Gone with the Wool (5 page)

“Who sponsored you?” Rosalie said in an accusing voice.

“Cadbury Beauty Supply,” Chloe answered, then turned to the crowd. “They appreciate my business for hair dye.” A chuckle went through the crowd, but Rosalie seemed aghast.

“This isn't some kind of joke. The Butterfly Queen is a serious job, and frankly, you look all wrong for it. What do you even know about monarchs?”

Chloe pulled the neckline of her shirt down and exposed her shoulder, showing it off to Rosalie and the crowd.

“She's got a monarch tattoo,” Lucinda said with a giggle. “That girl really knows how to stir this bunch up.”

I glanced toward the door to see if Dane had stopped by to see his sister's big moment. He hadn't, but then he'd been pretty clear to me that he didn't approve.

He wasn't alone in that. Rosalie shook her head in disgust at the tattoo. “I'm afraid you simply aren't right to even be in the Princess Court,” she said.

“That's nonsense,” Chloe countered. “There is no such rule. You're just some old stodgy woman who needs to move with the times.” At that, Chloe took the tiara out of Rosalie's hand and plunked it on her head.

“You have no authority to crown yourself,” Rosalie said, taking it back. “As head of the Butterfly Queen committee,
I say you are disqualified. And now, if you will please just leave.”

I wasn't sure what Chloe was going to do. She looked like she was going to explode. Finally, she stormed off, looking back when she got to the door. She yelled something, but I couldn't quite make it out. It was either “You better watch your back” or “You bet I'll be back.”

All I could think was, thank heavens Dane wasn't here.

“Aren't you going to the Blessing of the Butterflies service?” Crystal asked. Once Chloe had left, Rosalie had acted like nothing had happened and finished with her crowning, and then everybody began to leave. The early birds, Lucinda, Wanda, Crystal and I walked outside together. I said we hadn't decided and my two teachers went on ahead.

After the bright light inside, it seemed dark and mysterious out on the grounds. I looked to the group.

“We thought we'd hang out in the Lodge and play with these,” Bree said, holding up the small round loom.

“You can go to the service if you want to,” Lucinda said to me. “We can certainly entertain ourselves.” She held up a tote bag from a past retreat and pulled out her work. “I'm making another worry doll. With the way Tag has been acting, he needs his own.”

I looked to Bree, Olivia and Scott. “If you are sure you don't mind, I would like to see what it's all about.”

“We'll be fine,” Bree said. “The loom is kind of like something I had when I was a kid. It'll be fun to play with.”

Olivia was holding the long loom. “I want to try what Wanda showed us.”

“It's fine with me if you go, but I'll be sticking with my needles,” Scott said, giving a disparaging glance at the loom in Olivia's hand. “I've had a hard enough time dealing with being seen with knitting needles, let alone carrying around one of those things.”

When we reached the Lodge, they went in and I continued on, following the trail of people. The chapel was tucked in the corner of the main part of the grounds, almost where the sand dunes began. Like the other buildings, it was built in the Arts and Crafts style and had stones on the outside. Light streamed out through the windows and the open front and back doors. Inside, it had the same kind of open framework as the Lodge, which made the small building seem larger.

I took a seat in the back where I could see everything that was going on. The princesses were in the front row. I couldn't help but notice the one empty seat on the center aisle, probably meant for Chloe. All the committees for the upcoming week sat in the first couple of rows. Madeleine Delacorte turned around in her seat to look over the crowd. She waved when she saw me.

The doors were left open even when everybody was inside, filling the space with cool night air that was tinged with the smell of wood burning from all the fireplaces.

Liz Buckley came up to the front of the chapel and welcomed everyone. “I can't believe another year has gone by,” she said, and the crowd murmured back with similar
sentiments. “But here we are again, about to celebrate the wonder that the monarchs have chosen our lovely town to spend the winter. It's especially amazing because these particular butterflies have never been here before. It was their great-grandparents who left here last February, and then somehow, one generation of offspring to another, passed along a mysterious genetic code for the monarchs to find their way back to Cadbury by the Sea.”

