Silence of the Lamb's Wool (A Yarn Retreat Mystery) Read online

  “I should warn you. I only have one spinning wheel I can bring.”

  “No problem,” I said, telling her about the tote bags with drop spindles and the selection of Nicole’s spinning wheels at my disposal. Wanda turned on her heel and went out as fast as she’d come in.

  Lucinda and I clinked our cups in a toast. The retreat program was saved.

  Lucinda and I parted company after that. She and Tag had plans for a picnic in front of the TV. On their one night off from the Blue Door it was their favorite thing to do together. She had errands to run.

  When I got back to my car and dropped the messenger bag that had become my purse on the passenger seat, some papers slipped out. As I retrieved them from the floor, I remembered they’d been on the floor of The Bank when Lucinda and I went in. I’d assumed they were some kind of coupons or advertising pieces and had ignored them. I glanced at them, getting ready to drop them in a trash can on the street.

  They weren’t at all what I’d thought. There was a brochure about a tour to Bhutan. A sticker was affixed to the top page with the information for the Cadbury Travel Agency. The other sheet seemed to be an itinerary and a cost breakdown. There was a note on the bottom thanking Nicole for the deposit for the trip.

  I was struck by three things: how expensive the trip was, that the itinerary was for one person, and the fact that Nicole had paid the deposit the morning of her suicide.

  11

  Instead of going home I went down the street to Cadbury Travel. It was located in a bland storefront that had probably seemed ultramodern when it was built in the fifties. The long window brought in a lot of light and the walls were decorated with pictures of Hawaii, Paris and Rome.

  The two desks in the front area were empty, but I heard sounds coming from the back room and did a loud throat-clearing a couple of times to let them know someone was there.

  Two women came out. They looked familiar, but then everybody in town did. I’d seen them in either the local drugstore or supermarket. I introduced myself, but it wasn’t necessary; the older woman knew who I was.

  “I’m Liz Buckley,” she said, realizing I didn’t know who she was. “This is my daughter, Stacey.”

  So, there was another mother-daughter team working together in Cadbury. But this pair was nothing like Gwen and Crystal of Cadbury Yarn, who seemed like two distinct people with different points of view and certainly different clothing styles.

  Liz and Stacey looked alike. They both had chin-length dark hair and both wore similar-style suits. The only difference was that one was light beige and the other a darker shade of the neutral color. I listened to them as we made small talk, waiting for some kind of eye rolling to start or for Stacey to say “Mother” in that hopeless disgruntled tone I’d heard myself use. Neither one ever happened. It was too weird. They seemed in total agreement.

  “Where is it that you wanted to go?” Liz finally asked, getting down to business.

  “Nowhere, right now. I wanted to ask you about this.” I held out the brochure and note. “I assume you heard about Nicole.”

  Liz nodded. She took the papers from me, and realized what they were. “I didn’t think of it. I’ll have to cancel everything.”

  My information-gathering talent kicked in and I brought up the expense of the trip and the fact that it seemed Nicole was going alone.

  “We just make the arrangements, we don’t ask any questions,” Liz said. “But I thought about the same things. Nicole did mention something about a new source of income and said that Will was happy to stay in Cadbury and let her go off looking for exotic textiles.” I noticed that Liz seemed to feel a little uneasy. “It was the way she said it that bothered me. As if there was something wrong with Will not wanting to go traipsing around the world.”

  There was nothing in her words, but something in Liz’s tone made it sound like she didn’t particularly like Nicole. “I’m guessing you weren’t exactly friends with her even though her shop was just down the street,” I said. Stacey spoke before her mother had a chance.

  “She was an outsider,” Stacey said with a subtle touch of hostility. “There were a lot of people around here who weren’t so happy with her marrying Will. I went to high school with him and he was that guy. You know, friendly, good-looking, played on all the teams and was like the local hero. A lot of girls had crushes on him. Everybody liked him. They still do.”

