Fair Isle and Fortunes

by Nancy Warren

  Everyone settled down with their knitting projects. I was experimenting with a pattern for a blanket that was entirely made of knitted squares. I was really quite pleased with myself, as this allowed me to work on one square until I ruined it or got bored. The idea was that you learned your stitches for each square and it ended up like a knitted sampler. I was pretty much sticking to stocking stitch in various colors, though. I didn’t want to run before I could walk.

  Sylvia was trying to convince me to try her Fair Isle project for the knitting class at Moreton-Under-Wychwood, but even looking at the pattern she’d drawn on a grid made my head hurt. The beginner project was a square with a geometric pattern running across the middle in a stripe. It looked like a line of stylized tulips. She said the beginner one could be backed and turned into a pot holder, or she was creating a sweater for the more advanced knitters.

  Anyway, I pulled out my square of stocking stitch. I looked at it dispassionately, flattening the square out on my lap. I loved the purple color, but I could see that my tension hadn’t been even, and there were a couple of suspicious-looking holes where I’d dropped stitches and hadn’t noticed, but overall, for a project of mine, it wasn’t too bad.

  Since the vampires were used to my usual disasters, I was rewarded with extravagant praise, far more than my piddling effort deserved. Still, I was not immune to flattery, and I drank it in the way a wilting plant drinks in water.

  Hester, the eternally sulky teenager, had also returned. She’d been visiting friends in LA, and I’d hoped she might decide to stay there.

  “How was your trip?” Clara asked her politely.

  She heaved a tragic sigh as though the entire trip had been a huge imposition. “Dreadful. That place is sunny all the time. I could barely leave the house. And the nightlife that everyone gets so excited about was rubbish.”

  “You got carded, didn’t you?” Theodore asked. “I told you that fake ID wasn’t going to work.”

  She glared at him. “Anyway, I had an awful time.” She picked up her knitting, a black shawl of some sort, and scowled at it.

  Gran was working on a sleeveless lace top for me, something I could wear in the summertime when I was working in the shop. It was a lovely shade of mauve, which I had chosen myself. She asked me to stand up so that she could get the length right. I had argued that she should make something for herself this time. Honestly, the vampires were always making me things. My closets were jammed with the most gorgeous knitted goods, and I was having trouble finding new places to put them all. However, Gran insisted that she had several lifetimes of knitted sweaters already. And since I’d seen so many of them in the flat, I knew this was true.

  I made myself feel better by knowing that there were going to be some very nice finds in the charity shops very soon.

  Dr. Christopher Bartlett was working on an incredibly complex waistcoat. He liked to wear snazzy waistcoats. Sylvia was crocheting herself a new bedspread, all in black and silver lace. It was going to be beautiful.

  Theodore pulled out a pair of socks to work on, but I could tell he wasn’t in the mood. He still had his private investigator’s persona on, and he couldn’t quite make the shift to a knitter. Not that I wanted him to, not until he’d shared his findings.

  I waited until both Silence and Hester had said as much as they wanted to about their trips. Well, Silence would’ve gone on talking about the delights of Edinburgh longer than she’d actually been away if Sylvia hadn’t gently stopped the flow of words by telling her there’d been a murder in Moreton-Under-Wychwood.

  Hester dropped the shawl she was halfheartedly knitting into her lap, and her mouth fell open in disgust. “I can’t believe it. I always miss everything interesting around here. What happened? Who was it? Anyone we know?”

  Gran gently reminded her that someone had died.

  Hester rolled her eyes. “Big deal. I died.”

  “Theodore,” I said in a bright tone. “Tell us what you discovered.”

  Theodore’s pale face seemed to grow rounder, as it did when he was pleased. “Thank you for asking, Lucy. I have to say, I’ve been quite productive. You wanted to know who gained in Elizabeth Palmer’s death.” Modestly, he cast down his eyes and said, “I was able to get a peek at the will.”

  No doubt it was better not to pry into his methods.