She was joined at the front by a man and woman with guitars. They began to sing. I couldn't quite make out all the words, but it seemed to be a song declaring gratitude that the monarchs chose Cadbury. After that, an assortment of clergymen stood in the front, and each offered a blessing to the returning butterflies. When they had finished, they filed out the front door and came into the back and sat in the row with me. Then the lights went off, and Liz acted as narrator, talking about the journey of the monarchs. Someone had begun to play the piano in the front. The music was supposed to reflect the butterflies' journey and grew loud and thunderous as Liz said that neither rain nor storms could deter them from their destination.

“Sounds like they're postal workers,” the woman next to me said. There was a lot of shifting around going on, and I sensed people moving around the chapel.

The music got more dramatic, and Liz spoke over it. “Could there be a king or queen butterfly who leads the way? Or maybe a lord?” I heard someone come in the back door, and then something made a fluttering noise.

“Ooh look, they added LED lights to the Lord of the Butterflies,” the woman next to me cooed. I saw giant butterfly wings outlined in tiny white lights. The wings fluttered, and the audience began to clap as the butterfly moved down the
center aisle in the dark. The music reached a crescendo as he arrived at the front of the chapel, and the lights flicked on. By now I had figured out that Coach Gary was in the costume, although not by looking at the giant insect costume—his head and body were completely clothed in black, and he was topped with black antennas. He'd made reference to being Lord of the Butterflies at the dinner. In the front of the room, the princesses were standing up, holding cardboard trees and dancing around. Rosalie was sitting on a high stool, dressed as the sun.

The pianist played happy music, and the giant butterfly moved among the trees.

The music stopped, and everyone froze, as if waiting for something, but nothing happened.

“And now,” the butterfly said as if prompting a line. Still, nothing happened, and the princesses and butterfly couldn't hold their poses anymore and began to move.

“Rosalie, did you forget your line?” the butterfly said, breaking character. The whole chapel turned toward Rosalie. She seemed to be clutching the big cardboard orange circle attached to the front of the costume. Coach Gary approached her, and I heard a gasp go through the people in the front. I stood to see what they were reacting to just as Rosalie fell off the chair. The light reflected off the knife sticking out of her back.

Everyone reached for their cell phones, apparently having forgotten that there was no cell service anywhere on the Vista Del Mar grounds. A rumble of discontent went through the crowd, and at that moment, I think Kevin St. John regretted his decision to go unplugged. He was already on his feet, telling everyone to stay put and that he would go to the office and call for help.

The princess group was in the front. They were so stunned by what had happened, they looked like they'd gone back into freeze-frame mode.

Coach Gary slipped off his wings and bent over Rosalie to assess the situation. It only took a few minutes for the place to be overrun with sirens and flashing lights. The paramedics rushed to Rosalie and within moments had her loaded on a gurney and were taking her to the waiting rescue ambulance. A group of uniformed officers and a familiar figure in a
rumpled tweed jacket were gathered at the front of the chapel. Lieutenant Borgnine took one look at me and shook his head with dismay. He said something to the others and came toward me. He gave just the slightest wince as his right hand went to his temple, like he had the beginning of a headache. I had a pretty good idea it was related to seeing me.

This wasn't my first go-round with the gruff-looking man in the rumpled sport jacket. For a long time I'd imagined that he had a whole wardrobe of jackets that looked the same, but I'd finally come to believe he had just the one. “Well, Ms. Feldstein,” he said as he got close. “So once again you seemed to be connected to a crime scene.”

I was still processing what had happened. It hadn't hit me until just that moment that there was no question that foul play was involved. Of course, there was no way for someone to accidentally get stabbed in the back.

“Let's not waste time. Just tell me what you know. I'm sure you must have to go off and bake your cookies.”

I didn't bother to correct him. He knew very well that I baked muffins and desserts, and he'd enjoyed both.

“I was just here for the Blessing of the Butterflies, like the rest of the crowd,” I said.

I saw Dane, in uniform, out of the corner of my eye. He saw me talking to Lieutenant Borgnine and gave me a sympathetic nod. Neither Dane nor I were on the lieutenant's list of favorite people. Like most cops, Lieutenant Borgnine thought he had an extra sense that pointed to the bad guy, so when I'd found the real bad guy more than once and proven his instincts wrong, he hadn't taken it well. And Dane had gotten bad marks for helping me.

I saw Dane looking over the crowd, and I realized he was
looking for Chloe. He didn't know she had never made it to the service.

