A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery)

by Canadeo, Anne

  She was nervous, Maggie realized, and not at ease in the spotlight. It had to be stressful, having your artwork on display for all to judge and critique. Especially at that tender age, Maggie reflected.

  “Charlotte . . . there you are. Everyone has been asking for you.” The art professor smiled warmly at her star pupil. “Time to mingle and meet your fans,” she encouraged. “I think there’s even someone here from the Plum Harbor newspaper. That will be good publicity for the gallery.”

  Charlotte glanced at her teacher and nodded—though she didn’t smile, Maggie noticed. “Thanks, Dr. Finch. I’ll catch up with them.”

  “Time for me to mingle, too,” Sonya Finch added. She took in the knitting group with another smile. “Thanks again for coming. I hope you all enjoy the exhibit.”

  “I’m sure we will,” Maggie replied.

  Professor Finch sailed off to greet another group of art lovers. Phoebe turned to Charlotte. “Hey, Charl, what’s up?”

  Charlotte drew close to her. “I just got a text from Quentin . . . I told him not to come. But he said if I don’t . . .”

  Charlotte’s words trailed off. She looked over at the gallery entrance; her fair complexion turned pale as paper.

  Maggie looked over, too, and saw the girl with the guest list arguing with a young man in a leather jacket. Another student, one of the male waiters, had trotted over to help her.

  “Oh no . . . he’s here. Don’t let him see me . . .” Charlotte turned to Phoebe with a fearful expression.

  Maggie could tell the leather-jacket guy was trying to talk his way into the exhibit, but the other boy had hold of his arm. The argumentative intruder had dark hair, a super-close buzz cut on the sides with a thick, spiky section sprouting down the middle of his skull. He wore the leather jacket over a black T-shirt and tattered jeans. A blue-and-red tattoo climbed up one side of his neck, like a colorful lizard.

  Maggie saw Professor Finch heading toward the fracas. She had an uneven gait, moving along in a rocking motion, Maggie noticed. Not exactly a limp, but perhaps one leg was shorter than the other? She looked down at the professor’s shoes and saw that, indeed, one black boot did look different, the heel and sole much thicker.

  Charlotte cowered next to Phoebe—which Maggie found quite ironic since Phoebe herself was such a slim little waif. Not exactly a fortress of protection. Both of them ducked behind a gray partition.

  “He’s totally crazy . . . I wish he’d just leave me alone . . . He just doesn’t get it . . . not even the order of protection . . .” Maggie couldn’t hear every word, but Charlotte’s tone—angry and frustrated—was clear enough.

  Obviously the boy was harassing her. Hadn’t Phoebe mentioned that Charlotte had just ended a relationship? This must be the aftershock.

  Maggie glanced back at the entrance. Voices were growing louder and more insistent. Even though Professor Finch had extended her hands, gesturing for the uninvited Quentin to go, he roughly pushed her aside, shook off the hold of the waiter, and headed toward Charlotte like a lovesick heat-seeking missile.

  “Oh God . . . here he comes . . .” Charlotte tore away from Phoebe and took off, the clicking heels of her high boots echoing in the empty space.

  Phoebe stared at Maggie a second, then chased after her friend.

  “Phoebe? Wait . . .” Maggie called out, but it was too late.

  Quentin quickly cut across the gallery, heading straight for a black metal door at the far corner of the room. Maggie could see the two girls aiming for the same door by a more circuitous path.

  Luckily, they reached it first, pulled it open, and ran through. It slammed shut, the sound echoing in the empty space.

  Quentin bumped into a cluster of visitors, spilling their drinks and tipping paper plates of crackers. He quickly pushed past them, reached the door, and ran through, only a few seconds behind Phoebe and Charlotte. The door slammed for a second time, as if sealing off a portal to another dimension.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Phoebe?”

  Maggie turned to see Dana, Suzanne, and Lucy, who had left to view the exhibit.

  “Charlotte’s ex-boyfriend just crashed the party. He’s after Charlotte. Phoebe is trying to protect her.” Maggie paused, the realization sinking in. Could Phoebe even protect a . . . fly? “Come on . . . before he catches up to them.”

