by Nancy Warren
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
A Note from Nancy
Garters and Gargoyles
The Great Witches Baking Show
Also by Nancy Warren
About the Author
Introduction
Is there a murderous poltergeist on the loose?
When an Oxford caretaker is killed by a fall down the library stairs, and a professor attacked, rumors fly that it’s the work of a poltergeist who’s been causing havoc at the college.
The prof is a knitter, and a customer at Lucy Swift’s shop, Cardinal Woolsey’s. But Lucy thinks a very human killer is shifting the blame onto a ghost who can’t defend themselves and she’s determined to trap the real killer and get justice for the dead man.
However, danger lurks at the college where old secrets and new crimes collide. Vampire and old book expert Rafe Crosyer has been called in to value the college’s literary collection, and he witnesses first hand how angry the ghost really is.
Furious enough to kill? Or is there something else the tantrum-throwing spirit is trying to tell them?
And will they decipher the message before it’s too late?
You can get Rafe’s origin story for free when you join Nancy’s no-spam newsletter at nancywarren.net.
Come join Nancy in her private Facebook group where we talk about books, knitting, pets and life.
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Praise for the Vampire Knitting Club series
"THE VAMPIRE KNITTING CLUB is a delightful paranormal cozy mystery perfectly set in a knitting shop in Oxford, England. With intrepid, late blooming, amateur sleuth, Lucy Swift, and a cast of truly unforgettable characters, this mystery delivers all the goods. It's clever and funny, with plot twists galore and one very savvy cat! I highly recommend this sparkling addition to the cozy mystery genre."
Jenn McKinlay, NYT Bestselling Author
“I’m a total addict to this series.” *****
“Fresh, smart and funny” *****
Chapter 1
When I think of popcorn, I imagine movies and cartons of crunchy kernels with extra salt and butter—because I am not one of those people who believe that popcorn is a diet food. However, for real hardcore knitters, of whom I am not one, popcorn is a stitch. If a knitter gets it right, the resulting garment is full of texture and lumps that look, in fact, like popcorn. Alice Robinson Wright, who was back from her honeymoon touring the great libraries of Europe, had agreed to teach a specialty popcorn class in my shop, Cardinal Woolsey’s, a knitting and yarn store in Oxford.
Alice had walked in wearing a sweater done in popcorn stitch, and I’d liked it so much I’d asked her if she would teach a class. She agreed, and soon we had eight people signed up, which was a cozy number and not too intimidating to Alice, who tended to get nervous if she had too many students. The classes would be held in the back room of Cardinal Woolsey’s.
It was late January, that awful time of year when the holidays were over and spring seemed a long way away. The days were short, cloudy and cold. The perfect weather for knitting.
Alice arrived about twenty minutes before the Monday evening class was scheduled to begin. She was wearing her popcorn sweater over a pair of snug jeans. She looked radiant. Marriage definitely suited Alice, especially marriage to the man she’d been hopelessly in love with for years. Except that it hadn’t been hopeless. Charlie Wright, the owner of Frogg’s Books, across the street from Cardinal Woolsey’s, had merely been clueless and out of touch with his own heart.
Being a witch does have its advantages. I was able to nudge things along—albeit with some unforeseen and temporarily disastrous consequences—to the point where Charlie and Alice were not only happy in love but asked me to be a bridesmaid at their wedding.
The wedding had, unfortunately, been the scene of a terrible crime, but Alice and Charlie had weathered that bad beginning with a togetherness that suggested they were in for a long and happy marriage. They’d had to postpone their honeymoon due to the murder investigation and had ended up going to Italy for Christmas and then enjoying their belated honeymoon.
She was holding a gift bag when she came in and presented it to me, saying, “I saw these in Italy and thought they’d be perfect for you.”
I love presents as much as the next person. Honestly, maybe more. So I opened the package with delight. Inside was a very fancy bag with writing on it in Italian.
“I found these in Florence, on a side street near the Ponte Vecchio. I couldn’t resist.”
I opened the small jewelry box, and inside was a pair of earrings. They were silver knitting needles with tiny balls of wool. I was so delighted with them I leaned over and hugged Alice. I immediately replaced the silver hoops I was wearing with the new bling. I had a mirror in the shop, as we sold ready-knitted sweaters, so I was able to see my reflection. When I tossed my long blond curls behind my shoulder, the earrings danced.
I’d barely finished admiring the earrings when the knitting students began to arrive. Eileen Crosby, an elegant blond-haired woman who was a solicitor and a new grandmother, was the first. Eileen spent every second of her free time knitting or crocheting blankets, sweaters, little booties and hats for her infant grandson. Naturally, there were always new pictures of baby Henry for us to admire. He really was a cute little boy, and he was single-handedly adding to my bottom line. Eileen had nearly wept when I asked her for some snaps of Henry wearing the items she’d knitted to hang on my wall near the baby wool.
