A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) by Anne Canadeo

crazy . . . I wish he’d just leave me alone . . . He just doesn’t get it . . . not even the order of protection . . .” Maggie couldn’t hear every word, but Charlotte’s tone—angry and frustrated—was clear enough.
    Obviously the boy was harassing her. Hadn’t Phoebe mentioned that Charlotte had just ended a relationship? This must be the aftershock.
    Maggie glanced back at the entrance. Voices were growing louder and more insistent. Even though Professor Finchhad extended her hands, gesturing for the uninvited Quentin to go, he roughly pushed her aside, shook off the hold of the waiter, and headed toward Charlotte like a lovesick heat-seeking missile.
    “Oh God . . . here he comes . . .” Charlotte tore away from Phoebe and took off, the clicking heels of her high boots echoing in the empty space.
    Phoebe stared at Maggie a second, then chased after her friend.
    “Phoebe? Wait . . .” Maggie called out, but it was too late.
    Quentin quickly cut across the gallery, heading straight for a black metal door at the far corner of the room. Maggie could see the two girls aiming for the same door by a more circuitous path.
    Luckily, they reached it first, pulled it open, and ran through. It slammed shut, the sound echoing in the empty space.
    Quentin bumped into a cluster of visitors, spilling their drinks and tipping paper plates of crackers. He quickly pushed past them, reached the door, and ran through, only a few seconds behind Phoebe and Charlotte. The door slammed for a second time, as if sealing off a portal to another dimension.
    “What’s going on? Where’s Phoebe?”
    Maggie turned to see Dana, Suzanne, and Lucy, who had left to view the exhibit.
    “Charlotte’s ex-boyfriend just crashed the party. He’s after Charlotte. Phoebe is trying to protect her.” Maggie paused, the realization sinking in. Could Phoebe even protect a . . . fly? “Come on . . . before he catches up to them.”
    The friends dropped their glasses on a nearby table and joined the chase.
    Sonya Finch followed, too. “I’ve just called campus security . . . they’re on the way . . .”
    She moved as quickly as her bulk and gait would allow. Maggie barely had time to glance back as she pulled open the heavy black door.
    The door closed behind her, separating her from the rest of the pack. Maggie found herself in silent, pitch-black darkness. She paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
    This had to be the studio space that she’d noticed when they were outside. It felt even chillier than the gallery and damp. She took a few steps forward; the floor was hard and cold under the thin soles of her dressy shoes, and Maggie took in a musty, earthy scent. As if she were in a basement. Then she realized it was the scent of damp clay; she must have wandered into the ceramics studio.
    All she could hear were her own deep breaths and the hollow echo of heavy footsteps moving very quickly somewhere on the other side of a warehouse-sized space.
    Before she could figure out which way to go, a piercing scream cut through the darkness. Then what sounded like a pile of dishes crashing to the floor. Maggie stood very still, listening. She held her breath.
    Was that Phoebe . . . or Charlotte?
    Neither choice was preferable.
    “Phoebe . . . is that you? Answer me, please! . . . Are you in here? . . . Are you all right?”
    Maggie ran toward the sound, though in the darkness it was hard to tell if she was moving in the right direction. Hereyes were more accustomed now to the dark, and a bank of high windows let in some thin, milky light from a distant street lamp.
    Finally, she heard footsteps coming up behind her.
    “Maggie? Wait for us . . .” Maggie turned to see Lucy and her other friends running toward her with their phones out, which they were using as flashlights.
    Why in the world hadn’t she thought of that? She was just too low-tech for her own good, that was the problem. She reached in