Sins & Needles

by Reagan Davis

  “How?” I ask, using a piece of gauze to apply direct pressure to his wound.

  “I just picked it up to look at it,” he explains. “I was curious. It doesn’t look as sharp as it feels!”

  Tearing open an alcohol wipe, I explain the tool has small barbs near the end that make it sharper than it looks. He winces when the alcohol touches his finger.

  “It hurts more when you pull it out than it does when it goes in,” I explain.

  “That Dina lady who came to the book signing yesterday had one floating around in her backpack, so I assumed it must not be very sharp,” he says.

  “Dina?” I ask. “The young woman who brought all the Shark Attack books with her?”

  Dad nods. “That’s right. Claire Rivera’s assistant.”

  This must be what they laughed about when he signed Dina’s books and made the comment about keeping pickpockets out of her backpack. But Dina told me she isn’t a needle felter, so why would she carry a needle? And if she is a felter, why would she lie about it? It’s hardly a controversial hobby; there’s no reason to be a closet felter and keep her needle felting habit a secret.

  “What else did you see in Dina’s backpack?” I ask.

  “I only had a quick peek when she pulled out the books,” Dad replies. “The needle, a big sponge, and some balls of wool. White, orange, lime green, and brown, I think.”

  Everything a needle felter would need to work on a project.

  I flashback to when I walked Dina to the back door and picked green fibre off of her sweater.

  The knot in my stomach grows bigger as I apply a bandage to my dad’s injured finger. Something isn’t right; something way bigger than Dina lying to me about her crafting habit. I feel like I’m missing something right in front of me.

  “You were very brave,” I tease. “Would you like a sticker, lollipop, or small toy?” I produce a basket from under the counter. We give them to the children of customers to keep them occupied while their parents shop.

  “I’d like sushi and a glass of wine with my daughter,” he says, chuckling. “But I’ll take a grape lollipop to sustain me until we get there.” He reaches into the basket and takes a purple lollipop.

  Putting away the first aid kit, my phone dings.

  April: I wasn’t snooping, but when Dina went to the washroom, I *might* have nudged her table and woken up her laptop, then looked at the screen. Accidentally, of course.

  Me: It sounds very unintentional.

  April: I knew you’d understand.

  Me: What did you see?

  April: The unreleased Familia book.

  Me: Are you sure?

  April: I’ve read every book in the series. This is new. Wanna know which one of Mama’s kids dies in the next book?

  Me: NO SPOILERS!

  April: It’s weird that Dina has the unfinished book open on her laptop, right?

  Me: It seems weird, but I don’t know.

  April: I keep wiping nearby tables so I can spy on her. Dina is definitely typing words into the book.

  Me: I’m going out for lunch with my dad, then I’m coming to the bakery.

  April: OK. I’ll keep wiping and snooping. Artsy Tartsy will have the cleanest tables in town!

  “Ready, Dad?” I ask, walking toward him.

  His bandaged finger reminds me of the bandages on Dina’s fingers. She said one of them was a paper cut, and the other was her nail-biting habit, but now I wonder if they were needle-felting injuries.

  “Ready, Bean!” he replies, standing up.

  “Dad, can I ask you a work question?” I ask, retrieving my purse from under the counter.

  “Of course,” he replies.

  “Does your assistant ever work on your unfinished manuscripts?”

  He shakes his head. “No,” he replies with conviction. “No one reads my first draft except me. Zoe is my wife and one of my editors, and I don’t even share my first drafts with her. My assistant never has writing-related tasks.” He points to his chest. “I’m the author. I’m the only one who does writing-related tasks.”

  Claire claimed to be an avid needle felter, but showed no interest in the felting display at the store or in the felting supplies we sell. Dina claims she is not a needle felter, but showed enthusiastic interest in all things needle felting when she was here, and carries felting supplies in her backpack.

  My dad says Claire wasn’t an avid reader and preferred magazines to books. Dina is a self-described bookworm who totes 20 paperbacks in her backpack without breaking a sweat.

