A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (13 page)

Phoebe crossed her arms over her narrow chest. She usually got excited about any creative projects and would extend and amplify Maggie’s ideas. Often waving her hands as she spoke.

“What do you think?” Maggie asked her bluntly.

“Valentine’s Day is good. I have some red paper and stuff to make hearts for you to hang. That will be easy. And I have socks with hearts.”

“I have a red-and-white striped scarf . . . and there’s a pattern in a knitting magazine for a children’s turtleneck with a big heart in the middle. We can display that page somehow. Let’s gather up some possibilities while the shop’s still empty.”

Maggie took a basket and wandered around the store, looking for a selection of yarns that would suit the color scheme—pinks, reds, even some lavender and purple. She also found a
pack of doilies in the storeroom, and Phoebe was soon settled at the worktable, applying her considerable artistic skills to constructing heart-shaped valentines to hang from the window’s ceiling.

Maggie glanced over at her as she sat focused on the task. So creative, just this simple project, cutting the hearts in abstract shapes, freehand, and using the ribbons, lace, and paper doilies in inventive ways. Phoebe seemed a bit calmer and more focused. Sometimes a good old-fashioned arts-and-crafts project was just the thing to settle your nerves and distract you from stressful thoughts. Maggie had not proposed the job for that reason, but it seemed to be working out that way.

Maggie went back to the table with an ample selection of yarns. She pointed to the heart Phoebe was just finishing. “That one’s very interesting. Maybe you should keep it and give it to Josh.”

Phoebe glanced up from her work, then back at the glue stick. “Josh and I broke up.”

“Really?” Maggie’s head tilted back, as if she’d been sitting in a car that had just stopped short. “When did that happen?”

“Um . . . a few days ago. I broke up with him, actually. He’s just being such a jerk. I got tired of it . . . I do all this stuff for him and the band, and he never thanks me. Or takes me out anywhere fun anymore. I’m like his slave or something.
Was
his slave,” she corrected. “Let him find someone else to move his amps and sell his stupid CDs. I am so done with that guy.”

“I see . . . Well, I’m surprised. But I understand,” she added.

It was very understandable to Maggie. She actually didn’t
like Josh very much and had always thought he was quite selfish and self-involved. Phoebe was right. He didn’t appreciate her. Or pay nearly enough attention to her. And she could certainly do better.

But Maggie knew it was best right now to keep these opinions to herself. What if it was just a fight and they made up? Phoebe would always remember how Maggie had trashed him.

Phoebe had mangled the lovely heart shape she’d been working on, and Maggie watched her crumple it and start another. “Oh, and by the way, his music like totally sucks. I always told him it was good. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Maggie agreed but felt she was no judge of the compositions of the Big Fat Crying Babies. She was totally not the target audience, as Phoebe would say.

“It sounds like you’ve given this some thought and come to a firm decision. A good decision,” she added. “It’s hard to end a long relationship. Inertia sets in. Most people are afraid to be alone. They’d rather be with anybody than nobody. It’s brave of you to say this isn’t what you want. Very brave. I think you can do better,” Maggie said honestly.

“Thanks, Mag. I do, too . . . though I’m not in any rush. I’m sort of mad at the entire male species right now. Except for Van Gogh,” she added.

Maggie smiled. “Maybe you should make a valentine for him.”

Phoebe laughed—the first time all day, Maggie noticed.

“Cute, Mag. Maybe I will,” Phoebe replied, sounding serious.

Maggie sorted out the skeins of yarn for a moment, arranging them in baskets with balls of yarn and needles. “I did
wonder why you didn’t call him last night . . . and didn’t mention him at all,” she confessed. “I thought maybe he was just away, working somewhere.”

Phoebe glanced at her. “He’s away all right. Out of my brain. He’s been living in there too long. Rent free.”

