Knit Fast, Die Young Page 5

  “I don’t know. I was asleep.”

  “Did anyone know you were going there?”

  “No. I didn’t say anything because I knew how Felicia would be. She likes—liked having me right there. Oh God. Is she really dead?”

  It was the first crack in her façade, and the first normal reaction they’d seen from her. “Yes, Ms. Patrino. She’s really dead.”

  “What do I do?” she said, almost to herself. “What do I do now?”

  “For now you stay at the festival.”

  She looked up. “Are you arresting me?”

  “Not yet.” Charlie stood up. “We’ll look at your car. In the meantime, Detective Pierce will take you back to the other barn.”

  “Okay.” Debbie, subdued now, rose and allowed Josh to lead her to the door. Josh sent Charlie a quizzical look over his shoulder, though. Debbie was their best suspect so far. It didn’t make sense to send her away just yet.

  As he reached for the handle, the door blew open, bringing with it gusty rain and a very large man. If the room had been cool before, now it was chilly, and not just because of the wind. The man’s glacially blue eyes took in the barn and its occupants, and not one trace of emotion showed on his set face to give a clue to his thoughts. Debbie shrank back against Josh. Not an unreasonable reaction, he thought. There was something sinister about the man as he stood there in his black leather trench coat and gray fedora—something forbidding—until he suddenly smiled.

  “Hey, Charlie,” he said. The door slammed shut behind him as he walked into the room.

  “Bill.” Charlie advanced with his hand outstretched, and the two men shook hands with easy familiarity. “So you’re in on this?”

  “Yes.” Bill looked around again as he removed his fedora. “What’ve we got?”

  “Tell you in a minute. This is Josh Pierce, one of my detectives. Josh, Detective Briggs, state police. He and I’ve worked together before.”

  “Detective.” Josh shook his hand. “Good to meet you.”

  Briggs nodded, his gaze trained on Debbie. “Who is this?”

  “Debbie Patrino, one of our witnesses,” Josh said. For some reason he suddenly felt protective of her. “I was just bringing her back to the other barn.”

  Briggs took out a walkie-talkie. “I’ll get one of the troopers to do that. We three need to talk.”

  “Sure.” Josh stood near the door with Debbie while Briggs, after taking off his trench coat and placing it carefully over the back of a chair, sat at the table with Charlie. He was grateful when the trooper Briggs had summoned came in. “Trooper”—he paused to glance at the man’s name tag—“Lopes will bring you back instead.”

  “Okay.” Debbie, her head held high, started out, the trooper following her.

  “No, wait a minute,” Charlie called. “Lopes.”

  The trooper turned. “Yes, sir?”

  Charlie looked at Briggs. “You bring the mobile command unit?”

  Briggs nodded. “It’s right outside.”

  “We need help questioning people.”

  “How many?”

  “About sixty or seventy, give or take a few. It’ll go quicker if we have others doing the questioning,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah.” He spoke into his walkie-talkie for a minute. “All right. I’ve got two teams in the unit ready to go. Lopes.”

  “Sir?” the trooper said.

  “After you leave Ms. Patrino in the other barn, start bringing the others to the command unit.”

  “Yes sir,” Lopes said, and he and Debbie left the barn.

  “All right, so what do we have?” Briggs asked. For the next few minutes Josh, with help from Charlie, filled in the details about the murder.

  “So that’s where we are,” he finished. “We’ve got one, maybe two, people who look good for this.”

  “Three,” Briggs said. “The assistant, the former assistant, who’s MIA, and Mrs. Evans.”

  “I doubt Ari has anything to do with this.”

  “The woman’s been involved in two murders now.”

  “Yes, Bill, but she didn’t kill Edith Perry,” Charlie put in.

  “It looks damned suspicious to me. How many people get into something like this? Regular people,” he amended. “I’m not talking about gangs or lowlifes.”

  “She didn’t do it.” Josh’s tone was flat. “She didn’t kill Perry and she didn’t kill this woman.”

