Wound Up In Murder (11 page)

Sally Winston was standing quite close to the leader of the retreat, though not touching him. She kept bending her angular face toward the group as though she was anxious to join in the conversation, but somehow was restraining herself, and let Norman Rathman speak.

“What they found out from me was it wasn't a scarf at all. It was that long colorful thing. It looked kind of like hankies sewed together.” He seemed to be getting frustrated that they didn't understand. “It was the magician's whatchamacallit. The thing Diana pulled from his sleeve when she ruined his trick.”

The group sucked in their collective breath and a titter of conversation broke out. “So, they have a new suspect,” the man in the plaid shirt said, nodding with comprehension.

“I hope they put out an all-points bulletin or whatever it's called for him and leave me alone. The situation is difficult enough for me without being worried I'm going to be handcuffed and arrested,” Norman said. The others began to discuss what motive Sammy would have had and how they thought the crime had been committed.

Well, there went the grace period of the cops not knowing the silk streamer was Sammy's. Now they'd be on the hunt for him.

“Let's try to focus on something more positive,” Sally said, interrupting them. “We still have a whole long weekend of events planned.” Her face grew animated and she pointed toward the double doors of the Lodge that led out onto the wood deck and the grounds beyond. “There's going to be a campfire and folk song sing-a-long in a few minutes at the fire pit. And after that we're screening
From Russia with Love
,” she said, quickly adding it had a little more meat to it than the Dotty Night movie being shown the next night. The assembled group started to make their way toward the exit, but Norman and Sally stayed put.

I did, too, curious to see how they changed when they were alone. She gave him a sympathetic look and reached out to touch his arm, but stopped herself. She turned to check out the area and her eyes stopped on me. I quickly averted my gaze from her face to look at the floor and noted for the first time that she really did have remarkably thick ankles for someone with such a willowy build. I started to edge away and just heard the tail end of their conversation.

“You should join the others,” Norman said. “People might get the wrong idea.”

I realized the same thing could apply to me, only the wrong idea would have been a little different—namely that I was spying on them, which of course, I was. I needed to attend to my people quickly so I could get across the street. The table had filled in my absence and there was no reason to try to recruit any more guests. I noticed a little perspiration on Scott's forehead as he sat at the end of the table with his first student. I stood next to them, hoping I wasn't too late to offer him moral support.

“Toby is a friend of mine,” Scarlett said. I had so focused on Scott I hadn't noticed her sitting next to his student. Scarlett handled the introductions and Scott took the opportunity to wipe his brow. The rest of the people at the table were already knitting and looking at the sheets Olivia had given out with directions for the squares. Lucinda was with them and glanced up and made a move as if she was going to change seats, but I shook my head.

“It looks like everything is under control here,” I said after watching for a few minutes. I went to retrieve the container of food I'd left on the next table, but Scott's head shot up. He looked panicked, and while he didn't say the words, I got that he wanted me to stay.

I could empathize. Yes, I knew how to knit now, but the thought of trying to teach someone sent me into a cold sweat. The woman seemed to be having trouble learning how to cast on and he tried to patiently show her again. There was no question having Scarlett watching them and chattering away was making it harder for him.

Instead of picking up the cardboard food container, I sat down and motioned for Scarlett to join me, saying there was more space. She picked up her square in progress and sat down next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Scott had given me a thank-you nod.

“This is much better,” she said. “More room to get comfy.” She started to work a stitch.

“No martini bar tonight,” I said, glancing around at all the activity going on in the room.

“That's was just for last night,” Scarlett said. She finished the stitch and looked up.

“So then you were there?” I figured as long as I was keeping her out of Scott's way, I might as well see what I could find out. I was hoping it would be something to help Sammy with an alibi.

Scarlett had indeed been there. Her husband, Jason, who she pointed out was coming across the room with his guitar for the folk singing, had served as the bartender.

“Did Diana join in the drinking?”

