“I know the yarn thing is serious. And the shoe prints. And the glove sort of nails it,” Phoebe continued. “But that evil-attorney idea caught my imagination last night, and if it’s Healey, how does the money fit in?”
“I thought of the money, too,” Lucy said. “I’m sure the police are wondering the same thing.”
“I don’t think they’re done looking into his financials. Maybe they’ll find a red flag there,” Dana noted.
Suzanne shrugged. “Maybe the money has nothing to do with the murder. Maybe that’s a whole other ball of wax and this was purely a crime of passion. A lover’s revenge. If he couldn’t have her, nobody could.” Suzanne’s dramatic tone matched her fresh slash of red lipstick. “Hell hath no fury like an art professor scorned,” she declared.
“I don’t think that’s the exact quote . . . but we get the idea,” Maggie said with a wry smile.
“Yeah, well . . . love really must be blind. Otherwise, why didn’t he realize the blonde in the bedroom wasn’t Charlotte? It was Beth. Duh? . . . That’s the part I don’t buy.” Phoebe sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “He should have known what Charlotte looked like by now, even in a dark bedroom . . . especially in a dark bedroom.”
Her friends exchanged quick glances. Maggie was the first to reply. She could see that Phoebe still didn’t want to believe Healey was guilty, though the evidence was piling up and hearing about his secret side had been disappointing. Still, she had to agree. Healey mistaking Beth for Charlotte didn’t seem logical.
“It does make you wonder . . . and it would probably make a judge or jury wonder, too.”
“But if the police believe they’ve got their man, they’re not going to look any further,” Lucy pointed out. “The fiber in his studio, the footprints, and the glove . . . that’s enough. Right, Dana?”
Dana nodded, focused on her knitting. “Definitely enough to charge him. They’ll build a case from there.”
“And if he didn’t do it. And it was some crooked attorney, let’s just say,” Phoebe speculated out loud, “then the real killer is off the hook. Because the police aren’t going to keep looking when they think they have the right guy.”
“That’s true, Phoebe.” Dana looked up. “But there is one way we would all know for sure. There’s always a chance he might confess. Professor Healey isn’t a hardened criminal. He might feel guilty or give in to police pressure. He might make a deal to plead guilty to some lesser charge, in order to get a reduced sentence or avoid life in prison.”
“Eek. What a fate. It all sounds pretty dreadful to me.” Suzanne shook her head and picked up her purse and knitting bag. She was going to show houses today, Maggie guessed. She could predict fairly accurately from her outfits. Today Suzanne wore a striking combination, a mustard-colored wool coat with shiny black buttons, a long, multicolored scarf she’d knit herself, and black wool pants. Large sunglasses were perched on her head.
“The Whitaker campus must be in an uproar. I can think of one person who must be happy, though.” Lucy waited a moment. “Sonya Finch. She pretty much blames Healey for ruining her life. Certainly, for ruining her husband’s life and making her a widow.”
“A disabled one,” Maggie reminded her. “Sonya Finch isn’t shedding any tears over this news. She might be disgraced and even fired, but Healey’s fate looks even worse right now.”
Before anyone could answer, Maggie heard a tap on the window. Two early-bird customers peered in and gently smiled when they caught her eye. Maggie checked her watch and jumped up from the love seat.
“Good gravy . . . it’s five past ten. I have to let a few paying customers in. Sorry, ladies. You can hang out here and dish as long as you like. You all know that.”
Sometimes she wished the shop could be for her friends exclusively. But then she knew that was silly—she loved to help dedicated knitters and turn novices into true believers.
Despite the temptation to linger and solve this enigma, her friends quickly dispersed. They all had places to go and people to see this morning, too.
A few minutes later, it was just her and Phoebe . . . and the customers. Their knitting gang would return soon enough, she was sure.
Until then, it was time to get down to business. Saturday was the busiest day of the week. The bright sun and slightly warmer temperature today had brought out all the hibernating knitters. Maggie and Phoebe raced from one end of the shop to the other all morning, with barely a break.
