Silence of the Lamb's Wool (A Yarn Retreat Mystery) (22 page)

Kevin gave me a dirty look. “So then what was the point of this charade?”

“To find Nicole’s killer,” I said and they all began to talk and basically say what a ridiculous statement that was. Even Dane said Nicole’s death had been ruled a suicide.

In the midst of it all, Madeleine Delacorte walked in and looked around. “I didn’t know you were having a party.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Dane said. We were the only ones left inside The Bank. “I’m impressed at what you figured out. One of them could have killed Nicole if it wasn’t suicide and it didn’t turn out that they all had alibis for the time when she died.” He put his hand on my arm in a supportive manner.

I hung my head, reliving what had happened after the group had seen the torn ledger sheet. “I’ve made a terrible mess of everything.” In my mind’s eye I saw Ronny begin to argue with her father. Apparently he’d made it seem like a done deal that he would be taking over Vista Del Mar as soon as the wedding was over. I got the feeling it wasn’t the first time he’d made promises he couldn’t keep. Burton’s mustache had started to twitch from a tic in his face as Cora stepped in. Cora had turned out to be anything but a silly older woman in love. She loved the romance of it all and had simply not wanted to spoil things by bringing up anything like a prenup. Her plan all along was that they would make a life together on equal footing, each of them responsible for half the bill. He’d given the impression that he was such a big shot in real estate, she was sure he’d have no problem going halves with her on one of the cute cottages near the park downtown.

“I’m sure Cora will blame me for the end of her engagement.”

Dane sighed. “I think it was going to end one way or the other as soon as he found out Cora wasn’t going to support him.”

“If only that was all.” I let out my breath in a tired sigh. “I’ve had a troubled relationship with Kevin St. John all along and now it’s even worse. He’s angry that I stirred everything up even if there is no way to identify Edmund’s mystery heir. I know you don’t agree, but I still don’t think that Nicole’s death was a suicide.”

“I hate to bring this up, but we need more than your thinking it’s not suicide,” Dane said.

I noticed that his hand was still resting on my arm. The spot had become increasingly warm, and I had to admit I liked it. It seemed pretty obvious it could escalate into something more really fast. But I couldn’t let it happen. I stared at his hand and he seemed to get the message, retracting it quickly as he straightened up.

We walked to the back door and Dane made sure the lock was secure. “At least we solved the mystery of the break-ins. And I don’t think there will be any more.”

My mood was really descending. I’d been so sure I’d figured out who had killed Nicole. Who would have figured she was blackmailing Burton, his daughter and Kevin. And I began to think of the retreat again and how Wanda had just taken off when the spinning was done and she’d realized how little yarn the group had made.

Dane noticed my expression. Maybe I looked like I was about to cry. As we walked toward the front of the store he started to put his hand on my shoulder but didn’t. “Don’t take it so hard. It’s not like a killer is going free.”

“I’m glad you were the one who answered the call,” I said. “It would have been even more embarrassing if it had been someone else. And thank you for not bringing out the troops.”

“I figured we wouldn’t need the SWAT team for a break-in at an antiques store,” he said as his serious face slipped into a grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll just write up a report that it was a mistake. Lieutenant Borgnine never has to know anything about what went on.” When we got outside we stopped at his cruiser.

“I’m assuming that Nicole did figure out the identity of the mother. She must have tipped her hand about the sheets in the ledger to one of them and they came in here and destroyed them.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe it’s just as well. It would certainly change things if there was a different owner of Vista Del Mar.” He gestured beyond the quiet downtown street to the houses built up the slope on the side streets. “Someone out there, probably asleep by now, could be the Delacorte heir. By now the woman probably has grown children of her own. Maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Maybe it is,” I said, “but there is a part of me that thinks whoever that woman is ought to get what she’s entitled to.”

Dane lightened the mood and started to tease me about being some kind of muffin-baking superhero who wanted to right all the wrongs in Cadbury.

“Isn’t that what
you
do?” I said.

