Knit to Kill

by Anne Canadeo

  “How awful for you.” Lucy could barely imagine the scene—the panic and helplessness Betty must have felt. And she was so young at the time, too.

  “My brother had burns on more than half his body. He survived, thank God. But he was never the same. His whole personality changed. He’s done all right for himself, but he’s damaged. Outside, and in. I’ve carried it with me, too,” she added. “I know it’s irrational, but he was my little brother, and I’ve always felt it was my fault somehow. I was there. I should have protected him.”

  It was a sad story. Sad and frightening. How could someone be that vindictive?

  “Was Morton punished? Did your family take any legal action?” Maggie asked.

  “He was a minor at the time, pretty much immune to legal consequences. My parents took on the camp and settled out of court. I don’t think they even got enough to cover the medical bills. Morton insisted it was an accident. He claimed he saw my brother slip and fall into the fire. It all happened in the blink of an eye, and nobody could say for sure if they saw Morton push Ted. But my brother knew.” She picked up her knitting again. “I never doubted Teddy’s story. I already knew what sort of boy Morton was, and I knew the sort of man he would become.”

  Betty’s words chilled Lucy to the bone, despite the bright sunlight beating down on them. Last night, she’d heard Betty say that Dr. Morton “would get a taste of his own medicine someday.”

  Now she knew what Betty meant. The incident between Julian Morton and Betty’s brother was a boatload of foul medicine—a dose large enough to do in anyone.

  “Where’s your brother now? Do you see him much?” Lucy was curious about the way Ted’s life had turned out.

  “Yes, I do. He and his wife live in Moody Beach, not far from here. He raised a lovely family, a girl and a boy. Grown now, and out on their own. Teddy’s in insurance. He works from home mostly, which suits him,” she added.

  “I’m just curious, Betty. Didn’t Dr. Morton recognize you when he moved here?” Maggie asked. Lucy had wondered about that. And she also noticed that Maggie was asking questions now, too.

  Betty shook her head. “Not that I ever knew. My maiden name is Oliver, and I look a heck of lot different than I did at seventeen,” she added with a rough laugh. “Frankly, if the last time I’d seen myself was back then, I wouldn’t recognize me either.”

  Lucy didn’t doubt it. She was only thirty-six and could hardly recognize people she knew from high school when they popped up on Facebook, or in real life.

  “I wouldn’t have known him by sight, either But, of course, his name got my attention.” Betty checked the stitches on a row and turned her work around.

  The white baby blanket looked so soft and pure. A flag of innocence, heralding new life. A strange counterpoint to their conversation, Lucy thought.

  “I wondered if it could be the same Julian Morton. My family had no idea what had become of him. We didn’t want to know,” Betty continued. “I nosed around a little and found out for sure that it was him. His personality hadn’t changed, I’ll tell you that much. It had only gotten worse.”

  Pushing a teenage rival into a bonfire was a low point in anybody’s book. What could be worse?

  Lucy was relieved to see the rest of their friends enter the pool club and head in their direction. Suzanne’s black and white print patio dress fluttered in the breeze. Her dark hair was pushed back with a thick white band—the outfit suitable for a cocktail party or an art gallery opening, Lucy thought. Clomping along on high cork sandals, Suzanne waved brightly, as if she hadn’t seen Lucy or Maggie for days.

  Dana and Phoebe followed. Dana in a large, loose pastel shirt a lot like Lucy’s cover-up, and Phoebe wearing a huge straw hat and a white sundress with embroidered flowers around the bodice. She looked like a tourist on a tropical island except for her feet, which were covered with white ankle socks and shoved into low-heeled sandals. A very retro touch, Lucy thought.

  “You made it. What took you guys so long?” Maggie put her knitting down and turned to face them as they chose lounge chairs.

  “A little medical emergency,” Dana replied. She glanced at Phoebe who was unpacking her tote bag.

  “I must have stepped in poison ivy this morning when I was bird watching. My feet are driving me crazy. I just want to scratch them into next week.”

  “Poor Phoebe.” Lucy deeply sympathized. “Did you bring any calamine lotion? Maybe we should go into town and get you something from the drugstore.”

