A Murder in Mohair Read online

  A crystal pendant and a simple, sort of Grecian-looking draped garment—the perfect shade of celestial blue—completed a mystical, ethereal impression.

  Lucy had not imagined her quite so attractive. She looked very slim, with high cheekbones and large eyes, ringed by exotic makeup. It was hard to guess her age; no more than forty, probably. Though the photo could have been touched up?

  “You have to give her an A-plus for marketing. She’s got it covered on one little postcard,” Lucy said.

  “Soup to nuts,” Edie agreed.

  “What does Richard think?” Maggie asked.

  “So far, he’s signed on for the whole enchilada. He just wants to see Nora feeling better. A lot of marriages fall apart under a weight like this. But Richard’s the solid type. Nora’s been lucky that way at least.” Edie sighed. “I guess they ought to put an extra alarm or something on their shop now. They have a lot of valuables in there. Never mind having their pockets picked by Miss Waters.”

  “We all need to be careful. At least until the police figure out how this happened to Jimmy,” Maggie said.

  Lucy twisted the top off her water bottle and took a long drink. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. Who would ever want to hurt Jimmy? He was a sweet old guy. And he did those funny magic shows before the children’s movies. I took Dara to a matinee there a few weeks ago,” she added, mentioning her boyfriend Matt’s nine-year-old daughter. “Jimmy was great with the kids. I wonder if he was ever a professional magician. Or maybe an actor.”

  “He did seem to be a pleasant man; a little shy. It’s surprising to me he liked to get onstage like that. But some people are like that, shy one-on-one, but not afraid to perform. Maybe they assume another personality.” Maggie’s nimble fingers moved along the needles swiftly, finishing another row. Lucy wondered what she was making. A sample for her morning class? “I don’t think he belonged to the Chamber of Commerce or Main Street Business Owners. I never saw him at the meetings.” She glanced at Edie. “Did you know him at all?”

  “He came in the Schooner now and then, for coffee or a bite to eat. But we didn’t talk about personal stuff. I don’t remember if he ever mentioned a wife, or family.” Edie shrugged. “My niece’s boy Kyle worked at the theater one summer, a while back. He always liked Jimmy, said he was a real easygoing boss. I guess he was nice to the kids who worked there. He seemed sort of a people pleaser to me. Always left a big tip at the diner, and sometimes free tickets to the theater. The waitresses liked that.”

  Lucy glanced back at the theater. A uniformed officer crisscrossed the glass doors at the front of the building with yellow crime scene tape. The sight gave Lucy a chill though she stood in full sun. She rubbed the goose flesh on her bare arms.

  “I guess we have to hear what the police say,” Lucy said finally.

  “I guess so,” Maggie agreed.

  “The officer who answered the call asked me a few questions,” Edie offered. “I locked up around half past eleven. Richard was there, helping me close and picking up Dale. We didn’t hear anything unusual going on at the theater. Or see anything on the street,” she added emphatically. “I guess the theater had just closed after the late show. Jimmy was probably still alive. I wonder what time he was killed?”

  Lucy wondered, too. “The medical examiner might have an idea by now. But the police don’t always release that information. Even to the media.”

  “I expect the police will canvass the neighborhood,” Maggie said. “But most of us close around six. Except for the theater and your place, Edie, this side of Main Street is very quiet at night. Even on the weekends. It will be hard to find witnesses.”

  Lucy thought so, too. Though the village was busy on summer nights, all the action was concentrated near the harbor and green, where boaters docked and walked into town, filling the cafés, bars, and ice cream shops clustered in that area.

  She glanced at the psychic’s card again, then gave it back to Edie. “Maybe Cassandra Waters will know what happened. Maybe Jimmy will come back and tell her.”

  “That would be good publicity for her,” Maggie replied with a laugh.

  “Oh, geez . . . I hope not. I’ll never be able to convince Nora she’s being hustled if that happens.” Edie stuck the postcard back in her knitting bag and rose from her chair, the wicker creaking and sighing as it released her bulky body.

  “Well, life goes on. I’ve got work to do. People need their big, cholesterol-packed breakfast specials,” she added with a light laugh.

