Death of a Crafty Knitter (36 page)

I poked at my food, tilted my head to the side, and let the next question come without force.

"Marcy, I'm sure there's a logical explanation for why you tried to cover up your connection to Voula's investment scheme. I'm thinking you started off trying to help her, then backed away when you realized she was trying to rip off the good people of Misty Falls."

"Yes," Marcy said, lunging at my explanation. "That's exactly what happened. I never did anything illegal." She lifted her wine glass with a trembling hand and splashed most of the Riesling into her mouth.

My father reached for the broccoli. "Anyone mind if I snag these greens?"

The group murmured that he could go ahead.

I turned and gave Marvin the sweetest smile I could muster. "Tonight's been so interesting," I said huskily as I gazed into his eyes. "We're all learning so much about each other."

He swallowed hard enough for me to hear the gulp. He finished his glass of wine, then said, directly to my father, "Mr. Day, don't worry about this nonsense with my wife. I was overreacting before. She didn't know Voula that well. Nobody did."

"You'll handle the situation," my father said. "That's what we men have to do, when the women get themselves in trouble."

"Women," Marvin said with a shrug. "Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em."

My father laughed, but Jessica gasped, "Marvin, what a terrible thing to say! It's no joking matter."

Marvin looked pleased that he'd annoyed Jessica. "What? It's just an expression."

"I'm not an idiot," someone said.

It was Marcy speaking. Her voice sounded disembodied, mechanical. She stared into the middle of the table, at nothing.

The lifeless voice came again: "Marvin, I know about your secret bank account, and your
indiscretions
."

Marvin's face reddened. "Uh-oh. I'm in trouble," he said, while chuckling, to my father.

A breaded chicken ball flew through the air, whizzing through the space between me and Marvin. Marcy had thrown it, and had another chicken ball in her hand, ready to toss.

Marvin's careful mask slipped into anger, and his brown eyes grew very dark. Through clenched teeth, he practically growled, "I think it's time for us to go now, Marcy."

"I don't want to go." She lobbed the chicken ball at him. This one struck his chest, and he jerked his body, as though shot.

He pushed his chair back, but didn't stand.

Marcy turned to Jessica. "He thinks he's smarter than me. He thinks he's smarter than all women, but he isn't."

Jessica looked like she was about to throw up, but she managed to reply, "I thought things had been going better for you two lately."

"I guess I am stupid," Marcy said sadly. "I thought we had a chance, but now I can see he's trying to set me up for what I did." She lifted her chin and addressed my father. "Mr. Day, the GPS tracking on our car will put it at the edge of town, near Voula Varga's house, on New Year's Day. I've found long, black, curly strands of that woman's hair in my vehicle, on Marvin's clothes, and even in our bed. Do you think the police would be interested in that information?"

Marvin stood. "We're done here."

"Not so fast," I said. "I've got a beautiful lemon mousse chilling in the fridge for dessert, and I think we'd all like to hear what you were doing the morning Voula Varga was shot. Was it self-defense, Marvin?"

"What?" He looked at me like I was nuts, and maybe I was.

"Were you stalking her?" I asked. "Did you sneak into her house to watch her get dressed, then shoot her when she caught you being a pervert? Marvin, that's what you are, right? A dirty little pervert? Even right now, you keep looking down my shirt, when your wife is sitting four feet away."

His eyes as dark as night, he spat at me, "She said she was in love with me, but she was just using me. It meant nothing to her."

Marcy began sobbing noisily.

"Ha ha!" Marvin boomed. "I was just joking. Everyone, look how quick my wife is at jumping to conclusions. This is why we've been having some relationship issues. Private issues." He started moving toward the door. "Marcy, get your boots on. We're going."

My father got to his feet and moved between Marvin and the door. "You're not going anywhere. You've had a lot of wine and shouldn't be driving. Let's get some coffee in you first."

Marvin growled, "Out of my way, old man," and pushed my father to the floor.

"Logan!" I yelled. "Logan, help! Now!"

Logan Sanderson came bounding into the room from where he'd been hiding, on the other side of the basement door. He ran toward Marvin, then stopped abruptly, his hands in the air.

"Easy now," Logan said, breathing heavily. "Nobody else needs to get hurt today."

From where he was groaning on the floor in my kitchen, my father said, "Careful. It's as sharp as it looks."

I joined Marcy and Jessica at the far edge of the room, with the table between us and Marvin, who was now wielding the sword that had been concealed inside my father's cane. The sword wasn't long, but it was sharp, and dangerous.

Marvin lunged at Logan, sword flashing. Logan staggered back, bumping into our huddle.

"Uh-oh," Logan said.

That wasn't something I wanted to hear.
Uh-oh
was not part of the plan. My father was right about plans. They do go wrong.

Logan clutched his stomach. The fabric of his shirt had been sliced, and red blood wicked at the edges. His eyes were wide and fearful as he said to me, "We didn't plan for this."

Marcy, who'd been stunned into silence since the revelation, sprang into action like a small but aggressive dog who thinks she's bigger than she is.

She marched toward her husband. "Marvin, put the sword down!"

"No."

"Put it down!" she barked, walking around him in a wide circle, until she, Marvin, and my father were in a straight line along the exterior wall. "NOW! Marvin! DROP IT!"

