Stitches and Witches: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Vampire Knitting Club Book 2)

by Nancy Warren

  Gran nodded. “He wouldn’t be my choice of a doctor. He’s a bit of a fusspot, but he suits a pair of old spinsters like the Miss Watts. He holds their hand and listens to their complaints and prescribes tonics that probably don’t have any medicinal ingredients, but make them feel better.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, as that was exactly the impression I’d had of Dr. Finlayson. “I hope he can give her something to make her feel better or at least to sleep.”

  There were about half a dozen vampires sitting around the main room. One was doing a crossword puzzle, one was checking her stocks on her iPad and three were knitting. Rafe wasn’t among them and I knew without being told that he wasn’t on the premises. I seemed to have a particular instinct about him that I didn’t have about any of the others. It was a bit annoying, like an unwanted GPS that you could never turn off.

  As though she had read my mind, Gran said, “Rafe’s missing all the excitement. He’s in Liverpool, evaluating a private collection. There is said to be first edition of David Copperfield. Of course, Rafe calls all Dickens’ work popular rubbish, but I suppose to a man who was at court when Shakespeare was penning and performing his plays, a little snobbishness is acceptable.”

  “I want to ask your advice, Gran.”

  She looked quite pleased. “Of course. Do you want to be private? Shall I send the others away?”

  “No, no.”

  The woman on her iPad said, “What the bloody hell is going on with the euro?”

  The one doing the crossword puzzle said, “I told you to stick with bitcoin. Currency trading is a mug’s game.”

  The three knitters were talking amongst themselves. I didn’t think I needed to worry about anyone overhearing us. I pushed a chair closer to the computer and explained my dilemma. How Mary had paid off Gerald Pettigrew years ago, which Florence didn’t know, and how Florence believed Mary had murdered her fiancé, which Mary didn’t know.

  Gran listened intently to the whole story. “What a silly pair! If I was still alive I’d go over there and knock some sense into the pair of them. They’ve only got each other. What will happen to them if they turn on each other?”

  “I agree with you. But do you think I can offer Miss Florence Watt our spare room? I feel we should keep the two sisters apart, at least for the next few days. I doubt she’ll want to sleep in the same place where her lover was murdered.”

  My grandmother nodded. “You’re very wise. Give her some time to calm down before she accuses her sister of murder.”

  “Exactly. I feel like if they could talk to each other they might have information between them that could help.”

  “Unless Mary did kill Gerald Pettigrew. In which case, I doubt the relationship could be saved.”

  “Does Mary seem remotely like a murderer to you?”

  She made a clicking noise with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “No, but did I think that nice young man who killed me was a murderer? Not until he ran me through with an antique dagger.”

  Clearly, she was still having some issues transitioning to being undead. Not that I blamed her. “Perhaps anyone has it in them to kill, given the right provocation. My new assistant is still under suspicion.”

  From behind me Sylvia said, “You mean that young waitress whom you hired as your assistant?”

  I hadn’t heard the glamorous vampire sneak up on me. Clearly she’d heard the entire conversation so far. “Yes. Katie believes the police are trying to make a connection between her and the dead man. Based on the fact that she’s Australian and he had spent some time there. She’s young and friendless and has no money and she’s worried that they’re going to pin this on her for the sake of an easy arrest.”

  Sylvia said, “I don’t have the greatest respect for policing today. They’ve become so lazy. They rely entirely too much on forensics and too little on common sense and instinct. Did she know the victim?”

  “She says not.”

  Clearly she had heard the note of doubt in my voice. “And you think she did?”

  “I’m in a terrible dilemma,” I admitted. “I’ve known the two Miss Watts since I very first came to Oxford. They’re like my own maiden aunts. So I can’t bear the thought that one of the might have murdered the other’s fiancé. On the other hand, Katie is my new assistant and she’s very efficient. I don’t want her to be a murderer, either. But who else is there?”

  “What about the boyfriend? Presumably, he’s as much a suspect as she is?”

