A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery)

by Canadeo, Anne

  “Charlotte, mostly. But everybody knows the story about the Finches,” Phoebe promised.

  Charlotte again. The last few days, Maggie sometimes felt she could see her out of the corner of her eye. But every time she turned her head, no matter how quickly, Charlotte would dart away. Long legs taking long strides. Her blond hair streaming out behind her like a flag. She’d flash by for an instant . . . and disappear.

  Just like the night of the art show. The last time anyone had seen her.

  But Maggie did believe Charlotte Blackburn was alive and well somewhere. She suspected Charlotte was hiding, to protect herself. She just hoped that the police—and the FBI, who were also investigating now—found Charlotte before the faceless menace the girl ran from caught up with her.

  * * *

  Phoebe was not quite ready to return to her classes on Wednesday, or again on Thursday. Maggie didn’t blame her. She did come down to work promptly, and they had a quiet day in the shop.

  She wasn’t sure if the slow business was due to the time of year or the bad publicity. But knitters needed yarn and needles sooner or later. And her shop was pretty much the only game in town. Business would pick up soon. In the meantime, she was determined to make good use of the downtime by finishing the front-window display and straightening out her inventory.

  There were still many weeks of winter to go, even if the groundhog did see his shadow tomorrow. But spring inventory—the bright, cheerful colored yarns that recalled a garden in bloom—would soon arrive at the shop and fill the shelves and baskets. Something to look forward to, Maggie thought.

  * * *

  Thursday was knitting-group night, and it was Lucy’s turn to host the meeting. Maggie was eager to spend the evening with her friends.

  Lucy lived in a neighborhood of Plum Harbor called the Marshes, bordered by the beach and filled with stretches of marshland and tall grass—wide-open space, unsuitable for building, that gave the neighborhood a wild and beachy edge.

  Many of the homes were small, basic cottages built as modest summer homes back in the 1940s and 1950s. Winterized and expanded, they now served as perfect starter homes for young families or retirement retreats for empty nesters scaling down. So many had been drastically remodeled or knocked down, the neighborhood was almost losing its character, Maggie thought wistfully.

  Everything changes. That’s the only thing we can really count on in life, she knew.

  She parked her car behind Suzanne’s huge SUV, which was almost as large as Lucy’s house, and noticed Dana’s sleek Volvo there, too, just in front of Phoebe’s VW.

  Last to arrive. She hoped she hadn’t missed anything. Dana had hinted in a text that Jack had passed along more tidbits about the investigation. But she would wait until they were together tonight to tell everyone.

  Maggie walked up the short path from the street. The cottage was small, not quite two stories, with a screened-in porch and dormer windows that stuck out from the roofline. Only two bedrooms upstairs, Maggie recalled. But large enough for Lucy and Matt and their two dogs. And there would be room for a nursery, she thought . . . if the two lazy lovebirds ever got around to that.

  Lucy is happy. That’s the most important thing, Maggie reminded herself. She had long ago sworn off giving friends unsolicited advice. Now she just heard them out and sympathized when necessary.

  The wiser course, for sure.

  The door was unlocked, and she walked into the living room. Her friends sat in a circle, some on the couch and some in chairs, gathered around the coffee table where Lucy had set out platters of hors d’oeuvres. They were too engrossed in the discussion of a recipe to even notice her arrival. Lucy was explaining a recipe, and Maggie didn’t want to interrupt.

  “It’s really easy. You just mix the artichoke hearts with lots of fattening ingredients—cream and grated cheese and some bread crumbs on top—and bake it a while.”

  “Absolutely delicious. Total comfort food,” Suzanne said around a mouthful of . . . something. Maggie didn’t know yet what it was.

  “It’s smells very good, too.” Maggie left her coat on the rack near the front door and walked in.

  Everyone turned and greeted her.

  “Did I miss anything?”

  “Just the artichoke dip. We pretty much inhaled it. I think there are a few bites left.” Lucy whisked the dish off the table, rescuing the last crackerful for Maggie.

  Maggie took an empty seat on the couch between Phoebe and Dana, though she wasn’t ready to take out her knitting. She tasted the baked concoction with a plastic fork. “Mmm. This is good,” she agreed. “But I was really wondering if I missed any . . . news.”