But the revelations and questions about Professor Healey lingered at the edge of her thoughts—and were in Phoebe’s as well, Maggie guessed. Would the police find even more damning evidence? Would he confess? Or plead guilty to a lesser charge? It seemed far too early for that, Maggie thought. But sometimes, these things moved very quickly.
It really depended on how much evidence the police came up with, and how persuasive they were. And how skilled Healey’s attorney was. Maybe he wouldn’t let his client make a bargain no matter what the police produced. Phoebe had pointed out some interesting inconsistencies. Maggie was sure a good attorney would see them, too.
It was almost three before the flow of customers ebbed. Maggie had asked Phoebe to look up some simple scarf and hat patterns. She was going to help a customer who led a Girl Scout troop and wanted to give them knitting lessons. The woman would be in soon. Maggie had already gathered some yarn for the projects.
But when she peered over Phoebe’s shoulder, she didn’t see knitting patterns on the laptop screen. Phoebe was reading a news article and from a financial website, no less.
“Working on your investments? I thought you were going to find those patterns for me.”
“Oh, right . . . I already did. The copies are in that folder.” Phoebe pointed to a yellow folder at the end of the counter, then glued her gaze back on the computer.
“What are you looking at? I’m curious,” she admitted, peering over her shoulder again.
“Well . . . sort of embarrassing to admit it, but I’m back to the evil-attorney theory. I was checking out the law firm where Charlotte worked. They have a huge website, pretty impressive. I didn’t understand half of it. Make that three-quarters,” Phoebe added modestly.
“Just legal jargon. Don’t be intimidated. Go on,” she encouraged her.
“I was just snooping around and hit some links. They have loads of news articles posted about their big deals and high-profile cases.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. Did something spark your memory? Something Charlotte told you about?”
“Yeah, sort of. A while ago, Charlotte told me about this special job her supervisor asked her to work on. She said they only asked a few of the best proofreaders and she’d get extra pay. She wasn’t allowed to do it at home. She had to go into the office in Boston and sign all these privacy agreements and it like lasted all night long. But they gave her car fare and dinner, and she was going to get a lot of extra pay, so she thought it was worth it.”
“So she went in and did the job?” Maggie asked.
Phoebe nodded. “Yeah, but she made some huge mistake and ended up having words with the supervisor, and he fired her on the spot. She was really upset. She’d never really screwed up before. She said it really wasn’t fair. She’d liked that job—it worked out well with her classes and doing her artwork. And she really needed the money for school and all.”
“Of course. What happened? Did she make an appeal and get her job back?”
“No, she didn’t. But she showed me an article in the newspaper a few days later. About this big merger, two software companies in the Tech Belt up here. She said that was the legal agreement she’d been proofreading, all the documents that had to do with it. That’s why it was so secret. If anyone knows about a merger like that, they can make a ton of dough on the stock market.”
“Yes, I know. They say the Securities and Exchange Commission is always watching for that sort of thing. But I do think a lot of people get away with it,” Maggie speculated. “Not
anyone we know,” she added with a laugh.
“No . . . but . . . I don’t know. I just got this odd feeling when I saw the article that it had something to do with Charlotte having all that money in her locker. Like some crooked lawyer at her firm took advantage of the merger and somehow Charlotte got involved? Maybe he gave her the money to hide or something?”
Maggie considered it. “I suppose it’s possible. Though there isn’t much evidence to go on in that direction right now,” she added.
“Yeah, too far-fetched. I’m just trying to connect dots here that don’t really relate.” Still, Maggie saw Phoebe hit the print button to make copies of the article and the references on the law firm’s website.
Two customers were walking in, and she put on her shopkeeper’s smile to greet them. She and Phoebe would talk more about this later, she thought.
The afternoon was busy enough not to be boring but not so busy that they were run ragged. Just the way Maggie liked it.
She was just getting ready to close the shop when Detective Mossbacher walked in. Maggie met his glance, and he spared a quick smile. “Mrs. Messina, how’s business?”
