Suzanne poured Lucy a margarita from the blender, then filled a glass for herself. She had even coated the edges of the special glasses with coarse salt.

  “Here’s to knitting,” Suzanne toasted. They clinked glasses and Lucy took a sip.

  It was sweet, tart, salty, and cold all at once and when she closed her eyes a second, it did almost feel like summer.

  Lucy wasn’t sure margaritas and knitting needles were the best combination, though a sip or two couldn’t hurt, she thought, and might even help her improvise when she misread her patterns. Unlike real life, knitting could be ripped back and started over the morning after. No explanations necessary.

  Suzanne set a basket of chips and some chunky-looking guacamole in the center of a low wooden table in the great room. Lucy followed and sat on the big sectional that was dotted with large boldly colored pillows.

  “You didn’t have to make all this food, Suzanne,” Lucy told her. “You spoil it for the rest of us. I can barely serve coffee and cake.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. I like to cook for you guys. You actually sit, take your time, chew the food. Taste it. My kids inhale it and Kevin is usually watching the news, or he’s home so late the stuff has been sitting in the oven a few hours and the thrill is totally gone.”

  Kevin’s contracting business was one of the busiest in town. Sometimes he bought low-end houses, renovated them, and Suzanne handled the sales end. They’d done well flipping a few times, though that market had gone pretty flat lately.

  “I just don’t know how you pull it off, with the kids and your job and all.”

  Suzanne laughed. “It’s like spinning plates, Lucy. You get one going, then start the next. Make sure the spinning ones don’t crash on the floor.”

  Lucy liked that paradigm. If she ever had to juggle a job with child raising, she’d have to remember it. She scooped up some guacamole on a chip and popped it into her mouth.

  “How did you make this? It’s awesome.”

  “Secret recipe…I’ll write it down for you later.”

  Suzanne’s twins ran into the room, Jamie and Ryan, who were eight years old. They both wore pajamas that looked like football uniforms, the New England Patriots, of course. Their hair was still wet from a shower, spiking up in spots.

  They seemed to somehow be simultaneously wrestling while running side by side. They came to a stop, hurtling into Suzanne as if she were a human trampoline.

  “Hey…what’s the story, guys? Did you finish your homework?”

  The boys had finished their homework, they claimed, but were in a hot dispute over a handheld video game. Lucy could see now that Ryan, who was slightly larger, held it in one hand and waved it over his brother’s head.

  Suzanne stood up, took the game, then took one boy by each arm, leading them out of the room.

  “Okay, that’s it. I warned you about fighting over that game. You’re going to bed. Say good night to Lucy…”

  “Good night, guys.” Lucy tried to smile at them, but they looked pretty unhappy. Jamie was red faced, about to cry, and Ryan was pleading his appeal.

  “But, Mom…Jamie started it…it’s not even eight thirty…”

  Suzanne placidly ignored him.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Lucy.

  The doorbell rang just as Suzanne reached the foyer with her captives. Lucy heard Maggie come in, along with Phoebe. Dana arrived a few moments later. Suzanne called Alexis to escort the boys upstairs and they all returned together.

  As margaritas were poured all around, Suzanne took two kinds of quesadillas out of the oven, sliced them up, and served them in the sitting area. Everyone found a place on the couches and pulled out their projects, then took turns complaining about what was going wrong.

  Luckily, Lucy had been too busy to go further with the sock monkey hat and was afraid to inflict more damage. She took it out along with the pattern and a picture of the finished product that she’d printed off the Internet.

  Phoebe was instantly fascinated. “You have to finish these, Lucy. They’re brilliant.”

  “Yes, I’m definitely going to finish. I promised Sophie and Regina.”

  And one of her New Year’s resolutions had been “no more knitting UFOs.”

  She did have a habit of starting things, getting frustrated, and jumping ship when only halfway done, especially if some new yarn or pattern caught her eye. Maggie had told her not to feel guilty, every true knitter hopped around. It didn’t mean she was fickle or slutty. It was more of a joie de knitting thing. So many patterns and yarns, so little time?

