A Murder in Mohair Page 3

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Lucy quickly tapped a text back to Suzanne.

  “Oh, is that why you invited me to go riding this morning?” Dana tried to sound injured, but was laughing a bit, too.

  “Of course not. I thought it would be fun. Even if you do have a much nicer bike, and I could hardly keep up with you,” Lucy teased back.

  “Sorry. I think you need the derailleur checked or something. I’m surprised the chain didn’t fall off.” Dana glanced down at the gunky gears and Lucy did, too.

  “I’m surprised, too. It happens all the time. I bought this bike at a yard sale. It is time for a new one.”

  She and Dana had dismounted at the harbor and were now rolling their cycles along the sidewalk on Main Street.

  “Too bad the shop isn’t open. I’m sure Maggie would be up for taking a break with us,” Dana said. “Should we call her?”

  “I think she’s spending the day with Charles on his sailboat. Besides, the less she knows these days about an ongoing police investigation, the better. She’s sworn off amateur sleuthing. She claims. Or did she say snooping?” Lucy couldn’t remember. “It’s a touchy subject with Charles.”

  “I guess his feelings are more important to her now. I think that’s nice.” Dana smiled.

  “I do, too,” Lucy said, though she was fairly certain Maggie’s curiosity about such matters would persist, even if it did cause friction in her romance.

  As they locked up their bikes in front of the Schooner, Lucy spotted Suzanne sitting at a booth near the window. Once they were inside, she noticed that Edie was not at her usual post, behind the big old brass cash register, posed like a bouffant Buddha, watching over her kingdom.

  Suzanne waved wildly, as if bidding farewell from the deck of an ocean liner. “Lucy! Dana! Over here!”

  Dana slipped into the seat next to Suzanne and kissed her cheek hello. “Good work, Suzanne. You grabbed a good table.”

  Good for people watching, Lucy knew she meant. One of the major perks of a visit to the town’s favorite café.

  Lucy sat across from them and picked up her menu.

  “Wow. Look at you two in your spiffy biking outfits. You both look so cute in those little pants. I’d pay good money to fit into a pair that weren’t meant as control-top underwear. Did you ride very long? It’s so hot out there.”

  “Just to the beach and back. We did about ten or twelve miles?” They’d set out early, but it had been hot on the way back. Lucy was grateful for the glass of ice water that suddenly appeared, with the help of a very efficient busboy.

  “Only ten miles? Excuse me.” Suzanne shrugged. “What do you call a long ride? From here to Cape Cod?”

  Lucy laughed. “That would be a trek,” she conceded. But ten miles on a bike was not a long ride at all. Suzanne obviously didn’t get out pedaling much.

  “There is a great bike trail on the Cape now, on the path of an old railroad track,” Lucy told her. “It’s very smoothly paved and goes all the way from Brewster to Provincetown.”

  “I tried a stretch last summer. It is great. Most of it is shady and flat. We have to go out there together sometime . . . but not on that bike, I hope. You’d be in bed for a month.” Dana took a long drink of water, too, and stared at Lucy over the top of the glass.

  “What’s wrong with your bike, Lucy?” Suzanne sounded concerned. “It is broken?”

  “It’s old and clunky and the gears don’t work. Otherwise, it’s perfect.” Lucy glanced at Dana. “I can’t help it if some people around here are cycle snobs.”

  “My bike is lighter and you don’t need to kill yourself riding uphill,” Dana explained. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  “And it has about three hundred more gears than mine . . . and it was handcrafted in Italy. You forgot that part,” Lucy reminded her.

  Dana shrugged, trying not to smile. “Okay, you got me. But I didn’t pick it out. Jack and the boys are the cycle snobs, I guess. They bought it for me as a surprise.” When Lucy didn’t answer she added, “I think they got a good discount. I can find out the name of the store for you.”

  Suzanne glanced from one friend to the other, following the debate as she perused the open menu.

  Lucy sat back and opened her menu, too. “That’s all right. Matt’s buying me a bike for my birthday. A really good one. Custom fit.” She was not usually the type to brag, but Dana’s teasing had struck a nerve.

