A Murder in Mohair (6 page)

“If you do, let us know. We won't call her until tomorrow. No use wasting our money, ladies, right?” Suzanne asked the others.

“I can tell you right now not to waste your money,” Edie replied emphatically. “Though I will say it's the only thing that's helped Nora. God knows, she and Richard made the rounds of a hundred therapists, and must have dropped thousands on that trail. Is this really that much different? . . . No offense, Dana,” she quickly added.

“No offense taken. Though I will say that sessions with a qualified therapist or grief counselor are a lot different than seeing a psychic. It can hardly be compared in the same breath.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I'm just talking off the top of my head.” Edie waved her hand in apology, her bracelets jingling. “The bottom line is I know this woman is up to no good and she's got my niece wrapped around her little finger. My sister is gone. I'm all the mother Nora has left. I can't sit by and watch her conned by some charlatan.”

“It's sweet that you're concerned, Edie,” Lucy said. “Nora is lucky to have you. You tell us how it goes. Maybe we'll visit with Cassandra anyway, and see if we can help you debunk her.”

“I like that word, Lucy. De-
bunk
,” Suzanne echoed. “It sounds like just what it means.”

“We could help derail her, Edie. We'd be happy to try.” Dana put a second to the offer. “What will you do then? Tell Nora?”

Edie's wrinkled face puckered; it appeared she hadn't worked out this part of her plan yet.

“I'm not sure. Maybe I can just persuade the woman to leave Nora alone and my niece may never have to know she'd been bamboozled.” She looked back at Lucy. “Let me have my session. I'll figure it out from there.”

“Fair enough,” Lucy replied. “In the meantime, if spirits want to get in touch with me that badly, they'll find a way, right?”

“Very true,” Dana said. “As Emerson said, ‘Heed the still, small voice inside of you. It rarely leads you astray.' ”

Edie considered the words with a thoughtful expression.

“That's a good one. I like it. See you, ladies . . . and don't worry about the check, it's on me.”

Before anyone could protest, Edie slipped the check off the table and stuffed it in her pocket. Certainly the first time that had ever happened to Lucy while dining at the Schooner. Edie obviously appreciated their offer to help her unmask Cassandra Waters, a strange but interesting assignment.

A
fter hobbling painfully into the shower and then downstairs for a breakfast of coffee and ibuprofen, Lucy realized she'd done enough bike riding over the weekend—more than enough, probably. She downed more coffee and decided to walk her dogs into town. To get the kinks out.

The trio soon arrived at the knitting shop. Maggie was outside, watering the abundant flower beds that bordered the picket fence and both sides of the path—petunias, snapdragons, swaying blue statice, pink echinacea, black-eyed Susan, and other colorful blossoms. Rosebushes and heavy-headed hydrangeas. She definitely had a green thumb, along with her other, crafty fingers.

“Hey, how are you doing? Hard at work already, I see.”

Maggie turned and smiled, gently patting the dogs and pushing aside their licks of greeting until Lucy pulled them back.

“Just wanted to poke around out here before it got too hot. I should have weeded a bit this weekend,” Maggie said.

“The price we pay for having too much fun. Rarely your problem. I think sailing agrees with you.”

Maggie's cheeks were touched with color; her short curly hair looked beachy and windblown. She looked happy, too, Lucy thought.

“We did have a nice time. I've forgotten how relaxing being out on the water can be. My father had a boat and he taught us all to sail, but Bill never really liked it. He was more of a tennis or golf type,” she explained, talking about her late husband. “Charles has a beautiful cruiser, thirty-one feet,” she added. “We sailed up to Newburyport and back. It was a lovely day.”

“Sounds great. You did miss breakfast at the Schooner yesterday. Dana and I met up with Suzanne . . . and Edie picked up our check.”

“That is a notable event.” Maggie laughed as she stood up and pulled off her gloves. “I guess Dana gave a full report about the investigation of Jimmy's death?”

“Jack hasn't heard that much. Only that there were no signs of a break-in or struggle, so the police think Jimmy knew the person who attacked him. The big news is that Jimmy had a criminal record and served a long prison sentence. I don't know about you, but I was really surprised to hear that,” Lucy said honestly.

“Me, too. You never know, I guess. What did he go to jail for?” Maggie asked curiously.

“Dana didn't know. But she did say the police think his death might be related to something in his past, some connection with criminal associates.”

“Yes, that makes sense. Charles didn't mention a word about it. He didn't catch that case. Which was why he had off the entire weekend, for once. Just as well that I wasn't around for that get-together,” Maggie added. “You know what Oscar Wilde said, ‘I can resist everything but temptation.' ”

Lucy laughed. “Never heard that one, but I'll have to remember it. You did miss another interesting moment—one that has nothing to do with police work,” she added. “Edie's niece, Nora, was there with Cassandra Waters and Edie introduced us to the psychic. Edie wanted to see what we thought of her.”

Maggie gave her a curious look. “What's she like?”

“From what Edie said about her, I was expecting some loud, brassy woman in a gypsy costume, pushing a crystal ball in my face. But she was very smooth.”

“Really? That's interesting. I got the same impression from Edie's description, too.” Maggie headed up to the porch and Lucy followed, tugging the dogs, who were more interested to sniff the freshly watered lawn and shrubs.

“She was just the opposite—calm and quiet. Sort of New Agey? Very . . . sympathetic. Though she did press her hand a bit, pushing us a little to call her for a session.” Lucy tied the dogs to the porch rails and set up their portable water bowl. “She also said there were a lot of spirits who wanted to talk to me, to give me advice about my life.”

Maggie looked surprised, her smile growing wider. “Hard to resist a teaser like that.”

“Yes, it is,” Lucy admitted.

