The sound of footsteps on the staircase in the storeroom drew everyone’s attention. Phoebe was coming down, and they all turned at once to see her.
“Here she comes. Let’s ask her,” Suzanne said.
Phoebe appeared in the doorway a moment later, wearing one of her signature outfits—tight black jeans, laced-up boots that reached to the middle of her shins, and a large turtleneck she’d knit herself made of thick gray yarn flecked with black, purple, pink, and other colors. Lavender socks showed at the edges of the boots, and she carried Charlotte’s cat in her arms.
The “no cats in the shop” rule had gone by the wayside already. But Maggie didn’t have the heart to hold the line. Phoebe just wanted to show everyone the new pet, she guessed. Just this once would be all right, Maggie decided.
“Hey, guys . . . Maggie said you were all coming by.”
“We wanted to see how you were. You had a terrible night.” Suzanne’s voice oozed with concern.
“It was horrible. I felt like I was trapped in a fright film.”
Despite her improved appearance, Phoebe suddenly looked pale and shaky again. Dana rose and put an arm around her shoulder. “Come and sit down with us. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to . . . Who’s this?”
“Vincent Van Gogh. I’m just watching him till Charlotte gets back.”
“Hello, Van Gogh.” Dana was a big feline fan. She owned a rare but crazy Maine coon named Arabelle. Using just her fingertips, she gently massaged Van Gogh behind his chewed-off ear. His eyes closed to narrow slits. “I thought you had a firm rule about pets, Maggie?”
“I do. I mean, I did,” Maggie insisted. “But Charlotte has all these cats, and they were roaming about last night, looking so hungry and forlorn. Phoebe was able to grab this guy, and we decided he could visit a while. Until Charlotte comes back,” she added quickly. “I guess you haven’t heard from her?”
Phoebe shook her head, biting her lower lip. “Not a word.” She petted Van Gogh in an absentminded way, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I knew Quentin was crazy. I should have told her right away, before the show even, to stay at my place . . . Even though that wouldn’t have helped poor Beth.”
“Phoebe . . . you can’t blame yourself for this. Not any part of it,” Dana said quietly.
“If anything happens to Charlotte, I will,” Phoebe insisted.
No one answered. They were all thinking the same thing, Maggie realized. Hoping Charlotte was all right . . . but wondering if whoever had killed Beth had somehow caught up with Charlotte, too.
“I think she’s all right,” Dana said in a very definite tone. “I really do. The police do, too,” she added. “They’ve questioned Quentin. He has an alibi for last night. Though it isn’t airtight.”
Phoebe looked up from the cat. “One of his idiot friends standing up for him?”
“Not entirely,” Dana replied. “After causing a scene at the art show, he went to work for a few hours. He cleans up at a little café in town that closes around eight. He claims he was working there from eight to eleven. Then met up with friends at a bar in Gloucester. He punches a time clock at the restaurant,” she added.
“Yeah, and at the bar, too?” Phoebe shot back. She stared at Dana a moment, thinking. “He still could have gone over to Charlotte’s house in between. Or left the bar for a while. As if any of his crew would ever tell the truth about where he was, or how long he was there.”
“The police know that. I don’t think they’ve ruled him out entirely yet,” Dana assured her.
Phoebe still didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t argue, Maggie noticed. Neither did anyone else.
“Whether she was afraid of Quentin or someone else, Charlotte knew she was in danger,” Suzanne pointed out. “That’s why she went into hiding. Someplace where no one can find her.”
“I think that’s true, Suzanne. She’s a smart girl. Very resourceful,” Lucy added, turning to Phoebe. “I bet she’s safe and the police will find her soon. They must have started tracking her credit cards and phone calls by now.”
“They have,” Dana confirmed. She seemed about to say more, then stopped herself. She looked down at her knitting, her lips pursed. Maggie guessed she’d heard something from her husband that she wasn’t supposed to repeat.
Suzanne was the only one brazen enough to prod her. “Don’t be a tease, Dana. Did they find out anything yet?”
