Murder of a Needled Knitter (22 page)

Wouldn't it be too ironic if after all this trouble there was nothing to see on the pictures? Skye's shoulders
sagged. In reality, that was probably the case. What were the odds that they'd find a clue that security hadn't spotted? She brightened. Security didn't have a police chief, a psychologist, and an aspiring mystery writer on their team. So maybe the odds weren't too bad after all.

High Seas

S
kye burst through the door of their cabin and stripped as she ran to the bathroom to turn on the shower. The water was still cold when she stepped into the spray and with only twenty minutes to get ready for dinner, she regretfully pushed Wally out of the stall when he tried to join her. She was sure her new husband wanted to do more than scrub her back and help her rinse off.

After a quick wash, she darted into the bedroom and called, “Next.”

While Wally took his turn, Skye resorted to her go-to hairdo—a French braid. She gave her lashes a hasty swipe of mascara, and threw on a blue-and-green silk tunic and white linen slacks. She was shoving her feet into white sandals when Wally emerged from the bathroom.

As he put on khaki pants and a navy polo shirt, Skye asked, “Should we take the pictures with us?” She retrieved them from their beach bag. “I don't suppose we can really look at them in the dining room.”

“Put them in the safe.” Wally slid his bare feet into a pair of boat shoes. “After supper, we'll all come back here and really study them.”

With the exception of Jed, who had already eaten two hamburgers, a hot dog, and an ice-cream cone at the poolside grill, everyone was ravenous. There wasn't much conversation as they tore into their dinners, and they finished the meal in record time. Before nine o'clock, they were back in Wally and Skye's suite huddled around the coffee table examining the stack of photos piled on the glass top.

Skye and Trixie were on the sofa with May squeezed in between them. Owen and Jed had claimed the two club chairs across from the women, and Wally had pulled up the vanity's stool next to the couch. Except for an occasional horrified gasp from May, there was silence as they passed around each picture.

Once everyone had seen the prints, Trixie asked, “Anything seem significant to you guys?”

Wally answered first, “It looks to me as if Guinevere was standing on the other side of the seating area near an end table when her assailant stabbed her with the needles.” He furrowed his brow. “She must have grabbed the lamp and brought it down with her as she fell to the floor.”

“That fits with what we heard,” Skye agreed. “There was a thud, which was most likely her falling, then the sound of breaking glass.” Skye's chest tightened. Guinevere's last moments must have been terrifying. “She probably released the lamp as she lost consciousness.”

“Did you move from the spot where the photos show you kneeling?” Wally asked Skye.

“No.” She thought she knew where he was going with his question and added, “And Trixie never knelt down at all. She walked from me to the bar a couple of times, and she checked to make sure no one was hiding in the service closet or pantry, then started taking pictures.”

“It looks as if the killer knelt beside the vic—either because he or she regretted stabbing Guinevere or to make sure she was dead.” Wally laid out a series of
photos on the table. “Look, you can see two smudges of blood here that could be knee prints.” He tapped the glossy print. “It's the opposite side of the body from where Skye and Trixie approached Guinevere.”

“Right.” Owen leaned forward. “And it looks like a trail of bloody steps leading to the service door over here.” Owen pointed.

“Too bad you can't really tell the size of the shoe since they are only partials,” May said. “It almost looks as if the killer was tiptoeing.”

“Yes, it does,” Skye agreed. “When we heard the thud and the glass breaking, I called out so at that point the murderer probably decided to sneak away.”

“It's a shame you two didn't see him or her,” Skye's mom lamented. “If you had, I wouldn't be facing an FBI interrogation.”

“Dammit, May!” Jed snapped. “Don't be so galdurn selfish. If the girls saw the killer, he might have attacked them.”

“Oh.” May's cheeks turned red. “I didn't think of that.” She was quiet for a second, then wagged her finger at her husband. “Don't you dare try to guilt trip me, Jed Denison. You're not the one about to go to prison.” She crossed her arms. “Besides, there were two of the girls and only one murderer.”

After an awkward moment of silence, Owen plucked a photo from the stack he'd been flipping through, smacked it down in the center of the coffee table, and asked, “What's this?”