  Dina is more Claire-like than Claire.

  My dad and I say goodbye to Sophie and are about to leave the store when my phone rings.

  “It’s Eric,” I tell my dad. “Just one more minute.” I accept the call and put him on speaker.

  “Hey, babe! How’s your day?”

  “Good. I’m just about to have lunch with my dad. He’s right here. You’re on speaker.”

  “Hello, Eric,” my father shouts from right beside me.

  “Hi, Mitchell,” Eric responds. “I thought I’d call and give you the good news.”

  “You found Brooks?” I ask.

  “Not yet.” he replies. “Other good news. Forensics found peanut oil on some items we took from the cottage yesterday. I have a theory.”

  “We’re dying to hear it,” I say.

  “Yes, Eric, you can’t leave us with a cliffhanger,” Mitchell shouts.

  “We found peanut oil on the pages of several magazines,” Eric divulges.

  I remember picking up magazines at the cottage when Dina sent me to the doc to collect her things. Could he be talking about the same magazines?

  “Were the magazines inside the den with Claire?” I ask.

  “No,” Eric replies. “They were in the washroom. I suspect Claire went from the office to the washroom where she came into contact with the magazines, then returned to the office. Her allergic reaction started after she locked the door.”

  “Are you saying Claire’s death wasn’t murder after all? It was an accident?” Dad yells.

  “That’s what I’m saying. And the coroner concurs. He’s going to change Claire’s death from murder to accidental.”

  “Eric, were the magazines on the edge of the bathtub?” I ask.

  “They were.”

  “Are there fingerprints on the magazines?” I ask.

  “From three people,” he says with hesitation. “Why are you asking? You have that tone in your voice, like you’ve figured something out.”

  “Were the fingerprints Claire’s, Brooks’s, and mine?” I ask.

  “That’s right,” Eric says. “But you aren’t a suspect, babe. You were at the scene when you helped Dina pack. We expected to find your fingerprints there.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” I shake my head even though Eric can’t see me. “The only way Claire touched those magazines is if she went down to the dock.” I explain to Eric how Brooks and I went to the dock on Friday to fetch Dina’s stuff when we were helping her pack. “I assumed the magazines were part of her stuff and brought them back to the cottage. Dina told us the magazines were already at the cottage when she and Claire arrived. Brooks put them on the edge of the tub. Dina seemed to avoid touching them. I remember our conversation clear as day. Dina mentioned she took the magazines down to the dock on Thursday. I commented it was a good thing it didn’t rain since they were down there overnight.”

  “Why aren’t Dina’s fingerprints on the magazines?” Eric sighs on the other end of the phone. “If she took them to the dock, her fingerprints should be there.”

  “Because she doesn’t want them to be?” I suggest.

  “I have to locate Dina Langley.”

  I gasp. “I know where she is.”

  Panic radiates from the knot in my stomach to the rest of my body when I realize Dina is at Artsy Tartsy. With April. Alone. My best friend is alone with a murderer. My best friend is in danger.

  “Stay here with Sophie,
” I instruct my dad as soon as Eric and I end our call.

  “You aren’t going there?” my dad asks, incredulous.

  “And text April,” I add, ignoring his question. “Tell her to unlock the back door without Dina noticing.” I’d do it myself, but I’m not coordinated enough to run and text at the same time.

  “This isn’t a good idea, Bean. She’s dangerous!”

  “I’ll be back soon.” I shove my phone in my back pocket, throw open the door, and run toward Artsy Tartsy.

  I’m coming, April. If Dina plans to put up a fight, she’ll have to go through both of us.

  “Bean! Megan!” My dad’s voice grows fainter the farther I run.

  Chapter 24

  I slow down to a walk a few doors from the bakery and catch my breath. I don’t want to rush in there all flustered and tip off Dina.

  “Hey, Megastar!” April flashes me a wide smile when I enter the bakery.