“I’m more about keeping the peace,” he said. I didn’t agree and pointed out how he was trying to help every messed-up kid in town get on the right path.

“It’s no big deal,” he said. “The garage was just sitting there. And working with them helps me keep in shape.” To show off what he meant he did a few karate moves. “Anytime you want to, join us for a lesson,” he said. In the streetlight I could see the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled.

“I don’t want to keep you,” I said. “It’s Saturday night or what’s left of it. You must be off duty now and I’m sure you have plans.” I thought of the woman I’d seen sitting in his kitchen.

“You’re right about me being off duty. If you want I could stop by your place.”

I shook my head. “You’ve got somebody waiting for you.”

“Right,” he said with a nod. All the teasing was gone. Obviously he’d gotten himself into an awkward position. But it was none of my business.

*   *   *

Julius must have heard the sound of the kitchen door as I returned. When I flipped on the light, he came sauntering into the room. He stopped to stretch and give his paw a cleaning before he stared up at me with those yellow eyes of his.

“I certainly made a mess of things,” I said. I recounted the disaster with the yarn and my big sting operation. Then I laughed at my confession. Even though I’d never had one, I knew that dogs were like confidants. They knew when you were down and rushed to lick your face to cheer you up. I looked at Julius and wondered if he had any idea I was upset, or even cared. “This is really about stink fish, isn’t it?” I said with a sigh. But Julius surprised me. He didn’t make a run for his bowl. At least not right away. He blinked a few times and then jumped into my arms and began to purr. I think that was a cat version of licking your face.

“Wherever I go, you’re coming, too,” I said, petting his fluffy black fur.

*   *   *

I had a troubled night. It wasn’t so much worry that the retreaters would be angry or ask for refunds. It was that I felt I’d let them down. I had promised sheep to shawl and gotten nowhere close.

I hoped things would seem more promising in the morning. They didn’t. I had a feeling of complete doom when I thought about the last session with the retreat group. No matter what Crystal and her mother cobbled together, it wasn’t going to be handspun yarn.

I was dragging my feet getting ready when of course my mother called.

“How is the retreat going?” my mother asked. I recognized it as a setup. She knew me well enough to know that there was bound to be a problem. I tried to say that it was going just fine, but she was an expert at dissecting my tone of voice and saw through it.

“What’s wrong?” she said with that knowing sound.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to add a cheerful bounce to the word. But my voice was already warbling at the “ing” and I started to spill my guts—at least as far as the retreat was concerned. The words just came tumbling out before I could stop them. No sheep shearing, a dead workshop leader who hadn’t thought through the reality of what could be done in the time they had, my group of yarn crafters who’d ended up with only a handful of spun yarn to knit a whole shawl and finally a replacement leader who’d run off in the middle of things.

“Is that all?” my mother said with just enough of a laugh to let me know she was being facetious. “So, maybe you’re ready to accept this retreat business isn’t for you.” I girded for the speech in which she’d tell me to cut my losses and move on to cooking school. But that wasn’t at all what she said.

“Casey, you’ve still got today to fix things with your group,” she began. “As much as you’ve gone from one thing to another, you’ve never been a quitter. I mean, quit in the middle of something. You finished the semester with good grades before you decided that law school wasn’t for you. You stayed with the substitute teaching until the school year was up. Have you ever stopped in the middle of baking a cake? No,” she said, answering her own question. “I have every confidence that you will find a way to finish on a high note with your yarn people.”

I was dumbstruck. Was my mother encouraging me? Then I told her about Sammy’s performance.

“That’s the worst thing that could happen,” she said when she heard he’d been a success. “Next he’ll be dropping his practice and doing magic full-time.”

Her comment made me laugh and she wanted to know what was so funny.

“Sammy would take your comment as a compliment. He’s trying very hard to become a bad boy.” Now my mother laughed.

“Sammy, a bad boy? Not in this lifetime.” She wished me well for the day and asked me to let her know how things went.

I looked out the window to see if any pigs were flying by. Because I thought that was as likely as the phone call I’d just had with my mother.