They all stared at the close-up image of the upper third of the service door. Unlike a regular door, the service exit didn't have a knob. Instead, it had a recessed handle. Anyone wishing to open the door had to pull the handle out of the depression. A piece of white paper with the words
CRE
W ONLY NO ADMITTANCE
scrawled across the center had been taped underneath the lever. On that paper, above the handwriting, was a series of small red marks.

Skye scooted closer until her nose was nearly on the photo. “It almost looks like hieroglyphics.”

“That might be a capital E.” Trixie grabbed the picture and held it under the lamp next to the couch. “And maybe an F over here.”

“Or it could be nothing more than smudges,” Wally said. “We need a magnifying glass.”

“How are we going to get one of those?” Skye tapped her fingers on her chin. “There aren't any more port stops.”

“Would someone on board have something like that?” Wally asked.

“In the morning, we can check the library,” Trixie suggested.

“I'll see if any of the knitters have one,” May offered. “But I haven't noticed anyone using a magnifying glass.”

“Maybe the purser has one he can lend us.” Skye yawned. It was past eleven and they'd been on the go since six a.m. “Or maybe security.”

“I'll ask.” Wally's tone was doubtful. “Remember, they aren't equipped to do any forensics.”

“True.” Skye yawned again. “Unless there's anything else to talk about, I'm ready to call it a night.”

“Me, too.” Jed rose to his feet, as did Owen.

“I thought I'd go see the late show in the theater,” Trixie said. “They're putting on
Hooray for Hellywood
tonight. It's a spoof of all the zombie, vampire, and werewolf movies.” She got up. “Anyone want to come with me?”

“I'll go.” May rose to her feet. “Heck, if I'm going to jail, this might be my last chance to have fun.”

•   •   •

At ten the next morning, Skye and Trixie met at the spa where Trixie was scheduled for highlights and Skye was getting an updo. Tonight was the cruise's final formal dinner and she planned to have professional photos taken of her and Wally in all their finery.

Because everyone had to have their bags packed and in the hallway by midnight, there had been complaints about the timing of the formal night. But the cruise director had announced that due to three back-to-back port days, no other night had been suitable.

While Trixie and Skye waited in line for the receptionist's attention, Skye overheard a man say to his wife, “You were in there for nearly two hours and you look exactly the same.”

Instead of becoming angry with her husband, as Skye expected, the woman grinned and retorted, “Yeah. I was just getting an estimate.”

The couple laughed and Skye realized that the man and woman probably exchanged the same quips every time she went to the beauty parlor.

A few seconds later, Trixie and Skye checked in at the desk and the receptionist led them down a long corridor to an isolated room at the very end. It contained two stylist stations and a shampoo sink. The woman who greeted them was in her late twenties with striking black hair that hung in a straight curtain to her waist.

She introduced herself as Nicolette, and said, “Mrs. Boyd, if you'll have a seat, I'll get Mrs. Frayne's highlights started first, then begin on you.”

“Certainly.” Skye sat down.

“Super.” Nicolette smiled, then turned her attention to Trixie.

Skye pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from her purse. During breakfast, she and Wally had come up with a list of possible murderers, their motives, and their alibis, and she was now prepared to take notes as Trixie chatted with the hairdresser—the last suspect that they hadn't cleared.

“Have you worked on the ship for very long?” Trixie asked as the stylist slid a square of foil under a section of her hair.

“Three years.” Nicolette used a small brush to paint
the highlight solution on the isolated strands. “But this is my last cruise.”

“Oh?” Trixie darted a glance at Skye. “Why's that?”

“I've saved enough to open my own salon back home.” Nicolette worked swiftly. “My fiancé and I have been waiting for a long time.”

“Where's home?” Trixie asked.

“London.” Nicolette beamed. “I've rented a place in King's Cross.”

“Does your fiancé work on board, too?” Trixie fingered the silver strips that stuck out from her scalp like metal plates.

“He was in the shops, but his contract ended last week.” Nicolette pushed the equipment cart against the wall and turned to Skye. “Do you have a style in mind, Mrs. Boyd?”

“Not really.” Skye shrugged. “Just something fun and flattering.”

“Let's see. Your chestnut color and natural curl are gorgeous.” Nicolette tilted her head. “I think if we pull it up to the crown and do a waterfall effect, it will be stunning on you.”

