Death of a Crafty Knitter Page 10

  "Good," he said. "I'm glad we had this discussion."

  "Good," I said with equal finality. "I'll manage my gift shop, and you put away the murderers. How many suspects did you say you have? Was it zero? Good job locating the victim's public library account. I'm sure your big lead is right around the corner. Maybe a librarian killed her for overdue fines."

  His nostrils flared with the effort it took him to not take the bait. He got to his feet and headed toward the door.

  "Wait!" I dashed into the kitchen, where I hurriedly transferred Tony's barely touched coffee into a plastic travel mug. "Take your coffee to go," I said sweetly.

  He grunted his acquiescence and waited, shuffling by the door.

  "Big plans for today?" I asked with fake cheer. "I swear I'm not playing detective, prying for details. Answer as vaguely as you like."

  "I'll be talking to the waitress who allegedly tossed a drink on the victim New Year's Eve."

  "Not allegedly. She definitely threw the drink on Voula Varga. I hope you have backup. That sweet little white-haired lady is a vicious criminal. If you back her into a corner, she's liable to grab the nearest knitting needle and skewer you."

  Tony's nostrils were still flared. "We have to follow up on all the leads."

  "All the leads? Did you trace the gun already? I bet the waitress stole it, cat-burglar style. Pat her down for weapons before you start the interrogation."

  Tony didn't even smile. He twitched impatiently by the door. I finished the coffee preparations. I'd poured not one, but two travel mugs, and handed them to him.

  "That one's for your rookie," I said sweetly. "I don't know if young Kyle takes cream or sugar, but you can send him in and I'll fix his up just how he likes it."

  "You're too kind," he said flatly.

  "I hope you don't think I'm interfering in police business." I batted my eyelashes. "It's just coffee. Us womenfolk are allowed to make you big, strong men coffee, aren't we? That is, when we're not setting the furniture on fire to get the sexy firemen to come over."

  He slowly turned his gaze down to the floor and nodded, conceding that I'd won this particular round. Then he left, closing the door gently.

  I went to the window and watched him walk away, a dark blue figure against the dazzling white snow. Unlike the murky gray day before, the second day of January was as gorgeous as a winter day could be.

  Tony glanced back over his shoulder, his face neutral. His pace slowed, and I expected him to dump the coffee into the snow right in front of me, but he didn't. He kept walking, got into the police car on the driver's side, and drove off.

  Something behind me made a plopping sound. Jeffrey had returned from wherever His Regal Grayness had been hiding, scared by the sound of Tony's boots inside the house. The plop was him calling dibs on the remainder of my maple-bacon donut by knocking it to the floor.

  "You act like I don't feed you." I confiscated the donut and cleaned up the mess. He gave me an innocent look, then sauntered away.

  A few minutes later, I was sipping my coffee and grump-eating another one of the donuts—chocolate with pink frosting—when a ball of yarn rolled past the table. The yarn was followed by a cat, tackling the ball like it was a dangerous foe. The yarn fought back surprisingly well for an inanimate object. It began to unravel, and after a few wrestling rolls, the yarn was winning, restricting Jeffrey's movements with loops and knots.

  "This is not a cat toy," I said as I disentangled the embarrassed-looking cat.

  I wound the ball back up and set it on the table before me. Jeffrey must have found it in my closet, with a half-dozen other objects I kept around to make myself feel guilty. Along with the yarn, there was a beaded-jewelry-making kit, various art supplies, and a yoga mat, still in its bag. My workaholic tendencies hadn't transferred to arts and crafts—at least not yet.

  "Maybe you finding this ball of yarn is a sign," I said. "Dad wants me to infiltrate Voula's knitting club, but Tony wants me to be a good little Misty Falls housewife and stay out of trouble. Hmmm. What to do, what to do…"

  I grabbed my cell phone and scrolled through my local contacts. They say everyone in Hollywood is connected to actor Kevin Bacon by six degrees of separation. Small towns are even more connected. I could find that knitting group in three phone calls or fewer, especially if I started with the right person.

  I clicked the contact number for Ruby Sparkes.

