A Murder in Mohair (12 page)

Lucy could not help but be amused by the way Suzanne had framed her question. And automatically assumed she really wanted to change her birthday gift from a bike to an engagement ring.

Which was not true.

But Lucy didn't want to get into that again.

“I'm working on it,” she said honestly. Even her mere impulse to bring the subject up last night on the beach had to count for something.

Suzanne, however, did not look satisfied by that progress report. “ ‘Almost' doesn't count, Lucy. Do you get paid if you
almost
turn in a project?”

Suzanne had a good point. “Of course not . . . but this is entirely different. You can hardly compare—”

“Yes, I can. No difference at all,” she insisted. “You've got the weekend. Plenty of time. I expect a full report on Monday.”

Dana laughed and stopped knitting. “I can't believe this conversation. Are you really giving her a deadline?”

“She needs one. She can rarely focus without it. Haven't you noticed?”

Before Dana could reply, Lucy jumped in to defend herself.

“That's not fair. Of course I can focus. I get all sorts of things done without a deadline.” Lucy felt sure of that, though she could not think of a single one, offhand.

Dana glanced at Lucy, far more kindly than Suzanne did, but still seemed to agree. “A deadline does give structure. Even if you don't meet it.”

Lucy didn't answer, feeling annoyed now at the both of them.

“Uh-oh, Queenie's lost that dreamy look,” Suzanne murmured. She slipped on her sandals and rolled down her capris. “Sorry, Lucy. But you'll thank me for this later,” Suzanne insisted as she grabbed her bag. “I'll let you know if the beach house is free. I hope you won't stay mad at me that long.”

Lucy tried to act as if she would, but she couldn't help smiling at Suzanne's mock sad face as she waved goodbye and headed back to work.

“Suzanne gets carried away. Just ignore her,” Dana said after a moment.

“I know. I'm totally ignoring her. She can't help herself sometimes,” Lucy said.

“Good . . . ready for lunch?”

“In a minute. I'm just going to jump in the water and do a few laps.” To cool off after getting so annoyed at our mutual, pesky friend, she might have added, though that detail was surely understood.

She had no intention of meeting this silly, arbitrary deadline. If she wanted to have a serious talk with Matt, she'd figure out when and how, entirely on her own.

No matter what her friends—or Cassandra Waters—thought she ought to do.

*  *  *

Monday morning arrived
and Lucy had not made any further progress in meeting Suzanne's silly deadline. If she bothers me about it, I'll just ignore her, or change the subject. Or needle
her
about some bête noir, Lucy decided. Suzanne's rivalry with Marcy Devereaux—that should distract her.

Armed with a plan, Lucy quickly pedaled the last few blocks to the shop, hunching down close to the handlebars as she sped up on the last stretch. She pulled into the driveway and skidded to a stop, gravel spraying in all directions.

“Goodness, you're a speed demon on those wheels now, aren't you?” Maggie was just coming up the walk with her purse and knitting bag and Lucy met her on the porch as she unlocked the door.

“That was a little daring,” she admitted. “Nearly ended up in your garden.” A small exaggeration. Very small, actually.

“Glad you didn't. For a few reasons.” Maggie dropped her belongings on the counter and headed to the storeroom to make coffee, her usual routine.

“What do you think about that beach house idea? Can you do it that weekend?” Lucy asked, following her.

Suzanne had confirmed that the beach house was free the weekend of July 11, and Maggie and Phoebe had been in the e-mail loop, too, though Lucy had noticed only Phoebe's reply. She was definitely joining them, even if Maggie didn't give her the day off, Phoebe had claimed. Maggie had not answered yet.

“The house looks cute from the pictures, right on the beach,” Maggie noted. “I'll have to move a class or two. But it won't kill me to close the store for one Saturday. It gets very quiet in here as the weather warms up.”

Lucy knew that was true, though Maggie's work ethic was relentless. “And I'd hate to miss an outing with all of you. Who'll untangle your knitting messes?” She glanced at Lucy with a grin as she turned on the coffeemaker.

“Good point. We should cover your share of the rent for that service,” Lucy mused.

