they’re important.”

  “All the more reason for you to lie low. She’s ruthless, Ari. Look who she’s gone after. She probably set the Camachos up—”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, though I can’t prove it. She went after you, and probably Mrs. Mailloux, too.”

  Ari closed her eyes. “It’s a nightmare.”

  “Yeah. She’s local, Ari. I know that’s hard for you to believe, but it’s true.”

  “Yes,” Ari said in a small voice, at last accepting the truth of that. The evidence was too overwhelming to ignore. “What do I do, then? If she’s already suspicious of me, how do I act?”

  “As normal as possible. Shocked at what’s happened, stunned, confused.”

  “I can do that,” she said, not without irony.

  “Yeah. It wouldn’t hurt if you said that you hope the police figure it out soon.”

  “Meaning I have nothing to do with the investigation?”

  “Yeah. We’ll have to hope she believes it.”

  Ari shuddered. It could be almost anyone she knew. Anyone. It terrified her. “All right,” she said finally. “I’ll watch it.”

  In the late afternoon, the front door opened, and feet pounded down the hallway. “Mommy!” Megan cried, and ran toward her.

  “Hey.” Ari, who’d just gotten up from the sofa, nearly staggered off her feet with the force of Megan’s embrace. “I guess you missed me, kiddo.”

  “Oh, Mommy,” Megan said, and started to cry.

  “Hey. What’s this?”

  “I thought—I thought you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh, honey, of course I am. Where would I be?”

  “We heard about the murder on the way home,” Ted said, his voice quiet and grim.

  Ari looked swiftly up. “Oh, no. Did you think—”

  “No. They said who it was.”

  Ari looked down at Megan, who still clutched her tightly. “Then what is it, honey?”

  “I thought—I thought you’d be in jail.”

  “What?” Ari exclaimed. “Why would you think that?”

  “Jacob Pina—he said that’s where you were going, and—”

  “I knew it,” Ari said. “I knew he said something to you. But, honey, he’s wrong.”

  Megan pulled back, her face red. “But we heard—”

  “I know, honey.” Ari pushed her hair back. “But I have nothing to do with it.” Not directly, at least. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

  “Yes.”

  I could kill that kid. “No, Megan. It won’t happen.”

  “But you went to the hospital,” she said in a small voice.

  “And that’s not happening again, either.”

  “You promise?”

  “Viking honor,” Ari said, putting her fingers to her head, and Megan giggled. “It’s really going to be all right, Megan. Really.” She pulled back. “You okay?”

  Megan was wiping her face with her fingers. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Ari rose, though Megan still leaned against her. “Did everything go okay, Ted?”

  “Fine, until this.” He looked baffled. “She had a nightmare last night, though.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “What are you doing, Ari? This has got to stop.”

  “But what can I do?” she said helplessly. “I didn’t ask for any of it to happen.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  After a moment, she nodded. With everything that had been happening, she’d spared barely a thought to the effect on her daughter. Yes, she knew she’d been feeling the strain; yes, she knew that the attack on her had upset Megan. What she hadn’t realized was how badly Megan had been affected. Guilt spread through her. She’d been too wrapped up in other things to notice. “Honey, how long have you felt this way?”

  Megan gulped. “Since Mrs. Perry died.”

  “That long?” Ari exclaimed.

  “That’s when Jacob started saying it.”

  “So what do we do about this, Ari?” Ted said.

  “She’s seeing the school counselor.” Ari paused. “But maybe she needs more, Ted.”

  “A shrink? I don’t think so.”

  “All of us,” she said, the idea firming in her mind. “You, me, Megan. Family counseling.”

  “I don’t need that,” he said sharply.

  “Ted, we’re all in this. I can’t be the only cause.” Again she paused. “The divorce,” she said, and felt Megan wiggle against her.

  “That’s not it.”

  “It’s part of it,” she argued. “Ted, we need to do this.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he said finally. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that. I’ll find out who we should see.”

  “Yeah. This can’t go on, Ari.”

  “I know,” she said, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. In the past weeks she’d thought about the impact Edith’s death had had on herself, on Diane, even on her shop. What she hadn’t bargained on was how it affected Megan. Idiot. Shortsighted, stupid idiot. Ted was right. Josh had been right, before he’d roped her into the case again. She needed to stop investigating. The only problem was, she couldn’t. She was too far into it.

  Tuesday dawned raw and gray, with a damp northeast wind that chilled people to the bone. Last night’s wind-whipped rain had stripped many trees of their leaves, which now lay in sodden piles in gutters or on sidewalks. The long spell of beautiful weather was over. Winter was coming.

