Yarned and Dangerous (16 page)

Josie felt her face break into a smile of satisfaction. Everything was falling into place. Otto would love this collection. She'd get her job back—maybe even ask for a raise, if he didn't offer one. She'd packed up most of the shop and found a buyer for the contents. Her mother would be here in another week to handle the estate paperwork and take care of Eb until his cast came off.

Coco, who'd been sleeping on one corner of the desk on the stack of blank paper, stood, stretched, and pawed at a ball of yarn, which rolled off onto the carpet, leaving a long tail in its wake. Josie reached out a hand and stroked the dark fur. The cat began to purr as she paced back and forth across the designs, her tail undulating.

“We've got this, Coco,” Josie said. “For the first time, I think we've got this. We're going back to the Big Apple a success.”

She was definitely going to ask Otto for a raise. Visions of a shrinking student-loan balance danced across her mind. Less money out, more coming in, a positive cash flow meant more money for other things. Like designer handbags. There was a gorgeous red patent-leather Prada bag she'd been salivating over.

Is that what's really important?
A voice had quietly infiltrated her lovely thoughts. Coco's green eyes were trained on her. Josie squirmed, just a little. “Well, yes,” she said aloud, hoping Eb had gone to bed and wasn't listening to her talking to herself. “If you're in the fashion world, stuff like that
is
important.”

Except, she knew it wasn't true.

A vision of Lillian Woodruff's lifeless body replaced the dollar signs in Josie's brain. She blinked to clear it, but it wouldn't go away.

She needed to find Cora's sales notebook. Then she would have done all she could to find Lillian's killer.

Perhaps her business in Dorset Falls wasn't finished, after all.

B
efore she left for town the next morning with her daily egg quota washed and safely stashed into cardboard containers, Josie took a few minutes to bag up the rest of the yarn for Evelyn. She set the three bags by the front door.
Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.

There was a black sheep in Dorset Falls. But who was it?

And why would anyone want to kill an old lady? It did no good to speculate, she thought as she loaded the eggs and bags into the trunk of her Saab in separate trips. She had only met Lillian once—
alive
. A shudder racked Josie's body, and she suspected it wasn't from the cold air of a February morning in Connecticut.

Josie was for all intents and purposes a stranger here, so she had no understanding of the intricacies of how this town and its residents functioned, how they connected with each other, how their special small-town symbiosis worked. And the police seemed to be doing their job. She supposed she should keep her nose out of things.

Still, one more look around the shop wouldn't hurt. If she could help the investigation by finding the notebook, she would.

She didn't. By midmorning, after searching the storeroom and the front of the shop again, she concluded that it simply wasn't there.

Could someone have taken it? The black sheep, maybe? The killer. Lillian had somehow gained access to Miss Marple Knits, and someone else had joined her in the shop, then murdered her. Or maybe the killer had been here first. Lillian saw activity, but instead of calling the police, decided to confront the burglar herself, getting killed in the process. Lillian had wanted this shop. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she might have felt a little proprietary toward it.

So how had anyone gotten in? Josie wasn't a trained investigator, but there didn't appear to have been a forced break-in, which meant that either the door had been left open—which she was quite certain she hadn't done—or someone had a key.

Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out the key ring Eb had given her the first day she arrived in town. The two keys clanked together softly as she examined them. They were a dull brownish color, each with a slightly different shape. One fit the front door—she'd used it this morning. The other must go to the rear exit. Making her way to the back door, she stuck the key in, gave a turn, and heard the locking mechanism clunk.

So who else would have had keys to the shop? Eb, of course, might have had another set. But Josie had been with Eb almost the whole time between when she'd last seen Lillian alive, here at the shop, and the next day, when Lillian was found dead in the back. Leg still encased in a fiberglass cast, Eb couldn't drive his truck. And that ATV-thing of his made a fair amount of noise. Josie would have heard it leaving the barn. Not that she suspected Eb, really, but she needed to go through the possibilities.

Trey.

Her heart lurched.

Trey owned this building. It was entirely possible—likely, even—that he had a set of keys.

