Yarn to Go (7 page)

Kris put out her arm to stop her. “No plans have been changed yet.”

Olivia shrugged. “Even if the retreat ends, I’m staying. There would be nothing but trouble if I came back early.” I waited for her to add to her statement with some kind of explanation, but Olivia just stopped talking. I wondered if we’d ever know what was bothering her so. She was pleasant looking when she let go of the upset expression, and gave off a vibe of someone solid and dependable.

“I suppose Sissy and I could move into one of those cute bed-and-breakfasts in Carmel and finish our mother-daughter weekend there.” Melissa had taken a cup of coffee and started to push it away as if she was getting ready to depart.

“Thanks for consulting me,” Sissy said in an annoyed tone. “Didn’t you hear what Kris said? There aren’t any plans to end the retreat yet.” The mother-daughter argument was all too familiar. Is that what my mother and I sounded like? I vowed right then never to argue with her again, at least not in public.

“I was just trying to handle the situation,” Sissy’s mother said before pulling the cup back in front of her and refilling it. “What about Scott?” We all checked the room and Sissy pointed to a faraway table.

I went over to tell him the news. He saw me coming, and as soon as I got close to the table, he jumped up from his seat and drew me by a tall window. His brow immediately went into furrow mode as soon as he heard, and for a few moments he didn’t speak. Then he said, “I suppose the media will be here. These days everything goes national. You have to keep me out of sight.” He slumped in distress. “My wife thinks I’m in San Francisco. And my boss can’t hear me being listed as part of a knitting retreat.” He went outside, shaking his head. Did he even care about Edie?

When I got back to the table, Tag Thornkill had just arrived. He must have jumped in his car as soon as Lucinda called. As always, he was dressed in neat perfection. But then everything about him was neat perfection. Lucinda looked upset, and Tag stood in front of me.

“Lucinda really needs to come home. Everything is off at the restaurant without her there.” He looked down in a dejected manner. “The staff just won’t listen to me.” A moment later, he’d raised his head and leaned toward the table to straighten the place setting next to me before rearranging the salt and pepper on the lazy Susan in the middle of the round table. “And now with this terrible incident . . .”

“Do you want to leave?” I said to Lucinda.

“No,” Lucinda said a little forcefully, then it seemed to register that she was in public. She turned toward Tag. “Honey, you go on back to the restaurant. I’m sure everything will be fine without me. Besides, Casey needs me right now, don’t you?” she said, turning toward me with pleading eyes.

“Yes, of course. I need Lucinda here now more than ever,” I said. Tag appeared disgruntled but finally left. As soon as he neared the door, Lucinda undid the place setting he straightened and took the salt and pepper shaker off the lazy Susan, and when the saltshaker spilled some of its contents, she left it there.

I felt like rolling my eyes. Poor Edie was dead in her bed and all anyone could think about was their own personal troubles. Well, maybe I was guilty of that, too.

I thought of what Scott had said about the media. Would the story make its way all the way to Chicago and my parents? I had considered not mentioning the retreat when they’d done their weekly call to try to convince me to move back to Chicago and the sort of life they thought I should be leading. But I’d caved and told them about it.

“I don’t know why you have to tie up the loose ends of her business,” my mother had said before going into her usual reminder that when she was my age, she had a profession and a family and, oh, I had neither. And now there’d been a murder in the middle of the weekend. I pictured her seeing the story online. What would the headline be?
Knitter Needled to Death.

8

LUNCH ENDED AND NO ONE HAD EVEN GOTTEN
their food. I managed to get everyone to go directly to our meeting room without passing the Sand and Sea building. I didn’t want them to see the yellow tape around it or
realize they couldn
’t go to their rooms.

“C’mon everyone,” Kris said, standing at the end of the long table. “Pick up those needles and focus on your work.” She was trying to sound cheery, but I could hear the effort in her voice. Kris and I had agreed that the best thing to do was to keep things going according to schedule. The problem was everyone was staring at Edie’s spot and her tote bag.

“Edie was so excited about working with two circular needles,” Bree said. “And now she’ll never get to make two socks at the same time.”

“Among other things,” Olivia said under her breath. She picked up the needle holding the rows of lacy purple stitches and checked them over before taking the other needle and beginning on the next row. I was amazed at how effortless she made it seem.

When Bree saw that Olivia had started to knit, she picked up her work, but her manner was totally different. She fretted about the yarn, grumbling that it seemed to keep changing colors and textures, and held up the portion she’d already done in front of Kris. “Is this the way it’s supposed to look?” Poor Bree wasn’t doing well at all at making something one of a kind.