  When she answered, she didn't even say hello.

  "Stormy, it's about time you called. We have so much to talk about. I'm putting on the Earl Grey now, but I'm afraid I don't have any cupcakes."

  I chuckled softly. Ruby did not waste any time. I hadn't planned more than a phone call with her, but the day was too gorgeous to spend inside anyway. Like Jeffrey, I enjoyed the comforts of home even more after some fresh air. Unlike Jeffrey, I preferred doing things other than sitting under the winter bird feeder and wishing it wasn't so high off the ground.

  "How do you feel about fancy artisanal donuts?" I asked Ruby.

  "Honey, do you even have to ask?" I heard the sound of running water—the kettle being filled. "I'm at the store. We're closed the rest of the week, and the lights are off in the showroom, but you can let yourself in. You know where to find me."

  Chapter 13

  Ruby Sparkes wasn't just the energetic and friendly owner of a jewelry store called Ruby's Treasure Trove. She was a bit of a treasure herself, a sparkling jewel in the crown of Misty Falls. Not only did she have a knack for knowing practically everyone in town by name, but she was also part of the Secret Tearoom Ladies, a group that—as far as I'd figured out so far—kept an eye out for residents in trouble and tried to help them.

  Last month, she drove her teen employee crazy with endless cleaning and make-work chores. Some people would chalk that up to Ruby being a tough boss—cruel, even—but there was kindness in her actions. She felt the girl, who was a dropout, would be better off in high school, and so Ruby tried to make schoolwork look more fun by comparison. Her plan worked, thanks to a little nudge from other parties, including yours truly.

  As I entered Ruby's Treasure Trove and made my way back to the secret tearoom hidden behind the storage area, I hoped Ruby's invitation to drop by meant I was now part of her inner circle. I'd gotten the impression I was too young to be a member of the Secret Tearoom Ladies, but that only made me more curious about their activities.

  I found Ruby humming to herself in the jewelry store's staff kitchen, setting up a serving tray with dainty teacups, milk, and chunks of sugar in the shapes of rocks. By the sound and feel of the space, we were the only two people there, yet others had been back there recently. In addition to the scent of Ruby's perfume and the lavender in her favorite blend of creamy Earl Grey, I also detected a rose perfume, in addition to that classic, Chanel No. 5.

  "You're here because the ladies had a meeting," I guessed. "I can smell their perfumes."

  "And hello to you, too," she said with a light laugh. "Aren't we a clever detective."

  I looked down and pointed my toes together, embarrassed. Maybe Tony wasn't entirely wrong about me running around town spouting theories like some sassy teen detective.

  I didn't feel awkward for long, because Ruby grabbed me for a friendly hug and crushed my face to her bosom. Her leopard-print blouse was soft, either silk or a silk blend, and was as soft on my cheek as talcum powder. When she released me, I took an admiring look at her from head to toe—curly hair colored a shade of red that was far from natural, but perfect nonetheless; bright eyes and beautiful wrinkles from sixty-six years of laughter; two thick gold serpentine necklaces around her neck, and no shortage of matching rings; the smartly tailored leopard-printed blouse; pleated trousers in Ruby's favorite color, purple; and dark brown leather dress boots that I would bet matched a nearby purse perfectly.

  By comparison, I felt underdressed in my dark jeans and teal-blue cotton sweater with a mock turtleneck. I told Ruby as much, and she just laughed and said, "With
those lovely earrings bringing everyone's attention to your beautiful face, you've got nothing to be worried about. Say, wherever did you get those earrings? They're breathtaking."

  I grinned and reached up to twist one of the earrings. They were petite and daisy-shaped, with a tiny pearl in the center.

  "These little flowers?" I asked, playing along. "A gift from my father for Christmas. Can you believe he picked them out all by himself?"

  Her eyes widened meaningfully and she said, "Did he, now? All by himself, you say?"

  She winked as she grabbed the serving tray and led me toward the windowed nook with the table. We both knew Finnegan Day had gotten help from Ruby, and that only made the gift even more special. He'd sent a matching pair to my sister, who was traveling and couldn't make it home for the holidays, but swore she was wearing her earrings every day and missing us.

