The Postman Always Purls Twice Page 11

  The female reporter turned to face the camera at a different angle. “We’ll be right back with Accurate Ed’s weekend forecast, Red Sox highlights, and more . . .”

  Maggie switched off the set. If it had been a heart attack, wouldn’t doctors know by now? Maggie remembered only too well when she’d had a health scare, years ago. Heart monitors, EKG, blood work, and all sorts of tests told the story fairly quickly. Harbor Medical Center was not at the level of Mass General, in Boston, but it was a good hospital with the latest equipment. They should be able to discern if the man had suffered a cardiac “episode,” as the doctors like to call it.

  She wondered if the doctors had confirmed it, but Nick Pullman—and/or his public relations people—didn’t want the news released. More bad publicity? But news like that couldn’t be held back for long.

  What was ailing him, if not his heart? Perhaps something surprisingly minor that would clear up quickly. He might be back at work tomorrow, or the day after. She certainly hoped so.

  But her high hopes for Nick’s speedy recovery were soon deflated by a phone call that woke her from a sound sleep. She glanced at the clock. Half past two. Maggie fumbled with the receiver, feeling her pulse race. She hated calls in the middle of the night. They rarely brought good news.

  “Maggie? It’s Charles. Sorry to wake you.”

  Maggie pushed herself up in the bed. “That’s all right . . . Is something wrong?”

  “Not exactly . . . I’m at work.”

  Maggie had started dating Charles Mossbacher a few weeks ago. A detective with the Essex County Police Department, he sometimes pulled the night shift, but had never called her after eleven.

  “A case just landed on my desk. It has to do with the movie crew.”

  “They were filming at my shop tonight,” Maggie said. “Nick Pullman had a heart attack . . . or something. He was rushed to the hospital.”

  “Yes, I know. Pullman was poisoned. I’ve been assigned to the team that’s investigating.”

  “Poisoned? That’s awful! Is he going to survive?”

  “He’s still in ICU, but at least they know what’s wrong and he’s getting the correct treatment. The thing is, the shop is now a crime scene. I’ve got two uniforms there already, just to make sure no one comes back and tampers with evidence.”

  Does the villain always return to the scene of the crime? Maggie wasn’t sure about that. But her heart fell to hear that her shop would be picked over, inch by inch.

  “Oh dear . . . do you really have to? An entire movie crew moved in and out of the shop today. It was like a herd of buffalo. Then they packed and cleaned everything up. I doubt if you’ll find a single clue.”

  Charles laughed quietly at her protest. Not at all in a mean way, but with sympathy for her situation. “I’m sorry. I know what you’re saying. The scene has been seriously compromised, no question. But the tiniest bit of physical evidence can turn a case. Personally, I have high hopes for the trash. Did they take that away with them, or leave it there?”

  “Let’s see . . . On Saturday they bagged it up and left it on the side of the building, by the other pails. I’m not sure what they did tonight. I went home right after the ambulance left.”

  “You were there?” She could hear the surprise in his voice and pictured his brown eyes growing wide.

  “Jennifer Todd invited the knitting group to the set since we didn’t get a chance to see any filming Saturday. She was just being friendly. I helped her a little with her role. She plays a woman who owns a knitting shop and she wanted to know how I got started in the business, that sort of thing.”

  Charles was quiet a moment. “I see . . . I knew from the report that the movie crew was at your shop and that’s where Pullman experienced the effects of the poisoning. But I didn’t know that you and your friends were witnesses.”

  Again, he might have added.

  Maggie wasn’t sure how this always seemed to happen, but her “traveling sisterhood” of knitters always seemed to find themselves in the middle of a police investigation. In fact, that was how she and Charles had met.

  When Phoebe’s friend Charlotte Blackburn had been involved in a murder investigation, Charles was assigned to investigate the case. Which turned out to be tangled with a local knitting graffiti group, the Knit Kats.

