A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (7 page)

“Lead the way. We’ll follow,” Dana called out. Maggie nodded and continued toward the sound.

“Phoebe . . . where are you?” She strained to hear an answer. Anything. But there was suddenly silence. Not even the sound of footsteps.

Maggie stopped in her tracks and sighed aloud.

“Maggie . . . I’m over here,” she finally heard Phoebe answer. Maggie dodged to her left, finding her way around a large partition. Using the light from her cell phone, she soon spotted Phoebe in a black puddle of fabric on the floor, huddled against a wall of steel shelves. Most of the shelves held pale white ceramic pieces. But quite a few more lay broken on the floor, jagged-edged shapes scattered all around Phoebe. Maggie sneezed from the dust, her shoes crunching on broken pottery bits, as she crouched down to check on her.

“Oh dear . . . are you hurt?”

“I’m all right . . . Quentin gave me a shove and my boot got caught in the hem of my skirt . . . so much for formal wear. I
sort of hit my head on this shelf thing,” she explained. “And a ton of stuff flew off and crashed on the floor.”

“You’re lucky none of these pieces fell on top of you. Does it hurt anywhere?”

Phoebe grabbed Maggie’s arm and hoisted herself off the dusty floor. Her lovely outfit was coated with white dust. “I’m okay, I think. I just got a little dazed.”

“Dazed? You might have a concussion,” Maggie fussed. “Do you feel sick to your stomach, or dizzy?”

Dana, Suzanne, and Lucy appeared. “Phoebe . . . are you all right?” Lucy asked.

“Never mind me. I’m worried about Charlotte. She ran into the next studio. I tried to block the door, but Quentin pushed me down.”

Maggie didn’t like hearing that. She hoped the boy didn’t have a weapon. He was certainly brawny enough to do damage to a little thing like Phoebe—or Charlotte—without one.

Phoebe limped bravely toward the next door. Maggie quickly followed. “Wait. You can’t go after them alone . . . He sounds violent.”

“That’s why she’s been trying to lose him. He gets crazy angry . . . and he’s very jealous . . .”

Phoebe shouted the last few words over her shoulder as she pulled open the next door and disappeared.

Maggie quickly followed. “Phoebe . . . wait! I’m coming with you . . . That kid is dangerous.” She turned back to her other friends. “Go back and make sure campus security knows where we are. Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

“I’ll go,” Suzanne offered. “Dana might be needed for hostage negotiations—to talk some sense into crazy Quentin.”
Maggie hoped that didn’t happen. But it was certainly possible.

Suzanne turned and ran back toward the gallery while Maggie followed Dana and Lucy, who had run ahead, trying to keep up with Phoebe.

“Don’t worry, Maggie. We can still see her . . . or at least hear her. She isn’t too far ahead,” Dana called back.

Maggie followed. The next space was also dark and cut up into sections with partitions that only reached halfway to the very high ceiling. Now she smelled the distinct odor of oil paints. Did students still learn how to paint in oil these days? That was encouraging. She thought the whole world had gone acrylic.

Passing halfway through the painting studio, she suddenly saw that big metal doors on the far side of the space had been pulled open. A section of the campus was framed in the opening.

Phoebe came into view, and Maggie’s entire body sagged with relief. She was outside, near a walkway, her slim figure silhouetted in the light from a nearby lamppost.

Before Maggie could call to her, a motorcycle engine revved and roared, the sound deafening.

Maggie made it to the open doors just in time to see the shiny black bike fly down a sidewalk and swerve around a pair of shocked students. They dropped their books and ran for cover. Then the bike drove up on a snowy lawn, slipped wildly, bumped over a curb, hit the road on one wheel, and roared into the dark.

So much for Quentin, Maggie thought.

Where was Charlotte?

M
aggie stood alongside Phoebe on the walkway, catching her breath. She was so overwhelmed and overheated, she barely felt the cold, though each breath made a frosty cloud. Lucy and Dana were outside as well. Dana was on her phone. Maggie could tell she was talking to Suzanne, asking what happened to the campus security.

