Yarned and Dangerous (25 page)

“Oh, I forgot. Wait, didn't you come in wearing one? It must be here somewhere.” Josie located a plastic bag. “Here it is. And it could have been worse, Eb. At least I brought you a pair of shoes, since you came in here only wearing one.”

“Hmmph. Get moving. I want to see my dog.”

Mitch chuckled. “Jethro misses you, too. I'll go get the nurse.”

He returned a few minutes later with a nurse, who was followed by an orderly pushing a wheelchair.

Eb's lips were set in a hard line. “Nope.” He glared at the wheelchair as if it were an actual person, not an innocent, inanimate object.

The orderly smiled, showing a lot of very white teeth. “Yup!” he said. “You ride, or you're our guest forever. We're like the Hotel California. What'll it be?” He gave the wheelchair a little push toward Eb.

“Just do it,” Josie said. “You want to leave, right? It's for five minutes, tops.”

Eb's scowl deepened. He stalled, apparently considering, then finally gave in and lowered himself into the chair.

“Feet in the stirrups,” the orderly said, checking the position of Eb's lower extremities. “Let's go.” The orderly wheeled Eb around and rolled him out the door. “Race you to the elevators,” he called over his shoulder.

Mitch picked up the bag of clothes Eb had come in with and stuffed it inside the bag Josie had packed earlier. “I was a track star in high school. I could beat them. But today they win,” he said. “Ready?”

Josie gave one last look around. The room appeared to be empty of all Eb's personal effects. “Ready,” she said. “Let's get the old boy home.”

Mitch left to bring his SUV around under the canopy. Josie made Eb's appointment, while Eb sat fidgeting, tapping his knobby fingers on the arm of the wheelchair. The glass doors slid open with a barely audible
snick
and the orderly—his name was Bentley, according to his name tag—wheeled Eb out. Bentley settled him in the front seat, while Josie climbed into the back. Mitch pulled away as Josie waved to Bentley. Eb stared straight ahead.

“Do you have a cane at home?” Mitch asked. “Otherwise I'll stop at a pharmacy on the way home, and we'll pick one up.”

Eb harrumphed. “I ain't using a cane.”

“Oh yes you are,” Josie piped up. “Two weeks. That's what the doctor said. You want to fall and break a hip out of sheer stubbornness? Then you'll be laid up until summer. And I am
not
coming back here to bale your hay or take care of your pumpkins.” Secretly, she thought she might come back for a few days in the fall, if Eb would allow it. Pumpkins made her happy.

Mitch must have taken Eb's refusal to say anything more as acquiescence, because he pulled in at a drugstore and parked. “I'll go in,” Josie said. “I need a couple of items myself.” She was low on shampoo, and she needed deodorant too.

When she came back out a few minutes later and stowed herself and her purchases—including a cane—in the SUV, Eb and Mitch were arguing good-naturedly about the chances of the Yankees winning a pennant this year. It was Greek to her. She didn't know anything about sports teams, but Mitch and Eb seemed to be enjoying themselves.

“Find everything you needed?” Mitch said, putting the car into reverse and backing out expertly.

“Yes.” A grunt of disgust came from the front seat. “It's only for a little while, Eb. Cheer up. You're cleared to drive again.”

“Woodruff better not have been anywhere near my truck while I've been on vacation,” Eb said darkly.

“He's been busy splitting and stacking wood in the sugarhouse,” Mitch said. “But I'll take a look at your truck before you drive it if you want.” He pulled the SUV out onto the two-lane state route heading back to Dorset Falls.

Josie didn't need to see Eb's face to know that his hairy eyebrows were drawn together. The conversation in the front seat continued about maple syrup and trucks. “Whaddya think about the new Chevys? Might buy one,” Eb said.

That reminded Josie. She pulled out her cell phone and punched in Monica's number.
Still waiting for buyer's phone number. Need ASAP!!!
She hoped Monica was all right. It wasn't like her to ignore a text.

Her cell phone gave a little chirp, indicating a new message.
Buyer arranging for movers. Will call you when it's in place, probably tomorrow.

Okay,
Josie texted back, although it was anything but. If the new owner of the contents of the yarn shop didn't contact her tomorrow, she'd have to start identifying city yarn shops and making calls to potential buyers herself. Monica had already gone above and beyond the duties of friendship for her, and there was no more time to waste waiting on a deal that showed no signs of happening. Eb might have to wait a little longer for his new truck.

