A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (5 page)

One of the faces had a big red
X
drawn through it, and something about that struck Maggie as quite ominous.

“We checked the website this morning. But we didn’t get to that page,” Maggie told the others. “Those disguises are pretty wild.”

“Looks like they’re trying out for a school production of
Cats
,” Suzanne murmured. Maggie had to laugh . . . and agreed. The disguises were sort of tongue in cheek, she thought. But also, they gave her an eerie feeling. As if she’d just walked into a dangling cobweb. She shook it off and focused on the news report again.

“While it remains a mystery,”
Chelsea Porter summed up,
“it’s not exactly a cat-astrophe for Plum Harbor.”

Phoebe hit the pause button and glanced at Maggie. “Well, that’s it. Good publicity for the shop.”

“I bet zillions of people saw it,” Charlotte added.

“Thousands, at least. You were great, Mag. You sounded very expert,” Suzanne said.

“You sounded just right,” Dana chimed in. “The reporter was lucky to find you.”

“Well . . . thanks. I was in the right place at the right time.” Maggie sighed, glad it was over.

“Want to watch again? We were talking so much, I hardly heard a word.” Phoebe held out the remote and hit the rewind button.

“Once was more than enough for me,” Maggie quickly answered. “Let’s have dinner. I don’t want the food to get cold . . . and I have a project to show you.”

That was enough prodding to get them going. Maggie rose quickly from her seat and headed for the stairs. Her friends
stood up and followed her. “Thanks, Phoebe. That was fun,” Lucy said.

Feeling greatly relieved to have the entertainment portion of the evening over, Maggie quickly set up dinner, with her friends each grabbing a dish to help.

The slow cooker was set on the sideboard, next to the rice and salad, and everyone stepped up to help themselves.

Suzanne was first in line. “Did that kitty caper give you any ideas for a class, Maggie? Maybe you could parlay this for some publicity. Those meter covers must be good for something.”

“Possibly . . . I just can’t think of what.”

“I’ll tell you what they remind me of. Remember those toilet tissue covers everyone had in their bathroom when we were growing up?” Lucy laughed. “When I moved into the cottage, I found one my Aunt Claire made. It even had jiggly eyes. I think I saved it somewhere.”

Lucy lived in a cottage that she had inherited from her mother’s sister, Claire. She and her own sister had spent many summers there as children, so Lucy knew Plum Harbor well and had always loved it. She’d been living in Boston, emerging from a difficult divorce and ready to leave office and city life behind, when it was time to decide what to do with her aunt’s property. She’d come out to spend the summer a few years ago and ended up making the move permanent.

Suzanne nodded happily. “I remember those. My nana made them, too. I think everyone in the family had a few. But they were mostly poodles, weren’t they? I don’t remember cats.”

Maggie was last in line and helped herself to stew and salad. The dish did smell appetizing, or she was very hungry.

“Cats, poodles. Porcupines . . . I’m not running any classes on kitschy toilet-paper camouflage. I’d close the shop before I got that desperate. I already teach animal-face hats for kids. But I would like to do a real fiber art class sometime. The Knit Kats have done some amazing big installations covering statues and even a city bus. They did that to protest a hike in the bus fare.”

Phoebe and Charlotte finally came downstairs. Maggie had heard them moving all the furniture back in place. “Ready for dinner, girls? Help yourselves. There’s plenty.” She stood by the sideboard, making sure there were two plates and place settings left for them.

Charlotte had her coat on, a big leather tote hooked over one shoulder. “It looks delicious, Maggie. But I just got a text from someone at school, and I’ve got to get back to campus.”

“Charlotte’s artwork was chosen for an exhibit in the gallery on campus. The opening is Sunday night. So everything has to be ready,” Phoebe explained.

“What kind of artwork do you do, Charlotte?” Lucy asked.

“I’m working with fiber and found objects right now. The pieces are sort of conceptual settings . . . That doesn’t really explain it, right?” Charlotte laughed.

She was so pretty, Maggie noticed, though not for the first time. Tall and thin, with long, naturally blond hair, large, luminous eyes, and fine features. Charlotte often reminded Maggie of the ethereal beauties in works by Botticelli.