  Not too many knitters were like Dana, who stitched away as steadily as a plough horse, straight ahead, row by row. She never started anything new until she’d finished the project she was working on. Lucy noticed tonight that she was about to complete the shawl-collared cardigan she’d begun about two weeks ago.

  As the margaritas and tasty Mexican dishes disappeared, the conversation turned to Peter Goran and Maggie’s visit to the Knitting Nest.

  “He called yesterday afternoon, around half past four, I guess,” Maggie explained. “He wanted me to run right over. Lucy was in the shop, so she came, too. Thank goodness. It was sort of creepy,” Maggie admitted.

  “I’ll bet.” Dana glanced at Lucy. “How did he seem? Did he mention the murder?”

  “He wasn’t exactly paralyzed with grief.” Lucy recalled the way he had been laughing on the telephone. “He did say he knew people were gossiping and saying he killed his wife. But he claims it’s ridiculous. And impossible. He says he couldn’t have murdered her, he faints at the sight of blood.”

  Suzanne switched her knitting for her dish of quesadillas. “He came right out and said that? Wow, that was nervy.”

  Dana shrugged. “He knows people are talking. He wants to get his side of the story out.”

  “He wants to get out of town,” Maggie clarified. “He told us he’s moving down south or to Arizona. Someplace warm. That’s been his plan all along, while he and Amanda were getting divorced. But now the police are holding him up.”

  “He kept going on about Amanda’s murder being a simple robbery but the police are making too much of it,” Lucy added. “He said a few things were stolen and the shop had been ransacked.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.” Phoebe shook her head. “Anybody—including Peter—could have done all that to make it look like a robbery.”

  Dana put her dish aside and wiped her hands on a dark blue cloth napkin. “The police say there was no forced entry. No locks or windows were broken. Someone would have had to enter with a key.”

  “Or Amanda could have let them in,” Lucy added.

  Maggie dipped a chip in the guacamole. “Good point. I guess he still had the most to gain by her death.”

  “There was insurance money, too. I hear he’s going to get a nice check.” Suzanne leaned over and tested the quesadillas. “I can heat these up again if anyone wants?”

  “Who told you about the insurance claim?” Dana looked surprised, Lucy thought. She usually had the inside scoop on these things and wasn’t used to being trumped.

  “We use the same agent as the Gorans and I had to sign off on a change in our homeowners’ policy, so I stopped in there on Wednesday. The secretary was talking to Peter on the phone and I had to wait. I couldn’t help hearing at least one side of the conversation. Sounded like he was pushing hard to move the paperwork along on Amanda’s life insurance policy. Good thing the divorce wasn’t final or his name wouldn’t even be on it, I bet. It’s a pretty big number, too,” Suzanne added. “I guess I shouldn’t have eavesdropped,” she shrugged, “but I couldn’t help it.”

  “And Jack heard Peter’s alibi is weak,” Dana tossed in, not to be upstaged. “He told the police he was home alone on the morning of the murder and didn’t speak to anyone on the phone or see anyone before he left his house and found her body.”

  “No wonder the police told him to stick around.” Suzanne added a dollop of sour cream to her dish. “I’m surprised they didn’t arrest him by now.”

  “They need more evidence.” Dana was looking down at a piece of her knitting, smoothing it over her lap. “Solid evidence. So far, it’s all circumstantial.”

  “Yes, it is,” Maggie pointed out. “So his wife had an insurance policy and he’s collecting on it. You can’t assume he killed her just because of that.”

  Perhaps feeling unfairly suspected herself, Maggie spoke up to defend him. Lucy thought she made a good point. So far, it was all just gossip and guesswork.

  Okay, maybe Jack Haeger’s connections to the police force lent them a little more inside information than most people in town. But what did they really know about who may have killed Amanda?

  “You can’t assume but things do add up,” Dana argued as she examined the piece she was working on. “They add up and reach a critical mass. Unless there’s some big breakthrough, that’s how the police figure it out.”