Dana sighed. “All this is confidential. I’m not supposed to say, but . . . yes, they did find a transaction at a train station in New Jersey. Newark, I think. There were security cameras on the platform, so they know it was Charlotte, not someone using a stolen card. She left her car in the parking lot and bought a ticket. The ticket office was closed, and she couldn’t pay with cash, so I guess she was forced to use her card. It’s the only transaction they’ve come up with so far. But it does indicate she’s all right and traveling under her own free will.”
“What time was that? Do they know?” Lucy asked quickly.
“I’m not sure. I think around one a.m. Beth was killed between nine and eleven, so it doesn’t quite eliminate her as a suspect.”
“No . . . but . . . it does make it seem even more unlikely. Even if Beth was killed at nine, it would be hard to drive from Plum Harbor down to Newark in four hours. And if she was killed later, it would be pretty close to impossible,” Maggie noted. “At least we know Charlotte is alive and well.” Maggie felt encouraged by the news. She glanced at Phoebe. “Feel any better?”
“I do . . . but why didn’t you just tell us that when you walked in, Dana?” Phoebe gave Dana a look.
“I’m sorry . . . I wasn’t supposed to tell. Jack made me promise. I figured you would hear it soon on the news, or from the police. But I should have just told you right away. That wasn’t right.” She leaned over and gave Phoebe’s shoulder a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “Will you forgive me?”
“I guess I have to . . . You’re the only other cat lover around here,” Phoebe muttered.
“Thanks . . . I think,” Dana answered with a smile.
“Where was the train going? Can they tell where she planned to get off?” Suzanne asked.
“Good question,” Maggie added.
“The train was headed south, final stop Baltimore. The fare goes by zones, and she bought a full-fare ticket,” Dana explained. “But she could have gotten off earlier, at any stop. Especially if she’s trying to hide her trail. They’re checking video from security cameras at all the stops on the route, to see if they can spot her. And they hope to find more credit card or cell phone use. But so far, she’s been very careful.”
Maggie thought the same. “If Charlotte really doesn’t want to be found, there are ways around leaving a trail of transactions. She can even disguise herself when she gets off the train.”
“She’s been smart so far,” Dana agreed. “But since she’s wanted for questioning in regard to a murder investigation, this is more than a simple missing-persons case. I think our local investigators have reached out and the FBI is already involved, too.”
“Charlotte has a lot of people on her trail now. They have to find her soon.” Lucy glanced over at Phoebe, but their youngest friend showed little reaction.
“What about the Knit Kats? Have the police made any progress tracking them down?” Suzanne asked Dana. “And I know you probably promised Jack you wouldn’t tell but—”
“How do the Knit Kats figure into it?” Lucy cut in. “Did I miss something?”
“The police don’t want any details to get out,” Maggie began. “That’s why the news reporters don’t even know. We had to promise Detective Reyes . . . and Dana promised Jack,” she added.
She didn’t care so much about herself. But she didn’t want Phoebe to get into any trouble.
“Should we swear on a knitting magazine or something?” Suzanne held up her right hand and pressed the other to a recent copy of American Stitchery.
Dana glanced at her and s
hook her head, then turned back to Lucy. “The knitted wrapping on the victim, Beth Shelton, wasn’t just a blanket or afghan. It looked frighteningly similar to the wrapping the Knit Kats use for their installations on statues and phone booths. That sort of thing.”
Maggie nodded but couldn’t speak. The image was very unsettling. And it sounded like the wrapping on the victim also looked like the knitted swathes in Charlotte’s artwork. Another disturbing thought. She glanced at Phoebe, wondering if she should say anything. She knew the point would only make her more upset.
But before she could decide, Lucy was the first to answer Dana. “Ugh . . . how creepy. That gives me the chills.”
“Me, too,” Suzanne agreed. She shook her head as if to dislodge the dark image. “Phoebe, that must have been awful for you to see.”
Phoebe looked down, still stroking the cat. She spoke very slowly and quietly. “I know I’m not supposed to say anything . . . but I just need to talk about it. It looked like an afghan, at first. Then I realized . . . it looked just like one of the Knit Kats’ projects. Just like all the pictures on their website, all the different patterns and loose tangled yarn they tack on. It was exactly the same, and it just made me sick, thinking they had done that to a real live person. Well, maybe I guess she was dead first. But . . .”