Scarlett thought for a moment. Now that she'd taken her hair out of the pigtails and teased it into a bouffant-style reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy, she looked her age, which I now guessed was in her fifties, around the same age as Diana. “I hadn't thought about that. She wasn't in here.” I saw Scarlett's gaze go to the windows on the side of the building that looked toward a boardwalk that led through the dunes to the beach. “I was walking out there when I saw her.” Scarlett strained to remember. “And she was with someone. I remember now thinking that it was a man but I couldn't make out who he was. They hadn't gotten to the boardwalk. They had stopped in the grassy area with the trees.” I knew just where she was describing. It was on the other side of the roadway that led past the Lodge and was called the grass circle. It was one of the few spaces that had almost a lawn. She got frustrated. “Since I didn't know what was going to happen to her, I didn't pay that close attention.”

“Do you think it was the magician?” I asked, almost afraid of her answer. I didn't see any reason to bring up my relationship with him.

She shrugged as she said, “I don't know if it was him. Now that I think of it, I didn't see Diana's face, either. I knew it was her because her earrings and clothes had all those reflective decorations and they caught the light.” Across the table, Scott tried showing Toby another way to cast on and she was having more success. “I'm sure Diana must have seen me going by, but she didn't say anything. I suppose that was why I didn't greet her. To be honest, I was trying to keep my distance from her. I heard that Diana was going through some midlife thing and reevaluating her life. Thinking about the road not taken.” She looked at me intently. “It's probably hard for you to understand, you're still so young. And free.” She sounded a little wistful. Should I tell her the truth, that according to my mother, my life was splattered all over like a Jackson Pollock painting and that having all those choices of direction were not necessarily a good thing. No, let her keep the fantasy.

Scarlett didn't seem to notice that I didn't respond to her comment and she went on talking.

“I hadn't really thought about it until now, but since my husband more or less works for Norman, I didn't want to get in the middle of anything with his wife.” She was still holding her knitting needles and the beginnings of a square. Scarlett's eyebrows creased with concern. “Do me a favor. Don't mention what I saw or what I just said to anyone, particularly that lieutenant. I don't want to get caught up in the investigation.” Abruptly, she wound the yarn around her needles and got up to go.

I had no problem agreeing to that.

Once Scott got Toby past casting on and working on her first row of knit stitches, I figured it had to be okay to leave. I grabbed the food container and stood up, anxious to go.

Lucinda caught up with me. She knew there was something wrong without me saying it. I really appreciated having a friend like that. It didn't matter that there was a difference in our ages or that she was my boss as far as baking desserts was concerned. We could read each other's moods.

“What is it?' she asked. Despite what I'd thought about not wanting to involve Lucinda in the Sammy situation, I told her all of what I'd heard.

“I was hoping that Scarlett might have been able to give Sammy some kind of alibi, but seeing some unidentified man with Diana near the walkway to the beach only looks worse for him.”

“Oh, dear,” she said. “That's not good.” She looked at the box in my hand. “You're taking that to him?”

I told her about feeding him the burnt toast and she laughed. She was about to let me go, but then snagged my arm. “I suppose this isn't a good time for this, but I thought of a way we could find out the identity of the secret baby. Since you don't know when the baby was born and only the possible initials of the mother, checking public records is impossible. But how about this? We could make a list of the people we know who could be the love child, like Maggie from the Coffee Shop, Crystal Smith's mother and Wanda Krug's mother, then we try to eliminate them.”

“I'm not so sure that's a good plan,” I said. “It's like trying to find the needle in a haystack by taking away one piece of hay at a time.”

“But maybe in the course of talking to them, something else will come up that will point us in the right direction.”

Her suggestion about finding the heir had momentarily distracted me, but I suddenly remembered the food container in my hand. “I'm putting it on the shelf for now. Sammy's troubles are a little more immediate.”

“Let me know if I can do anything,” Lucinda said. “You can always knock on my door. No matter how late.” I gave her a one-armed hug and thanked her and said I would check on the group again in a little while.

I rushed out the door on the driveway side of the Lodge and walked right into Lieutenant Borgnine. I excused myself and started to pull away.

“Ms. Feldstein, I was hoping to find you,” he said in an all too pleasant tone. When had he ever been happy to see me? “I know Dr. Samuel Glickner is a friend of yours. Do you know where he is? There's a matter I'd like to discuss with him.”

