A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (15 page)

At the last minute, Phoebe had remembered the cat, who she knew would get upset with a herd of police officers in her
apartment, tearing through everything. Detective Mossbacher had been pretty understanding about that, Maggie thought. He even helped them catch the cat and close him up in a carton. Before meeting Phoebe at the police station, Maggie had swung by her house and dropped off the cat, along with his necessities.

She hoped Van Gogh had not succumbed to a cat panic attack and shredded things or hidden himself in some inaccessible place. Phoebe would be glad to see that familiar furry face, that was for sure. Some small distraction from her bad day.

It felt good to be home, Maggie thought as she unlocked her front door. The house was quiet and still, its familiar warmth and scents reaching out to comfort her.

“Van Gogh? Are you all right? Where are you, kitty?”

Phoebe walked into the living room and looked around. There was no sign of the cat. While Phoebe continued looking, Maggie went into the kitchen, took out a can opener and a can of tuna.

“Here, kitty. Dinner,” she said blandly.

The cat darted out from beneath the sofa and ran straight to her. Phoebe followed. “Good trick, Mag.”

Maggie shrugged. “Not really. Pets and men are pretty much the same. Food rarely fails to bring them running.”

The cat’s dinner was easily solved. But Maggie wasn’t sure what to do about herself and Phoebe. She was overdue for a visit to the grocery store, but thought she could rustle up something. Neither of them was very hungry.

She wasn’t sure why she’d turned on the TV. Force of habit, she concluded. She always watched the local news when she happened to be home at this hour and had clicked
on the set right before peering into her nearly bare refrigerator.

There was a dour synchronicity to their timing. The screen filled with a video of the shop swarming with police. Chelsea Porter was on the scene once more, with her white down jacket and matching teeth.

Phoebe gasped and pointed. She couldn’t even speak.

“In Plum Harbor today, police searched the floor above the Black Sheep Knitting Shop, a residential apartment and the home of Phoebe Meyers, the shop’s assistant, in connection to the murder of a local college student, whose body was discovered late Sunday night in off-campus student housing. Officials are not releasing any further details about the crime or their investigation.

“But they were here for quite a few hours, searching for clues to this tragedy. We are told that Maggie Messina, shop owner, is not a target of investigators. But Phoebe Meyers, who works in the shop and lives above the store, may be a person of interest in the case. Both Messina and Meyers could not be reached for comment.”

“ ‘Could not be reached for comment’? That makes it sound like we were purposely ducking them,” Maggie sputtered. “We couldn’t be reached because we were with the police, helping them solve the crime. I’m going to call and demand a retraction. Or a correction . . . or whatever they’re supposed to do.”

“Maybe they called the shop phone or our home numbers?” Phoebe offered.

“Maybe . . . I haven’t checked the messages yet. Maybe I wouldn’t have even called them back,” she admitted.

“I’m so sorry, Maggie. This really stinks. It’s such bad publicity for you . . .”

Maggie secretly felt the same but just shrugged and forced a smile. “Oh, you know what they say, ‘Any publicity is good publicity.’ ”

Maggie didn’t really believe that. A news video of her shop in connection with a murder investigation could not be twisted into some positive interpretation, no matter how she tried. But Phoebe already felt bad enough. Wringing her hands wasn’t going to change a thing.

“Come on, Maggie. The only thing worse would be if the police found a body in your store.”

“Heaven forfend . . . that would be worse,” Maggie agreed. “Little chance of that happening . . . I hope.”

She had tried again to make a joke. A small, dumb joke, granted. Phoebe didn’t even try to smile. Just sat with her long, skinny legs folded beneath her and picked bits of lint off her sweater sleeve.

“Okay, it’s bad. I won’t say it’s not. But by next week, no one will remember. They’ll be on to the next disaster, believe me,” she promised Phoebe. “The shop survived worse than this when I was hauled off to jail and the police searched it from top to bottom. Don’t you remember?”

Phoebe finally met her glance again and nodded. “That was bad. I do remember.”

“But I got through it, right? All of you had to remind me that people in town have much shorter memories than we give them credit for. And you just can’t worry so much about what people think. If we need to blame somebody, let’s blame the police . . . Better yet, let’s blame whoever killed Beth Shelton.”

