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

  When he was happily eating, I hastily pulled open a carton of yogurt and grabbed the phone. I called Maggie and got her this time. There was the sound of voices in the background. I heard the steam from the espresso machine and someone giving an order for a nonfat, foam-only cappuccino. “This isn’t the best time to talk,” she said. Her helper, Carol, was there, but this was prime time in the coffee business. I quickly told her about the muffin that had been at the crime scene.

  “Now I get what you meant in your message,” she said. “That certainly changes everything. Whoever bought the coffee and chocolate and vanilla muffin must have come in on Monday. I know we sold out of those muffins before noon. It is kind of strange, though. If you’re right and somebody gave Nicole the poisoned coffee, why would they use coffee from the day before? Let me think about it and see if I can remember anything about that morning.”

  My mind was still on Nicole as I showered and got ready. I was frustrated that everything seemed all over the place and there were lots of questions bouncing around in my mind. As I sat wrapped in a towel I picked up the phone and punched in Frank’s number.

  “Feldstein, is that really you?” he said in mock surprise. “I can’t believe you’re calling at such a reasonable time, though it is Saturday, which lots of people consider an off day.”

  “C’mon, Frank. You told me a good detective never has a day off.”

  “No, Feldstein. What I said was a detective’s dream was to have enough work that he had to work weekends.” I heard the squeak of his recliner chair, which he had told me he had in both the office and at home. “So what’s up? More dead bodies? Something going on with the cop down the street? Your old boyfriend make himself disappear and can’t find his way back?” Frank punctuated it with a chortle.

  “This is serious,” I said. “I have a whole lot of pieces of information like a jigsaw puzzle and I can’t seem to make out what the picture is. I thought you could help.”

  “Uh-oh, you aren’t about to start laying it on about what a crime-solving genius I am, are you?” I heard him laugh, so I knew he was joking, even though there was some truth in what he said. Only I’d planned to leave it at “superdetective.”

  “Okay, let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  It turned out the first thing I had to do was bring Frank up to speed. “Feldstein, I haven’t been sitting around here mulling about your last phone call. All I remember is something about some awful-sounding jewelry and maybe some blackmail.”

  I reminded him about Nicole and how we’d both agreed it didn’t seem like suicide. I started to talk about the fact that Nicole hadn’t been well liked and there were a number of people who might have wanted her dead. “There’s a woman named Wanda who seems to have been the town’s premier spinner until Nicole came along,” I said.

  Frank started to protest, saying he hoped I wasn’t going to say she was trying to spin gold out of straw. I knew he was trying to be funny, but I persisted and told him how Wanda had ended up taking Nicole’s place for my retreat. “And there’s something odd—” I debated if I should tell him about the salad spinners she’d bought before Nicole was dead. It seemed like a lot of effort to explain what the salad spinners were used for. I finally kept it short and just said Wanda had bought some equipment for the retreat when Nicole still had the job.

  Frank was having a hard time understanding how important being the premier spinner was to Wanda. I started to explain that she was rather plain and had been overshadowed by her younger sister, who had been the prom queen.

  “It was the same year that Nicole’s husband was the prom king,” I added. “He was quite the heartthrob and I think a number of women were upset when he married Nicole.”

  “Maybe Wanda’s sister was one of them and she decided to get her out of the way?” Frank said. “It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened. But it seems to me you thought the victim was involved in blackmail. Doesn’t it make sense to be looking at the guy you saw leave her an envelope? Any ideas what information she might have had on him?”

  “I have no proof the envelope had anything to do with blackmail. I could ask Burton Fiore about it, but if it had to do with blackmail, I’m sure he would lie.”

  “Good thinking, Feldstein,” Frank said, punctuating it with a chuckle. “People rarely fess up to stuff like that.”

  I brought up the bank that had become Nicole’s store and how I’d found out it had sat vacant until she’d rented it. I described how she’d had to leave it looking like a bank, with the tellers’ cages and the vault, and how there’d even been a stack of old ledgers, though she’d used the paper for kindling in the fireplace.

  “A fireplace in a bank,” Frank said incredulously.

  “It’s a small town and I guess it was the only source of heat in those days,” I said, surprised by his comment. I mentioned how I’d thought someone had broken into the place earlier in the week, but it had been explained away. “But when I went in there yesterday, it looked like somebody had been in there looking for something again.”

  “Maybe it was the victim’s husband,” Frank said.

  “I don’t think so. He gave me free access to it and everything in there. I’m sure he dreads having to deal with the place. It is such a reminder of her.”

  “So cross him off the list. Any idea what whoever was after?” Frank asked. I made the mistake of bringing up the box of moldy clothes and the items I’d thought were hidden in the box. Frank had a good laugh.

  “Feldstein, it sounds like a box waiting for the trash.” I told him Nicole’s husband had thought the same thing, but she’d insisted she wanted to refurbish the old fabrics.

  “There’s something more. It seems like someone was shredding the pages of those old ledgers.” I could tell I was losing Frank’s interest, so I quickly added more or less what Virgil had said, that the pages were such ancient history it seemed like a waste of time to bother shredding them when you could just throw them away. “The man who’d worked at the bank told me the ledgers had held the old sign-in sheets when people wanted to access their safety-deposit boxes.”