  “Everything goes to her husband.”

  My eyebrows rose. “And by everything?”

  “They co-owned the house, the business, and she had a few stocks and bonds that her father had left her.” I could tell there was more, and so I waited. He settled back, his socks completely forgotten in his lap. Most everyone else knitted on while still listening, except me and Rafe.

  Theodore continued, “It’s a curious thing. The car dealership that she inherited from her father—well, I suppose they both inherited it, since she was married by then and Jason runs the business—it’s not doing well at all.”

  “Really?”

  He shook his head. “I took a quick look at the books. I would say that business is teetering on bankruptcy.”

  Sylvia glanced up from her lacework. “A car dealership in a small town like that has probably always been precarious.”

  He nodded at her. “I thought the same thing, so I checked back. When they inherited that business, it was quite successful. Flush with cash and almost no debt.” He shook his head. “There’s almost nothing now but debt.”

  “So the husband’s run the business into the ground?”

  Theodore nodded sadly. “He’s also mortgaged the house. Essentially, that couple was on the brink of financial ruin.”

  “Did Elizabeth know?” I thought back to that sunny woman I’d spoken to only yesterday at the fair. She was looking forward to the twenty-fifth anniversary cruise. She’d bought that beautiful silver watch for her husband. She had not looked like a woman in dire financial straits. She’d looked comfortable, prosperous.

  I shook my head, answering my own question. “I’m almost certain she didn’t know.”

  Theodore said, “I think you may be right. Naturally, since both the business and the home were in both their names, she signed both documents, but I’m not certain it’s actually her signature.”

  “You mean he forged her signature?”

  He shrugged. “Easy enough to do. Husbands and wives sign for each other frequently, and I doubt the bank would’ve looked particularly closely.”

  I’d seen Jason, and he’d looked genuinely sad. I didn’t think you could fake that kind of grief. “I can’t believe Jason would kill his wife for half of a failing business and mortgaged home.”

  Sylvia said, “No. But he might if it would stop her finding out. They were wealthy when they married, and in twenty-five years, he’s managed to throw away everything. Not only their lifetime of work, but that of her parents.”

  I could see that Elizabeth would be angry, and Jason had definitely screwed up, but was it enough to kill for? Theodore continued, “Of course, as is very common in jointly owned businesses, there was a life insurance policy.”

  “Of course,” Sylvia said quite softly. Her hands moved with lightning speed creating the lace. It was like watching a starry night, the black and then the sparkle of silver.

  Rafe said, “Tell us more.”

  “The will was quite standard, really. In the event of either of their deaths, the business went entirely to the other person. It was the same with other personal goods. However, they also had a million pound life insurance policy.”

  Hester blinked. “Blimey, a million pounds. I’d kill somebody if I could get a million pounds out of it.”

  “Hester,” Clara said reprovingly. “That’s not funny. You will be rich soon enough. Just bide your time and follow our advice.”

  She kicked her foot forward. “But that’s so boring. It takes ages and ages. I want lots of money now.”

  What a cruel twist of fate that poor Hester had been turned into a vampire during those difficult teena
ge years. Imagine being a miserable teenager for all eternity. I looked at the rest of the vampires. No doubt they weren’t thrilled about living with a cranky adolescent for all eternity, either. It was a double curse.

  To smooth over an awkward moment, I said, “Hester’s right. A million pounds is a lot of money.”

  However, I didn’t want to think Jason had killed his wife, not without a lot more proof. “Elizabeth seemed happy in her marriage. I don’t think we should jump to conclusions.”

  Rafe said, “Lucy’s right. The impoverished husband is the obvious suspect, but not the only one.”

  Theodore shrugged. “I was a policeman for many years. In my experience, it’s usually the most obvious suspects who turn out to be guilty.” He looked around the room at all the busily knitting vampires and then back at me. “Besides, there’s more.”

  I had thought there might be. “Would that be anything to do with Nora Betts? The woman who was Elizabeth Palmer’s best friend? Who went on golfing trips with Jason Palmer?”