“Life is good, Detective. It’s Saturday, and everybody wanted their knitting supplies. And it’s just about closing time,” she added—though she didn’t mean to sound like she wanted him to go. She was pleased to see him again, she realized. “What brings you back? More questions about knitting styles?”
He took his hat off and shook his head. “No, not today. I came to talk to Phoebe. Is she still here?”
“Yes . . . she just went back to the storeroom a minute.” Maggie had turned around to call Phoebe when she appeared, holding a mug of tea.
“Phoebe, Detective Mossbacher’s here. He wants to speak with you.”
Maggie felt apprehensive, and guessed Phoebe did, too, even though today they knew for certain that Phoebe was not going to be dragged back to the station. The investigators were far too busy with Alex Healey, their latest and greatest prime suspect.
“Hey, Detective.” Phoebe sounded nervous as she approached and stood near them. “What’s up?”
“Not too much. But a report crossed my desk this afternoon. You filed a complaint about Quentin Gibbs this morning?”
“That’s right. I did.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t see something like that, but since Gibbs was questioned in this investigation, the officer who took your report sent me a copy. Good police work,” he noted.
“Yeah, he seemed real efficient.” Phoebe took a sip of tea.
“Frankly, I was distressed to read about that incident, Phoebe. Of course, Gibbs should be detained and get counseling or treatment somewhere. But you shouldn’t have been hanging around that house. It’s still a crime scene,” he reminded her. “Didn’t you see all that yellow tape? It’s a violation to cross a police line.”
“There wasn’t any tape across the backyard. I just went back there a minute to feed Charlotte’s cats,” she argued.
Detective Mossbacher took in a long, slow breath. Maggie could see he wasn’t really mad at her. Just worried.
“I know, I read what you said. But it wasn’t safe or smart. Especially after dark. Promise me you won’t go back there.”
Maggie could see Phoebe was having a hard time making that promise. Because she was thinking about the cats.
“What if I go during the day and put food near the garage? Is that part a crime scene? What if someone comes with me?” she added.
He sighed again. “Okay, near the garage and just during the day . . . and with a friend to help you. Hopefully, you won’t have to babysit forever.”
“Oh? Does that mean you found out something about Charlotte?” she asked eagerly.
He looked surprised at the question and then chagrined as he realized he’d slipped. “Can’t say. Sorry. But we’re working on it. Not just us, the FBI, too. They’ve got some high-tech gadgets now. Face detection, the works. It’s amazing,” he added.
“Amazing enough to find her?” Maggie asked tentatively.
“If they can’t do it, nobody can.” She almost thought he winked at her, but decided he was just squinting his eyes up a bit.
“I don’t think she’ll come back until she knows it’s safe,” Phoebe said.
“That’s probably true,” he agreed.
“I remembered something, Detective,” she added. “I’m not sure if it’s important or not. It might have nothing to do with anything . . .”
“You let us decide that. What did you remember?” He seemed suddenly alert, his focus fixed on her.
“If you read that report, you know why Quentin grabbed me. He has this idea that someone from the law firm where Charlotte worked wanted to harm her. Not Professor Healey.”
“Yes, I read that. He told us that in his interview,” he added. Now he didn’t seem as interested anymore, Maggie noticed. “What about it?”
“Well, I was noodling around on their website . . . Dylan, Garland and Doyle. I saw a new article about a big merger they handled when Charlotte was still working there. She was called in as a proofreader. But she ended up getting fired.” Phoebe paused and walked over to the counter. She had printed out the article and saved it there. She handed it to the detective. “I thought it could connect to all that money she had in her locker at school,” she added.
Now he squinted . . . no, more of a real scowl at both of them. “How did you hear about that?”
“Oh . . . people in town gossip. You’d be surprised what we hear in here,” Maggie said quickly, covering their tracks. “Go on with your story, Phoebe.”
