A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery)

by Canadeo, Anne

  Phoebe shook her head. “Beth’s name never came up. She was into ceramics. She never did any fiber art. I didn’t know her that well. But I don’t think she knew how to knit.”

  Phoebe is definitely doing the right thing by cooperating and telling all she knows, Maggie decided. But hasn’t this informal interrogation gone on too long? She could slip up and say the wrong thing . . . and find herself a suspect. If she doesn’t watch out.

  “Doesn’t Phoebe have the right to have an attorney present before she answers more questions?”

  “Yes, she does,” Detective Reyes replied. “We can continue this at the station, with your attorney present if you choose, Phoebe. And you’ll have to make a new statement. We’d also like to look around your apartment,” she added. “You can give us permission now. Or we can get a warrant.”

  “A warrant . . . you mean like a search warrant? . . . Why?” Phoebe’s eyes were wide with shock.

  “For evidence relating to the murder of Beth Shelton.” Detective Reyes’s voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

  Maggie felt her blood run cold, and she saw the color drain instantly from Phoebe’s face.

  “But you don’t think . . . You can’t think I had anything to do with that. I already told you last night. I was looking for Charlotte because I was worried about her. I didn’t even set foot in the bedroom . . .”

  “Unfortunately, you didn’t tell us everything. Your connection to the Knit Kats makes you a person of interest in the case.”

  A person of interest? That was ludicrous! Phoebe was an innocent pawn . . . and a totally harmless one, Maggie wanted to point out. But the less said the better right now, Maggie decided.

  It was time to find Phoebe a good lawyer. Maggie had needed legal help years ago and remembered the attorney’s name, Christine Forbes. She had an office right in town. Maggie was going to call her right away, no matter what Phoebe said.

  Maggie heard a phone buzz, and Detective Reyes reached in her pocket to check a text, then looked at Phoebe again.

  “Looks like we can get a warrant to search your apartment by the end of the day,” Detective Reyes reported.

  “You can look in my apartment right now. I don’t have anything to hide,” Phoebe said emphatically.

  Maggie wasn’t sure that was the wisest course. But it was Phoebe’s call, and maybe being so cooperative did show she was innocent.

  She suddenly realized that they might want to search the shop, too. She did have an issue with that.

  “Do you intend to search the shop?”

  “Not unless we have probable cause. Do you think we should?” Detective Mossbacher asked.

  “Of course not. There’s absolutely no reason. I was just wondering. And I’d hate it if you did,” Maggie said bluntly.

  That was dumb. Maybe I’ve just piqued their curiosity. But she suddenly realized Detective Mossbacher was teasing her. In a low-key way.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Messina. We have no need to search your shop. Not right now anyway,” he assured her. “Everything is in such nice order. I can see why the idea would disturb you.”

  His reply made her feel a bit better. It was nice of him to say that. He didn’t have to. Under his tough-guy act, she thought, he was probably a nice man.

  Detective Reyes had taken out a form from the slim black binder she carried. She filled it out and asked Phoebe to sign the bottom. Consenting to the search, Maggie guessed.

  “We’ll need to take your computer, Phoebe. And anything else that seems relevant.”

  Phoebe sighed, her chin practically touching her chest as she nodded. “Okay . . . I understand.”

  Maggie was alarmed. “I’m calling an attorney for you. Right now.”

  Phoebe looked up at her. She looked scared.

  Maggie headed over to the counter, where she kept her phone book. If this attorney wasn’t available, Dana would help them find another. Of course she would go down to the police station again with Phoebe and help her through this latest fiasco. Once their circle of friends found out what was going on, Maggie was fairly certain she would not be alone waiting there, either.

  “I’ll go up and get the computer. It’s upstairs,” Phoebe said.

  “Don’t bother . . . we’ll find it.” Detective Mossbacher stood up from his chair and met Phoebe’s gaze.

  “I’ll go upstairs with you whenever you’re ready to get your purse and jacket,” Detective Reyes said, as politely as if they were about to take a ride to the mall.