  No explanation needed there—the rich scent of bacon, eggs, and home fries wafted in a lethal cloud from her diner every morning.

  Not to mention toast, Lucy mused, her appetite piqued. She was hungry and could practically smell the buttery rye or whole wheat. But she was steering clear of carbs right now, especially the toasted, buttery kind. And the Schooner breakfast specials. At least until her birthday.

  “Take care, Edie. Keep us posted,” Maggie murmured.

  “Yeah, you, too.” Edie waved over her shoulder, her gaze focused on the brick path as she trotted down to the street with a surprisingly lively step. Lucy watched her rock from side to side on white walking shoes that looked a lot like very large marshmallows with Velcro straps.

  “I guess I should get to work, too.” Even though it was Saturday, Lucy had to get home to work on a project with a tight deadline. A graphic artist, Lucy had left a job at an advertising firm in Boston and set up her own home-based business several years ago, when she’d moved out to Plum Harbor. She loved being her own boss, though sometimes she had to lock herself in the house to meet her deadlines. Matt, who was a veterinarian, worked most Saturdays, so it was usually an office day for Lucy, too.

  “And I should have some students here in a minute.” Maggie glanced at her watch, then back at Lucy. “I’m just curious, how are the dogs taking to all this bike riding? Don’t they miss their morning stroll with you?”

  Lucy usually walked her two dogs into town almost every day, checking off exercise for all three of them. But she’d been biking a lot lately, wanting to step up her own workout.

  “They’re a little confused, to tell you the truth. I’m still haunted by those baffled, mournful looks when I leave without them,” she admitted. “But I make it up later, after dinner. It’s not as hot out, either.”

  “That’s true. But that’s quite a regimen for you. I’m impressed. Biking and walking every day.”

  “Almost every day.” Lucy knew she wasn’t that disciplined. “You know what they say, ‘No pain, no gain.’ ”

  “Do you know who first said that? Benjamin Franklin,” Maggie replied, answering her own question. “I wouldn’t hold him up as any model of physical fitness and I’ve always hated that expression anyway. It’s not even true. I’ve had plenty of gain without pain. What about ‘No joy, no gain’? I’d like to see that one on a T-shirt sometime.”

  “You should tweet, Maggie. You’re a natural.” That was true, but Lucy was teasing her, knowing how Maggie shunned social media and still thought tweeting had to do with birds.

  “Twitter. Flitter . . . Fritter . . . what do I know?” Maggie shrugged, counting out the pattern instruction sheets in her folder. “What’s going on with all this bike riding anyway? Are you practicing for the Tour de France?”

  Lucy had been cycling a lot lately, though she hadn’t realized anyone had noticed . . . aside from her dogs.

  “Hardly. I just want to reduce my carbon footprint . . . and my butt. A bit,” she added, glancing over her shoulder to check her rear view. At least the requisite black spandex bike pants packed everything in neatly.

  Maggie laughed. “I don’t know about your footprints but the rest of your body looks fine to me. Perfect, in fact. I wouldn’t trouble yourself. What does Matt think?”

  “Oh, he’s all for saving the ozone and the polar bears, and all that.” Lucy could tell from Maggie’s expression that her answer had been avoiding the real question. “And he doesn’
t have any complaints about my bike seat, either. This isn’t about Matt. It’s about me. I just want to get into better shape this summer. I have a big birthday coming. Matt and I are going into Boston for my birthday weekend. I bought a special dress.”

  “Really?” Maggie looked interested. But Lucy knew that would grab her attention. Among her friends, Lucy was known as Woman Least Likely to Shop, her daily outfits selected for comfort and easy clean up after dog care.

  “What’s this special dress look like?”

  “Little and tight,” Lucy replied. “And blue. I could have bought it in black, the proverbial little back dress? But it made me feel like I was in mourning for my lost youth.”

  Maggie laughed. “I get it. But I make it a rule to never buy goal-oriented clothing. I don’t think new clothes should pressure you. Life’s complicated enough.”

  “Most of the time. Yes, it is.” Lucy checked the strap on her helmet. She did like biking clothes and accessories, the colorful tops and the gadgets. It was always fun to have a hobby that required a cool outfit or two.