There was no more time for stalling. I dressed in my most confident outfit, wound a royal blue scarf around my neck in my best attempt at a nonchalant style and headed outside. I remembered only at the last minute about Maggie’s messages and my plan to talk to her in person. With all that had happened, it wasn’t surprising that I’d forgotten. I figured even if she was busy this morning, she could take a moment to tell me her big revelation. I got into my car and headed out onto the street.

This early on Sunday morning, I had the streets to myself. The restaurants and coffee places in Cadbury were already open, but the shops were still closed up tight. As I looked up the street toward the Coffee Shop, I felt my heartbeat go crazy. Two blue-and-white cruisers were stopped in front of the Victorian storefront, and worse, a red rescue ambulance had its lights flashing as it pulled away and took off down the street. I parked and ran.

The door to the Coffee Shop was blocked off with yellow tape. I looked through the uniforms to see if Dane was among them, but he wasn’t. Lieutenant Borgnine was just getting out of his car, and his expression was grim. I was able to get a glimpse inside the shop before one of the uniforms shooed me away. All I saw was a pool of blood and one of the wool combs. There seemed to be red droplets on the sharp tines.

I recognized Carol, Maggie’s helper, talking to the officers as Lieutenant Borgnine joined them and she began her story again. The flat light of the white sky only made her look paler.

“Maggie always comes in early. She leaves the front door locked until I get here,” she said. “When I got here, I knocked on the front door and when I looked in I saw she was”—the girl stopped and swallowed before she continued—“on the ground, right there.” She used the back of her hand to point inside as if she didn’t want to look in there again. “I ran around to the back. The door was open and I went inside.” She choked on her words a little as she said she’d called 911 right away.

One of the officers told Lieutenant Borgnine that the paramedics said Maggie had been attacked with something sharp they’d found on the floor and there was a blunt-force trauma injury to her head. I was relieved to hear she was still alive, though in very bad shape.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I tell them the sharp thing was a wool comb and possibly related to my yarn retreat and that I’d come to talk to Maggie because I thought she knew something about Nicole’s death? Or was it better to let them think I’d just happened by for a morning coffee? It couldn’t possibly be coincidental that Maggie knew something and now she was clinging to life. Two things struck me. If Maggie was attacked because she had figured out something about Nicole’s death, didn’t that prove that it wasn’t suicide? And maybe if I hadn’t meddled in the whole thing, Maggie would be behind the counter handing out drinks and good cheer. I heard the cops talking and they seemed to think robbery was the motive, but I knew better.

“You need to get some kind of protection for Maggie, so whoever attacked her doesn’t try to finish the job,” I said. Lieutenant Borgnine acknowledged my presence for the first time with an unfriendly grunt.

“And why is it we should do that?” he said in a condescending tone.

I thought fast. If I brought up that I felt all this was connected to Nicole’s death, he’d tune me out right then. But they needed to realize Maggie could still be in danger. “Whoever was trying to rob the place probably thinks they killed her, but if they hear she’s alive they’ll realize she might be able to finger them.” Lieutenant Borgnine’s eyes went skyward and he mumbled something about my choice of words, saying they sounded like they came out of some PI’s mouth in a cheap novel.

“I mean she might identify them,” I said, irritated at myself for changing my words to please him.

“We’ve got it covered,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You can run along now. I believe you have a retreat going this weekend and I’m sure all those knitters need you.”

I started to walk away, but when he thought I was out of earshot, I heard him tell one of the uniforms to go down to the hospital and keep watch on Maggie. At least I’d done that.

And I’d thought the morning was rocky before. Still, this was no time to feel sorry for myself or dwell on how guilty I felt. I had to pull myself together for my yarn people. What my mother hadn’t quite understood was I really cared about the retreaters. It wasn’t just about finishing the retreat. I didn’t want to let them down.

I was back on the Vista Del Mar grounds in no time. It seemed everyone was still at breakfast and it felt very quiet. My first stop was the original meeting room we’d used. It was the last place I’d seen the wool combs. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find. When Wanda had taken off, she had probably stopped to pick up what she’d left there.

