Death of a Crafty Knitter Page 16

  "She told you she had a gun worth that much?"

  "She said she was gettin' it the next day, and was in a mood to celebrate." He slowed down in his movements, but continued unpacking the fishing lures from the box to the shelf.

  "It sounds like she was happy," I said. "Why do you think it was a suicide?"

  "With some folks it's like that, toward the end. They come in all happy. And you think you're gonna see them around at the gun range for target practice, but then they won't take a flyer, and you think, Owen, you should call someone. You think about calling and saying someone might be thinkin' about murderin' themselves. But then you say, Owen, that's not your business. Mind your own business."

  My father put his hand on Owen's shoulder. "You couldn't have known. You did all right."

  Owen unpacked the box with gusto, his whole bald head flushing pink with effort.

  We thanked him for his help, and I purchased a half-dozen feathered lures as a token of gratitude for his time and honesty.

  We got back into the car—me getting in the passenger door and sliding over to the driver's side rather than falling on my butt again.

  We didn't have anywhere else to go, and we'd stopped at the cafe for panini sandwiches before the visit to Wild Buck's, so I started driving my father and his new rug and laptop to his house.

  After a few minutes, I said, "Suicide? Is it possible?"

  "Suicide by shooting the chest is less common than the head, but does happen. They don't usually shoot through clothing, though, which is just one of several reasons why the police are investigating it as a homicide. Hang on."

  He pulled out his phone and explained he was reviewing notes from what Kyle had leaked to him.

  After a few minutes, he said, "Okay, here we go. No suicide note, as you know. Coroner report confirms a single bullet wound to the chest, and the angle tilted down, suggesting a killer who was taller than her, unless she'd been on her knees. Probably not a suicide. If it had been a self-inflicted shot, those usually tilt upward slightly."

  "There's no way we'll know for sure, is there?"

  "No. We only know what's typical for a female."

  "True, but Voula Varga wasn't the typical sort of female, was she? The woman drove a hearse."

  "Some people are just nuts."

  With my next thought, my stomach clenched around the panini sandwich from lunch, which suddenly felt like a stone.

  "Dad, what if she meant for me to be the one to find her? I'm sorry to sound like I think everything is all about me, but this is two bodies in two months. Bad things come in threes. I'm not sure if I'll be leaving the house in February."

  "Don't you start turning superstitious on me, wearing bracelets to fend off the evil eye, putting upside-down brooms behind the door, and all that nonsense. I've seen a lot of things in my years on the force, and I can guarantee you bad things don't come in threes. Bad things come all the time, one-two-three-four-five-six-infinity."

  His words echoed in my head. Bad things come all the time. Infinity.

  We drove in silence, leaving the town center. As we picked up speed, the wind played with the rug on the roof, making it flop against the metal like a prize marlin.

  My father cleared his throat. "Good things come all the time, too. All the time."

  "I know. Thanks for taking me with you today. I really learned a lot. You're good at this stuff. Really good."

  He leaned over to check my speedometer. "You're speeding."

  "Don't change the subject. You're good at investigating. So… what's the plan? You're going to help Kyle with this cold case, and then what?"

  "We'll see."

  "But what's next in your plan? Uh, I mean, your process?" A process is better than a plan, because plans go wrong.

  With a smirk, he said, "Beer. Every time you say cold case, I think, cold beer. That's all I have planned for tonight."

  We sat in easy silence until we reached his street, then parked over in front of his house. We still had to untie his rug, so I waited for him to shift out of the passenger side so I could get out. My hip was starting to ache from my previous smooth exit.

  "How about you?" he asked. "Big plans for tonight?"

  "Knitting. I've got a ball of yarn I should do something with."

  "You could make a scarf."

  "Yes, I think that's about my skill level."

  He winked at me. "Don't sell yourself short."

  Chapter 22

  January 4th

  The next morning, I could barely get out of bed, thanks to a baseball-mitt-sized bruise on my buttock, acquired by falling out of my car window at the Koenig Mansion. Some souvenir.

