A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (4 page)

“That’s sweet. But I’m not about to get an Academy Award. It’s a two-second interview. Probably one second.”

Lucy smiled at her over her shoulder. “This could be the start of something big. First a bite . . . then a blip. Then a TV news consultant. Then . . . who knows? Lunch with Anderson Cooper?”

Maggie shook her head. “Don’t you have a deadline or something?” Lucy laughed and pulled her cap on low over her forehead. She looked very cute, Maggie thought.

“Okay, brush me off. But you’re going to need a good agent. Think about it.”

She snuck in the last teasing line as she zipped up her jacket and slipped out the shop door.

Right. All she really needed now was more coffee and a clear head to get this class organized in time.

The cat faces had definitely been amusing. But the realization that a clandestine clique had been prowling around the village in the middle of the night, totally undetected by the police, was actually disturbing.

No damage done this time. But what if the Knit Kats got it into their feline brains to take more malicious action?

Maggie brushed the unsettling thought from her mind and tried to get on with her day.

A
vision of leering cat faces remained stuck in Maggie’s head, distracting and unsettling her. She couldn’t say why. Luckily, the day passed even faster than she’d expected. While Phoebe watched over the shop at noon, Maggie ran to the store and bought some ingredients for the slow cooker for tonight’s meal. She also picked up some hummus and olives as starters.

Suzanne had called and offered to bring dessert. Her daughter Alexis had come home with a ton of leftovers from a charity bake sale at school. Maggie could only imagine a mound of squashed brownies, crumbled cookies, and mashed cupcakes. But sometimes that sort of treat tasted the best.

The knitting group officially met at seven. Dana strolled in a few minutes early. Maggie had just managed to ring up the last customer and clear off the worktable and the sideboard.

Phoebe usually helped her get ready, but Charlotte Blackburn, a friend of Phoebe’s from school, had dropped by, and the two young women ran upstairs to check the DVR.

Charlotte was another student in the art department and also a very able knitter. She had come to a few knitting group meetings since last fall, when she and Phoebe had met in one of their classes. Maggie was glad that her knitting circle was so open and welcoming. Not like some she’d heard of. They were happy to include anyone who liked to stitch, or even wanted to try. The Black Sheep were all about spreading the joy of knitting, not judging the results.

Just the way she’d like to be in real life, though she didn’t always meet her own standards. That was for sure.

Maggie was rolling utensils in big cloth napkins when Dana found her.

“Something smells good in here.” Dana walked over and gave Maggie a hug.

“I hope so. I’m calling it Moroccan Stew. With chicken, not lamb,” she quickly clarified. Dana didn’t eat red meat, and Maggie tried to accommodate.

“Sounds good to me. How can I help?”

The two women worked together and soon had the back room set for dinner and their meeting. Lucy arrived with her knitting bag and a bottle of Chardonnay. She opened it and poured them each glass.

“Did you get to see the cat faces on the parking meters this morning, Dana?”

“Made it just in time. Workers from the village had taken them off near my office, but there were plenty left on the other side of the street.” Dana took out her knitting and stylish red-framed reading glasses. “Pretty funny, I thought. Though I did see Mayor Swabish out there talking to Chief Nolan. They didn’t look amused.”

Maggie brought in a bowl of yogurt dip and set it next to some pita chips and other appetizers. “There was no harm done. But I suppose the police are in some hot water since this happened last night, right under their noses.”

“What happened under whose noses?” Suzanne Cavanaugh bustled in, balancing two plastic cake holders.

Maggie ran to help so the entire pile wouldn’t end up on the floor. The dessert, she assumed, though it looked like enough for three meetings. “We were just talking about the cat masks on the meters this morning. Did you get to see them?”

“I did . . . I had to get to a closing and didn’t even notice the darn things until I parked and tried to put money in the meter. It was like . . . what the heck is that?” Suzanne dumped her knitting bag and shrugged out her of coat. “By the time I came out, they were gone.” She dropped her knitting bag on the table and sat down next to Dana.