  We took a seat at the table, and Ruby apologized as she tidied away her laptop and assortment of other digital devices. I gazed out the window at the street and went silent in reverence for the view.

  Misty Falls is truly a postcard town, with all its colorful locally owned storefronts, backed by snow-dusted mountains. The only neon in town is the red boot over the shoe repair shop. We do have some of the usual fast-food chains in town, but years ago the city passed bylaws restricting the signage and appearance of those businesses. If you come looking for Chicken McNuggets in Misty Falls, you'll have to know where to look or who to ask.

  My view on that sparkling winter day was marred only by a young mother with kids in tow, stopping to lean in toward me and pluck a poppy seed from between her teeth. People don't normally behave that way around me, but part of the secret surrounding Ruby's tearoom is the window itself, which is a mirror on the other side, surrounded by a title mosaic decorated with uplifting words and phrases.

  "Always the poppy seeds," Ruby said with amusement.

  When I turned to her, she gave me a sympathetic look and asked how I was feeling, in light of my discovery the day before. Apparently, the news was out.

  We sipped our tea and sampled the donuts, and I filled her in on my experience at the crime scene. She was such a good listener, so I didn't hold back. I told her about young Kyle Dempsey flirting with me, and Tony's reaction.

  "Men," she said with an eye roll. "Don't let my lack of a wedding ring fool you. I've been around the merry-go-round more times than a crop-duster pilot with an empty plane does loop-de-loops to show off." She looked away shyly as her cheeks colored. "I dated a pilot for a while," she explained, then waved for me to continue.

  After some consideration of my father's privacy, I backtracked and told her about the information he'd gathered on Voula Varga: no family, no live stalkers, no obvious enemies, besides one waitress.

  "It's a shame your father's retired now," she said. "He was a real asset to this town."

  We locked gazes. Did she know about his plans to become a private investigator? Was she trying to determine if I also knew? I kept my face neutral and studied hers, but she didn't have any tells that I could distinguish.

  Finally, she drew herself up with a breath, and said, "I have very little to add, and, like your father, I can't reveal my sources, but I do have a name."

  "A name?" A tingle went down my spine.

  She glanced at the window, as though someone might be listening. During a previous visit, she'd told me it was triple-paned and nearly as soundproof as the adjoining wall, but I could understand her nervousness. A woman had been killed, and the murderer could walk by that window at any moment. With a start, I remembered that the front door had been unlocked when I'd arrived.

  "Wait, Ruby. I didn't lock the door when I got here."

  "There's a chime on the entry, but you make a good point, honey. Wait a minute, I'll be right back."

  She left to lock the door, and I realized how tense with suspense I was. In my hands lay a damp, twisted white thing that had once been a napkin. I stretched my neck from side to side and reminded myself I'd come here for a purpose: to get contact information for the knitting club.

  Of course, getting this name from Ruby would be a huge bonus. I had to assume the name was a suspect.

  Ruby returned with a sheet of paper and handed it to me. "The printer's up front, and I actually sent this to print right after you called."

  The printout was from a website page, and it was the biography for a Hollywood producer named Bernard Goldstein.

  My excitement quickly crashed back to earth.

  "Sorry to break it to you," I said gently to Ruby. "Bernard is a dead end. If this is the same stalker guy Voula had a restraining order on, we'll need a séance to ask him questions. He died a few years ago."

  "Not according to his company's website. He's alive and well, with several big-budget movies in development."

  I frowned at the sheet of paper before me, then pulled out my cell phone and accessed the notes I'd taken while my father was making calls the day before.

  "My mistake, Ruby. The stalker's name was Harold Goldstein. Same last name, though. So, what's the connection?"

  "I didn't know about the stalker until you told me. I think it's probably just a coincidence. Goldstein isn't that rare of a last name."

  I studied the producer's picture. The printout was in color, but it was still a photo from a website, so the resolution was low, the image pixelated. Even so, it was clear how fit and attractive the man was. He looked about fifty, with just enough gray at his temples to give him a distinguished look, and his jaw was as square as a lantern, like that of a hunky man on a romance novel, or in a menswear catalog.