  "Look at the size of that thing," I said.

  Jeffrey didn't seem particularly shocked by the shades of purple and ochre covering a good portion of the fleshy region I normally sat upon.

  Groaning, I pulled on thick wool socks and the wild-patterned housecoat, because one's appearance should match how one feels, and I felt hideous.

  The house felt empty without Jessica, who'd been my temporary housemate for two of the previous four mornings. I made my coffee and limped around, cursing my father's refusal to accept free delivery, and generally feeling sorry for myself.

  My knitting attempt from the night before sat on the coffee table. Four rows. I had created four measly rows, and no two loops were the same size.

  I was debating a second attempt at knitting, even getting a little excited about improving my technique, when my phone alerted me to a new text message from my father. He'd sent a single image, just an envelope with a red lipstick kiss over the flap.

  I called his number, and when he answered, I said, "You got the email from Erica, with the dinner list?"

  "A friendly email, yes." I could practically hear his eyebrows waggling. He continued, "Here's an interesting thing about Christmas dinner at the Koenig Mansion. Erica said they like to bring in an entertainer to keep things lively. You get three guesses who it was that night, and the first two don't count."

  I limped over to my fridge and looked at the business card stuck there. "I'm guessing it was the vibrant and vivacious Voula Varga, psychic extraordinaire."

  "That's exactly who it was. Interesting, don't you think?"

  "Please tell me someone took video of her interacting with Dharma. Maybe we can find out what set off their feud."

  "No video, but here's the interesting part. Dharma was the one who suggested the psychic as a guest. Erica says the two met a few months back at some sort of hokey self-help workshop."

  "They were friends? Wow." I tried to imagine what Jessica would have to do for me to throw a drink on her, much less threaten her with a gun.

  "I have a new theory. It's a good one. Are you sitting down?"

  I walked to the table and took a seat, wincing at the tenderness on my bruised side. "Sitting," I said through clenched teeth.

  "Here's my theory: Voula contacted something terrible in the spirit world, and it possessed her and killed her, right after it spent some time in Dharma's body to steal the gun from her uncle." He chortled at his joke. "Just kidding," he said, as if I hadn't guessed.

  "Dad, if Voula was at the Koenig Mansion, she could have stolen the gun. That makes more sense. She stole the gun and already had it when she bought the bullets. It's possible Owen Johnson misunderstood what she was saying. Then she shot herself, and did something to set up Dharma to take the fall."

  "To what end, though? I'd be more inclined to believe the evil spirit thing. Let's see if Lizzy has any answers."

  "Lizzy? Is that some new contact of yours?"

  "Back in the olden days, when your father was young and dinosaurs roamed the planet, people called their horses Lizzy. That's why the first car was called a Tin Lizzy. My laptop's name is Lizzy, because… well, I guess I just like the name. Let's see now…" He tapped away at the keys. Unlike the keyboard for his old fire-hazard computer, I could barely hear this one's keystrokes.

  "What are you doin
g?" I asked.

  "Looking up demon possession."

  "Do I need to stay on the phone for this?"

  "If I start speaking in tongues, call an exorcist." He chuckled. "If you must know, I'm sending an email to my pharmacist contacts. If Voula had a demon possession problem, there's probably a pill for that."

  "Gotcha." He was still looking into the suicide angle, and trying to find out if she was being treated for any illnesses.

  For the next ten minutes, I stayed on the line while he talked through his email exchange with a contact. It sounded like the only prescriptions Voula had at the time of her death were the hormone pills and a new drug for lowering cholesterol. It wasn't exactly riveting, but it was interesting. My father also gushed over the speed and responsiveness of his new laptop.

  When he'd finished with the emails, I asked, "What else is on the agenda for today? Do you need your personal driver?"

  "Take the day off," he said distractedly. "I'm getting to know Lizzy."

