Yarned and Dangerous (19 page)

“Do you think that could have been Roy Woodruff messing with Cora's car?” Josie was beginning to like that man less and less, even though she'd barely met him.

Evelyn shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no. The feud is strictly between Roy and Eben. There are lines they don't cross.”

Josie wasn't so sure about that. “What about the air bags? Did Rusty check those too?”

Sharla answered. “The day before the accident, he tested all the systems and hooked the car up to the computer. Everything checked out, even the air bags. I've seen the printout.”

“So what happened, then?” Josie frowned. “How could the car be fine one day and malfunction the next?”

“It's been known to happen. Sometimes things just go wrong. The car was inspected after the accident, of course. But the front-end damage was so heavy, some components were just destroyed.”

“Poor Cora,” Josie said through the lump in her throat.

There were several seconds of silence before Evelyn finally said, “Cora wouldn't have wanted us feeling sad about her, especially not when there's dessert sitting in the refrigerator. Let's have some.”

S
harla left after dessert, which turned out to be her favorite, lemon meringue pie. One thing Josie could say about Dorset Falls? People knew how to cook here. Despite Evelyn's best efforts, she'd been unable to get Sharla to divulge anything about the investigation into Lillian Woodruff's murder. By the time Josie and Evelyn had hand washed the dishes—Evelyn had no dishwasher, nor even a place in the cabinetry to put one—Josie was yawning.

Evelyn wiped her hands and hung the red-and-white-checked dish towel over the handle of the oven door to dry. “Let's get you to bed. Grab your bag, and we'll head upstairs.”

“Really, Evelyn, I'd be fine with a pillow and blanket on the couch.”

“Nonsense. I have a guest room. It's nice to have a guest to use it.”

Josie followed Evelyn up the stairway and into the first room on the right. Her hostess must have been in a blue mood when she decorated, because the walls, curtains, and bedding were done in shades of that color. A very comfortable-looking double bed sat between two windows, covered in a puffy navy-colored quilt. “The bathroom is right next door. You'll find everything you need—towels, soap, shampoo. I'll be watching a movie if you need me.” Evelyn went back downstairs, running her hand along the rail as she progressed.

Josie brushed her teeth in the bathroom—approximately the same vintage as the powder room downstairs, but slightly larger and containing a tub with a shower—changed into a T-shirt and fleece pajama pants, and lay down. The bed turned out to be as comfortable as it looked. Wafting up from downstairs was the unmistakable theme song from a James Bond movie. Josie pulled the comforter up around her neck and relaxed into the soft flannel sheets.

At least her body relaxed. Her mind took longer to quiet down.

It was ironic. She'd never given her great-uncle and Cora, the woman he'd married late in life, more than a passing thought as she finished school and tried to find her place in the fashion world. And now Eb and Cora were all she could think about. The accident that injured Eb and killed Cora. The air bag—why had it not deployed, potentially saving Cora's life? Josie should just accept Sharla's explanation that sometimes things go wrong. But it just seemed so random.

Random.

She sat up in bed. What if it hadn't been random?

Rusty had given the car a clean bill of health the day before the accident. Rusty had Eb's truck in the shop the day of the accident. What were the odds? What if someone had tampered with Cora's air bag after Rusty had inspected the car, but before she picked it up? Then had run her off the road—just as someone had tried to cause Josie to have an accident.

Something Evelyn had said that night came back to Josie. Eb was Dorset Falls's most eligible bachelor. And it might not have been because he still had his teeth and his hair.

It might have been because his wife had recently sold her house and was sitting on a pile of cash. Which he would inherit if Cora died, along with a whole shop full of yarn. Maybe even a life-insurance policy.

Helen Crawford. Evelyn Graves. Even Diantha Humphries. They'd all been fawning over Eb for the last week, and probably before Josie had even arrived. An ugly picture was forming. The single senior ladies of Dorset Falls had reason to want Cora out of the way.

And what else did these ladies have in common? They were all members of the Dorset Falls Charity Knitters Association.

Lillian Woodruff had died by being strangled with a twisted rope of yarn, one that would take a bit of special skill to make. And that pointed to a knitter.

But which one?

Josie's heart pounded in her chest. There was a connection between Cora's death and Lillian's murder. There had to be. And if someone in the Charity Knitters was bumping off other members of the group in an attempt to get to Eben, who would be next?

Josie swallowed a lump of panic. She was in Evelyn Graves's house, had eaten the dinner she cooked. Was Evelyn a potential victim? Or could she be the killer? Evelyn was hiding something in the abandoned building across the street from Miss Marple Knits, and Helen Crawford was in on it. What if Evelyn and Helen were working together to see who could marry Eb first, then kill him and split the money?

What if . . .

She lay back against the pillows. Clearly, she was insane. Her imagination was running wild after a long, stressful day and too many episodes of cop dramas on television back at her apartment in New York. Still, Josie wasn't stupid. She got up and moved an armchair up against the closed bedroom door. Just in case.

She climbed back into bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

Josie woke up early, groggy and unrested. This morning she would stop in at the police station and talk to Detective Potts about the horrible ideas that had come to her last night. She would rather have given the information to Sharla. But if there was even the slightest possibility that Evelyn was involved, Josie didn't want to put Sharla into the awkward position of having to choose her loyalties between her family and her job. Even though it might come to that anyway.

Josie moved the chair back into its spot by the window. Apparently it hadn't been necessary, which was a relief. Still, her plans did not include staying here any longer than she had to. She showered and dressed quickly, stripped the bed, stuffed the sheets into the hamper in the bathroom, then headed downstairs, overnight bag in hand.

Evelyn was already up, sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper and a cup of coffee. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said. “Sit down, and I'll make you some breakfast.”