The large red plastic needles slipped out of Scott’s hand and hit the table with a loud noise, making the whole group jump. “Sorry,” he muttered, retrieving them and beginning to knit. As soon as he did the tension around his eyes began to soften. I know it was a sexist thought, but it still seemed strange to see this conservative business-type man with his close-cropped hair, pressed khakis and oxford cloth shirt knitting with those huge needles. For a moment he seemed peaceful, then he set down his work and looked around the group. “Have any of you seen any news media around here?” He didn’t wait for them to answer. “If you do and they ask you any questions about who is here, don’t mention me. Don’t even mention there is a man in your group.”

“Scott, your secret is safe with us,” Lucinda said. She picked up her knitting with gusto. Her individual plan called for her to make a swatch with alternating stitches of knits and purls before she started her actual project. She showed off what she’d already done. The first thing I noticed was that both sides of her work looked the same.

Sissy seemed to have completely lost herself in her kit. She’d done several rows in the golden yellow yarn and was poring over the directions as she picked up the metal hook with a rather sharp point.

“What’s that?” I said. Sissy looked up, but before she could answer her mother had stepped in.

“It’s a cable hook,” Melissa said to me before turning toward Kris. “I’m sure your intentions were good, but my daughter and I really should have had the same project. Neither of us have done cables, but if we were working together, I could help her.”

“Mother,” Sissy said in a tired tone. “I can figure this out myself. And when I do, I’ll show you how to make cables.” Sissy had a triumphant little smile.

“I can learn to make cables on my own. I was knitting when you couldn’t even hold a spoon,” Melissa said, her eyes flaring. Kris got Melissa to pick up her two colors of yarn and go back to working on her houndstooth scarf.

“I’m glad to see some things are going along as usual,” I said to Kris as we both watched the mother and daughter try to tend to their own knitting.

“Casey, do you need any help?” Kris asked. Oops, I’d been caught. I’d been preoccupied with watching the others and hadn’t even taken the pair of bamboo needles out of the bag. Now on the spot, I took out the needles and started to work on my swatch. The others might be able to knit and do something else, like talk, but for me it was a totally engrossing activity. And hardly relaxing. As I began to poke the right needle through the loop on the other needle, my shoulders immediately tensed. Or maybe they were tense to begin with after what had happened with Edie.

Just as I got halfway through the row, the door to the room opened and Kevin St. John walked in accompanied by another man. They stepped to the head of the table and stopped next to Kris as she moved aside.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your session,” the manager said to the group. The expression on his round face was at odds with his words. I don’t think he was sorry at all. It was just another example of Kevin St. John displaying his authority. “This is Lieutenant Theodore Borgnine of the Cadbury by the Sea PD. He’d like to talk to you.”

Lieutenant Borgnine reminded me of a bulldog. He had almost no neck on a fireplug-shaped body. His short, stubby graying fringe hinted at the full head of hair he must have had once. In place of a uniform, he wore a pair of gray slacks and a herringbone sports jacket that seemed a little misshapen. It was pretty clear he wasn’t interested in being a fashion plate.

“I want you to know that we have the situation under control. Sorry, but we’ve had to close off the whole Sand and Sea building.” I cringed as he said it. So far I’d managed to keep that information from my group. He seemed immune to their looks of discomfort as he continued. “As soon as we’re finished with our investigation, we’ll be opening it up so you can access your rooms.” He surveyed the faces around the table. “I will be wanting to talk to each of you separately. And I have to ask something else of all of you. I see a number of you are from out of town, and I’m sure the shock of what’s happened to one of your group has made some of you want to change your plans and return home immediately. But I’m requesting you all stay put for the entire weekend.”

It wasn’t so much what he said but how he said it. The emphasis on certain words made it clear that while he said he was making a request, he was really ordering everyone not to leave. It was probably something they taught at police school. “Ms. Feldstein, we’ll start with you.”

This wasn’t our first meeting. He’d been the one to investigate my aunt’s accident. As I followed them to the door, I looked back at Kris and she gave me a reassuring nod that all would be well in my absence.

Kevin walked out with us but left us at the fork in the road and went back to the Lodge building. Surprisingly, it seemed like business as usual on the grounds. A group of birders were heading toward the walkway through the dunes. A family hiked up the hill toward one of the residence buildings that wasn’t blocked off. The black cat was walking behind them.

“Is he yours?” I asked. They didn’t seem aware of who I was referring to at first. Then the woman saw the cat.