  “We got her covered, literally,” Dana replied. Lucy noticed a pink rim around the ankle socks. “We also brought some ice packs. That can cool the itching down fast.”

  “Definitely,” Lucy agreed. Phoebe had already removed two plastic ziplock bags filled with ice and laid them on her feet with a sigh.

  “Here, turn your chair so your feet are in the shade.” Lucy got up and helped Phoebe rearrange her seat.

  “Thanks, guys. I’ll be okay. It’s just annoying.”

  “I’ll say. I hope you can rally and go dancing with us tonight.” Suzanne dropped her canvas tote on a lounge chair next to Lucy and pulled out a tube of sunscreen.

  Maggie’s head popped up from her knitting. She peered at Suzanne over her glasses. “Dancing? Is that the plan?”

  “It is now. I hope you’ll agree.” Suzanne smoothed a handful of lotion over her arms. An expensive brand only found in department stores, Lucy noticed. “I caught up on a few client calls while Phoebe was examined by Doctor Dana. Looks like I finally found a buyer for a big old colonial that’s been on the market for ages. I could get a nice offer by the end of the day, and I want to take everyone out for dinner to celebrate,” she added brightly.

  “That’s too generous of you,” Maggie said. “But good luck. I hope you get the call.”

  “I had some messages to answer, too,” Dana said. “Nothing urgent. I think my patients can sense when I put a toe over the Plum Harbor town line. Even for a weekend.” She sat at the table with Maggie and took out her knitting.

  “They say moths can smell a mate from over a thousand miles away. Maybe it works the same for therapists,” Phoebe offered. She’d landed on a lounge chair next to Suzanne.

  “Possibly. They do seem to pick up on some vibe. . . . Oh, hello, Betty. Nice to see you,” Dana greeted Amy’s friend.

  “Nice to see you, too, dear.” Betty nodded in Dana’s direction.

  “Betty was just telling us a story about Julian Morton. An incident that involved her brother when they were young,” Maggie said.

  “Really?” Lucy could tell from Dana’s tone that her interest was piqued. “So you knew Dr. Morton?” Dana asked.

  “Not really. Not in a friendly way. But we do have history. Maggie can tell you about it later. I don’t mind. But I’d rather focus on more pleasant thoughts right now. I’m glad to see the fog burned off, and you have some nice weather for your visit.”

  When in doubt, talk about the weather, Lucy noted. She actually didn’t want to hear Betty’s sad story again, though she was sure the rest of her friends were very curious. Maggie would surely catch them up later, once Betty left.

  There was a lot to consider in her unnerving tale. Betty had good reason to want to see Dr. Morton fly off a cliff. For that matter, so did her brother, who didn’t live that far from here, Betty had said.

  “Hey, everyone!” Amy waved and walked toward them from the opposite side of the pool. Lucy had not noticed her enter. She was carrying a tray with several tall, icy-looking drinks in plastic glasses. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I brought you all some iced tea. You must be feeling toasty out here by now.”

  She set the glasses of iced tea on the umbrella table, and everyone thanked her and took a cup.

  “Did police officers come to your cottage? They came to ask us questions just as I was about to leave to meet you,” Amy said, and took an empty lounge chair on the opposite side of the table.

  “Yes, a police officer stopped by and asked us
questions, too.” Maggie paused and sipped her tea. “It sounds like they’re interviewing everyone in the development, which makes me think they suspect foul play.”

  “They do, definitely.” Amy spread out her towel and settled on her chair. “A friend of mine works in the management office. A security guard told her that the police believe someone struck Morton on the head first, then pushed him over. They could tell by the position his body was in when he landed, and from his injuries. She wasn’t certain of all the details.”

  Lucy didn’t need to hear the details. She felt a lump in her throat and didn’t reply. She’d had a feeling that Morton’s fall was not an accident, but hearing this tidbit confirmed it. Morton’s death had been a cold-blooded, premeditated act. Nothing less.

  “Wow. That’s big.” Dana squeezed a lemon wedge into her tea. She was a big fan of lemons and always said the juice detoxified your body.