Phoebe suddenly covered her face with her hands, her slim shoulders shaking as she muffled her tears. Van Gogh sat perfectly still for a moment in a tight, alert ball, then leaped off Phoebe’s lap and disappeared into the shop.
Oh dear . . . just what I didn’t want to happen, Maggie thought. But she couldn’t worry about the silly cat now, and quickly rose and put her arm around Phoebe’s shoulder.
“And you told the police that?” Lucy asked. “So they’re looking for the Knit Kats now?”
Phoebe nodded. “I guess so.”
Suzanne suddenly turned to Maggie. “Hey . . . how about that weird phone call you got the other night? With the cat yowl? Did you tell the police?”
“Detective Reyes made a note. I erased the message, but they might look at my phone records and see if they can find the caller. I got a feeling they didn’t think it was important.” Maggie still had her arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. She was crying in earnest again, and Suzanne handed her a box of tissues. “Phoebe . . . try not to think about it. I’m so sorry we reminded you.” Maggie didn’t know what else to say.
Dana walked over and sat next to Phoebe. “It’s going to take time to get over this. You’ve had a terrible shock. We’re all here for you, sweetie. We love you,” she added, stroking Phoebe’s hair.
Phoebe sniffed and lifted her head. Lucy handed her a bunch of tissues with a wordless gesture and a kind smile.
“Thanks, guys.” Phoebe sniffed. “You’re real friends. You’re like my . . . my . . . family,” she stuttered through her tears. “I love you guys . . . but I just feel so bad because . . . because . . . you’re all being so great to me and . . . I . . . I really need to tell you something.”
Maggie could hardly understand what Phoebe was trying to say between her tears and gasps for air.
She had to tell them something? About Charlotte? About Beth perhaps? She leaned closer, wondering what Phoebe was about to say.
The rest of her friends were quiet, too. All looking at Phoebe, waiting.
The most unholy racket broke the silence. Lucy’s two dogs, tied on the porch, burst into a fit of barking and howling as they flung themselves against the window at the front of the shop. Maggie couldn’t imagine what had gotten into them . . . until she heard Van Gogh answer with screaming cat yowls and hisses.
She ran to window. Phoebe and the rest of her friends followed. Maggie got there first and braced herself before glancing into the display.
Vincent Van Gogh stood with his back arched in full defensive cat mode, then sprang from one side of the window to the other, leaping around the Flexible Flyer sled and piles of fake snow. The dogs barked wildly, their faces and paws pressed to the glass as they tried to get at him.
The cat had gotten into the display area for some reason. Looking for a sunny, warm spot to sleep? That was Maggie’s guess.
But now he couldn’t find his way out. Maggie started to reach in to grab him, then decided that was a dumb idea. Her hands would be torn to shreds.
Meanwhile, his claws and hectic activity stirred up the fake snow into a mini tornado and tangled the skeins of yarn in her display. Hand-knit hats and scarves in the wintery scene flew in all directions.
“Maggie . . . I’m so sorry . . .” Phoebe stood beside her, looking almost as panicked as the cat.
“Don’t worry . . . it’s not your fault,” Maggie consoled her. It was her own fault for breaking her rule and allowing the silly creature in the shop in the first place.
Lucy had taken one look at the scene and then run out to her dogs. Maggie saw her through the glass, trying to untie the knots in the leashes and pull the two dogs away.
“Let me go out and help her. Those wacky dogs are very strong,” Suzanne said.
“And stubborn . . . and not very well trained,” Maggie added under her breath.
Dana looked like she wanted to laugh but wouldn’t dare. Now that the dogs were almost out of sight, the cat had calmed down a bit. But he was huddled in the corner of the window, look frozen and traumatized.
“Poor Van Gogh. He’s terrified,” Phoebe crooned.
“Should I go look for a treat in the kitchen? Do cats like crackers?” Maggie asked.