She shook her head and said that he looked like a stray. As they walked on, the cat wandered off into the brush. I’d never had a pet. My parents blamed it on the fact we lived in the Hancock building and had no yard. The downtown Chicago high rise probably wasn’t the best place for a pet, but I still had always wanted one. I wondered if the cat was hungry.

Lieutenant Borgnine seemed impatient with my concern about the cat and urged me on to a meeting room near the entrance to Vista Del Mar. There were a bunch of chairs with desks on the arms and a table in the front. No fireplace or anything to make it cozy. I shivered partly from the chilly air inside and partly from the thought of being questioned.

He gestured for me to take a seat as he leaned against the front table, holding on to his position of authority. He took out a pad and paper and asked for my name and address more as a formality.

“So, Ms. Feldstein,” he said as he scribbled it down, “still baking for the Blue Door? The wife thinks your apple pie is the best. And still doing the muffins?” It was more of a statement than a question. Here I was all tensed up to be grilled about Edie and he was discussing my baking. What was that about?

“Those muffins with the berries are the best.”

“Oh, you mean the Merry Berries,” I said, and his expression darkened.

“No, I mean the ones with the berries in them. No cutesy names in Cadbury. We call things what they are.” Lieutenant Borgnine held his pen poised to write. “So, you’ve taken over your aunt’s retreat business?”

“Have you gotten any leads on her accident?” I said. He seemed surprised by the question and not happy with it.

“It’s an open case. We’re still looking for the driver,” he said curtly.

“But what if it wasn’t an accident?” I said. I was about to bring up my evidence, but he cut me off.

“I understand you’re still upset about your aunt. But you have to leave it to the professionals. Now let’s get down to Edie Spaghazzi.” He wanted to know everything I knew about Edie, but mostly who might want to kill her.

I mentioned she was a no-show at breakfast and that I’d tried to call her but had gotten her voice mail. “Did you find her cell phone?” I asked.

Lieutenant Borgnine did a double take. “I’m the one asking the questions. How about you just tell me about Mrs. Spaghazzi,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, sort of giving up. He started writing as I explained I’d really just met Edie. He pushed me to tell him more about her personality and if I thought she had any enemies. I started to shrug off the question about enemies, but I hesitated for a split second. Lieutenant Eagle Eyes picked up on the change in my expression and pressed me until I explained. “Like I said, I didn’t know her very well, but she seemed to stick her foot in her mouth a lot. I don’t think she meant any harm.”

“But what you’re not saying is even if she didn’t mean any harm, she stepped on a few toes.”

I nodded in agreement with his statement. He asked for specifics, but offhand I couldn’t remember any. “Sorry, but everything is a bit of a jumble in my mind right now.” He didn’t seem happy with my vague answer and started to ask about my dealings with her.

“Like I said, I barely knew her,” I said. I explained I was simply tying up the loose ends of my aunt’s business with this retreat, which I suspected he already knew courtesy of Kevin St. John.

Then his questions began to make me uneasy. “This retreat you’re running has to do with knitting, right?” I nodded. “And there were knitting needles stuck in the victim’s chest.” He looked at me intently. “Do you have any idea where they came from?”

I said they were probably Edie’s, but he just looked at me and said, “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Lots of people have knitting needles. Just go look at Cadbury Yarn. They have all kinds. Or in the gift shop.” I explained that the owner of local yarn store had left supplies for sale there. “Gwen Selwyn said when guests saw the retreat people knitting, it seemed to make them want to knit, too.”

“Like some kind of virus,” Lieutenant Borgnine said.

“Not exactly. It’s supposed to be enjoyable and relaxing.”

“Let’s just get down to it,” he said. “Who in your group has those steel double-pointed needles?”

“You think it was someone in my group?” I said. I was surprised and defensive and said it couldn’t possibly be one of them. They all seemed so nice. He rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes something happens to nice people and suddenly they’re not so nice.” He looked at me. “What about you? Do you have some of those sharp needles?”

“Are you kidding? I barely know how to knit,” I said, trying to avoid a direct answer. But he was good and picked up on it.

“So, you’re saying you don’t have any needles like that?” he said. Something in his voice made me uneasy.

“You don’t honestly think that I—”

“Just answer the question,” he said, interrupting.

What I did next did not please him. I’d learned something when I’d done temp work at the detective agency. As much as Lieutenant Borgnine was trying to assert his authority, I wasn’t really under any obligation to answer his question or stay there.

“That’s really all I have to say,” I said, getting out of the chair and heading for the door.