Megan & Eric's First Dinner

This scene is from chapter 14 of Knit One Murder Two. Though it’s technically a police interview, this is the first time Megan and Eric have a meal together. I copied and pasted the original scene as told from Megan’s point of view (in case it’s been a while since you’ve read the first book in the series), and the scene as told from Eric’s point of view follows. I hope you enjoy this first hand glimpse into Eric’s thoughts and feelings.

Megan’s point of view:

I arrive at Knitorious twenty minutes before the store closes, park in the parking lot behind the store, and let myself in through the back door. 
Harlow is happy to see me because my arrival coincides with his dinnertime. He corners me in the kitchenette and charms me into feeding him. 
Connie is relieved I’m still alive, and the money lender didn’t kill April and me.
 I fill her in on our trip to Harmony Hills and remind her to please ask Archie about Ryan’s whereabouts on Tuesday night since Jay didn’t confirm his alibi.

“He told you himself that he’s not ethical, my dear. Maybe Ryan was there, and the money lender is mistaken or lying. But, of course, I’ll ask about Ryan’s whereabouts. If I can get Archie alone.” 

“He said some people believe his business is unethical, not that he’s unethical. Also, you didn’t see his reaction when he realized he’d contradicted Ryan’s alibi.”

I offer to close the store so Connie can leave early to meet her book club friends. I tell her that Eric is coming to the store with more questions for me, and assure her we should be gone before she gets home. 

I haven’t had dinner yet, so by the time Eric is due to arrive I’m starving. When he knocks on the door, I’m scrolling through the delivery menu on the Ho Lee Chow website and adding items to the online cart.

I don’t recognize Eric at first because he isn’t wearing a suit. He’s wearing khaki, slim-fit trousers and a dark green, collared Polo shirt with brown leather slip-on shoes. The dark green shirt brings out the honey-coloured flecks in his eyes and the short sleeves show off a pair of nicely defined, muscular biceps and forearms. He’s hot, and remind myself not to stare.

“Hi! Thanks for meeting me again,” he says, standing aside so I can lock the door.

He smells good, like a forest after it rains and the sun comes out.

“No problem,” I respond. “You must be running out of questions by now, no? Or will I be answering the same questions I’ve already answered?” I wonder if he’s met with anyone else three times in two days, or just the top contenders on his suspect list.

“A bit of both.” He smiles and puts a hand on his flat, probably-has-a-six-pack stomach. Don’t stare, Megan.

“Have you eaten? I’m starving and I thought I might order something to be delivered if that’s OK.” 

“Great minds think alike, Eric.” I turn the laptop and show him the Ho Lee Chow menu I’ve been picking and choosing from.

He adds a few items to our order, and I hit the Submit button. 

While we wait for the food to arrive, I get dishes from the kitchenette, and Eric asks me questions about yarn with Harlow forcing Eric to rub him by jumping onto the harvest table and pacing back and forth in front of him with his tail in the air.

What’s the difference between a hank, a skein, a ball, and a cake? I explain that a hank is a loop of yarn that’s loosely twisted, similar to the yarn that Kelly bought. A skein is yarn that’s wound into an oblong ball. A ball is yarn that’s wound into a round ball, and a cake is yarn that’s wound into a cylindrical shape. To confuse him further, I explain how the words “hank” and “skein” are often used interchangeably. I gather yarn from the shelves as I explain to show him examples of each. 
What does ply mean? Well, yarn is composed of multiple yarns twisted together: single ply is one strand of yarn, two-ply is two strands twisted together, three-ply is three strands twisted together, etc. The yarn Kelly purchased was twelve-ply.

He also has questions about knitting needles: straight vs. circular, metal vs. wood, how to decide which size needle to use with which size yarn. At first, I assume his curiosity is related to the case, but then I start to wonder if he’s actually interested and wants to learn to knit. I’m sure it’s related to the case, but I offer to teach him to knit anyway. He declines. Apparently, his job keeps him too busy for hobbies like knitting.

When he’s finished testing my yarn and needle knowledge, we sit in the cozy sitting area and I pick up the hat I’m working on. I start the crown decreases while he asks me questions about my routine on Tuesday and strokes Harlow, who is curled up contentedly on his lap.

Our food arrives, and while we eat, he asks me about yesterday. I tell him, again, about Adam visiting me at the store and telling me that Paul used copies of the photos to blackmail us. Then I confront Eric and tell him how caught off guard I felt last night when he suggested that Adam and Kelly were having an affair. 

