“We know, Phoebe. This is totally unfair.” Dana spoke softly. “You have a perfect right to be upset and angry . . . but we can fix this. We’ll all work together and help you clean up,” Dana promised.
“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll put this place back together in no time. Or we can add a few empty beer bottles and a box of cold pizza, and rent it out to some college guys.”
Suzanne was exaggerating, of course. But trying to strike a lighter note.
“The police will return the yarn and the computer and everything they confiscated, eventually,” Maggie told her. “In the meantime, there’s plenty of yarn right downstairs. And you can use my computer anytime you need it. Just help yourself.”
Maggie knew Phoebe would need a computer for schoolwork—that was annoying. And it wasn’t just losing the yarn. It was the fact that a knitter’s stash was such personal territory. Phoebe just stared back at the empty cabinet like a character in a fairy tale discovering that some evil troll had stolen her treasure chest. Maggie had a shop full of yarn but would have hated it if anyone had stolen her stash, stored safely back at home. She would have hated knowing strangers had pawed through all of her personal belongings.
This whole mess was fixable. But it felt like such a violation. That was the real reason Phoebe was so upset.
Lucy stood in Phoebe’s kitchen, gazing at the cupboards, which all hung open, obviously searched. Some of the dishes, bowls, and cups stood on the counter . . . along with boxes of cereal, crackers, and whatever else was stored there, which had been emptied out into the trash. Some of it spilling on the floor.
“I’ll start in here.” She’d found a big trash bag and snapped it open.
Dana and Phoebe started cleaning up the living room, where pillows had been tossed off of the couch and chair, opened and examined, and every book and knickknack removed from a set of shelves. Suzanne started in Phoebe’s bedroom area, which was obscured by a curtain. Maggie could only guess what she’d find back there.
“I’ll get the big vacuum cleaner downstairs,” Maggie offered. She knew Phoebe got by with a small electric broom. Heavy equipment was needed today.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men could not put poor Humpty Dumpty back together. But she and her friends could put Phoebe’s apartment back together. Maggie felt sure of it.
Still, the fact that the police had gone through Phoebe’s place with a fine-tooth comb was worrisome. It was not a good sign in Maggie’s book. Not a good sign at all.
CHAPTER NINE
Many hands make light work—that’s what her mother used to say. With so many hands on the job, Phoebe’s apartment was back in order faster than Maggie had expected. It had been generous of her friends to give up prime-time morning hours, Maggie had to grant them all that.
Phoebe was very grateful and promised to make everyone dinner as a thank-you. Sometime after the investigation was over, Maggie guessed. When things settled back to normal.
“Did you have any customers yet today?” Phoebe had stayed up in her apartment after the cleanup, but finally came down around noon
A fair question, considering last night’s dreadful publicity.
“A few.” Maggie kept her gaze on the packets of buttons she’d been sorting. She’d only seen two customers so far. Was that “a few”? Or did the expression mean three or more? When Phoebe didn’t reply, she added, “It’s still early. Maybe we should work on the window again . . .” Maggie heard steps on the porch and paused. “Wait, there’s someone.”
They both looked at the shop door. Maggie felt a sudden lump in her throat. She hoped it wasn’t the police again. Dear God, please . . . no more of that, she silently prayed.
It was not the police, thank goodness. But the visitor did catch her by surprise. It was Sonya Finch, the art professor who had run the reception at the gallery.
“Hello, Phoebe.” Professor Finch strolled in with a smile. “I had to come this way for a lunch date and wanted to see how you’re doing. I got so worried when I saw the news last night. Are you all right?”
“Oh, sure . . . I’m okay.” Phoebe shrugged. She looked embarrassed. She had two classes at school today, one of them in Professor Finch’s studio, but she’d decided to skip both. Understandably, Maggie thought.
“Hello, Professor. Nice of you to stop by,” Maggie said.
“No problem. I couldn’t believe it. Poor Phoebe . . . Did the police really search your apartment?”