  The investigation touched upon her shop and friends, and she found herself in many conversations with Charles. Official conversations, and not all of them pleasant. But his intelligence, humor, and kindness did shine through, even during some very tense moments.

  Maggie never expected to be attracted to a police officer. But something had clicked with Charles right from the start. He’d obviously felt the same, making excuses to visit the shop when a phone call would have done fine.

  So far, her initial impressions still rang true. The more she knew of him, the more she liked and respected him. And enjoyed his company.

  “What sort of poison was it? You didn’t say.” Not that she knew much about poison. But she was curious.

  “Now that I know you’re a witness, I’m not sure I can say. You have to be officially interviewed . . . and ruled out,” he reminded her.

  “Oh, Charles . . .” Maggie sighed and laughed. Sometimes he was a stickler for rules. But she could be, too. “All right. Be like that. I’ll see it on the news soon anyway.”

  “That’s true. Okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t tell anyone it was me. This is a high-profile case. A guy like Pullman doesn’t usually put a toe in Essex County. No less get poisoned here. The chief assigned an entire team, and I should probably recuse myself, considering our relationship.”

  They had a relationship? Hmm . . . She liked that idea and was glad to hear he thought so.

  “It’s all right. I don’t want to make any trouble for you,” she said quickly.

  She heard him sigh. “No big deal. Toxicology report found an excess of digitalis in his bloodstream, which was particularly toxic since he already has a heart condition.”

  “How awful,” Maggie replied quietly. “Isn’t digitalis a heart medication? An overdose could be dangerous, right?”

  “Exactly. It should have been fatal. Except that Pullman is a lucky guy. From what we can see so far, the composition of the drug is chemically unusual . . . not in the typical form you might find in a pharmacy. So we know he didn’t do it himself, by accident.”

  That was the next question Maggie had—maybe Nick had just mixed up his medication.

  “Toxicology is trying to figure out the source now. We need to get on top of this right away. The media will be all over us by the morning. Can we have your permission to go in without a warrant?”

  She knew if she didn’t agree he would get a search warrant.

  It would take a few hours, but the police would still go through the same procedure.

  “Yes, of course. Besides, it’s inevitable, right?”

  “Yes, it is. We’ll try to be quick . . . and not pull the place apart.”

  “That’s some comfort,” she murmured. Though not much.

  “I hate to ask, but can you go over now and open the door?”

  “There’s a spare key hidden on the porch. Would it be all right if you open it yourself, with my official permission?”

  “That would be perfect.” Charles sounded pleased by the solution. And so was she. She didn’t fancy getting out of her warm bed and driving into town at this hour.

  “Very cooperative. I like that in a witness.”

  Maggie had a feeling he meant something more. She felt herself blush and was glad he couldn’t see her.

  “I almost forgot. I’d better let Phoebe know what’s going on. She’ll be frightened when she hears everyone go in. Can you give me five minutes to call her?”

  “I’m at the station now. That will give me time to get over there.”

  Maggie agreed that was a good plan.

  “Tell her we don’t need to search her apartment, too,” Charles said. “The film crew
didn’t use that space, did they?”

  “No, no one went up there. I’m fairly certain it was locked the whole time. She’ll be relieved to hear that,” Maggie added.

  Maggie was, too.

  She told Charles where to find the spare key and then quickly dialed Phoebe. She hated to wake her at this hour, but was sure her assistant would appreciate the warning.

  Phoebe was groggy and grouchy when Maggie reached her. Then shocked by the news. “Poisoned . . . with what?”

  “The doctors found a certain chemical in his body. The same that’s found in heart medication. But it wasn’t his pills and it was a very potent dose. So it nearly killed him.”

  Someone hoped it would, Maggie would easily wager.

  “That’s awful. I saw on the news that he was still alive.”

  “He’s alive. But in bad shape . . . so now the shop is a crime scene and the police have to search the place. I just wanted you to know that they’re coming over.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. But I think they’re already here.”