  Her spirits as low as the day, Ari opened her shop, reluctant to do so for the first time she could remember. The rainbow of colors arranged on the walls and in bins failed to soothe her. Evil had touched Ariadne’s Web, and Ariadne’s life. Nothing would ever be the same again.
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br />   The weather kept people away—in droves, though those few customers who did come in stocked up on pricey Norwegian and Icelandic wools. The time for wearing heavy sweaters was nearing, not to mention mittens and scarves and hats. Although the cash register filled respectably, it was a slow and boring morning. Ari would almost have welcomed the distraction of doing quarterly taxes. Almost.

  “Do you mind if I knock off early?” Summer said as she came out of the back room. “You don’t seem to need me today.”

  Ari looked over from the bin she was stocking with yarn. “I can’t pay you for the hours you don’t work.”

  Summer grimaced. “I know, and I could use the money. It’s just that I’ve got an exam coming up tomorrow and I need to study.”

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  “Medieval history.”

  This time Ari grimaced. “I’m not familiar with much before 1776. Oh, go on.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s no use both of us being bored.”

  “Thanks.” Summer put her hand in her jeans pocket. “Where are my keys?”

  Again Ari looked up, sharply this time. A missing key was a sore spot with her. “Where did you have them last?”

  “If I knew that, they wouldn’t be lost.”

  “Smart aleck. You should carry a pocketbook.”

  “I do,” Summer called from the back room. “I still lost my keys.”

  “That’s right.” Ari stared at her as she came back out, this time wearing a bright yellow slicker. “That was the weekend I took Megan down Cape Cod. You had to call my mother to lock up.”

  “But I did find them. Kaitlyn helped,” she added.

  “Where?”

  “Under the sales counter.”

  “Where you put them?”

  “I guess. I lose things all the time, you know.”

  “You’re too young for senior moments,” Ari said, still preoccupied.

  “Senior in college. Oh, good.” From her jacket pocket she triumphantly produced a key ring. “Here they are.”

  “We’ve been too careless with keys,” Ari said, not smiling in return. “I lost mine this summer, Kaitlyn lost hers—though, thank God, she doesn’t have one for the shop—and you lost yours. There’s too much at stake now for us to keep doing that, and God knows there were too many floating around before Edith was killed.”

  “My God.”

  Summer’s tone made Ari tense. “What is it?”

  “When I lost them this summer, anyone could have seen them under the sales counter, and—”

  “Anyone could have taken them, made a copy, and returned them,” Ari said, finishing the sentence for her. “Summer, do you remember anyone coming in twice that day?”

  “No.” Summer’s face was white. “Someone could have. I think it wasn’t a very nice day, and people were looking for things to do. But I don’t remember, Ari.”

  “Not Edith Perry?”

  “No. I think I’d remember that, or Mr. Perry, too.” She stared at Ari. “Could it have happened that way?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then I’m responsible.”

  Ari shook her head. “No. Edith had a key, and she probably got in that way.”

  “I could have given her the chance. I’m sorry, Ari,” Summer said again.

  Ari turned away, sighing. At another time she might have let Summer off the hook, but not this time. Summer was a good employee, and she was the kind of person who would beat herself up about this, but she had been careless with her keys. “Just don’t let it happen again, or I’ll have to take the key away from you.”

  “But I won’t be able to close up when you’re not here,” Summer protested.

  “We’ll work something out. I can’t have this happening again.”

  “I know,” Summer said, subdued, and looked out the window. “Oh, man, look at that. It’s pouring.”

  Ari sighed again. “Yes, it’s a real nor’easter. No one will come out in this weather.”

  “Now you can read the book you’ve got in the office.”

  Ari’s smile was a little shamefaced. The thought of picking up her book had occurred to her already. “I’ve got a new design I should be working on.”

  “Isn’t the author Laurie King?”

  “Yes, her Mary Russell series.” She made a face at Summer. “Brat.”

  “Oh, go ahead. All you’ve done lately is worry.”

  “With reason.”

  “You need a break, and I need to study.” Summer took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and pulled her hood firmly onto her head. “Yuck,” she said, and went out.

  Left alone, Ari stopped smiling, with the last few moments replaying themselves in her mind. The thought that Summer had misplaced her keys again was troubling. Of course there had been few enough people in today that Ari had been able to watch them all. Since that hadn’t been true in the past, though, anyone could have taken Summer’s keys, even a customer. It could be the answer to the question of how someone could have gotten in to attack her.

  The bells over the door rang, making Ari look up from her book. “Mrs. Taylor,” she said in surprise. “What are you doing out on a day like today?”

  “I had a doctor’s appointment and thought I’d stop in.” Ruth massaged her fingers. “This weather does me no good, but I couldn’t cancel.”

  “No, of course not. Would you like tea? I was just thinking about making some.”

  “Yes. What do you have today?”

