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

by Nancy Warren

“Jim? What’s this? What’s going on?” Katie broke in.

  But Jim was looking at me. “It killed Mum. She was a good woman, and after he left, she never got over the shock. So, yeah, I tracked the old bastard down. Found out my mum wasn’t the only one he’d used and abandoned. He was an evil man, a predator. He went after women with a little money and charmed it out of them. Then left them with nothing.”

  Katie put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Jim. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He looked at her then and his mouth quirked in a half smile. “You wouldn’t have come with me if I had.”

  “You followed Gerald Pettigrew to Oxford.”

  “Yeah. I’d been watching him. When I saw him romancing old Miss Watt, everything fell into place like it’d been stage-managed. The lady was so taken with my old man but she couldn’t manage the kitchen anymore. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get inside, but not so he’d see much of me.” He laughed, mockingly. “Not that he’d recognize his own son.”

  “Oh, Jim,” Katie said again. I thought she was beginning to put two and two together.

  “I’d heard they only hired waitresses at Elderflower, one of the old girls did all the cooking, when I overheard a row and realized she’d not been doing her job properly, because of Gerald. I saw it as an opportunity. We were the answer to her sister’s prayers.”

  “When did your father suspect you?”

  “I don’t think he ever did. He was so full of himself, that when the wrong bloke got poisoned he never twigged that it was meant for him. It was only later, after the police questioned them, that I think he suspected the other Miss Watt. She knew what he was, you see.”

  “She told you this?”

  “Didn’t have to. They had a row in the kitchen when I was outside having a smoke. Didn’t know I was out there, listening.”

  Katie staggered over to the couch and sank into it. Her face was drained of color. “You poisoned Colonel Montague?”

  “That was your fault, kiddo.” He turned to me. “I told her take the tray to table six, and, just to make sure she got the right table, I said it was the old bloke in the window.”

  “But there were two old blokes sitting side-by-side in window tables. And Katie mixed up the order.”

  Katie made an awful, choking sound. “I think I might be sick.”

  Neither of us so much as glanced her way. I said, “So, the second time you tried to kill your father, you did it yourself so there could be no mistakes.”

  “Yeah. And, I wanted him to know who did it. I wanted to look him in the eye and tell him what he’d done. And I wanted to watch him die. I don’t care what happens to me now, it was worth it.”

  He let out a breath. “I’m sorry about the colonel, though. Sorry about you.”

  Katie jumped up and said, “No! Jim, no.”

  He looked at her and his eyes softened. “Katie, love, I have to kill her. And then you and me’ll go on the run. I’m sorry, love, but there it is.”

  He seemed to think for a moment and I saw him, unconsciously I think, flex his fingers. He said to me, “Now, you come in the bedroom with me, and don’t make a fuss. I’ll make it nice and easy.”

  I shook my head, trying to think of a spell that would stop him in his tracks, but my mind was chaos. “No. I don’t think I will.” I’d heard some sounds outside that suggested I was not alone. I screamed. I didn’t get much of the scream out, because Jim launched himself at me, pushing us both to the grubby couch, trying to get his hands around my throat. Katie yelled and began hitting him with her fists. I don’t think she did much damage, but I appreciated the support.

  Fortunately, before he was able to get his hands fully round my neck there was a commotion outside and the door burst open. He was pulled bodily off me and in the next instant, he was face down on the floor, with two uniformed police officers holding him down. One handcuffed him while the other read him his rights. I drew in a shaky breath.

  Ian helped me sit up. He looked grim, almost angry. “Lucy? Can you breathe?”

  I nodded.

  He said, curtly, to someone behind him, “Call an ambulance.” Then to me, “We’ll get you to hospital. Make sure you’re all right.”

  I put a hand on his arm. Found it rigid with tension. “No. Really. He barely touched me. It was Jim I saw at noon, you see. I should’ve realized the minute Katie said to me, that he looked like a completely different person when he was dressed up to go to the play. Of course, that was his alibi. He dressed up as his own father, with a wig and moustache, clothes from the prop room. But by then Gerald Pettigrew was already dead.”