“I’m sorry about the way that played out, and that you were upset,” he says. “I didn’t think there was anything between them, but I needed to be sure, and your reaction helped confirm my hunch.” 

I appreciate the apology, but I don’t respond because I still think it was a cruel way to confirm his hunch. 

“Finding out about the affair with Ms. Murphy must have upset you though…” Eric uses unfinished sentences to ask questions; he makes a statement and lets his voice trail off at the end while he looks at you to finish the thought for him.

“Adam and I have been married for almost 20 years. We met in university when I was eighteen, and by the time I was twenty, we were married, and I became pregnant soon after. We had a great relationship for a lot of years, but somewhere along the way we grew apart. Our lives stopped revolving around each other and neither of us did anything to stop it. He focused on his career, I focused on being a mum, and being involved in the community. The next thing we knew, our daughter was the only thing we had left in common.” I stop to catch my breath and drink some water. 

“If it was over months ago, why are you still living under the same roof and keeping your separation a secret? The divorced couples I know can’t wait to get away from each other.”

I want to ask him if he’s speaking from experience, but stop myself.

“This year was a big one for Hannah. She finished high school and went away to university. We were determined that our separation wouldn’t overshadow her final year of high school, so we decided Adam wouldn’t move out until she left for university. The last thing she needed was everyone in town talking about our failed marriage and her broken home. Reputation is everything in a small town — especially in Harmony Lake. I’ve always put Hannah’s interests above all else, and our divorce is no exception. We’re not a couple anymore, but Adam and I are Hannah’s parents and we’ll always be family. It helps that Adam is a lawyer. He works on divorce cases all the time and sees first hand how divorce can bring out the worst in people. We don’t want that to happen to us. We’re intent on coming out the other side of this divorce as friends. Or at least friendly. We’ll see.”

“No one else in Harmony Lake knows you’re separated?” Eric asks.

“The only people I’ve told are April and Connie, unless Adam confided in someone. I don’t feel angry or betrayed that he was seeing someone. I mean, I haven’t been in love with him for a long time, you know? I want him to be happy and live a good life. I just wish he’d waited until he moved out, didn’t send his girlfriend compromising photos, and maybe picked someone who isn’t already in a relationship.” 

It feels cathartic to say everything out loud for someone else to hear. It’s not easy pretending your marriage isn’t broken. Living a lie is exhausting.

I wonder if Eric is married and has kids. Has he ever had to disentangle his life from someone else’s while trying to cause as little damage as possible to the other people affected? 
It’s like playing catch with a hand grenade, except every time you throw it, you have to take one step backwards until eventually you and the person you’re playing catch with can’t communicate anymore. So, you both just try to be slow, gentle, and intentional with every toss, grateful every time the other person catches it, and it doesn’t hit the ground and blow up destroying your home, everyone else's lives, and your kid. 

When we finish eating, we each choose a fortune cookie. Eric’s says, "You are cleverly disguised as a responsible adult," and mine says, "Three people can keep a secret only if you get rid of two," which sounds ominous and creeps me out. I jokingly offer to trade fortunes with him, but he declines, saying he likes his non-creepy fortune better.

 While I clear the dishes and throw away the food packages, I contemplate whether to tell him about my conversation this morning with Ryan and the road trip April and I took this afternoon to Harmony Hills to visit Jay Singh. I want this case solved as quickly as possible, and the more information Eric has, the quicker he can find the real killer and clear the Martel name. I decide it’s best to tell him. If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll tell me something in return that I don’t already know. 

“I had an interesting conversation with Ryan Wright this morning,” I begin

I watch Eric’s face closely for a reaction. Nothing. Either he already knows everything I’m telling him, or he has an impressive poker face. 
I double down and tell him about my conversation with Jay. Still no reaction.When I finish talking, he gazes into the distance like he’s thinking about something. Finally, he looks at me. 

“I’m not from Harmony Lake,” he states. “This is a small community and the residents are...protective…of each other and of information. They don’t trust outsiders, and I’m an outsider, so they’re hesitant to open up to me.”

I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. I’m a resident of this small, protective community, and he doesn’t want to offend me. His thoughtfulness is a nice change from last night. 

He’s right, it takes a long time for us to warm up to new people and accept them as one of us. We cater to tourists who are only here for a few days or weeks of the year. Some of them want the local experience while they’re here, and we’ve learned to make them feel welcome and included while still protecting the heart of our community and keeping it just for us.

