A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (29 page)

Phoebe nodded. “I sure hope so.”

When Dana left, Maggie was alone with Phoebe. A class was coming in soon, one of Maggie’s favorites, animal-face hats. Phoebe was going to help teach today. But they had some time before they had to set up.

“Well, seems like all the loose ends of this fiber piece are being tied up. What do you think now? Still feeling Professor Healey might be innocent?”

Phoebe sighed. “I don’t know . . . It doesn’t seem so, does it? And who would want to frame him besides Sonya Finch? And I just don’t think she’d throw the Knit Kats under the bus, just to get Healey.”

“I don’t, either. And she’s so clever, she could figure out any number of ways to incriminate him.”

“Yeah, probably.” Phoebe was quiet a moment. “It’s hard to believe he could pull off a stock scam like that. But he’s a pretty smart guy.”

“Obviously,” Maggie agreed.

“The only thing that still doesn’t fit is him—or someone else who would stand to benefit from taking Charlotte out of the picture—mistaking Beth for Charlotte. But maybe it was
really dark and he was really nervous or had on some sort of mask so he couldn’t see clearly?”

“That could be,” Maggie agreed. Still, she didn’t think Phoebe was totally convinced. Maybe, in time, she would be.

Phoebe was feeling a little blue today for other reasons, reasons that had nothing to do with her runaway friend Charlotte, or her professor and role model who’d turned out to have feet of clay.

She’d gotten depressed again over the weekend about Josh, her ex-boyfriend with the feet of clay. She’d stayed away from his gig in Plum Harbor with admirable self-restraint. But she couldn’t help looking on Facebook late that night, and found pictures he’d posted of himself at the gig, with some new girl.

Even though she’d initiated the breakup, Phoebe still felt hurt. It had barely been two weeks. “It didn’t take him long,” she complained to Maggie. “He can’t stand to be alone. He’s so insecure. A girl just has to smile at him, and he like melts in a puddle. It’s pathetic. She’s wrapped around him like a rash. And she looks like she shops at Sluts-R-Us.”

Maggie nearly laughed at that description, but she knew this was a serious moment. “You’re well rid of him, honestly. He wasn’t nearly good enough for you, Phoebe. You’ll do much better next time.”

It was all true. But there was little more Maggie could say.

Getting over a failed romance was a roller coaster ride, up one minute, down the next. That Facebook photo had sent Phoebe plummeting again, though today, she seemed a bit better.

Maggie cleared up the lunch things, and Phoebe cleaned
off the table. For the afternoon class—“Lions and Tigers and Bears . . . Oh My!”—they’d be making animal hats for children.

Maggie brought out the yarns and needles and set up the sample hats on the table—a bear, a lion, and a tiger . . . which could also be trimmed into a cat or a dog, of course. One basic pattern was used, but many different animals could be created, depending on the colors used and the sewed-on details. And the imagination of the knitter. Simple to knit and everybody loved making them. Especially grandmas.

Phoebe picked up the bear and put it on her hand like a puppet. “So give me your honest opinion,” she said to the bear. “You’ve heard all the evidence. Who do you think killed Beth Shelton? . . . Was it really Professor Healey? He always seemed like such a nice guy, couldn’t hurt a bug . . . even though he had a shady side. What about Professor Finch . . . or Quentin Gibbs? Crazy as a bed bug.” Phoebe held the bear to her ear. “Things are seldom what they seem. How true, Mr. Bear . . .”

Maggie stood back, watching this pantomime. “Are you done now?” she asked in a pointed tone.

Phoebe didn’t seem to hear Maggie for a moment. Then suddenly she stared up at her and dropped the hat on the floor. Her dark eyes grew very wide and her mouth hung open a bit. As if she’d just witnessed some amazing sight.

“Yes . . . I
am
done . . . I
know
who did it, Maggie. I know who killed Beth and wants to frame Professor Healey.” Phoebe’s voice rose on a note of amazement and she tugged at Maggie’s arm.

Maggie stood stone-still. She didn’t even breathe. “Who?”

“Gena Healey. Who else could it be?”

Maggie leaned back and shook her head doubtfully. “What made you think of that?”