  “Does that include you?” I asked, noting that she sounded very enthusiastic about him. The daughter tugged at her suit jacket, appearing uncomfortable. “That wasn’t what I meant. It just seems like he could have found somebody local.”

  “I get it. Like you mentioned, Nicole was an outsider. I guess that puts me on the same list,” I said.

  Liz stepped in. “There are lots of new people who have moved to Cadbury and they fit in just fine. You, well, you went right to the heart of the town through their stomachs.” When I seemed surprised, she said she was a big fan of my muffins and the desserts at the Blue Door. “But my waistline isn’t,” she joked.

  “It’s not that I didn’t like Nicole,” the mother said. “She just went against the grain of the town. Take that studio of hers. I know there are lots of places that think it’s arty to turn churches and fire stations into businesses. But not in Cadbury. The old Cadbury Bank closed years ago. I know because my father worked there. You might have met him at Vista Del Mar. His name is Virgil Scarantino.”

  I had an image of a man in a leather bomber jacket who was going to direct a lot of the activities as the travel agent explained that the bank had been designated a historic building, so whoever rented it couldn’t make any changes other than to, say, fix a leaky faucet. The only business that could use it the way it was would be another bank, but as branches of big banks moved into town, they wanted their own style building and weren’t interested in the comparatively small bank building. The town council hadn’t been keen on the idea of it being rented to Nicole, but because Will was so well liked and so persistent, they finally relented.

  I wondered how the town council had felt when Nicole decided to change the back door, but I didn’t bring it up.

  I brought up my third concern. “It seems kind of odd that Nicole would give you a deposit for a trip on the morning that she decided to kill herself.”

  “I’ve thought about that, too,” Liz said. “I don’t have an answer.”

  Maybe Liz didn’t, but I was pretty sure I did. I couldn’t wait to go home and call Frank.

  I suppose I could have sat in my car and called him on my cell, but I wanted to talk on a device that wouldn’t suddenly get a bad connection or just cut out. I drove home quickly and pulled the Mini Cooper into my driveway. I rushed inside, almost falling over Julius as he came out to greet me.

  I was punching in the number as I walked toward a chair. I barely got out a hello before Frank started talking.

  “Okay, Feldstein, what now? Don’t tell me someone else died.”

  By now I was used to his gruff response to my calls. I also was pretty sure it was all an act.

  “No, Frank, it’s the same body I called about before. I want to run something by you since you have so much experience.”

  “Feldstein, that sounds like you’re saying I’m old,” he said with a laugh. “’Cause if you’re trying to flatter me, you’ll have to come up with something better.” He made a few grumbly sounds. “So, what’s the story?”

  “I told you about the woman who died,” I said as Julius jumped into my lap. “I took your advice and talked to my cop neighbor—”

  “Talked? I think I suggested flirting.”

  “Right, flirting.” I didn’t want to tell him that I’d actually had more than flirting on my mind and what a bust the whole plan had been. “Anyway, the medical examiner thinks it was suicide. They think she put insecticide in her coffee, and there was a note written on her c
ell phone.”

  I heard Frank groan. “Suicide notes on cell phones, geez. What did it say?”

  I admitted I didn’t know exactly, but it was something about how she felt bad about something she’d done.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Feldstein, I hear a but coming in all this. So?”

  I found myself starting to talk faster, knowing that he was getting impatient. “So, I found out she put down a deposit on an expensive trip to Bhutan that morning. What does your keen detective mind have to say about that?”

  “Trying the flattery angle again,” he said with a laugh. “Just a hint, Feldstein, a little bit sounds authentic, but when you start laying it on too thick—remember, I’m a PI and can see through things.”

  Julius was unhappy I was paying more attention to the phone call than to him and he started flicking his tail up and down. I was beginning to realize cats were in their own universe and wanted to call the shots.