“Charlotte’s work is really good. You have to see it,” Phoebe said quickly.

“I’d love to,” Maggie replied. “May I come to the show?”

“Oh . . . wow. Sure. That would be great. It’s Sunday night.
I’d love you all to come.” Charlotte glanced around at the knitting circle, her gaze resting on Phoebe. “Phoebe’s going to be there. She can tell you what time it starts and all that. Just let her know if you can make it, and I’ll put you on the guest list.”

Looking pleased to have more friends at her reception, Charlotte waved good night, then slung her long purple scarf around her neck twice. Phoebe walked her to the door but soon returned.

“You might get ideas at that show for a fiber class, Maggie. There will be work by other artists, too. But Charlotte is the star.” Phoebe stood at the buffet and returned to the table with her dinner—a few bits of salad, some lonely-looking pita chips, and a dab of hummus.

“I’m free on Sunday. Count me in.” Dana flipped her knitting to the other side and smiled at Phoebe. “Jack has poker night. I was just going to hang around the house and do paperwork.”

“Matt will be watching the Patriots with his pals. He’ll never miss me,” Lucy told the others.

“It’s a little tough for me to shake loose on Sundays,” Suzanne admitted between bites of stew. “But if you’re all going, I will, too.”

With three children—a daughter and twin boys—and a full-time job in real-estate sales, Suzanne was a classic juggling mom. Her husband, Kevin, ran his own construction business, and his hours were fairly flexible, so they somehow worked it all out.

“Great. I’ll tell Charlotte to put us all on the guest list. Done,” Phoebe added.

“Stick with Phoebe. She’s our ticket to the hip events in this town,” Lucy told the others.

“Charlotte is jumping-out-of-her-skin excited . . . but she didn’t have too many people to invite,” Phoebe added. “Her mom died when she was in high school, and her dad lives in Arizona with a new family. Charlotte will like seeing us all there.”

Maggie nodded. She’d always had the sense that Charlotte was a lot like Phoebe that way—no strong family ties and not a large circle of friends at school, either. An artist and a loner. It made sense that they’d connect and be close friends.

“Mmm . . . this stew is really good. What’s in it besides chicken?” Suzanne took a second taste of her dinner, savoring the forkful.

“Some white beans, carrots, and onions. A little chopped tomato. Garlic, of course. Oh, a handful of raisins and chopped almonds. I just sort of winged it,” Maggie said honestly. “I’ll try to remember and write it down for you sometime.”

“Very tasty. I like the spices,” Dana agreed.

Maggie was pleased her experiment had worked out. “And we have Suzanne’s dessert to look forward to. Must be good, it took up two cake holders.”

“Was that what you carried in? Did you make a cake for each of us?” Dana asked with a laugh.

“One of Alexis’s school clubs ran a bake sale today, and she brought home the leftovers.” Suzanne had finished her dinner and picked up her empty plate.

“What was the charity?” Lucy asked curiously.

Suzanne shrugged. “I’m not sure . . . Carbs for a Cure?”

Maggie laughed. “I’m sure it’s some worthwhile project. We should make a donation. I don’t mind helping Alexis’s club.”

The rest of her friends agreed and helped to clear the dinner dishes. Maggie soon served the brownies and cupcakes—just as
crumbled and squashed as she’d expected—with coffee and tea while her friends settled down to work on their knitting in earnest.

Maggie sat down again and opened a folder she’d brought over from the sideboard. “All this dreary weather gave me an idea. The next bright spot on the calendar seems to be Valentine’s Day. I thought that was a worthy knitting goal, small gifts for your valentine?” Maggie showed the group pictures of projects she’d found. “Here are some little felted hearts and a knitted greeting card. A cup warmer, very cute, and a case for a phone or iPod. Everyone needs those. Oh, there’s a heart scarf, and I found two choices for mittens, moderately challenging and this very simple pair. You can sew a heart as an embellishment. The pattern was created by Eleanor Roosevelt. She was an avid knitter,” Maggie noted.

“If they were good enough for FDR, they’re good enough for Matt,” Lucy said decidedly, looking over the instructions.

“Just what I thought.” Maggie smiled at her. “And how about two-hour fingerless gloves and heart-covered socks?” She slid the pages directly to Phoebe. “Hard to resist.”