  The friends dropped their glasses on a nearby table and joined the chase.

  Sonya Finch followed, too. “I’ve just called campus security . . . they’re on the way . . .”

  She moved as quickly as her bulk and gait would allow. Maggie barely had time to glance back as she pulled open the heavy black door.

  The door closed behind her, separating her from the rest of the pack. Maggie found herself in silent, pitch-black darkness. She paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  This had to be the studio space that she’d noticed when they were outside. It felt even chillier than the gallery and damp. She took a few steps forward; the floor was hard and cold under the thin soles of her dressy shoes, and Maggie took in a musty, earthy scent. As if she were in a basement. Then she realized it was the scent of damp clay; she must have wandered into the ceramics studio.

  All she could hear were her own deep breaths and the hollow echo of heavy footsteps moving very quickly somewhere on the other side of a warehouse-sized space.

  Before she could figure out which way to go, a piercing scream cut through the darkness. Then what sounded like a pile of dishes crashing to the floor. Maggie stood very still, listening. She held her breath.

  Was that Phoebe . . . or Charlotte?

  Neither choice was preferable.

  “Phoebe . . . is that you? Answer me, please! . . . Are you in here? . . . Are you all right?”

  Maggie ran toward the sound, though in the darkness it was hard to tell if she was moving in the right direction. Her eyes were more accustomed now to the dark, and a bank of high windows let in some thin, milky light from a distant street lamp.

  Finally, she heard footsteps coming up behind her.

  “Maggie? Wait for us . . .” Maggie turned to see Lucy and her other friends running toward her with their phones out, which they were using as flashlights.

  Why in the world hadn’t she thought of that? She was just too low-tech for her own good, that was the problem. She reached in her purse and took her phone out, too. “I’m here . . . Did you hear that scream? It came from back there.” She pointed, hoping they could see her.

  “Lead the way. We’ll follow,” Dana called out. Maggie nodded and continued toward the sound.

  “Phoebe . . . where are you?” She strained to hear an answer. Anything. But there was suddenly silence. Not even the sound of footsteps.

  Maggie stopped in her tracks and sighed aloud.

  “Maggie . . . I’m over here,” she finally heard Phoebe answer. Maggie dodged to her left, finding her way around a large partition. Using the light from her cell phone, she soon spotted Phoebe in a black puddle of fabric on the floor, huddled against a wall of steel shelves. Most of the shelves held pale white ceramic pieces. But quite a few more lay broken on the floor, jagged-edged shapes scattered all around Phoebe. Maggie sneezed from the dust, her shoes crunching on broken pottery bits, as she crouched down to check on her.

  “Oh dear . . . are you hurt?”

  “I’m all right . . . Quentin gave me a shove and my boot got caught in the hem of my skirt . . . so much for formal wear. I sort of hit my head on this shelf thing,” she explained. “And a ton of stuff flew off and crashed on the floor.”

  “You’re lucky none of these pieces fell on top of you. Does it hurt anywhere?”

  Phoebe grabbed Maggie’s arm and hoisted herself off the dusty floor. Her lovely outfit was coated with white dust. “I’m okay, I think. I just got a little dazed.”

  “Dazed? You might have a concussion,” Maggie fussed. “Do you feel sick to your stomach, or dizzy?”

  Dana, Suzanne, and Lucy appeared. “P
hoebe . . . are you all right?” Lucy asked.

  “Never mind me. I’m worried about Charlotte. She ran into the next studio. I tried to block the door, but Quentin pushed me down.”

  Maggie didn’t like hearing that. She hoped the boy didn’t have a weapon. He was certainly brawny enough to do damage to a little thing like Phoebe—or Charlotte—without one.

  Phoebe limped bravely toward the next door. Maggie quickly followed. “Wait. You can’t go after them alone . . . He sounds violent.”

  “That’s why she’s been trying to lose him. He gets crazy angry . . . and he’s very jealous . . .”

  Phoebe shouted the last few words over her shoulder as she pulled open the next door and disappeared.