  “Hey!” I say, smiling.

  Her phone buzzes, and she looks down. The cheerful expression disappears from her face. Her brows furrow toward each other, and she swallows hard. She must have read the text my dad sent. April looks up at me with a blank expression on her face. I give her an exaggerated smile, reminding her to act natural. Picking up on my hint, April smiles, then snaps her fingers.

  “I saved you a slice of pistachio cake with strawberry meringue,” she says. “I’ll just nip to the kitchen and get it.”

  “Sounds yummy,” I say. “You and T spoil me.” April disappears into the kitchen.

  I’m sure the cake is an excuse to unlock the back door.

  I cough to cover the clicking sound when I lock the front door. Then, keeping my eye on Dina the entire time to make sure she doesn’t look up from her laptop screen, I flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

  Dina is laser-focused on her laptop. She hasn’t looked up once since I walked in the door.

  “Here you go, Megadoodle.” April slides the plate and a glass of water across the counter to me.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking them, and sitting at the table behind Dina. “I can watch the bakery if you have paperwork to do in the office,” I suggest. “I’m finished at Knitorious for the day.”

  Will April take the hint and leave through the back door she just unlocked? There’s no point in both of us locking ourselves in here with a potential killer.

  “Don’t be silly,” April responds. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” She shrugs. “Besides, the paperwork is all caught up.”

  She won’t leave. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t leave her alone, either. I give her a trace of a smile, and she winks in return.

  “Hi, Dina,” I exclaim.

  Dina raises her index finger. “Just give me one minute.” Her index finger returns to her laptop keyboard. I have a few mouthfuls of cake while April repeatedly wipes the same area of countertop. “And… done!” Dina slams her laptop shut, looks up at April with a satisfied grin, and says, “One lemon meringue tart, please!”

  “Coming right up!” April says.

  Dina spins around in her chair. “Hi, Megan!” She smiles at me. “April told me what happened at Knitorious last night. I couldn’t believe it! Piper Peters broke in and tried to steal the Familia books?! It’s a good thing we let your stepmum convince us to move them, huh?”

  April places a plate in front of Dina, who says thank you and takes a big bite of tart.

  “Yes,” I agree. “And it’s a good thing my neighbour noticed someone in the store.”

  “I can’t believe Brooks told her where to find the books.” Dina shakes her head. “With all the activity and confusion this weekend, I forgot to tell him we moved them. Thank goodness. Otherwise she might have tried to break into your house.”

  “Have you heard from Brooks?” I ask.

  Dina shakes her head. “No. Not since we had lunch on Saturday. But I told the police I’ll tell them if Brooks tries to contact me.”

  “Do you know if the police have found him yet?” she asks me.

  “As far as I know, they’re still looking,” I reply. “But they almost caught up with him this morning. He was at Knitorious when I arrived.”

  “Inside?” Dina asks wide-eyed before putting the rest of the tart in her mouth.

  I nod. “Inside. Brooks is a decent lock picker.”

  “Wow,” she garbles with her mouth full of tart. “Maybe he picked the lock in the den at the rental cottage,” she mumbles, her words difficult to understand. Then she swallows. “Did he try to hurt you? Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine,” I assure her. “He didn’t harm me. He didn’t even threaten to harm me. He wanted to talk.”

  “About what?” Dina asks.

  “He wanted to clear his name. Brooks insists he did not kill Claire.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Of course, he does. He’ll say anything to avoid jail.”

  “Dina,” I say, about to change the subject. “My dad mentioned you had a felting needle and some fibre in your backpack yesterday. Why do you have them if you’re not a felter?”

  Dina looks down, avoiding eye contact with me. “They’re Claire’s,” she confesses. “I took them from the rental cottage when we were there on Friday.” She shrugs. “I wanted something of hers. Something important to her, but not expensive, you know?”

  She’s lying. The police checked our bags before and after we left the cottage. Dina did not have any needle felting supplies.