“I wonder what the town did with them. Do you think they threw them out? What a waste of good knitting.” Lucy munched on a pita chip, considering the question.

“And yarn,” Maggie noted.

“Maybe the police are holding them as evidence.” Suzanne’s tone was leery and suspicious, though Maggie was sure she was joking.

“The Knit Kats pretty much admit to the prank on their website. We checked this morning,” Lucy told Suzanne. “But what’s the crime? Do you think it’s really vandalism? I think it was an improvement. Certainly brightened up the town for a few hours.”

Everyone glanced at Dana, usually the most well versed about legal matters. Her husband, Jack, had been a detective
before becoming an attorney. He practiced in town and still had a lot of connections in the police force and district attorney’s office.

“Well, the decorations may have prevented people from putting money in the meters. That’s probably some sort of violation. And even though it wasn’t as bad as spray paint, the knitting did deface public property and it might also be considered littering. Town workers had to take them all off, right?”

“Yes, and they wore special gloves. It was all quite official-looking. No wonder the Knit Kats remain anonymous and cover their trail . . . and tail,” Lucy quipped.

Lucy had taken out her knitting, too, Maggie noticed. She was working on a baby blanket for a friend who was expecting. She spread it out on her lap and carefully checked the stitches. While Lucy did seem very cheerful with the project, Maggie had to wonder if she felt any secret twinges of baby longing. Lucy and her boyfriend, Matt, had been living together now for almost a year and there was still no talk about a wedding . . . much less starting a family.

But these days couples didn’t necessarily follow the traditional order—first comes love, then marriage, then the baby carriage. It was mixed up in any number of configurations, she reflected.

“Where’s Phoebe? Did she see the meters?” Dana glanced at Maggie.

“Oh, yes. She loved the display, as you may have guessed. She’s upstairs with her friend Charlotte. She’s going to knit with us tonight. They’re checking the DVR . . . I might be on the news,” Maggie admitted shyly.

“I’m sure you made the cut,” Lucy chimed in. “The reporter talked to her forever,” she told the others.

Dana and Suzanne had abruptly looked up from their knitting and were now staring at her. “You didn’t tell us that.” Suzanne sounded hurt.

Maggie shrugged and busied herself at the sideboard. “It was too much to explain in a text.”

Before she could change the subject, she heard Phoebe running down the stairs. She bounded into the room.

“Your interview is cued up and ready to roll, Maggie. And I cleaned up my place in honor of your TV debut. Follow me for a special edition of
News Alive 25!
”

Maggie squinted at her. “Do we have to watch it now? I was thinking maybe after dinner . . .”

Too late. Her friends dropped their knitting and jumped up from their seats, practically knocking her down as they hurried into the storeroom and up the stairs.

“Did you see it? How did Maggie do?” Suzanne followed close behind Phoebe, wineglass in hand. Dana and Lucy were next in line, and Maggie pulled up the rear.

“She was smooth. They might sign her up as one of those talking head consultants,” Phoebe predicted.

“That’s what I said,” Lucy shouted out.

“A knitting consultant . . . on the local news? Is there much call for that?” Maggie mumbled at the end of the line.

Apparently no one heard her. Or, if they had, didn’t feel obliged to answer. They stepped up into Phoebe’s attic apartment, an open studio space with eave ceilings, decorated mainly with furniture found on the sidewalks around town.

Phoebe had a good eye and was handy with a glue gun and
a paintbrush. You’d never suspect it, but Maggie knew a mini–Martha Stewart was hiding under those piercings and streaked punky hair.

Charlotte sat in the big armchair re-covered with flowery pop art fabric.

Phoebe’s own hand-knit decorating touches dotted the apartment—pillow covers, a mobile of small knitted birds that hung near a window, and a colorful, hip-looking afghan on the double bed, which was tucked behind a gauzy curtain partition.

