Murder of a Needled Knitter (19 page)

“Me, too!” Candace said. “And I miss my animals so much it hurts.”

“I can understand that,” Skye said, digging in her purse and producing a photo. “This is my cat, Bingo. I haven't been gone even a week and I think about him all the time.”

“He's a doll,” Candace gushed. “I've been on board for seven months.” She sighed. “This is my first contract with the cruise line and I had to sign up for a year.”

“That's got to be tough,” Trixie commiserated. “You haven't been able to get home at all during that time? Not even for a short visit?”

“We barely have a day off, let alone time to fly back to Missouri.” Candace's voice hitched. “It's not exactly what I expected.”

“I imagine the crew and staff become like a family.” Skye had finally figured out a way to work Guinevere into the conversation. “Is everyone friendly and supportive of each other?”

“Most of them.” Candace took a swig of her drink and hiccupped.

“Oh?” It occurred to Skye that Candace didn't seem old enough to be drinking, but maybe the age was lower on the cruise ship or maybe they just didn't check IDs as closely as they did in the States. She'd certainly seen a lot of sloshed people. This truly was a booze cruise. Refocusing, she asked, “Who wasn't very nice?”

“One of the special staff that handles groups was really mean,” Candace said. “She liked to find everyone's weakness, then torment them about it.”

“Past tense?” Skye asked. “Doesn't she work here anymore?”

“Nope.” Candace drained her glass. “She won't be working anywhere ever again.” Candace's pupils dilated. “Someone killed her this past Tuesday.” For a nanosecond she seemed frightened, and then she shrugged. “Guess she picked on the wrong person.”

“You're talking about Guinevere Stallings?” Skye asked carefully.

“Yep.” Candace crossed her arms. “That witch got what she deserved.”

“Why do you say that?” Trixie asked, exchanging a glance with Skye.

“She tried to ruin my life.” Candace waved over a waiter and exchanged her empty champagne glass for a full one from his tray.

“How?” Skye probed, hoping the young woman wouldn't realize what she was revealing.

“I told you how much I missed my pets?” Candace waited until Skye and Trixie nodded. “Well, during our last turnaround in Fort Lauderdale I found a stray kitten. It was so cute and cuddly and I didn't have time to bring it to a shelter, so I smuggled it on board.” She gulped the champagne. “Due to some stupid health regulation, no live animals are allowed on ships. I figured that since I wasn't sharing a cabin this trip, I could keep it until we got back on Sunday, take it to a shelter then, and no one would be the wiser.” Candace stopped abruptly, put her hand to her mouth, and said, “Crap! I shouldn't have told you that. I guess I'm as dumb as some of my teachers said.”

“Everyone has different talents, and no one talent is better to have than another,” Skye said. She felt compelled to try to undo the damage inflicted by a fellow educator. “We won't tell anyone.” She crossed her heart and nudged Trixie to do the same. “We promise.”

“Thank you.” Candace hugged each of them.

“So what happened with the cat?” Trixie asked.

“Guinevere was in the cabin next to mine and heard it meowing. She confronted me Tuesday morning, and I tried to explain, but she told me to throw it overboard or she'd report me to the cruise director and get me fired.”

“You're kidding!” Trixie yelped. “She wanted you to kill the kitten?”

“Yes.” Candace's mouth thinned. “I told her I'd put
it ashore in St. Thomas, on my first day off, and I begged her not to tell on me. I explained that there was a Hollywood talent scout due to take the next cruise, and if I was fired, I'd lose my chance to be discovered and become a star.”

“And she said no?” Skye's heart sank. Had this young girl murdered the knitting guru to save a kitten's life? That would be too sad.

“The evil queen would only give me until our first port, and then only if I gave her my bracelet.” Candace's shoulders slumped. “So I asked one of my friends who had the morning off during our stop in St. Maarten to take Ginger ashore and find her a good home. And I gave Guinevere my charm bracelet.”

“Did that settle it?” Skye asked. “Did Guinevere quit threatening you?”

“Yes.” Candace hung her head. “All it cost me was the Pandora bracelet my folks gave me for my high school graduation and a pet that made me feel lots less lonely.”

“So you still put the cat ashore even though Guinevere was dead?” Trixie asked.