“I appreciate you sharing what you’ve found out with me,” he says, “but it’s not a good idea for you to investigate on your own and question witnesses. Asking the wrong questions to the wrong people could put your safety at risk. But if people seek you out and share information with you, I’d really appreciate you passing that information along to me.”

I choose to interpret this as a verbal disclaimer, like an ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK sign at a construction site. It doesn’t mean you can’t enter the site; it just means if you do, you might get hurt, and it’ll be your own fault because you ignored the sign warning you it’s risky. 

Am I interpreting him incorrectly? Maybe, but he didn’t say no, he said it’s not a good idea, and that isn’t the same as no. While it would be easier and less work for both of us if he would just say what he means, Tonight, I’m learning that Eric speaks in subtext. He answers questions without actually answering them, and gives permission without actually giving permission. It must be a cop thing.

It’s getting late and it’s been a long day. I try to fight it, but a yawn escapes me, and I ask Eric if we’re done with questions for the night. I turn off the lights, we say goodnight to Harlow, and the cat follows us to the back door, then slinks upstairs to Connie’s apartment. Eric and I leave through the back door. 

We wish each other a good weekend, which makes me hopeful that he’s not planning to question me again until at least Monday.

Eric’s point of view:

I pull into the parking lot behind the yarn store and check my phone. Nothing. I was hoping to hear from at least one of the dozens of witnesses I spent the day chasing around town. I’m spinning my wheels here. No matter how approachable and friendly I am, the residents of Harmony Lake won’t give me a break. They don’t answer my calls, they avoid me when they see me on the street, and when I finally come face to face with one of them, they make excuses to rush off. 

Every case has its struggles, but this is ridiculous. I spend all my time unsuccessfully hunting down witnesses. How can there be so many hiding places in such a tiny town? How will I solve this case without any cooperation from the locals?

The only witnesses who are cooperative are the Martels. Are they really separated? They seem too friendly for a separated couple. It’s the most amicable break-up I’ve ever seen. 

They both say the marriage is over, and I did feel tension between them when I was at their house last night. But they’re persons of interest in a murder investigation, they were being blackmailed, and I’d just blindsided Megan with the possibility that Stephanie Murphy wasn’t the only woman Adam had a relationship with. 

I feel lousy about that. As if she doesn’t have enough to deal with. The look on her face when I said it was like a punch in my gut. I tossed and turned all night worrying about her. I haven’t lost sleep over a woman since I was married. I considered texting her to apologize and make sure she was OK, but that would’ve crossed a line. She’s a witness, not a friend. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t like me. But it does matter. I know it shouldn’t, but it does. 

Walking around to the front of the store, my stomach makes a hollow, rumbling sound and the aroma of something freshly cooked, wafts past my nose. I should’ve eaten before coming here. There’s so much food in this town. Per capita, Harmony Lake has more restaurants than any other town I’ve ever visited. I’ll ask Megan if I can order pizza or something to be delivered to the store. 

The sign is turned to CLOSED and the door is locked. Shoot! I hope she didn’t forget. What if she’s mad about last night and stood me up? I peer through the window, and Megan is standing behind the counter, working at a laptop and stroking Harlow while he tries to obstruct her view of the screen. 

Deep breath. It’s an interview, Sloane, not a date. Relax. I knock three times. 

“Hi!” She smiles. 

Megan has a beautiful smile. Her whole face smiles, not just her mouth. 

“Hi! Thanks for meeting me again,” I say, standing aside, so she can lock the door.

She smells amazing, like warm vanilla. “No problem. You must be running out of questions by now, no? Or will I be answering the same questions I’ve already answered?” She asks. 

I’m tempted to tell her that she’s the only witness willing to meet with me, but I stop myself. 

“A bit of both.” I smile and rub my stomach when it rumbles again. 

Did she just look me up and down? Is Megan Martel checking me out? I hope she doesn’t think I’m unprofessional because I’m not wearing a suit. 

Her black skinny jeans fit her so perfectly, they’re distracting. Don’t stare, Sloane, and don’t look at her v-neck sweater, either. Time for a distraction. 

“Have you eaten?” I ask. “I’m starving and I thought I might order something to be delivered if that’s OK.” 

“Great minds think alike, Eric,” Megan says, turning the laptop toward me. 

