Silence of the Lamb's Wool (A Yarn Retreat Mystery) Page 23

  29

  The door to the Coffee Shop was blocked off with yellow tape. I looked through the uniforms to see if Dane was among them, but he wasn’t. Lieutenant Borgnine was just getting out of his car, and his expression was grim. I was able to get a glimpse inside the shop before one of the uniforms shooed me away. All I saw was a pool of blood and one of the wool combs. There seemed to be red droplets on the sharp tines.

  I recognized Carol, Maggie’s helper, talking to the officers as Lieutenant Borgnine joined them and she began her story again. The flat light of the white sky only made her look paler.

  “Maggie always comes in early. She leaves the front door locked until I get here,” she said. “When I got here, I knocked on the front door and when I looked in I saw she was”—the girl stopped and swallowed before she continued—“on the ground, right there.” She used the back of her hand to point inside as if she didn’t want to look in there again. “I ran around to the back. The door was open and I went inside.” She choked on her words a little as she said she’d called 911 right away.

  One of the officers told Lieutenant Borgnine that the paramedics said Maggie had been attacked with something sharp they’d found on the floor and there was a blunt-force trauma injury to her head. I was relieved to hear she was still alive, though in very bad shape.

  I didn’t know what to do. Should I tell them the sharp thing was a wool comb and possibly related to my yarn retreat and that I’d come to talk to Maggie because I thought she knew something about Nicole’s death? Or was it better to let them think I’d just happened by for a morning coffee? It couldn’t possibly be coincidental that Maggie knew something and now she was clinging to life. Two things struck me. If Maggie was attacked because she had figured out something about Nicole’s death, didn’t that prove that it wasn’t suicide? And maybe if I hadn’t meddled in the whole thing, Maggie would be behind the counter handing out drinks and good cheer. I heard the cops talking and they seemed to think robbery was the motive, but I knew better.

  “You need to get some kind of protection for Maggie, so whoever attacked her doesn’t try to finish the job,” I said. Lieutenant Borgnine acknowledged my presence for the first time with an unfriendly grunt.

  “And why is it we should do that?” he said in a condescending tone.

  I thought fast. If I brought up that I felt all this was connected to Nicole’s death, he’d tune me out right then. But they needed to realize Maggie could still be in danger. “Whoever was trying to rob the place probably thinks they killed her, but if they hear she’s alive they’ll realize she might be able to finger them.” Lieutenant Borgnine’s eyes went skyward and he mumbled something about my choice of words, saying they sounded like they came out of some PI’s mouth in a cheap novel.

  “I mean she might identify them,” I said, irritated at myself for changing my words to please him.

  “We’ve got it covered,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You can run along now. I believe you have a retreat going this weekend and I’m sure all those knitters need you.”

  I started to walk away, but when he thought I was out of earshot, I heard him tell one of the uniforms to go down to the hospital and keep watch on Maggie. At least I’d done that.

  And I’d thought the morning was rocky before. Still, this was no time to feel sorry for myself or dwell on how guilty I felt. I had to pull myself together for my yarn people. What my mother hadn’t quite understood was I really cared about the retreaters. It wasn’t just about finishing the retreat. I didn’t want to let them down.

  I was back on the Vista Del Mar grounds in no time. It seemed everyone was still at breakfast and it felt very quiet. My first stop was the original meeting room we’d used. It was the last place I’d seen the wool combs. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find. When Wanda had taken off, she had probably stopped to pick up what she’d left there.

  The room was swept clean and the tables neatly folded against the wall. The bins were still in the corner. I opened the lid of hers, feeling my heart race. The bag of salad spinners covered only part of the bottom. The pair of wool combs had been next to it. Now there was only one, with the tines pointed ominously up toward anyone who reached in. I thought over who had access to the bin—it seemed like everybody on the Vista Del Mar grounds.

  As I approached the Lodge, breakfast was ending and the crowd was filtering out of the dining hall. There was a different feeling on Sunday morning. For most of the guests, the yoga group and my retreaters, their stay at Vista Del Mar was coming to a close. They moved at a more leisurely pace than earlier in the weekend, savoring the last of their time on the wild grounds. I wished I could share their peace.

  I saw Lucinda coming toward me. Though she smiled, her eyes seemed concerned as they locked on to my face. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she reached me.

  “Is it that obvious?” I said, fidgeting with my scarf as if moving it around would make me appear less worried. Lucinda moved my hand, took the scarf off and changed the arrangement of it, which I was sure was an improvement.

  “You were a no-show at breakfast and your brows are knit together,” she said. There was no point in keeping the news about Maggie from Lucinda. So as we walked toward the meeting room on the ground floor of the Sandpiper building, I told her all of it, including how I felt it was my fault.

  She did her best to try to make me feel better, reminding me that I hadn’t merely been trying to stir things up, but was trying to find a killer. “Maggie will be okay. You’ll see,” she said. Just before we went inside, she started to pull away. “I better call Tag and tell him what happened.” She looked back in the direction of the Lodge. “I suppose there’s a line for the pay phones.”

  I handed her the keys to my place and told her it would be faster.