  “Wow, that’s a nice gift. Very thoughtful.” Dana was clearly impressed. “You should have told me, I wouldn’t have gone on about it.”

  Suzanne put her menu down and just stared. Lucy knew her wide-eyed expression had nothing to do with bicycles.

  “A bike? Really? What are you . . . nine years old? How about he custom-fits a diamond ring to the third finger on your left hand? Did that suggestion ever come up?”

  “A good bike costs almost as much,” Dana said quietly.

  “And I don’t even like diamonds,” Lucy reminded Suzanne.

  “That is so not the point and you both know it. How about a ruby? A sapphire? An emerald? Precious gems, a symbol of eternal, precious love. Sorry, honey—a bike just doesn’t cut it. Even a super-duper nice one from Italy.”

  Lucy sat back, totally put on the spot. Suzanne could be outrageously outspoken at times, but this had to be one of her all-time over-the-top moments.

  Before Lucy could reply, Dana jumped in. “Suzanne . . . what a thing to say. Where are your boundaries? It’s absolutely none of our business.”

  “Thank you, Dana,” Lucy said quietly, completely forgiving her now for having a better bicycle.

  Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Okay . . . bad dog, Suzanne. Hit me on the nose with a rolled-up menu or something. It’s fine. I just have one tiny question, Lucy. And I ask this as a dear friend. . . . You can’t deny that you must think about it. Or don’t you want to marry Matt after all?”

  “Objection! Leading the witness,” Dana said, in a courtroom voice.

  Suzanne sighed. “For goodness’ sakes, we’re just trying to have a little conversation here, Dana. Get a grip.”

  She stared at Lucy again, leaning across the table and speaking in a much softer tone. “If you don’t want to answer me, it’s fine. No worries. But we are your closest friends in the world. If you don’t tell us, who can you tell? And of course you know, I only share because I care.”

  Lucy sighed. She glanced from Suzanne to Dana, who now gestured with a fingertip over her lips, as if she were zipping up her mouth.

  “Guys, calm down. You don’t need to come to blows. Truth be told . . . yes, I do want to marry Matt. I do think about it. A little,” she admitted. “And I think Matt does, too. We just haven’t had time to talk it all out yet.”

  Suzanne was obviously encouraged. “All right. That sounds good. For now. But you can’t wait for him to initiate ‘the conversation,’ Lucy. Men never want to do that.”

  “That’s not true, Suzanne,” Dana quietly contradicted.

  Suzanne glanced at her. “Not on your planet, maybe. But here on Earth, we all know men are from Mars, and women are from Venus. Or did you miss that memo?”

  Lucy sighed. She’d never read that book and now wondered if she ought to.

  “To tell the truth, I was hoping he’d do that. Or just propose or something? If I have to persuade or pressure someone into marrying me, what’s the point? That’s no fun at all.”

  Suzanne shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be fun. But at least you’ll know what page of the romance novel he’s on.”

  “I know what you’re trying to say, Lucy,” Dana cut in. “But there is a difference between drawing a line in the sand, and owning and airing your feelings. If this issue is bothering you. Then again, if it’s not, maybe you don’t need to have that conversation right now. Or ever. Maybe you and Matt could live together happy as clams forever, without taking the conventional path of marriage, et cetera.”

  Suzanne sighed. “Of course it’s both
ering her. Of course she expects marriage, et cetera. And by that I think you mean babies? Why else would she be riding her bicycle all over town like a maniac?”

  “I just want to get into better shape. I bought a special dress for my birthday,” Lucy insisted. “It has nothing to do with Matt. Or our relationship.”

  Lucy truly believed that. Yet, protesting so passionately to her friends gave her pause to wonder. Was she really upset about this question?

  “Okay. Have it your way. I had my say.” Suzanne raised her hands in surrender. “But to borrow a phrase from Dana’s playbook, ‘I think you need to process this conversation.’ ”

  Dana laughed. “Is that what I say?” She smiled at Lucy and shrugged. “Suzanne’s right. We both shared our thoughts. Enough said.”