  "He's too attractive," Ruby said.

  "You're right. Voula Varga was not his type for dating. A powerful, alpha-looking man like this would have a trophy wife, blond, plus maybe a trophy girlfriend, too—also blond. I know the type. He wouldn't be with a curly-haired woman whose features got her cast in every witch role available."

  "True enough, but what I meant was he's too attractive to be hanging around in Misty Falls without people noticing. If this man has set foot in our town, I'd have heard about it."

  "How did you get his name?"

  "Rumors about a movie deal." She leaned over and pointed to the section of the bio that listed projects in development. "This is the one."

  I read out the movie title. "House of Love and Lies. Sounds dark. I thought Voula wasn't acting anymore. Did she have a role in this? Or was this about the house? The one she was renting is practically famous from that other movie."

  "I'm not sure if the house was involved. All I've heard is that she was friends with this Bernard Goldstein gentleman, and he was letting her invest in the movie. She swore she was going to get ten times her investment back."

  "She was borrowing money?"

  "I'm not sure. You know how it is with rumors that go around. Everybody drops a little information and adds their own something."

  "Yes. Small-town gossip is more complex than asymmetric encryption algorithms."

  "Exactly!" Ruby used one elegant ring-covered hand to tuck her buoyant red-purple curls behind one ear. "If you want more information, you should go directly to her friends."

  I sat up straight, feeling proud. "That's my plan. I'm hoping you have the contact information for some of the people in her knitting club. Even if you just know someone who might know someone, I'm happy to make a few calls."

  "How about a website?" She held up one finger for me to wait for it, then reopened her nearby laptop. A moment later, she turned the screen to face me.

  The photo on the screen caught me off guard.

  My shoulders jerked up and I leaned back reflexively. It took a few seconds for me to compose myself, then explain, "This group photo of the knitting club was taken inside… the room."

  Ruby let out a torrent of apologies and ran to get me a glass of water.

  "I'm fine," I assured her. "Just caught off guard. But the good news is that's definitely the right club, since the photo's inside h
er house."

  "Your move," Ruby said. "The schedule says they have a meeting tonight, and the location is to be determined."

  "My father wants me to offer to host the club. You don't think that would look too suspicious, do you? They're all friends of hers, and then there's me, the chick who discovered the body. What if they decide I'm the killer?"

  Ruby raised her eyebrows. "You think they'll have a vote and then stab you to death with all their knitting needles?"

  I guffawed. "I'll get a friend to come, so the club can't hold a trial while I'm in the washroom." I batted my eyelashes. "What are you up to tonight?"

  "I've got a date with a pilot." She reached across the table and patted my hand. "But I'll be thinking of you! I hope the killer's not in the knitting club, but something tells me it's a man." She eyed the printed bio for Bernard Goldstein. "Maybe he snuck in and out of town without anyone seeing him."

  "I don't know, Ruby. If he was an old Hollywood friend getting her to invest in his project, you'd think he'd want her alive."

  "My gut tells me he's involved, though. Look at that photo. Look at the eyes. There's something very disingenuous about him."

  "Bernard Goldstein," I said. "That's a very nice yellow tie you're wearing. It practically screams I'm-a-nice-guy-not-a-killer. Why the bright tie, Bernard? What have you got to hide?"

  The photo didn't answer.

  I would have to ask Voula's friends.

  Chapter 14

  Ruby was in no rush to kick me out, plus she seemed as interested in the case as my father had been, so I stayed for another pot of tea and made some calls to the members of the Misty Falls Crafty Knitters Club.

  On the phone, I fudged the truth by saying I was a "new friend" of Voula's. The statement was justifiable, sort of. Our first and only meeting had resulted in me loaning her the masquerade mask, to cover her smeared makeup, and that was something a friend would do. Perhaps if she'd still been alive when I'd arrived at her house, it could have been the beginning of a friendship… once I got over my annoyance about her researching my ex-fiancé's name.