  “You’re right.”

  I clutched his arm, I needed to be sure he understood me. “It was Jim who killed Gerald Pettigrew. Gerald was his father.”

  He said very gently, “Yes, Lucy. We know.” He shook his head at me. “We were collecting evidence. We’d have got him without you nearly getting yourself killed.”

  It turned out the Gerald Pettigrew had bilked at least four women out of their money, often their self-respect and, in the case of Jim’s mother, her life. I tried not to wish anyone harm, but Gerald Pettigrew had been a bad man. At least now Florence Watt would not become his next victim.

  Katie stood in the corner, clutching my knitting to her the way a child would a beloved stuffed animal. Her eyes were wide and she seemed to be in shock. I looked at Ian. “And Katie?”

  He shook his head. “As far as we can tell, she knew nothing about Jim’s plans. I think he used her as a smokescreen.”

  They took Jim away, of course. Ian said, “I’ve got to go.”

  I nodded, understanding they probably wanted to question Jim immediately, try for a full confession. I turned down his repeated offer of the ambulance, or of someone to see me home. The streets of Oxford were much safer, now. I’d be safe to ride home.

  I offered to stay with Katie, or take her back to my place, but she insisted she preferred to be left alone. There were no words of comfort I could offer her. So I just said, “I’m so sorry.”

  She offered me the knitting back but I shook my head. “Why don’t you keep it? At least it will keep your hands busy.”

  “What will happen to Jim?”

  “I really don’t know. If he doesn’t confess, he’ll go to trial, of course, but other than that, I have no idea.”

  “I’ll go to the Australian Consulate and see if he can be extradited to Australia. I think he’d be happier at home. Even if he is in jail.”

  Any kind of plan gave her something useful to do. I told her I thought that was an excellent idea and then, as I was leaving, she said, “I didn’t know. I didn’t even guess. He’s a good bloke, you know. Funny, and kind.”

  I didn’t bother to tack on the obvious addendum, funny and kind and had murdered two people, one presumably by accident. I simply said good night and left.

  It was full on night by now. As I rode my bike home, I felt a slight chill in my neck that told me I wasn’t alone. I didn’t bother turning around. I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to see him, but I knew that Rafe, in his own quaintly chivalrous way, was seeing me home.

  By the time I’d put my bike away, he was waiting at the front door of the shop. I let him in and said, “I’m going upstairs and I’m going to open a bottle of wine. Do you drink wine?”

  “Yes. I’ll keep you company.”

  Gran and Sylvia were no doubt still sleeping, so I was happy to have the company. I dug out a cold bottle of California Chardonnay that I’d bought because I was homesick. He looked at the label and shook his head. “California wine, Lucy? Really? When across the channel you have some of the greatest vineyards in the world.”

  I rolled my eyes and got out two glasses. “No doubt you’re a wine connoisseur, as well.”

  “Of course. I’ll treat you to something out of my cellar one of these days.”

  I hoped we were still talking about wine. I didn’t want to dwell on what vampires kept in their cellars.
/>   CHAPTER 23

  T he sound of twenty pairs of knitting needles clicking away was soothing, I found, as we all settled for the meeting of the vampire knitting club. Silence Buggins was visiting friends in New York, which was why we had any silence at all. Perhaps we all relished those few moments as we found our rhythm, checked where we were in the pattern, or just enjoyed creating something new.

  Gran broke the silence. “How is poor Florence Watt, Lucy? I wish I could see her. It must’ve been such a terrible shock to find out that the man she almost married was such a dreadful user of women.”

  “I think it will take her a while to get over the shock, but it helped so much that I was able to share with her some of the information you found on your trip to Leeds. I think, knowing she wasn’t the only one who was duped by Gerald Pettigrew helped her not feel such an old fool.”

  Gran finished a complicated looking row. “Awkward for her, having accused her elder sister of murder. Are they speaking again?”