“Thanks, Evelyn. But I promised Mitch I'd meet him in town.”

She smiled. “Very good. I'd rather look at his handsome face than a wrinkly old lady's any day, too.”

“You're not that wrinkly. You must have good genes.”

Evelyn got up and went to the cupboard. She pulled out a metal travel mug and filled it with coffee, then handed it to Josie with a spoon. “Cream and sugar's on the table. You can return the mug anytime. Or not at all. I have more than I need.”

Josie fixed the coffee and gave it a stir, then popped the lid into place. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to drink it. But then again, poison had not been the killer's MO up till this point. And she could use a jolt of caffeine.

“Thanks for dinner and for putting me up last night,” Josie said, heading for the breezeway. “I really appreciate it.” She shrugged into her jacket and put on her clogs.

Evelyn looked down at Josie's feet and frowned. It was clear some kind of maternal instinct had kicked in. “You'll want to get yourself some boots, if you didn't bring any with you. The weather's warming up during the day, and things are going to get muddy around here.”

Things are already muddy around here,
Josie thought. “Well, I don't expect to be here much longer. But I'll check Cora's closet. She probably had a pair that will be close enough in size.”

Evelyn seemed satisfied. “All right then, out you go. You don't want to be late for your date.”

“Thanks again.” Josie opened the exterior door onto a bright, cold morning.

“Anytime. And tell dear Eben I said I hope he's on the mend soon.” Evelyn's face was all innocence.

Evelyn's words, which Josie would have thought cute yesterday, now took on a more sinister meaning. Josie mentally shook her head. She had no proof of anything, only some wild ideas that didn't seem quite so plausible in the light of day. “Bye, Evelyn.”

Josie made her way to the car and tossed her overnight bag into the backseat.

The coffee, hot, thick, and sweet, ran down her throat as she waited for the car to warm up. With the magic of caffeine, it only took a moment for her head to begin to clear. She checked her watch. It was just after eight o'clock. Mitch had said he'd meet her at the g.s. at nine with the eggs. She backed out of the driveway, raising her hand to Evelyn, who was waving to her from the living room bay window.

Go Directly to Jail. Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect Two-Hundred Dollars.
Josie wasn't exactly going to jail, although she suspected the police station had at least a holding cell or two. She pulled into the shared parking lot between the police and the fire stations, which were located in the same block as the town hall, but facing Grove Street rather than Main.

She took a deep breath, got out of the car, locked it, and headed inside.

The officer on duty sat behind a sliding-glass partition, similar to the one at the hospital, though this one was probably bulletproof. His hair was short and dark, and a close-trimmed goatee outlined his mouth. His beefy dark arms strained at the hems of the short sleeves of his uniform as he pulled back the glass. “I'm Officer Denton. Can I help you?”

Josie swallowed. This was the second time she'd been in this police station, the first being when she'd reported the car's almost running her off the road. It was not less intimidating now, which she guessed was kind of the point. She cleared her throat. “I'd like to talk to Detective Potts.”

Officer Denton's eyes were assessing, but his words were clipped. “Your name?”

“Josie. Josephine Blair.” Her nerve was rapidly deserting her.

“The nature of your business with Detective Potts?”

What could she say? That she suspected some unidentified old woman was bumping off potential rivals for a Yankee farmer's affections? It sounded ridiculous, even to her.

“I'd like to talk to him”—she cleared her throat again—“about Lillian Woodruff's death.” There.

“Do you have some information?” Officer Denton asked, his face expressionless.

“Look, is he here? It won't take long.” She put her hand up to Cora's blue scarf and adjusted it. Stroking the soft fiber was almost as good at calming her as stroking Coco's fur.

He eyed her, then relented. “As it happens, he's not in yet. Leave me your name and phone number, and I'll have him call you.”

A reprieve. But she'd been looking forward to getting the crazy theory out of her own head and into the hands of someone who could actually do something about it. “Josie Blair. B-L-A-I-R. He has my number, but I'll give it to you again.” She rattled it off, and Officer Denton dutifully wrote it down on a pink message pad. “When do you think he'll be in?”

“He doesn't report to me,” Officer Denton said. “He'll call you.”

“Thanks.”
For nothing,
she thought, and headed back to her car.

The coffee was still hot as she sat in her car, once again waiting for the old engine to warm up. Potts's laughter was going to be audible from here to Hartford. Supposedly the police were close to making an arrest. Was she just throwing a monkey wrench into their investigation?

No, she owed it to Cora, and to Lillian, to say something. And Josie would, just as soon as Potts called her back.

She pulled out, drove around the block, and parked in front of Miss Marple Knits. The interior was dark, not that she'd expected anything different. It wasn't quite time to meet Mitch, so she might as well use the time productively. She fired off a text to her friend Monica, asking her again to put her in touch with the buyer. Josie put the key in the lock and entered the shop.

Setting the travel mug on the sales counter, she glanced around. The shop hadn't gotten any less forlorn, that was for sure. Miss Marple stared up at her from the confines of her frame.

Huh?

She looked at the picture again. It was faceup.

Last time she was in, she had left the picture facedown, because she didn't want to see Miss Marple's accusing stare.

Someone had been here.

She glanced around. The bags of yarn were lined up around the perimeter of the room. Impossible to tell if they'd been moved. Or was it? She pulled out her cell phone and called up the photos she'd taken for the buyer. She scrolled through them, comparing the photos to the scene in front of her. There were slight discrepancies. A bag farther away from the wall. Another bag tipped over. A grouping of three where the pictures showed two should have been.

Adrenaline surged. She should check the back room, but common sense won out. What if the intruder was still here?

She grabbed the coffee mug and her purse and hightailed it out of there.