There’s a take out menu on the screen. Some place called Ho Lee Chow. Chinese food, I assume. She’s already added stuff to the online cart. I look at the cart, then the menu, and add a few more items. I turn the laptop toward her and she completes the order. 

Megan makes trips to and from the back room with dishes, and napkins, and such. I offer to help, but she tells me to sit down and relax. I’ve lost control of this interview and it hasn’t even started yet. I stand at the harvest table at the back of the store rubbing the cat, and decide to start with questions about the yarn found at the murder scene. I searched the internet earlier, but, shockingly, there isn’t a lot of information about yarn as a potential murder weapon.

This woman’s yarn knowledge is incredible. Thanks to her, I now know the difference between a hank, a skein, a ball, and a cake. Kelly Sinclair, the victim’s wife, bought twelve-ply yarn in a hank –– a loop of yarn that’s loosely twisted. Megan warns me that the words “hank” and “skein” are often used interchangeably, as if it would ever be relevant in my life. Her enthusiasm for the “fibre arts” –– as she calls it –– is adorable. She lights up. I bet this is what I’m like when I talk about work.  

She’s a good teacher. She found examples on the store shelves to show me the differences in the various yarns. If someone walked in here right now and handed me a pop quiz about yarn, I’d ace it. 

When I ask her about knitting needles, she misunderstands my motivation, and offers to teach me how to knit. Private lessons. I’m touched by her offer, and find it weirdly tempting, but politely decline, and assure her my interest is purely professional. The last thing I need is another hobby to ignore because I work all the time. 

I run out of yarn and needle questions before dinner arrives. Megan gestures for me to follow her to the front of the store. We sit in “the cozy sitting area” in front of the display window. She suggests that if people see her talking to me, it might make other people more comfortable talking to me. She knows the locals have shut me out, and she’s trying to help. Now I feel like a bigger heel for what I said to her last night.  

Megan picks up a hat and starts knitting without even looking at it. Amazing. A stray curl hangs near her eyes, and I’m tempted to tuck it behind her ear, but catch myself. As if she can read my mind, she stops knitting briefly, and sweeps the curl aside. She resumes knitting without looking. It’s mesmerizing to watch, but this isn’t why I’m here. I ask her a few questions about her routine on Tuesday, and pet the cat, who is curled up on my lap, purring. This is the most relaxed witness interview I’ve ever had. 

Our food arrives, and while we eat, I ask Megan to tell me about yesterday. Again. I can tell she’s tired of reliving it, but she doesn’t complain, and tells me again about Adam showing up at the store in the morning to tell her that Paul had copies of the photos and was blackmailing them. Then it happens. She brings up what I said last night. She says she felt ambushed when I suggested Adam and Kelly were having an affair. It made her feel like she can’t trust me. Another gut-punch moment. After she tells me how she feels, I find myself actually rubbing my gut. 

“I’m sorry about the way that played out, and that you were upset,” I apologize. “I didn’t think there was anything between them, but I needed to be sure, and your reaction helped confirm my hunch.” 

Silence. I resist the urge to apologize again. You’re here to solve a crime, Sloane, not make friends, or appease Megan Martel’s hurt feelings. 

“Finding out about the affair with Ms. Murphy must have upset you though…” I let my sentence trail off without finishing it. 

I find most people will fill in the missing information, without realizing they’re answering a question. Not Megan. She tilts her head and smiles, silently encouraging me to finish my thought. 

After a few seconds of neither of us saying a word, she sighs heavily and drops her knitting in her lap. 

“Adam and I have been married for almost 20 years. We met in university when I was eighteen, and by the time I was twenty, we were married, and I became pregnant soon after. We had a great relationship for a lot of years, but somewhere along the way we grew apart. Our lives stopped revolving around each other and neither of us did anything to stop it. He focused on his career, I focused on being a mum, and being involved in the community. The next thing we knew, our daughter was the only thing we had left in common.”
 She stops, takes a deep breath and has some water. 

“If you decided it was over months ago, why are you still living under the same roof and keeping your separation a secret? The divorced couples I know can’t wait to get away from each other.”

I want to tell her I speak from experience, but I don’t.
 I have a strict separation policy when it comes to my personal and professional lives. The less the people I interview know about me, the better. But there’s something about Megan that makes it hard for me to remember she’s a person of interest. She’s easy to talk to, and she’s a good listener. I want to tell her stuff. She should’ve been a cop. She’d be incredible at interrogation. 