  He nodded as though I were an apt pupil. “Well done, Lucy. Yes indeed. I haven’t had time yet to visit some of the places where Nora and Jason stayed together. My telephone inquiries have confirmed that they always rented separate rooms on their golfing trips. However, the resorts they stayed in, although they had golfing, weren’t always the best areas for golf. I would’ve said the hotels they chose were more suited to romance.”

  “Oh, poor Elizabeth.”

  “I’m going to take a little road trip and visit a few of them. Someone, somewhere, has seen or heard something. And if they have, I’ll find out.” Theodore’s innocent eyes sparkled. “People tell me things.”

  The room went quiet with all of us busily knitting. How could Elizabeth have been so excited about her twenty-fifth anniversary trip if she’d known her husband was having an affair? Why she’d bought him that lovely gift. Would she have done that if he was betraying her with her best friend?

  I looked up and gasped. “The watch,” I said aloud.

  Rafe’s gaze immediately went to mine. “Watch?”

  “What happened to it?” I shook my head in puzzlement, then realized no one had a clue what I was talking about. “Elizabeth showed me a watch that she bought for her husband right before she had her fortune told. After Violet’s disastrous fortune, she was quite upset, and I followed her, trying to catch up to her and put a forgetting spell on her. Before I reached her, she was killed. What happened to the watch?”

  His eyes narrowed on my face. “Could she have put it into her handbag? Or perhaps a pocket?”

  “It was such a warm day. She wasn’t wearing a coat or a jacket.” Had she carried a handbag? I concentrated hard and brought it into focus. A straw summer bag. There had definitely been room to put a watch into it. Still, I would quite like to know if they had recovered that watch. If Ian had been the detective in charge, I’d have phoned him. But DI Thomas didn’t know me. He definitely wouldn’t share confidential information.

  Rafe said, “I have contacts in the police. I’ll ask whether a watch was found among her things.”

  “Thanks.”

  He asked me what kind of watch it was, and I tried to describe it to him. “It was a man’s pocket watch. I know it was sterling, because Elizabeth Palmer showed me the hallmarks. There were four of them. I recognized the British lion, of course. There was an anchor, which Elizabeth said meant it had been made near Birmingham. There was a mark for the date. A ‘D,’ I think. And initials. The watch also had a curious vine pattern on the front of it. I’m sure I’d recognize it again if I saw it.”

  In an acidic voice, Sylvia said, “We don’t go in for silver much around here.”

  I was mortified. I supposed it was as bad a blunder as asking her how she liked her reflection in the mirror.

  Rafe said, “I have a book of sterling silver marks. If you recognize the initials, we can find out who made it. And the ‘D’ should tell us when.”

  I was thinking. “I suppose she could’ve dropped it. Could it have been knocked out of her hand or her bag when the arrow hit her?”

  He said, “If the police don’t have it, I think a good search around the area might be productive. Sounds like an interesting timepiece.”

  “And if it doesn’t turn up, I suppose that means someone stole it.” Compared with murder, theft didn’t seem very shocking, but there was something unspeakably vile about stealing from a dead woman.

  Chapter 12

  “A million pounds is a lot of money.” I felt like I’d been saying those words a lot since the vampire knitting club meeting.

  We were rattling along in the old Ford once again, headed toward Moreton-Under-Wychwood. I hadn’t had such a great reception yesterday morning that I was thrilled to be driving back again, but I supposed Sylvia was right. If we were going to find out what was going on there, and clear Violet, Margaret Twig and I from suspicion, then we were going to have to go back to the scene of the crime.

  “I suppose a million pounds is a lot of money to a mortal,” Sylvia said in a rather bored tone, as though she measured her net worth in the billions. I was sure a million quid would be a lot to my Gran, who hadn’t been a vampire long enough for the magic of compound interest to do its work.