Her friends passed around the pictures and patterns. “I think Kevin would use the mug warmer. It’s a fast one, too.” Suzanne was fairly slow and easily distracted from her projects. The mug warmer did seem a good choice. “And every time he sips from a travel mug, he can think of his sweetie pie.” She made a silly romantic face.

“Same for Jack . . . though I think I’ll sew the top and turn it into a golf-club cover,” Dana decided with a laugh. “Do you think he’d be embarrassed on the course?”

“It might make him feel better after he hits a bad shot to remember somebody loves him anyway,” Maggie replied.

“Oh, this one is cute.” Lucy held up the picture of a pink bear with a red heart sewn on its chest. “Too bad Isabel and Regina are past the stuffed-toy stage,” she said, mentioning her nieces, whom she often knit for.

Phoebe took the page and looked it over. “It is cute. And doesn’t look hard, either.”

“It’s fairly simple,” Maggie said. “I stuck that one in because I thought we might make some extra gifts and share the love . . . and the knitting. There’s a shelter for homeless women and children in Newburyport. I thought we could make some bears and other things, and drop them off for the residents.”

“What a lovely idea. I’d love to do that.” Dana was the fastest knitter in their group. Maggie knew she could churn out a few of these projects by Valentine’s Day.

“I’ll try to make at least one extra,” Suzanne offered. “That is a nice idea.”

Suzanne was generally slow with her work, short on time and patience, Maggie knew. But she did a lot better with a goal, and Maggie knew she’d come up with something.

Lucy and Phoebe quickly agreed to make gifts for the shelter, too.

“So, heart-covered socks for Josh? Or maybe you’ve already made him a pair?” Maggie teased Phoebe.

Phoebe looked confused for a moment, then blinked and shrugged. “Yeah, he’s stocked with socks. He’s not getting any more out me, that’s for sure.”

Phoebe seemed upset. She and Josh must have had a fight. But before Maggie could decide if she should probe any further, the shop phone rang—the loud, shrill sound catching the group’s attention.

“Want me to get that?” Lucy was sitting closest to the counter and about to jump up.

“Oh, no . . . let the machine get it. Some customer checking on an order or something,” she guessed. Her friends sat quietly, waiting to hear the message.

But there was only silence. A long, empty silence. Then a very strange sound . . .

It sounded like a cat—an angry cat yowling. Then a muffled voice said, “Maggie Messina? Needlework expert? We have our eye on you!”

Then an odd laugh and a loud click.

“What in the world was that?” Suzanne’s brown eyes bugged out.

“It sounded like a . . . a cat. And some sort of prank caller?” Dana’s voice was calm and even, but Maggie could tell from her expression she was as surprised and chilled as the rest of them.

“Whoa . . . that gave me the creeps.” Lucy turned to Maggie.

“Me, too,” Maggie admitted. “Dana is right. Some sort of silly prank. See? I told you I didn’t want to be on TV. Now every nut job in town is going to call me.”

“Let’s check the number. You have caller ID, right?” Suzanne jumped up and picked up the receiver, then turned back to the table. “Restricted. I should have guessed.”

“It does give new meaning to the term ‘catcall,’ ” Lucy suggested, making them all laugh.

Dana looked up from her knitting and glanced at Maggie. “Maybe the Knit Kats saw you on the news, and that’s their review.”

“I don’t know . . . That was weird. Maybe you should tell the police,” Suzanne said quietly.

“The police? Don’t be silly. It’s just a stupid joke.” Maggie shrugged and picked up her knitting, trying to shake off a creepy feeling. “If I get any more calls like that, I guess I will,” she added. “Someone saw the news and is acting silly. Let’s get back to knitting, shall we?”

Her friends nodded, all quietly agreeing.

What a strange day this had been . . . from start to finish. Time to shake off these odd feelings and wind down on a comforting, familiar note. Chatting and knitting. Even the mysterious Knit Kats could not possibly enjoy themselves more than she and her own knitting pals did on these Thursday nights together. Or anytime, for that matter.

As she picked up her needles again, she glanced at the phone, sitting innocently on the long counter.

No reason to think about that silly call twice. Was there?