“This year was a big one for Hannah. She finished high school and went away to university. We were determined that our separation wouldn’t overshadow her final year of high school, so we decided Adam wouldn’t move out until she left for university. The last thing she needed was everyone in town talking about our failed marriage and her broken home. Reputation is everything in a small town — especially in Harmony Lake. I’ve always put Hannah’s interests above all else, and our divorce is no exception. We’re not a couple anymore, but Adam and I are Hannah’s parents and we’ll always be family. It helps that Adam is a lawyer. He works on divorce cases all the time and sees first hand how divorce can bring out the worst in people. We don’t want that to happen to us. We’re intent on coming out the other side of this divorce as friends. Or at least friendly. We’ll see.”

“No one else in Harmony Lake knows you’re separated?” I ask.

“The only people I’ve told are April and Connie, unless Adam confided in someone,” she replies. I sense she wants to say more, so I stay silent. After a short pause, she adds, “I don’t feel angry or betrayed that he was seeing someone. I mean, I haven’t been in love with him for a long time, you know? I want him to be happy and live a good life. I just wish he’d waited until he moved out, didn’t send his girlfriend compromising photos, and maybe picked someone who isn’t already in a relationship.”

If Adam’s goal was to have a relationship with someone completely different from his wife, he succeeded. I’ve spent time interviewing both women, and in my opinion, Stephanie doesn’t hold a candle to Megan. Where Megan is warm and friendly, and beautiful, Stephanie is serious and reserved. It’s almost like Stephanie goes out of her way to be bland. 

I want to tell Megan that I know what she’s going through. I know how it feels to leave a marriage and start over. Keep a professional distance, Sloane.  

After dinner, we each choose a fortune cookie. Mine says, "You are cleverly disguised as a responsible adult," and Megan’s says, "Three people can keep a secret only if you get rid of two.” She says her fortune is creepy and offers to trade with me. I tell her I’ll keep my non-creepy fortune, and she laughs. This is the first time I’ve seen her laugh and I immediately want to make her laugh again.  

She won’t let me help her clear the dishes and throw away the food packaging. I should probably thank her for her time and leave, but I get the feeling she wants to tell me something, so I sit and wait. I rub the cat, ask a few questions about Harmony Lake, and what other restaurants I should try while I’m here. 

“I had an interesting conversation with Ryan Wright this morning,” she finally blurts. 

Megan tells me about her conversation with Ryan, and finally getting some real information makes me as giddy as a baby on a swing. But don’t let it show. Conceal, don’t feel, Sloane. 

Then she tells me about her conversation with a local money lender, Jay Singh, and I have to stop myself from pumping a fist in the air because I’m so happy to have a new lead to follow. But I keep a poker face. Calm on the outside, hectic on the inside. 

When she finishes talking, I’m conflicted. Her information is useful. It’s high quality investigative work. But I can’t allow Megan to be my informant. It could put her safety at risk. As much as I need the information, and as valuable as it is, I’ll find another way. Her safety is more important. I look at her.  

“I’m not from Harmony Lake,” I state the obvious. “This is a small community and the residents are...protective…of each other and of information. They don’t trust outsiders, and I’m an outsider, so they’re hesitant to open up to me.”

I choose my words carefully to avoid a repeat of last night. The last thing I want to do is offend or upset her again. I appreciate you sharing what you’ve found out with me, but it’s not a good idea for you to investigate on your own and question witnesses. Asking the wrong questions to the wrong people could put your safety at risk.” She looks deflated. She wants to help, and who am I kidding, she’ll probably keep asking questions anyway, it’s not like she asked before she did it the first time.  “But if people seek you out and share information with you, I’d really appreciate you passing that information along to me.”

Megan unsuccessfully fights back a yawn, and I check the time. It’s later than I thought. She asks me if we’re done with questions for the night, and I say, yes. 

I wait while she turns off the lights and gets her bag. We say goodnight to Harlow, and he follows us to the back door, then disappears upstairs. 

“Thank you for your time, Megan,” I say as she locks the back door. 

“Anything to help.” She smiles. “Have a good weekend. Don’t work too hard.” She winks and I smile involuntarily. 

“You too,” I say. 

The sooner I solve this case and get out of this quirky, little town, the better. Something about this place messes with my ability to focus. 

Click here to read, Killer Cables: A Knitorious Murder Mystery book 2.