“Guinevere's threats made me so paranoid, I was afraid someone else would find out and report me, so I felt like I had no choice.”

“Why do you think she wanted the bracelet so much?” Skye asked. “I know they're pricey, but to blackmail you over something worth a couple hundred bucks . . .”

“It wasn't about the jewelry exactly.” Candace's expression darkened. “This was my third cruise with her on board as a group leader, and every time she saw me wearing the bracelet she made a comment about spoiled girls not deserving nice things they hadn't earned.”

“But you don't think that was the only reason?” Skye guessed.

“Nope.” Candace finished her champagne and twirled the glass's stem between her fingers.
“Guinevere was one of those women who wanted whatever someone else had. Of course, when she got it, she lost interest.” Candace signed. “Take my bracelet. After I gave it to her, I never once saw her wear it.”

“That kind of behavior had to tick people off,” Skye murmured.

“Duh.” Trixie made a face. “Why do you think she's dead?”

Keelhauled

“I
'm still shocked Candace shared all of that with us,” Trixie said the next day when the two couples met for breakfast at Raphael's. “I know we swore not to tell anyone, but wasn't she afraid we'd get her fired?”

“The kitten's gone. I had told her earlier that I was an animal lover, and proved it by having a picture of Bingo in my purse.” Skye followed the maître d' as he led them to a table for four. “Plus, she was tipsy. Low IQ plus high alcohol level almost always equals poor judgment.”

“True.” Trixie had barely sat down before she waved frantically to a passing waiter and pointed to her empty cup. “Candace is not the brightest spotlight on the stage.”

“And she's young and innocent. Candace still has faith in folks being honorable and keeping their promises.” Skye's smile wavered. She hated having to exploit her counseling skills in a way they weren't intended to be used. “People like me, who are trained to make others trust them, can almost always get information from someone who's as vulnerable as Candace.”

Trixie didn't answer. The server was filling her cup
and she was watching the dark brown brew like it was blood and she was a vampire.

Owen, who had evidently been observing his wife's behavior, wrinkled his brow. “Trix, you need to cut down on the coffee. You seem almost addicted to it.”

“You're mistaken. I don't have a problem with coffee.” Trixie cradled her cup as if it was the ring and she was Gollum, then shot her husband a hostile look. “I have a problem without it.”

“I'm not—” Owen protested.

Wally broke in. “Everyone makes mistakes.” He was clearly hoping to halt any developing conflict between the Fraynes.

“Right,” Owen muttered. “But married men find out about them sooner than single guys.”

“Moving on,” Skye intervened. “Candace seemed like a sweet girl, so I'm glad she has an alibi for the morning Guinevere was killed.”

“You're sure it's a good one?” Wally asked. Once he and Skye had returned to their suite after the party last night, they'd found better ways to occupy their time than discussing the case. And this morning before breakfast they'd been similarly distracted.

“Positive.” Skye waved away the pastry tray the server offered, then continued, “Calliste confirmed that Candace was at a rehearsal from ten until one on Tuesday. You can be assured that a woman like Calliste would never lie for someone younger, prettier, and likely to be her professional competition. If anything, she'd take the opportunity to sabotage Candace if she could.”

“So why didn't she?” Owen asked, biting into a sweet roll.

“Because”—Skye sipped her cappuccino—“Calliste knew that others would have seen Candace.”

“This way Calliste got to look like the girl's protector,” Wally said, taking a swallow of his mimosa, “but with no sacrifice to herself.”

“What's on the agenda this morning?” Owen asked, plainly tired of discussing a suspect that they'd already cleared. “Who's doing what?”

“Wally and I have to play trivia from eight until nine,” Skye said.

“Son of a buck!” Wally slapped the table, scaring the waiter who was just about to slide a plate of eggs Benedict in front of him. “I forgot about trivia and made an appointment with Officer Trencher for eight fifteen.”

“But we promised the team that we'd be there.” Skye looked at the yogurt and granola parfait she'd ordered in an attempt to eat at least one healthy meal. Even with the raspberry swirl, it didn't look as good as what everyone else was being served. “They're counting on us to help them beat that group that always wins.”

“I'll go with you,” Trixie said around a mouthful of Belgian waffle and whipped cream. “I've wanted to play but Owen wouldn't go with me.”

