The Postman Always Purls Twice (17 page)

Maggie came to her feet and tugged off her gloves. “Jennifer . . . what a surprise.”

“I'm sorry to bother you so early.”

“I was just weeding. These poor tulips and daffs managed to survive so far. I thought I'd give them a little encouragement.”

Jennifer smiled. “I love daffodils the best, brave little flowers, pushing out of the cold, rocky soil at the first sign of spring.”

“I love them, too. Isn't there a famous poem about daffodils?” Maggie knew there was but couldn't recall it.

“ ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd a host of golden daffodils.' ”

Maggie smiled with pleasure. “Very good . . . William Wordsworth.”

Jennifer nodded. “I had to memorize it for school. One of my earliest dramatic efforts,” she added with a wistful smile. “I have a big garden at home, but I miss the flowers you see in New England, especially this time of year.”

“The blooming season here is brief, but worth the wait,” Maggie agreed. “How's Nick? Any improvement?”

“He's holding on. The doctors say he's stable enough to move to Mass General. They're going to medevac him by helicopter this morning. I'm on my way to Boston right now.”

“That's encouraging,” Maggie said sincerely.

“I have my fingers crossed,” Jennifer replied, though she didn't sound very encouraged.

She had slipped off her hood to reveal a disheveled hairdo, her thick brown tresses pulled back in a ponytail, her face bare of makeup. She looked like one of those mean-spirited “stars without makeup” photos in the tabloids. Maggie hoped no enterprising, less-than-ethical photographer caught up with her.

“We had to pass the shop on the way out of town and I saw you. In all the confusion Thursday night, I think I left my knitting here. In a tote that you gave me, with the shop name on the front?”

Maggie thought a moment. “The place looked like a small tornado had passed through after the police search. I'm not sure if I saw anything like that . . . Wait. Yes, I did. I wasn't sure who had left it. Maybe it is yours. Let's go see.”

Maggie turned and Jennifer followed her, up the porch steps and into the shop, where Maggie slipped behind the counter and pulled out the Black Sheep Knitting tote. She handed it to Jennifer and watched her peer inside.

“Yes, that's it.” Jennifer finally smiled a bit. “I knew it was here somewhere.” She took out the pattern and showed Maggie a small note Maggie had made for her. “See? You wrote that to help me remember the stitch.”

“Oh right. I didn't notice that before. I would have remembered it was yours,” Maggie agreed.

“I've been sitting next to Nick's bed since Thursday night. He's barely said a word, of course. They have him on a lot of sedatives to keep him quiet. All I can do is read, or knit. And pray a bit,” she confessed quietly.

Maggie's heart went out to her. “I'm so sorry for you, Jennifer. And Nick, of course. Why would anyone do such a thing? It's impossible for me to imagine it.”

“I keep asking myself the same thing. Waiting to see if he'll live or die. I couldn't get the question out of my mind. Why? Why Nick?” Her eyes had filled with tears and she swallowed hard to keep from crying. “I . . . I blame myself, Maggie. It's my fault this happened.”

“Your fault? How could that be?” Maggie asked gently.

“The fan who's been stalking me. I should have told the police right away. Especially once we came here. It got much worse.” Her large blue eyes overflowed and she paused to dab them with a tissue. “Maybe if I'd ignored Nick and told the police, he'd be all right now. Not fighting for his life.”

“Jennifer, you can't blame yourself for this. Even if the same person who's been harassing you did poison Nick.” Maggie gently touched the star's shoulder. “It's the work of a twisted personality. Someone in deep pain who needs serious help. No one can blame you.”

“That's good of you to say. But I don't feel that way. I told a detective about it, when I gave a statement to the police last night. He said I put myself and everyone involved in the movie at risk by not reporting it.”

Maggie didn't reply. She wondered who had been so harsh with a woman who was going through so much, watching her husband fight for his life. She was certain it had not been Charles. He would never be that insensitive.

“I told a detective about the flower delivery here, and the stalker, too,” Maggie replied. “At this point, I thought the police need to know and they told me to be completely forthcoming.”

“You did the right thing,” Jennifer assured her.

“The detective I spoke to—who is a very smart man—said it might be connected, but it very well may not be. There's no way to know yet, and anyone who tells you otherwise . . . Well, they just shouldn't have said that. You can't hold yourself responsible for the insane act of some unhinged person. You're not being fair to yourself.”

Jennifer's gaze was downcast. She sighed, but when she looked up again, she seemed a bit encouraged. “Thank you for saying that. I hope it's true.”

“I know it is,” Maggie said confidently. “What about the movie? Will you wait until Nick recovers to finish it?”

“Oh no . . . that's not an option. We're required by contract to continue, with a new director. Our executive producer, Regina Thurston, has been working on that.”

“Who will it be, do you know?” Maggie didn't know the names of many directors, except for the very famous ones, but she was curious.

“I'm not sure I can tell you. Regina is very uptight about information moving through proper channels, publicists, and press releases. That sort of thing. She doesn't abide any leaks.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Not that I consider you a nosy member of the media.”

Maggie laughed. “I'd hope not.”

“It wasn't easy to find someone good who was free and willing to take this on. But she jumped on a red-eye last night with a new director and they've probably landed at Logan by now. They might stop at Mass General before they come out here, to check on Nick,” Jen added, glancing at her watch.

A grim meeting, Maggie thought. Of course, Nick Pullman could not communicate a word to his replacement. But it was respectful of his colleagues to visit.