  There was silence on Frank’s end and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep or hung up, but then I heard the squeak of the recliner chair and a grunt as he shifted his weight. “I was just thinking,” he said, “I wonder what was on those sheets. Too bad you didn’t have a look at them.”

  “Wait a second,” I said, walking across the kitchen before going across to the guesthouse. I had forgotten the obvious—the way I knew what was being shredded was by the partial sheet I’d found in the shredder. I smelled the mildewy scent as soon as I went inside. I lifted the torn sheet off the top and looked at it.

  “See anything interesting, Feldstein?” Frank asked.

  At first my eye just went down the page and I was about to say that it just seemed to be a list of signatures and printed names, but then one of the names popped out at me. “Edmund Delacorte,” I said.

  “Who’s that? Frank asked. I scanned the sheet again and I noticed something weird. “Feldstein, are you still there?” Frank demanded.

  “Sorry,” I said. I gave him a quick review of the Delacorte family and who Edmund had been. “But here’s the strange thing,” I said. “There’s a box number next to Edmund’s name and then a few lines down, the same box number appears again.”

  “So maybe he went into his box twice,” Frank suggested.

  “No. It’s a different name. Or at least the beginning of a different name. That’s just where the page is torn. All I can see is that it began with an M.” Something from the back of my mind came to the forefront. “The man I met who used to work at the bank said that Edmund Delacorte came into the bank every Friday and went to his safety-deposit box.” Julius had followed me into the guesthouse and sat down next to me and began cleaning himself.

  “And then what, Feldstein,” Frank
said, sounding impatient. “Maybe the bank guy knows who this M was?”

  “No. Virgil made a point that Edmund came into the bank just as he was going to lunch.” I stopped talking as I realized that it sounded like a plan.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Feldstein?”

  “Edmund was leaving something in the safety-deposit box and the M person was picking it up,” I said, getting excited.

  “How about it was money and some kind of payoff,” Frank offered. “Very clever for him to time it so he got there just before this Virgil guy went to lunch, and then to have the mysterious M come in while somebody took over for Virgil. There was probably fill-in staff and different people all the time, so they wouldn’t have noticed the same person coming in every week. Have you had a look at the safety-deposit boxes?” he asked. I told him the locks were all off and the boxes were empty.

  “Nicole must have figured it out. She must have looked through the ledgers and seen the same pair of names connected to the same box,” I said.

  “But what did she figure out? What was this Edmund paying somebody off for? Feldstein, you got a lot of facts there, but there are still some missing pieces. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.” I hadn’t even gotten to mention my threatening note. I barely had time to thank him for his help before he was hanging up.

  Had Frank just given me a compliment? Or was it just a way to get off the phone? I tried to put the pieces together, but still all I got was that Nicole must have figured out that Edmund was paying somebody off. But why would anybody care now? There was no more time to think about it. I had a retreat to run.

  23

  I was 100 percent focused on the retreat as I cruised in at the end of breakfast and grabbed a plate of hot food. With no care packages from Dane and all my running around, it seemed forever since I’d had a decent meal. I set my plate down next to Lucinda’s. I could always tell where she was sitting by the designer purse. She was making the rounds with the coffeepot. No matter how much she said she wanted some time away, she couldn’t seem to give up playing host.

  “Thank you for helping,” I said as I passed her. I went past all three tables of my people, greeting them. I was relieved that everyone seemed to be having a good time and was looking forward to spinning.

  I scanned the group hoping to see Wanda among them, but she wasn’t there. Nor was Crystal. My mouth was sore from smiling when I finally took my seat, but I didn’t want to let on that I had any doubts about the activities for the day.

  Lucinda filled my coffee cup and slipped into the seat next to me. I thanked her for the coffee and mentioned seeing Tag at the restaurant when I’d gone to bake. “He really misses you,” I said.

  “Really?” she said as a soft blush colored her cheeks. I told her about our conversation.

  “Tag feels left out,” she said. “I’m sure he appreciated being able to talk to you. It is hard for him to understand the kind of friendship we have.”

  “After he left, Sammy came by,” I said. As I was telling her about the magic show, there was something nagging at the back of my mind. Was it something he said?

  “He’s a sweet guy,” she said and I had to agree. “Anything new about anything else?” she asked, glancing around to see if anyone was listening to us. They weren’t.

  She didn’t have to elaborate for me to know what she meant. I told her about my call with Frank. “I think Nicole figured out that Cora’s brother was paying somebody off, but I can’t figure out why anyone would care about that now.” I brought up the shredded pages. “But it seems like somebody was trying to get rid of the evidence.

  Lucinda hung her head. “I feel terrible. I’ve been hanging around here having a great time and you’ve been off trying to solve a mystery on top of everything else.” My friend urged me to eat. People were already beginning to get up from the tables and, in the interest of speed, I slapped the scrambled eggs between the rye toast.

