Till Death Do Us Purl (17 page)

“Maybe Janet wants some company,” Maggie suggested. “Or maybe she wants the set. I think we allowed only one entry per person.”

There had not been any such rule. That last line had been truly inspired.

“But I’m not—”

“I can drop it off at your office, or your home,” Maggie rolled on. “Or you could come to the shop and pick it up anytime. It’s worth at least . . . two hundred dollars,” Maggie added, exaggerating a bit. “If you don’t want to give it to Janet, you could sell it on eBay, for goodness’ sake.”

Erica sighed. “All right . . . what time do you close tonight? I work pretty late.”

“We’re open tonight until . . . nine. At least. Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you,” Maggie said.

Once she hung up, she wondered if it
was wise to talk to Erica alone in the shop. Maggie somehow doubted Jeremy had been murdered by his old flame. But it wasn’t completely out of the question. The woman could be dangerous.

Phoebe was working in the afternoon, but would not even be in her apartment upstairs in the evening. Her boyfriend Josh’s band was performing at a bar in Rockport and Phoebe was needed to lead the cheering section, move equipment, and sell their self-published CDs. She would complain endlessly about her many duties as the unofficial manager of the Babies, but everyone knew she actually loved it.

Unless she called a friend to come over and act the part of a customer, Maggie would definitely be totally alone tonight for Erica’s visit. If Erica Ferris had somehow found out Jeremy was still alive after the fire, she had good reason to confront him.

His siblings believed she still loved him and had never gotten over the breakup. What if she’d tried to convince him to take her with him, instead of Rebecca? When he’d refused—rejecting her for the second time—had she lost control?

Would a chemist be more likely to kill someone in a neater, more clinical fashion than strangulation with a knitted scarf? Or was that a cliché? Scientists were not immune to passionate, even dangerous liaisons. Even Albert Einstein had his torrid love affairs.

But Maggie eventually decided she would take
her chances and deal with Erica on her own. If Lucy or Dana hung around in the knitting nook, pretending to be customers, Erica might feel self-conscious talking freely.

From their brief conversation, there was no doubt the young woman was very discerning. Not the type to let her guard down easily. But somehow, Maggie thought she could get Erica talking about Jeremy. He was one of her favorite subjects, wasn’t he? And from there, the work they did together and the formula she’d taken part in developing with him.

Those must have been special, meaningful days for her, working side by side on an exciting project with the man she loved. She was probably proud of that time in her life.

Maggie left the knitting tote, along with the sign about the raffle, sitting in the middle of the front window, so it would all look very legitimate and convincing.

Not that it was a subterfuge . . . entirely, she reminded herself. Though this was costing her a few dollars and she would have to replace the prize tomorrow and eventually give it away to one of her real customers.

She hoped the effort was worth it.

As Maggie expected, the shop was empty when Erica finally walked in. It was nearly eight o’clock. But the sign that read
COME ON IN, WE’RE STILL HERE STITCHING
hung from the door and all the lights were on.

Maggie sat behind the counter, working on her bookkeeping.

She recognized the stunning brunette the moment
Erica stepped through the door. She wore a red flair coat, black leather boots, and smooth kid gloves.

Maggie had to remind herself that the young woman did not remember her from the funeral. Or know that she had any connection to Jeremy and his family.

“You must be Maggie?” Erica approached her. She looked tired and annoyed to have to stop on her way home from work.

“That’s me. Can I help you?”

“I’m Dr. Ferris. We spoke this morning. About the mysterious raffle prize?” Erica spoke to her as if she were senile. For goodness’ sake, she wasn’t that old.

“Oh, yes . . . of course. I lost track. I was just doing some bookkeeping.” Maggie slipped off her reading glasses but didn’t hurry to come out from behind the counter. “So, you’ve come for your prize. I’m glad. You might like it more than you think. Have you ever tried any knitting?”

Erica gave her another look. “It’s one of those pastimes I’m saving for my golden years. Like bridge or Sudoku.”

Maggie knew plenty of young people who enjoyed bridge and Sudoku. But she understood Erica’s gibe.

“Well, maybe you’ll consider it. You’ve won everything you need to get you started and three free lessons. You may not want to pass along this bounty after all.”