“Yeah, they did. Every inch,” Phoebe added.
“It was totally voluntary. Phoebe has nothing to hide,” Maggie quickly added.
“I don’t understand.” Professor Finch tilted her head back. “Why would they bother you? Because you and Charlotte are friends and she’s run away? Seems a slim connection.”
Phoebe didn’t answer for a moment. Maggie wondered what she was going to say. Finally, she shook her head, gazing at the floor.
“No . . . that’s not why. They had some video from a security camera on Main Street. They saw me covering the parking meters last Thursday morning.”
“Covering the parking meters? Oh . . . right. I saw that on the news, too. You mean, with the Knitted Kats?” Dr. Finch looked very surprised. Her green eyes grew wide. “Are you a Knitted Kat, Phoebe?”
“No! Absolutely not.” Phoebe’s tone was emphatic.
“The name is actually Knit Kat,” Maggie quietly corrected. “And she’s not either.”
“But I was dumb enough to think I wanted to be. I made some of the cat faces and covered the meters. As sort of an audition to be in the group. But they never got back in touch with me.”
“Oh . . . I see . . . I had no idea. No wonder the police were here.” Dr. Finch nodded, her lips a tense, thin line.
Oh dear . . . was Phoebe going to be thrown out of school over this? Maggie guessed it was possible.
“Is Phoebe going to be in trouble at Whitaker?” she asked quickly. “She wasn’t charged with anything. Only questioned. The police are just bothering her because they have no other leads.”
“I understand.” Dr. Finch looked over at Phoebe again. “Don’t worry. If it comes up at school, I’ll take care of it for you. I know that you’re a very serious student.”
“You would? That would be great. Thanks, Dr. Finch. I guess I’m a little worried about what Professor Healey is going to say.”
“Don’t worry about him. Didn’t you hear? He’s going on a leave of absence soon. To Italy, to research a book. Maybe before the end of the semester,” she added.
“Really? I didn’t know that.” Phoebe sounded surprised and a little disappointed. Maggie knew she would miss her favorite teacher and had planned on working with him on special projects this year. “Will he be gone long?”
“I’m not sure . . . He’s set no firm date for his return. I know that. He’s aiming for a book contract, and it’s publish or perish for our kind,” she added quickly.
Phoebe looked even glummer at this news. Maggie felt obliged to pull up the conversational slack.
“I wish knitting-shop owners could get book contracts and do research in Italy. Maybe I could—if I found someone to watch over the business,” she added, answering her own complaint.
Dr. Finch smiled. She had a very nice smile, Maggie noticed. Even teeth and two deep dimples. She was a bit overweight. But her smoky eye makeup emphasized her large eyes, and her hairstyle and outfit were very hip and stylish. Maggie thought she was still attractive, and at one time, Sonya Finch had been very pretty.
“Don’t feel so bad. Someone has to stay behind and watch over the art department, too. Quite ironic that I’ll be acting chairperson soon. It was my husband, Owen, who really wanted that job,” she added in a wistful tone. “Funny how life works out. Meanwhile, Professor Healey hasn’t been in the hot seat very long. And off he goes . . .”
She shrugged and smiled again—though Maggie sensed a darker feeling beneath that amiable gesture, neither cheerful nor resigned.
“It felt like forever. But it was only a few hours, I guess.”
“A few hours? That’s awful . . .” She walked over to the velvet love seat near the window and sat down. Maggie noticed again that her gait was stiff and she carried herself with a slight limp. “Were they badgering you with questions all that time?”
“Not exactly . . . there’s a lot of waiting around. They try to psych you out. Get under your skin,” Phoebe tried to explain. “But I had an attorney there . . . and Maggie,” she added, glancing at Maggie with a grateful smile.
“At least you had some support. The whole ordeal sounds positively medieval. And they searched your apartment, too?”
“Turned it inside out,” Maggie cut in. She hadn’t meant to interrupt but couldn’t stop herself.