Phoebe didn’t reply but at least looked a tiny bit comforted
by Maggie’s words. Van Gogh jumped up on Phoebe’s lap, then managed to walk in circles, hoping to be petted. Phoebe quickly complied.

Maggie’s phone rang, and she saw Lucy’s name on the caller ID, though she had already guessed it would be one of their friends. As Maggie had expected after she called Dana, told her what had happened, and asked for some advice, all of their friends soon knew that Phoebe was being questioned again. They had all offered to come to the police station and wait with Maggie. But she hadn’t seen the purpose in that.

Lucy was calling now for an update. Maggie was too tired to talk but picked up anyway.

“Did you see channel 25 news tonight?” Lucy asked in a cautious tone.

“Fame is a fickle mistress. What can you do? One minute I’m their needlework expert—and the next, the shop is a hotbed of evidence in a murder investigation.”

“They didn’t go that far . . . thank goodness.”

“I wish they had. I could sue for slander. Right now, it’s just an implied smear. Newspeople are very cagey that way.”

Lucy didn’t encourage her, Maggie noticed. She knew better by now. “How’s Phoebe holding up?” she asked, changing the subject.

“She’s very tired. We both are. It was a hard day.”

“I’m sure. I guess you don’t want any company tonight. Have you had dinner? I could bring you a pizza or something.”

“Sweet of you to offer, but I think we’re better off turning in early. There will probably be an impressive mess in Phoebe’s place . . . If you have a few minutes tomorrow morning, she might need help cleaning up.”

“I’m there. What time?”

“I’d better get there by eight. You don’t have to come that early, though.”

“I’ll see how it goes. See you tomorrow.”

They said good night, and Maggie turned her attention back to Phoebe. She’d shut off the TV and seemed to be in sort of a daze, petting the cat, who now lay on her lap, posed like the Sphinx, his eyes closed to narrow slits.

Maggie walked over and sat next to them, then patted Phoebe’s free hand. “I know how you feel. But the police will soon eliminate you as a suspect. They’ve got to be following other leads, too. And you aren’t even a real member of the Knit Kats. You didn’t even get a call back.”

“Saved by my subpar needlework. I might be sitting in a jail cell right now if those crazy weirdos had liked my knitting,” Phoebe agreed glumly.

“They would be truly crazy not to love your knitting,” she insisted. “I hope you’re not feeling bad about that, too?”

Phoebe didn’t answer, just looked back down at the cat. Maggie knew she did feel bad. How ironic.

“Your knitting is first-rate. I would have never hired you otherwise,” she reminded her. “Nobody is going to put you in jail. I simply won’t let that happen. The only thing the police can accuse you of is being such a loyal friend to Charlotte. It was just unfortunate you were the one to find Beth’s body.”

“I guess . . . but I should have told them right away about the Knit Kats thing,” Phoebe admitted. “Keeping it secret just made me look bad. And I should have told you, Maggie . . . and everyone else,” she added. “Even if the Knit Kats said they’d make trouble for me.”

Maggie wasn’t sure what to say. “I respect people who can keep a confidence. And I admire you for trying to protect Charlotte, I really do. But sometimes, what seems like the wrong thing to do can be the right thing. Not very often, but it does happen.” Maggie shrugged. “That’s just a call we each have to make.”

Phoebe nodded. Van Gogh was purring now. The sound was surprisingly soothing.

Phoebe sighed. She looked up at Maggie. “Thanks for helping me, Mags. And waiting for me all day. You totally didn’t have to do that.”

Maggie smiled at her. “Are you crazy? I couldn’t leave you there all alone. I want to help you, Phoebe. We all do. If something else comes up that you need to talk about . . . whatever it is, please don’t be afraid to tell me. Or Dana or Lucy—or even Suzanne, though we all know how dramatic she gets.” Maggie rolled her eyes, finally making Phoebe laugh. “You’re like totally
not
alone, kiddo,” she added, teasing her a bit more. “We are all going to help you get through this.”

Phoebe’s dark eyes were wide and wet with tears again. She sniffed and nodded. “Thanks.”

Maggie felt a lump in her throat and couldn’t reply. She leaned over and gave Phoebe a hug and felt Phoebe hug her back.