“Great.” Skye dipped her spoon into the yogurt. “Afterward we can figure out a way to talk to Guinevere's steward.” When Owen frowned, she added, “Maybe Ben can help us out.”

“Good idea.” Trixie ate a strawberry. “He gave me his pager number.”

“When did he do that?” Owen asked, his bacon, egg, lettuce, and tomato sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Better yet,
why
did he give it to you?”

“No need to be jealous. As long as Ben didn't give
you
his number our marriage is safe.” Trixie giggled, then clarified, “He plays for the other team.”

“Oh.” Owen shrugged and went back to his breakfast. “Is there anything I should be doing while you girls play trivia and Wally talks to security?”

“Can you check on how my mom's doing?” Skye asked, pushing away her half-eaten parfait. “I didn't see her at all yesterday and when she called the cabin this morning she sounded a little panicky. Security talked to
her again last night and she's convinced they're going to turn her over to the FBI as soon as we get back to Fort Lauderdale.” Skye shrugged. “It's probably just paranoia on her part, but she might be right.”

“Poor thing. I'll go make sure she's okay.” Owen finished his sandwich and dug into his hash browns. “Hey, didn't she mention that she was going to call home while she was in St. Thomas?”

“Yes.” Skye stole a forkful of Wally's eggs Benedict. “She and I both talked to Vince. No baby yet.”

“How's the weather?” Owen asked. He was a farmer, and even though it was the dead of winter, meteorological conditions were still always foremost in his mind.

“Snowing,” Wally answered. “According to the dispatcher I spoke to when I phoned the PD, Scumble River has had several inches since we left last Sunday.”

“Phew!” Skye pretended to wipe sweat off her brow. “Thank goodness we got out in time.”

Everyone nodded, and Owen brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Do you know where your mom will be?”

“There's a knitting activity from nine until eleven. If you go at eight forty-five, I bet she'll already be there.” Skye dug out the schedule from the pocket of her pink capris. “It's at Cloud Walkers.” She shivered. “I suppose there are only so many venues available, but that's got to be weird, having the event where the leader was murdered.”

“I guess.” Wally waited while the server placed a fresh cup of cappuccino in front of Skye and topped off everyone else's coffee. “Owen, when you see May, why don't you ask her and Jed to join us at noon at the Pilothouse Bar. They're doing a pub lunch there today that Jed might enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Skye leaned over and kissed Wally's cheek. “It is really sweet of you to put up with my folks like this on our honeymoon.”

“Not to mention putting up with us and investigating a murder,” Trixie added.

“The first is a pleasure,” Wally smiled, “and the second is the right thing to do.” He sipped his coffee. “Owen, if you get a chance after babysitting May, could you do some Internet research?”

“I can try.” Owen snatched a slice of bacon from his wife's plate. “I'm not as good at it as Trix, but she's shown me a thing or two.”

“Our first priority is finding a place to print pictures on Grand Turk.” Wally used his fingers to keep track. “I'll ask Officer Trencher, but she may have no idea.” He held up a second digit. “Next, see if Guinevere's name comes up in connection with anyone we know of on board.” He added a third finger. “Last, try to determine just how strong someone would have to be to shove a pair of knitting needles into someone's throat. I think it's mostly soft tissue, but I want to make sure my assumption is correct.” He paused and looked at Skye. “And speaking of that, did you ever ask your mom if there was any way to identify the owner of the knitting needles?”

“She said there wasn't.” Skye shook her head. “Unless they happen to be a special kind—and from what I described to her they weren't—then most of the knitters use the same type.” She paused. “And although there are several manufacturers, most knitters aren't loyal to any one brand. Plus they have lots of pairs, so searching for whose needles are missing wouldn't help either.”

“Damn.” Wally blew out a frustrated breath. “I suppose that would have been too easy.”

When they were finished with breakfast, Owen read from the list he'd jotted in the margins of Friday's
Diamond Dialogue
. “Pictures, enemies, needles.” He glanced at Skye. “And May. Is that it?”

Everyone nodded and the foursome separated. Skye and Trixie headed to the Voyager's Lounge, where once again, Skye was able to nab the table behind Harry's
group. It was a good thing that people were such creatures of habit that they were drawn to the same spot every time. Even though Skye had nearly given up on figuring out what Guinevere had over the guy, she figured as long as she was there anyway, she might as well keep an eye on the trivia champ.