  She glanced over at Dana, but Suzanne replied, “Dirt about the investigation, you mean? We didn’t start dishing yet.”

  “I was waiting until you got here. But I’m dying to start,” Dana admitted. She took a breath and sat up taller in her chair. A big fan of yoga, she sat with admirable posture—reminding Maggie she should be more mindful, and less of a slouch.

  Before Dana could begin, Phoebe said, “Did they find out anything else about Charlotte? Have they found any trail?”

  “She’s been smart about covering her tracks. She hasn’t used a credit card since the train ticket in New Jersey. And there’s been no activity on her phone, either. She may have picked up some cheap, pay-as-you-go phone somewhere. Or is doing without one. But the police are pretty sure she switched trains in Philadelphia and is headed toward Pittsburgh.”

  “Pittsburgh?” Suzanne acted as if Dana had said Charlotte was headed toward the moon. “How do they know that?”

  “They spotted her face on a security-camera video with some high-tech face-detection program. The FBI did,” Dana clarified. “She cut her hair on the first train and even dyed it brown somehow. But they saw her buy another ticket at a machine and board a train headed west. That machine took cash,” she added.

  “She must have a suitcase full of money with her if she’s been able to go on the run without using credit cards. I can’t even walk down the block without whipping out some plastic.” Suzanne laughed.

  “You should carry a little cash, Suzanne. You might need it someday for an emergency,” Maggie advised.

  “I try . . . but my kids walk by my wallet and suck the bills out like little Dirt Devils. It’s scary.”

  “She might be using someone else’s credit cards,” Lucy said. “Maybe she’s not traveling alone?”

  “That’s possible. But she disappeared so abruptly. She didn’t even go back to her apartment to get clothes,” Dana reminded them. “She hasn’t used any cash machines, either. But when the police opened her locker at school, they found a backpack full of cash. Almost fifty thousand dollars. I think the exact sum is forty-nine thousand? They’re speculating there was more, but she took some out before she left town.”

  “I know Charlotte,” Phoebe insisted. “I know it looks bad, having all that money in her locker. But that still doesn’t mean she had anything to do with the murder. But that money probably does have to do with why she’s scared and ran away,” Phoebe added. “And if she took any of it . . . well, maybe she needed a little to get out of town.”

  “That could be, Phoebe.” Dana’s tone was comforting. They could all see Phoebe striving to defend her friend.

  “I say way to go, Charlotte.” Suzanne smiled and blinked. “Wonder where that little rainy-day fund came from?”

  “She had a part-time job for a law firm in Boston,” Phoebe cut in. “The pay was good. But no way could she have saved that much.”

  Maggie laughed. “If the salary is that good, I might take up the work myself. What did she do there?”

  “Proofreading. She reviewed legal documents and worked really odd hours. She didn’t have to go into the office that much. Only once in a while. They e-mailed most of the jobs, and she did them at her apartment and sent them back.”

  “What was the name of the law firm? Do you remember?” Lucy asked.

/>   Phoebe thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I do . . . It was like three names together, and there was something funny about it . . .”

  Dana looked up with a puzzled face. She was almost done with her bear, Maggie noticed. It had come out very well, in a rich pink yarn. “Funny? How?”

  “It was the combination . . . we used to joke about it. Oh, right. It was like Garland, Dylan . . . and somebody. I can’t remember. But one night Charlotte and I were saying, imagine if Bob Dylan and Judy Garland did one of those dumb duet albums? And he was like singing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ in that creaky, nasal voice?” Phoebe took a breath, then started to do her Bob Dylan imitation. “Some-where . . . oh-vah the rain-bow . . .”

  Maggie sat up, taking deep offense. “Wait a second, young lady. As practically a first-generation Dylan fan, I object to you disrespecting one of my most revered icons.”

  Dana and Lucy were laughing—but trying hard not to insult her, too, Maggie noticed.

  Suzanne, however, looked very serious. “Hey, kid, don’t you dare mock Judy . . . or that song. I love that movie. I watch it alone at night whenever I’m stressed out.”