But what possible motive could he have for killing Lillian? She'd offered to buy Miss Marple Knits, but that wouldn't have put a kink into Trey's plans to raze the building and put up a fast-food restaurant. Even if Eb had wanted to sell the business to her, Lillian could have had her pick of any of the empty storefronts on Main Street to reopen. She didn't need this building.

Diantha? The old battle-ax was ornery enough she might not need an actual reason to kill someone. And she had access to Trey, who seemed to do whatever she wanted, and therefore had access to the keys, assuming Trey had some.

Diantha was also a knitter, and that cord wrapped around Lillian's neck had not come fresh and loose out of a skein of yarn. It had been neatly and expertly twisted into a rope, and the ends embellished with perfect tassels, like one might see holding back a formal drapery. Someone who knew what he—or she—was doing had made the murder weapon.

Of course, that didn't necessarily mean a knitter had perpetrated the crime. A knitter could have made the cord, put it into her knitting basket, and the killer could have taken it.

Josie's reasoning brought her right back to where she had been when she walked through the door. Josie was no Miss Marple. The idea that there was another set of keys was so obvious, there was no way the police weren't looking into it.

But even after her triumph last night—a flush of pride warmed her cheeks at the thought of her new designs—it was still going to be tough to go back to New York without knowing the truth. She hoped Sharla and Detective Potts, and probably the state police too, would hurry up and find the killer.

She pulled out her cell phone. “Evelyn? It's Josie. Can you meet me at the g.s. for lunch?” Truth was, she missed Evelyn's presence at the shop already. And maybe her friend had heard something new about the investigation.

Josie left her car parked in front of Miss Marple Knits—and she reminded herself to stop thinking of it like that. Soon it would be no more than a memory. She crossed the street and peeked into the alley behind the corner building. No cars back there. No cars except hers on Main Street. Five minutes later Josie was setting her coat and purse down on one of the metal mesh chairs in the café.

Evelyn still hadn't arrived, so Josie picked up a red plastic shopping basket with D
OUGIE'S
G
ENERAL
S
TORE
emblazoned along each side in white script letters. There was a tiny section of office supplies in the back corner. Notebook paper, ballpoint pens, paper clips, and number-ten envelopes constituted the selection. She headed for the short toy aisle and found what she was looking for: a pack of colored pencils. She picked up a few things for the house, set the basket by her feet, and sat down to wait.

Evelyn appeared a few minutes later, her cheeks pink from the cold. She removed her hat and smoothed her hair. “Colder than a witch's tatting shuttle out there,” she said. “This isn't good for Eben and the rest of the syrup farmers. They need warm temperatures during the day.” Her huge purse, almost certainly stuffed full of one knitting project or another, landed with a soft thud on an empty chair. “How is that dear man?”

Josie smiled, wondering what a tatting shuttle was. “He's fine. I checked with his doctor. He's due for x-rays in another week, then if his leg is healed, they'll remove the cast.” Of course, she planned to be gone by then, but she'd be glad to know the old geezer was back on his feet.

Evelyn made a clucking noise. “I'll bring another casserole out to the house. You have enough going on without having to cook, too.”

“I'm an expert warmer-upper,” Josie said. “And I wouldn't say no.”

“Good. That's settled.”

They ordered. Pad Thai was the special of the day, which seemed an unlikely menu choice for Dorset Falls, but Lorna hadn't steered Josie wrong yet. Evelyn ordered the meatloaf and potatoes. While they waited, the two women chatted amiably.

“So,” Evelyn said, “I talked to Sharla last night.” Her eyes sparkled. Gossip. Just what Josie had been hoping for.

“And?” Josie sipped at her tea, which tasted of lemon with a hint of mint.

Evelyn leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Sharla tells me they're close to making an arrest.” She dropped back, a frown creasing her bright pink lips. “And she won't—all right,
can't
—tell me who.”

Josie felt a wash of relief. Thank goodness. Everything really was, now, falling into place, and she'd be able to leave with a clear conscience.

“I wonder if it's someone local,” Josie mused.

“My daughter-in-law wouldn't even tell me that.” Evelyn's frown deepened.

Josie smiled sympathetically. “Well, hopefully the arrest will be made soon, and we can all rest easier.”