Did he really think I would fall for that? I didn't want to give anything away by my behavior. The secret was to act as difficult as I usually did. My first thought was just to say a curt no and be on my way. But that would be going too much the other way.

“What do you want to discuss with him?” I asked, forcing my eyes into what I hoped looked like a wide-open innocent expression and not a crazed psycho look. Without a mirror I wasn't sure. I don't think it mattered anyway because now that it was dark outside, my face was in shadow, as was his. The light coming through the window of the Lodge barely illuminated the round shape of his head and the lighter parts of his stubbly hair.

I almost smiled when I heard him making his usual grumbly noises and he began to rub his neck. “Can't you just give me a simple yes or no answer?”

“Okay, then, no,” I said. “Now, if you'll excuse me.” I made a move to leave.

“What's that?” he said, noticing the to-go box of food.

“My leftover dinner. I'm just going to drop it off.” I pointed off in the direction of my place.

“Really,” he said with interest. Not missing a beat, he continued, “You know, it's pretty dark out here and we did have one person strangled. It would be terrible if something happened to you. I would feel better if I saw that you got across the street safely.”

Boy, was he laying it on thick. He was clearly up to something. I tried to talk him out of it, but it was like trying to get rid of a piece of tape stuck to your shoe. No matter what I did, he was still there.

We walked across the street in silence and went up my driveway. I kept my eyes averted from the guest house and headed directly to my back door.

“Okay, you did your duty. I'm home safe and secure.” I paused at the back door, but he didn't move.

“If you're just going to drop it off and come back across the street, I'll wait for you and walk you back.”

I put the key in the lock and opened the kitchen door and he followed me inside. I flipped on the light and went to put the box in the refrigerator. Poor Sammy wasn't going to get his dinner after all.

I got ready to turn around and leave, but my escort glanced around the kitchen and toward the hall. “This is a nice place. What do you have—two bedrooms?”

“Something like that,” I said, taking a step toward the door.

“Mind if I look around? I'm curious about the design of these places on the edge of town.”

Aha, so that was what he was up to. I was sure it had less to do with architecture and more to do with finding Sammy. But I had nothing to hide in the house but my unmade bed and the need to vacuum up the cat hair, so I shrugged and told him to be my guest. I'm afraid I was too easy about letting him do it, which he took to mean that Sammy wasn't hiding in my house. He stepped into the hall and glanced around quickly before announcing that he'd seen enough.

Julius heard me come in and walked into the kitchen. He did a figure eight greeting around my legs and then seemed to notice we had company. What did the black cat do? He plunked himself down in the space between me and Lieutenant Borgnine. Though I could only see the back of Julius's head, the way he was thumping his tail made me think he was giving the lieutenant a hostile stare with his yellow eyes.

Maybe it was because I had never had a cat before, but I'd always had a stereotypical view of them as sort of background pets. Doing things like lounging on the back of a sofa and ignoring what was going on in their human's life. I
thought they were very into themselves. It had never occurred to me that they would be protective of the people they lived with, but Julius was certainly giving off that vibe. Though I wondered what exactly he would do—shred the lieutenant's pant leg?

Whatever Julius was doing, he'd made the lieutenant nervous because I saw him give the cat a wary glance. “If you're ready,” the cop said. He was careful to walk around Julius as he went to the door.

I was relieved to be outside in the darkness and walked down the driveway quickly. Lieutenant Borgnine was behind me and seemed to be taking his time.

My heart dropped when he hesitated by the former garage. “This was converted into a guest house, wasn't it?” He stopped by the door. “I've been thinking of converting my garage into living space. Maybe I could get some ideas from your place. Mind if I look around?”

I knew I had every right to say no, but also knew that was tantamount to saying I had something to hide, which I actually did. Sammy. The lieutenant had quickly lost interest in looking around the house when I'd said it was fine. I was hoping that giving him carte blanche would work again. I was wishing Julius had come with us and given the lieutenant more of the hostile staring with the tail thumps as insurance.

“Great, sure, have a look inside,” I said, trying to pump up the enthusiasm like I meant it. I waited, expecting a similar reaction to what I'd gotten in the house.