  “I get where you’re going and yes, it does sound fishy to me, unless something devastating happened between the time she made the deposit and her farewell cup of java. If it was my case, I’d cross out suicide as the cause of death.”

  “Good, that’s exactly what I thought. And if it isn’t suicide, then it’s got to be—” Julius had sat up and began using his head to butt my chin. He didn’t stop until I started to pet him, but after a few moments he tired of that and jumped off my lap, looking at the refrigerator.

  “Murder,” Frank said, finishing my sentence. “Why do I think you’re going to stick your nose in this case?” Frank let out a chortle. “Remember, Feldstein, cops don’t like it when us PIs prove them wrong.”

  “Is that your attempt to show me how fake flattery sounds, or do you really mean it?” I didn’t mention that I’d already started looking into her death without even meaning to. It had become automatic to start putting pieces together.

  “You should know me better than that. I don’t do flattery, fake or otherwise. I only say what I mean. So, yeah, I meant it, only you’re not licensed and you’re not getting paid. Maybe I should call you a VI, or volunteer investigator. By the way, the first thing I’d look into is whatever this bad thing is she was doing. It has motive written all over it.”

  “But that’s from what we think is a bogus suicide note,” I said.

  “Feldstein, people often put some truth in their lies. Like the people who make up false names, but use their real initials.”

  “I get it,” I said excitedly. “That part of the note could be true.”

  “Very good, Feldstein, you make me proud.”

  I mumbled a thank-you, not used to getting praise from him. By now I was sure his patience was wearing thin and I thought there should be a two-way stream of conversation, so I asked him about the surveillance he’d been on during our last call. Frank seemed to appreciate my interest, and if I wanted to get on his good side, it worked much better than my attempts at flattery. “I caught the supposed injured woman dancing her pants off. The insurance company even gave me a bonus,” Frank said with pride in his voice. He threw in a few more details, before rather abruptly saying he had to go, and hung up.

  “So, Frank and I are on the same page about Nicole,” I said to Julius, who had done a figure eight around my ankles and then headed to the refrigerator as if he hoped I would follow.

  “Okay,” I said finally. I took out the multi-wrapped can and gave him a serving. Why had I ever bought that first can of stink fish?

  It was already late afternoon. I left Julius noisily eating his smelly meal and went across the driveway to the converted garage. I finished filling the tote bags and came back to the main house. I had missed a bunch of meals and made up for it with a frozen dinner I microwaved.

  The white sky was fading to dark when I went across to Vista Del Mar, pulling a couple of plastic bins on wheels that I’d filled with the tote bags. I deposited them in the corner of the Lodge, noting the table for registration had already been set up. I didn’t feel so hopeless now that Wanda had offered her services. But I wasn’t totally relaxed, either. I only hoped she’d live up to her own hype.

  I noticed that Virgil Scarantino was talking to a group of people in the seating area. When I looked at him, I was reminded that he was related to the travel agent. Life in a small town. Everyone was connected.

  The three early birds were sitting together on one of the leather couches. I stepped around the edge of the group and heard Virgil say he was going to give a little talk about the history of Vista Del Mar, starting in a few minutes. I would have liked to stay for it, but my real purpose was to talk to my group before I headed to the Blue Door.

  “Just checking that everything is okay with you three,” I said.

  “You don’t have to worry about us. We’re happy to just be here and hang out,” Olivia said. “Actually, we’ve sort of started something. The three of us were sitting in the living room area of Sand and Sea, knitting squares. A young woman saw us and asked about it. When I explained that we were going to sew them together and get them to people in need, she said she’d like to make one. I gave her some extra needles I had and a ball of yarn. Scott showed her how to knit. Bree wrote down the directions. Another woman came by and she wanted to join us, too. She went off to the gift shop and bought her own supplies.” Olivia laughed and her dark eyes danced. “I think you better tell the people from Cadbury Yarn to check the stock in the gift shop.” She went on to explain that the registration clerk had helped out and made a bunch of copies of the instructions in both knit and crochet.