When they pulled into Eb's driveway twenty minutes later and Mitch shut off the engine, Josie could hear Jethro's muffled howl coming from inside the house. She smiled. Man and dog would be together again. The cane hadn't been removed from its packaging, so Josie was grateful when Mitch innocently came around to Eb's side of the SUV and walked alongside him up onto the sagging front porch and escorted him inside.

Josie grabbed her bag from the drugstore, her tote bag, and her purse, then shouldered the strap of the duffel bag she'd brought Eb's boots and clean clothes in. Mitch met her at the door of the house and reached for one of the bags. “Sorry,” he said. “I was coming back out to help.”

She smiled at him, feeling a surge of gratitude. “I'm fine. Thanks for helping Eb. And for everything you've done for us,” she added.

“My pleasure.” Mitch tilted his head to one side. “Well, maybe not a pleasure,” he said, lowering his voice so Eb wouldn't overhear. Not that Eb would have minded. Josie was pretty sure Eb enjoyed his reputation as a curmudgeon. “But I've known Eb since I was a kid. And I need him back in commission so he can keep my grandfather occupied. Roy's been at loose ends since Eb's been running on reduced power.”

When she entered the house, she found Eb already in his armchair, Jethro stretched out on the floor by his side, panting and looking up adoringly with his big brown eyes at Eb, who stroked his head. “How about some coffee?” Eb said in her direction.

“Tea?” Lorna still hadn't gotten to the big-box store to get Josie the automatic drip machine.

Mitch laughed. “I could go for some coffee, too, Eb. I'll start the percolator.” He grinned at Josie, and she grinned back.

“Guess I'll watch how you make it this time,” she said, a bit sheepishly. “Eb, will you be all right here if I run into town this afternoon? I need to check on some things at the shop.” No sense borrowing trouble by telling him the yarn deal wasn't yet solid. But she planned to scrounge as many boxes as she could from Lorna at the general store, just in case she had to empty the storeroom herself. And she'd get Eb his oatmeal raisin cookies while she was at it.

Mitch raised his eyebrows. “You should call Evelyn to meet you there,” he said. “Or I can come with you.”

Josie nodded. “I'll call Evelyn.”

“T
hanks, Lorna,” Josie said.

Lorna, bless her, had a number of boxes in the back of the store. “I've been stockpiling them, just in case you needed them,” she said. “Are you going to the town meeting tonight?”

Josie frowned. “I'm not sure. It might be frustrating, not being allowed to speak my opinion. Not that my opinion really matters, I guess. I don't live here.”

“Well, if you're not doing anything else, maybe you could come anyway. I'm trying to get as many Dorset Falls-ites to go as I can. The more people who see and understand what Trey is trying to do, the better. And extra bodies at the meeting won't hurt.”

Josie took the bag of a dozen oversized cookies Lorna handed her, and put some cash on the counter. “I'll think about it.”

Lorna glanced around. The store was mostly empty. “Come on. I'll help you load some of these boxes into your car. You can come back for the rest later.”

When they got outside, balancing boxes, Josie popped open the trunk of her car. She shoved in one of her boxes, but met resistance. She shoved a little harder, but the box still wouldn't go in, so she set it on the ground and looked inside.

Ah. The last box of Cora's yarn—or at least the last of Cora's stash that Josie had located. The one that Rusty had pulled from the trunk of Cora's wrecked car. Josie reached in and dragged it forward on the carpet, then took it out. It was heavier than she had expected it would be, and something slid around on the bottom of the box. Something definitely unyarnlike. Probably a small tool kit or emergency supplies Cora kept in her trunk. Or just a weight of some kind—pattern books, maybe—to keep the box from tipping over. She handed the box to Lorna and asked her to put it on the front seat.

They loaded up as many boxes as would fit, then Lorna stood up straight, wiping her hands on her apron. “I should get back inside. Looks like a customer just arrived.”

“Thanks for the help,” Josie said. “And I'll think about coming to the meeting tonight.” Lorna waved, then headed back to the store.

Josie drove around the block and parked in front of Miss Marple Knits. Would it hurt to go in alone, just to unload? She chewed her lower lip. It was probably a dumb move. Instead, she texted Evelyn.
Have more yarn. Can you meet me?

An immediate text came back.
Already at the Lair. Come on up. Erase this text.

Josie smiled. Evelyn took her spy stuff seriously. Josie hit
delete
.