  They didn’t want Phoebe to tamper with her computer before she gave it to them. Or touch anything else up there. That was clear to Maggie.

  She hoped with all her heart they wouldn’t find anything more linking Phoebe with the Knit Kats . . . or Beth Shelton’s murder. Detective Reyes started toward the storeroom, then paused and looked at Phoebe.

  “One more question before we go. Do you have any idea where Charlotte Blackburn is?”

  Phoebe stared at her bleakly and shook her head. Tears welled up in her eyes again.

  “I swear, Detective . . . I totally don’t know . . .”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It took several hours before Phoebe was finally released by the police. She submitted to many more questions and had to sign a new statement. Her attorney negotiated to have all charges dropped—even littering—in exchange for Phoebe’s cooperation.

  The police had her look at the photos of the Knit Kats, printed off the website and enlarged. Phoebe hadn’t recognized anyone. Maggie was also asked to look at them, but she didn’t recognize anyone, either.

  Even with the images enlarged, the makeup and disguises held up well. But questions from the police had made her wonder if she actually had met any of the Knit Kats. They could be customers coming into her store from time to time, Detective Mossbacher had pointed out.

  The notion had crossed Maggie’s mind, too. But who? Some pleasant senior taking a class on easy projects for her grandchildren? Some mother-to-be learning how to knit booties and bibs? The truth was, you just never know. Case in point, Phoebe had been auditioning for the group right under her nose and she had not suspected a thing.

  Maggie had been upset with Phoebe for not coming clean sooner about her Knit Kats connections. But she understood that she’d been trying to protect Charlotte. Still, she should have told somebody. They all would have advised her to tell the truth. The police always find out everything anyway, in their slow, methodical way. Now Phoebe had discovered that for herself and was suffering the consequences.

  Maggie felt so sorry for her, she couldn’t stay mad for long.

  After they were done at the police station, Maggie took charge of Phoebe once more. Maggie decided to take Phoebe home again, where they would have a quiet dinner and go to sleep early.

  They both knew that tomorrow would start with an onerous task: cleaning up Phoebe’s apartment.

  “Should we swing by the shop and check out the mess?” Phoebe asked as Maggie drove across town.

  Maggie had been silently debating the same question.

  “I don’t think so. We’re both a little tired for that right now. But maybe we should pick up your car,” she suggested. “In case one of us needs to sleep in tomorrow.”

  Maggie was fairly certain of which one of them that would be. But didn’t want to elaborate.

  “All right, let’s get my car,” Phoebe agreed. She glanced at Maggie. “I hope Van Gogh is all right. He must be even more confused now.”

  “Cats are very adaptable. He’ll be fine once he sees you.”

  At the last minute, Phoebe had remembered the cat, who she knew would get upset with a herd of police officers in her apartment, tearing through everything. Detective Mossbacher had been pretty understanding about that, Maggie thought. He even helped them catch the cat and close him up in a carton. Before meeting Phoebe at the police station, Maggie had swung by her house and dropped off the cat, along with his necessities.

  She hoped Van Gogh had not succumbe
d to a cat panic attack and shredded things or hidden himself in some inaccessible place. Phoebe would be glad to see that familiar furry face, that was for sure. Some small distraction from her bad day.

  It felt good to be home, Maggie thought as she unlocked her front door. The house was quiet and still, its familiar warmth and scents reaching out to comfort her.

  “Van Gogh? Are you all right? Where are you, kitty?”

  Phoebe walked into the living room and looked around. There was no sign of the cat. While Phoebe continued looking, Maggie went into the kitchen, took out a can opener and a can of tuna.

  “Here, kitty. Dinner,” she said blandly.

  The cat darted out from beneath the sofa and ran straight to her. Phoebe followed. “Good trick, Mag.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Not really. Pets and men are pretty much the same. Food rarely fails to bring them running.”

  The cat’s dinner was easily solved. But Maggie wasn’t sure what to do about herself and Phoebe. She was overdue for a visit to the grocery store, but thought she could rustle up something. Neither of them was very hungry.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d turned on the TV. Force of habit, she concluded. She always watched the local news when she happened to be home at this hour and had clicked on the set right before peering into her nearly bare refrigerator.