Phoebe looked at the hat. “For one thing, a hat just like this fell out of her tote bag . . . and a copy of
Vogue Knitting
. So I bet she can knit. And she must have found out about her husband’s affair with Charlotte and his plans to ditch her and her kids. And maybe she even knew about the money he’d taken from their retirement accounts to fund his big deal. And how he’d hidden all his profits from her. In a way, he’d stolen from their family in order to set himself up in Europe with his mistress . . . and leave her and their kids without anything. That is really low . . .”

“And definitely motive for murder,” Maggie had to concede. This was making sense. “So she was the scorned wife seeking revenge on her double-crossing husband and his lover. It’s classic.”

“Isn’t it? And I don’t think Gena ever met Charlotte face-to-face. Though she’d probably seen her from far away or seen some photo of her. I remember at the art show she said something like, ‘Too bad Charlotte is gone. I wanted to meet her.’ Or something like that. And she easily could have planted the yarn in his studio, and even taken one of the gloves he uses when he works on his sculptures and left it at the crime scene. Ditto for the boots. Maybe she wore them herself and then put them back in his closet or something.”

It could have gone like that. Maggie could not find any holes in her logic. “But where do the Knit Kats come in? Why bring them into the picture?”

“It’s perfect. It makes it look as if Healey was trying to get rid of Charlotte and frame the Knit Kats. The Knit Kats are an
easy target. They’re mysterious and rebellious. I think it was just like a big coincidence that they staged the parking meter thing right before the murder. She must have known her husband disdained them and what he called their ‘faux artwork.’ But not that Charlotte was in the group,” Phoebe concluded. “That was just lucky.”

“But maybe she knew Sonya was a Knit Kat,” Maggie reasoned. “Maybe Sonya knew that Gena liked to knit and tried to recruit her. That would have been a real coup for Sonya, getting back at Healey by bringing his wife into the secret fold that he scorned.”

Phoebe nodded eagerly. “Maybe the bad history between Sonya and her husband gave Mrs. Healey the idea. That would be another perfect reason for her to pick the Knit Kats as a cover.” Phoebe was breathless but elated. “Let the police take a peek in Gena Healey’s knitting bag. I bet they find all the evidence they need.” She picked up the bear hat again. “Hey, Bear, you’re like flipping brilliant. You totally nailed this one. Professor Healey is a jerk . . . and a shifty character, for sure. But he didn’t kill anybody. Which I was never buying, either.”

Maggie sighed. “We’d better call Detective Reyes and tell her what you’ve come up with. But without the bear . . . okay?”

Phoebe nodded. “I hear you.”

Phoebe was so eager to share her insights with the police that Maggie decided to close the shop early. Detective Reyes told them to meet her at the station and took them into a private interview room, along with Detective Mossbacher, who took notes again on a big legal pad.

It was hard for Phoebe to control her excitement, but she managed to talk at a semireasonable speed. She told the
detectives everything she’d figured out. They asked many questions but seemed to take her seriously.

“So . . . what do you think?” Phoebe finally asked the detectives.

Detective Reyes pushed back a bit from the table. “This theory pretty much blows up the case we’ve built against Professor Healey. But it does answer some inconsistencies,” she admitted. “We can’t dismiss your information entirely, Phoebe.”

“We’ll look into it,” Mossbacher promised in his usual flat, unenthusiastic way.

Phoebe sighed as she and Maggie left the station. Maggie could tell she felt frustrated. But Maggie was encouraged. If Gena Healey was truly the guilty party, the police would figure it out. It was out of their hands now. Where it should be.

They had been buzzed out of the station room and were out in the lobby when Detective Mossbacher caught up. “Phoebe . . . I just wanted to tell you something. About Quentin Gibbs.”

Phoebe turned. She looked alarmed. “What about him?”

“He had an accident on his motorcycle last night. He was lucky, he’s not badly hurt. But he’ll be in the hospital a few days. He was DUI. His third offense. He’s agreed to go into a treatment program in Peabody instead of serving jail time. He’ll be there at least two months. Then he has to toe the line and deal with a lot of supervision if he wants to stay out of jail. I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again.”

Phoebe had not mentioned Quentin or his threats, but Maggie could tell she was relieved. “Thanks for telling me that, Detective. Sounds like Quentin finally hit the jackpot. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person,” she added.

“I’m glad to hear that, too,” Maggie admitted as they walked out to Phoebe’s car. “But I guess that means no more midnight waffle parties.”