  She had run to the window while they were talking and reported that a slew of police cars were already waiting on Main Street, and the property was surrounded with yellow tape.

  “They’ll let me out of here in the morning . . . if they’re not done yet . . . won’t they?”

  “Of course they will. We all have to give statements to the police. They’ll have to let you out for that,” Maggie teased her.

  “I can’t sleep now with all of them coming in down there. I guess I’ll stay up and watch TV . . . and work on my knitting.”

  “Well . . . if you have to. But try to get some sleep,” she advised. “They won’t be very noisy.”

  “I know. It’s just the idea.”

  Maggie understood Phoebe’s uneasiness. She would have felt the same. She doubted the shop would be open tomorrow, and even if it was, she could muddle through by herself if Phoebe needed the day off.

  Maggie finally shut the light and punched up her pillow, though it was hard to fall asleep. She tried not to think about her shop being picked apart during the next few hours.

  What could the detectives possibly find at this point? Charles had practically admitted it himself. Though she knew they would go through the place inch by inch, the forensic team in their white suits, using magnifying glasses, sprinkling their gritty fingerprint dust all over the place.

  Still, it was doubtful any trace of this crime remained. It wasn’t a violent crime, where the scene could yield so much information. No, this attack was insidious and artful. So subtle and doubly sinister.

  She hoped they worked quickly, without too much collateral damage. She’d already lost so much time with the movie crew, and she couldn’t afford to keep the shop closed another day this week. Maybe she’d be able to open by the afternoon.

  She realized she would probably see Charles again tomorrow, either at the shop or at the police station.

  And I’m going to look like a zombie if I don’t get some beauty sleep, she thought. That was enough for her to finally drift off.

  “Tell me everything you can remember. Especially about Pullman and any conversations you may have overheard. Even if it doesn’t seem important.” Charles sat across from her with a large pad, pen poised.

  The last of the investigators were leaving the shop. Charles had called her at home and said the coast was clear. He’d also told her that his boss had given him clearance to take her statement. Maggie was glad to hear that. Not that she would have minded talking to another officer, but it was easier talking to Charles.

  “I’ll try to remember everything. But I think it’s possible the trouble started well before last night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It could be a coincidence, but there’s been an accident of some kind almost every day since the crew arrived. Last Saturday, even before they began filming, I saw a huge light fixture crash down and nearly kill Jennifer Todd. Well, maybe not kill her, but it would have injured her very badly if she hadn’t jumped clear in time. These pieces of equipment are very heavy and there was broken glass everywhere.”

  Her beautiful face could have been cut to shreds, Maggie wanted to add. But she knew Charles wouldn’t take her seriously if she overdid it. Though she did think the falling light fixture could have been lethal, if it had struck a bull’s-eye on some target.

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  Maggie shook her head. “Jennifer was shaken but tried to act later as if it was no big deal. I think she dove under the table just in time. Nick was very concerned, as you’d expect. I remember that he examined her face very carefully . . . as if he was looking for scratches on a fancy car.”

  Maggie wasn’t sure where that insight had come from, but it felt true. “I’m sorry to sound mean about the man while he’s fighting for his life. I’m sure he was worried about her. But he seemed mostly . . . angry. Yelling at everyone to clean the place up. I guess he was annoyed at losing time in their schedule the very first day,” Maggie reflected.

  “He has a bad temper.”

  “Yes, he does. It’s no secret. People seem afraid of setting him off. I’ve heard Jennifer refer to his touchy temperament more than once. Some people do show their concern by getting angry. It’s an odd thing. But men especially.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true . . . but no one was injured by the lights?”

  “Jennifer’s assistant, Alicia, cut her hand. She was picking glass off of Jennifer. The movie crew has medical help on site. A nurse practitioner, Nora Lynch. She examined both of them. She could tell you more.”