“They definitely like shrimp . . . and I happen to have a bite left over from my salad.” Dana had gone back to the table and retrieved her lunch bag. She held out a large white chunk. “This should reel him in. What do you think, Phoebe?”
“Fast thinking, Dana.” Without waiting for their reply, Phoebe climbed into the window and offered the scrap. Maggie braced herself. She expected to hear at least a few cat growls. But Phoebe’s soft voice and gentle manner easily calmed the testy feline. She coaxed him out of the corner and into her arms, then emerged cradling the cat, who happily munched his fish treat.
Maggie did not think it was a good practice to reward animals that wrecked window displays. He might jump in there and do it again, expecting more seafood. But she decided not to offer that opinion, at least at that moment.
“I’m going to take him upstairs and make sure he stays there,” Phoebe promised. “Then I’ll help you fix the window.”
“Good plan,” Maggie said in a weary tone. “That window needed a redo anyway.”
It did need a new look . . . though she hadn’t planned on working on that today. She wasn’t sure what she’d call it now. A cat-astrophic mess?
Suzanne came back inside, looking a bit winded. “Lucy’s heading home. Those dogs are a handful.” She yanked her sweater down over her ample bust and pushed back her thick hair with one hand. “Overall, this break sure beats eating lunch at my desk,” she said, gathering up her purse and knitting bag.
“I have to run, too.” Dana collected her coat and bags, too. She turned to Phoebe and gently touched her arm. “You’ve been through a lot, Phoebe. If you want to talk more, just give me a call. Anytime, okay?”
Phoebe stood holding the cat. She looked down and nodded. “Thanks, Dana. I just might.”
Dana smiled and turned to Maggie. “If I hear anything more from Jack, especially about Charlotte, I’ll let you all know. Even if it’s classified info,” she added in almost a whisper.
“Your secrets are safe with us,” Maggie promised.
“I hope so, but you know what they say about secrets. ‘Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.’ ” Dana offered her friends a smile.
“Good one. I’ll have to remember that.” Suzanne laughed as she headed for the door.
Maggie smiled, too. Though she noticed Phoebe looked uneasy and started petting the cat again. She either didn’t find the adage amusing or was still upset. About Beth and Charlotte . . . and everything. She had a per
fect right to be, Maggie reminded herself.
After all their friends had left the shop, Phoebe took Van Gogh upstairs. She soon appeared downstairs again. “Sorry about the window. I’ll clean it up right away.”
“That’s all right. We’ll do it together.” Maggie was putting some receipts in order but quickly put that task aside, grateful for Phoebe’s help with the window. While she was perfectly able to maneuver herself in and out of the display space, it was a tight fit and she had to use the step stool. Phoebe jumped in and out like a bird, hopping from branch to branch.
They soon removed the props, the scattered skeins of yarn—which were headed for the discount bin, Maggie guessed without looking too closely—and Phoebe swept up some fake snow and took down the paper cutouts of flakes as well.
“What next?” Phoebe asked as she climbed out of the empty space. “Should we put up the ‘Pardon Our Appearance’ sign?”
“That was my original plan. But now I’m thinking, what about Valentine’s Day? We can wrangle up everything pink and red, hang some hearts and cupids and such?”
Phoebe crossed her arms over her narrow chest. She usually got excited about any creative projects and would extend and amplify Maggie’s ideas. Often waving her hands as she spoke.
“What do you think?” Maggie asked her bluntly.
“Valentine’s Day is good. I have some red paper and stuff to make hearts for you to hang. That will be easy. And I have socks with hearts.”
“I have a red-and-white striped scarf . . . and there’s a pattern in a knitting magazine for a children’s turtleneck with a big heart in the middle. We can display that page somehow. Let’s gather up some possibilities while the shop’s still empty.”
Maggie took a basket and wandered around the store, looking for a selection of yarns that would suit the color scheme—pinks, reds, even some lavender and purple. She also found a pack of doilies in the storeroom, and Phoebe was soon settled at the worktable, applying her considerable artistic skills to constructing heart-shaped valentines to hang from the window’s ceiling.
A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) Page 9