  “Katie said he’d been in rehearsal all day for this play he’s in. He started rehearsing at twelve-thirty. Katie and I both saw Gerald Pettigrew walk by at noon. Jim couldn’t possibly have murdered Gerald, put his body into the fridge of the tea shop, and got to his rehearsal on time, not within thirty minutes. That’s why they like her.”

  “But wasn’t she working with you?”

  I sighed. “Yes, she was. But she took her lunch break late. We were so busy through the normal lunch rush that she didn’t get away until one-thirty. She was actually a few minutes late coming back at two-thirty. She could’ve seen him, enticed him to take her into the kitchen on some pretext, murdered him, and still had plenty of time to eat her sandwich and return to work.”

  “She’d have to be a pretty cool customer.”

  “Yes. Also, she would have to have a motive. I want to see justice done as much as any person, but I won’t let her be arrested for no other reason than that she was in the right place at the right time.”

  “And the doors to their home and shop were locked? All day?”

  “Both Miss Watts say so. Florence opened the door at about three-thirty looking for Gerald because he hadn’t turned up. That’s why it was unlocked when I went in, but she swears she had to unlock it.”

  “Who else has keys to that place? Are there tradesmen? Friends?”

  Gran and I exchanged glances. I said, “There’s a key to Elderflower hanging in my kitchen.”

  “So that wretched girl could have snuck up when you were busy, pinched the key, done the deed, and put it back again. Always assuming, of course, that the old charmer didn’t let her in without her even needing a key.”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. What do you want us to do?”

  “Can you find out if Katie had any connection at all to Gerald Pettigrew? In fact, find out what you can about Mr. Pettigrew, who seems a shady character.”

  “Child’s play. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Mary claimed that she hired a private investigator fifty years ago who discovered that Gerald Pettigrew had a second family in Leeds. In fact, when he asked Florence to marry him, he was already married and a father of two. However, Florence believes that her sister got rid of Gerald by tumbling onto some secret assignment he had as a spy and threatening to expose him. It would’ve ruined his career and, I suppose, threatened the security of the United Kingdom.”

  “Heavens. What widely different stories.”

  I nodded. “I need to know which one is the truth.”

  “Any idea who this private investigator was?”

  “It was so long ago, he could be dead.”

  Sylvia sighed. “They’ll be no Internet records, of course. Do we know if Gerald Pettigrew is his real name?”

  I stared at her. “No. I hadn’t even thought that.”

  She rubbed her hands together. “I do relish a challenge. Leeds,” she pulled a face. “Why couldn’t he have a second family in Paris, or Prague, or someplace I’d quite like to visit? Leeds is such a dreary place. Which somehow lends credibility to the story. Never mind, I shall take a trip up there. Agnes? Would you care to join me?”

  My grandmother looked both flattered and somewhat appalled at the idea of traveling to Leeds. “Oh. I hadn’t thought. Lucy, won’t you need me here?”

  I exchanged a quick glance with Sylvia. It would be a good thing for my grandmother to get out of town for a couple of days. She was still too concerned with her old friends among the living and i
t wouldn’t do any of us any good if she decided to throw caution to the winds in order to comfort either or both of the Miss Watts. “I’ll miss you, of course, but Gran, think of the good you could do.”

  “Anything to help you, my dear. And poor Mary and Florence as well. Though I don’t know whether I want him to turn out to be a nasty bigamist and a cad, or a spy who gave up the woman he loved rather than compromise the safety of this nation.”

  A rather portly man with wispy blond hair and a face as innocent as a newborn baby’s made a noise like humph. We all turned to look at him but he was engrossed in his knitting and the humph could have been an expression of irritation at his knitting rather than a comment on Gerald Pettigrew’s patriotism, or lack of it.

  Sylvia said, “How very strange to have two old men murdered in Elderflower Tea Shop within the same week. Is there a serial killer of old gentlemen about?”

  “Katie was the most hopeless waitress and kept getting the table numbers mixed up. I believe now that Gerald Pettigrew was the intended victim all the time.”