  “Okay . . . anything else besides the falling lights?” She could tell Charles wasn’t impressed.

  “Jennifer Todd is being stalked by a fan. A very persistent and creepy one,” she added. “That might figure in somewhere.” From the tilt of his head she could tell that tidbit had caught his attention.

  Charles tapped his pencil on the table and frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “Jennifer and her assistant came to the shop Monday night. She wanted to ask me some questions and see a knitting group in action. She was just about to leave when someone knocked. We thought it was the security guard coming to pick them up, but when I looked out, there was just a basket of roses on the porch. Someone had left it and run off. Not very far, it turned out. They were watching from a hiding place and called out when the door opened.”

  Charles recorded this information with interest. “What sort of roses were they, do you remember?”

  “Yellow, long stemmed, in a wicker basket with a blue satin bow on the handle.”

  Charles made a note. “What did the person say? Could you tell if the voice was male or female?”

  “A male voice. I’m not sure I can remember exactly. ‘I love you, Jennifer. We can be together now.’ . . . Oh wait. He said, ‘You came back to me. I knew you would.’ Something like that. Maybe one of my friends will remember?”

  “I’ll ask them about it. How did Todd react?”

  “She was quite calm. It seems this happens a lot. Her assistant told me that the next day. Alicia said it’s been more frequent since they arrived here. There are scary notes on Jennifer’s fan page, too. I’m not sure if they think it’s the same person, or if she has a number of crazy fans.” Maggie paused. “I did think of reporting the incident myself, since it happened on my property, but Jennifer asked me not to. She said her husband hated bad publicity and their security guards would handle it. Again, she seemed afraid it would make Nick angry,” she added.

  “I’ll check and see if he made a report. Maybe he was handling it with a security firm, or a private investigator. To keep the story away from the media.”

  Maggie hadn’t thought of that. But it made sense.

  “Alicia came to the shop the next day and said the stalker had left more flowers, right in front of Jennifer’s hotel room door in the middle of the night. Pretty brazen, right? That must have been Tuesday night.”


  Charles nodded, his expression serious. “There might be security cameras at the hotel. We can check on that.”

  “Since Jennifer grew up around here, I thought it could be someone from her past. An old boyfriend, maybe. Or someone who had wanted to be her boyfriend . . . Wait—” Charles was about to say something but she continued. “I just remembered, yellow and blue. Newburyport High School colors. The Tigers, archrivals of the Plum Harbor Panthers. I know their colors well.”

  “That’s possible.” Charles didn’t make a note about her brilliant revelation. “Anything else that could be related to Pullman?”

  As much as he might have been concerned about Jennifer, his tone reminded Maggie that he’d been assigned to figure out who poisoned Nick Pullman. Though she had very fond feelings for Charles and respected him, she did know that police officers had a tendency to be left brained, comparing and contrasting and hardly ever looking or thinking outside their particular crime box.

  Maybe that’s because most people who broke the law were not very imaginative and performed their crimes in a linear, logical way. But sometimes, disparate, seemingly random events in these situations were connected. From what Maggie had seen.

  “Yes, well . . . not exactly. But there was a fire on the set, on Wednesday. In Heath O’Hara’s trailer.”

  “I heard about that. But I don’t think the fire department suspected it was intentionally set.”

  “How did it start?” Maggie asked.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t read the report. But they don’t have an arson investigator on it.”

  “You told me to tell you everything. Suzanne and Lucy were at the set the morning of the fire. They saw Heath O’Hara and Trina Hardwick coming out of a trailer in what seemed to be a compromising situation,” Maggie said as unsensationally as she could. “Later, Jennifer’s assistant said she was relieved that Trina had not come out of Nick’s trailer and embarrassed Jennifer. Or something like that.”

  Charles took a breath, looking a bit bogged down by the celebrity gossip and by Maggie wandering so far off track. “Did you ask what she meant by that? Are Hardwick and Pullman involved?”