After introducing Trixie to her team, they chatted about the upcoming port of call. None of them had been to Grand Turk before, and they were all excited to visit the island. A few minutes later, the game started and they focused on the questions. It was their lucky day. The theme was authors and books, and when Skye informed her teammates that Trixie was a librarian, they all cheered.

Trixie answered the first ten questions without hesitation, and Angel, Robert, Neil, and Wendy got the next four. Skye knew number fifteen, and Trixie had answers for sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen.

But they were stumped when the host asked, “According to the
Guinness Book of Records
, what is the best-selling book in publishing history? It was first published in 1955, has been reprinted almost every year, has been translated into thirty-five languages, and over a hundred million copies have been sold.”

They left that line blank, but after the twentieth and final question was read and answered, Skye giggled. She leaned forward, and whispered, “I think number nineteen is a trick question. I bet it's the
Guinness Book of Records
.”

“Better than nothing,” Trixie agreed.

They traded papers with another table, and as the correct responses were given, Skye's team realized they had gotten them all right.

After the answer sheets were returned, the host said, “Who got ten?”

Lots of hands went up, but as the number right got to eighteen and then nineteen, only Skye's team and Harry's continued to raise their hands.

Finally, the host asked, “Anyone with all twenty correct?” Both teams shouted yes and the host said, “Then I guess we need a tiebreaker. The first member of either team to get to me with the right answer is the winner.” He looked down at his index cards and read, “Children's author Enid Blyton wrote three books about what strange piece of furniture?”

“Got it!” The clean-cut techie type from Harry's team screamed and rushed to the front of the room. He skidded to a stop in front of the host and shouted, “A wishing chair.”

“Right!” The host took the guy's hand and raised it in triumph. “The winner!” He gave him the prizes, six blue can cozies with the
Countess
logo emblazened in white.

“Wait!” Trixie leaped to her feet, darted to where Harry's team was sitting, snatched up a small device from their table, and ran up to the host. “Take a gander at this. They cheated.”

The techie grabbed the thin black rectangle from Trixie's hand. “Give me that. I could have you arrested for stealing.”

“Right.” Trixie crossed her arms. “You do that, Mr. Cheater.”

While the other trivia players stared at the scene unfolding in front of them, Skye whispered to Angel, “Is that a smartphone?”

“Yep.” The ebullient blonde shook her head. “That must be how they've been getting perfect scores.” She tsked. “They've been looking up the answers on the Internet.”

“Really?” Skye was vaguely aware of smartphones, but she had never looked into their capabilities. Maybe now that it was 2007 she should make more of a point to keep up with technological advances. She didn't want the kids she worked with to think she was stupid. “How does he get online from here?”

“I'm not sure how his works, but the whole ship is
wired for Wi-Fi,” Robert answered. “And he may not even need it with his phone. Some devices have their own access to the net.”

Everyone's attention swung back to the host when he said, “Sir, looking answers up in any way, shape, or form is not allowed.” The MC snatched the can cozies with the
Countess
logo from the techie's hands and gave them to Trixie. “Your team wins by default.”

While the rest of her team celebrated their victory, Skye pulled Trixie aside and quickly brought her friend up to speed about having overheard Harry and Jessica talking about a confrontation he'd had with Guinevere. After explaining, Skye said, “We need to speak to Harry right now while he's still humiliated by the host's public denunciation of his teammate's actions.”

Both women glanced at the man in question, who looked as if he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. He hovered, half standing next to his table, then seemed to make up his mind and scurried toward the exit.

“Let's go.” Trixie marched off, and after a hasty good-bye to her fellow trivia players, Skye followed.

“Harry!” Trixie called after the fleeing man. “Can we talk to you?”

“I have an appointment.” Harry's posture was rigid. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We'll only take a few minutes of your time.” Skye ignored his questions and indicated a nook with two chairs and a couch. “Let's step over here. I don't want anyone to eavesdrop.” She raised a brow when he hesitated. “And I don't think you'll want to be overheard either.”

“Fine.” Harry's shoulders were tense. “You have five minutes.”