Knit to Kill

by Anne Canadeo

  Lucy saw Phoebe’s involuntary shudder.

  “Did you see him fall?” he asked quickly.

  Phoebe shook her head. “I wasn’t looking in that direction. I was looking mostly down, at the birds. Even if I had looked up at the cliffs, I’m not sure I would have seen anything from that part of the beach.”

  “All right.” He paused and checked his notes, then glanced back up at Phoebe. “Don’t delete any of your photographs, or edit them in any way. Detective Dunbar will probably want to see them.”

  “Sure . . . that would be okay,” Phoebe replied, though Lucy sensed she didn’t like the idea of giving her new camera to the police, even for a short time, or getting any more involved than this brief question and answer session.

  “I think that’s all we need right now. We’ll be in touch,” he added, looking directly at Phoebe.

  Phoebe seemed nervous and didn’t answer.

  “Thank you, Officer. Of course we’ll try to help as much as we can,” Maggie said smoothly.

  “How long are you staying?”

  “We leave on Monday,” Suzanne said.

  He nodded. “Enjoy your weekend.”

  “Thanks, I’m sure we will.” Suzanne sounded a lot more confident of that fact than Lucy felt at the moment.

  When Officer Hobart was finally out of earshot, Maggie said, “Sounds like they’re not certain it was an accident.”

  “Maybe they already know that it wasn’t,” Dana said. “I don’t think the police department would be going door-to-door like this if they thought he’d just slipped.”

  “Good point. Even considering my liability lawsuit theory,” Suzanne said. “Foul play. Or suicide. For goodness’ sake, it’s so stressful to consider the possibilities. I’m hungry again.”

  “Let’s make lunch, and then head to the pool, as we planned,” Maggie said. “Dr. Morton’s death is awfully upsetting, but we can’t let it ruin our weekend.”

  “Good point,” Suzanne agreed. “Let’s stick with our plan—hang out at the pool and work on our tans and our knitting. Then figure out what we want to do for dinner. I feel sorry for Dr. Morton and his family, but there’s nothing we can do to help the situation.”

  With murmurs of agreement, Lucy’s friends followed her inside to change into swimsuits for an afternoon at the pool.

  But Lucy could tell, despite their resolve, it was difficult to ignore the cold shadow that had drifted over their revelry. And, impossible to shield themselves from the disturbing details that would surely come.

  Lucy knew her beloved BFFs. News of Julian Morton’s death was akin to a brush with poison ivy. No matter what they said about ignoring the event, puzzling over how and why he took a deadly tumble would vex them, like an itch aching to be scratched.

  Myself included, she silently admitted.

  Chapter 3

  Lucy and Maggie were the first to arrive at the Osprey Shores Pool Club; they stood at the entrance a moment, taking in the scene.

  Turquoise water sparkled in a large, kidney-shaped pool where a waterfall glided down artfully placed stones and splashed at the deep end. The stone terrace and landscaping were seamlessly in tune with Osprey Shores’s tasteful elegance. White canvas canopies flapped in the breeze, providing deep shade for the cushioned lounge chairs, arranged in neat rows on both sides of the pool. There were also several umbrella-covered tables.

  Attendants, wearing polo shirts and shorts in the Osprey Shores colors, circled the pool, delivering fresh towels, or taking orders for food and drink.

  Lucy led Maggie to a group of five empty chairs, one for herself, three for the rest of her group, and one for Amy, who had sent a text to say she was running late, but would meet up with them soon.

  She felt awkward as a visitor, claiming so many seats. She hoped the attendants didn’t ask what she was doing as she dropped items from her tote bag onto each saved chair—a paperback novel, a magazine, a napkin-wrapped peach in a sandwich bag, a tube of sunscreen, and a water bottle along with a pack of gum. Luckily, she had overpacked for the simple outing, as usual.

  A fresh beach towel, with white and blue stripes and a small mermaid emblem, sat neatly folded on each empty chair. Lucy chose her own seat and spread out the towel. Of course, Osprey Shores provided towels, to keep everything matched and classy.

  She had one in her bag, covered with pink and orange flowers, but she didn’t dare take it out since it would clash horribly. There was probably a rule about that.