Maggie glanced at her but didn’t reply. There were stages of ending a relationship, and Phoebe would go through a lot more—anger, denial, depression . . . shoe shopping. But she would get through this. She was strong. It was a pity, though, that at a time when Phoebe could have really used some extra support, Josh was out of the picture.

“It must be very hard for you, to be in the middle of this breakup and then this horrible situation with Beth Shelton and Charlotte happens, too.”

Phoebe shook her head. “The last two weeks of my life have been the absolute marshland of despair. Breaking up with Josh was just a squirt of fake cheese on a big crappy cracker.”

Maggie nodded, taking in the image. “So how did it happen? Did you have a fight?”

Phoebe nodded. “Yeah, a doozy. I was late to his gig on Sunday, over in Essex. I have a life, too, you know? He got all hissy with me, and I said like this is so over. And I walked out and that was it.”

“The straw that broke the camel’s back,” Maggie said sympathetically. She sounded terribly old-fashioned, saying that, didn’t she? But she was stumped to come up with a modern equivalent.

So it had only been a week. No wonder she was still smoldering. But didn’t she go to a gig on Wednesday night, in Gloucester?
Maggie was confused. Not that it really mattered.

But before she could ask, Phoebe said, “Oh, Maggie, I’m such an idiot . . . a complete jerk. How can I live in the world? I’m such a stupid dope . . .”

Maggie stared at her, surprised at this bout of self-recrimination. She sat down and tried to catch Phoebe’s eye.

“Because you dated Josh for so long before seeing his true colors? That happens all the time. You can’t blame yourself. People always show their best side at the start of a relationship.”

Phoebe sighed and shook her head. “He was a total waste of time, but . . . it’s not that.” She swallowed hard and couldn’t seem to say more.

“Do you blame yourself about Beth? . . . Or Charlotte? You had no control over that, Phoebe. I know you think you could have helped Charlotte more. But it’s starting to look like she’d already made plans to leave town.”

Phoebe sighed and picked up her head, her shoulders sagging. She turned to Maggie, looking truly lost and forlorn. There was something else on her mind. Maggie couldn’t seem to figure it out.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked quietly. “You know I won’t judge or criticize you. I just want to help. Honestly.”

Phoebe sighed again. “I know.”

She looked straight ahead and took a breath. She seemed to be centering herself, about to admit what was really bothering her, when the shop door opened.

Maggie stood up from her chair, automatically summoning her pleasant shopkeeper’s expression, but quickly realized
customers had not arrived. It was Detective Reyes . . . with Detective Mossbacher following close behind.

What were they doing here? Maggie felt indignant and protective as she took a step toward them. Putting herself between them and Phoebe.

Hadn’t they asked her enough questions last night? Wearing the poor girl down to a shaking bowl of jelly? This had better be good. Did the police really need to come back here and scare her some more? Couldn’t they just call?

“Mrs. Messina, I’m surprised you opened the shop today,” Detective Reyes greeted her.

“If you mean because we were all up so late last night, well . . . you’re both working.” Maggie shrugged. “So here we are.”

Mossbacher smiled at her comeback, but his expression quickly turned somber again. “We’re actually here to speak to Phoebe.”

Maggie had expected that. Phoebe had, too, she guessed, though she showed little reaction.

Phoebe looked over at the police officers through a veil of dark hair but seemed stuck in her chair. Her body was hunched over. As if she wished she could curl up in a ball. Or duck under the table.

“Here I am, too,” Phoebe said quietly.

Detective Reyes walked closer to her. Detective Mossbacher hung back, standing beside Maggie.

“We’ve been looking at video taken here in town last Wednesday night and early Thursday morning. A few of the stores on Main Street have security cameras. Did you know that?”

Phoebe licked her lips, then shook her head. “Um . . . no, I didn’t.”

“That was the night the parking meters were covered. Well, the vandals actually struck very early Thursday morning,” Detective Reyes clarified.

Vandals? What was she talking about, the sack of ancient Rome? Maggie was about to interrupt when Detective Reyes said, “But you already know that, Phoebe. Right?”