  “I think so. They did talk about putting the shop up for sale and moving on but I think neither of them can imagine what they’d do with themselves with all that free time. Besides, staying busy and connected with the world is the best way to put this tragedy behind them.”

  “Very sensible.”

  “One thing I did hear, though, is that they are agreed that when they re-open they’ll go back to the classic menu. No more white chocolate or ginger scones or prawn salads for the Elderberry Tea Shop.”

  Gran’s eyes twinkled. “No, indeed. They found out what letting a chef with newfangled ideas into their kitchen could lead to.”

  Alfred said, “I am sorry that poor Colonel Montague was accidentally killed, though.”

  Sylvia smiled. “Well, you may be, but I don’t think the widow’s too sad. She’s had the decorators in and she’s having the house remodeled. She bought herself a new car and she and her children are planning a holiday in the south of France. So somebody’s finally spending the old miser’s money.”

  I was able to tell them that I’d heard from the Irish woman and Mrs. Montague had done the right thing. She’d agreed to hire a private nurse for Eileen and had settled some of the colonel’s money on the woman he’d wronged and his grown daughter.

  “And what about Miss Everly?”

  “She’s got a new fellow. Her three friends from St. Hilda’s put up a profile online and she’s met someone.”

  “So all’s well that ends well.”

  I groaned. “Except that I’m looking for another new assistant.”

  “Oh no. And Katie was so good. Can’t you keep her on?”

  “I begged her to stay, but she’s sticking by Jim. She’s helping with his defence, and she’s hoping to get him extradited to Australia. She said she hasn’t got time to work in the shop. I think she doesn’t want to be too close to the scene of the crime, either.”

  “Katie turned out to be brave and loyal. Qualities that would have kept Gerald Pettigrew alive if only he’d had them.”

  “They’re holding Jim in prison here for now.”

  Gran said, “That poor young man will be very cold in prison if he’s used to Australia. I bet he’d like a nice jumper.”

  Twenty vampire heads rose in the excitement of fresh humans to knit for. Alfred said, “Oh, and the poor young lady, she’ll need jumpers, too.”

  “Lucy, dear, do you know what colors Katie likes?”

  IF YOU ENJOYED Stitches and Witches, please think about leaving an honest review. It really helps. In the meantime, here’s a sneak preview of Crochet and Cauldrons, Vampire Knitting Club Book 3.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Winters,” I said, walking into the corner grocer on the corner of Harrington Street, in Oxford. It was convenient, only up the block from where Cardinal Woolsey’s Knitting Shop was located.

  Our little corner of Oxford was my favourite part of that ancient city. There was one college on the street, but it wasn’t one of the well-known ones. There were no world-class restaurants or fancy hotels. Nobody famous had been born or died here. It wasn’t even in the oldest part of the city. What Harrington Street had was rows of tiny shops and houses that had stood there for about two hundred and fifty years. And one of them was mine.

  I’d only been running Cardinal Woolsey’s for a few months and I was still discovering new quirks and oddities in the neighbourhood. And that was just the people! Of course, since I was both young and American, I often had to explain how I came to own a quaint, old knitting shop. The easiest explanation and the truth was that I inherited the shop when my beloved grandmother died.

  The slightly more complicated explanation, also true, was that before she was all- the-way-dead, one of her vampire friends turned her. So, I ran the shop with a great deal of interference from a group of bored know-it-all vampires who were crazy good knitters.

  “How’s business, Lucy?” Asked Mrs. winters. She was inclined to be nosy.

  “Fine. I’m thinking of branching into selling designer knitted garments, possibly on the internet.” The vampire knitting club turned out the most incredible work at warp speed and I hoped that if I could keep them busy enough, they might have less time and energy to interfere in my life. It was a faint hope, but I was clinging to it.

  “I need a new assistant, though,” I said, holding up the advertisement I’d made. “Do you mind if I pin the job posting on your community board?”