The comment had struck a nerve, with so many big questions looming now—her major birthday coming up, and wondering where her relationship with Matt was really going. Or not going.

She'd been thinking about it more than she wanted to admit. Lucy looked back at Maggie. “Edie already told us that was the way Cassandra got Nora hooked. She's sure that Cassandra Waters is exploiting Nora. She's very concerned about it. She went to a session with the psychic last night, just to see what it was like.”

Maggie nodded, heading for the storeroom at the back of the shop, which doubled as a kitchen. Lucy smelled fresh coffee and followed.

“Eddie mentioned she might do that the other day,” Maggie replied. “I'm glad she followed through. She seems convinced that Cassandra is exploiting Nora.”

“Suzanne, Dana, and I thought we should set up a session, too. In fact, we more or less promised Edie that we'd help her debunk Cassandra. We thought we should all go. What do you think? Want to try it?”

Maggie had poured them each a mug of coffee and handed Lucy one, no milk or sugar, just the way Lucy liked it. Maggie poured a spot of milk in her own mug and took a quick sip.

“Why not? I've never been. It could be fun. Why don't we ask her to come to the shop on Thursday night? We're supposed to meet here anyway this week.”

Their knitting group met every Thursday night at seven, rotating between everyone's house and the shop. Lucy thought it was a good suggestion.

“Good idea. We already know that's a night everyone can make it. As long as you don't mind having a séance in your shop.”

Lucy was teasing Maggie now a bit, though it would seem a little weird, sitting around the worktable—so far reserved for knitting, eating, and gossiping—and summoning up spirits.

“Oh, I don't mind at all. Do you think she'll make us hold hands or any of that silly stuff? Maybe we can knit while she does her thing,” Maggie mused. “It will be just like a regular meeting—except we'll be chatting with voices from beyond.”

“Whoa . . . what am I hearing down here?” Phoebe's apartment on the second floor was connected by a stairway in the storeroom, and she came down the last few steps two at a time. She landed in front of Maggie.

“You are not seriously planning to hold a séance in our shop, are you?” Phoebe turned her wide brown eyes first on Lucy, then Maggie.

Maggie sighed and handed Phoebe a mug of coffee. “Calm down, Phoebe. We're positive the woman is a phony. We're trying to help Edie debunk her.”

“Fine, fine . . . easy for you to say. But I'm the one who has to sleep here. This house must be a zillion years old and some wacky psychic could stir up all kinds of nasty energy.”

Poor Phoebe. Lucy found her reaction amusing at first, but quickly realized she was truly alarmed.

Maggie touched Phoebe's shoulder. “Don't worry. Nothing like that is going to happen. You've been watching too many scary movies.”

“Easy for you to say. I
already
hear spirits wandering around down here at night. What if knitting needles start flying around?”

Maggie's serious, sympathetic expression melted into a smile. “I'd like to see that; it could be very amusing. Maybe the yarn swift will wind a few skeins for me. My least favorite job. Maybe the needles will grab some yarn and start knitting some pattern samples? Do you think I could leave them a to-do list?”

“Okay, be like that. You won't think it's very funny when this place is totally haunted by dead people knitting.”

“Don't worry, Phoebe. If the spirits of knitters past decide to take over the shop, you can stay in my guest room until we get a ghost exterminator. I've heard that most ghosts are totally harmless. And you have Van Gogh. Cats are very sensitive to spirit energy. Van Gogh can let us know if any restless spirits are hanging around.”

Phoebe had an active imagination, that was for sure. But Lucy still sympathized with her. It might be fun to have the psychic here, but not if Phoebe was lying awake every night afterward.

“I'm pretty sure she can just read some cards and make predictions about the future. No knitting ghosts or spirit messengers involved. Would that be all right with you?”

Phoebe looked calmer but still not convinced. “Like tarot cards, you mean? Not a Ouija board . . . right?”

“I draw the line at a Ouija board myself. That is creepy and it's all just your own nervous energy,” Maggie said.

They all turned at the sound of someone coming into the store.

“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home in here?” Lucy heard Edie call out.

“We're back in the storeroom, Edie. Be right out,” Maggie called back. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I'm good, thanks. Already filled my tank,” she reported.

They walked back into the shop to find Edie settled in an armchair, rummaging through her knitting bag. “I just ran in for a little more yarn for my project.” Edie pulled out a sweet little baby hat and held it up to show everyone. “Yellow, yellow, yellow. I'm about to puke, but what can you do? These young gals never want to know the sex of their babies. When did that go out of style? I'm getting sick of making yellow hats and booties and blankets . . . or boring old white.”

“I hear you,” Maggie agreed. She was already checking a cubby near the counter for the yarn Edie needed. “But once the baby arrives you can make something to match, in blue or pink,” she suggested.

“By then I'll have some other pregnant relative to knit for. On to the next baby. That's the motto in our family—very prodigious.”

“How did your session with Cassandra go?” Lucy asked. “Did you see her?”

“Did I ever.” Edie's head tilted back, her small eyes growing wide behind glasses.

Phoebe jumped forward from behind the counter, where she'd been sipping her coffee and scanning Maggie's laptop.

“Tell the truth, Edie . . . does she conjure up troubled spirits?” Phoebe seemed to be bracing herself.

Edie shook her head. “Nothing like that. She does all sorts of silly things to put you at ease about that ever happening—waves white feathers around your head and then she burns a bunch of dried leaves and fans the smoke all over. I tell you, it smells like a bathing suit fell in a campfire. Nearly scared me off, too.”

“Sounds very reassuring.” Maggie's sarcasm seemed to go unnoticed by Edie. And Phoebe, too, for that matter, Lucy noticed.