  The terrace was surprisingly empty, with only a few residents sunbathing or swimming, despite the perfect weather. The day had evolved from dense fog to a crystal blue sky and bright sunshine. A cool breeze blew in off the ocean below.

  “If you don’t like the weather in New England, just wait twenty minutes,” her mother always said. Today that old motto rang true.

  Lucy sat back and gazed out at the view, a wide blue ribbon of water and whitecaps beating against the rocky shore. She could also see a long, curving section of the cliff walk. She much preferred a beach to a pool, but the terrace was the better choice today, all things considered.

  A few police vehicles remained parked in the area of Morton’s fall, and yellow crime scene tape blocked part of the walkway, then trailed down the cliff. Lucy assumed that it outlined a large swath of shoreline and rocks, where the police were searching for evidence.

  She spotted at least two investigators in hazmat suits working their way through the dense brush on the hillside. One wore a belt and harness with a safety line connected to the top of the cliff, like the kind she’d seen rock climbers wear to halt a fall.

  It was difficult terrain to investigate in order to ferret out clues, not to mention the wind that was blowing the evidence in all directions.

  Lucy glanced at Maggie and decided not to share this observation. Her friend was right. They were here to relax and enjoy themselves. They shouldn’t let Dr. Morton’s death take center stage, however tempting it was to discuss.

  Maggie didn’t seem to notice the police activity. She had quickly claimed a nearby umbrella table and pulled out her knitting. Lucy didn’t have much left in her knapsack to distract herself, and she didn’t feel like knitting yet. She took out a Maine guidebook and a tube of sunblock.

  Sam Briggs strolled through a gate at the far end of the pool. He carried a long pole with a big net on the end, designed to skim off leaves from the top of the water. His eyes were covered by sunglasses—wayfarer style, of course. A dark blue baseball cap covered most of his thick blond hair.

  Lucy sat back and gazed down at her book. A few minutes later, the well-built handyman had worked his way around the pool to their side, and soon, he was working near their chairs.

  “I knew the sun would come out for you. Catching some rays?” Sam said.

  Lucy looked up from her book. Oh, brother. Did those lines really work for him? “We are. Thanks.”

  “They keep you busy around here, don’t they?” Maggie asked.

  He reached out and swooped up a few leaves, then pulled back the net. “They do indeed. I don’t mind. Keeps me out of trouble. My middle name.”

  He looked straight at Lucy and smiled. Lucy thought she may have even spied a wink under his sunglasses. She didn’t feel flattered by the attention. Just the opposite, a bit repulsed.

  He was obviously the type of guy who thought he was irresistible to women. Not her type at all. She was glad she still wore her cover-up over her suit and gently tugged it further down her legs. She flashed her engagement ring as she opened her book again.

  Sam waved good-bye, mostly to Maggie. Lucy acted as if she didn’t notice. He returned to his work and had soon moved down the poolside, chatting with other groups of women on his way.

  “You seem to have caught the eye of Mr. Maintenance,” Maggie said after a while.

  “He’s just likes attention. I’m sure he flirts with all the women sitting out here.”

  Maggie laughed. “Yes, probably. He could certai
nly have his pick.”

  Lucy wasn’t sure about that, but Sam would have definitely agreed with Maggie. She looked up from the guidebook and saw another man who looked familiar. He had staked out a lounge directly across the pool. He pulled off a T-shirt and shorts to reveal a tiny Speedo bathing suit. Lucy was not a fan of that look. When he slipped off his wraparound sunglasses, she was certain of his identity.

  “Look, on the other side of the pool,” Lucy said. “It’s Derek Pullman.”

  Maggie looked up from her knitting. “So it is. Good job. I didn’t recognize him without his clothes on.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Lucy replied. “Don’t you think it’s interesting that he’s out here? After the scene he made last night, most people probably think he carried through on his threat. I’d be hiding out in my apartment.”

  “Maybe he’s being bold. Trying to show everyone he has nothing to hide.”

  “Hence the choice of swimwear,” Lucy mumbled. “He does seem the brazen type. Maybe he did push Morton over the edge and figures it’s best to carry on as if he had nothing to do with it.”