Behind her came Hudson Carter. Hudson was in his mid-twenties. He was tall, thin and dark-haired and studying something to do with philosophy and mathematics that was so complicated, I couldn’t even understand his subject matter. He was from Liverpool and enjoyed knitting for relaxation. He was knitting the popcorn sweater for his mother’s birthday. I thought that was a nice twist on tradition to have the son knitting for his mum.
Next came Florence and Mary Watt. They were spinster sisters who owned Elderflower Tea Shop next door. They’d only recently taken up knitting in any serious way. They were both somewhere around eighty years old and had been great friends of my grandmother when she was still alive. Gran still kept up with them, but now that she was a member of the vampire knitting club, she’d had to drop out of sight and pretend to be dead and buried. Since she had a problem with sleepwalking, she sometimes stumbled into the shop she used to own, which made for some tense moments for me. I had a forgetting spell to erase from her former customers’ minds any terrifying encounters they had with a woman who seemed very much alive, even though they’d attended her funeral. However, I couldn’t use that same forgetting spell on myself, unfortunately!
The Watt sisters were talking about retiring and so had taken up knitting to fill their days. Personally, I doubted they’d ever retire. They loved what they did, and no one could bake a scone like Mary Watt. Still, they were enjoying their knitting, and they had both decided to take this class.
Polly and Scarlett arrived looking red-cheeked and breathless. Polly had taken up knitting to keep her hands busy while she quit smoking, and Scarlett, who sometimes helped me in the shop, was there to support her. They were both s
tudents at Cardinal College, just down the road from Cardinal Woolsey’s. Violet, my cousin and shop assistant, arrived last. Normally, she wouldn’t take classes, as she was a proficient knitter already, but she was suffering from heartbreak and needed to keep busy. Vi had fallen for a guy who hadn’t stuck around. Alistair Grundell-Smythe had been a groomsman at Charlie and Alice’s wedding, and Violet had been a bridesmaid. They’d hit it off, but he’d turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. He’d gone back to London without even saying goodbye.
By five to seven, everyone was there except Fiona McAdam, a professor who specialized in women’s literature at Saint Mary’s College. Her tardiness surprised me, because Fiona hadn’t struck me as a flighty woman. She’d only been in Oxford a few months. She was also an avid knitter, and we’d become friendly, since she was so often in my store buying wool. She read so much for her job that she preferred to listen to audiobooks when she was home relaxing, which allowed her to knit at the same time. She was also addicted to crime shows set in Oxford, and could knit while watching TV.
She was single, and I wondered if she might be a bit lonely. It wasn’t easy to move to a new city, as I knew perfectly well. I’d been lucky, or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it, that I’d had an instant network when I discovered that a nest of crazy-good knitting vampires made their home underneath Cardinal Woolsey’s and treated my shop like a second home.
At first I’d been horrified, but as I’d grown to know them, they’d become my friends. However, you don’t introduce your mortal friends to folks who remember firsthand trench warfare in WWI or who once banqueted with Henry VIII, so I suggested to Fiona that she might like to join the popcorn class in hopes she’d make some human friends. She didn’t need lessons in knitting, but the classes were always social and a good way to meet other knitters. She’d liked the idea, and the sample sweater I showed her, and immediately signed up.
Some of the students had already gone into the back room, but I hovered by the window. The Miss Watts were always happy to observe the comings and goings on Harrington Street, so they remained with me, also peering out my front window.
Nyx, my black cat and familiar, was in her usual position, snoozing in a basket of wool I keep in the front window display. It’s become her daybed and, since a lot of foot traffic pauses to admire her and take photos, I like to think she’s part of my marketing program. She turned onto her back and glared at us through her green-gold eyes, as we were obviously interrupting her nap.
“I don’t understand what’s happened to Fiona,” I said, ignoring Nyx’s hint to take myself elsewhere. There was no sign of Fiona, but there was a couple walking by on the other side of the road in deep conversation. Florence looked to Mary with a knowing smile. “That romance certainly seems to be going well.” Naturally, the words made me look closer at the couple as they obligingly walked under a streetlight. At first glance I wouldn’t have said that was a romantic relationship. They weren’t touching, there was a fair space between them, and something about their body language didn’t say lovebirds to me.
The woman had short gray hair in the tight curls of a perm and large glasses that dominated her face. She wore a sensible navy wool coat over black trousers and black walking shoes on her feet. The man beside her was more dapper. His salt-and-pepper hair was short but stylish. His camel-colored coat had the sheen of cashmere, and his leather boots gleamed with a fresh polish as the light hit them. He was tall and barrel-chested, while his companion was tiny and birdlike. He had his head bent down toward her as they continued their conversation.
Mary shook her head. “I’m not sure you’re right, Florence.” Then she glanced at me. “They come into the tea shop occasionally. Well, of course we know Cassandra Telford. She lives nearby and comes in quite often. Works at one of the colleges. He’s an international businessman of some sort. We don’t know his name. He always pays in cash.” She looked disapproving of customers who didn’t leave evidence of themselves behind with their credit card receipts. “Flo is convinced it’s a long-distance love affair.”