She really was so young and didn’t have anyone but her friends to help her now. Maggie was determined to be there for her. Her own daughter was just about Phoebe’s age, and Maggie couldn’t imagine Julie facing a situation like this all alone, with no concerned adult to support her. She had great affection for Phoebe . . . they all did. As independent as she was, Phoebe needed some mothering from time to time. Especially at a time like this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m happy to keep the television off tonight and just sit here and knit. Why don’t we forget about Chelsea Porter and real life for a while?”

Phoebe seemed in perfect agreement with that plan. “No arguments here. Reality is like . . . so overrated.”

*  *  *

As always, knitting was the perfect way to de-stress and unwind after their hard day. But there was no avoiding reality the next morning.

And no avoiding their friends. Suzanne and Dana sent text messages before Maggie had even downed her first cup of coffee. Lucy was already waiting at the shop when she pulled up, sitting on the porch steps. Sans dogs, Maggie noticed. Perhaps she thought it best to avoid another skirmish with the cat. That was the last thing they needed this morning.

“Hey, Mag . . . where’s Phoebe?”

“Oh, she was so tired and worn out. I told her to get a little more sleep. She’ll be along in a while.”

“How are you doing? You look a little tired, too,” Lucy observed cautiously.

“Oh, I’m all right. Considering my shop was all over the news last night, the scene of a murder investigation.” Without Phoebe around, Maggie felt able to vent freely. “How’s that for free advertising?”

“You never know. People are so nosy these days. You might draw some new customers who want to poke around such a notorious knitting shop.”

Maggie had to laugh at that theory. Trust Lucy to find any possible upside. She climbed the porch steps and stuck the key in the shop door.

“I suppose it’s possible,” she said with a sigh.

She pulled open the door, then entered the shop and left her knitting bag on the front counter and headed for the storeroom. “Well . . . everything looks the same. I was afraid the police started tossing things around down here, too.”

She set up the coffeemaker as she spoke. Lucy stood in the doorway and slipped off her jacket. “What were they looking for? Did they say?”

“Anything that might help their investigation. At least they give you a receipt for things they confiscate. I know they took her computer and all of her yarn. They’re trying to match fibers with the wrapping on Beth Shelton’s body.”

Lucy took in a quick, sharp breath. “I thought they were only bothering Phoebe because she’d been in touch with the Knit Kats. They can’t possibly consider her a suspect.”

Maggie sighed and shrugged. “They called her a person of interest. But they sometimes don’t use the term ‘suspect’ until they’ve built a case.”

“But there’s no motivation. Phoebe hardly knew Beth Shelton . . . and she loves Charlotte. She’s been trying to protect her.”

The coffee had dripped down, and Maggie poured out two mugs. “Yes . . . I know. But once the police saw her on that video, it opened Pandora’s box. Or maybe Pandora’s knitting bag.”

A weak jest, but the best Maggie could muster. The idea of Phoebe becoming a real suspect in this case was just unthinkable. She didn’t want to sound negative, but she was honestly worried. “Let’s hope that now that they’ve questioned
her twice, searched her apartment . . . even taken a DNA sample—”

“They did?” Lucy stared at her, looking concerned.

“She didn’t have to. But her attorney advised her to do it voluntarily.” Maggie paused, trying to keep her thoughts straight. This was so distressing to talk about. “What I’m trying to say is, now that the police have all the information they can possibly want, maybe they can rule her out.”

“I hope so.” Lucy took a testing sip of her coffee. Maggie could see it was still too hot to drink. Lucy took her coffee black, and Maggie could never figure out how she didn’t burn her mouth every morning. “How is she doing otherwise?”

“Better than most people would be. I know she doesn’t look it, but she’s a strong girl.”

“I’m sure you’ve been a big help.”

“I try. It’s not over yet,” Maggie answered in a softer tone.

They went out to the oak table and sat down. The construction paper and doilies from the interrupted window-decorating project were still on the table. Maggie pushed them aside. The front window was a mess and would just have to stay that way for a while.

Lucy didn’t speak for a long time. “Didn’t they see anyone else on those videos? There had to be other Knit Kats creeping around that night.”

“I wondered about the same thing. The detectives wouldn’t say. Only that they’re still looking at the tapes and it takes time. Maybe Dana knows more about that. And where in the world is Charlotte?” Maggie added in a hushed but emphatic tone. “I have a feeling she knows plenty. Phoebe has really put her neck out, trying to protect her. I wonder if
Charlotte would be so loyal. If Phoebe’s situation gets more complicated, I wonder if Charlotte will come back to help her.”