Checking both directions to make sure there were no cars or pedestrians on the street who might see her, Josie carried the box around to the alley behind Helen's building and went upstairs. If someone did see her, she would keep it simple and say Helen had asked her to look in on the cat. It was as good an excuse as any. It might even fly.

Evelyn met her at the door, taking the box from her hands. “Come in,” she said cheerfully. Was there yarn lust in her eyes? It was not as intense as Josie had seen before, maybe due to the fact that there were only a dozen or so skeins. But there was a definite gleam.

Josie had barely taken off her jacket and laid it over the back of one of the plastic-covered armchairs—which was still full of the sorted yarn from the morning-borning room at Eb's farmhouse—when Evelyn turned the box over and dumped the contents on the couch.

“Yes!” Evelyn did a very uncharacteristic fist pump. “Here it is!”

Josie leaned in closer. Lying on top of the pile of yarn was a black three-ring binder. That had been the weight in the bottom of the box. Evelyn locked eyes with her.

“Cora's notebook,” they said in unison. Evelyn hesitated a moment, then handed it to Josie. “You should be the one to look at it first,” Evelyn said.

“We'll look at it together,” Josie said firmly. “Come on over to the table, and we'll see what it says.”

Prickles of anticipation raced up Josie's arms. Would this simple black binder contain evidence that would cement the police's case against Trey? She flipped it open, and she and Evelyn began to read.

But there was a problem. At least for Josie. Cora had dutifully noted the customer's name—and the members of the Dorset Falls Charity Knitters Association made up the majority—the quantity, the price, and a description of the yarn bought in each transaction. But Josie knew nothing about brands of yarn. If someone had bought a skein of the blue yarn that had been fashioned into the murder weapon, she'd never recognize it. Reluctantly, she handed the notebook to Evelyn.

“You'll have to do it,” she said. “I'm no help.”

Evelyn
tsked
. “Nonsense. You take half and look for the color name; that way, we can narrow it down. It'll be something like ‘Azure Skies' or ‘Ocean Variegated.' Something that sounds blue.” She opened the binder rings with a snap and handed Josie half of the contents.

They scanned the pages for several minutes. Josie dogeared the corner of any pages that contained a promising color name. When Evelyn finished her stack, she could check Josie's pages to see if she recognized the correct brand. The entries abruptly cut off six weeks ago—Cora's last sale had been to Helen Crawford, who bought something called Cuddles sport weight, peach variegated, 2 skeins.

But there were still papers in the binder to peruse, after the sales data cut off. The next was titled
The History of Needlework,
by Cora Lloyd. Josie smiled as she thumbed through the sheets of lined paper, covered in a beautiful handwritten script. Cora had been writing a reference book.

Before Josie could show it to Evelyn, her companion let out a whoop. “This is it. It has to be. ‘Paca-Sheep Softie, worsted weight, aurora borealis, 1 skein.” Her eyes met Josie's, triumphant. “And guess whom it was sold to?” she trilled.

Josie's heart rate ticked up. “Don't keep me in suspense, Evelyn. Whom?” Josie leaned forward.

“Diantha Humphries!”

Josie smiled. Gotcha, Trey. That put the murder weapon squarely within Trey's grasp. Diantha had made the cord for whatever reason, to tie back a curtain or something, and Trey had taken it from her house. Or Diantha had made it and given it to Trey, perhaps to use in his office. There could be any number of scenarios, but Josie would leave it to the police to figure out the details. “Shall we call Sharla?”

Evelyn looked thoughtful. “Sharla's chaperoning Andrew's field trip to the butterfly conservatory today. I'd rather not bother her.”

“Well, Detective Potts it is, then. But I'll say it was Sharla's idea to look for the notebook in the first place.”

Evelyn nodded, satisfied. “But let's be thorough before you call him. I'll go through the rest of the entries, just to be sure.” She began to flip pages from the rest of her stack, then Josie's. When she finished, she said, “That's it.” She rubbed her hands together, gleeful. “Oh, wait until I tell Helen! Diantha will be so mortified, she'll step down immediately. Her day has finally come.” Evelyn reached into the pocket of her sweater, presumably for her phone.

“We should probably hold off telling anyone other than Detective Potts,” Josie said.

Evelyn nodded. “I suppose you're right. I know! I'll invite Helen over for dinner tonight and make it a surprise. Do you want to come?”

“I'd love to, but I shouldn't. Eb came home from the hospital today.”

The older woman clapped her hands again. “Wonderful! Did the cast come off? I'll bring over another casserole.”

