Murder of a Needled Knitter (14 page)

Owen was relaxing on one of the chaises, and he pointed to a table that held a bucket containing four beers. “Help yourself.”

Wally grabbed a bottle and twisted off the cap, then sat down. “Thanks, man.” He took a long drink. “I really needed that.”

While the men toasted with their Coronas, Skye sipped her bubbly. A few seconds later room service showed up with one tray of chilled shrimp cocktail and another of chips and guacamole.

As they munched, Trixie said, “Do we think that the creep who stabbed Skye was after the pictures or was it a random mugging?”

Wally answered before crunching into a chip, “I can't see any other rational reason for throwing away the beach bag and burning the photos.”

“You didn't buy the explanation I gave to the officer?” Skye asked.

“No.” Wally dragged a shrimp through the bowl of cocktail sauce. “If the crook was acting out of anger over a poor haul, why not burn the whole tote?”

“Which means the mugger was probably the murderer,” Skye said with a shiver.

“Or someone hired by the killer,” Owen offered while loading guacamole onto a chip.

“But how did he know that we had the pictures?” Trixie asked.

“He had to have been following us,” Wally said. “And remember, we printed them in front of a huge window, so anyone could have been watching.”

“But how did he know they were important?” Skye popped a shrimp into her mouth.

“He must have seen Trixie with her camera at the crime scene and been keeping an eye on you both ever since,” Owen said, then took a swig of beer.

“The real question is what was in the photos that he didn't want us to see?” Wally tapped his fingers on the chair's armrest.

“I guess we'll have to wait until we print out another set tomorrow in St. Thomas,” Trixie said, pursing her lips. “Meanwhile the memory stick is in my safe. There's no way he's getting that.”

They all nodded, and as the ship's whistle sounded, indicating that they were about to sail away from St. Maarten, Skye got up and went to the railing. She had enjoyed the island, but like Eden, there had been a serpent in paradise.

Buoyed Up

W
ithin seconds of sitting down at the table, Skye realized that eating with her parents was an adventure in dining she would have been better off avoiding. They both sat in their places with dull, grouchy faces, and Skye didn't appreciate having to put up with their discontent on her honeymoon.

Between May's pickiness and Jed's suspicion of anything that wasn't steak or potatoes, the process of ordering their meals gave Skye a gigantic headache. The ordeal was embarrassing, especially with the Fraynes as witnesses, and she felt sorry for their waiter as he attempted to placate her folks.

May and Jed both turned up their noses at all three appetizers. Neither was willing to try the poached seafood and avocado, watermelon and feta cheese, or the creamed chicken, sweetbreads, and mushrooms in puff pastry. Skye actually agreed with them about the latter. She knew what sweetbreads were and wasn't willing to put cow thymus glands into her mouth or her stomach. Sometimes you just had to draw the line, and her line was at animal organs—they weren't called offal for nothing.

“Shrimp cocktail,” Jed stated with his usual minimal utterance.

“Very good, sir.” The waiter bowed slightly. “We have that available at all dinner services.” He turned to May. “And you, madame?”

“Shrimp look like the grubs that Jed kills in our yard,” May whined. “If that's all you have, I guess I'll just watch the rest of you eat your appetizers.”

The waiter's schooled expression didn't change, but Skye thought she saw the muscle under his eye twitch. Pitying the man, she said, “You could have pasta as your starter. They have fettuccini.”

“Why didn't he say that?” May demanded, giving the waiter a dirty look.

“I am sorry, madame,” the waiter apologized, and pointed to the first page of the huge menu that May held in front of her. “Pasta is also available at all dinner services, as are these selections.”

After the salad, soup, and entrée had been negotiated, and the waiter took the rest of the table's orders, May turned to Skye and commanded, “Show me where that awful purse-snatcher cut you.”

“Later.” Skye reached for a breadstick. “I'm not lifting my shirt and taking off the bandage in the middle of the dining room.”

“I thought you said it was only a scratch.” May's voice rose an octave. “A scratch doesn't require a Band-Aid.” She tugged her daughter's arm. “If it's that bad, you should have gone to the clinic.”

“No.” Skye shook off her mother's hand. “I'm a grown woman and I can determine if I have a serious injury or not. I don't need a doctor.”

“Fine.” May pouted. “But if you have an ugly scar, Wally's the one who will suffer.”

“Seriously?” Skye's face turned red and she was a hairsbreadth away from getting up and leaving.

“There isn't anything that could make Skye less beautiful in my eyes,” Wally said, leaning toward Skye
to give her a tender kiss. “Any man worth his salt feels that way about the woman he loves.” He looked between Jed and Owen and added, “Right, guys?”