The slanted ceilings made the space seem very cozy. Lucy and Suzanne jammed together on the love seat. Dana and Phoebe took kitchen chairs, and Maggie sat on the desk chair, mindful of not rolling away on the wavy wooden floor. A small television sat on a stand opposite the love seat and already displayed a picture—the
News Alive 25!
logo frozen on the flat screen.

“Ready, everyone?” Phoebe held out the remote like a magic wand.

“Yes, yes. Get on with it,” Maggie urged her. This interview thing got under her skin.

Phoebe clicked, and the tape started. The anchorwoman, Trish Beasley, appeared, sitting at her desk, accompanied by jaunty music.

“Residents of Plum Harbor woke to a curious sight. Did it rain cats and dogs last night? Maybe just cats. Or maybe someone is mocking the new parking meters?”

“Mocking the meters? They stole my line!” Maggie told her friends.

“That’s showbiz, Mag. Get used to it,” Suzanne advised.

“. . . Chelsea Porter was on the scene and logged this report . . .”

The picture changed to familiar sights: the village in the early morning, the harbor, and the shops on Main Street. The camera swept over the cat cozies on the meters, then zoomed in on one cat face in a tight close-up.

Chelsea Porter appeared, standing beside a parking meter, her expression very somber.
“No one seems to know for sure where they came from. But residents of Plum Harbor woke to a strange sight—the newly installed parking meters decorated with colorful, carefully knit covers. Each one, a cat face.”

“She makes it sound so dramatic and mysterious,” Suzanne murmured.

“That’s why she gets the big bucks, ladies,” Lucy said quietly, making them all laugh.

“. . . I spoke to local residents to learn their reactions,”
Chelsea continued,
“including Maggie Messina, needlework expert and owner of the Black Sheep Knitting Shop.”

“ ‘Needlework expert’? I thought ‘knitting expert’ was a stretch. There’s a lot about cross-stitch and even crochet I don’t know,” Maggie pointed out.

“Look, the shop!” Dana bounced in her seat. “They really zoom in on the sign. That’s great advertising . . . and there’s Maggie!”

Maggie cringed. She suddenly didn’t want to see the alleged “needlework expert” being interviewed. Finally, she took a peek. “Oh dear . . . do I really look like that? My hair is just insane.”

“You look great,” Charlotte assured her. “I like that scarf.”

“You’re crazy. The camera loves you,” Suzanne chimed in.

Maggie was feeling a bit better when Phoebe added, “Your hair always looks like that, Mag.”

“Shush—I can’t hear a thing.” Lucy waved her hand.

“. . . a group of knitting graffiti artists active in this area,”
Maggie heard herself say.
“They call themselves the Knit Kats. It may have been them.”

“What were their motives?”
Chelsea asked.

“Well, installing parking meters on this street created quite a controversy. Many people think they’re unnecessary . . . Perhaps the Knit Kats are trying to protest by mocking the meters?”

The camera switched back to Chelsea standing with the village’s chief of police.
“I also spoke with Chief of Police Rusty Nolan. Here’s what he had to say.”

Chief Rusty Nolan stood near a police car, his crested cap pulled down low over his forehead.
“This is vandalism, pure and simple. Whoever did this better not come back. There would be serious consequences,”
he added, a hard edge to his New England accent.

“Good old Rusty sounds hot under the collar,” Lucy noticed.

Suzanne sipped her wine, thoroughly enjoying the show. “It makes the police look really silly. Someone just crept around and put up all that stuff right under their nose.”

“We did a little investigating of our own,”
Chelsea Porter continued,
“and found the Knit Kats website. You can see why the police have a problem bringing these renegade knitters to justice. They appear with fake names and disguises.”

The page of the Knit Kats website that showed the profiles of the group members came on the TV screen. Three close-up photos showed mainly just eyes and a bit of a cheek or nose. The rest of each face was covered in fibery concealments and knitted masks, one even covered with buttons, though each looked distinctly feline.