Lieutenant Borgnine pulled my attention back to him. “Ms. Feldstein, if you could focus, we can get done with this. Tell me what you saw.”

“The lights went off,” I said with a shrug. I was thinking back to being in the darkness. “There was some dramatic music, and then the Lord of the Butterflies came down the aisle.” I hadn't really noticed much more.

“What about when the lights came on?” he asked.

“I don't know. I guess I saw the princesses at the front. And then everything stopped.” I shrugged again. “I stood up and saw the woman dressed as the sun fall over with a knife sticking out of her back.” He didn't seem happy with my answer, and he scribbled something down. I had told him what he asked for—what I had seen, not what I thought about what I'd seen or what I knew about the victim.

“You're thinking about something,” Lieutenant Borgnine said, eyeing me warily. “Out with it.” It was more an order than a request.

“I've told you all I know for certain,” I said, without a twinge of a guilty conscience that I was holding back information from the police. It was all I knew for sure.

The lieutenant and I seemed to be on the same page about talking to each other. It was a necessary evil, and we both wanted it over with. “Well, I think we're done for now,” he said. “But, Ms. Feldstein, if you have any thoughts about anything, bring them to me. No investigating on your own, right?”

I laughed off the last part. “Investigating on my own? With all I have to do this week? I don't think so.”

He looked dubious, but I actually meant it. As far as I could tell, there was no reason for me to get involved.

I beat a hasty exit and headed for the Lodge. Inside, Lucinda, Olivia, Scott and Bree were hanging by the window, trying to see what was going on.

“What happened?” Bree said, her face drawn in worry.

“I hope Tag is all right,” Lucinda said, glancing around as if she expected her husband to make a sudden appearance.

I assured Lucinda that Tag had nothing to do with what had happened, and then I gave them the details. They listened with rapt attention and then all started talking at once.

“Was Rosalie the woman at the podium?” Olivia asked. “She certainly wasn't very nice to the princess with the blue hair.”

“Weren't they trying to blame her for the football team's loss?” Bree said. “My boys just started T-ball, and it's shocking how upset the parents get when the kids mess up. I suppose it's even worse when it's high school.”

“You don't really think someone would try to kill her over that?” Olivia said.

“You don't understand how people are about sports,” Scott said. “It was a homecoming game, and they lost to their arch rival.” Scott looked at all of us to see if we understood.

“Geez, I sure hope that nobody believed her when she said my corn muffins were the problem,” I said. “I could be next on somebody's hit list. And what if word spreads around town that my muffins were suspect? There goes my business.”

“I'm sure you have nothing to worry about,” Lucinda said, trying to reassure me. “Still, it would be good to know what made those kids sick, so the issue is settled.”

Scott picked up his needles and began to knit. Since he'd come out in the open about his knitting, his skills had taken
off. He was making a scarf with an intricate design of squares on an angle. He saw me admiring it and explained it was something called entrelac and offered to give me a lesson.

“Too much on my mind right now,” I said, giving it a pass.

I reassured the group that everything was under control and they ought to enjoy their get-together. Even so, Lucinda went off to use one of the landlines to contact her husband.

I watched Bree use the tool that came with the looms to lift the loops over the top loop and off the peg. She had a nice rhythm going and made her way around the circle no time. She had started to wrap the next row when Lucinda returned with a relieved expression. “Tag just got home.” The relief faded, and she appeared worried again. “Something's going on with him. He barely seemed concerned when I told him what happened to Rosalie Hardcastle.”

“Why don't you just ask him?” Olivia said.

“I did,” Lucinda said. “And all he said was that everything is fine.”

Just then, Kevin St. John began making the rounds of the room, stopping to talk to the guests that were playing table tennis, pool and board games. Finally, he got to us.

“I suppose Ms. Feldstein has already filled you in on what happened. The best thing you can do is just to carry on with your plans.” His moon-shaped face appeared calm, but I had a feeling it was all a front. I asked him about Rosalie's condition. “She's in intensive care,” he said, but his expression didn't look hopeful, and I guessed that he knew more.

Lucinda knew I had to go and assured me that they would be fine. I noticed they had all taken out projects they'd brought with them, and I heard the soft click of their needles as I walked away.

All this and I still had baking to do.