  “Fine with me.” Lucy didn’t need to talk about this anymore, either. Did she really have to corner Matt and pressure him?

  Whine, persuade, set out her logical points like a politician hoping for his vote?

  She was definitely not that woman . . . and never would be. If that’s what it was going to take, they very well might end up spending the next twenty years or so happily unmarried, et cetera.

  The truth was, she’d always imagined that one day, when she least expected it, he would pop the question in some extremely original and adorable manner—surprise her with a ring in her morning cup of coffee? Or a glass of champagne? Or maybe it would appear as she unwound a ball of yarn? The way romantic actors always do in the movies.

  “Maybe I just have to make him watch more chick flicks with me, and he’ll get the idea,” Lucy suggested to her pals.

  “Maybe.” Dana was studying the menu now and glanced at her over the top. “Our Netflix queue is filed with documentaries—Jack’s favorite. The rise and fall of rock bands, mainly. Oh, and the Nixon era. Ask me anything about Watergate. I’m your gal.”

  “Ugh . . . talk about a mood killer.” Suzanne shivered. “Kevin’s not so bad. I can get him to snuggle up with a good chick flick from time to time, or even some Downton Abbey. Those smoochy movies will definitely give Matt ideas. But not the kind you need right now,” Suzanne advised knowingly.

  The waitress arrived to take their order. Lucy was grateful for the break in conversation.

  She glanced out the window. The prime people-watching perch was paying off. Lucy noticed a familiar face approaching and about to enter the diner: Nora Gordon, Edie’s niece. She did look much better than the last time Lucy had seen her, about a month or so ago. She’d cut her hair and dyed it a lighter color. She was talking and smiling in an animated way, and her orange and white striped T-shirt was positively cheerful.

  Nora was walking down the street with another woman, whom Lucy didn’t recognize. But when they came into the Schooner, Lucy knew the identity of Nora’s friend, too. The pair paused a moment, looked around for an empty table, then headed for the far side of the diner.

  “Don’t all look at once—but Nora Gordon, Edie’s niece just walked in, and the woman with her is a psychic medium, Cassandra Waters. At least, she claims to be,” Lucy added in a hushed tone.

  “A psychic?” Dana seemed amused. “Who told you that?”

  “Edie. She was at Maggie’s shop yesterday morning, and started talking about Nora. How she’d been so depressed after she lost her son, and the only thing that’s helped her so far is visiting this psychic.”

  “I’ve heard of her. My boss brought her advertising cards into the office.” Suzanne pulled the paper off a straw and stirred up her iced coffee. “He hired the psychic for a party. He said she was very good.”

  “Very entertaining, you mean,” Dana clarified. “Saying she was ‘good’ would infer that she could really predict things.”

  Suzanne shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t invited. But I have to admit, I do believe that some people have some sort of sixth sense. I’m not saying everybody who hangs out a fortune-teller shingle is for real. But there are some weird and unexplainable things going on in the universe, ladies. Grandma Bella, for instance, would have dreams about people in the family that really came true.” Suzanne shrugged. “You never know, right?”

  Dana tilted her head. “I don’t count out psychic abilities or events entirely, either,” she said. “For one thing, I’ve had too many patients tell me about intuitive feelings that come true. Or even prescient dreams. Carl Jung believed in extrasensory perception, synchronicity, and a collective unconscious that connects everyone. He studied and wrote about those topics extensively.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that.” Lucy took another sip of water. She was listening to her friends, of course, but also watching Cassandra Waters and Nora.

  “I did not understand half of what you just said, Dana. But I think you sort of agreed with me.” Suzanne looked pleased by this small victory.

  “I do. But I also agree, most people who sell themselves as psychics—and I do mean sell—are total fakers, merely expert at reading people by appearance and body language and their reactions to certain key questions.”

  The food arrived: a yogurt and fruit parfait for Dana, a breakfast burrito for Suzanne, and for Lucy, an egg white omelet with mushrooms, a slice of tomato, and sprig of parsley. She forced a smile and dug into her dish, reminding herself of how lean and mean she was going to look on her birthday.