  The portly blond man, with his eyes still on his knitting, said, “Never jump to conclusions. That’s bad police work.”

  I glanced at him in surprise but he just kept knitting. Sylvia said, “Theodore was a policeman. He’s very particular about proper procedures being followed.”

  Theodore nodded. “Don’t believe in hunches. Nor in jumping to conclusions. Plodding footwork, that’s what you want.”

  I was delighted to have a professional to discuss this case with. “But there doesn’t seem to be any connection between the two gentlemen.”

  His eyes might be baby soft but his voice was hard as he mimicked me. “Doesn’t seem? Doesn’t seem? That’s your idea of investigation is it, missy? You want to dig and dig until you can say with absolute certainty where the connection is between them, for I’ll be bound there is one. The two men didn’t have to know each other, they only have had to have hurt the same person or—if it is indeed a serial killer—fit some profile.”

  I said, “Well, we know that Colonel Montague was in the military. I’ve been discounting Gerald Pettigrew’s Secret Service story as a tall tale told to cover up his philandering and possible bigamy. What if he actually was in the Secret Service? Could he and the colonel have worked on the same case? Perhaps someone from the past is out to get them.”

  He nodded, looking mildly pleased. “That’s the ticket. Now, you take that question and you search. It’s a theory. Can you prove it?”

  “It’s a wild guess,” I said helplessly.

  “Doesn’t matter. That’s how we start. And while you’re following that line of inquiry you also follow the other, that Gerald Pettigrew was the intended victim all the time. Why? Who wanted to kill him so badly that he–he wagged a finger—or she would also murder an innocent victim?”

  It was uncomfortable work thinking about hate and murder. Miserably, I said, “Florence Watt believes her sister Mary may be the culprit.”

  Gran shook her head. “Imagine thinking so badly of the person you’ve been close to all your life.”

  Sylvia said, “Agnes, I think we should leave now. The roads will be quiet and we can begin our investigations and leads first thing in the morning.”

  The former policeman said, “Ladies, I shall accompany you. I feel you need a trained investigator.”

  Sylvia raised her fine eyebrows but merely said, “So long as you don’t think you’re driving. We’ll take my Bentley.”

  Gran seemed quite excited about the adventure. “I don’t think I’ve ever been driven in a Bentley.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “We’re going to have a talk about compound interest. In a couple of generations you will be as rich as the rest of us.”

  “What, rich enough for a Bentley?”

  “With your own chauffeur, should you wish one,” Sylvia said grandly. “Of course, we try not to live too opulent a lifestyle. We take care not to draw too much attention to ourselves.”

  I could see that they were anxious to get going. “You will be careful, won’t you?” They looked at me, puzzled, and I realized there wasn’t much that could hurt them. Still, Gran was a brand new vampire. I felt she needed to be cautious.

  CHAPTER 21

  I slept badly that night, dreaming of dark, shapeless things chasing me and I couldn’t run fast enough to get away. I woke feeling tired and a bit frightened.

  Florence had refused my offer of a bed, so I’d been alone, with only Nyx for company. After feeling irritated with Rafe for always being in charge, I was unreasonably irritated with him for not being around when I might be in danger. Even Gran had left, along with Silvia and Theodore. There were still vampires downstairs, and they’d assured me they’d come if I called, but I missed having my special friends around.

  I shook off my foolishness, showered, had breakfast and dressed defiantly in a bright orange sweater that Alfred had knit me. Katie called to say she wouldn’t be coming in today. I didn’t really blame her.

  I got through the day as best I could, serving customers, tidying the shelves, and keeping half an eye on the door, hoping there wasn’t a serial killer out there.

  Just before five, Sylvia came up. I was delighted to see her. “You’re back, already?”

  She was gorgeous in a calf-length black coat that looked Italian-designer chic, a hand-knit scarf in black with hints of red, and high-heeled black boots. “Darling, there was nothing holding us in Leeds.”

