While My Pretty One Knits (10 page)

Lucy sat puzzling over the brochure design, trying to figure out a new way to highlight certain sections of information without it taking up too much space. She’d come up with an attractive shadow box but the copy kept bouncing out of the frame.

The phone rang, interrupting her string of mild expletives. She looked up when she heard Maggie’s greeting on the answering machine. “I just have a minute to say hello. I wanted to tell you, I went over to the police station this morning—”

Lucy leaned across her desk and grabbed up the receiver. “Hi, I’m here…you went to see Walsh?”

“Very early this morning. With Christine Forbes. She was great. She didn’t let him needle me. Not like the first time.”

That was some relief, but Lucy had expected the detective would handle Maggie differently with a lawyer present. “What did he say?”

“He was definitely annoyed that I’d lied to him, and interested to hear the whole story. That was clear. He kept making me go over the timing and little details, like where did I park, how long did I stand there knocking. That sort of thing. But he didn’t really say much. He wanted to know if I had seen anything unusual, or noticed anyone on the street. He kept asking about that, too.”

“Maybe that means he doesn’t really suspect you,” Lucy pointed out.

“Oh…I don’t know what to think,” Maggie said honestly.

“Did you see anyone there that morning?” Lucy realized she’d forgotten to ask Maggie that yesterday.

“Not a soul. And I’ve hardly been to the Knitting Nest enough times to know what would look out of the ordinary there.”

“Well, at least it’s over with. You must feel relieved.”

“I do,” Maggie agreed, though her voice still held a nervous edge. “You know how the police are. They never give you a real feeling of…closure. Not in a situation like this. But I’m glad I told him. I was worried someone had seen me and would report it. Then I would have really been stuck explaining.”

That possibility had occurred to Lucy, too. “What does your attorney think?”

“She thinks I did the right thing.”

“You did,” Lucy assured her. “I’m sure Walsh knows you had nothing to do with it. Coming forward like this sort of proves that. I mean, you wouldn’t go to see him if you’d done it. That wouldn’t make sense.”

“It depends on how you look at it. And how desperate the police are to find a suspect. So…what are you up to?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Working on extremely boring brochures about health benefits. Which would be a no-brainer, if the copy stopped jumping around the design,” Lucy replied. “And I started a sock monkey hat last night. I got a confidential rush order for two of them.”

“Sophie and Regina?” Maggie guessed. “Ellen’s going to love that.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Lucy said mischievously. “I got the first one going pretty well, but I’m having some trouble shaping it. Could you take a look? I feel sort of obsessed and if I wait until the meeting tomorrow night, it might be a mess.”

“I’m giving classes today, back to back. And Phoebe just left for school. Can you stop by later, after four?”

“That would be fine. See you then.”

Lucy knew she would have run into town if Maggie had been free, but it was just as well. She had to keep working on the pamphlets until the end of the day, or they’d never get done. The trip into town would be her reward. That and a stop at the grocery store. It didn’t really take much to keep her happy, did it?

By the time the afternoon had passed, along with a few phone calls and e-mails with the copywriter on the project, Lucy had figured out an attractive solution to her problem, with an eye-catching two-color box and a few edits in the text. She still had to reduce some photos to fit the new design and change the typeface on the headings, but that would take no time at all. She considered the pamphlets basically finished and looked forward to sending in the revised files tomorrow, along with an invoice.

When Lucy entered the Black Sheep a short time later, she found Maggie ringing up a sale. The customer, a man in his thirties, was buying a pile of olive green yarn along with a few skeins of gray and black. The distinctly masculine color choices suggested to Lucy that he was making a sweater for himself or some other guy.

While growing up, she’d never met any men who knitted, though maybe they were doing it in secret. Judging from the traffic in the shop, there were a lot of men who knitted now. There was a wall full of photos in the shop, Maggie’s gallery of celebrity knitters, both men and women, a display that included such unquestionably manly types as Brad Pitt, all-star hockey goalie Jacques Plante, Laurence Fishburne, and Russell Crowe. There was some debate about the latter being a true knitter, but Maggie thought the photos of the macho movie star wielding needles and yarn was too much to resist.