“Go for it.” Skye smiled. “My brother's a stylist, so I'm used to trusting you guys.”

“Smashing.” Nicolette started to work on Skye with a curling iron, taming Skye's natural waves into ringlets. “I wish all my clients felt that way.”

“I bet you have some interesting tales to tell,” Trixie said from her perch near the shampoo sink.

“Oh, I could tell you stories that would curl your hair.” Nicolette winked. “Pun intended.”

“I imagine you have some fussy women to deal with in your job,” Skye encouraged. “In fact, on the very first day we heard a lady complaining. What was her name, Trixie? Some royal name like Elizabeth?”

“Close. It was Guinevere,” Trixie said, playing along. “The queen in Camelot.”

“That witch,” Nicolette blurted out, then put her
hand over mouth. “Sorry. I guess it's a good thing this is my last cruise. I could be fired for a remark like that.”

“We'll never tell.” Trixie giggled. “What happened between you two?”

“Nothing.” Nicolette pulled Skye's hair into a high ponytail and secured it with an elastic band. “She just wanted to cause trouble.”

Before Skye could decide on her next question, a skinny little man stuck his head in the open doorway and hissed, “Nicolette, I need to see you.”

The hairstylist shot a dark look at the guy but murmured, “Excuse me for a moment.”

When she stepped out of the room, Trixie bounced from her chair and darted to the door, motioning Skye to join her.

As they huddled out of sight, Skye heard Nicolette say, “Rico, I told you I'm through with that stuff. I wish you'd spread the word so everyone would stop bothering me. It seems like someone comes by every ten minutes. Two days and I'm flying home.”

Skye raised her brows at Trixie, who shrugged, then both peeked around the edge of the doorframe.

“Don't you got no weed left?” the man whined. “I just need a little to take the edge off.”

“No.” Nicolette glanced around, her shoulders tense, and Skye quickly scooted back. “After that bitch found my stash and threatened to turn me in once we reached St. Maarten, I sold what I had and didn't restock while we were in port.”

“I didn't hear nothing about that.” Rico shoved his hands in his pocket. “How did you stop her from narcing on you?”

“I had to give her free spa services for the duration of the cruise.” Nicolette's tone made it clear just how angry Guinevere's blackmail had made her.

Skye's mouth dropped open; then she pulled Trixie aside to whisper, “Wally told me that the Dutch islands are really strict about drug dealing and it's a lot more
risky there than in the States. The law allows for the detention of subjects during even a preliminary investigation, and people imprisoned there don't have the option of posting bond for their release, which means they go to jail and stay there until their trials.”

“But wouldn't Nicolette be under the ship's jurisdiction and not the island's?” Trixie whispered back.

“No.” Skye spoke into Trixie's ear. “According to Wally, crew members caught dealing drugs are put ashore at the next port.”

“Which is why Guinevere threatened to turn her in once the ship reached St. Maarten rather than immediately.” Trixie shook her head. “That woman really was evil.”

Before Skye could agree, Nicolette said, “I've got to get back to my clients.” As she walked away, she suggested, “Tell everyone to go to Gary instead of coming by here. I hooked him up with my supplier.”

When Nicolette returned, Skye and Trixie were back in their chairs. While the stylist finished Skye's updo, rinsed out the highlight solution from Trixie's hair, then blew it dry, Skye and Trixie asked questions intended to reveal whether the hairdresser had an alibi for the time of Guinevere's murder. But without feeling free to out and out ask her, they were unsuccessful.

Finally, after signing the credit slip and adding a generous tip, Skye had a brainstorm. Once she and Trixie were out of earshot, she pulled her friend aside and said, “I have an idea and need to stop at reception.”

“Okay.”

They walked the length of the corridor, and when they reached the desk, Skye waited her turn behind a trio of women making mani-pedi appointments for later that day.

Once the receptionist was free, Skye said, “Can you tell me if Nicolette was working Tuesday between eleven thirty and noon?” The woman seemed nonplussed, so Skye quickly fibbed, “A friend of ours had her hair done
during that time, and I noticed that there are two stylist stations so I wondered if we had the same stylist or not.”