Good question. Maggie was just relieved the chase was over and Phoebe had come out of it safe and mostly sound.

“Some driving. That kid should be in the movies,” Maggie finally said.

“Quentin is out-of-his-flipping-mind crazy. Charlotte has an order of protection against him. But he doesn’t get it.” Still breathing heavily, Phoebe checked her hair with her fingertips. Her upswept hairdo had flopped to one side, and she pushed it around her head like a hat, then just yanked out the hairpins.

“Okay, never mind the movies, how about jail?” Lucy suggested as she and Dana joined them. “He’s the very definition of a hazard and a walking, talking public disturbance.”

“Totally,” Phoebe agreed. “I never got it. I mean, why Charlotte ever hung out with him in the first place.”

Maggie didn’t, either. Charlotte was bright, talented, and a good student. Maggie would hazard a guess this boy was none of those things. Though opposites did attract, especially at that age. Maybe he seemed exciting, and she was curious about the bad-boy type. Or she’d been flattered by his attention.

“Where is Charlotte?” Dana glanced around. Maggie wondered, too, but assumed Phoebe knew.

“I just saw her like a minute ago.” Phoebe spun around, looking for her friend.

The few students who had watched the chase and Quentin’s dramatic escape had already dispersed. The nearby campus and walkways were empty.

Phoebe turned and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Charlotte? It’s just me, Phoebe . . . and Maggie. Where are you?”

They stood together, waiting for an answer. Phoebe looked worried. “Maybe she ran back inside and hid somewhere?”

“Maybe. I didn’t see her. But there was a lot going on, and it was pretty dark in there,” Maggie replied.

Lucy started back toward the building. “Let’s go inside and check.”

“Good idea. I’m freezing out here.” Dana rubbed her arms for warmth as she quickly stepped back into shelter.

Just as they passed through the doorway, the lights all over the building flashed on. Maggie blinked, the burst of light blinding her for a moment. Large metal fixtures high above made a dull, humming sound.

“Phoebe? Charlotte? It’s Dr. Finch . . .”

“And Suzanne,” their friend called out. “Are you guys still in here?”

“Over here, Professor . . .” Phoebe turned. There was a partition between the teacher and the doorway. Phoebe quickly stepped into a space where Professor Finch could see her.

Sonya Finch approached quickly with Suzanne and two security guards following close behind. Maggie noticed that a campus security car had also pulled up outside. Two more officers got out and walked toward the open doors.

“What happened? . . . Where’s Charlotte?” Professor Finch looked flushed and nearly breathless as she hobbled closer.

“I don’t know . . . I followed her through the last studio, and she ran in here. Quentin pushed me down before I could get through the door,” Phoebe explained. “I thought she was right outside, hiding somewhere. But after Quentin flew off on his bike, she like disappeared into thin air.”

“Oh . . . that’s too bad.” Dr. Finch stared down, clearly distressed. Then she looked up at Phoebe, taking in her appearance with grave concern. “Are you all right, dear? Do you need a doctor? We’ll get you over to the infirmary right away.”

Phoebe rubbed her forehead. Maggie hoped she didn’t end up with a big lump or a black eye.

“I’m okay . . . I just wish I knew what happened to Charlotte. I hope he doesn’t catch up to her,” Phoebe said quietly.

Maggie was thinking the same. Charlotte seemed terrified. She must have run off to hide somewhere.

“I’m going to call her. Maybe she’ll pick up for me,” Phoebe told her teacher.

“Good idea. I’ll tell security what happened. Maybe they can catch Quentin before he leaves campus.”

At the rate he was moving, Maggie would bet that boy was long gone.

“Let’s check that last studio,” Lucy suggested. She and Dana went back inside the building.

Professor Finch went back to the group of officers talking together outside the open doors. Phoebe stood with her phone pressed to her ear, waiting for Charlotte to pick up. Maggie heard her leave a message. Then she started furiously texting.

Finally, Phoebe shrugged and put her phone away. “She didn’t answer. I sent a text, too.”