Maggie was just about to measure spoonfuls of coffee but paused. “Do you really want hot coffee today? Maybe we should run across the street and get iced coffee at the Schooner?”

“Good idea. But I'll get it and bring it back. You have your flitting around to do. It's getting close to nine.” She knew Maggie's routine well by now. She liked to roam around the shop, straightening the displays, checking the inventory, pulling out the necessary yarn and needles for her classes.

“ ‘My flitting'? What does that mean?” Maggie wasn't really insulted but did look amused.

“Oh, you know . . . Skim milk, one sugar?” Lucy asked.

“Perfect. I'll just flit over to the counter and check the inventory, while I wait.”

Satisfied by the reply, Lucy headed for the door, but it quickly flew open.

Suzanne ran in, brown eyes wide, her expression shocked. “Did you hear about Cassandra Waters? It's just awful. . . .”

Lucy and Maggie stared back at her. “What happened?” Lucy asked.

Suzanne took a breath, her expression grim. “Well . . . she's dead,” Suzanne said flatly.

Lucy took in a sharp breath. She couldn't believe it. People were bound to gossip about someone like Cassandra Waters. Even contrive such extreme stories.

“Are you sure?”

Suzanne nodded bleakly. “I was just in your neighborhood, setting up a sign for a listing. I saw the police cars and I stopped to see what was going on. The husband of the woman who found her, one of Cassandra's neighbors, told me the whole story.”

“Which is?” Maggie prompted her.

“This neighbor found Cassandra's dog wandering loose in her yard and went over to Cassandra's. When Cassandra didn't answer the door, she went around the back and looked in a window, to see if anyone was home. She saw Cassandra's body stretched out on the floor. In a back room where she gives private readings . . .
Gave
private readings, I should say,” Suzanne corrected quietly. “She was already dead.”

“Oh dear, that's terrible news,” Maggie replied. “How did she die? Do they know yet?”

Suzanne swallowed hard, at a sudden loss for words. A rare moment, Lucy thought. “Oh yeah . . . it was pretty obvious. Someone had bashed her skull in with a huge rock, one of those geode crystal things that she wears around her neck? Except this one was the mother lode, about the size of a bowling ball,” she added in a quieter voice. “They just dropped it next to her body. Like they wanted the police to find it—as if they were sending a message.”

Was it a message? Or just the handiest, heaviest, deadliest object the killer could find in a fit of lethal passion?

Lucy had no idea about that, but could easily imagine the horrific scene, picturing Cassandra's body in a tangle of flowing purple fabric, spattered with blood.

“What a way to end a person's life. Who could do such a thing, face-to-face?”

“I'm sure she has some irate customers, who feel cheated. But you'd have to be enraged to lose it like that,” Suzanne agreed.

“That's very true. But think of the very sensitive and intimate topics Cassandra was privy to,” Maggie said. “A person's passionate response, positive or negative, would be relative to that.”

“Good point. Maybe she gave someone advice and it didn't work out. To the point of ruining their life and they held her responsible.” Lucy and her friends had not taken Cassandra very seriously. But she was certain some people did.

Nora Gordon, for one. But just as quickly as the thought popped into her mind, she brushed it aside.

Impossible. Nora is far too sweet and gentle. She just isn't capable of anything like that.

Suzanne dropped down in the wing-backed chair that faced the counter, clearly drained from her role of messenger of such unhappy news.

She looked up at Lucy. “Did you tell Maggie about Richard?”

“What about him?” Maggie asked curiously.

“I saw Richard leaving Cassandra's house on Friday night. He was trying to disguise himself with a baseball hat and glasses. But I saw his face when he drove past me. It was definitely him,” she added.

“And? You left out the juicy stuff, Lucy,” Suzanne said.

Lucy sighed, more reluctant than ever to convey the possibly salacious details. “Cassandra was wearing a kimono sort of thing. Was that all she was wearing? I don't know, I couldn't tell,” she added, answering the obvious question. “And I saw her lean over very close to him, right before he walked away. Were they kissing goodbye? I don't know,” she said, turning from Maggie to Suzanne. “All I know is that he was at her house and didn't want to be recognized.”