Phoebe looked straight at Detective Reyes, her mouth gaping open. Blood had drained from her cheeks, turning her skin chalky white. She glanced up at Maggie with eyes full of fear.

“Me? . . .” Phoebe finally looked up, staring at each of the detectives. “Why would I know that?”

“We saw you on one of the videos, Phoebe. Right outside Kroll’s Hardware,” Mossbacher answered.

“Your mask fell off right before you finished. Don’t you remember?” Detective Reyes asked.

Maggie was stunned. Her mask? What were they talking about? She felt her heart beating painfully fast, and she could barely breathe.

“She was out that night. Helping her boyfriend’s band. She was probably just getting home and unpacking her car,” Maggie quickly explained. “That’s why you saw her on the video.”

Then she realized that, in fact, maybe Phoebe had not been with the band in Gloucester on Wednesday night. She’d just said that she’d broken up with Josh on Tuesday. Maggie hoped Phoebe had gotten her days mixed up. But something told her that was not the case.

“We saw you clearly, and the pink streak in your hair. There’s no sense denying it,” Detective Mossbacher said in a gentler tone.

Phoebe looked at each of the two detectives and then, finally, at Maggie. Then she burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

What where they trying to say?

Was Phoebe . . . a Knit Kat?

“P
hoebe . . . you don’t have to say anything without a lawyer present,” Maggie reminded her.

“Oh . . . what’s the difference? Yes . . . I was there . . . I was helping the Knit Kats. But it was just a stupid prank. I thought it was so cool or something. I never even spoke to any of them . . . I swear it.”

Maggie felt her heart drop like a stone. So that’s what Phoebe meant about being an idiot. That’s what she’d been trying to tell her all morning.

Maggie was sure she was totally innocent. An innocent dupe of the Knit Kats. But she was in trouble now. These detectives were moving slowly, but they definitely meant business. Maggie still thought Phoebe shouldn’t answer questions without a lawyer, but she seemed determined to unburden herself now that the dam had finally burst.

“I’m in trouble now, right? I didn’t mean to lie to you, honest. I was just so freaked. Are you going to throw me in jail . . . or something?” Her last words melted into a plaintive whine, and
more tears fell. “You don’t really think I hurt Beth . . . do you?”

Detective Reyes sat in the seat next to Phoebe. “Let’s talk about the Knit Kats for now.”

Maggie rested a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You never asked if she was involved with the Knit Kats. So, technically, she didn’t lie to you.”

Reyes looked surprised by Maggie’s impudence, but Mossbacher pressed his lips together, as if trying to smother a shocked smile. They both ignored her comment—which was fortunate, Maggie realized. She certainly didn’t want to make things any worse.

“You’ve held back important information, Phoebe.
Technically
, you could be charged with interfering with the investigation,” Reyes told her. “And defacing public property . . . and littering. We can book you on those charges and continue this conversation in the police station.”

Phoebe looked as if she might start crying again but was trying hard not to.

Maggie felt so torn. She didn’t know if it was better for Phoebe to call a lawyer or just answer their questions. She knew Phoebe had nothing to hide except for this Knit Kats silliness. But the police did have a way of twisting things around when they wanted to.

Mossbacher stepped up to the table. He spoke in a deep, quiet tone. “You can help yourself—and help us—by answering a few questions. What do you know about the Knit Kats? How many are there? What are their real names?”

“I don’t know who they really are. They sent me e-mails. I never saw any of them face-to-face.” Phoebe was struggling not to cry. She spoke in a trembling tone.

“Not even the night the meters were vandalized?” Detective Reyes asked.

Phoebe shook her head. “I was assigned a certain section of Main Street and told to go out during a certain time period. I thought I’d see at least one of them out there. I even looked. But there was no one. I did see that some meters farther up the street had already been covered. So I knew at least one Knit Kat had been out there before me.”