Oblivious to our interest in them, the couple continued walking by and turned left at the top of the road, disappearing from sight.
I watched for another few minutes, but there was no sign of Fiona.
By five after seven, all the knitters were settled into the back room and ready to go. With a helpless shrug, I suggested that Alice get started while I phoned Fiona. I thought perhaps she’d fallen asleep. Or fallen ill. She didn’t seem the type of person not to phone or send an email to let me know she wasn’t coming.
I called her mobile, and it went straight to voicemail. I left her a message anyway and then tidied my shop and worked on online orders while the class was in session.
I kept the curtain closed between the front of the shop and the back room, but even so, I could hear Alice’s soft voice explaining and then the murmur of conversation with the odd burst of laughter. It sounded like a convivial bunch, and I was sorry that Fiona hadn’t managed to make it tonight. Maybe I should get Vi or Alice to show me how to do the popcorn stitch and join the class myself.
I was reaching to the top shelf to get down some balls of worsted yarn in a lovely wine color to finish an order when a man’s voice behind me said, “Let me get that for you.”
The voice, cool and commanding, sent a shiver down my spine. I turned to find Rafe Crosyer standing there looking perfectly groomed and perfectly gorgeous as usual. I raised my eyebrows at him. “I thought I locked the front door.”
“Did you?”
I really didn’t know why I bothered. He came and went as he pleased. He’d been a vampire for about five hundred years and didn’t let unimportant things like locks stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do. Fortunately, he was both a friend and a protector. And something more that I didn’t care to define. So I stood back and let him reach up to the high shelf. “Three balls.” He didn’t need any more supernatural powers than the added height of being six foot two to my five foot six. He handed me the wool, and I added it to the order. I kept my voice low so as not to disturb the knitters in the back room. “What are you doing here?”
“William sent me on an errand.”
He motioned to a plastic cooler sitting just inside the door, and I was immediately interested. William Thresher was Rafe’s butler and an incredible chef. The trouble was that cooking for Rafe wasn’t very fulfilling, and so, if he had a chance to cook, he tended to share his creations with me. I was an enthusiastic fan of his cooking, so this worked out well for all of us.
“Ever since Charlie and Alice’s wedding, William’s been offered catering jobs. He sent you some samples, and he wants your opinion.”
“Based on everything of William’s I’ve tasted, I vote yes to everything. But, naturally, I will eat it all before making a final decision.”
Nyx woke up and stood, stretching her back and pawing the basket of wools that had become her bed. I could never sell them, of course, because they were covered in cat hair, but Nyx looked so adorable that she brought in business from people who couldn’t resist walking into a shop that had such a cute cat in the window. Her photograph had been featured on many a Facebook post, Instagram, and goodness knew what else.
She was a big fan of Rafe, so she jumped down and walked over, curling herself around his legs and then meowing to be picked up. When he obliged, she crawled up his chest and over his shoulder and hung there, purring contentedly.
They were so bonded that my heart melted just watching them. “Why don’t you go on up? The class will be over in about half an hour, and then I’ll join you. You can take back my report to William this evening.”
The class ended, and the knitters walked out looking content with their evening’s progress. They all said goodbye to me and they’d see me next week and off they went. Alice and Vi were the last to leave. “Did it go well?” I asked.
Alice answered, “It did. I don’t think most of them needed any instruction. They
were all proficient knitters. But I enjoyed myself.”
“You did a wonderful job,” Violet told her. Vi had dark circles under her eyes and had stopped dying the front part of her hair, which had always been her trademark. I was quite worried about her. So, it seemed, was Alice, who said, “Violet and I are going to finish the evening at the pub. I think Scarlett and Polly will be there too. Pop by if you feel like it.”
“I’ll come by if I can.” But taste-testing delicious treats was first on my agenda.
I locked up after them, then I slipped into the back room and unlocked the trapdoor that led down into the tunnels beneath Oxford, where a nest of vampires lived in a beautiful subterranean complex beneath the shop. There were plenty of entrances into the tunnels, but they often came and went through my back room. A lock couldn’t stop them, but it did remind them when I had humans in the back room that they should find another route.
Then I went upstairs to my flat. Rafe had laid the table for me and even opened a bottle of red wine. It looked both old and expensive, which suggested to me that it was from Rafe’s cellar and not the cupboard above my fridge where I kept my meager supply. He said, “William wanted you to try the meal with the wine he’s planning to serve.”
“I am so glad I didn’t have time for a proper dinner tonight.”
While we chatted, he served lobster bisque. He didn’t join me in any food, but he poured himself a glass of the wine and kept me company. I tasted the soup and immediately wanted to pick up the bowl and drink it all down. It was creamy and delicate, with decent-size lobster pieces. “This is so good,” I practically moaned.