  I went on into the lobbylike room. Will must have been by; the lights were on and the fire lit. I forced myself to have an upbeat expression as I stood waiting for everyone to arrive. Folks started to come in groups of twos and threes. They all seemed to have tentative expressions as they came in, as if they weren’t quite sure what to expect. Who could blame them? Bree, Olivia and Scott came in together and then spread out. They knew all the roadblocks of the weekend and I watched as they tried to generate some enthusiasm in the group. I wanted to hug them all and thank them. The one person who didn’t show up was Ronny Fiore. No surprise.

  I tried not to be obvious, but I kept glancing toward the door looking for Crystal and her mother and the replacement yarn. I was relieved when I saw the two of them pulling a stack of bins up the path. It would probably cost me a lot of my profit, but at least they would all have yarn for the shawlette.

  I held the door for them and they wheeled the bins inside and went up to the front of the room. “I’m afraid we had to sort of mix and match,” Crystal said as she opened the top bin on her stack. There was a cornucopia of colors and the yarn had more of a uniform thickness than real handspun, but there appeared to be plenty of it. We were trying to work out the logistics of handing it out when the door opened and two women pulling red wagons rushed inside.

  “I’m sorry we’re late,” the first woman said.

  I did a double take. “Wanda?”

  “You sound surprised,” the short golf pro/spinning expert said. It was then she took in Crystal and Gwen’s bins of yarns. “What’s going on? Why did they bring all that yarn?”

  Just then Lucinda came in. She looked over the group of us in the front of the room with a puzzled expression and then slipped in with the rest of the retreaters.

  It was then that I noticed that the red wagon Wanda had pulled in was heaped with balls of thick natural-colored yarn. The other woman’s wagon was filled with the same.

  When we’d been discussing the whole retreat concept, Nicole had shown me an example of handspun yarn. Wanda’s load matched up with what I’d seen.

 
“You just sort of left yesterday,” I said. I waved at the still spinning wheels. I dropped my voice so no one else would hear. “I thought you bailed when you realized how there was no way they’d have enough yarn to make a shawl.” I nodded toward Crystal and Gwen. “They brought some yarn that looks sort of handspun.”

  “‘Sort of’ isn’t the real thing. I left you a note on the message board saying we’d be here,” Wanda said. The younger woman with her nodded in agreement and for the first time I really looked at her. She resembled Wanda and yet how could the same features on two women be so different? I was sure this must be the sister I had heard about. I instantly felt for my spinning instructor and could understand how she’d been outshone by her sibling. The sister was lovely with a tall graceful build and a different manner than Wanda’s. Wanda marched, while her sister had almost danced in.

  Wanda did her teapot pose. “I can’t believe you thought I would do that. You certainly don’t know me then.”

  I looked at the wagonloads of yarn. “Where did these come from?” I asked. Instead of answering me, Wanda turned to the group and told them they’d each need two balls and it was 100 percent handspun. In an instant the mood had lifted and they all seemed excited. Lucinda looked over at me with a bright smile. Bree and Olivia took it upon themselves to start handing out yarn from one of the wagons, while Scott and Lucinda worked the other one.

  “This is my sister, Angelina,” Wanda said, introducing the younger woman. Wanda noticed my eyes flitting back and forth between the two women, comparing their looks. She seemed to be used to the reaction and spoke what I was thinking. “I know you can’t believe we’re sisters, but we are,” she said. Wanda left it at that. Now I understood what the travel agent had said about Wanda being upstaged by her sister. Angelina smiled and nodded during the introduction, but then she turned toward the door.

  “I’m going to look for Will.” Angelina turned back and made eye contact with me. “This has to be such a hard time for him. I just want to let him know I—er, we’re here for him.” I wondered why she felt the need to explain.

  Gwen and Crystal had listened to the whole interchange. I apologized for their trouble and they started to leave, saying the yarn would be available in the gift shop.

  My group was totally immersed in the yarn and everywhere I looked, they were casting on stitches and beginning to knit. Wanda watched them with a pleased smile.

  I asked her again about the appearance of the yarn. Wanda did her teapot pose again. “Anybody with any sense would have realized Nicole’s plan was flawed. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She knew better. She had a fancy degree and that artistic shop.” Wanda rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it. “You don’t take a bunch of people who have never spun before and think they’re going to be able to learn how and then spin fast enough to make a couple of hundred yards of yarn. Nicole kept talking about some competitions they have at some wool festivals where they go from sheep to shawl in a day, but she didn’t bother looking into them enough to understand that it was teams of people working together to make one shawl. And teams of experienced people.”

  Wanda threw her hands up. “I knew what was going to happen. Maybe Nicole realized she’d gotten herself in over her head and that’s why she did what she did. If only she hadn’t been so high and mighty about the whole thing, I would have told her my plan.”

  “You were the one who bought the fleeces, weren’t you,” I said, remembering how the rancher had mentioned selling a lot of wool.

  Wanda nodded. “When I said I was a spinner extraordinaire, I wasn’t just tooting my own horn. I love spinning and I am fast. I figured when Nicole fell on her face, I’d step in and sell her the yarn.” As Wanda said it she handed me a receipt for the fleeces and an invoice for her time. “I was going to charge her extra for saving her behind, but since you ended up hiring me, I’m giving you a discount.”