  “Your birthday is sometime in July, right? You’re Cancer the Crab, through and through,” Maggie added, citing Lucy’s horoscope sign. “Artistic, generous, sensitive, and loyal. To a fault. But moody at times and if you feel threatened or hurt, you tuck right into your little shell.”

  Lucy laughed and set the helmet on her head. “Exactly. I’m putting my shell on right now, see?”

  Maggie smiled and touched her arm. “Lucy, you have nothing to worry about. You’re totally young and gorgeous. Ask me about big birthdays. I’ve got a few years on you, kiddo.”

  Lucy wasn’t sure of Maggie’s exact age, but knew she had to be getting close to sixty—though she looked fantastic, at least ten years younger. Lucy knew age was just a number . . . but she couldn’t help the way she felt.

  “I guess there are worse fates. But it’s a big number for me. I didn’t give a thought to turning thirty. Some people totally freak over that one. But this seems . . . heavier somehow. More of a milestone.” Lucy sighed. “It’s practically forty.”

  Maggie smiled wistfully. “An awesome age for a woman. You’re just hitting your stride. Look at Dana and Suzanne,” she added, calling up examples of close friends in their group, both a few years older than Lucy: Dana Haeger, a psychologist with a busy private practice in town, and Suzanne Cavanaugh, a supermom and super real-estate saleswoman.

  Lucy had met both women, years ago in a beginner knitting class, that Maggie had taught. Their chemistry was instantaneous and irresistible, and Lucy knew very quickly she’d found lifelong friends. When the class ended, they decided to meet once a week, to knit and chat. But they talked and met much more than that, with Maggie’s shop turning into their unofficial headquarters.

  “They’re both at the top of their game,” Maggie continued. “Their kids are grown and they have time for themselves again. They can really focus on their careers and passions.”

  “Yes, I know. And they both look terrific, too,” Lucy agreed. “I’m not saying my reaction is logical. It just . . . is.” Maggie seemed to have forgotten that she didn’t have any children yet, and by the time her theoretical babies were grown she’d be fifty . . . or even older?

  Lucy fiddled with the chin strap of her helmet, thinking it was definitely time to go.

  Maggie had finished several rows of orange yarn and now snipped the thread and attached a new one, bright yellow. She shook her head and looked up at Lucy with an apologetic expression. She was about to say something, but Lucy interrupted her.

  “What are you working on? Is that a sample for a class?” Lucy was genuinely curious, though also trying to change the subject.

  “Yes, a simple summer tote. All one piece, a bit shaped at the top. Fold it, felt it. Add some handles. Voilà.” Maggie showed her the photos of casual, roomy totes, in summer colors and stripes. The pattern lent itself to interpretation, which Lucy liked.

  “Nice. Even I could make that.” Lucy loved to knit but still gravitated toward quick, easy projects.

  “I’m sure you can. But you’re also trying to change the subject. All this bike riding and birthday stress . . . it isn’t really about your birthday, is it?”

  “Why do you say that?” Lucy shrugged. “What else could it be about?”

  Maggie met her glance but didn’t reply. Lucy’s older, wise friend wasn’t buying. But Lucy definitely did not want to get into a discussion about her lady parts and biological clock. And that whole annoying conversation about expired eggs, as if her organs were stamped like items in the dairy aisle.

  That conversation inevitably led to back to her relationship with Matt—which was perfectly happy and wonderful—despite the elephant that had started pacing around their TV room, one with a big sign around its neck that said: GOT COMMITMENT?

  “Oh, Lucy . . .” Maggie began.

  Luckily, the sight of a blue and white cruiser pulling up in front of the shop drew her attention. Two uniformed officers got out and stood checking a list on a notepad. Preparing to check in with the shopkeepers on Main Street about Jimmy Hubbard, Lucy guessed.

  “Here they come, right on time. I hope they stop here first,” Maggie said quietly. “My statement will be short and sweet.”

  “And for once, we weren’t anywhere near the scene of the crime. And we barely knew Jimmy,” Lucy pointed out.

  “For once,” Maggie agreed with a small laugh.