She’d read someplace that early knitters were mainly male. Needle crafts and textile arts were part of most every culture in every part of the world. But in Western Europe, around the twelfth century, knitting in its present form emerged as a fine needle craft, practiced exclusively by men who were master craftsmen, well paid for their products. And later, by all-male knitting guilds.

But once knitting machines and later, knitting mills, came into the picture, hand knitting was no longer a lucrative or prestigious occupation. Knitting was taken over by women, especially those of the lower class, who often knitted out of necessity, to clothe their family.

Women like Lucy’s mother, who struggled for equal treatment in the workplace and on the home front, looked down at domestic arts like sewing or knitting, and even cooking. But Lucy thought such views had leveled out these days. Men in her generation cooked and cleaned and were greatly involved in child care. Women pumped their own gas and unclogged drains. Nobody made a big deal about it.

Lucy considered her knitting another means of self-expression, of creating beautiful useful things. It was even a way of communicating her affection and admiration to those she knitted for. She didn’t worry much about the gender issues.

A few months ago, she’d been invited to a singles knitting night, sort of a speed dating with knitting needles. But at the last minute, she’d backed out. Knitting was her sacred space. She didn’t want to pollute that sanctuary with the low vibrations of a stressed-out crowd of desperately mingling singletons.

Finally, Maggie’s transaction with the male knitter was complete. The satisfied customer gathered his bundles and left the store. Once the door was closed, Maggie cleared the counter of some extra skeins of green wool and sets of needles.

“He had good taste,” Maggie said. “He bought a lot, too. Men are pretty easy customers. They don’t stint when they’re making a project.”

“I noticed.”

“Did you bring the hat?” Maggie walked over and sat down. “Let’s take a look. You did a swatch to check the gauge, right?”

That question was the equivalent in Lucy’s mind of the dental hygienist asking if you flossed regularly.

“No…but that’s probably not the entire problem.”

Lucy pulled out the hat and her pattern while Maggie slipped on her reading glasses.

Just as Maggie was turning the project inside out for a thorough examination, the phone rang. Maggie paused and listened to see who was calling.

“Maggie? It’s Peter Goran. Good news. The police have let me back in the shop. I’m just calling to see if you’re still interested in seeing the stock here…”

Maggie put the hat down, then headed over to the counter to pick up the call. “Let me get this. I’ll be right back.”

Lucy sat back and studied the hat pattern, but couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.

“Oh, I see…well, I guess that would work out,” Maggie told him. “I’ll close up here around five and I’ll come right over. Can you hold on a minute, please?”

Maggie covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand and turned to Lucy. “He says he wants me to go over to the Nest tonight, to look at the stock. Want to come?”

Maggie’s tone was eager, as if this promised to be a fun outing. Lucy doubted that, but didn’t need to be persuaded. She didn’t like the idea of Maggie going there alone and quickly nodded.

Maggie turned back to the phone. “Okay, Peter. I’ll see you in a little while.”

Lucy soon heard her say good-bye and hang up. She returned and sat down again. She picked up the hat, but Lucy could tell she was too distracted now to study it.

“I would have rather gone over there tomorrow. But he’s really in a rush to move things along.”

“Maybe he does have another buyer lined up. Or he just wants the money…or both,” Lucy added.

“Yes, probably both. Thanks for coming. I’m sure I can use a second opinion,” Maggie added.

“Not a problem. Though I’m pretty sure I can’t tell alpaca from…Akita.”

“You probably can’t. But you have a good eye and great taste. By the way, you can’t do much with dog hair. People have tried. I hear that some of it looks lovely spun and knit up, but once it gets wet…” Maggie made a face. “It stinks to high heaven and sort of melts in the rain.”

Lucy found that bit of trivia a bit bizarre, but Maggie was perfectly serious.

“I’ll try to remember that, if I’m ever tempted.” Lucy paused. “Were you worried about being alone there with Peter?”

“Of course not.” Maggie shook her head. “But as dear old Mom used to say, there’s safety in numbers. Especially when it comes to men.”

Especially a guy who may have murdered his wife,
Lucy silently amended.