“No importance,” Jed mumbled around the bite of roll he'd just taken.

When Owen didn't answer, Trixie jabbed him in the side with her elbow. He looked up from the bread he was buttering and said, “Uh huh.”

May and Trixie exchanged resigned looks, and then Trixie asked, “Has your knitting group said anything about Guinevere or her murder?”

“Nothing during our breakfast activity, but it was only an hour long,” May answered, then paused while the waiter served their first course. “Tonight at eight thirty we're having Knitter's
Jeopardy!
Do you all want to go?”

Wally and Owen said no at the same time that Trixie and Skye said yes. There was an awkward silence. Then Skye squeezed Wally's hand and said, “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

“Well.” Wally shrugged. “There's a Texas hold 'em tournament in the casino, but that wouldn't be too much fun for you, darlin'.”

“That sounds good to me.” Owen nodded, a big grin on his face.

“Yep,” Jed agreed, finishing off his shrimp cocktail and taking a swig of his beer.

They were all quiet as their dishes were cleared and the soup and salad course was served. Then Trixie said, “Problem solved. The girls will go to the knitting shindig, and the guys will go to the casino.”

Skye glanced at Wally. “Is that okay with you?” She'd be content to watch Wally play poker if that made him happy.

“Sure.” Wally caressed her cheek. “Both events will probably last only a couple hours.”

“We can all meet at the Pilothouse Bar afterward,” Trixie chimed in.

Once the rest of their evening had been planned, they tucked into their food, barely speaking until their empty plates were removed and the next course arrived.

As her eggplant fritters with fried rice, spicy tomato sauce, and mango cheek was served, Skye asked Trixie, “Did you ever get the bridge group's schedule? I forgot all about it last night.”

“Yep.” Trixie looked up from her seared sea scallops. “It's in my purse.” She rifled through her bag and handed the sheet to Skye. “Here you go.”

“Why do you want to play bridge?” May poked her broiled chicken breast with her fork, clearly checking to make sure that the chef hadn't snuck any exotic ingredients into the dish. “There are so many more fun things to do on board.”

Skye didn't bother to defend the pastime to her mom. If May didn't like something, she didn't think anyone else could possibly enjoy it either. Instead, while everyone dug into their entrées, Skye enlightened her mother about Guinevere's ex-husband.

Skye finished her explanation about Sebastian and Guinevere's contentious divorce and run-in at the Coronet Brasserie, then finally tasted her dinner. The eggplant was superb, and she quickly took another bite before her mother could interrupt.

As they ate their entrées, they chatted about their day in St. Maarten and the excursions they were signed up for in the next port. Skye, Wally, and the Fraynes were doing the St. Peter Great House and Mountain Top bus tour. May and Jed were taking the Kon-Tiki harbor and beach cruise, which was a part of the knitters' activities and included a stop at a local yarn market on the way back to the boat. And since St. Thomas was famous for its shopping, afterward they all planned to take advantage of the duty-free prices in the stores that lined the main street.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Wally
swirled the last piece of his New York strip in the green peppercorn sauce and said, “That reminds me. Do you remember how belligerent Guinevere was to the staff that night?” He glanced at Skye, who nodded, then added, “We should probably investigate any of the other crew and staff she might have ticked off.”

“Yep.” Jed looked up from his filet medallions. “Cornering someone meaner than you is mighty dangerous.”

“But how can we check out the crew and staff?” Owen paused with a forkful of meat loaf and mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth.

“Good question.” Skye waited for their dishes to be cleared and their dessert to be served before continuing. “Maybe Trixie can have a chat with her fellow ISU alum again and see if he can help us with that.”

“Sure.” Trixie put a steaming mouthful of milk chocolate–hazelnut soufflé into her mouth. After she swallowed she said, “The ship leaves at four tomorrow, so we'll probably be back on board by three or so. Ben should be at the restaurant by then to set up for the early diners, so I'll go have a heart-to-heart with him. I'm sure he'll be willing to have a good gossip.”

“Ask him for specific incidents when Guinevere provoked the crew or staff,” Wally instructed, then took a bite of his caramelized pear tart. “Try to get names, when the confrontation occurred, and where we might find those individuals in order to ask them a few questions.”

“Got it.” Trixie reached over to her husband's plate and stole a taste of his New York cheesecake, making sure she had some of the cherry sauce.

“And I can talk to Guinevere's ex tomorrow afternoon,” Skye said, running her finger down the bridge schedule. “It says there's open play at four.”

Skye picked up her spoon and dipped it into her Drambuie and coconut parfait, but before she could get the spoonful to her mouth, May said, “You'd better
watch out or when you get home you're going to be flabbergasted.”