Phoebe smiled. “We’ll still have parties, Maggie. But I will like hanging in my own apartment again . . . and getting a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m sure you will.” Maggie patted her shoulder. Phoebe had been through so much the last week or so. But she’d handled it all so maturely. Maggie was proud of her. She was an exceptional young woman and Maggie was proud to be her friend.

*  *  *

Alone at home that night, Maggie sat in her favorite chair and scanned the TV for a good show. What luck,
Miss Marple
was on again. The intrepid sleuth was visiting a former schoolmate, and a dead body had already turned up in a lovely English garden.

Maggie sat back and picked up her knitting. She did miss Phoebe’s company and lively chatter. But it was also good to have her space back to herself. She rarely minded being alone. Though she had to admit, she’d started to wonder if she, too, should take in a cat.

The phone was ringing, rousing her from a deep sleep. Maggie sat up in her chair, disoriented for a moment. Her knitting was on her lap, and the TV screen showed a big weather map with swirls of air-mass patterns.

She quickly found the phone, which had fallen to the floor near her feet. “Maggie? Are you still up?”

“Just barely . . .” It was Phoebe. She sounded quite excited, or maybe upset about something. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine. Turn on the news. Channel 25. The police have Gena Healey in custody. Detective Reyes really listened to us.”

“Listened to
you.
You solved it all.” Maggie fumbled with the remote, eager to find the channel. “I know it’s late, but you’d better let Dana, Lucy, and Suzanne know about this. They’ll never forgive us.”

“I just sent a text and copied all of them. Here comes Chelsea Porter . . . catch you later.”

“I’m going to bed. I’ll catch you tomorrow at the shop. I’m sure we’ll have some company.”

Phoebe laughed and said good night. Maggie turned her attention to the TV. She saw a picture of Whitaker College and heard the familiar voice of her favorite reporter.

“The investigation into the death of college student Beth Shelton took a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn today when Gena Healey was named a person of interest. Investigators escorted the wife and mother of two to the Essex County police station for questioning, where she is still being held.

“A search of her car has already yielded important evidence—evidence that ironically has cast doubt on the guilt of her husband, Professor Alex Healey, who had been charged with the crime only two days ago and is now released on bail. Law enforcement officials are not revealing any details at this point. But it appears they now believe Gena Healey may have committed the crime and planted evidence at the scene incriminating her husband. Her motive? Her husband’s affair with a student . . .”

Maggie clicked off the set. It was late, and she would hear all the details tomorrow. She already knew most of what they’d say. Thanks to Phoebe.

It still amazed her how Phoebe had figured this out. But
why
not
Phoebe? She was so creative, possessed such mental plasticity. The girl rarely gave herself enough credit.

Deep down, Phoebe could not accept that her greatly admired professor Alex Healey was really so cruel and cold-blooded. It had been a blow to hear about his bad behavior—the stock fraud and infidelity. But Phoebe had still wanted to believe he was not guilty of Beth Shelton’s murder. She clung to the theory of his innocence and persevered to see him vindicated.

Hope and perseverance, always a winning formula.

I’ll stitch that on a pillow, Maggie thought sleepily as she shut off the light on her nightstand. I’ll give it to Phoebe for Valentine’s Day.

*  *  *

Since Valentine’s Day fell on a Thursday, the group decided to push their meeting up to Wednesday. It was not Phoebe’s turn to host—it was actually Dana’s—but she had asked to jump the line. She wanted to keep the promise she’d made about having everyone over for dinner after the investigation, to thank her friends for helping her clean her apartment after the police search.

“And for just sticking with me and being so nice in general,” she’d added in her invitation.

Maggie and her friends wouldn’t have had it any other way. But they were also happy to visit Phoebe’s Wednesday night for their meeting and see what the little punked-out domestic diva would prepare.

She greeted her guests in a black minidress and lace stockings, covered with a frilly red hostess apron she’d found in a thrift store somewhere, straight from the 1950s. A red satin
ribbon was tied across her forehead, trailing down into her hair.

“This is a like a Queen of Hearts dinner in honor of Valentine’s Day,” Phoebe announced. “Everything is red . . . starting with my special prosecco-and-pomegranate cocktail, red pepper dip, cold beet salad with goat cheese, and, for the entree, tomato sauce and meatballs . . .” Phoebe paused and sighed. “I tried to make the meatballs heart-shaped, but it didn’t work out that well,” she confessed.