The room was swept clean and the tables neatly folded against the wall. The bins were still in the corner. I opened the lid of hers, feeling my heart race. The bag of salad spinners covered only part of the bottom. The pair of wool combs had been next to it. Now there was only one, with the tines pointed ominously up toward anyone who reached in. I thought over who had access to the bin—it seemed like everybody on the Vista Del Mar grounds.

As I approached the Lodge, breakfast was ending and the crowd was filtering out of the dining hall. There was a different feeling on Sunday morning. For most of the guests, the yoga group and my retreaters, their stay at Vista Del Mar was coming to a close. They moved at a more leisurely pace than earlier in the weekend, savoring the last of their time on the wild grounds. I wished I could share their peace.

I saw Lucinda coming toward me. Though she smiled, her eyes seemed concerned as they locked on to my face. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she reached me.

“Is it that obvious?” I said, fidgeting with my scarf as if moving it around would make me appear less worried. Lucinda moved my hand, took the scarf off and changed the arrangement of it, which I was sure was an improvement.

“You were a no-show at breakfast and your brows are knit together,” she said. There was no point in keeping the news about Maggie from Lucinda. So as we walked toward the meeting room on the ground floor of the Sandpiper building, I told her all of it, including how I felt it was my fault.

She did her best to try to make me feel better, reminding me that I hadn’t merely been trying to stir things up, but was trying to find a killer. “Maggie will be okay. You’ll see,” she said. Just before we went inside, she started to pull away. “I better call Tag and tell him what happened.” She looked back in the direction of the Lodge. “I suppose there’s a line for the pay phones.”

I handed her the keys to my place and told her it would be faster.

I went on into the lobbylike room. Will must have been by; the lights were on and the fire lit. I forced myself to have an upbeat expression as I stood waiting for everyone to arrive. Folks started to come in groups of twos and threes. They all seemed to have tentative expressions as they came in, as if they weren’t quite sure what to expect. Who could blame them? Bree, Olivia and Scott came in together and then spread out. They knew all the roadblocks of the weekend and I watched as they tried to generate some enthusiasm in the group. I wanted to hug them all and thank them. The one person who didn’t show up was Ronny Fiore. No surprise.

I tried not to be obvious, but I kept glancing toward the door looking for Crystal and her mother and the replacement yarn. I was relieved when I saw the two of them pulling a stack of bins up the path. It would probably cost me a lot of my profit, but at least they would all have yarn for the shawlette.

I held the door for them and they wheeled the bins inside and went up to the front of the room. “I’m afraid we had to sort of mix and match,” Crystal said as she opened the top bin on her stack. There was a cornucopia of colors and the yarn had more of a uniform thickness than real handspun, but there appeared to be plenty of it. We were trying to work out the logistics of handing it out when the door opened and two women pulling red wagons rushed inside.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” the first woman said.

I did a double take. “Wanda?”

“You sound surprised,” the short golf pro/spinning expert said. It was then she took in Crystal and Gwen’s bins of yarns. “What’s going on? Why did they bring all that yarn?”

Just then Lucinda came in. She looked over the group of us in the front of the room with a puzzled expression and then slipped in with the rest of the retreaters.

It was then that I noticed that the red wagon Wanda had pulled in was heaped with balls of thick natural-colored yarn. The other woman’s wagon was filled with the same.

When we’d been discussing the whole retreat concept, Nicole had shown me an example of handspun yarn. Wanda’s load matched up with what I’d seen.

“You just sort of left yesterday,” I said. I waved at the still spinning wheels. I dropped my voice so no one else would hear. “I thought you bailed when you realized how there was no way they’d have enough yarn to make a shawl.” I nodded toward Crystal and Gwen. “They brought some yarn that looks sort of handspun.”