  I knew what she meant by “everything else.” “So you picked up on my concern about the spinning,” I said. I went to take a hasty bite of my sandwich but everyone at the table was leaving. I wrapped it in a napkin and figured I’d just take it with me. I felt like I could be honest with her and I told her how bad I felt that I had left everything in someone else’s hands. “First it was Nicole and now Wanda. If I ever put on another retreat, I’m going to know exactly what the program is going to be and how to do it. We only have today and a little of tomorrow. These people are just going to be learning how to spin. How fast does it go?”

  Lucinda tried to reassure me that it would be fine and reminded me that I’m managed to overcome all the roadblocks so far, starting with Nicole’s death, then not being able to have the sheep sheared in front of the group, and dealing with Wanda.

  “If you call dealing with her letting her stonewall me,” I said. As we passed one of the tables our group had taken over, I noticed that Ronny Fiore was still sitting down. I’d missed her during my early go-round and told Lucinda to go on ahead. “It’s particularly important that she has a good time,” I said. “It wouldn’t help my case if she tells her stepmother-to-be that I didn’t deliver what was promised.”

  My friend headed to the door and I stopped next to the young woman. “I hope you’re enjoying the retreat, Ronny,” I said, putting on my most pleasant voice, realizing this was also a chance to find out about her and her father with a few well-positioned questions. I had learned during my time doing phone interviews that the best plan was to keep it friendly and never make it seem like an interrogation. She looked up with halfhearted interest. When I got a look at her plate, it seemed like she was dissecting the food.

  “I suppose working for a hotel as you do, makes staying at another one not exactly a holiday.” She brightened at my comment.

  “I can’t help it,” she said. I can’t eat a meal without wondering about the quality of the ingredients. And the rooms here.” The shake of her head made it clear they weren’t up to her standards.

  “If it were up to you, what would you change?” I asked.

  “Everything. We already have—” She cut herself off. “My father has already talked to Cora about making the running of Vista Del Mar a family enterprise, meaning with my experience and his know-how, we can take the burden of running it off of her shoulders.”

  “I didn’t realize it was on her shoulders,” I said, seeing Kevin St. John come into the dining hall. Ronny saw who I was looking at.

  “Cora is such a dear, but she has left entirely too much up to him.” Ronny glanced around at the groups in the emptying dining hall. “You must realize how dated this place is. Imagine a bunch of modern buildings, rooms with flat-screen TVs, luxury bathrooms, and Wi-Fi everywhere. Knock down all these trees and put in a golf course.” As she went on I realized she could have been describing any of a bunch of local resorts.

  “But the whole atmosphere of Vista Del Mar would be gone and its unique beauty. That sort of place would lose all the retreat business,” I said.

  She turned and looked at me like I was crazy. “That’s the point. We don’t want groups expecting reasonable rooms that include meals. Instead of offering all these quaint little meeting rooms, we’ll put in some luxury villas. If we decide to keep it as a conference center, we’d put in a big structure that could attract high-end groups for conventions and meetings.”

  The more I listened, the more horrified I got. I’d had the feeling both she and her father were taking mental measurements of the place and thinking about changes. I had no idea they were that far along. I half expected her to pull out some blueprints.

  “And Cora agrees with all this?” I said.

  “I’m sure she will. There’s no reason to worry her with it now that her head is filled with wedding plans. I’m going to help her with everything.”

  It seemed like an opening and I mentioned that I’d seen her father
in The Bank talking to Nicole. “Cora’s so lucky to have him. I suppose he wanted to get her something really special. Everything Nicole had was one of a kind,” I said.

  She gave me a strange look. “You must be mistaken. I’m sure he’s never even been in there.”

  Sometimes my attempts to get information didn’t work out. Either Ronny was lying or she didn’t know why her father was in the store. I reminded her that the workshop would be starting soon. I probably should have been glad that she didn’t seem enthused. At least I didn’t have to worry about her being disappointed.

  People were milling around outside before the different morning workshops began. I rushed on ahead and went directly to the room where the spinning wheels were set up. The wood paneling and brown carpet made it much darker than the other room we’d used. There were plenty of windows, but they looked out into a thick stand of trees. As soon as I turned on the lights it seemed a lot more inviting. Folding chairs had been arranged around the couches and easy chairs to accommodate the whole group. A fire had been laid in the fireplace, but not lit.

  Wanda came in at almost the same time I did. As she went to open the bin she’d left the day before, I mentioned that there didn’t seem to be very much wool. She turned and glared at me. “There wouldn’t have been even that much if Nicole had been running this.” The little woman in lavender slacks and another blah sort of floral top didn’t wait for a comment from me, but grabbed a handful of the rolls of wool, and like a whirlwind began to distribute them.

  Will came in and lit the fire. Afterward he came over to me. “I just wanted to stop by to make sure you had all the supplies you needed,” Will said. There was something sad in his gaze as he looked at the spinning wheels and I imagined that he was thinking that Nicole should be the one there now. I brought up my last trip to her store and asked if he’d made sure that the lock was secure on the back door. He shrugged off the question with a heavy sigh. “That place is just a heartache to me now.”