  I’d also put the ad online and I’d posted a help wanted sign in my front window, but everybody in the neighborhood checked the community board at Full Stop, the grocer’s. It was the best place to find a violin teacher, a roommate, or a job.

  However, pinning a notice up always had a price. Especially as I kept putting up the same one: “Shop Assistant wanted at Cardinal Woolsey’s Knitting Shop. Must be an experienced knitter with retail experience.” I went through assistants the way an allergy sufferer with a bad cold went through tissues.

  I waited. Sure enough, she raised her brows in fake shock. “Good heavens. Another assistant?” She leaned across the counter, past the display of lottery tickets and a plastic basket of sale priced chocolate bars, but her voice was so piercing I’m sure they could hear her at the top of the Radcliffe Camera. “It’s very important to keep consistency. Rapid staff turnover isn’t good for your business’s reputation.” She smiled at me in a very patronizing way. “I’m sure you don’t mind me giving you a hint, my dear. Only I’ve been in business a great deal longer than you have.”

  I could have told her that my first assistant had been a psychopath, my second assistant had freaked out after seeing my supposedly dead grandmother wandering around the shop, and my third had gone back to Australia to be with her boyfriend, the murderer, but I held my tongue and tried to look grateful for the unwanted advice.

  Then, as though belatedly remembering how I had come to lose my third assistant, she said, “Of course, it’s all been so dreadful with that fuss at the tea shop.”

  It takes a very special person to call two murders a fuss.

  I smiled sweetly. “Can I put up my notice?”

  “Yes, of course, dear. And I’ll keep my eye out, too, for the right person. What sort of employee do you have in mind?”

  I knew exactly the sort of person I wanted. I could picture her in my mind. “I’m looking for a middle-aged woman, perhaps someone whose children have grown and is looking for part-time work. She has to be an excellent knitter, of course, have some experience in sales, and if she’s got teaching experience that would be even better. She must be available to work weekends.” I pictured a plump woman who wore cardigans that she’d knitted herself.

  She’d be motherly, the kind of person who could dispense life advice as easily as she could turn a sleeve or knit a picture of Santa and the reindeer into a child’s red sweater. Jumper, I corrected myself mentally.

  I felt certain she was out there, my fantasy knitting shop assistant. Until she showed up, I was making do on my own with sporadic assistan
ce from some of the vampire ladies who had never been known locally when they were alive. Naturally, my grandmother was desperate to be involved, but I only let her help with the stock-taking and tidying up once the store was closed and I’d pulled the blinds.

  Having tacked up my notice and purchased fresh bread and milk for me, and half a dozen cans of tuna for Nyx, my black cat familiar, who is very particular about her diet, I walked the short distance back to my shop, my reusable cloth shopping bag swinging from my hand. Now that my shop was closed for the night, I was looking forward to an evening studying magic spells, with the help of my family grimoire. My witch cousin and great aunt kept encouraging me to join their coven, but I was hesitant to do so, with so few witchy skills to offer.

  The truth was, I seemed to get thrown into things I wasn’t very good at. For instance, I owned a knitting shop, and I couldn’t knit. I’d tried and tried. Gran said I didn’t focus properly, but I found it very difficult to keep my attention on a couple of metal sticks and constantly looping wool around them while keeping count. I couldn’t figure out how anyone kept their focus. My creations, whether attempts at scarves, socks, or sweaters, all ended up looking like variations of the sea urchin or hedgehog family. Sometimes I thought I should invent a line of knitted hedgehogs. I could really go to town.

  Gran said I came from a long line of illustrious witches. I didn’t know what my descendants might say of me, in the future, but I didn’t think they’d use the word illustrious. My potions didn’t turn out, I’d forget my spells halfway through, and I tended to blow things up. Not on purpose.

  I was determined to take charge of my life, my powers and my shop.

  And I felt things begin to fall in place when the perfect assistant, the assistant of my dreams, turned up the next day and asked for a job.

  Crochet and Cauldrons, Vampire Knitting Club Book 3

  ALSO BY NANCY WARREN

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