“‘Sort of’ isn’t the real thing. I left you a note on the message board saying we’d be here,” Wanda said. The younger woman with her nodded in agreement and for the first time I really looked at her. She resembled Wanda and yet how could the same features on two women be so different? I was sure this must be the sister I had heard about. I instantly felt for my spinning instructor and could understand how she’d been outshone by her sibling. The sister was lovely with a tall graceful build and a different manner than Wanda’s. Wanda marched, while her sister had almost danced in.

Wanda did her teapot pose. “I can’t believe you thought I would do that. You certainly don’t know me then.”

I looked at the wagonloads of yarn. “Where did these come from?” I asked. Instead of answering me, Wanda turned to the group and told them they’d each need two balls and it was 100 percent handspun. In an instant the mood had lifted and they all seemed excited. Lucinda looked over at me with a bright smile. Bree and Olivia took it upon themselves to start handing out yarn from one of the wagons, while Scott and Lucinda worked the other one.

“This is my sister, Angelina,” Wanda said, introducing the younger woman. Wanda noticed my eyes flitting back and forth between the two women, comparing their looks. She seemed to be used to the reaction and spoke what I was thinking. “I know you can’t believe we’re sisters, but we are,” she said. Wanda left it at that. Now I understood what the travel agent had said about Wanda being upstaged by her sister. Angelina smiled and nodded during the introduction, but then she turned toward the door.

“I’m going to look for Will.” Angelina turned back and made eye contact with me. “This has to be such a hard time for him. I just want to let him know I—er, we’re here for him.” I wondered why she felt the need to explain.

Gwen and Crystal had listened to the whole interchange. I apologized for their trouble and they started to leave, saying the yarn would be available in the gift shop.

My group was totally immersed in the yarn and everywhere I looked, they were casting on stitches and beginning to knit. Wanda watched them with a pleased smile.

I asked her again about the appearance of the yarn. Wanda did her teapot pose again. “Anybody with any sense would have realized Nicole’s plan was flawed. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She knew better. She had a fancy degree and that artistic shop.” Wanda rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it. “You don’t take a bunch of people who have never spun before and think they’re going to be able to learn how and then spin fast enough to make a couple of hundred yards of yarn. Nicole kept talking about some competitions they have at some wool festivals where they go from sheep to shawl in a day, but she didn’t bother looking into them enough to understand that it was teams of people working together to make one shawl. And teams of experienced people.”

Wanda threw her hands up. “I knew what was going to happen. Maybe Nicole realized she’d gotten herself in over her head and that’s why she did what she did. If only she hadn’t been so high and mighty about the whole thing, I would have told her my plan.”

“You were the one who bought the fleeces, weren’t you,” I said, remembering how the rancher had mentioned selling a lot of wool.

Wanda nodded. “When I said I was a spinner extraordinaire, I wasn’t just tooting my own horn. I love spinning and I am fast. I figured when Nicole fell on her face, I’d step in and sell her the yarn.” As Wanda said it she handed me a receipt for the fleeces and an invoice for her time. “I was going to charge her extra for saving her behind, but since you ended up hiring me, I’m giving you a discount.”

At the moment I was so glad to have the yarn to give my people, I didn’t care that with all that had gone on, I was barely going to break even. But then I was still learning the business.

“Just one question,” I said as Wanda turned to join the crowd. “Why didn’t you just tell me about the yarn you had?”

“And ruin the fun?” she said. “Do you think these women would have tried so hard with the wool if they knew it didn’t matter?” She reached down and handed me the last two skeins of yarn. “Knock yourself out.”

When the wagons were both empty, Wanda picked up both handles and started toward the door.

“You’re not leaving?” I said, coming up behind her.

“My work here is done. All I signed on for was turning the wool into yarn. You can handle the rest.” And with that she left, rattling the wagons behind her.

I was grateful for the yarn, but I still had to wonder how convenient it was that she had it. Just like the purchase of the salad spinners—as if she knew she was going to be taking over for Nicole. It wasn’t as if I’d even looked to Wanda as a replacement. She’d offered her services. Here’s the part I was having a hard time swallowing: It was clear she hadn’t liked Nicole. Would she really have gone to such trouble to save the day for Nicole, even if she got paid for it?