Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8) (6 page)

“Are you planning to get into trouble?”

“I never plan to, but it always seems to happen,” Lacy said. “The detective on the case won’t be happy about this.”

“Boyfriend troubles?” Len asked.

“He’s out of town. I’m referring to Detective Arroyo.”

“Ah, he’s already not a fan of yours.”

“That’s an understatement,” Lacy said.

“Be careful. I can’t afford to lose my ace stringer.”

“Are you saying that because it makes you sound like a big time editor?” Lacy asked.

“J. Jonas Jameson has nothing on me,” Len said. “Now get out of my office. I have to decide the cover story for tomorrow. It’s either going to be the chicken that consistently lays double yolk eggs or the dog that got its head stuck between the bars of the bridge.”

“I hear Ben Bradlee had the same dilemma once,” Lacy said.

“Get out of here, kid, or I might change my mind about letting you write for me for free,” Len said.

She gave him a little salute and let herself out. It felt good to be back in the writing game again, and she had a lot to do. Where to begin?
With whatever will annoy Detective Arroyo the most,
she thought and headed back toward the repair shop.

Chapter 5

“Is it a sign of desperation that I’m looking forward to this?” Riley asked. She stood outside the door, knitting bag resting on her protruding belly.

“Yes,” Lacy said.

“What’s your problem? This is the kind of corny thing you usually like.”

“I’m not good at crafts,” Lacy said, but the truth was that her day had been a frustrating one. Fueled by her irritation with Detective Arroyo, she had marched back to the mechanic’s shop, but he was already gone for the day. After that, she had borrowed her grandmother’s car and driven to the sheriff’s office, but he wasn’t there either. Stonewalled from the investigation, she had no idea where to begin. She found Bob Hoskins’ home address and rang the bell, but no one was there, either. She even tried talking to neighbors, but either no one was home or no one would talk to her. And now she had to spend the evening with Riley and a group of strangers pretending she wanted to learn how to knit.

Riley opened the door and let Lacy go first. She saw Marcia and Celia and offered up a smile. Marcia waved frantically and indicated the two chairs beside her. “I’m so glad you could make it. And thanks for letting us use your building. It’s so much roomier than the church basement. That was like knitting in someone’s closet,” Marcia said.

“I’m delighted to have everyone here, but I have to warn you we have no idea what we’re doing. We bought yarn and needles, but have no idea how to use them,” Lacy said.

“We’ll teach you,” Marcia assured her.

“It’s a cinch,” Celia said. Her capable, no-nonsense demeanor made Lacy think most things were a cinch for her. “Let’s see your yarn.”

Riley pulled out her yarn and handed it over for Celia’s inspection. Celia took the needles and immediately began explaining how to knit.

Only one of Lacy’s needles was in the bag. She set down the bag, retraced her steps, and found the missing needle in the parking lot under a shiny silver Cadillac. She squatted and reached for it, knocking it farther under the car. She got down on her hands and knees, but it was still a centimeter out of reach. At last she lay down and shimmied under the car until her fingers brushed the needle.

As she began to shimmy back out, her hair became tangled on something under the car. Her right hand worked on detangling, but it couldn’t do the job alone. She dropped the needle from her left hand and used all her fingers to untangle her hair. Once she was free, she stood up and looked down. She had left the needle on the ground. When she took a step forward to reach for it, she kicked it back under the car.

Going back to her hands and knees, she peered under the car and saw that it was too far on the other side. She stood and went around to the opposite side of the car. Bending, she bashed her head on the mirror and stumbled into the car door. The alarm began to screech. She retrieved her missing needle and glanced around furtively.

Celia appeared a minute later and clicked the alarm off.

“Found my needle,” Lacy said holding it triumphantly aloft.

Celia didn’t comment as she turned and went back inside.

Lacy took a step to follow and dropped the needle again.

By the time she recovered it again and went inside, she could only imagine how she looked. Part of her hair had come free of its band and was sticking up, the entire front of her was covered in grime and motor oil, and one of her wooden knitting needles was now gray.

She dodged into Kimber’s store for a quick repair.