Phoebe explained the rest of her theory—about the sensitive information Charlotte had seen and how it could have been used by someone willing to dare to do some inside trading. Though she had no idea who, or how. If it was Charlotte or somebody out to get her now.
“It’s too bizarre, right? Maybe I caught something weird from Quentin. While he was tackling me,” she added, crinkling her nose.
Mossbacher didn’t show any reaction. He folded the article and tucked it in his coat pocket. “We’ll look into it. We did follow up on Gibbs’s lead. But he didn’t have any specific information. Just some wild talk. This is a little different,” he added.
Interesting, Maggie thought. And true.
He soon bid them good night, and Maggie locked the door, happy to call it a day.
“It seems like he took you seriously, Phoebe,” she said, walking back to the counter. “He didn’t dismiss it out of hand. Just because they have Healey now.”
“No, he didn’t. So I did my civic duty twice today.”
“Yes, you did. And if you hadn’t stepped up and reported Gibbs this morning, Mossbacher would have never come here, and you wouldn’t have been able to give him your information.”
“Yeah . . . that’s true, never thought of it.” Phoebe paused and picked at her fingernail polish, sparkly blue. “It sounds like they know where Charlotte is. Or almost do.”
“I thought so, too. I think that’s encouraging. It will be a week tomorrow since the art show and since she disappeared. Can you believe it? It seems like so much longer,” Maggie realized.
“Tell me about it. It feels more like a month than a week to me. But things are moving faster now. I wonder if Mossbacher will tell me if he digs up any dirt about that law firm.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. They don’t work that way. But we’ll know one way or the other if it leads somewhere,” Maggie replied. “This stuff is like yeast. It takes a while to find out if it’s live, and will make the dough rise. Speaking of dough, I’m going to try this recipe I found for flatbread tonight. I’ve invited Lucy and Matt. Would you like to help me make it? And eat it?”
Phoebe was smiling, but her dark eyes had narrowed. “You’re just trying to get me to come over again, Maggie. You’re so transparent.”
“I know, but . . . it will be fun, and one more night won’t hurt. Mossbacher made me worry about Quentin again. He wo
uldn’t have come here if he didn’t think the kid is dangerous.” She didn’t mean to scare Phoebe, but she couldn’t help but be honest.
Phoebe smiled and shrugged. “All right. It’s Saturday night—who wants to hang out alone? Josh has a gig here in town. I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I might be tempted to go down there.”
“And we don’t want you to do that,” Maggie said quickly. “Less temptation at my house.”
“Definitely. Can I bring my new boyfriend? I feel like I’ve been ignoring him lately.”
Maggie knew she meant the cat. She thought about it a moment. But only a moment. “Sure, we’ll make him his own little bread, fish-shaped, with anchovies.”
That made Phoebe laugh finally. A very pleasant sound.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maggie and Phoebe decided to buy the dough ready-made for their flatbread project. They were getting a late start and needed speedy results. To Maggie’s surprise, the information Phoebe had given Mossbacher yielded fast results, too.
At a little past noon on Monday, Dana walked into the shop. She found Maggie and Phoebe at the worktable, eating lunch. She put down her lunch and knitting bag, and joined them.
“Jack just called. I had to stop by. The police finally figured out the connection between the money Charlotte hid in her locker and Healey. They needed the FBI to help them . . . forensic accountants.”
“Forensic accountants? I had no idea there was such a thing.” Maggie paused while eating her soup.
“Oh, yes, very important work. They analyze and track financial records, offshore accounts, phony investment schemes, and tax shelters. Secret Swiss bank accounts,” she added, raising her eyebrows.
“Wow . . . does Healey have one of those?” Phoebe asked.
“He has a few secret accounts. The first time the police looked at his financial records they didn’t see anything unusual. But, acting on a tip,” she said, glancing at Phoebe, “the team started digging. Especially around the time of a certain merger of two software companies. They came up with some offshore accounts that have a few hundred thousand altogether and some investment accounts he’d opened and used only once. Using the names and social security numbers of his deceased parents, no less. Clever, right?” she added.
A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) Page 21