I followed his finger and it became clear—IP, BB, NK, SS, for iPhone, BlackBerry, Nokia, Samsung. The numbers looked like they would correlate with what we had found in the storage room. There were way more iPhones listed than BlackBerries.

“Great,” I said. “But, what do we do with it?” I didn’t think this was any big secret—she kept a list of the inventory—if anything it just proved that she had her nose in everyone’s business.

“That’s the part you can’t tell anyone,” he said. “Kirk is an undercover cop working this cell phone case.”

“What? How do you know?”

Mac flipped the notebook shut inside the large baggie. He hesitated. “I recognized him. He worked a case in Saginaw a few years ago. I didn’t know him well, but I’m pretty sure he made the connection as well. We talked about it when we took the snowmobiles out to check the road. I need to let him know what we found without exposing him. I don’t want to mess up his case, or put him in danger.”

“Okay. It’s probably better if we don’t both go looking for him,” I said. “I guess that explains why he’s such a terrible maintenance man.”

Mac shoved the baggie-wrapped notebook into his waistband and covered it with his snowman. I noticed that his sweater had sprouted buttons. It seemed Mavis was still finishing.

“Let’s leave the box here until we find a key or can turn it over to the police,” I said. “Who knows if there’s even anything in there worth hiding. It could just be legal documents or jewelry.”

Mac nodded and looked around for a place to put it. “I don’t know about that. You’re sharing a room with Vi.”

“As far as I know, she can’t pick a lock, so she’s not likely to take much interest in it. She might try to wave her pendulum over it to see if it contains anything she would consider important . . .”

“Still, we should put it somewhere she’s not likely to find it . . .”

I pointed to the closet. The wall safe wasn’t big enough, but the top shelf was deep and we could push it to the back. Unless she really was on the hunt, she wouldn’t notice it up there.

After we stashed the box and Mac double-checked that the notebook was well hidden behind his sweater, we opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Mavis was there. She shut her door and clicked the lock with her key.

“Oh, Detective McKenzie,” she said. She hurried toward us on her sturdy shoes, her purple pants making that zip-zip sound of polyester rubbing against itself. It was clear she had reapplied her lipstick without benefit of a mirror when she smiled.

Her jaunt down the hall had left her breathless, or maybe it was just Mac’s proximity, but she put a hand to her ample chest as she caught her breath.

“I need to speak to you,” she said. She glanced at me and added, “Alone.”

“Mrs. Poulson, if you have something to tell me about the investigation, you can speak to both of us. Ms. Fortune is a police officer as well.”

Mavis sniffed and her mouth pursed as if she’d been given a lemon to suck on. It became clear to me why she bothered Vi so much—they were exactly alike.

“Very well,” she said. She turned to me, “I hope your professionalism will override any family loyalty you may have.”

Mac gestured toward the stairs, but Mavis balked.

“This needs to be a very private conversation,” she said. “Selma is still downstairs; we can go in my room.”

She led us to her room and reapplied her key to the lock. Swinging the door wide, she waved us inside.

This room was obviously the pink fantasy room. The curtains were heavy velvet in a deep rose color. The dark wood of the furniture glowed pink in the misty light from the window. Mavis and Selma had evidently been working hard on their yarn-bombing project. Large swaths of knitting draped over the chairs and the couch.

Mavis gestured toward her sitting area, and Mac and I perched on the small loveseat and tried not to upset the rainbow of knitted items. Mavis pressed her lips together and took the wing-back chair.

“I need to confess,” she began. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth earlier when you asked me about my movements on the night of the . . . of poor Clarissa’s death.”

Mac leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I noticed he hadn’t whipped out his notebook.

“When I came up to get my medicine, I saw Isabel coming back down from the turret room,” she said.

Mac and I exchanged a glance—the tilt of his head told me that this had piqued his interest.

Mavis held up her hand. “That’s only part of what I want to tell you,” she said. “I didn’t mention it before because I just know Isabel didn’t hurt Clarissa. I’ve known them both for many years and if anyone was going to turn into a murderer, it would have been Clarissa.”

“Did you speak to Isabel when she came back down?” Mac asked.

Mavis shook her head. “She didn’t see me. I had just opened my door and I heard someone coming down the stairs. She wasn’t very quiet.” Mavis took a deep breath and continued. “I popped into my room and cracked the door just enough to see who it was. Isabel came out of the doorway. She was rubbing her head like it really hurt and then she passed by my door and must have gone on to her own room around the corner.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” I asked, unable to hide my irritation.

Mavis had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t want to get Isabel in trouble, but now I know who really killed Clarissa.” She leaned forward in her chair and looked at each of us in turn. “Violet Greer is your killer, I’m sure of it.”

I stifled a snort and turned it into a cough. Mac put his hand on my leg to steady me and probably to keep from laughing himself. It took him a moment to speak.

“Why do you think that Violet is the killer?” Mac asked.

“I know it will be hard for you to hear.” She looked at me. “She’s your aunt, after all.” She turned to Mac. “And a good friend of your mother’s. But that woman is not to be trusted.” Mavis held her finger up in such a likeness to Vi, I wondered for a moment if these two were punking us.

“Okay, let’s stick to the evidence you have against her,” Mac said and this time he did pull out his notebook, I assumed for show.

“She’s been sneaking around the castle ever since Clarissa died, acting very suspicious if you ask me.” Mavis held up one finger. “She didn’t like Clarissa because Clarissa had made fun of her pet-psychic business and the knitters in general—which annoyed all of us, but only Vi had a murderous gleam in her eyes.”

“So, your evidence is that Vi had a murderous gleam and she’s been sneaking around?” Mac asked.

I thought that if that were enough to arrest Vi, we would have been visiting her in prison on a weekly basis.

“And I saw her steal that cable needle.” Mavis nodded and sat back in her chair, having given us the clincher.

“Cable needle?” Mac said.

“Jessica told us that Isabel’s fancy new cable needle was found at the crime scene—I saw Violet slip it into her bag on Thursday afternoon.”

I wondered what Vi would have to say for herself. The sad part is I didn’t doubt she had taken the needle. She probably wanted to sneak it up to her room to conduct some sort of knit-swatch experiment. She must have returned it at some point or someone took it from her.

“Tell me about seeing Isabel,” Mac said. He casually slipped his notebook back in his pocket as if the Isabel information wasn’t worth writing down.

Mavis flapped her hand as if waving away an annoying bug. “Oh, that was nothing. I talked to Isabel about it.” Mavis’s mouth pulled into a frown. “She wasn’t pleased when I told her I was going to discuss this with you, but you need all the facts, and not telling you was wearing me down. She accused me of being a traitor.” Mavis huffed and took a moment to breathe heavily in indignation.

Mac and I waited for her to continue.