  Maggie glanced at Dana over the edge of her reading glasses but didn’t argue the point further, just stretched out a length of yarn and kept knitting. Maggie was still working on the tote bag for Julie, Lucy noticed. Some wide stripes showed now and it looked like it was almost done.

  “Peter never mentioned that someone had broken into the shop on Sunday morning,” Lucy noted. “I think the police must have told him, don’t you?” she asked Dana.

  “Yes, I think they had to. After all, the shop is his now.” Dana looked down at her knitting, counting out stitches. “Maybe he didn’t have any reason to mention that situation to you and Maggie. He probably didn’t know you were the one who reported it.”

  Lucy had considered that possibility. She still thought it was an odd omission. He’d spilled his guts about nearly everything else. “It just seemed odd to me, unless he didn’t want us to know someone had been spotted sneaking into the building. Looking for something, maybe?”

  Dana nodded. “That’s possible, too. It does cloud his random robbery theory.”

  “What about the stock in the Knitting Nest?” Suzanne asked Maggie. “Are you taking any of it?”

  “It’s pretty good stuff. I’m going to take all of it.” Maggie looked up and paused, knowing they were surprised to hear her decision. “I called Peter today and made what I thought was a low offer, figuring he’d make a counteroffer. He said he’d found more yarn at the house—that was probably her real stash—and I could have the whole lot for just a little more. So I made a deal with him,” Maggie explained. “It’s about what I expected to pay just for what I saw in the shop.”

  “That sounds like a good bargain,” Dana said.

  “You ought to work in real estate, Maggie,” Suzanne added. “You’re a real closer.”

  “Don’t be silly. I would have even gone higher, but he isn’t a very good negotiator. He has no idea of the value of the stock. But he didn’t pay for it, either, so it’s all profit for him.” She shrugged and snapped a thread of yarn with her fingers. “I feel a little strange,” she admitted, “but it’s too good a bargain to pass up. I really can’t resist.”

  “Well, that’s a surprise ending to the story of you and Amanda.” Dana had come to the end of a row. She pulled out the needle, then began binding off the edge. “Who could have imagined that twist, you winding up with Amanda’s stash?”

  “I guess it is an ironic ending. If the story is finally over,” Maggie murmured.

  When nobody answered, she added, “It’s not like I feel some great victory by taking it. She would have wanted it to pass on to someone who knows the value of what she had in there, don’t you think? Not some big anonymous estate auction place.” Maggie turned to Lucy. “It’s a little like Lucy taking one of the dogs.”

  “You ended up with one of Amanda’s dogs?” Suzanne turned to Lucy, her brown eyes wide.

  Dana looked over at her, too. “Really? How did that happen?”

  “I don’t know. I felt sorry for the dog. Peter told us he’s just going to dump them all at a shelter. Her name is Tink and she’s very sweet. Sort of a golden retriever-ish mix…but not too big.”

  Phoebe took a handful of chips and crunched down loudly. “Goldens are great. Can you bring her to the shop tomorrow?”

  “She’s at the vet. She didn’t seem well and I brought her in to see what was going on. He decided to keep her there overnight.”

  “I bring Charlie to Dr. Newton. He’s pretty good but he’s gotten expensive.” Suzanne patted the huge chocolate Lab who was stretched out at her feet.

  “I went to McDougal, on Main Street. Peter said Amanda brought her dogs there and the office had all the records.”

  “I take Arabelle there.” Dana was very proud of her purebred Maine coon cat. Lucy was terrified of the beast.

  Arabelle would perch on top of a bookcase in the family room and hiss at everyone below. Once she took a flying leap and attacked Lucy’s knitting. Dana claimed it was just hunting instinct but Lucy thought dear Arabelle was psychotic and needed drugs. Dana seemed in denial about the cat’s social problems.

  “Did you get the father or the son?” Dana asked. “The son just joined the practice.”

  “I got…Matt. The son, I guess.”

  “He’s doesn’t look like a pro golfer, does he?” Dana gave her a knowing look.

  “Absolutely not,” Lucy agreed, trying to keep a straight face. She felt the others staring at her, especially Phoebe.