Kimber looked up and shook her head. “Girl,” she said as she offered up a mirror. Lacy smoothed her hair and dusted her clothes. There was nothing to be done for the needle. Maybe no one would notice that her needles were different colors.

She handed Kimber the mirror and returned to the knitting circle.

Riley looked up from a patch of knitting that was a few inches wide now. She scanned Lacy up and down, rolled her eyes, and returned to her knitting.

“I dropped my needle,” Lacy said in answer to the questioning stares being directed at her. In her absence, another woman had joined the circle. She was young and pretty. She and Marcia were in deep conversation, but they paused when Lacy appeared.

“This is my friend, Amelia,” Marcia said.

“Nice to meet you,” Lacy said. Amelia wasn’t wearing as much makeup as Marcia. She looked young and fresh. By comparison, Lacy felt grimy and gross. Why hadn’t she showered and changed before she left home? Not that a shower would have made much difference since she had spent the last fifteen minutes rolling on the pavement, but she would have felt better and less intimidated. Like Marcia, Amelia seemed to know what she was doing. Both were working on large, intricate-looking projects.

Lacy pulled out her other needle and spool of yarn.

“Let’s get your yarn started, and I’ll show you what to do,” Celia said. Her voice held no judgment, and Lacy was thankful. After catching her in two embarrassing situations—first trapped by balls in the locker room and then groping under cars—she had every right to judge.

Lacy tugged on the string hanging off the yarn. It let out a few inches and stuck. She set down the needles and devoted her full attention to the yarn. She yanked again, and a few more inches released, but not easily. Maybe it was stuck on the paper wrapper. If she took that off, she might have an easier time unwinding the yarn.

She peeled off the paper, gave the string another pull, and watched while the entire ball exploded into one massive, immobile knot.

She glanced up helplessly. Celia was staring at her but quickly looked down and pretended she hadn’t seen. No one else had yet noticed that she had a moon-sized yarn knot in her lap. 

Suppressing a sigh, she began the long work of detangling her yarn. As she worked, she listened to the women talk.

“Do you think Deborah will come tonight?” Amelia asked.

“I can’t imagine she would. I wouldn’t, if my ex-husband had just died,” Celia said.

Lacy’s ears pricked. Their town was small; how many men could have recently died?

“And the way he went. So horrible,” Amelia said.

“I know. I haven’t been able to put it out of my mind since Dan told me about it,” Marcia said.

“What happened?” Lacy asked.

“Bob Hoskins, the mechanic, was crushed by a car lift at his repair shop,” Marcia supplied.

“Did you know him?” Lacy asked.

“Sort of. Dan used him for repairs whenever he needed body work done at the dealership,” Marcia said.

“Body work is the only reason to use a mechanic,” Celia interjected. “Everything else can be done at home, if you take the time to learn.”

“His ex-wife, Deborah, is part of our group,” Amelia added. “Has anyone talked to her?”

“I tried, but she didn’t return my call,” Marcia said. “I feel so bad for her.”

Ding, ding, ding,
Lacy thought.
There’s my in. I need to track down the ex and ask her some questions.

“Celia, how’s your mother?” Amelia asked.

“The same,” Celia replied.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marcia said, and the women chuckled.

“Is your mother ill?” Lacy asked.

“No, she’s difficult,” Celia answered. Lacy and Riley exchanged glances.

“There’s a lot of that going around lately,” Riley said.

“Believe me when I tell you that your mother has nothing on mine,” Celia said.

“I’m fifteen months pregnant with our first child, and my mother’s so bad that my husband fled for self-preservation,” Riley said.

“My mother’s so bad I could never get a husband,” Celia said.

“My mother once wrote a note to my middle school counselor and told him to tell me to lose weight,” Lacy said.

“My mother shaved my head because our neighbors had lice,” Celia said.

“My mother asked a mentally handicapped boy to be my prom date because she was worried no one else would ask me,” Lacy said.

“No one else did ask you,” Riley said.

“Her lack of faith was still hurtful,” Lacy said.

“Did you go with him?” Amelia asked.

“No, but I went to his house and played board games instead. It ended up being one of the better nights of my high school existence,” Lacy said.