“Okay,” he said, nodding toward the door, “unlock the door.”

I froze. It wasn't supposed to go like this. He was supposed to not want to look around now.

“On second thought,” I said. It was no act to sound dismayed because I was. “My retreat people are waiting for
me. How about I give you a rain check on that?” To punctuate it, I took a step down the driveway.

“I'm here now. It'll just take a few minutes,” he said, not moving away from the door.

“It's probably kind of messy. I was making up the tote bags in there.”

“No problem.”

“It's just kind of embarrassing,” I said.

“I won't pass judgment on your housekeeping,” he said. “Go on, open the door. We're wasting time discussing it.”

There was just a hint of it being an order. I knew I could refuse, but I also knew that he could come back alone and claim he thought he heard someone scream inside, which gave him probable cause to break down the door.

Saying a silent “I'm sorry” to Sammy, I put the key in the lock.

I wondered if the cop could hear my heartbeat. I could certainly feel it thudding against my chest. I glanced around, hoping a meteor might drop out of the sky and distract him, but there was nothing.

I finally opened the door to the dark interior. I took my time in the doorway, but Lieutenant Borgnine pushed past me and walked inside. “Hey, how about we get some lights,” he said.

I reached for the light by the door, but when I turned it on, I was actually relieved when nothing happened. “It must be burned out,” I said.

Now that he was inside, the lieutenant seemed to have forgotten his ruse for why he wanted to look. No more casual “I want to get some ideas for my place.”

“There must be some other light.” He sounded impatient.

“There's an overhead fixture.”

“Well,” he said when I continued to just stand there. “Go ahead and turn it on.” I felt my way along the wall until my
hand touched the plastic plate. I couldn't stall anymore and reached over for the light switch. As my finger pushed it up, I looked away, wanting to avoid the confrontation. I waited to hear something, but after a few moments, the cop was silent. I turned my gaze into the center of the room and I was shocked. The bed had been folded into the wall and the doors with the shelves slid over it. Everything looked orderly as if no one had been there.

“Well, there you have it,” I said, trying to keep the relief out of my voice. The cop grunted with displeasure and started to tour the room.

As I expected, he eyed the shelves against the wall suspiciously. “That's one of those wall beds, isn't it?” He stepped closer. “You don't mind if I see how it works?”

Was there a chance that Sammy had crushed his tall hulky frame against the bed and was folded up with it? At the very least, the bed would probably look slept in, but I gave him the okay.

He slid the two bookcases back and then pulled down the bed. No Sammy came popping out and surprisingly the bed was not only made, but so tightly, I was sure you could bounce a quarter on it. It certainly didn't look like anybody had slept in it recently.

The cop didn't look happy. I saw him glancing at the two doors in the place. I rushed ahead and opened the door to the bathroom. It felt warm and moist, like someone had showered recently. Before Borgnine could step inside the small room, I whipped back the shower curtain and turned on the water to cover it up. “See, a full-functioning bathroom,” I said. I turned the faucet on and off and flushed the toilet.

“I see that it all works,” he said, taking a step backward to get out of the close damp space. Good, my efforts had worked.

Back in the main room, he stared at the other door in the
place. “It's just a closet,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. It was the most likely hiding place and I felt my heart thud as the lieutenant's mouth curved in an expectant smile. He stepped up to the door.

“Let's just see what's in there,” he said, putting his hand on the doorknob.

I have to admit, I held my breath as he turned the handle and pulled the door open. Then I waited, expecting something to happen, like Sammy to pop out. But there was only silence as the bulldog-shaped cop stepped inside. A few clothing items were still hanging on the rod and he batted them aside impatiently. I don't think he meant to let out the groan when all he saw was the back wall of the small enclosure. He shut the door with an annoyed swat.

After that he moved to the kitchen area and opened every cabinet as if he thought he'd find Sammy folded up in one of them. Did he really think that six-foot-one Sammy could fit in that small a space? I started breathing again and wondered where Sammy was.

“I hope you've found what you were looking for,” I said, doing my best to keep the relief out of my voice.

He just glowered at me. I guess not.