A
t precisely 5:15, Lucy and Maggie stood side by side as Maggie knocked on the door of the Knitting Nest. Lucy heard a racket of barking inside and couldn’t help but think of the last time Maggie had knocked on that door, the morning Amanda had been murdered.

Lucy had expected to feel odd coming here, especially after she’d spotted the intruder last Sunday, but she had definitely underestimated the creep factor. It was hard not to think about that shadowy figure—who was it and what were they after? And impossible not to think about Amanda and how she’d so recently been bludgeoned to death in this place.

The door opened a moment later and Peter Goran appeared. He looked his usual sloppy self again, wearing a worn flannel shirt over a T-shirt and jeans, a two-or three-day growth of sandy beard covering his face. He smiled and greeted Maggie, then looked surprised to see she wasn’t alone.

“I brought a friend. To help me. I thought it would go faster that way,” Maggie explained as she walked in. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Lucy thought he did mind. He looked annoyed.

“Of course not,” he said. “Come right in, ladies.”

Lucy followed Maggie and stood facing him. “We met at the funeral. I’m Lucy Binger.”

“Sure. I remember you.” Something in his tone and the way he looked her over gave Lucy more gooseflesh.

Was he coming on to her? Yuck…

Lucy made a blank face, her gaze darting away. She glanced around the shop. She’d only been inside once and her view from the window had been hazy, to say the least. Now she could see that the shop was L-shaped, narrow and dark, with a counter placed in the middle. It could have been furnished to lend a cozy feeling, with some armchairs and small tables, but Amanda hadn’t done much of that. She had a flair for designing knitwear, but not much eye or interest in decorating.

A square table surrounded by folding chairs stood in front and wooden cubicles that held skeins of yarn covered the walls. A large spinning wheel stood in the back of the shop and a door stood open to what looked like a small office.

Three or even four dogs had been circling around them since they’d walked in, barking excitedly. One jumped up, trying to lick Lucy’s chin.

“Oh my goodness…” Lucy stepped back and the dog jumped down again.

“Get out of here, Tink. Stupid mutt.” Peter swatted at the offender but missed. The dog shrunk back, cowering.

Tink was a shaggy yellow creature with an impossibly long tail. Lucy felt bad for the poor thing. It looked starved for attention. Starved, period.

“Sorry…damn dogs. Amanda never trained them. She didn’t believe in it.” He laughed, but in a mean way.

“It’s okay. I like dogs,” Lucy told him.

Peter glanced at her. “Yeah, well, these dogs are pests. I’ll lock them in the back if they bother you. I’m surprised they didn’t chew up the whole damn place by now.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She wondered what he was going to do with his late wife’s beloved pets. Probably dump them off at a shelter. She was surprised he hadn’t done so already.

“Can we start in here?” Maggie asked, refocusing his attention.

Peter shrugged. “Go right ahead. There’s more in that back room and a little storeroom near the office.”

Lucy looked around and checked the store’s layout. Now she could clearly see where the intruder had been when she’d been gazing through the window. Coming out of the office in back of the store, probably.

“Let’s start on this wall. You take that side.” Maggie’s instructions interrupted Lucy’s train of thought.

Lucy turned and followed her to the wall covered with wooden cubicles filled with yarn. They’d come prepared with index cards, tape, small scissors, and envelopes.

Back at the Black Sheep, Maggie had told her to just copy the label information of anything that looked interesting, try to estimate how many skeins there were, and take a little snip of the yarn. She would figure it all out later.

Lucy examined the yarns, jotted notes, and snipped away. She found bits of gray gritty stuff on the cubicles. Some of it had gotten into the yarn and she brushed if off with her fingers.

“What’s this stuff all over the shelves? Do you see it on your side?”

Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “I think it’s the dust police use to look for fingerprints. It’s pretty much all over the place.”

“It’s gotten into some of the yarn,” Lucy reported.

“Good…I can argue for a discount,” Maggie whispered back.

Lucy smiled as she crouched down to check out the skeins in a lower bin. She didn’t notice Tink sneaking up beside her until the dog sniffed her ear. Lucy turned and stroked the dog’s head. Her fur was incredibly soft, like feathers.