  “Some private joke going on here?” Phoebe looked at Lucy, then at Dana. “Share the mirth, girls.”

  “Nothing really,” Lucy said, moving on. “It looks like the dog ate something nasty and it’s stuck in her digestive tract. She’s getting medication so she can expel it. If that doesn’t work, she’ll need an operation.”

  “Whoa…I’m not done eating yet, if you don’t mind.” Suzanne made a face. “But I hope your dog gets better, Lucy.”

  “Me, too. It was nice of you to take her in.” Dana smiled at Lucy, then reached into her knitting bag and took out several pieces of her long cardigan. She spread them out on the coffee table, like parts of a puzzle.

  “Okay, I just finished. What do you think? All I have to do is sew it together and block.”

  Maggie leaned over and picked up a sleeve. “Nice work. You’ve got a very even gauge.”

  “High praise coming from you. Thanks. It has a belt, too,” she said, showing the long knitted strip. “I was looking through Cara’s book and thought I could really do something interesting with those felted flowers she used on her jacket.”

  Dana had brought the book with her and flipped it open to the section that showed the three-quarter-length jacket Cara had been wearing and the felted flower detail.

  “Oh, right. Those would look great on that sweater,” Suzanne agreed. “Maybe a few down the front?”

  Phoebe leaned over and looked down at the photograph. “It looks sort of complicated. Then you have to shrink them down…does she give good directions?”

  “Good question.” Dana slipped on her reading glasses and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. “The directions aren’t wonderful,” she reported after a moment. “And there aren’t any great pictures, either. No step by step you can study. Once I have pictures I can usually figure things out.”

  “Bad book design. I would have thought of that,” Lucy said.

  “Maybe the graphic designer doesn’t knit?” Phoebe teased her.

  “Maybe…but Cara does,” Lucy replied.

  “I took pictures that day. But they’re still in my camera.” Maggie fished around her knitting bag and pulled out a slim digital camera. “I’m not great at getting these things in the computer, either. Why don’t you call Cara and ask her how to make the flowers? I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  “I don’t want to bother her, she seems so busy. I’ll just muddle along, see what I come up with,” Dana said, looking back at the book again.

  “Give me the camera.” Lucy reached over and took it off the table. “I’ll make prints and enlarge the flowers, if I find any.”

  “Super. Thank you.” Dana nodded appreciatively. “I can’t start the flowers until I find the yarn. It seems tricky enough without improvising.”

  “Let’s see, what does the pattern ask for?” Maggie pulled the book over and checked. “I don’t think I have any of that in stock…” She looked up and frowned, then her eyes lit up. “I’m pretty sure I saw some at the Knitting Nest today. I should have it soon.”

  “No rush,” Dana replied. “I still have to put this together and block it.”

  Knowing how efficiently Dana worked, Lucy guessed that phase would be done by tomorrow.

  Suzanne stood up and gathered a few dirty plates. “Who wants dessert and coffee?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I’d love some coffee. But I can’t eat another bite. Everything was too good. As usual.”

  A chorus of similar replies rose up from the rest of the women.

  “I made flan…light as a feather,” Suzanne said, tempting them.

  No one answered for a moment…then they all gave in.

  Suzanne’s flan was a rare treat. And, afer all, Lucy rationalized, it was Cinco de Mayo in March.

  Chapter Seven

  Lucy checked in with the Harbor Animal Hospital on Friday morning at about 11:00. It was not good news. Tink’s digestive tract was still in a state of gridlock.

  “I’d rather not operate if I can help it. She’s a little weak from not eating any solids,” Matt McDougal told Lucy. “Let’s give it another twelve hours. She’s on an IV and seems comfortable.”

  He had a nice voice, deep and relaxed sounding. It was not the first time Lucy had noticed. She gave herself a mental shake.

  “That sounds reasonable…I think I’ll come by later and say hello.”

  “Fine with me. But I’m booked with appointments until five thirty.”

  Very amusing. “I meant the dog,” Lucy replied.

  “I know.” She could hear the laughter in his voice but didn’t really mind it.

 

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