“Huh?” Skye had no idea what her mother meant.

“You know.” May waved her hand. “When you step on the scale and realize how much weight you put on during the cruise.” She glanced at Wally. “Don't forget, you have a husband to consider now.”

“May, I really don't like it when you say things like that to my wife.” Wally's expression was stern and his tone uncompromising. “Skye is blessed with a wealth of curves, which is exactly how I like her. How she looks is no longer your concern.”

May's lips parted, but she closed them without speaking, apparently unwilling to provoke her new son-in-law any further. Instead she dipped her spoon into her ice cream and pretended the conversation had never taken place. The table was silent while they all finished eating; then the men said good-bye and headed to the casino.

After a brief stop in a restroom for lipstick repair, the women walked over to the Fresco Lounge, where the Knitter's
Jeopardy!
was scheduled. The room was packed, but May led them to several tables that had been pushed together near the center of the room.

May introduced Trixie and Skye to the women who were already seated, then asked her friends, “How are they picking contestants?”

“Since everyone wanted to play, they're going to draw names,” one of the women explained.

“Is this the first major event since Guinevere's death?” Skye asked.

“The first big one,” said a lady wearing an exquisite ocean blue hand-knit dress with a plunging neckline. “Some of us got together for a brief memorial service after our morning knitting circle, but both of those events were sparsely attended.”

“I didn't know about the memorial.” May wrinkled her brow. “How did I miss it?”

“We didn't think you'd want to go.” A woman sporting an intricately knitted peacock feather shawl made a sympathetic face. “You know, because of what happened between you two and all.” She pulled the wrap closer around her shoulders. “There were only a very few of us who showed up.”

“Humph.” May narrowed her eyes, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

“So a lot of the group didn't get along with Guinevere?” Skye asked.

“She rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.” A woman with hair backcombed to within an inch of its life lifted her chin. “Whoever killed her probably had to stand in line.”

“Really?” Trixie's smile invited the woman to continue.

“She had something mean to say about everyone,” Ms. Bouffant said, leaning forward. “If it wasn't about your knitting, it was about your appearance.” She glanced at May. “Or she was flirting with your man. Guinevere was at that awkward age, somewhere between jailbait and cougar.”

“Oh?” Trixie giggled encouragingly.

“She reminded me of my ex,” said one of the younger women with a sneer. “I could never trust him around the opposite sex, either. He cheated so much that when I got pregnant, I wasn't even sure the baby was his.”

Skye kept her expression neutral, unsure if the woman had meant to be funny or not.

Trixie leaped into the awkward silence. “I just hate it when people are nasty.”

“Me, too,” Ms. Bouffant agreed. “We were in the salon at the same time and Guinevere made a rude comment about my coiffure.” The woman winked. “But I just said right back to her that in Texas we believe that the higher the hair, the closer to God.”

Everyone laughed, and Ms. Bouffant added, “I felt sorry for the stylist. Guinevere really raked poor Nicolette over the coals, and then I heard Nicolette say to
the receptionist that this and all Guinevere's future appointments were on the house. So the poor girl didn't even get paid for all her hard work.”

As they all tsked, a woman stepped onto the small stage where three barstools were lined up. She took the microphone from the stand and asked, “Are we ready to find out who's going to play Knitter's
Jeopardy!
?”

“Is that the person taking over as your new leader?” Skye asked, nodding to the woman. Skye knew she'd seen her on Countess Cay and at the cocktail party, but she couldn't recall her name. Betty Jo? Bobbie Sue? Something like that.

“No.” May shook her head. “The cruise line will take care of scheduling rooms and tours and such, but some of the more experienced members agreed to take turns leading the events. That's Ella Ann Adamson. She said that due to her R.A. she wasn't comfortable running any of the actual knitting activities, so she'd volunteer for this one.”

“R.A.?” Trixie asked, a confused look on her face.

“Rheumatoid arthritis,” May explained. “Evidently it's getting worse, especially in her hands, and she's already lost some of her dexterity. Right now, as long as she takes her pills and wears those therapeutic gloves, she's fine, but she's afraid that pretty soon she won't be able to knit at all, at least not at her previous skill level.”

Skye remembered seeing the white gloves when she'd first noticed Ella Ann at the resort. She realized now that the woman hadn't been dressed up for tea; she'd been seeking relief for her pain. A little ashamed about her snarky thoughts, Skye refocused on the conversation.

“The poor thing was one of the most talented knitters and designers around,” one of women at the table offered. “I feel so bad for her.”

There was a general murmur of agreement; then Ella Ann's voice drew their attention back to the stage. “Our first contestant is Dylan Moody.”