  There was a dour synchronicity to their timing. The screen filled with a video of the shop swarming with police. Chelsea Porter was on the scene once more, with her white down jacket and matching teeth.

  Phoebe gasped and pointed. She couldn’t even speak.

  “In Plum Harbor today, police searched the floor above the Black Sheep Knitting Shop, a residential apartment and the home of Phoebe Meyers, the shop’s assistant, in connection to the murder of a local college student, whose body was discovered late Sunday night in off-campus student housing. Officials are not releasing any further details about the crime or their investigation.

  “But they were here for quite a few hours, searching for clues to this tragedy. We are told that Maggie Messina, shop owner, is not a target of investigators. But Phoebe Meyers, who works in the shop and lives above the store, may be a person of interest in the case. Both Messina and Meyers could not be reached for comment.”

  “ ‘Could not be reached for comment’? That makes it sound like we were purposely ducking them,” Maggie sputtered. “We couldn’t be reached because we were with the police, helping them solve the crime. I’m going to call and demand a retraction. Or a correction . . . or whatever they’re supposed to do.”

  “Maybe they called the shop phone or our home numbers?” Phoebe offered.

  “Maybe . . . I haven’t checked the messages yet. Maybe I wouldn’t have even called them back,” she admitted.

  “I’m so sorry, Maggie. This really stinks. It’s such bad publicity for you . . .”

  Maggie secretly felt the same but just shrugged and forced a smile. “Oh, you know what they say, ‘Any publicity is good publicity.’ ”

  Maggie didn’t really believe that. A news video of her shop in connection with a murder investigation could not be twisted into some positive interpretation, no matter how she tried. But Phoebe already felt bad enough. Wringing her hands wasn’t going to change a thing.

  “Come on, Maggie. The only thing worse would be if the police found a body in your store.”

  “Heaven forfend . . . that would be worse,” Maggie agreed. “Little chance of that happening . . . I hope.”

  She had tried again to make a joke. A small, dumb joke, granted. Phoebe didn’t even try to smile. Just sat with her long, skinny legs folded beneath her and picked bits of lint off her sweater sleeve.

  “Okay, it’s bad. I won’t say it’s not. But by next week, no one will remember. They’ll be on to the next disaster, believe me,” she promised Phoebe. “The shop survived worse than this when I was hauled off to jail and the police searched it from top to bottom. Don’t you remember?”

  Phoebe finally met her glance again and nodded. “That was bad. I do remember.”

  “But I got through it, right? All of you had to remind me that people in town have much shorter memories than we give them credit for. And you just can’t worry so much about what people think. If we need to blame somebody, let’s blame the police . . . Better yet, let’s blame whoever killed Beth Shelton.”

  Phoebe didn’t reply but at least looked a tiny bit comforted by Maggie’s words. Van Gogh jumped up on Phoebe’s lap, then managed to walk in circles, hoping to be petted. Phoebe quickly complied.

  Maggie’s phone rang, and she saw Lucy’s name on the caller ID, though she had already guessed it would be one of their friends. As Maggie had expected after she called Dana, told her what had happened, and asked for some advice, all of their friends soon knew that Phoebe was being questioned again. They had all offered to come to the police station and wait with Maggie. But she hadn’t seen the purpose in that.

  Lucy was calling now for an update. Maggie was too tired to talk but picked up anyway.

  “Did you see channel 25 news tonight?” Lucy asked in a cautious tone.

  “Fame is a fickle mistress. What can you do? One minute I’m their needlework expert—and the next, the shop is a hotbed of evidence in a murder investigation.”

  “They didn’t go that far . . . thank goodness.”

  “I wish they had. I could sue for slander. Right now, it’s just an implied smear. Newspeople are very cagey that way.”

  Lucy didn’t encourage her, Maggie noticed. She knew better by now. “How’s Phoebe holding up?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “She’s very tired. We both are. It was a hard day.”