  “Silly me. I thought the needle felting stuff belonged to you,” I laugh. “And your bandaged fingers resulted from needle-felting accidents.” I laugh, and April laughs with me.

  “Why would someone lie about a hobby like needle felting?” April asks with a shrug.

  “Exactly,” Dina agrees. “That wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re right,” I concur. “But something else doesn’t add up,” I suggest.

  “What?” Dina asks, the smile disappearing from her face.

  “According to Brooks, you suggested he approach Claire’s family and offer to purchase the Familia rights from them. He says you even suggested it might help if Jules approached them because Claire’s family are Jules Janssen fans.”

  “What?” she asks, overdramatizing her skepticism. “That’s not true.” Dina shakes her head. “Either he lied, or he misunderstood me,” she insists. “Yes, I told him that Claire’s family are huge Jules Janssen fans because it’s true. But I didn’t tell them to ask her family to sell the rights. I suggested it might mean a lot to them if Jules reached out personally and offered condolences for Claire’s death. That’s all I said, I swear.” She’s talking fast now. Too fast. She’s rattled. “Remember, I told you I think it’s tacky to talk to Claire’s family about business while they’re grieving. He’s just angry because I refused to be part of their scheme.”

  “You’re right,” I reply. “Your version makes more sense.” Relief washes across Dina’s face. “Especially since Claire’s family won’t inherit the rights to Familia, you will.”

  “Me?” Dina pokes herself in the chest. “How do you know that?” She narrows her eyes and looks at me sideways.

  I shrug. “I heard it somewhere. The rumour mill around here is incredibly accurate and efficient.” I take a sip of water. “You don’t seem shocked, Dina. Did you know Claire was bequeathing you the rights to her books?”

  “To be honest, I’m not as shocked as I should be,” Dina admits. “Claire must’ve left the rights to me because she knew I would respect her wishes and not sell them.”

  “Did the contract between you and Claire stipulate you would inherit the rights if she died?”

  “Who told you about our contract?” She sounds defensive now.

  “Brooks,” I reply. “He mentioned it at the cottage. He didn’t have many details, only knew a contract existed and said it made for a strange working relationship between you and Claire.”

  “We’ve already established that Brooks is a liar,” Dina reminds me.

>   “Was he lying when he said the contract stipulates that when the Familia series ends, the working relationship between you and Claire also ends?” I ask. “When Claire announced the next Familia book would be the last, she essentially fired you over social media. It would be understandable if that made you angry.”

  “You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Dina says snidely. “Claire couldn’t fire me, even if she wanted to.” She glares at me through squinty eyes. “And the rights were never Claire’s to bequeath.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Never mind.” She dismisses my question with a flick of her wrist. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You’re making me feel like a suspect.”

  If the shoe fits…

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to upset you. If it makes you feel better, I have it on very good authority that, as of fifteen minutes ago, there were no suspects in Claire Rivera’s death.”

  This piques Dina’s interest, and she inches her chair closer to my table.

  “Did your boyfriend tell you that?” she asks. “Chief Sloane? What did he say?”

  “If I tell you, it can’t leave this bakery,” I say.

  Dina nods with enthusiasm. “Of course not.” She makes an X over her chest with her index finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “He said they found traces of peanut oil on some magazines at the cottage. Eric theorizes that Claire left the office, touched the magazines, then returned to the office, and died after she locked the door.”

  “So, he thinks Claire’s death was accidental,” she summarizes, smiling. Dina inhales a deep breath, then blows it out. “That’s fantastic news! There’s no murderer.”

  “That was as of fifteen minutes ago,” I remind her. “As of ten minutes ago, we think there is a murderer.”

  “Who?”

  “What did you and Claire argue about before she died?” I ask, ignoring her question.

  “Claire didn’t give me any warning before she sent out the social media post saying Familia was over,” Dina reveals. “It took me by surprise, and I was angry.” She sighs. “Just because we argued doesn’t mean I killed her.”