Her husband cowered, leaning down with the sword limp in his hand, but then he looked around at the rest of us. He straightened up and held the sword high, pointing at his wife.

"Marcy, you're drunk," he said evenly. "Listen to me. These people are trying to trick us into turning on each other. Marcy, I love you."

"You… you love me?" Her angry-dog posture softened.

"Of course I do. Get over here and open the door for me while I hold these crazy people off. We're leaving this place, leaving this whole backwoods town. We should never have come here. This whole place is—"

He stopped talking, distracted by the rainbow-hued crocheted blanket—the one I'd grabbed from the chair and tossed over him like a net. While Marvin struggled to comprehend what was happening, my father reached out from his position on the floor, grabbed a corner of the loopy rainbow blanket, and yanked hard.

Marvin tried to escape, but his anger worked against him. The slim sword had passed through the wide, airy loops, and was now outside of the net. He couldn't cut his way free without risking cuts to himself. In his rage, he tore at the blanket, trying to rip his way out, but it was a strong yarn, strong enough to make dog collars and leashes. He only got himself more tangled.

With another tug from my father, Marvin lost his balance and started toppling over. I kicked the cane sword clear so he wouldn't hurt himself by falling on it—not that he didn't deserve it.

Chapter 35

Once we had Marvin
safely under our own citizen's arrest, we called the police. Tony and Kyle showed up with what appeared to be the entire Misty Falls Police Department.

Marvin was still so tangled in the blanket that they left him in it, cuffed him through the loops, and led him away.

The paramedics tended to my father, who had some bruises but was otherwise okay, and to Logan, who would need stitches to close up the gash on his abdomen, but had escaped being disemboweled.

Jessica took Marcy to the spare bedroom to calm her friend. She'd told us most of what she knew about Marvin's actions. Her side of the story came out in a jumble of emotional outbursts, but still painted a very clear picture.

Marcy had suspected for a while that her husband had been having an affair, because he'd disappear for long walks with the dog. Stanley the Labradoodle couldn't talk, but the lack of snow clumps between his toes told the story of a much shorter walk, and a car ride.

It wasn't until a few days after Voula's murder that Marcy connected her husband's renewed interest in their marriage with the crime he'd committed.

She searched for evidence, and hit the jackpot when she found his tan shirt in the laundry hamper. She couldn't test for gunshot residue, but she did find dark spots she suspected were blood, plus a button had been torn off at the cuff. She put the shirt in a plastic bag, hidden in the attic, inside the box of Christmas decorations they'd just put away.

Marcy loved her husband enough that she tried covering for him, being his alibi without him knowing that she knew. It hadn't been easy, though. The stress had been causing hallucinations. She said she was being haunted by Voula's ghost.

As for why Marvin had shot Voula, our best guess was he'd found out she was using him, and didn't really love him.

I hoped for more information after the police questioned him, but I had high hopes for Dharma Lake coming back home to her husband, where she belonged.

Soon, things would be back to normal, or at least a new type of normal.

My father and Logan seemed to have bonded. I found out Logan had been nervous about the plan, and called my father as last-minute backup without telling me. On one hand, I'd been grateful to have him there. On the other hand, he'd unwittingly supplied a very sharp weapon to our killer.

It was hard to say whether or not my plan would have been successful without Finnegan Day. Mostly, I was relieved everyone had survived.

Kyle Dempsey came over to the living room window, where I'd been standing to stay out of the way.

"Fancy meeting you here, at another crime scene," Kyle said.

"At least there's no dead body, which is good, because this old wood floor already has enough stains."

"Do you have something for me?" He batted his thick, honey-colored eyelashes over his aquamarine-blue eyes. "A
little
something?"

I could feel my cheeks reddening. "Kyle, I'm not going to kiss you."

He grinned, deepening his adorable dimples. "I meant the evidence. Logan said you both had your phones recording the entire dinner, video and audio."

"Oh,
that
little something."

He leaned against the wall, his broad, muscled body blocking some of the noise from the chaos in my house. "Maybe there's somewhere more quiet you want to give that little something to me? A spare room, perhaps?"

"No need. Got it right here." I reached into my pocket for the external storage stick I'd transferred a copy of the recording onto already.

"I do like your house, by the way," he said. "Very comfortable. I should stop by for coffee more often."

"Dimples—I mean, Officer Dempsey—you and I can't see each other as more than friends."

"Stormy Day, you're not too old for me. Our age difference is
not
a big deal."

"Of course not. But I'm pursuing my private investigator's license, and I'll need your help from time to time. If you and I were romantically involved, I'd be taking advantage of you."

His smile got even bigger. "I
want
you to take advantage of me, Stormy Day."

Slowly, I placed the memory stick in his hand and closed his fingers around it. I bit my lower lip as I squeezed his hand. He had a beautiful hand, not too big, with an angelic haze of blond hair on his upper knuckles.

Then I forced myself to pull my hand away.

"Thanks, but no thanks, officer," I said.

"Whatever happens, it's my pleasure to serve and protect you, ma'am."

He nodded politely, then turned and walked away.

I allowed myself to look at his butt. Just once.

Chapter 36