She wondered if Jen was hoping to get to Boston in time to see them. Or maybe wanted to avoid them? It would be hard to see someone take over such an important, powerful position from your ailing husband. Would this affect her acting? The entire landscape of the movie had shifted with Nick Pullman swept off the scene, Maggie realized.

“It's not a very attractive opportunity,” Jennifer said frankly. “To step in and direct a film that's already over budget and manage a cast and crew who have gone through so much. I'll be thankful to whoever shows up. I've been so distracted with Nick, I've hardly given that a thought.”

“Of course not.”

“I think the plan is to do some fast rewrites of the script, so we can finish up here quickly and shoot whatever's left at the studio. Theo has been working around the clock and taking meetings with Regina on Skype.” Maggie wasn't that up on technology, but knew Skype was a camera connection on the computer. She talked to her daughter, Julie, at college that way from time to time.

“Ironically, this will be a help to Theo in the long run,” Jen continued. “The more a writer contributes to a script, the larger his or her credit. Theo should get a very good credit out of this,” she added.

She sighed again, the financial pressures bearing down heavily, as well as her worries about her husband's recovery.

Jennifer didn't add that she and Nick had a great deal of their own money tied up in the production of the movie, but Maggie knew that from articles online and in the newspaper. “I hope the rest goes quickly and smoothly,” Maggie replied. That wouldn't be too hard, considering the series of unfortunate events the group had faced so far. “And Nick recovers quickly.”

“Thank you, Maggie. Thanks for listening to me. I feel embarrassed now, venting like that,” Jennifer admitted. “It is a bit lonely being on location. Away from all your friends and connections.”

“I understand. At least you have Alicia. Where is she today?”

Maggie didn't want to be nosy. But she'd rarely seen Jennifer without her assistant at her side.

“She's going to sit in on some meetings for me when the new director gets here. We'll probably read through the revised scenes tonight. She's going to work on the script, transpose all my notes and highlights, that sort of thing.”

Maggie basically got the gist. And maybe Jennifer wanted to be alone with her husband at this serious time.

Maggie did wonder about Nick's son, Theo. She hadn't seen him leave for the hospital last night, unless he followed in another car. From what Jennifer had just said, Theo had been hard at work rewriting the script since his father fell ill.

But it was none of her business, for one thing. Nick's son would figure out how to visit his father when he could. And surely Nick would be thankful to his son for helping to hold the project together during this crisis.

Jennifer pulled up her hood and slipped her sunglasses back on, then said good-bye. Out on the porch, she clutched the bag of yarn to her chest and ran down to the car with Victor hovering alongside.

She had barely jumped inside and slammed the door closed when the car swooped away from the curb and disappeared down Main Street.

Maggie watched from the window at the front of her shop. A few early morning shoppers, joggers, and dog walkers were about, but there didn't appear to be any fans or media following the actress. Maybe that group was already camped out at the hospital, waiting to pounce on Jennifer there.

As Maggie went back to work, she was once again thankful for her own anonymous, relatively drama-free life.

Just as she expected, Maggie's friends converged at the shop around noon. Dana came in from a yoga class first and Suzanne arrived soon after, taking a break between appointments. They'd brought their lunch and knitting, and Maggie found them working busily on both when she walked up to the front of the shop after a morning class let out.

“Where's Lucy?” Suzanne asked between bites of a roll-up sandwich. She was suited up to run an open house in a black linen blazer, gray pants, and pale blue wrap sweater she had knit for herself.

She held her sandwich at arm's length, big gold bangles slipping down her arms as she avoided splattering juicy bits on her good clothes. Maggie wasn't sure what was in it—turkey and a refrigerator full of other ingredients. It looked like it might explode.

“She's at the police station, giving her statement. I just sent a text and told her we were here.” Dana held a tall plastic cup with thick green liquid inside. Alternating sips between stitches.

“That looks healthy,” Phoebe said.

“It should be. There's probably a bushel of vegetables in one glass of this stuff,” Dana replied with a laugh. “I get one every Saturday at the farmer's market.”

“I admire your courage. After watching Nick Pullman poisoned the other night, I'm sticking to my own homemade soup for a while.” Maggie picked up her spoon and showed the others her humble lunch. “Good old chicken vegetable.”

“Don't be silly.” Dana swallowed another mouthful. “I don't think Nick's poisoning was a random act. I think it was carefully planned and directed at him.”

“Most likely,” Maggie conceded. “But you never know.”

Dana smiled and put her cup down. “But you do . . . the police do anyway.” Maggie could tell from her smile that she'd already heard something interesting about the case.

Dana's husband, Jack, was an attorney in town, but had once been a police detective for the county and still maintained close ties with the force. Dana was often privy to inside information on interesting cases, and though she really wasn't supposed to tell her friends, she usually couldn't help it.

Suzanne had put her amazingly sloppy sandwich aside and now held her hands out as she cleaned them with a wad of napkins.

“Spill it, pal. Did the police find evidence in Maggie's shop . . . or maybe in Nick's trailer? Or his hotel room? They must be searching everywhere for clues.”

“They are,” Dana confirmed. “And they're pretty certain they found the bottle that held the poisoned liquid—”

“Out in the trash next to my shop?” Maggie cut in, recalling what Charles had told her.

“You're warm. They found it in some trash collected at the park on the harbor. The label was torn off. But they're pretty certain it's the right bottle. There was a tiny, microscopic hole where a syringe must have been used to inject the poison into the drink, without disturbing the seal on the cap. Then the hole was sealed with a swipe of superglue. Ingenious, right? They're checking for Nick's DNA and anyone else's.”