  “Let’s make no assumptions.” Briggs leaned forward, looking at them thoughtfully. “You folks need another eye on this. You’re too close. Until she’s cleared she’s a suspect.”

  “Cleared how? No one saw her with Felicia until she called for help.”

  “That’s the kind of thing we can find out. I realize you can’t help being biased, but I’m not.” He looked at them coolly. “If you were coming to this cold, what would you think, given the circumstances?”

  Charlie’s mouth quirked, and then he nodded. “Okay, I see that,” he admitted. “But I’m betting that when we get it all sorted out, she’ll be out of it.”

  “You just proved my point.”

  Silence descended on the room. He was right, Josh thought. They couldn’t start an investigation of this magnitude with any assumptions. That didn’t mean he had to like it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t resent Briggs or his suspicions, if he wanted to.

  The door opened with another dramatic bang, and the wind riffled the papers on the tables. A state trooper, in a long black slicker and the high peaked hat of his uniform, stood there, holding a woman by her elbow. She was small and dumpy, and she wore a black coat and a pink angora beret, along with a strong air of indignation. “Detective, I thought you’d want to talk to this lady,” the trooper said.

  “Stop manhandling me,” the woman snapped, pulling her arm free.

  Briggs twisted his gold Cross pen closed and sat back, still ramrod straight. “What’s the story?”

  “She was driving into the fairgrounds, sir.”

  The woman glared at them, hands on her hips. “Why shouldn’t I?” Briggs glanced at the list of festival participants. “Do you have a booth?”

  “No. I’m attending this festival. Is that a crime?”

  It was an interesting choice of words, Josh thought. “We’ll explain in a minute. For now, can you tell us your name?”

  The woman glanced around the room, and then back at them.

  “Elizabeth Marley. Who are you?”

  “Detective Briggs, Massachusetts State Police,” Briggs said gravely, and Josh glanced at Charlie. Beth Marley, he thought. Felicia’s former assistant and a very current suspect in her murder.

  Chapter 4

  Diane let out a prodigious yawn. “Debbie’s been gone a long time, hasn’t she?”

  “She was missing a long time,” Ari said. “They’re going to have a lot of questions for her.”

  “Mm. When do you think they’ll let us go?”

  “I don’t know. There are still a lot of people here who haven’t gone out for questioning yet.” Ari continued knitting as she glanced around, her fingers moving automatically. She’d put aside the ribbon shell in favor of the rug yarn and large needles needed for padded coat hangers. The design was so simple she could do it in her sleep.

  She wasn’t the only one keeping busy, or at least trying to. Across from her, one woman worked industriously at her spinning wheel, though Ari noted that her eyes darted about from time to time. Several people stood together near the booth displaying hand-dyed yarn, discussing the merits of natural versus chemical dyes. Oddly enough, few people had left their own tables or booths. In such a big barn, with a tragedy to unite them, everyone was staying separate.

  Diane had given up any pretense of work and sat back with her arms crossed. “You did a yarn over.”

  “What?” Ari glanced down at the long knitted strip and saw the mistake she’d made several rows back. Without realizing it, she had brought the yarn forward over the needle, thus adding another stitch but
also making a hole in the fabric. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she pulled the piece off the needles and unraveled it past the mistake. “I hate these things.”

  Diane was looking at the work with her lips pursed. “You know, Ari, if you used different yarn you could make lace hangers.”

  “Be real.”

  “No, really. Use DK or fingering yarn and make a lace design. They’d be a hell of a lot nicer than that.”

  “Hm.” Now Ari frowned thoughtfully. DK, double-knit yarn, and fingering yarn were both thin and light. “That’s a thought. Luxury coat hangers. I could use silk ribbon, or something plain and line it with satin.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea, too.”

  Ari scrabbled in her knitting bag for the pad she always kept there in case an idea came to her. She began to sketch out a small design. Yarn overs to make lacy holes, stitches knitted together to form the pattern. “I can’t wait to get home to try this out.”