  Maggie quickly followed. “Phoebe . . . wait! I’m coming with you . . . That kid is dangerous.” She turned back to her other friends. “Go back and make sure campus security knows where we are. Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

  “I’ll go,” Suzanne offered. “Dana might be needed for hostage negotiations—to talk some sense into crazy Quentin.” Maggie hoped that didn’t happen. But it was certainly possible.

  Suzanne turned and ran back toward the gallery while Maggie followed Dana and Lucy, who had run ahead, trying to keep up with Phoebe.

  “Don’t worry, Maggie. We can still see her . . . or at least hear her. She isn’t too far ahead,” Dana called back.

  Maggie followed. The next space was also dark and cut up into sections with partitions that only reached halfway to the very high ceiling. Now she smelled the distinct odor of oil paints. Did students still learn how to paint in oil these days? That was encouraging. She thought the whole world had gone acrylic.

  Passing halfway through the painting studio, she suddenly saw that big metal doors on the far side of the space had been pulled open. A section of the campus was framed in the opening.

  Phoebe came into view, and Maggie’s entire body sagged with relief. She was outside, near a walkway, her slim figure silhouetted in the light from a nearby lamppost.

  Before Maggie could call to her, a motorcycle engine revved and roared, the sound deafening.

  Maggie made it to the open doors just in time to see the shiny black bike fly down a sidewalk and swerve around a pair of shocked students. They dropped their books and ran for cover. Then the bike drove up on a snowy lawn, slipped wildly, bumped over a curb, hit the road on one wheel, and roared into the dark.

  So much for Quentin, Maggie thought.

  Where was Charlotte?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Maggie stood alongside Phoebe on the walkway, catching her breath. She was so overwhelmed and overheated, she barely felt the cold, though each breath made a frosty cloud. Lucy and Dana were outside as well. Dana was on her phone. Maggie could tell she was talking to Suzanne, asking what happened to the campus security.

  Good question. Maggie was just relieved the chase was over and Phoebe had come out of it safe and mostly sound.

  “Some driving. That kid should be in the movies,” Maggie finally said.

  “Quentin is out-of-his-flipping-mind crazy. Charlotte has an order of protection against him. But he doesn’t get it.” Still breathing heavily, Phoebe checked her hair with her fingertips. Her upswept hairdo had flopped to one side, and she pushed it around her head like a hat, then just yanked out the hairpins.

  “Okay, never mind the movies, how about jail?” Lucy suggested as she and Dana joined them. “He’s the very definition of a hazard and a walking, talking public disturbance.”

  “Totally,” Phoebe agreed. “I never got it. I mean, why Charlotte ever hung out with him in the first place.”

  Maggie didn’t, either. Charlotte was bright, talented, and a good student. Maggie would hazard a guess this boy was none of those things. Though opposites did attract, especially at that age. Maybe he seemed exciting, and she was curious about the bad-boy type. Or she’d been flattered by his attention.

  “Where is Charlotte?” Dana glanced around. Maggie wondered, too, but assumed Phoebe knew.

  “I just saw her like a minute ago.” Phoebe spun around, looking for her friend.

  The few students who had watched the chase and Quentin’s dramatic escape had already dispersed. The nearby campus and walkways were empty.

  Phoebe turned and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Charlotte? It’s just me, Phoebe . . . and Maggie. Where are you?”

  They stood together, waiting for an answer. Phoebe looked worried. “Maybe she ran back inside and hid somewhere?”

  “Maybe. I didn’t see her. But there was a lot going on, and it was pretty dark in there,” Maggie replied.

  Lucy started back toward the building. “Let’s go inside and check.”

  “Good idea. I’m freezing out here.” Dana rubbed her arms for warmth as she quickly stepped back into shelter.

  Just as they passed through the doorway, the lights all over the building flashed on. Maggie blinked, the burst of light blinding her for a moment. Large metal fixtures high above made a dull, humming sound.

  “Phoebe? Charlotte? It’s Dr. Finch . . .”

  “And Suzanne,” their friend called out. “Are you guys still in here?”

  “Over here, Professor . . .” Phoebe turned. There was a partition between the teacher and the doorway. Phoebe quickly stepped into a space where Professor Finch could see her.

  Sonya Finch approached quickly with Suzanne and two security guards following close behind. Maggie noticed that a campus security car had also pulled up outside. Two more officers got out and walked toward the open doors.