  “Oh, well . . . that explains a lot.” Dana rolled her eyes. Maggie grinned, too. Suzanne did have a very sunny Dorothy-in-Oz attitude most of the time, come to think about it. Had she brainwashed herself? Maggie took a breath, quelling her mirth.

  “Dissing Judy aside, Charlotte’s job sounds pretty boring to me,” Suzanne said decidedly. “I’d probably fall asleep on the job. And my spelling is atrocious. I don’t even know how to spell ‘atrocious’ . . . come to think of it.”

  Phoebe had taken out her knitting. She was working on a Valentine’s Day project, a red cup warmer with a white heart in the middle. “She said it was boring, but it paid the bills. Charlotte doesn’t have much family. Her parents divorced when she was really young, and her mother died when she was in high school. Her father lives out in Arizona somewhere, with a new wife and kids, and she hardly ever sees him. I think she said she has a grandma somewhere. But it’s not exactly a Hallmark card group, if you know what I mean.”

  Maggie did. And was reminded again that Charlotte’s background was a lot like Phoebe’s. That must have been another reason the young women were drawn to each other. And part of the reason Phoebe remained so loyal to her?

  “I’d been wondering about that,” Dana said. “I mean, no one’s mentioned any parents or family members coming to Plum Harbor to talk to the police. The girl has been missing several days now. Her father must have been contacted. He must be dealing with investigators by phone.”

  “Probably. Maybe they’ve told him there’s nothing he can really do here,” Maggie said. Though if it had been her child, she would have come anyway. “Unless Charlotte’s been in touch with him and he knows that she’s safe,” she added.

  Dana nodded. “That could be. I never thought of it.”

  “But let’s get back to the murder,” Lucy said suddenly. “Forgetting about the money a minute, we had that theory that the Knit Kats were jealous because Charlotte’s work was featured in the art show while theirs was rejected. But that’s such a lame motive. Even for a crazy knitting group. There must have been something else, some serious disagreement between all of them. Or maybe Charlotte knew some damaging information about the Knit Kats and they wanted to keep her quiet . . .”

  “But ended up silencing poor Beth instead,” Suzanne finished for her.

  “Yes, poor Beth. Jack heard that her body was released today. Her parents took her back to Maine for the funeral. I feel so bad for them,” Dana added.

  “It’s a parent’s worst nightmare, no question,” Maggie replied quietly. “I know that we don’t know her or the family, but perhaps we should send flowers or something?”

  She wasn’t sure how this idea would go over with her friends. She didn’t want to seem intrusive to the Shelton family. But she did want to reach out to them in some way.

  “That’s a good idea, Maggie. I was going to send something myself.” Phoebe glanced at her friends. “I could find out the information and send flowers from all of us.”

  Everyone nodded and thanked her for taking care of it. “Just let us know our share, and we’ll all chip in,” Lucy said finally, mindful of Phoebe’s tight student budget.

  Phoebe agreed. Maggie was glad it was settled. If only they could figure out the rest of this puzzle so easily.

  “So, getting back to figuring out why poor Beth lost her life,” Lucy continued, “we were saying that perhaps Charlotte knew something damaging about the Knit Kats and they wanted to silence her but killed Beth instead.”

  “Something that ties in with that knapsack of money,” Suzanne added. “Fifty grand can buy a lot of cat chow.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “Do you really think they’re that awful? You guys make those Knit Kats sound so scary . . . like a witches’ coven.”

  “A sinister sisterhood?” Maggie asked.

  “Good one, Mag. I like it.” Suzanne looked up and nodded.

  “ ‘Mocking the meters’ is still my favorite,” Lucy noted. “But ‘sinister sisterhood’ is right up there.”

  Maggie laughed. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll save it for my next interview. Clever turns of phrase aside, I agree with Suzanne. Maybe that’s how the money ties in.”

  Suzanne had started a pair of Eleanor Roosevelt mittens, Maggie noticed, and was checking the stitching. “Absolutely. We can’t just ignore all that loot, girls.”

  “Right, there must be some connection between Charlotte’s stash of cash and this mess. It’s just so hard to connect the dots . . . and it’s time for dinner,” Lucy said as she headed back to the kitchen.