  “If they ever let us go,” Diane said.

  Ari set down her needles and plunked her elbows onto her table. “They’ll let you go, but not me.”

  “They can’t keep you here.”

  “Of course they can,” she said crossly. “I found the body. Again.”

  “They’re sure taking their time questioning people,” Diane pointed out.

  “I don’t think they have any other place to do interviews except the snack bar.”

  “Which reminds me. When are we going to get something to eat?”

  “Good question. I—oh.”

  “What?” Diane said, and then looked toward the door, where Debbie Patrino had just entered the barn, escorted by a state trooper. “She’s b-a-a-ck.”

  “They didn’t arrest her.”

  “Wonder why not. She’s a good suspect.”

  Ari frowned. Debbie was now wandering aimlessly around the barn, looking at people’s wares, oblivious to everyone staring at her. It was odd. “I don’t know about that. What reason would she have?”

  “The magazine,” Diane said. “Working under Felicia had to be tough.” She glanced at Ari. “Did you ever hear anything about them fighting?”

  “No, but I’m not too plugged into the gossip anymore.”

  “Was there anything in the online group you’re on?”

  Ari shook her head. She had gone from being computer illiterate to being a computer addict. Once she had discovered that there were Internet groups for knitters, she had joined as many as she could. “I told you, she was keeping a low profile.”

  “Yeah, but there could be stuff we don’t know about her. I mean, look how she was following Felicia around before, like Felicia was the queen and she had to stay ten steps back.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Like Debbie was Felicia’s servant.”

  “Oh, okay. I get it.” Ari rested her chin on her fist. “Still, I get the feeling that Debbie did that on her own. I told you, she’s smart.”

  “Maybe, but no one seems to want to have anything to do with her.”

  Ari leaned past Diane to see what she meant. At the end of the barn to their left, Debbie had stopped at a booth selling mohair yarn. Though Debbie seemed to be admiring the yarn, the vendor wasn’t looking at her. “You know, this is only going to get worse.”

  “How?”

  “Once the police question everyone, then we’ll all be stuck here. All of us suspects.”

  “You think they’ll keep us here in the barn?” Diane asked, surprised.

  “I don’t know, but they’ll want to keep an eye on us.”

  “What about the out-of-towners?”

  Ari began to answer, but at that moment Diane’s cell phone rang. While Diane talked to her husband, Joe, Ari turned away to give her some privacy. She was just starting to knit again when she became aware of someone standing near the table. She looked up to see Debbie looming above her.

  “Hi,” Debbie said brightly. “How’s business?”

  It was such an odd thing to say that Ari raised her eyebrows. “Slow. What do you think?”

  Debbie shrugged. “It’s something to talk about. There doesn’t seem to be much else.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Debbie.”

  “Well, is there?” Debbie said challengingly, and suddenly Ari understood. No one was going to talk to Debbie about Felicia.

  “Maybe.” Ari pulled the other folding chair out from the table. “Here, sit down. You look tired.”

  Debbie shrugged again and sat down. “Who’s that hunky cop?”

  “Who do you mean?”

  “That detective. He’s good-looking.”

  “Josh?” Ari glanced away. Josh was attractive, with his autumn-colored hair and his deep brown eyes. She’d noticed that about him immediately last fall, though at the time she’d been a murder suspect. “Yes, he is.”

  “You know him?”

  “It’s a small town.”

  “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. I’d be interested if he didn’t think I killed my boss.”

  “Well, did you?”

  The two women stared at each other, and then Debbie grinned. “Don’t you know? I thought you were the one who found her.”

  “She stumbled into me,” Ari said, shuddering at the memory. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t see you around.”

  “I did a good job of disappearing, didn’t I?”

  Ari frowned at her. “If you keep talking like this, they’ll really think you did it.”

  “Oh, la-di-da. How the hell did I pull that off? Knitting needles aren’t that sharp.”

  “I don’t know,” Ari said. “Apparently with enough force it can happen.”