  “Did you find out anything?” I was excited to get the latest update.

  “We did. But you’re grandmother would never forgive me if I told you without her being present.”

  I glanced at my watch. “I’ll close five minutes early and come down.”

  It didn’t take me long to close. Nyx yawned when I shut the blinds and then, after a luxurious stretch, stepped daintily out of her usual spot in the bowl of wools and followed me down to the vampires’ underground lair.

  Gran let us in, looking very pleased with herself. “How are you holding up, dear?” she asked, searching my face.

  “I’m fine. Just a bit nervous.”

  “We’re all on edge. What happens in this street affects all of us.” Nyx headed straight for her favorite spot on the couch, and I followed.

  Theodore was sitting in one of the red chairs, a computer tablet in his hand. “Good afternoon, Lucy.”

  “Good afternoon. I’m surprised you’re all back so soon.”

  “Traffic was light. Barely anything at all on the M1. We made good time. Just over three hours going, and a little longer returning.” His baby blue eyes twinkled. “Your grandmother was very anxious to get back to you.”

  “I worry,” she said simply. “Now, who wants to tell Lucy what we found out?”

  “Why don’t you tell her?” Sylvia said, which was generous of her.

  “All right.” Gran sat beside me and clasped her hands in front of her, the way she did when she was about to tell a story. “We owe so much to Theodore. He was so good at finding things out.”

  “It was nothing,” said Theodore, looking pleased. “Happy to keep my hand in at police work.”

  “We found the house where Gerald Pettigrew had lived with his wife and two children. Fortunately, the daughter still lives there. She seemed very suspicious and unfriendly when she first answered the door, but once again, Theodore was magnificent.” She turned to look at Sylvia, who’d taken off her coat and wore an equally stylish black dress. “And so was Sylvia.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Sylvia said, “Acting a part still amuses me.”

  “Sylvia pretended that Gerald Pettigrew had promised to marry her and disappeared, while Theodore said he was a private investigator helping track down the missing man.” She chuckled. “That young woman immediately invited us in and poured out her story with no further prompting.” Then she sobered and shook her head. “I’m sorry to say that Gerald was not a good father. Or a good man.”

  “What happened? W
hat did he do?”

  “He’d abandoned them, you see. The daughter, Rose was her name, believed he became discontented when she and her brother came along and Gerald’s wife no longer wanted to spend her money on extravagant trips and, well, on Gerald. He told them he’d got a job in London that involved travel and was often away. One day, he simply stopped coming home.”

  “Oh, poor Rose and her brother.”

  “They were very close to their mother and, I think, they’d seen so little of their father that they didn’t miss him, much.”

  “Did she divorce him?”

  Gran sighed. “Theodore, you tell her the rest.”

  “No. He disappeared and according to Rose, their mother didn’t now whether he was alive or dead. She never divorced him or bothered to look for him. She didn’t want to marry again so, I suppose, she didn’t put in the effort.” He looked quite stern. “Though she should have.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  He nodded. “I see you’ve looked ahead, Lucy, and you’re quite right. Their mother died. Somehow, Gerald found out and turned up playing the grieving husband.”

  “The nerve,” Sylvia said. She tossed her silver hair. “He must have been a better actor than I.”

  “Oh, no,” Gran said. “No one could be a better actor than you.”

  Theodore coughed. “To continue, naturally the will had left everything to the two children. Gerald claimed he’d been kept away by his work and the OSA forbid him to say more.” He glanced at me. “The Official Secrets Act.”

  “Oh, I know all about that. Gerald Pettigrew used that line on me, the first day we met.”

  “Presumably, he hoped his children would share their inheritance with their prodigal father.”

  “He really was a piece of work,” I said.

  “When they refused, he challenged the will.”

  “Ouch. His own children?”

  He inclined his head. “When he lost the case, he disappeared again. Rose hasn’t seen him in more than six years.”

  I scratched Nyx under the chin, thinking. “Has Rose been in Oxford recently?”