  Lucy understood perfectly. She and Maggie, along with their knitting group pals, often found themselves in the thick of a police investigation. They didn’t mean to get involved; it just happened. And once they were part of some tangled situation, it seemed only natural that they’d try to . . . well, untangle it. Though the police department failed to see their well-intentioned interest in such a benign light.

  One police officer in particular, a detective in fact, Charles Mossbacher, could not understand how it kept happening. Even though that’s how he and Maggie had met a few months ago, while he was working on a case that involved a college student who had disappeared. The young woman was a close friend of Maggie’s assistant, Phoebe.

  He and Maggie had been dating ever since and right now, it seemed the only thing Charles and Maggie didn’t agree on was her curiosity about his cases. But this time, Maggie was home free.

  “I don’t know anything at all about this tragic event. And I don’t want to know. Nothing beyond what I hear on the news or read in the paper. You heard it first—my snooping days are over.” Maggie looked her squarely in the eye.

  Lucy was surprised. And a little doubtful Maggie could keep this pledge. But she didn’t want to undermine her friend’s willpower; Maggie did seem resolved.

  “Charles will be happy to hear that.”

  “He should be. He’s the reason I’m going cold turkey,” Maggie admitted. “I’ve learned my lesson. It obviously upsets him and it’s not worth risking our relationship.”

  “That sounds . . . serious.”

  Maggie shrugged and picked up the basket of yarn and the pile of patterns. “ ‘Serious’ is a serious word. Let’s just say, so far so good. There’s a lot of potential here and I’m not going to toss it away. Besides, he’s also my alibi on this one,” Maggie added with a grin.

  Lucy guessed she meant that they’d been together all evening. Before she could reply, one of the police officers had walked through the gate and called up to them.

  “Excuse me, ladies—were either of you in this shop yesterday? Or last night?”

  “I was, Officer. I own the store.” Maggie introduced herself. “This is my friend, Lucy Binger.”

  “I wasn’t in town yesterday at all. I was home, working. I live out in the Marshes,” Lucy added.

  Lucy’s neighborhood was just beyond the village and near the beach, the roads lined with stretches of tall beach grass and wetland meadows, known by the local nickname.

  The officer looked down at his notepad. “You can go, Ms. Binge
r. But I do need to ask Mrs. Messina a few questions.”

  “I was just on my way.” Lucy said goodbye to Maggie and walked down the steps to get her bike.

  She had to admit, it was fun to see her inquisitive pal on the other end of some questions for once. And she’d wriggled out of Maggie interviewing her any further about her dreaded birthday.

  As Lucy pedaled down the driveway, she could hear the officer’s questions and Maggie’s replies, describing her whereabouts the night before, and her relationship to Jimmy, a distant acquaintance at best. Maggie certainly didn’t seem to know anything that would help solve the poor man’s murder.

  Lucy wondered who did.

  Chapter Two

  The Schooner was hardly Dana’s ideal choice for breakfast after a long bike ride Sunday morning. Lucy knew her health-conscious friend would have preferred a mango and whey powder smoothie at the Health Nut Café. Or even sitting at the harbor with a takeout seaweed salad and marinated tofu. How many times had Dana reminded them that in Asia, everyone eats fish head soup for breakfast, packed with protein and omega-3s?

  But a text from their mutual pal, Suzanne, had saved Lucy from all three of those unappetizing fates. Lucy and Dana had just finished riding out to the beach and back to the village, when Suzanne spotted them on the road.

  Meet me at the Schooner? I have a little break between clients.

  Need iced coffee. Bad.

  Bet Dana has info about Jimmy H by now . . .

  Lucy showed Dana the text. Dana squinted at the phone a minute. “Oh sure . . . let’s meet up with her. Jack didn’t hear much yet about Jimmy. But he did tell me a few things.”

  Dana’s husband, Jack, had been a detective for the Essex County police force at one time, though he now practiced law in town. He still had connections on the force and heard a lot of inside information. Since he wasn’t in law enforcement any longer himself, he didn’t seem to mind sharing the gossip with Dana. She in turn shared it with her friends. Lucy wasn’t sure if Jack could get in trouble for passing on the interesting tidbits. A lot of it did eventually come out in the media. As her friends often reminded her, it was such a small town, everyone knows everything, sooner or later.