  Lucy had set up a buffet on the countertop in her kitchen. The cottage didn’t have a dining room, and the kitchen was too small to fit everyone around the table. She’d made an interesting dish, mixing oven-roasted zucchini and grape tomatoes with grilled shrimp, pasta, and a touch of pesto—though she had thoughtfully set it out separately to accommodate her friends who might be dieting or gluten-free and skipping the pasta.

  Maggie’s nutrition priorities fell in neither category. She had skipped lunch and helped herself to a generous portion.

  “Mmm . . . this is yummy.” Suzanne was the first to praise the recipe. “You’re a good cook, Lucy. I hope Matt appreciates that,” she added with a sly glance.

  “He does . . . don’t worry. Though we’ve both put on a few pounds since we started living together.”

  “That’s what happened to me and Kevin. Then once we got engaged and set the date, I had to practically kill myself to look good at the wedding.” Suzanne laughed, remembering—until Dana gave her a look and she suddenly seemed self-conscious. A rare moment, but it did happen, Maggie noted.

  “You’re comfortable together. That’s good,” Dana said simply.

  Maggie knew she and her friends were all thinking the same thing: Lucy and Matt had been living together for almost a year and dating for even longer than that. Wasn’t it time for the relationship to move on to the next level?

  “I’m not saying you and Matt have to get engaged, Lucy,” Suzanne clarified. “I was just telling a story. I guess with Valentine’s Day coming, you’re feeling the pressure, right?”

  Now Suzanne was trying to get all sympathetic and therapeutic. Maggie practically groaned aloud. The first faux pas was bad enough.

  Lucy looked up from her dish, seeming surprised. “Um . . . no.”

  “Good. That’s very good,” Dana said quickly, beating Suzanne to the punch. “These holidays are so commercialized. They make everyone think they have to feel a certain way on some certain day. And it just isn’t so.”

  “Dana’s right. You guys seem totally happy. You’ve both been down this road before, too. Just go at your own pace.” Suzanne waved her hand in a sort of blessing. She tasted another forkful, then said, “But don’t drag it out too long. That’s my advice. I’ve seen couples just wait sooo
o long, it’s not fun and romantic anymore. Everything has cooled off, like a piece of leftover toast. All the butter congealed and everything. Yuck.” She shivered and shook her head. “You should definitely get married before the cold-toast stage sets in. Then he can’t wriggle out of it so easily . . .”

  “Suzanne! What are you talking about?” Dana put her dish down on the coffee table and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

  “I think you’ve given Lucy enough relationship advice for one night,” Maggie cut in. She glanced at Lucy. Luckily, she was laughing.

  “That’s all right, Suzanne. I know you only say such bizarre things because you care,” Lucy said kindly.

  Suzanne shrugged and gazed around at the circle of friends. “What’s the matter? What did I say?” she insisted. “I think she has to give Dr. Dolittle a little push in the right direction, that’s all. Hey, nothing says ‘Be My Valentine’ like a diamond solitaire. Believe me.”

  Maggie knew Lucy didn’t like diamonds. She thought they were cold. She preferred colored stones like rubies or sapphires, but she didn’t bother to correct Suzanne—though Maggie did hope Matt knew his beloved’s jewelry preferences by now. Perhaps he would secretly consult her good friends when the time came?

  Now you’re getting as bad as Suzanne. And Lucy’s face was beet-red, Maggie noticed. Not from cooking, either.

  “Speaking of Valentine’s Day . . . has anyone finished their projects?” Maggie gazed around at the group, hoping to change the subject.

  “I’m almost done with a bear. I just have to make her arms . . . and stuff her up.” Dana held up the knitting and arranged it so everyone could get an idea. Even without the filling, the toy was adorable and had come out very well, Maggie thought. “I have some white voile ribbon. I’m going to give her a big bow and sew on some eyes and a nose. In white yarn, or a different shade of pink. Though the pattern shows black.”

  “I think you should stitch a little heart on her chest, to make her a real Valentine’s bear,” Phoebe suggested.

  “Good idea. That will be perfect.” Dana slipped on her glasses. “This was a quickie. I might make another. But I’m making ear warmers for Jack first. He can wear them when he plays golf in the winter . . .” Dana’s phone sounded with a musical ringtone. She dug into her purse and checked the number.