“It was worth a try.” Maggie reached out and rubbed her thin shoulder.

“Maybe she’ll answer in a little while. Give her time to catch her breath,” Suzanne suggested.

Professor Finch returned. “The security guards found some students who saw a girl fitting Charlotte’s description run into their dorm. Right after the motorcycle took off. Charlotte must have snuck past him somehow.”

“That’s good news.” Maggie glanced at Phoebe, but she didn’t look encouraged.

“They’re going to alert the police in Plum Harbor. Don’t worry, someone will find Quentin,” she assured Phoebe. “Charlotte’s a smart girl. I’m sure she will find a safe place to stay for a while.”

“I hope so . . . I just wish she’d answer.” Phoebe checked her phone again. “She could stay with me tonight. Quentin doesn’t know where I live.”

Maggie wouldn’t count on that. If he was really stalking
Charlotte, he probably knew who her friends were. Even where they lived. Maggie didn’t want Phoebe to put herself in such a dangerous situation. Not that she didn’t want to help Charlotte. If she got in touch again, both girls could stay at her house, Maggie decided. But Phoebe’s idea was definitely not safe.

Phoebe was still distressed, and Maggie decided not to debate the point. Without Charlotte in sight, it wasn’t even a question.

Lucy and Dana returned. They had obviously not found Charlotte, either.

Dana put her arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Charlotte probably knows a place to hide from Quentin. I just hope she checks in with you soon to let you know she’s all right.”

Phoebe nodded, her expression bleak. “It just really stinks that she’s missing her big night. She worked so hard for this. That jerk just totally ruined it.”

Professor Finch gazed at Phoebe with sympathy. “I was thinking the same thing. It really is so unfair and unfortunate. But people are viewing and appreciating her work. If that’s any comfort. I need to get back, too. I hope you’ll all return. I don’t believe you got to see any of the exhibit.”

Maggie forced a smile and nodded. Once the professor left, Maggie turned to her friends again.

“I know you’re probably not in the mood anymore for art viewing. But maybe we should take a quick look?” When no one answered, she added, “I think Charlotte will resurface unharmed very soon. I want to be able to tell her honestly how much I liked her artwork.”

She watched her friends exchange glances. Lucy was the first to speak. “Good point. A quick look would be good manners. Then let’s get our coats and get out of here.”

“And go out to eat,” Suzanne suggested. “Chasing down psycho boyfriends really builds an appetite. I had no idea.”

The lights were on in all the studios now, and they found their way back easily. As they emerged in the gallery once more, the space was crowded and noisy. Phoebe steered the group through the mass of guests over to Charlotte’s work. They wanted to see that most of all.

“Here it is . . . Isn’t it great? I love the way she blends all the textures. Then sticks it together with all these random objects and sort of tells a story. Or makes you imagine one.”

Phoebe was not the most eloquent or precise art critic, but Maggie thought her summation did capture a sense of Charlotte’s work.

The artwork was constructed of sections of knitting, most of it ragged, even torn. Pieced and patched together from a blend of yarns—thick and thin and all sorts of colors. She brought together random objects with loose themes.

Time Flies
was the name of the first tapestry, in a similar style to the one featured on the poster. Maggie examined it closely. Quite interesting, she thought, with bits of broken clocks and wristwatches dangling down from different spots, and colorful feathers and beads woven into the knitting.

Another, called
Date Night
, was centered around a department store mannequin, her head and arms mainly. The blankly staring figure held out a hand mirror, gazing at her reflection. A length of knitted lace, blended with some rougher-looking weaving, was draped around her body and chest. Pieces of
rhinestone jewelry glittered on her neck and wrists, and on her head, a pert retro hat with a veil covered her eyes. A small silk handbag overflowing with play money sat on a dressing table, along with a big perfume bottle. She could have been a woman checking her appearance before going out for the evening. Except for a single disturbing element, a roughly knit swatch tied around her mouth like a gag.

Interesting, Maggie thought. Was this a feminist statement?