  “What happened? . . . Where’s Charlotte?” Professor Finch looked flushed and nearly breathless as she hobbled closer.

  “I don’t know . . . I followed her through the last studio, and she ran in here. Quentin pushed me down before I could get through the door,” Phoebe explained. “I thought she was right outside, hiding somewhere. But after Quentin flew off on his bike, she like disappeared into thin air.”

  “Oh . . . that’s too bad.” Dr. Finch stared down, clearly distressed. Then she looked up at Phoebe, taking in her appearance with grave concern. “Are you all right, dear? Do you need a doctor? We’ll get you over to the infirmary right away.”

  Phoebe rubbed her forehead. Maggie hoped she didn’t end up with a big lump or a black eye.

  “I’m okay . . . I just wish I knew what happened to Charlotte. I hope he doesn’t catch up to her,” Phoebe said quietly.

  Maggie was thinking the same. Charlotte seemed terrified. She must have run off to hide somewhere.

  “I’m going to call her. Maybe she’ll pick up for me,” Phoebe told her teacher.

  “Good idea. I’ll tell security what happened. Maybe they can catch Quentin before he leaves campus.”

  At the rate he was moving, Maggie would bet that boy was long gone.

  “Let’s check that last studio,” Lucy suggested. She and Dana went back inside the building.

  Professor Finch went back to the group of officers talking together outside the open doors. Phoebe stood with her phone pressed to her ear, waiting for Charlotte to pick up. Maggie heard her leave a message. Then she started furiously texting.

  Finally, Phoebe shrugged and put her phone away. “She didn’t answer. I sent a text, too.”

  “It was worth a try.” Maggie reached out and rubbed her thin shoulder.

  “Maybe she’ll answer in a little while. Give her time to catch her breath,” Suzanne suggested.

  Professor Finch returned. “The security guards found some students who saw a girl fitting Charlotte’s description run into their dorm. Right after the motorcycle took off. Charlotte must have snuck past him somehow.”

  “That’s good news.” Maggie glanced at Phoebe, but she didn’t look encouraged.

  “They’re going to alert the police in Plum Harbor. Don’t worry, someone will find Quentin,” she assured Phoebe. “Charlotte’s a smart girl. I’m sure she will find a safe place to stay for a while.”r />
  “I hope so . . . I just wish she’d answer.” Phoebe checked her phone again. “She could stay with me tonight. Quentin doesn’t know where I live.”

  Maggie wouldn’t count on that. If he was really stalking Charlotte, he probably knew who her friends were. Even where they lived. Maggie didn’t want Phoebe to put herself in such a dangerous situation. Not that she didn’t want to help Charlotte. If she got in touch again, both girls could stay at her house, Maggie decided. But Phoebe’s idea was definitely not safe.

  Phoebe was still distressed, and Maggie decided not to debate the point. Without Charlotte in sight, it wasn’t even a question.

  Lucy and Dana returned. They had obviously not found Charlotte, either.

  Dana put her arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Charlotte probably knows a place to hide from Quentin. I just hope she checks in with you soon to let you know she’s all right.”

  Phoebe nodded, her expression bleak. “It just really stinks that she’s missing her big night. She worked so hard for this. That jerk just totally ruined it.”

  Professor Finch gazed at Phoebe with sympathy. “I was thinking the same thing. It really is so unfair and unfortunate. But people are viewing and appreciating her work. If that’s any comfort. I need to get back, too. I hope you’ll all return. I don’t believe you got to see any of the exhibit.”

  Maggie forced a smile and nodded. Once the professor left, Maggie turned to her friends again.

  “I know you’re probably not in the mood anymore for art viewing. But maybe we should take a quick look?” When no one answered, she added, “I think Charlotte will resurface unharmed very soon. I want to be able to tell her honestly how much I liked her artwork.”

  She watched her friends exchange glances. Lucy was the first to speak. “Good point. A quick look would be good manners. Then let’s get our coats and get out of here.”

  “And go out to eat,” Suzanne suggested. “Chasing down psycho boyfriends really builds an appetite. I had no idea.”