“It was pretty bad. I just finished cleaning up.”
“You’ve been through the mill since Sunday, haven’t you? But what were they looking for? Did they say?”
“I’m not sure. We think they’re trying to track down the rest of Knit Kats. They think the group could be connected to the murder.”
“I see. Did they find any more of them? I heard there are a few.”
“I don’t know . . . They didn’t tell me,” Phoebe replied.
“I suppose we’ll hear about it on the news if they do,” Maggie offered.
“Right . . . very true. But you just said you weren’t really a Knit Kat, didn’t you?” she asked Phoebe. “You were just trying out or something? Like pledging for a sorority?”
“Something like that. I only had one or two e-mails with them. I never met them face-to-face.”
Sonya Finch looked surprised again. “Really? How fascinating. I suppose people can disguise themselves completely these days on the Internet. It’s very . . . disconcerting.”
“Yes, it is,” Maggie cut in. She tried to catch Phoebe’s eye. The police had told Phoebe not to discuss the details of the case. But maybe Phoebe was so worried about getting into trouble at school, she’d forgotten about that warning. Or put it aside for a while.
Professor Finch looked dismayed. “So much concealment and deceit. Some people can really take advantage. And has anyone heard from Charlotte? Do the police have any idea where that poor girl has gone? . . . Or if she’s even safe?”
“They have a few clues, but they haven’t found her yet. They say that they think she’s all right.” Maggie wasn’t sure she could say how investigators knew this. She had actually heard it through Dana. She glanced at Phoebe, hoping she wouldn’t give away any more information, either. They didn’t need to get into any more trouble with the police.
Dr. Finch was very curious, but Maggie guessed that the entire campus was buzzing about the murder and everyone wanted to know these details. Maggie had a feeling anything Professor Finch learned here would be quickly circulated at Whitaker.
“And how about Beth Shelton’s parents? How are they managing? I heard they were in town. Dean Klug visited with them, to offer our consolation,” she added in a sympathetic tone.
“What a tragedy. An unthinkable heartbreak,” Maggie replied. “I imagine they’ll take her remains back to Maine for the funeral. But I don’t think the police have released her body yet.”
Sonya nodded. “I’ve heard these things take time. It’s only been, what . . . two days since the murder?”
Phoebe nodded, her eyes wide and glassy. Maggie sensed she was eager to get off this topic before she started crying. Maggie was wondering how to change the subject when suddenly Professor Finch did.
“This is a lovely shop. I love looking at all your yarns—all the colors and textures. So pleasing to the eye. I’ve often noticed this store. But I don’t think I’ve ever been inside,” she added.
Maggie didn’t think so, either. She would have remembered Sonya Finch. She had a very notable personality.
“Do you knit, Professor?” Maggie was glad to change the subject.
“Call me Sonya, please. No reason to be so formal,” she said with another smile. “No . . . not really. I learned as a child but have pretty much forgotten. Coming in here does make me want to try again.”
“Phoebe can teach you. Or you can take a class. It’s very relaxing . . . a great outlet for creative energy,” Maggie added.
“I’m sure it is. But I won’t have time for hobbies this semester once I take over Professor Healey’s work. Maybe I’ll come back in the summer. When school is over.”
“We’d love to see you anytime,” Maggie said politely.
“Thank you, I’ll remember the invitation.” Sonya turned to Phoebe. “I’ll be happy to see you back in class soon. But not before you’re ready. Take your time. Rest a day or two. I post the assignments on the virtual blackboard every week, and if you have any questions, just come see me during office hours.”
“Thanks, Professor. But I’m not going to be a total slacker. That’s not going to help anything.”
Help figure out who killed Beth Shelton or help them find Charlotte, Maggie knew Phoebe meant.
“Good for you.” Professor Finch offered an approving nod, then turned to Maggie. “So young and strong. So resilient. That’s why I love being around students. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes, it is. Makes you more . . . optimistic,” Maggie agreed.
