Knit Your Own Murder by Monica Ferris

walked to her desk, a solid chunk of a man, but not above five foot five, with a pigeon breast, a proud beak of a nose, nineteenth-century sideburns, and bushy eyebrows nearly hiding sharp blue eyes. Yet still she was struck by how much of a facade this bold front now appeared. Normally, he was strength and aggression to the bone.
    â€œGood afternoon,” he croaked quietly, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Good afternoon!” he barked assertively.
    â€œIs there something I can do for you?” she asked.
    â€œI hope so,” he said, and it was a confession. “Sergeant Michael Malloy has been talking to me—almost accusing me.”
    â€œOf what, Mr. Mickels?” She was not surprised that Malloy had gotten around to Joe.
    â€œYou know, I think, that I own three e-cigarette stores.”
    â€œYes, I had heard that.”
    â€œAnd you know Ms. O’Leary was poisoned to death with nicotine.”
    â€œYes, I had heard that, too.”
    He drew a deep, angry breath through that nose. “Well?” he demanded.
    â€œWell, what, Mr. Mickels?” She was having trouble hiding her smile.
    And he realized that she was enjoying this. He turned on his heel and started for the door. Then, just as she began to regret baiting him, he thought better of it and turned back.
    They said, simultaneously, “I’m sorry.”
    And they both grimaced.
    She said, “Obviously you are here to ask me to get Mike Malloy off your back, either by providing you with an unbreakable alibi or by proving someone else guilty.”
    â€œYes,” he said, nodding, relieved. “I’m prepared to pay any expenses you may incur.”
    â€œThat’s generous of you. But please be aware that this . . . talent I have for discovering the truth behind a crime is just that: a search for the truth. If I agree to look into the case, it’s not going to be entirely on your behalf. I’m not going to be out to clear you but to find out who murdered Maddy O’Leary.”
    â€œSergeant Malloy thinks I also murdered Harry Whiteside. Will you investigate that, too?”
    â€œI wondered if he’d roll that into the case, too,” said Betsy. “He probably thinks it was an attempt to reopen the bidding on the Water Street property.”
    â€œExactly,” said Joe, nodding once, sharply. “It’s not possible to do that, but it’s an easy conclusion. I think he’s not the only one thinking that’s the case.”
    â€œI know he’s not the only one,” said Betsy. “I’ve heard it stated baldly right here in my shop.”
    Joe snorted. “I had better instruct my attorney to file for a change of venue as soon as I’m arrested!”
    â€œMaybe it won’t come to that,” said Betsy. “Maybe Mike will find out what really happened, if it wasn’t you. Maybe he’ll discover Maddy and Harry are two different cases with two different murderers. They were each done in a different way, as if two different minds were at work on them.”
    â€œDo you think that’s likely?” asked Joe.
    â€œI think it’s a valid theory. Harry was attacked in his home, his skull was fractured, and his house was burglarized. Maddy’s knitting yarn was soaked in a poison she absorbed through her fingers, possibly by someone thinking her death might be ruled natural. That’s two different mind-sets, don’t you think?”
    Joe thought about it. “That means two different murderers, which would mean two different motives.”
    â€œOn the other hand, they were both into property—design, construction, rental.”
    But Joe had landed hard on her first theory. “Think about it. They moved in two different areas of that world. Maddy was into housing, Harry was into commercial and industrial buildings. There was some overlap, of course, but that’s a lot of