  “Hiding in plain sight and all that? If he’s the one, the police will figure it out, either way.” Maggie examined her stitches then turned her work over and continued knitting.

  Lucy sensed Maggie didn’t want to speculate any further about Derek Pullman, or Morton’s death for that matter. Which was just as well she decided, and returned to her book.

  “There’s Betty from Amy’s knitting group.” Maggie waved to Betty Rutledge who was walking their way.

  Betty waved back and soon stood before them. “I thought I might find you here today. It’s perfect weather for a dip in the pool. The ocean is lovely but so rough and cold, even this time of year.”

  Lucy was smearing lotion on her legs and looked up to greet Betty with a smile. The woman wore a large floral print dress, what Lucy’s mother used to call a muumuu. A Tilley sunhat, white canvas with a floppy brim, was tied under her chin. Below the hat brim, gigantic black sunglasses covered most of her face. They were the kind that prevented cataracts, but could also serve double duty as safety glasses during welding projects. A beach tote with a mermaid emblem was hooked over one arm and a Vera Bradley knitting bag over the other.

  “Hello, Betty. Nice to see you again.” Maggie put her knitting on the table and took a sip from her water bottle. “Would you like to join me under the umbrella? I avoid the sun this time of day. It’s nice and cool under here.”

  “I’d love to. Thanks. It’s easier for me to knit in the shade, too. I can’t fit my reading glasses under these infernal glasses. But doctor’s orders. That’s what it comes down to when you get older—‘Don’t do this, don’t do that.’” She shook her head and laughed. “Live it up while you’re still young. You have plenty of time to be cautious and careful later. And we never know when our time is up, do we?”

  “Very true.” Maggie’s tone was pleasant enough, but Lucy could tell she wasn’t pleased with the dark pivot of the conversation.

  But Betty’s advice rang true to Lucy. A person should value and enjoy each day, especially on vacation. She wasn’t going to make a real bucket list, as Phoebe had urged her, but maybe she should check the guidebook for some activities a bit more daring than collecting sea shells or drinking iced tea with real sugar.

  Betty settled into her shady seat and opened her knitting bag. “I’m sure when Julian Morton got up this morning, he didn’t expect it would be his last. You heard what happened, didn’t you?”

  Maggie nodded. “Poor man. What a tragedy.”

  Betty shrugged and made a little grunting sound. “A gruesome way to go. But I don’t think there are too many around here shedding tears.” Betty leaned closer to Maggie. “I don’t even think his widow is ruining her mascara over it. If you know what I mean.”

  Lucy had finished applying the sunblock and wiped her hands on a towel. “We saw Tanya arrive at the cliff walk, then the police drove her down to the beach. She seemed to be crying.”

  Had Tanya been crying? Lucy saw her cover her face with her hands and assumed as much.

  “She looked quite shocked,” Maggie added.

  “Shocked by her turn of good luck, maybe. Everyone knew she wanted out of the marriage, but Morton had made her sign an airtight prenup, and he wasn’t parting with a nickel. It’s the same way he dealt with his first wife, Meredith.”

  “Meredith Quinn, the yoga teacher?” Lucy asked.

  “That’s right. Their son, Cory, is grown and out on his own, but she still needs a few jobs to keep a roof over her head. While her ex is living in luxury with his trophy wife, a former model,” Betty added. “Mostly for catalogs—bathing suits and lingerie. That sort of thing.”

  Really? Lucy was not surprised, but somehow, disappointed. Did the world have to be so obvious?

  “Now Tanya stands to inherit the lot. I suppose Cory might get something, but he and his father never got along. So that’s questionable. Morton had a fortune, people say.”

  “Interesting,” Maggie murmured, her gaze focused on her knitting. “How are you coming along with the lace shawl project? Have you gotten the hang of that open stitch?”

  Lucy guessed that Maggie was trying to shift the conversation away from Dr. Morton, even though back home, she and her pals often engaged in this sort of gossip while they were knitting or hanging out together. Especially if someone they knew had died under such suspicious circumstances. They had helped in a few investigations in their hometown and discovered the murderers before the police could puzzle it out. Maggie took pride in that fact, though Lucy guessed her friend just wanted to be on vacation this weekend and keep her nose out of this local, nasty business.