  “I’m sure. I guess you don’t want any company tonight. Have you had dinner? I could bring you a pizza or something.”

  “Sweet of you to offer, but I think we’re better off turning in early. There will probably be an impressive mess in Phoebe’s place . . . If you have a few minutes tomorrow morning, she might need help cleaning up.”

  “I’m there. What time?”

  “I’d better get there by eight. You don’t have to come that early, though.”

  “I’ll see how it goes. See you tomorrow.”

  They said good night, and Maggie turned her attention back to Phoebe. She’d shut off the TV and seemed to be in sort of a daze, petting the cat, who now lay on her lap, posed like the Sphinx, his eyes closed to narrow slits.

  Maggie walked over and sat next to them, then patted Phoebe’s free hand. “I know how you feel. But the police will soon eliminate you as a suspect. They’ve got to be following other leads, too. And you aren’t even a real member of the Knit Kats. You didn’t even get a call back.”

  “Saved by my subpar needlework. I might be sitting in a jail cell right now if those crazy weirdos had liked my knitting,” Phoebe agreed glumly.

  “They would be truly crazy not to love your knitting,” she insisted. “I hope you’re not feeling bad about that, too?”

  Phoebe didn’t answer, just looked back down at the cat. Maggie knew she did feel bad. How ironic.

  “Your knitting is first-rate. I would have never hired you otherwise,” she reminded her. “Nobody is going to put you in jail. I simply won’t let that happen. The only thing the police can accuse you of is being such a loyal friend to Charlotte. It was just unfortunate you were the one to find Beth’s body.”

  “I guess . . . but I should have told them right away about the Knit Kats thing,” Phoebe admitted. “Keeping it secret just made me look bad. And I should have told you, Maggie . . . and everyone else,” she added. “Even if the Knit Kats said they’d make trouble for me.”

  Maggie wasn’t sure what to say. “I respect people who can keep a confidence. And I admire you for trying to protect Charlotte, I really do. But sometimes, what seems like the wrong thing to do can be the right thing. Not very often, but it does happen.” Maggie shrugged. “That’s just a call we each have to make.”

 
Phoebe nodded. Van Gogh was purring now. The sound was surprisingly soothing.

  Phoebe sighed. She looked up at Maggie. “Thanks for helping me, Mags. And waiting for me all day. You totally didn’t have to do that.”

  Maggie smiled at her. “Are you crazy? I couldn’t leave you there all alone. I want to help you, Phoebe. We all do. If something else comes up that you need to talk about . . . whatever it is, please don’t be afraid to tell me. Or Dana or Lucy—or even Suzanne, though we all know how dramatic she gets.” Maggie rolled her eyes, finally making Phoebe laugh. “You’re like totally not alone, kiddo,” she added, teasing her a bit more. “We are all going to help you get through this.”

  Phoebe’s dark eyes were wide and wet with tears again. She sniffed and nodded. “Thanks.”

  Maggie felt a lump in her throat and couldn’t reply. She leaned over and gave Phoebe a hug and felt Phoebe hug her back.

  She really was so young and didn’t have anyone but her friends to help her now. Maggie was determined to be there for her. Her own daughter was just about Phoebe’s age, and Maggie couldn’t imagine Julie facing a situation like this all alone, with no concerned adult to support her. She had great affection for Phoebe . . . they all did. As independent as she was, Phoebe needed some mothering from time to time. Especially at a time like this.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m happy to keep the television off tonight and just sit here and knit. Why don’t we forget about Chelsea Porter and real life for a while?”

  Phoebe seemed in perfect agreement with that plan. “No arguments here. Reality is like . . . so overrated.”

  * * *

  As always, knitting was the perfect way to de-stress and unwind after their hard day. But there was no avoiding reality the next morning.

  And no avoiding their friends. Suzanne and Dana sent text messages before Maggie had even downed her first cup of coffee. Lucy was already waiting at the shop when she pulled up, sitting on the porch steps. Sans dogs, Maggie noticed. Perhaps she thought it best to avoid another skirmish with the cat. That was the last thing they needed this morning.