“Can you get the prize? It’s been a long day,” Erica said and glanced at her watch.

Maggie ambled over to the window and moved the backdrop for her arrangement.

“By the way, can I see my entry form?”

Maggie turned. “Entry form? Oh, you mean the slip of paper I pulled. It’s around somewhere,” she lied. “Do you want it back for your taxes or something?”

She hadn’t the slightest idea if Erica needed it for her tax records or not. But she didn’t know what else to say.

“I just wanted to see the handwriting. I still don’t know who entered my name,” Erica replied in a flat, logical tone. She sighed and flipped
her silky hair off her shoulder.

Maggie turned back to the window display. “This will take just a minute. I’ve clamped it down with some masking tape, so it wouldn’t spill out . . .”

“Right. No rush. Anytime this week would be fine,” Erica mumbled under her breath. Then there was another pained sigh.

While Maggie hated to make snap judgments about people, the young woman’s breathtaking good looks were totally at odds with her social skills. In short, she seemed to have an awful personality and the derisive comments of Jeremy’s siblings rang true. She suddenly recalled their nickname for her. Icky, wasn’t it?

“Here we go. Sorry that took a while.” Maggie finally produced the tote. “Just one more thing . . . the free patterns and certificate for the lessons. I have to fill in your name.” Still carrying the tote, Maggie ran back to the counter. She pulled out her gift certificate book and flipped the pages.

“You know, you look awfully familiar. I’ve been trying to figure out where I’ve seen you. Do you attend the First Congregational?” Maggie named the church she’d attended for the past twenty or so years. She knew very well Erica wasn’t a member. But I have to start somewhere, she thought.

Erica shook her head. “I don’t belong to a church. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary. To each his own. I’m just thinking, it was some sort of service, I’m almost sure . . .” She shook her head, writing out the certificates. She could have put all three lessons on one ticket, but decided to drag it out.

“I remember now. Weren’t you at Jeremy
Lassiter’s memorial service? Last Friday?”

Erica had been peering over the edge of the counter, obviously wondering why Maggie was taking so long. She lifted her pointy chin and stared at Maggie curiously.

“Yes, I was there.”

Maggie sighed. “What a tragedy. Such a young man. So brilliant. Did you know him well?”

“Yes, I did. Did you?”

“Not very well, no . . . But I’m friends of the family,” she fudged. His wife’s family, she should have said. “How did you know him? Oh, right . . . you work for At-Las Technologies. Did you two work together?”

“Yes, we did. In the same lab. But I think you already know that Mrs. Messina.”

Maggie felt her stomach clutch. “I do? How would I?”

“I noticed you there, too. Now that you mention it. You’re friends with his wife, Rebecca, and her mother, right?” Erica asked bluntly.

Maggie had talked to Rebecca and Nora for a long time when she came in. Erica did not take her seat until much later. But maybe she was standing somewhere in the room, talking to coworkers, with her eyes on Rebecca, of course.

“I think you must be the one who helped her knit her gown. I heard all about that. How creative and craftsy she is. A craftsy little cow.”

“You did? Where did you hear all that?” Now it was Maggie’s turn to be surprised.

“At work, in the employee lounge, of course. Jeremy’s wedding was an endless topic of conversation
for some people. You’d think he was part of the royal family.”

Maggie didn’t doubt it. Employees in a family-owned company loved to gossip about the company owners. How that wedding talk must have galled and humiliated Erica. Everyone must have known she’d been tossed aside for Rebecca.

Why did she ever stay at the company? To stay close to Jeremy? She must have loved him very much.

“You know, I had to talk to the police. But I really don’t have to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t. That’s true,” Maggie admitted, feeling sheepish.

“Is that what this is all about? Some silly . . . trick to lure me here?” Erica looked genuinely angry now. Maggie wasn’t frightened. Though she did slip a pair of sharp scissors off the counter and into her skirt pocket.

“You don’t have to speak to me about Jeremy. About any of this,” Maggie admitted without answering the question. “I’m just trying to help Rebecca. The police are hounding her. I’m afraid they suspect her. I’m just trying to help her out a bit. Whatever else you might say about her, she’s not capable of murder. Especially murdering Jeremy.”