  “I put that project aside,” Betty replied. “I need to finish this baby blanket. I’m going to be a grandma again.”

  “Congratulations,” Maggie said sincerely. “A boy or a girl?

  “My daughter and son-in-law didn’t want to know. That’s why I’m starting with a blanket and a little hat. White with a yellow ribbon along the border.” She held the blanket up and showed Maggie the open work edge where the yellow ribbon would be threaded through later.

  “Very nice. That’s lovely yarn you’re working with, too.”

  “Organic merino. Cost a fortune, but I only needed a little.”

  Lucy knew she shouldn’t steer the conversation back to Morton after Maggie had so artfully gotten Betty onto another track. But she couldn’t help it. She was curious. “What did Dr. Morton do for a living? I mean, how did he get so rich? Was he a famous surgeon or something?”

  Betty laughed. “Nothing like that. I think he was trained as a cardiologist, but most of his work was in medical technology. His inventions were used during surgery. Special, tiny cameras and things like that. I’m not sure of the details, but he had been telling everyone that he’d come up with something new and was about to make a fortune with it. I suppose at his memorial—if there is one—someone in the family will tout his successes. They say he was a real genius. Maybe that’s why he didn’t get along with people. He felt superior,” she speculated.

  Maggie cast a questioning glance at Lucy, but Lucy ignored it. She wanted to hear more. “Did you know him?”

  “Depends what you mean. Were we friends or even friendly acquaintances? No. I don’t believe I’d exchanged two words with him since he and Tanya moved in about a year ago. But I knew him long before that.”

  “Really? How’s that?” Lucy set aside the guidebook and waited for Betty to answer. Maggie shot her a more meaningful “why are you encouraging her?” look, but Lucy ignored her and turned back to Betty.

  Betty looked down at her knitting, smoothing the strand of yarn. She seemed to be conflicted about disclosing more details.

  “You don’t need to tell us if you don’t want to,” Maggie said.

  Betty shrugged and started knitting again. “I told the police this morning, so I might as wel
l tell you. With the gossip mill kicking into high gear right now, I’m sure it will get around in no time.”

  Probably true, Lucy thought. Though she didn’t interrupt Betty.

  “It’s a small world, up here in New England especially. It so happens that Julian Morton went to the same summer camp as my younger brother and I. A very pretty spot on a lake in Vermont. I was a junior counselor there at the time, and my brother, Ted, still a camper. Ted had a rivalry with Julian all summer. Some of the boys called him Julie, a girly nickname. It drove him crazy.” Betty smiled, remembering. “You know how boys are. They love a competition, especially at that age. He and my brother were always going toe-to-toe, at sports and with the girls, too. Ted was good-looking and very popular, but not stuck on himself. Not one bit. He was just the type of boy other kids gravitated toward. A great personality, and such a sunny smile.”

  Betty paused, straightening a length of the white yarn. Lucy wondered where this story was going. Some sort of mean prank would be the punch line she guessed.

  “The last week of camp, there was a big field day,” Betty continued. “Teddy beat Julian in a swimming race, a one-on-one matchup. The whole camp was there, and most of them cheering Ted on. Morton couldn’t stand to be shamed. That night, when everyone was celebrating on the beach, and the trophies were given out, Morton pushed my brother into the bonfire.”

  “Oh my goodness, how horrible.” Lucy sat stunned and took a deep breath.

  “It was. I’d give a million dollars to erase that sight from my memory. To forget the sound of my brother . . . well, you understand.” Betty put her knitting down and adjusted her reading glasses. Lucy could see that it still pained her to tell the story, and she was suddenly sorry that she’d pressed to hear more.

  “That is cruel. Boys at that age don’t have sound judgment. Something to do with brain development, I’ve read,” Maggie added. “But that’s just heartless. A total lack of human empathy.”

  “Julian Morton wasn’t that young. He was a teenager at the time, and any child over the age of three knows better than that. It wasn’t an accident. I was sitting right there. I saw the whole thing.”