“All right, fair enough. But I think you should tell the police. Let them figure out how innocent it was,” Suzanne said quickly. “Don't you think, Maggie?”

Maggie sighed. “Considering Nora's devotion to Cassandra, I'm sure the police will question him, too. I think you should tell the police at some point, Lucy. When you're questioned,” she added. “I think the police will want to talk to all of her clients. I'm sure that's at the top of their list.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Lucy replied.

Maggie nodded as she locked up the register, which she had unlocked just moments ago. She looked up at Suzanne and Lucy. “I'm just going to run over to the Schooner and see how Edie's doing. This is going to be a shock to her . . . and even more for Nora. Anyone want to join me?”

Suzanne stood up and checked her phone. “I wish I could. I have to get to the office for a sales meeting. I'm already late.”

“I'll come with you,” Lucy offered. She wasn't feeling any work pressure today and had to admit she was curious to hear more about Cassandra's murder. As ghoulish as that seemed.

*  *  *

The usual morning
rush filled the diner. There was a line at the takeout window and about half the tables and booths were filled. Edie was working behind the long counter. If she was distressed by the news of Cassandra Waters's death, she wasn't showing it.

Lucy and Maggie took seats at the end of the counter and Edie walked over to them. “Yes, I heard all about it,” she said before they had even said hello. “Can I get you two anything?”

“Just iced coffee, Edie. We wanted to see how you were doing,” Maggie said.

“Me? I'm fine . . . and I'm not at all surprised.” She filled two tall glasses with ice. “Talk about your bad karma catching up, huh? Not that I believe in any of that bunk. But what goes around comes around. I do believe that's true.”

“That's one way to look at it.” A little harsh, Lucy thought. But Edie could be pragmatic.

“Karma, yes. Though the police will require a more specific explanation,” Maggie added.

“They've got their work cut out for them. I'd bet you could line up her clients from here to the harbor . . . and half of them are pleased as punch to hear someone shut that woman up,” Eddie asserted. “Think about it. She'd manage to weasel out a person's deepest, darkest secrets, before you even realized it. Claiming the spirit world wanted to help you solve your problems. And you paid her handsomely for the pleasure. Nice racket, right?”

Edie had gone to a private session with Cassandra, Lucy recalled. She sounded very cynical about the experience. But also as if she had found herself giving away some secret of her own?

“Probably true,” Maggie agreed. She glanced at Lucy. “None of us were that forthcoming when she came to read cards, but I'll bet the regular clients, the true believers, poured their hearts out. Especially if a person kept going back. Cassandra was bound to learn about their private issues.”

Edie shrugged. “My point exactly. She must have found out something she wasn't supposed to know. Or maybe she was trying to blackmail someone. I wouldn't have put that past her.”

Edie served the iced coffees and Lucy took a sip. “I thought of that, too.”

“It's no secret that I didn't like the woman. I didn't trust her. I wanted her to leave Nora alone . . . but not this way,” she added, wiping a drop of coffee from the countertop. “Nora worshipped her. She'll be crushed. I'd hate to see Nora slip away from us again, back into her depression.”

Edie's expression went soft with concern. She shook her head as if the worrisome possibility had already come true.

“Does Nora know yet?” Lucy asked.

“I spoke to Richard. He told me he was going to break it to her as gently as possible. The details are upsetting, though,” Edie conceded. “It's not like the woman died peacefully in her sleep. I'd say someone was furious with her.”

Edie straightened the sets of napkin holders and salt and pepper shakers in view, her thick, age-spotted hands trembling. Though Edie was acting very matter-of-fact about this news, Lucy thought that deep down, she was surprised and upset. More than she let on . . . and not just about Nora's reaction.

Edie suddenly looked up, staring at the door, her mouth hanging open. She quickly slipped out from behind the counter and Lucy and Maggie both spun around on their stools to see where she was heading so quickly.

Nora came through the door and Edie met her with open arms. Nora's face was tear-streaked, the front of her cotton blouse haphazardly buttoned. She stared at Edie and silently shook her head, then burst into heart-wrenching sobs.