  "I've been replaced," I sniffed. "What about Dimples? I mean Officer Dempsey? Did you tell him about what Owen said about Voula buying those bullets herself? Are they any closer to tracking down Dharma?"

  "Ask him yourself. I reckon he'll be there in about… eleven minutes."

  I reached up and clutched my bathrobe closed. "What?"

  "Listen, I can't give Lizzy the attention she needs and talk on the phone. I'll let you go."

  He ended the call, and I tried to get to my feet, but I had a warm weight on my lap. Jeffrey blinked up at me sleepily. I hadn't even noticed him sneaking onto my lap in the first place, yet had a vague recollection that I'd been petting him for the last few minutes.

  "Dimples is coming here," I said. "Here. Get yourself spruced up, will you?"

  He gave me a grumpy look as I pushed him off my lap and rushed off to get showered and changed into real clothes. I hoped that a blast of hot water would help with the stiffness in my side and lower back, but my shower only spat out lukewarm water. My tenant must have used the entire hot water tank, which struck me as odd, because it hadn't happened before. On the plus side, my tepid shower was a fast one. I was dressed and had makeup on by the time someone knocked on my door.

  I checked the front window first, spotting a police vehicle parked out front. I opened my door, expecting to find Kyle and Tony, but it was just Kyle.

  He was in his uniform, which meant he was probably there on official business. He was smiling, and his blond hair shone gold in the morning sun. My mouth went so dry, I suddenly had to cough.

  He held up the two travel mugs I'd sent out with Tony two days earlier. "I thought you might want these back."

  I kept coughing and waved him in wordlessly.

  He stepped inside, closed the door, and looked left to right, scanning my home's interior in a curious yet professional manner, as though assessing potential hiding places for attackers.

  "Refill?" I croaked, pointing to the coffee pot. I coughed a final time to get my voice back to normal. "You can keep the travel mug. I have plenty. Or, if you have time, you could have a cup here, in a real mug."

  "I don't want to catch flack from Tony, but I do have a few minutes, and that brew does smell good. I'll just take off my boots."

  He hung his jacket on a hook, then bent over and unlaced his boots on the mat, so he didn't track in snow. So polite.

  I grabbed a clean mug from the cupboard and brought him coffee at the table, where he was already taking a seat. "Does my father make you take off your boots?" I asked.

  A smile spread out between his dimples. "I guess he told you we've been working together."

  "He won't tell me much." I took a seat across from him, gasping inwardly when I landed on my bruise. "Thank you for letting him feel involved with your casework. He's one of those people who has to keep busy constantly, and can't relax like a normal person."

  Kyle looked down at my hands, which were arranging the sugar bowl, creamer, napkins, and extra spoons into a neat row. He raised his eyebrows and then flicked his blue eyes up to meet mine.

  "Fine," I said. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. My father and I both need to keep busy. Did he happen to mention to you what his retirement plans are? Like, officially?"

  "He's your father. That's not really for me to say."

  "You know something?"

  Kyle blinked a few times, but kept his gaze locked on mine. His eyes weren't just blue. They were aquamarine blue. Stormy! Look away from the aquamarine-blue eyes that sparkle like gems. He's a decade younger than you, lady.

  I squirmed in my chair, which aggravated my bruise and sent pain up my spine, making me sweat even more.

  "Are you feeling okay?" Kyle asked, ignoring my probing questions about my father. "You look pale. I hope you're taking Vitamin D. It's basically mandatory in this corner of the world."

  "I do take it, and calcium and magnesium, for my old lady bones, which are… super old."

  He laughed over his coffee. "Yeah, you're really super old," he said.

  I didn't want to talk about my age after all, so I switched the conversation to asking him how the homicide case was going.

  He filled me in on his side.

  They hadn't actually canvassed at Wild Buck's, and were puzzled by the information my father and I had found out. It complicated matters that the victim had purchased the bullets, but that was for the jury to deal with, he said. The department's sole focus was to apprehend their top suspect, and that meant finding her.

  "I'll keep my eyes open," I promised. "By the way, that was good work you did, finding out she dyed her hair brown."