  At the moment I was so glad to have the yarn to give my people, I didn’t care that with all that had gone on, I was barely going to break even. But then I was still learning the business.

  “Just one question,” I said as Wanda turned to join the crowd. “Why didn’t you just tell me about the yarn you had?”

  “And ruin the fun?” she said. “Do you think these women would have tried so hard with the wool if they knew it didn’t matter?” She reached down and handed me the last two skeins of yarn. “Knock yourself out.”

  When the wagons were both empty, Wanda picked up both handles and started toward the door.

  “You’re not leaving?” I said, coming up behind her.

  “My work here is done. All I signed on for was turning the wool into yarn. You can handle the rest.” And with that she left, rattling the wagons behind her.

  I was grateful for the yarn, but I still had to wonder how convenient it was that she had it. Just like the purchase of the salad spinners—as if she knew she was going to be taking over for Nicole. It wasn’t as if I’d even looked to Wanda as a replacement. She’d offered her services. Here’s the part I was having a hard time swallowing: It was clear she hadn’t liked Nicole. Would she really have gone to such trouble to save the day for Nicole, even if she got paid for it?

  And now with Maggie being stabbed with the wool comb . . . Maybe what Maggie knew pointed the finger at Wanda.

  30

  I sat knitting with the group. The pattern was simple and with the thick yarn and big needles, the shawl began to work up quickly, even for me, still a novice knitter. Lucinda moved over to sit next to me.

  There was a pleasant hum of conversation. One of the nice things about working with yarn in a group was that people tended to talk and friendships developed. I could see it in the group of retreaters. Bree seemed to have become close with the Ginger. The woman had seemed tense and subdued at the beginning of the weekend, but now was talking readily. Olivia was the center of another group and there appeared to be a lively conversation going on. Scott had attracted a group, too.

  I thought of my mother’s words. She was right. Was I actually even thinking those words? I chuckled to myself. The retreat was going to end on a high note. I had worked things out. One way or another I had actually managed to take the group from sheep to shawl. Did it really matter that Dr. Sammy had been a stand-in for the sheep or that they hadn’t spun all the yarn for their shawls? We had started with piles of wool and they were well on their way to completing the small wraps.

  “Tag was upset when I told him about Maggie,” Lucinda said, interrupting my good thoughts. Instantly I thought of my friend in the hospital and went back into worry mode.

  “He’s going to check on her and come here during our break,” she said. She smiled at the thought of her husband. “It’s kind of sweet the way he’s worried about me. He said he just wanted to see me in person to be sure I’m all right.”

  I had stopped knitting while she talked. I still needed to pay attention to one thing or another. But then I began again, working the garter stitch and watching the shawlette grow a little wider with each row. I might not be able to talk and knit, but I certainly could think and knit. Everything about Nicole began to roll around in my mind. Even with all the alibis and excuses, I wasn’t sure that one of the blackmailees wasn’t the guilty party in her death. But I didn’t have anything to prove they were. My whole sting had fallen flat when too many people showed up. And well, without the name of the mother, all my so-called evidence of what Nicole knew just became conjecture. The thing about DNA evidence was you had to know who to compare it with.

  Lucinda had begun talking to the woman on the other side of her and I listened to their conversation. At first they talked about the yarn and I was relieved to hear that it didn’t seem to matter to the woman that she hadn’t personally spun the yarn she was using. Then she began to talk about Wanda’s sister.

  “Such a lovely young woman,” the woman said. And then she
repeated what I’d thought—how amazing it was that while Wanda and her sister resembled each other, the end result in their appearance was so different. “That young woman’s eyes just sparkled when she said she was going to go looking for someone,” the woman said. “My guess is it was a man and someone she really liked.”

  The words resonated in my mind. The woman was right. The look on Angelina’s face and the tone of her voice had all changed when she said Will’s name. I thought back to what I’d heard about him and the young women in town. He was the high school hero type. He’d been the prom king when Angelina had been the prom queen. Something nagged at me there. Hadn’t someone said that he’d taken someone else to the prom? Maybe that someone had gotten in the way of their relationship then and it had happened again with Nicole. With her out of the way, Will was available. And an entirely new motive for murder showed up.

  The whole while I was knitting, I played around with the idea in my mind and by the time we took our break I wanted to go talk to Will. As we headed outside, I thought of going off to look for him, but Lucinda came up next to me and put her arm through mine as I zipped up my fleece jacket against the cool morning air.

  “I told Tag we’d meet him in the café. He should have some news about Maggie,” she said.

  Finding out about my friend who favored red won out and I changed my plans, going with Lucinda. The café was packed and the crowd spilled out into the main room of the Lodge hall. There was a lot of activity between people checking out and grouping by the door to wait for the van to take them to the airport.

  Lucinda went on ahead to find Tag, while I stopped in the main room with several of the retreaters who needed help arranging for transportation to the airport. I was surprised to see Liz Buckley and her daughter, Stacey, but then realized they were there in their professional capacity as travel agents picking up a group for a local tour when I saw the daughter holding a sign that said WINE TOUR.