  I wondered, idly, how much Sylvia was worth. She must’ve made good money in the twenties when she was a stage and screen actress. From a couple of things she’d let slip, I got the feeling she’d been involved with some very generous, wealthy men in her time. But still, she’d only had a century to build her fortune, and she’d been through a couple of depressions.

  Immediately my mind drifted to Rafe, who, as far as I could tell, had been around for about at least five centuries. I suspected his wealth would be astonishing. Naturally, they were all smart enough not to flash their money around. Well, Sylvia did have her Bentley and driver, and Rafe did inhabit a rather luxurious manor house, but they weren’t conspicuous.

  Keeping a low profile was an important part of staying safe for them. As it was for us witches. Until yesterday, I’d begun to believe it was more socially acceptable to be a witch these days. We weren’t particularly secretive about our solstice events, and, while Margaret Twig didn’t advertise with a sign out front of her cottage or anything, she was clearly in the habit of dispensing spells and potions to the paying public.

  With a shiver, I realized how easily public opinion could turn once fear set in.

  The good weather continued, and as I drove down the country road toward Moreton-Under-Wychwood, the trees arched overhead so the sunshine on the road ahead was dappled. Most of the ancient forest was gone, now, and between the trees were glimpses of green fields dotted with sheep.

  Sylvia’s cell phone rang. “It’s Rafe,” she said, as she picked up. Naturally, both Clara and I listened intently to Sylvia’s side of the conversation, which was merely, “Oh, that is interesting. Yes, I’ll tell her.” She rang off. “He says no watch was found among Elizabeth Palmer’s belongings. And he and Theodore and Hester came to the village green last night and searched the area where that woman was killed quite thoroughly. They didn’t find a watch.”

  Which could mean everything or nothing. “That was kind of them, to take Hester.”

  “She’s a dreadful pest, but she has sharp eyes,” Sylvia said.

  “And she does want to help,” the much kinder Clara added.

  We reached the outskirts of town and decided that our first port of call would be the coffee shop. Not only would there be hopefully some garrulous townspeople there, but I was frankly dying for coffee. The only problem with going for coffee with two vampires was I inevitably ended up discreetly drinking all three beverages.

  Since it was a Monday morning, I had no trouble finding parking on the curb in front of the coffee shop. The three of us walked in and, unlike the day before, there were plenty of seats to be had. Still, partly, I suppose, because the three of us were thinking of protection, we drifted to a table near the back w
here no one was between us and the wall. However, unlike yesterday, the atmosphere was calm, verging on lethargic.

  A few people checked us out, but they went back to their coffees and conversations or, in a couple of cases, their computers.

  I went up to the coffee bar and ordered three small cappuccinos. I figured that would give me one and a half large, which would be a good hit of caffeine. I’d need it given how stressful this day was turning out to be. Thanks to two very controlling vampires, I’d be spending my morning questioning reluctant townsfolk and my afternoon questioning probably even more reluctant archers.

  I put their coffees in front of Sylvia and Clara, and they both thanked me politely. Sylvia, always an actress, made a great show of adding a packet of raw sugar and vigorously stirring her drink. She knew how I liked my coffee. Clara was too busy looking around the room to get involved in amateur dramatics. She just left her coffee sitting in front of her. I drank mine down. It was a very good cup of coffee. Luckily.

  I placed my empty cup quite near Clara, and when I was certain no one was looking, picked up her coffee and began to drink it. “Ask the barista if we can put up a poster advertising the knitting class in the window,” Sylvia said in a low tone.

  Between us, Theodore and I had concocted a simple poster, which I’d printed. I already had eighteen people signed up, but our plan was to take a flyer to Nora’s as an excuse to ask her a bunch of nosy questions. Maybe I’d have been happier working today after all.

  I pulled out one of the flyers, and as I stood, a woman came through the door whom I recognized. It was the woman who’d been running the white elephant stall where Elizabeth Palmer had bought a watch—one of her last acts before dying. I doubted anyone would murder someone over an old watch, but it was more than curious that the timepiece hadn’t been among the murdered woman’s things.