  "Thanks." He looked troubled. "She's not exactly a criminal mastermind, but then again, people in a panic do strange things." He scanned the room again, swiveling his head left and right. "Mind if I look around?"

  "Even better, I'll give you the Grand Tour."

  I led him through my home, chattering about the renovations I had planned, and what I wished I'd known before I bought the place. He didn't say much, but he did look inside all the closets, and behind doors. My heart sank a little when I realized he was searching my residence, either for evidence or their suspect. He didn't care about my planned upgrades or color scheme.

  When he let himself into the stairwell that led down to the laundry room and furnace, I started to feel offended. How could he think I was hiding something or someone? He didn't trust me. I calmly reminded myself he was just doing his job, and I bit my tongue.

  When we were done with the tour, he stood by the kitchen table and finished his coffee. His suspicion of me had made his dimples slightly less adorable, and now I could stare right at them without feeling giddy. I could even glare at them.

  "Thanks for searching the premises," I said icily. "I feel much safer now, Officer Dempsey. Do you have any recommendations? Bars on the windows? A girl can't be too careful."

  "Just keep your eyes open," he said evenly as he laced his boots back up, then let himself out.

  As soon as he was gone, Jeffrey emerged from wherever he'd been hiding. We were still getting to know each other's habits, and he definitely had mixed feelings about visitors.

  I snorted. "Kyle's not much of a detective if he didn't find you right under his nose."

  My joke didn't make me feel better, because now I believed it. Kyle was young and inexperienced. And Tony had become aggressive and impulsive lately. He'd actually kicked down the door at Voula's house rather than wait an entire thirty seconds for me to open it. Then he'd roughed up and handcuffed my tenant for the crime of standing in front of his own house.

  Despite the best of intentions, I worried that the two weren't directing their energy in the best ways. Kyle had been creative in canvassing the hair salons, yet neither of them had checked the ammunition store.

  Could those two even handle a complicated investigation? With every hour passing, the killer could be getting further away.

  Someone had to do something.

  Chapter
23

  I tried to shake off that morning's surprise inspection from Kyle, but it bothered me more with each passing minute.

  Instead of trusting that me and my father were trying to help, he'd actually suspected I was hiding something.

  I was in no mood to take the day off and knit, so me and my giant purple bruise limped our way to the car, then drove to my store, Glorious Gifts.

  My employee, Brianna, was just opening for the day. She stood in front of the store, using a stiff-bristled broom to sweep the sidewalk clear, since there wasn't enough snow to justify using a shovel. Brianna was twenty-one, but so petite that she looked all of fourteen at first glance.

  "Hey, boss." She stopped sweeping to give me a cheery smile and tuck her straight brown hair behind her ears so it wouldn't swing in the way while she was sweeping. Brenda had a round face, and rarely wore her hair pinned back, because she thought her ears stuck out, making her look like a monkey. I'd pointed out to her that monkeys were cute, and there were worse things to look like, but I didn't deny the comparison. She said she appreciated my honesty. As far as boss-employee relationships went, ours was as good as it gets.

  "How's it been going?" I asked.

  I hadn't seen her since the last day of December, and I probably should have wish her a Happy New Year, but it was the fifth of the month, and I wasn't sure if there was a statute of limitations. Plus, I felt guilty about not having been to my business, even though Brianna was more than capable of running it with minimal oversight.

  "About the same," she said. "I haven't grown five inches, so I'm still using the ladder to get things off the top shelves."

  I grinned. "Have you tried positive thinking? Just thinking yourself taller?"

  "No, but I hear there's a ghost in town who grants wishes if you email her. Did you hear about—" Her face blanched and she stopped herself from telling me about the body I'd discovered.

  "She wasn't my friend," I said. "I'd barely met her once, and the whole"—my throat pinched on my words—"the whole body thing wasn't too bad. I wouldn't want to see one every day, but I grew up hearing plenty of stories from my father."