“Uh, that would be lovely. Could you make it for the freezer, though? I just bought a lot of groceries.” A small fib was okay in the name of friendship, right? And, she realized, she could count Evelyn as a friend, now that Josie's suspicions had been erased with the discovery of the additional evidence against Trey. It felt good.

Josie pulled out her cell phone. She dialed Detective Potts's number. “Detective? It's Josie Blair. I've discovered something that might help the investigation into Lillian Woodruff's death. Can you call me?” She rang off.

“Shouldn't we just take it to the police station?” Evelyn said.

“I thought about that. But I'm not comfortable delivering this to anyone other than Detective Potts, or Sharla if she's available. They . . . think I'm a kook down at the station, and I don't want them sticking this on a shelf and forgetting about it.”

“I'm sure that's not true, dear.” Evelyn patted Josie's hand.

Josie was sure it was, and the proof of it stood in front of her. Evelyn had been one of the ladies she'd suspected of bumping off other ladies in an effort to get at Eb and his money. If Detective Potts thought Josie was a kook, well, there might have been a grain of truth in it.

“Well, just to be sure, I'll wait for him personally.”

“Whatever you think is best. Now. I think Helen left brownies here yesterday. Let's have one to celebrate.”

 

Josie adjusted the flame under the pan, then gave the turkey and rice stew she'd brought home from the general store a stir. Detective Potts still had not called, confirming her suspicion that he thought she was a flake. She dished up the stew and took two bowls to the dining room table, which had grown another crop of stuff in the few hours since Eb had been home. Finding a more or less clear spot, she set them down.

Eb got up with alacrity and came to the table. She'd given in about the cane, which he refused to use around the house. It had become clear that it was always best to pick her battles with Eb. As long as he used the cane outside on the rough or icy ground, he'd probably be okay.

Eb slurped up some stew. “Pretty good,” he said, breaking off a piece of roll and dipping it in.

Josie put the spoon in her bowl and made figure-eight patterns. Her stomach was jumpy, and probably would be until she turned over that notebook, which was currently locked in the trunk of her Saab. She pushed the bowl away. It was no use. She couldn't eat until this was taken care of. “Eb, I'm going into town tonight. Will you be all right?”

He looked at her from under the ledge of his eyebrows. “I think I can take care of myself. But,” he said, taking another bite of stew, “I'm going into town too. Council meeting.”

Josie had planned to drive around town looking for Detective Potts's unmarked police car. As tempting as it was, she'd decided not to go to the meeting. She didn't think she could face Trey without giving something away. But she couldn't very well take Eb with her on her mission to find Detective Potts. Eb would pump her for information and might not take “no comment” for an answer.

He stared at her. “I'll drive myself.”

“What? No.” The man had just come home from the hospital today. He shouldn't be driving.

“I'll drive myself,” he repeated. “Doc said I could do my normal activities. And driving is one of my normal activities.”

She blew out a sigh. There was no way to stop him if he was determined to do it, which it appeared he was. “Fine. I had no idea you were so interested in local politics. What time are you going?”

“Meeting's at seven. No sense getting there early.” He went back to his dinner.

Josie calculated. That meant he'd leave about six forty-five, which would give her plenty of time, if she left now, to look for Potts, then come back and secretly follow Eb into town. She could park down the road, toward the Woodruff farm, and watch for him to pull out. It would work.

“I'm going now,” she announced. “Leave the dishes, and I'll tend to them later.”

Josie drove into Dorset Falls, keeping her eyes open for the unmarked car. But she quickly realized her plan was flawed. It was after five o'clock, and it was February in Connecticut. Which meant night had already fallen, making the job of identifying any car much more difficult. She took a few turns around the block, and went down a few side streets, but she didn't even know where the detective lived. This had not been one of her brighter ideas.

Parking at the police station, she steeled herself and went inside.

Officer Denton sat in all his beefy glory behind the glass window. His eyebrows rose when he saw her. “What is it now, Ms. Blair?”

She cleared her throat. “I'm looking for Detective Potts.”

One eyebrow lowered. “Why?” he drawled.

“I have something I need to talk to him about, okay? Is he here?” She was pretty sure Officer Denton knew all about her previous theory.

“He's not.”

Jerk. This train was headed for Frustrationville. There was no sense leaving a message. She'd already done that on Potts's cell phone. “Thanks,” she said. “You've been a big help.”

He grinned. “We aim to please, Ms. Blair.”

She spun on her heel and went back to the Saab, cheeks burning despite the cold air.