  “Did you tell the police about the argument at the card game?” Suzanne stirred her tea with a straw, the ice cubes rattling. “They must be hearing about it from everyone who was at the knitting meeting. And the card players, too, come to think of it.”

  “I did tell them. What I could remember. It happened so fast. I guess the police will talk to Derek Pullman. He made real threats to Dr. Morton. My friend also told me that Morton called security very early in the morning, before he went out jogging, because someone had vandalized his car. A brand-new BMW, parked in his driveway.”

  Lucy glanced across the pool. The lounge chair where Derek Pullman had been sitting was empty, his belongings gone, too. He must have left without her noticing.

  “Vandalized it? What did they do?” Lucy sat up, curious now.

  “Someone wrote CHEATER in red spray paint on one side of the car. The security guards said Morton was livid and shouted so loud, they thought he would wake up the whole community.”

  “I guess Morton accused Pullman of the graffiti.” Dana paused her stitching and turned her work over. She was working on the lace shawl pattern, in a pale yellow yarn, and making good progress. “That’s exactly what Pullman called him last night at the card game.”

  “I thought so, too.” Amy looked nervous and shaken, fishing out some knitting from her tote bag. Morton’s death had rattled her. But most people who lived here probably felt the same. This morning, everyone thought it was a tragic accident. Now it appeared to be murder.

  “It sounds like something Derek Pullman might have done, considering how angry he was with Dr. Morton last night,” Betty said in her matter-of-fact manner. “Derek does have a temper.”

  “And Pullman owed Morton a ton of money in gambling debts. Definitely a motive to do him harm,” Lucy said. “But if you plan on pushing a person off a cliff, would you really bother vandalizing their car right before the dark deed? That part doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Good point. I was thinking the same thing myself.” Suzanne nodded, swirling her tea. “It does seem like overkill. If you’ll excuse the pun.”

  Lucy gave Suzanne a look. That was a bad pun. Even for the real estate sales diva.

  Dana put her work down in her lap. “Maybe Pullman never planned on killing Morton, but the two met on the walk and had a confrontation. They nearly came to blows last night at the poker game.”

  Maggie had set her knitting aside, too, but now took it up again. “That’s possible. But, from what Amy heard, Morton was struck on the head before he fell.”

  “Maybe Pullman was defending himself,” Suzanne said.

  Lucy thought that was possible. Though it would be interesting to know where Morton was struck. On the front of the head? That would be the likely spot someone would hit in a self-defense situation. But if the blow was on the back of Morton’s head, that would probably mean someone had snuck up on him.

  Before Lucy could share this insight with her friends, she noticed a woman walking toward them. Something told Lucy she wasn’t another resident, or even a visitor. She wore a black T-shirt, tan Bermuda shorts, and running shoes that squeaked in the wet spots near the pool edge. A thick, curly ponytail stuck out the back of a baseball cap, and her eyes were covered by dark, aviator-style sunglasses.

  She stopped at their group and smiled briefly. “Afternoon, ladies. I’m Detective Rose Dunbar. I’m investigating the Morton incident.” A laminated ID tag hung from a cord around her neck. “I’m looking for Phoebe Meyer. Anyone here know where I can find her?”

  All eyes turned toward Phoebe.

  “That would be me. I’m Phoebe.” Phoebe sat up in her chair and adjusted her hat, which had flopped over her face.

  “I understand you were out early this morning and took some photographs?”

  The detective walked over to Phoebe’s chair and slipped off her glasses. Her face was bare of makeup, her skin lightly tanned. She had large blue eyes, and thick lashes and brows. A sprinkle of freckles gave her a youthful edge, though Lucy guessed the detective to be in her late thirties or early forties.

  Whatever the number, she was quite fit; she probably worked out with weights or practiced martial arts. Lucy could see Rose Dunbar dealing out a roundhouse punch or a swift, swinging kick.

  “Yes, I did. Officer Hobart said you might want to see them. I have the camera right here. I can send you all the files.”

  “We’d like to borrow your camera and check the files in our lab.”

  “Oh . . . all right. That makes sense, I guess.” Phoebe picked up her big straw bag and started wading through it, tossing random items on the lounge chair until she found the camera.