  “This is just wonderful,” she said. “I had no idea how satisfying it was to inspire other people.” She leaned toward me. “And, we told everyone about Yarn2Go and the retreats you put on.”

  Scott held up his knitting. He was working on a square in a bulky brown yarn. Even though he’d gone public, he still seemed a little apprehensive as he noticed one of the men in a red polo shirt staring at him.

  Bree had her cell phone out, even though there was no signal. It seemed to give her some kind of comfort to be able to at least look at it. Virgil cleared his throat and announced he was going to begin his talk. I heard just the beginning. “This place was never meant to be some posh resort. It was supposed to be a place to step away from the busyness of the world, be in nature, give yourself over to the rhythmic sounds of the ocean, the call of the gulls, the barking of the seals. Reflect and renew.”

  No wonder it was such an ideal spot to hold the yarn retreats. It was as if it had been perfectly designed for it. I also understood why Kevin St. John had gone unplugged. It did go with the atmosphere of the place. I would really have liked to listen to more, but I had to go. There were desserts and muffins to be baked.

  As I walked outside into the damp night air, I glanced around at the old weathered buildings that were barely visible in the darkness and I felt a deep appreciation for the place.

  The Blue Door was locked up and dark, since it was the one day a week it was closed. I lugged the two tropical-patterned, recycled-plastic shopping bags full of the baking ingredients for the muffins up the short staircase to the porch that ran along the converted house.

  Because the restaurant was closed I was able to get an earlier start on the baking. I flipped on the lights and glanced through the tall frame windows in the dining room as I went to the kitchen. I was used to seeing the streets empty, but at this earlier hour, there were still people coming in and out of restaurants and going into the movie theater for the last show of the night.

  I turned on some mellow jazz and got into my baking groove. I was really in the zone, rolling out piecrusts and slicing up apples for the pie. I made a crumb crust to sprinkle over the pies and soon the air was filled with the scent of cinnamon, cooking apples and the buttery crust. I moved on to the cakes and in no time was filling tube pans with chocolate pound cake batter. When the pies were baked and cooling an
d the cakes baking, I started in on the muffins. They mixed up quickly and were baked and cooling when I heard a knock on the glass portion of the restaurant door. When I went to answer, I saw Dane’s angular face in the semidarkness of the porch.

  “I’m here to get the spinning wheels,” he said as he came in, unzipping his black hooded sweatshirt. He stopped and sniffed the air. What’s it today?” But before I could answer he started guessing. Probably as a result of all his martial arts training, there was precision and grace to his movements as he followed me through the dining room.

  “I smell cinnamon,” he said. “Apple pie, right?” I pointed at the dessert counter at the front of the restaurant. With the satisfaction of being right, he nodded at the lineup of golden crumb–topped pies in the glass dome–covered pedestals. “And something chocolate, too,” he said, admiring the two chocolate pound cakes under glass domes.

  He continued with the game all the way to the kitchen. “More cinnamon with some other spice, maybe ginger.” He closed his eyes. “Now what muffins have cinnamon?” I handed him a paper bag with some of the muffins I’d set aside for him. He held it to his nose and sniffed. Still with his eyes closed he reached inside and took one of the warm muffins out of the bag and took a bite.

  “Hey, that’s cheating,” I said.

  “Who said there were any rules?” he teased. “I’ve got it. You made the Fourteen Carrot ones.” He opened his eyes and looked at the warm brown muffin with flecks of orange.

  “I want you to know I appreciate that you know my muffins by their real names,” I said, thinking “carrot muffins” sounded so dull in comparison.

  “Anything to make you happy,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He was back to his flirty, playful manner, as if the previous night had never happened.

  I had the muffins packed up in boxes, ready to be dropped off at the various spots around town. I offered to let him into Nicole’s studio first so he could pick up the spinning wheels and be on his way, but he said he wasn’t in a hurry and would help me drop off the muffins.