“That’s nothing. My mother,” Celia began, but their one-upmanship was interrupted by the arrival of another woman.

“Hi,” the woman said, and promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, Deb,” Amelia said. She dropped her knitting and gave Deb a hug. Marcia did the same. Celia continued knitting, as did Riley. Lacy stared. Deb was a slightly plump middle-aged woman. Her hair was trying to go gray; she was fighting a valiant effort with at-home dye to keep it dark brown. Her nails were perfectly manicured and, like Marcia, she tended toward too much makeup.

“It’s ridiculous. I spent so many years hating him for what he did to me, but now that he’s gone, I miss him.”

Someone passed her a tissue. She pressed it over her eyes and cried harder. It was obvious that no one knew what to say to her. The awkwardness in the room was palpable. Eventually even she felt it. She removed the tissue from her eyes and used it to dab them.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight,” she said.

“No, don’t say that. We’re glad you’re here,” Marcia said. To Lacy, the platitude lacked conviction.

“I thought if I went out it might distract me from thinking about it, but I just keep seeing him like that.” The tears started again. Over her head, Marcia and Deb exchanged glances. Celia began to knit faster. Riley remained obliviously focused on her work.

What did she mean when she said she kept seeing him like that? Lacy wondered. Did she mean she imagined how he must have looked, or had the police called her for some kind of body identification?

“This was a mistake. I should go,” Deb said. She stuffed her knitting back into her bag.

“No, Deb, don’t go,” Amelia said, but Deb was determined.

“Maybe next week,” she said. She stood and left.

“How sad,” Marcia said, returning to her work.

As unobtrusively as possible, Lacy set aside her yarn knot and followed Deb. She met up with her at her car, fumbling with her keys.

“Excuse me,” she called.

Deb dropped her keys and spun, her hand pressed to her heart.

“Sorry,” Lacy said.

“No, it’s okay. I’m a little jumpy lately. Weren’t you at the knitting group?”

“Yes, I’m Lacy.”

“Deb,” she said. “I’m sorry about that. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“I heard about your husband,” Lacy said.

“Ex-husband,” Deb corrected. “We were divorced for a while.”

“I’m still sorry. This must be a painful time for you, and I don’t want to make it worse, but I wondered if I might ask you a few questions.”

Deb’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of questions?”

“I’m covering Mr. Hoskins’ death for the paper.”

“Why? Normal people don’t have their deaths written up in the paper,” Deb said.

“He was a business owner and part of the community, and he had a tragic and unexpected death. In a small town, that’s news.”

“I can’t talk about this now.”

“Of course, I understand. Is there a better time?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to think.”

“I understand. Can I ask one question before you go?”

“What?”

“Which was Mr. Hoskins’ dominant hand?” The control for the lift had been found by his right hand. Something about that bugged Lacy, but she didn’t know why. Had she watched him write something with his left hand? She couldn’t remember.

“He was a lefty,” Deb said.

Then why would the control for the lift be by his right hand?
“Could I ask you one more question, and this is the last one, I promise,” Lacy said.

Deb gave a long sigh. “One more.”

“Was there anyone you can think of who had reason to harm him?”

Deb’s sad expression turned into a sardonic-looking smile. “I can think of one person.”

“Who?” Lacy asked.

“Me.”

Chapter 6

“Hey, Babe.”

“Hi, how are you? How’s the class?” Lacy hadn’t expected to hear from Jason. His week was set to be a busy one.

“It’s good, a lot is going on. What’s new there?”

I’m almost certain Bob Hoskins was murdered and my mom is somehow connected. Also, I launched my own investigation for the sole purpose of annoying your coworker.

“I joined the knitting group,” she said

“Did you make anything?”

“A knot. Maybe I’m biased, but I think it’s a good one.”

“That’s my girl. What are you doing now?”

“I’m on my way to dodgeball.”

“About that, it occurred to me that I forgot to tell you the rules.”

“There are rules?” Lacy said.

“Of course there are rules. There are rules for every sport, but they’re simple. Basically you want to stay on your half of the court and try to catch any ball that comes your way. If you catch, then the person who threw is out. But you can’t hold the ball; you have to toss it away immediately, or you’re out. Also…”