Mavis narrowed her eyes at Vi and sniffed. She turned away from Vi and began vigorously knitting. I was glad I wasn’t sitting next to her—she looked like she wanted to kill her knitting, or Vi.

“She should try both,” Lucille said. “Which do you want to start with?” Lucille turned to me holding out the needles. I looked at them and shrugged. She might as well have been asking whether I wanted to hold the snake or the tarantula. I decided on family loyalty and chose the straight pair.

Vi sat back and humphed in a satisfied way. Mavis refused to look at me. I consoled myself with the knowledge that we were never going to be friends anyway, what with our competition for Mac’s affection and all.

For the next hour I tried to knit using the purple yarn and big needles. Several of the knitters got involved and contributed advice and encouragement. After Lucille cast on for me, she patiently showed me how to put the tip of the needle in the first loop, wrap the yarn, and pull it through. When it was clear that I was a complete klutz when it came to the knit stitch, Isabel got involved and tried to show me the “continental” method.

“Hmmm,” she started, “maybe you’re a picker, not a thrower.”

I looked up at her, never feeling more clueless in my life.

“I knew it,” Vi said. “Leave it to Clyde to be a picker when every woman in her family tree has been a thrower.”

There were rueful murmurs of agreement around the knitting circle and I wasn’t sure if I was being insulted or what I was being accused of. But I did feel that I finally got the hang of it once I adopted Isabel’s method.

Heather leaned forward to watch me struggle with the needles and yarn. “I think you’re getting the hang of it,” she said. “It takes a while.”

Amy looked at Heather’s gray cabled project. I couldn’t tell whether it was a scarf or a blanket. “I remember when you used to be afraid of cable needles.”

Heather laughed. “Now look at me!” she exclaimed. She held up her knitting for admiration.

“Now, whatever you do, Clyde,” Amy said earnestly, “don’t make anything for your detective.”

There was a round of nods and murmurs of agreement.

“They’re right,” Vi said. “I didn’t warn you because I never thought I’d see you knit, but you can’t make anything for a boyfriend or you’ll doom the relationship. You’ll break up before the project is finished.”

I dropped a stitch and swore under my breath as I tried to put it back on the needle.

Lucille gently took the needles from me and fixed the mistake before handing them back.

“I don’t think there’s a risk of that,” I said. “I’ll be lucky if I can make a scarf for myself before next winter.”

By the time the clock on the mantel struck four, I had managed six rows of knitting. I’d begun with twenty stitches and now had twenty-two on the needle. And there was a hole beginning right in the middle. I leaned back into my chair and stretched my neck. I did not find knitting relaxing. Between counting the stitches, and keeping track of whether I was knitting or purling, and fielding questions on everything from my love life to my career path, it was downright stressful. Mom and Vi had obviously filled the group in on every detail they knew about my private life.

I put the knitting down and got up to stretch my legs. I wondered what was taking Mac so long, and suspected he was afraid to come rescue me from the knitters. He can be such a coward sometimes.

I was standing by the window, watching the wind make little tornadoes out of the snow, when I heard the snowmobiles returning.

They pulled into the back of the building and I could just see them by angling sideways and peering to the far right.

Mac and Kirk parked the vehicles and climbed off. I couldn’t tell whether they had been successful in reaching the police or not. They certainly didn’t arrive with a police escort.

They stood with their heads close together, hunched into their coats. I saw Mac put out his hand and Kirk shook it, then Mac headed for the hotel while Kirk pushed the snowblower around the side of the building.

I quickly packed up my knitting and stuffed it into Vi’s bag. I whispered to her that I had to step out for a few minutes. She nodded and kept knitting while Isabel walked among the women, offering assistance and advice.

I left the room, took a deep breath, and let it out.

I rounded the corner toward the back of the hotel and almost collided with Mac. He was still wearing the snowman sweater and his jeans were damp from the knees down. I guessed I’d be seeing the pink Bermudas again soon.

“Hi, I was looking for you,” he said.

“You found me.” I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. His lips were still cold from being outside and he smelled like snow and gasoline.

He had just slipped his arm around my waist to pull me closer when we heard a discreet cough.

Mac’s shoulders relaxed and he rested his forehead against mine for a moment.

“Yes?” he said, and turned to see who had interrupted.

Emmett stood there, shifting from foot to foot. He glanced over his shoulder and took a couple of steps in our direction. His face was pink, but he still wore that friendly smile.

“I’m sorry to . . . interrupt,” he said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about Clarissa’s death. I didn’t think this would matter, but then the more I thought about it, the more I realized that anything can be important, right?”

He had Mac’s full attention now. Mac released me and I took a step back to steady myself. We both turned to Emmett and nodded encouragement.

“This probably doesn’t have anything to do with your investigation, but there was a meeting on Wednesday afternoon. It was just between Clarissa, Jessica, and Mrs. Garrett.”

“Do you know what the meeting was about?” I asked.

“No, but I know that René was really ticked off about it.”

“Why?” Mac said.

“He sees himself as a shareholder even though he and Jessica aren’t married yet. I don’t blame him—he’s put his whole life into this restaurant. If sweat equity counted for anything, he’d be the majority owner.”

Emmett shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his voice even more.

“I think he and Jessica had a fight about it. And I think the meeting itself was a bit of a knock-down, drag-out kind of thing.”

“What do you mean?” Mac said.

“I saw Jessica and Mrs. Garrett storm out of the meeting and then a few minutes later Clarissa strolled out like she didn’t have a problem in the world.”

Emmett shrugged. “I got a little nervous because the last time they had a meeting like that a bunch of people lost their jobs. I don’t know who they could lose at this point, we’re at bare bones as it is, but nothing has come of it so far.”

“We’ll look into it, Emmett, thank you,” Mac said.

Emmett turned to look over his shoulder, and lowered his voice.

“There’s something else,” he said. “I saw Jessica coming out of the door that leads to the back stairway of the turret room.”

Mac had become very still. We exchanged a quick glance of surprise.

“What time was this?” I asked.

“Maybe ten minutes or so before the lights went out,” Emmett said. He held his hands out. “I can’t say for sure that she was in the room, just that she came out of the stairway door.”

We heard a door close down the hall and footsteps heading our way. Emmett waved and melted into the back hallway.

“That was weird,” I whispered. “Why didn’t he tell us that yesterday?”

“Maybe he really didn’t think the meeting mattered, or maybe he didn’t want René to hear him.”

Kirk rounded the corner carrying the ladder again. He nodded as he passed and went into the lounge.

“Did you get in touch with the police?” I asked.

“No, the road is blocked and the snowmobiles are low on gas, so we didn’t want to go looking for a phone. It’s almost a mile to the turnoff.” Mac leaned against the wall.