  “It has to be someone strong, then,” Debbie said, pulling back her sleeve. “Hm. What do you know. Muscles.”

  Debbie’s arm was indeed solid and strong-looking. “Debbie, this isn’t the time to be talking like that.”

  “It’s how I talk. Anyway, if I lie they’ll trip me up later.”

  “I’m not talking about lying,” Ari said, surprised that Debbie was thinking that far ahead. Most people in her predicament would be scrambling for a way out. “You should probably just keep some of your thoughts to yourself.”

  “I can’t. Never could. I’m not going to change now.”

  “That must have made working with Felicia hard.” Diane said. She had just put her phone away and was leaning forward to look at Debbie.

  “Felicia was cool with it.”

  “Cool with it?” Ari said. “Felicia?”

  “Yeah, she was okay.”

  Ari and Diane exchanged glances. “How was she to work for?”

  “She was okay,” Debbie repeated, and set her lips. The silence that descended upon them was so uncomfortable that Ari wished she’d never asked Debbie to sit down. She wasn’t going to learn anything about the murder this way, she thought.

  Sighing, she picked up her needles again. Debbie watched her for a moment and then reached for the design Ari had sketched earlier. “What’s this?”

  “Just an idea for a coat hanger.”

  “A lace coat hanger. Are you going to line it?”

  Ari glanced at the sketch. “Yes, I think so, or the wood will show through.”

  “It’s an interesting idea.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Have you ever thought of writing a book?”

  “A book? No. I’ve got enough to do.” Ari worked quietly for a moment. “A book about what?”

  “Design. Ideas, and how to work them into something. Turning something ordinary into something unusual. Hell, I don’t know. Write about solving knitting murders.”

  “That’s enough.” Ari laid down her needles, feeling as if she were talking to her daughter, Megan, rather than to a grown woman. “It’s one thing to spout out whatever’s on your mind, Debbie, but that’s going too far.”

  “It would sell.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake! I’m sorry I asked you to sit down.”

  Silence fell again, tens
e and awkward. “What happens to the magazine now?” Ari asked after a little while.

  “Oh, that depends on Felicia’s will, and what Winston thinks. Her husband, you know. No.” A muscle in her cheek twitched. “Her widower.” She jumped up from the chair. “I can’t just sit here anymore. How can you two just sit there?”

  “What else is there to do?”

  “Move around, get some exercise.”

  Ari watched her go. Debbie’s steps were uneven, jittery, and she seemed filled with manic energy as she flitted around the empty Sheep to Shawl pen. Something was wrong, Ari thought.

  “Someone didn’t take her lithium this morning,” Diane muttered.

  “Just what I was thinking. She’s acting weird.”

  “Do you think she’s bi-polar?”

  Ari watched as Debbie, apparently finished examining one of the looms, walked back toward them. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Her boss was killed.”

  “No, beyond that.”

  “You know, I probably will take over the magazine,” Debbie said without preamble as she returned. “I’ve always wanted to be the boss.”

  Ari stared at her. Debbie had just confessed to a motive. “I heard you actually run it.”

  Debbie laughed. “You’ve been listening to Marley too much. Where is she, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She’s a jerk. Felicia had control of that magazine. You’d better believe that.”

  “Did she really give bad reviews to people who didn’t buy ads?” Diane asked.

  “No, that’s a myth. She was more professional than that. She could be hard on people she didn’t like, though.”

  “That seemed to be everyone,” Ari said.

  “No. I told you, she wasn’t as bad as she seemed. Me, I’m different. I’m an equal opportunity offender. I’m going to insult everyone.”

  Ari stared at her. “For God’s sake, why? You’ll make as many enemies as Felicia did.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m funnier than she was.”

  “If you make fun of people, that won’t matter.”

  “You’ve got to go by context,” Debbie said, suddenly serious. “If I say things in a mean way, of course, I hurt people. But if I praise their work and speak well of them, it won’t be so bad. People will be lining up to be insulted by me.”