  “I could practically claim to be a psychic myself. I have to practice all those techniques in my practice,” Dana added.

  Suzanne tucked extra napkins into the neckline of her hot pink tank top. “I never thought of it that way. A new career for you, Dana, in your retirement years.”

  Dana laughed. “You never know.”

  “Let me test your powers . . . will this burrito give me heartburn? I have a lot of houses to show today.”

  Dana closed her eyes and theatrically pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Then turned to look at Suzanne. “The spirits say . . . save half for lunch.”

  “Good call,” Lucy agreed, around a bite of omelet that was actually quite tasty. “But that’s just common sense.”

  Before Suzanne could reply, another voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, ladies, how are you doing? Need anything? Ketchup, napkins . . . more coffee?”

  Edie had snuck up on her big white shoes, a stack of menus tucked under one arm and a coffee canister in hand.

  “It’s all good, Edie,” Lucy replied. “How are you? How’s your angina?”

  Edie waved the coffee canister. “My ticker’s fine. Just took a few extra pills last night. I haven’t heard any more news about Jimmy Hubbard. Have any of you?”

  Poor Jimmy . . . they’d forgotten all about him, distracted by Cassandra Waters and Suzanne’s unsolicited relationship advice.

  “I did hear a few things from Jack,” Dana replied, in a quiet tone.

  “Wait a minute . . . slide over, Lucy. Let me get in there. My hearing aids are buzzing with the racket.”

  Edie set the coffeepot and menus on the table as Lucy slid toward the window to make room. The diner owner squeezed most of her puffy body under the table, her legs angled out into the aisle.

  “Okay, go on, dear. I’m all ears.” Edie cocked her beehive hairdo in Dana’s direction.

  “Jack didn’t say too much. But there was no sign of a struggle. And no sign of forced entry. The police are assuming that Jimmy opened the door to someone he knew, or had no reason to fear. And there was just one other thing they found out right away that might be important: Jimmy had a record of arrests and spent several years in prison. Serious time.”

  Lucy was the most surprised to hear that. “Really? He seemed like such a nice guy. No weird tattoos, or anything like that. It’s hard to believe he was a hardened criminal. Maybe he’d made some mistake and paid his debt to society. It doesn’t mean he was an awful person.”

  “Whatever it was, he seemed to have reformed. The police couldn’t find anything else amiss since his release. Not even a parking ticket,” Dana said.

  “
Lucy’s right. People make mistakes. Though most of us don’t screw up that badly,” Suzanne conceded.

  “So, what was he in for?” Edie asked. “Must have been something big to get locked up a long time.”

  Dana shrugged. “Jack wasn’t sure. But it’s possible Jimmy’s death is somehow connected to his past. It’s one lead for the investigation.”

  “Just goes to show, you never know about people, do you?” Edie sat back and shook her head. “Maybe he was messing around with the wrong types again. It’s not ours to judge the man. We all have some dirty laundry in the back of the closet we wouldn’t want to show the world. You can bet on that, girls.”

  “Everyone has secrets. That’s certainly true,” Dana agreed.

  “Speaking of—here comes the Queen of the Secret Guessers. Right on cue,” Edie whispered. “I just have to introduce you. I want to know what you think.”

  Before Lucy or her friends could reply, Edie had pushed herself to her feet, effectively blocking the path of her niece, Nora and Cassandra Waters, who were headed toward the register, check in hand.

  Edie waved to them. “Nora, come on over. Say hello to Lucy and her friends.”

  Lucy leaned close to her friends and whispered, “Do you think the psychic heard us taking about her? We were pretty discreet and she was sitting far away.”

  “But maybe she read our thoughts?” Suzanne teased her.

  “More likely, our lips. I bet she knows a lot about that, too,” Dana whispered back.

  Good point, Lucy thought. But there was no chance to reply. Nora and Cassandra Waters were suddenly smiling down at Lucy and her friends as Edie made some quick introductions.

  “You know Lucy and her pals, don’t you, Nora? They all hang around the knitting shop with Maggie.”

  “Sure I do.” Nora cast a small but friendly smile at the group. “Nice to see you.”