“Hello, Tink,” Lucy greeted her quietly. “You’re a nice girl, aren’t you? Yes, you are…”

Tink panted appreciatively and tried to lick Lucy’s nose. She could swear the dog was smiling at her.

There was something a little goofy about this dog and her name seemed to fit her, too. “Tink” was a knitter’s term, the word “knit” spelled backward, used to describe stitches that needed to be pulled out.

Lucy petted Tink some more and she was rewarded with a gentle lick on her hand. Then she glanced over her shoulder to see if Peter was watching. She was afraid if Peter saw her giving the dog attention, he might get annoyed again with the poor thing. The dog probably missed Amanda. She’d heard that dogs really mourn when they lost their owners or other animals in the house.

Peter had closed himself up in the small office. Lucy heard him talking on the phone and, from time to time, laughing loudly. Lucy couldn’t help notice that he didn’t seem saddened returning to this shop. Or unsettled at all by the thought that just days before, his wife had been murdered in one of these rooms, perhaps while sitting at her desk, in the same spot he now occupied.

Unless he was one of those men who automatically buried painful feelings. If that was the case, his grief had been buried deeper than Amanda’s remains.

Lucy returned to her task and Tink settled down next to her with a sigh. The dog seemed content for a few moments, then as Lucy copied some information off a skein of red merino, she heard a hacking cough.

The dog stood up and tiptoed around in a circle, gagging as if it was about to choke. Lucy didn’t know what to do. She looked around for Peter, but the office door remained shut.

Finally, the cough subsided. The dog went to a water bowl, took a long drink, then promptly spit up.

“Oh, geez…” Maggie had been watching the dog, too. She glanced back at Lucy. “I think that one’s sick.”

Lucy nodded. The dog did not seem right. She also walked with a slightly swaying gait. Lucy wondered if Peter had hurt her. He seemed to have a very short temper with the animals. He certainly had his grievances with his late wife. Maybe he saw the dogs as an extension of Amanda.

“I’ve finished my side. How are you doing?” Maggie asked, drawing Lucy’s attention.

“I’m done, too. I found some wonderful yarns in there,” she reported.

“It all looks good to me so far,” Maggie whispered. “Let’s check the back.”

As Lucy might have guessed, the yarns at the back of the shop were cheaper and of lower quality than those displayed in the front.

“But useful for some types of projects,” Maggie reminded her. “Hand-dyed organics and cashmere aren’t for everyone’s pocketbook, or skill level.”

True enough. Lucy knew her own skills still didn’t justify those purchases. Which didn’t always stop her from buying them anyway, and stashing them away.

While checking the goods in that part of the store, Lucy also came across a few UFOs. Some were stored in a tapestry knitting bag, the old-fashioned stand-up kind. Lucy had a feeling it was Amanda’s, especially when she checked the work, a section of a long coat with a pattern of several different complicated stitches.

“Look at this.” Lucy held up the piece for Maggie to see.

“Wow. That’s knitting. Looks like it was
hers
.”

“I thought so, too.” Lucy carefully placed the knitting back in the bag where she had found it, though she doubted the souvenir would have much sentimental value to Peter.

A wave of unease swept through her. Amanda was certainly not the first person to die suddenly and leave loose ends. But to handle something as personal as her knitting, which still seemed charged with her energy…Lucy found the experience unnerving.

Maggie looked through a rack of needles and Lucy checked a basket of buttons, sets of four sewed onto paper card stock. Mostly cheap and boring. The buttons in Maggie’s shop were more upscale, with handmade glass and ceramics, finely painted enamel designs, interesting wood and leather fasteners.

They went into the small storeroom last, not much more than a glorified closet. Lucy was surprised to see the shelves practically bare. Nothing like the storeroom in Maggie’s shop, which was brimming with stock.

But Amanda’s business had been running on a shoestring, Lucy recalled. She didn’t have the extra cash to invest in a deep inventory. Lucy suspected, though, that somewhere around here—maybe at her house?—Amanda had tucked away her very private stash; Lucy imagined that was the real mother lode.

What had the intruder been looking for, skulking around the shop on Sunday, she suddenly wondered. They probably hadn’t snuck in to check Amanda’s wool stock, that was for sure.