“Hey, ladies,” Lorna called from behind the counter. “Lunch is up.”

Josie retrieved the two plates from her friend. She couldn't decide which of the aromas wafting up toward her smelled more delicious, that of the peanutty Asian noodles or that of the stick-to-your-ribs meatloaf, with its shiny ketchup glaze and adjacent cratered scoop of mashed potatoes complete with gravy pooled in the middle and running down the sides, like lava from a volcano. Lorna could hold her own with any diner in New York, that was clear. Feeling guilty at having left Eb with a cold sandwich—even though that was what he'd requested—while she dined on delicious hot food, Josie ordered another plate of meatloaf to go. He could have a nice dinner.

“Do
you
have any ideas who it might be?” Josie asked, crunching on a tender-crisp carrot covered in tangy sauce.

Evelyn put down her fork. “I know who I'd
like
it to be,” she said decisively.

Josie was glad she'd already swallowed, because she couldn't suppress a snort.

“Diantha,” they said together, then glanced around to make sure no one had heard them.

“But to answer your question, no.” Evelyn poked her fork into her mashed potatoes and brought the tines to her mouth, where they hung suspended while she spoke. “I've racked my brains trying to figure out why anyone would want to kill Lillian. I mean, she wasn't always Miss Mary Sunshine, but she had no real enemies that I know of.”

Josie nodded, thoughtful. “She wasn't involved in anything . . . out of the ordinary?”

Evelyn started, just a little. Josie had struck some kind of nerve. Had Lillian been involved in whatever was going on across the street from Miss Marple Knits? That would mean Evelyn might be involved—might be in danger herself.

The older woman recovered. “I don't think so. We saw each other at least once a week at our Charity Knitters meetings. If she had been doing something she shouldn't have been, I have to think we would have rooted it out of her. We may be old, but we're savvy.”

Josie laughed, twirling noodles around her fork. “Experience goes a long way.”

After lunch, Josie returned to her car with her to-go box of dinner, while Evelyn stayed behind to rearrange the items on the Charity Knitters table, which had been looking a little messy, and, she said, to do some shopping.

Speaking of messy, Josie's car was looking that way too. Since she'd arrived in Dorset Falls, she'd been on the go. And she'd let her car go, too. In New York, she never left, well, anything visible inside the vehicle. Since she parked on the street, it didn't do to give less-than-savory types the temptation.

She glanced at the bright blue door of Miss Marple Knits. Nope, there was no need to go back in. Until the deal with the buyer was finalized, and arrangements for the movers were made, she guessed she was done there. A twinge of sadness pinched her heart. But it was just as well. She had designs to complete. Lorna had confirmed that, for a small fee, she could convert the drawings into digital files at the g.s., then Josie would be able to e-mail them to Otto.

Her eyes scanned both directions, checking for traffic—fat chance of that in Dorset Falls—before she opened the driver's side door and left it ajar while she picked up an embarrassing number of empty candy wrappers and straw papers from the carpet. Wadding everything into a ball, she put the mess into a fast-food bag, closed the door, and moved around to the passenger side. She removed an empty soda cup from the center console and stuffed that in the bag as well, squashing it to make it fit. A stack of clean napkins she kept—those always came in handy.

Her fingers closed around the napkins. She touched cold metal. “Huh?” Pulling the napkins away, she saw a key ring. She laid the napkins on the dash and picked up the ring. Where had this come from? It must be Key Day, because she'd been thinking about keys only a few hours ago.

Right. This was Cora's key ring that Rusty at the car shop had given her. Josie had forgotten about it. She sat down in the passenger's seat and held the keys up to the light.

The fob was made of black plastic, had electronic buttons, and was clearly marked with the name of a car manufacturer. Cora must have had a newer model car. Josie's old Saab boasted no such luxury. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out the ring she'd been using to let herself in and out of the shop. She compared the two sets and found matching keys. Here, at least, was one duplicate set. How many more were out there?

Several other keys were also on the ring. It was likely one, maybe two, went to Eb's house. One looked a lot like the key to the front door of Miss Marple, but the pattern didn't match. But it appeared to be the same vintage, and it had the same dull patina. Perhaps it went to one of the doors above the shop.