  “Here it is.” Phoebe handed over a black camera case. “Do I get a receipt or something?”

  “Sure, I’m writing it for you right now.” The detective had taken out a pad and scribbled on it.

  “When will I get it back? We’re only here until Monday morning. I can always take pictures with my phone, I guess, but the camera is a lot better.”

  “I’m sure. Tough break on your vacation. But there could be something in the photos that will help us. There are no security cameras out there. Not like the rest of this place,” she explained. “A few folks were on the beach and the walk this morning, despite the fog. But no one saw Dr. Morton fall. At least that’s what they say.”

  Someone might have seen him go over the edge, but they didn’t want to get involved, Lucy knew the detective meant to say. But she was too professional and discreet to put it that way. Though she did sound frustrated.

  “I was down on the beach when he fell. I didn’t see anything. I mean, until it was too late,” Phoebe added.

  Detective Dunbar nodded and handed Phoebe the receipt. Then she took the camera carefully in hand.

  “I’ll get this back to you as soon as I can. Officer Hobart has your contact info?”

  “Yes, he does. My cell phone and all that.”

  “We won’t keep it long. I want to examine these photos today.” She put her sunglasses back on and tugged down her baseball cap. She seemed about to leave, then turned back to Phoebe.

  “So you were out in the fog this morning, taking pictures of the plover? The nesting area is restricted to foot traffic.”

  Did she doubt Phoebe’s story? But what connection could Phoebe possibly have to Dr. Morton? Lucy wondered why Detective Dunbar would bother questioning her again.

  Phoebe looked as if she wondered, too. “I know. I saw the signs. I’d never disturb the birds. I stood outside the boundary and used a telephoto lens. My boyfriend, Harry, is a sculptor and works in ceramics. He’s really into aviary forms. I promised I’d bring back some photographs and sketches for him.”

  “Sure, that’s cool,” the detective said. “But if you want my advice, let Harry get up at the crack of dawn and take his own bird photos. He’ll respect your boundaries, believe me.”

  Phoebe seemed surprised by the advice. And that it came from such an unlikely, unsolicited source. Lucy was, too. She thought she might laugh, but didn’t dare. She could see her other friends had
had the same reaction.

  Detective Dunbar may have spoken out of turn, but pinned Phoebe in record time. When it came to relationships with the opposite sex, Phoebe did have a problem with boundaries. She was the good-hearted, ever-forgiving, totally giving type. Some young men in her past had definitely taken advantage.

  Phoebe began collecting her belongings and dropping them back in her bag. She looked a bit miffed and maybe even insulted.

  “Thanks . . . I think,” she said quietly.

  Detective Dunbar pulled a card from her pocket and gazed around at the group. She dropped it on the umbrella-covered table.

  “Here’s my number, just in case you remember anything you forgot to tell Officer Hobart. Thanks for your time.”

  They sat silently as the police officer left the terrace, the rubbery squeak of her shoes on the damp stone fading in the distance.

  Lucy looked over at Phoebe. She was packing her tote bag and wouldn’t meet Lucy’s gaze. A bit embarrassed, Lucy guessed.

  “I know it’s annoying, but it sounds like you’ll get your camera back quickly.”

  Phoebe still didn’t look up at her. “I hope so. The thing is . . . right before I came down here, I looked over the photos I took. To see if I got any decent shots.”

  Phoebe paused and looked up at her friends, her voice nearly a whisper. “I saw something in one of the pictures I took on the cliff walk, before I went down to the beach. There was something in the background . . . or someone. There was like a shadow, in the bushes near the walkway. Right where Dr. Morton fell.”

  Chapter 4

  “A shadow? What sort of shadow?” Suzanne was the first to pounce, her voice low but insistent. “A man’s shadow, or a woman’s shadow?”

  Phoebe shrugged; her hat flopped to one side and she pushed it up with her hand. “I don’t know. Just a shadow . . . in the bushes, near a bench. Right near the spot where Dr. Morton went over. I wasn’t very close, and Officer Hobart said not to edit the files, so I didn’t enlarge the image. It might just be the fog. Or a reflection on the lens? The light was eerie.”