Was that mysterious person the murderer, who had come back to the shop looking for something they’d left behind? Some incriminating piece of evidence they’d hoped the police didn’t find…or recognize?

Peter stuck his head in the storeroom, making Lucy jump.

“How’s it going? See anything you like?”

“Some of it looks all right.” Maggie’s tone was low-key and “iffy,” betraying none of the excitement Lucy had heard earlier. Maggie knew how to bargain. She strolled out of the storeroom and Lucy followed. “Amanda definitely knew her yarn,” Maggie added.

“Yeah, that was one thing she knew.” Peter’s mouth turned down in a thin bitter smile. “So, what do you think?” he prodded Maggie. “Sounds like you’re interested.”

“I am. But I can’t make an offer tonight. I need a little time to figure it out.”

Lucy had a feeling Maggie had decided that even before she’d come. She was not the type to act impulsively, even under pressure. She liked to take time to think things over, especially a business deal like this one.

He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. Lucy thought he looked disappointed. Perhaps he’d expected Maggie to just whip out a checkbook and settle it all here and now.

“Sure. I guess. How long do you think that will take?”

“Oh, a day or so. Not too long,” Maggie clarified.

“That should be all right.”

Tink had been resting on a dog bed in the front room, but now rose and began coughing again.

Lucy looked over at her, feeling alarmed. “One of the dogs got sick before. The yellow one,” Lucy told Peter. “It was just a little water,” she added, expecting he’d be annoyed.

“Yeah, she’s not right. I called the vet, but I haven’t had time to take her over.”

Lucy heard a little buzzer sound in her brain, her bullshit detector going off. Peter was lying. He had not called a vet nor would he go to any trouble or expense for the dogs now that Amanda was gone. She was willing to bet on that.

“What are you going to do with the dogs?” Maggie asked. “Will you keep any of them?”

Lucy had noticed four dogs, including Tink. A large shepherd mix and two medium-size fluffy creatures that looked like a cross between a poodle and a miniature sheep.

“Nah…dogs aren’t my thing. They’re a lot to take care of and I’m not even sure of my own situation right now.”

Lucy wondered what that meant. She glanced at Maggie. Were the police badgering Peter, too? Is that what he was hinting at?

He’d caught the look that had passed between the two women, Lucy felt sure of it. “I’m moving. I’ve been planning on it since Amanda and I started the divorce,” he quickly clarified. “I’m not taking any dogs with me.”

“Where are you moving to?” Maggie dropped her pad and scissors into her large handbag.

“South Carolina maybe. Or Arizona. I always wanted to get out of the cold, but Amanda wouldn’t budge. She liked New England for some insane reason and she didn’t want to start over with her business. Not much need for knitting shops in Arizona,” he added with another strained smile.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Maggie countered. “I hear they do very well out there.”

“Could be. But not according to Amanda. Once she made up her mind, that was it. Case closed. You could get blue in the face trying to tell her otherwise.”

Lucy felt uneasy hearing him speak so bluntly. Wasn’t there some moratorium on surviving spouses criticizing their deceased partners?

But long-held marital frustrations were a little like roaches—they lived in a deep dark place and were fairly indestructible. You could tell he was still angry with her. Death hadn’t made much difference.

“Well…I won’t hold up your plans,” Maggie promised. “I should be able to figure this out by tomorrow.”

“I’ll be around. I can’t go anywhere until things are settled with the police.”

Lucy wondered again if the police had been questioning him.

“Until they find Amanda’s murderer, you mean?” she asked.

“Or give up trying,” he replied. “I think they finally got tired of asking me questions.” He met her gaze a moment and shook his head. “Hey, I know what people say. I’ve heard it all. But I didn’t have anything to do with Amanda’s murder. I practically pass out cold at the sight of blood. Anyone who knows me knows that.”

He laughed weakly and looked at each of them in turn. “There’s no big mystery here,” Peter insisted. “It was a robbery gone bad. Plain and simple. The cops are trying to build this up into the crime of the century. They finally have something to investigate. I wish they’d get it over with already, call it for what it is and let me get on with my life.”

“It must be hard for you, waiting to hear what they decide.” Maggie’s tone was sympathetic. Maybe she identified, since the police also held her in suspicion.