Sonya Finch picked up her handbag and gloves and said good-bye. For someone who had a lunch date, she had not seemed in a great hurry, Maggie thought.
Oh well . . . who knows. Some people are not as uptight about being punctual as I am.
Maggie and Phoebe took a moment to remember what they’d been talking about before the interruption, then started to work on the window. Maggie had saved all the cutout hearts and doilies and other arts-and-crafts materials, and set them out on the table. Phoebe got to work with her scissors and fine-point markers, while Maggie assembled baskets of yarns in valentine colors and knitted pieces for display.
“It was thoughtful of Professor Finch to check on you,” Maggie said finally.
“Yes, it was. This is the first course I’ve taken with her. I don’t know her very well.”
“Really?” Maggie had been under the impression that Phoebe’s relationship with Professor Finch was closer than that. “Maybe since she’s an administrator in the department, she made a special effort to be in touch.”
“Maybe . . . Charlotte knows her much better. She’s had her for a few studios. She’s the one who told me to take her class this semester.”
“Do you like the course? Is she a good teacher?”
“It’s hard to tell. The semester just started. She’s okay, I guess. It is weird that she might turn out to chair the department. Her husband, Owen Finch, was a teacher there, too, and he really, really wanted to be the chairman. But he was competing with Professor Healey. Healey is more laid-back. He knows how to deal with the dean and all that.”
“Good at office politics?” Maggie asked.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Professor Healey knows how to handle people. Owen Finch was more of an artist. I think he just took up teaching on the side. For steady income. His work is in museums and like all over the place. He’s got a zillion pages on Google. He was a good teacher, too . . . but sort of rough around the edges. Kids liked him. But people said he drank a lot. And had a lot of opinions about the way the school was run. Sort of a problem child. Dean Klug likes Healey. So it would have been hard for Finch to win.”
“Win how? Is there some sort of election?” Maggie asked curiously.
“Oh yeah. All the other tenured professors in the department vote. I think you get like two or three years a term or something. I don’t know who was there before. Someone who retired.”
“So obviously Professor Healey was elected, right?”
“Right. But it tur
ns out Owen Finch got really bummed out when he lost. He couldn’t paint or anything. Then he crashed his car one night because he’d been drinking. That’s how he died.”
“Oh dear . . . how awful.” Maggie had had a feeling this story was not going to end well, but she hadn’t expected it would be this bad. “How awful for his wife. No wonder she feels odd taking over the job he wanted.”
“Yeah, weird, right? She was in the car, too. That’s why she limps. Her leg got all banged up, and that’s the best they could fix it.”
“That’s very sad. She’s constantly reminded. It must be very hard for her. But she seems so . . . even-tempered and pleasant.”
Phoebe nodded, focused on the shape she was cutting. “She is pretty easygoing. She’s very laid-back in class, and she’s not walking around the campus, grinding her teeth and sticking pins in a little voodoo doll shaped like Professor Healey.”
“Though if she did, no one would blame her. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Maggie glanced at Phoebe, who was now gluing shapes together.
Phoebe shrugged. “Yeah, well . . . it’s not Professor Healey’s fault Owen Finch got plastered and crashed his car. But some people could see it that way.”
“Yes, some people could,” Maggie agreed. “His wife, for instance.”
Phoebe shrugged without looking up. “That’s all I’m trying to say. And Professor Healey is great. But he can rub some people the wrong way. Like now he’s going off to Italy to research a book. He never even mentioned that to me, and I was supposed to do an independent-study project with him this semester. He can be sort of intense and get carried away by his ideas sometimes.”
“Selfish” and “self-absorbed” would be other terms for that sort of behavior. But Maggie didn’t interrupt her.
“It’s hard not to feel sorry for Professor Finch,” Phoebe added. “She’s always like in his shadow.”
“So there’s a real soap opera going on in the art department. Who told you all this juicy gossip? How do you even know it’s true?”
A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) Page 13