Erica’s eyes narrowed. “Then you don’t really know her at all, Mrs. Messina. If you can stand here and say that. She’s capable of a lot of things. She stole Jeremy from me. We’d been together for more than two years and talked about getting married, until she came along. Did you know that?”

Maggie did know that. But in the version Alec and Claudia had related—which she’d learned by eavesdropping—Erica had not been painted as the sympathetic
party. More like a spider, wrapping up her prey and sucking it dry.

What had Alec said? The best thing Jeremy ever did for himself was to get out of Erica’s clutches.

“I think I did hear that you and Jeremy had been in a relationship, before he met Rebecca,” Maggie conceded.

“She acts all innocent and sweet. But she’s a ruthless, coldhearted witch. A total phony. Those outfits she wears. She always looks like she’s about to churn butter. What did Jeremy ever see in her? I couldn’t get it.”

Erica still sounded angry and stung. Remarkable, Maggie thought, all things considered. Erica stared at Maggie, as if expecting some explanation. Maggie didn’t say a word.

“Do you really want to know why I never want to learn how to knit?” Erica asked. “Why I can’t even stand looking at this stuff? Because it reminds me of her. All those ugly sweaters and scarves she made for him. He used to wear them to work, a new one every day. It made me sick just to look at them.” Erica visibly shuddered. Then pulled herself under control just as quickly.

Erica truly despised Rebecca. Maggie had rarely seen such pure hatred up close and personal. Who knew what she’d told the police in her interview, if this was a taste of it. No wonder they were looking so closely at Rebecca as a suspect.

“Do you really think she killed Jeremy, Erica? Or do you just wish she’d be punished for what she did to you?”

Erica sighed and shook her head, her glossy locks tumbling about like a shampoo commercial. “Yes, I do believe she could have done it,” she said. “But probably on impulse. She’s too dumb to plan anything more complicated
than a bowl of hot cereal. Sweet little do-gooder Rebecca. Running around, making the world a sunnier place with her scrapbooking and volunteer work. How long was it going to take for him to get bored with that? Maybe he was bored with it already and she realized he wasn’t going to take her with him . . . wherever he planned on going.”

While Maggie had pictured Erica in that scenario with Jeremy, reacting badly to that news, she had never pictured Rebecca in that role. Interesting, she thought.

It certainly was possible, Maggie had to concede. But she quickly brushed the image aside. Even if Jeremy was trying to jilt Rebecca, she would never have reacted by killing him.

She wasn’t so sure now about Dr. Ferris.

“Is that what you think happened? You were the woman close to him, for a long time. A woman at his intellectual level,” Maggie added, purposely pouring on the flattery. “Rebecca says she didn’t understand his work at all. She doesn’t have a clue. Burning his lab, faking his death, that was a pretty desperate act. What do you think he was trying to accomplish?”

Erica’s full lips closed in a tight line. “I really don’t know. I moved to a different department after he hooked up with Rebecca.”

“But you were close to him before that. He trusted you. You were one of very few, I’d imagine,” she added, playing to Erica’s ego again. “You must have some special insight into him.”

Erica didn’t answer at first, but finally, the flattery seemed to move her. “I was close to him. He did confide in me. Mainly about his father. Jeremy was always very angry with Philip.
Maybe he was just trying to get back at his father, burning the place down and disappearing at the eleventh hour. Maybe it was his way of getting revenge for being controlled by the old man for so long. The lab was in trouble. The investors were very restless. They wanted to see some results. And you know that Lewis Atkins was working on this same formula, right?”

“Yes, I’d heard that.” Maggie nodded. She really wanted to bring Lewis Atkins here next. Though she doubted that raffle trick would work on him.

She looked back at Erica, who had buttoned her red coat and was tugging on her leather gloves. Very nice gloves, Maggie noticed. They wouldn’t have left any trace in a motel room. Or on a woolen scarf.

Maggie could tell her time with Erica had come to an end. She tried for one last question.

“So, how did you feel when you heard the news that Jeremy was found in the motel? It must have been a great shock.”

Erica laughed. “You’re not very subtle, Mrs. Messina. The police were far more direct. You really want to know where I was when he was killed, right? I worked late that night at the lab. The fire didn’t only affect his project, it set everyone back. It’s all on the security cameras, my coming and going. The time and date, the works.”