  “Earl Grey,” Ari called from the back room. “Loose. I bought it at High Tea.”

  Ruth climbed stiffly onto one of the stools behind the sales counter. “Expensive,” she commented.

  “Yes, but good.” Ari busied herself measuring tea leaves into the pot she’d just warmed with hot water. “Especially in this weather, with the wind off the water.”

  “I’m glad I put in my replacement windows this summer.”

  “How are they working out?” Ari asked, interested. The windows in her house rattled and let drafts in, but she had yet to look into replacing them.

  “I love them. The house is so much warmer, and those old sash windows always stuck in the summer.”

  Ari paused in the act of pouring the tea. Discarding old windows meant that old parts had been discarded as well. Everyone in town had known of the project. The historical commission had given Ruth a hard time, insisting she put in wooden windows rather than the vinyl ones she wanted. And the old paint could match the murder weapon’s, whereas it hadn’t matched the Camachos’. It could have been planted in their shed, too, she thought.

  “My house gets so drafty in winter, and it’s a hassle putting up the old storm windows,” Ari said, to cover her sudden abstraction.

  “Ted never was very handy, was he?” Ruth wrapped her hands around the mug Ari handed her. “Ah. This does my old bones good. That’s new,” she commented, indicating a bulky fisherman sweater draped with careless flair on the counter.

  “Moira brought it in last week.” Ari referred to one of the women who knit samples for her, in this case Aran and Guernsey sweaters, and accessories. “The stitches are from Galway. She’s planning a series from each county in Ireland.”

  “Are the stitches that specific?”

  “Supposedly.” Ari took a sip of her tea. “Ruth, did you know Edith was buying patterns on the Internet?”

  “No. From your website? How is that working, by the way?”

  “Slowly.” It wouldn’t hurt to give Ruth some information, Ari thought. With Ruth’s curiosity, she’d be searching for the pirated patterns. Maybe she’d find them. “No, she got them somewhere else. Someone’s been selling my designs online.”

  Ruth gazed at her with avid eyes, apparently thrilled at this tidbit of gossip. “Who is it?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Are the police trying to find out?”

  Ari shrugged. She had no intention of compromising a police investigation. “I think they have other things o
n their minds.”

  Ruth’s face grew serious. “Poor Sarah. To be mugged in Freeport, of all places. Are you going to the funeral?”

  “Yes.” Ari sipped her tea, vaguely troubled, again with that feeling that there was something she’d missed. Several somethings, actually, things she’d heard or seen that she suspected were important.

  “At least she wasn’t killed in your shop,” Ruth went on.

  Ari caught her breath at the mischief, and the hint of malice, in Ruth’s eyes. Of course she’d suspect that the two murders were connected. “That’s just silly.”

  “Oh, of course. Still, you must admit it’s strange. Two murders here, of all places, and so close together. Now if they had happened on the waterfront, it would be much more understandable.”

  With a spurt of her own malice, Ari almost shot back that both victims had been elderly women, like Ruth herself. “I doubt there’ll be any more.”

  “I do hope not.” Ruth clambered down to the floor. “I don’t know why you have such high stools,” she complained.

  “They keep me awake on quiet days.”

  “Nonsense, you hide in your office and read. Dear, dear, look at that.” Ruth glanced out the windows as she tied a plastic rain bonnet firmly in place over her tightly permed curls. “I do hope you’re right about the murders,” she went on. “He seems to be going after old ladies.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry,” Ari said hastily.

  “Of course not. Well.” She popped open her umbrella. “Out into the storm,” she said, and went out.

  Ari breathed a sigh of relief as she went back to the counter and picked up the mug of now-tepid tea. Ruth was not easy to deal with at the best of times. Underneath she was kind, but her tendency to gossip made many people avoid her. It was one reason Edith Perry had disliked her. In spite of her well-known and controversial actions, Edith hadn’t liked having her business talked about. It was no secret that there’d been no love lost between them.

  Idly, Ari doodled a floral design, and then climbed down from the stool. In spite of the book waiting for her in the office, she had work to do. The idea of Ruth as a murderer, as she and Josh had once discussed, really was improbable. So she had motive, especially since Edith had complained so much about Ruth’s grandchildren. So she might know how to make a web page from classes at the senior center, and she’d had easy access to old windows this summer. She probably even had a cane, but so what? Her age made her an unlikely murderer. So did her arthritis, even if it wasn’t severe. Most important, though, was that Ruth, for all her gossip, was neither vicious nor secretive. Her thoughts and feelings were usually easy to figure out. Ari would certainly have known if Ruth disliked her, thus making her a target as much as the victims had been. Because there was the question that had always been a stumbling block in this case. Why had the murder taken place in her shop?