by Cia Leah
CROCHETED TO DEATH
By Cia Leah
Copyright 2011
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are
fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead are coincidental.
Rich Norris glanced at his digital wristwatch and wished there were more time in a day. He’d had meetings all afternoon, and looked forward to getting home, kicking off his shoes, and just sitting in his recliner, and flipping through the channels on television until supper time.
As he drove out of town towards Sadie Luke’s house, Rich frowned. He wasn’t a man to know anything about afghan’s, but his wife had had to take their poodle to the vet for an emergency visit, and he was designated to pick up the afghan she had ordered. He tired to remember what kind of afghan Brenda had said it was, as he turned and drove up to Sadie’s house.
Rich left the engine running, slid out from behind the wheel, and walked up the flower-lined walkway. Sadie sat on the porch in an old rocker, her head bent, and her needle poised for the next stitch. Just as he stepped up onto the bottom step of the porch, a lady stepped out of the house and walked to stand at the top of them, blocking him from going any further. “May I help you?”
“I came to pick up an afghan that Sadie made for my wife.”
“What kind of afghan is it? What are the colors in it?”
“Brenda said it was a Southwestern Design afghan and that Sadie should have it done by now.”
“Well,” the lady said, “Sadie’s sleeping and I don’t want to disturb her since she took a pain pill about an hour ago for the arthritis in her fingers. I don’t think it will do much good to try and wake her. She always sleeps for four hours after taking her medication. Maybe you can come back another time?”
Rich sighed. “Ma’am, I went out of my way to stop by here today, and my wife needs the afghan for a present by Saturday afternoon and it’s already paid for.”
“I’ll have Sadie give you a call. What’s your name?”
“Rich Norris and my wife’s name is Brenda.” He glanced over and looked at Sadie. “Are you sure she’s all right? She hasn’t moved and it doesn’t even look like she’s breathing.”
“She’s fine, really! It’s just the pain medication.”
Rich shook his head. “Must be awful strong stuff to make her fall asleep crocheting.”
“Oh, it is. She’s always crocheting. Sometimes I think she crochets in her sleep and the doctor prescribed the medication so she would rest and give her arthritic fingers a break. Now if you leave your phone number, one of us will get back to you about the afghan.”
“Sadie knows our number.”
“Well, Sadie sometimes forgets things and she’s getting hard of hearing, so I’ll probably call you.”
Rich reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his business card. “My home phone’s on there and what’s your name so we will know who you are when you call.”
“Helen. I’m Sadie’s sister.”
“Thanks, Helen and give us a call tonight if you can.”
“I will if Sadie is done with your afghan.”
Rich glanced once more at Sadie and walked back to his car. As he drove past the house to turn onto Willard Street to go home, he noticed a mound of dirt at the back of the house. There were several flats of flowers sitting on top. One thing he did know was that Sadie loved flowers.
***
Rich was awakened by Fluffy, his poodle, hopping onto his lap, as he sat in the recliner. “Well, how is my little Fluffy? Did the vet make you all better?” He grinned as Fluffy held up her right paw and whined, as Brenda came into the room with a box of pizza, two cans of soda, and plates and napkins.
“She’s fine. It was only a little splinter in her foot, but you know how Fluffy is. Every time I touched her paw to pull it out, she started crying and ran off under the bed. So on the third try, I just called the vet and he said to bring her in. I think she has a crush on Dr. Jameson. As soon as he came into the room, she flopped over on her back and raised her paw. He pulled it right out and then gave her a couple treats. She’s spoiled.”
Rich laughed. “I wonder who did that?”
“Not me.”
“Let me go wash up. That pizza smells good and I’m starved,” he said, running into the hall bathroom. When he came out, Fluffy was curled up in his chair asleep, so he sat down beside Brenda on the sofa.
“Did you pick up my afghan?” She asked, handing him his plate and napkin.
“No, I didn’t,” he replied, taking a large bite of pizza.
“Why not?”
“Well, I went to Sadie’s to get it, but Sadie was asleep on the porch in her rocking chair. A lady came out of the house and said Sadie had just taken her pain medicine for arthritis and wouldn’t wake up for four hours.”
“Who was the lady?”
“She said she was Sadie’s sister, Helen.”
“Sadie never mentioned a sister to me. She said she has a brother who lives out west somewhere. I think she said Colorado.”
Rich shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they had a falling out or something and then made up. You know how you are with your older sister.”
“That could be, but it is strange. Sadie has arthritis, but she never said it was bad enough to take pain medication for and her fingers aren’t crooked like some people’s are from it.”
“I remember you telling me she makes quite a bit of money with her crocheting. You wouldn’t think that someone with arthritic fingers or arthritic pain would crochet so much.”
“It doesn’t seem logical and I know that Sadie said her husband left her pretty well off with his insurance and the house is paid for. She said she just loves crocheting and creating pretty things for people. I know she doesn’t charge like she should for the afghan’s and dolls and stuff she makes. I bet she only charges enough to buy the thread to start another one. I always pay her double of what she asks, and I know a couple of my friends pay her more too, so I am sure she does make good money at it.”
Rich wiped his hands on a napkin, leaned back on the sofa, and pulled Brenda into his arms. “I told Helen to have Sadie call us tonight and she said she would call herself because Sadie is hard of hearing.”
“Since when?”
Rich shook his head. “I don’t know. I only saw Sadie a couple times when I picked things up for you, and she just gave me the stuff and I paid her and left. Seemed like a nice lady though.”
“Well I do know there is nothing wrong with Sadie’s hearing. I wonder what’s going on?” Brenda said, and settled into Rich’s embrace.
“Don’t worry about it, honey. If Sadie or Helen doesn’t call by Wednesday, I’ll stop back over.”
“Good, because I need that afghan by Saturday so I can wrap it up for my sister’s housewarming. It will match perfectly with her southwestern design.”
“Well, if worse comes to worse, we will just have to go shopping for something else.”
“But it is paid for and Sadie has never let me down.”
Rich hugged her close. “I know, honey, now why don’t you just lie back and relax a little. We’ve both had a busy day.” He said as Brenda slipped her feet up on the sofa and wriggled to get comfortable in his arms.
As he closed his eyes, the image of Helen as she stood at the top of the stairs, flashed across his mind. She didn’t look at all like Sadie either, now that he thought of it. Where as Sadie was chubby and short and had long, white hair curled up in a bun at the back of her head, Helen was tall and thin, but had a strong build. She almost looked like she worked out. He didn’t think they looked like sisters at all. Of course, he didn’t know the family history and she could be a half-sister or some
thing.
Rich yawned and drifted off to sleep. Somehow, he just knew that Sadie wouldn’t be calling tonight about the afghan and he’d probably have to make another trip to her house, and for some odd reason, he didn’t want to go back.
***
Wednesday afternoon arrived with a rainstorm with ominous thunder and vivid flashes of lightning. Rich had told Brenda he would stop by to see if Sadie had the afghan for her on the way home.
Rich switched the windshield wipers to high as the rain fell in torrents. By the time he reached Sadie’s house and pulled into the driveway, he could barely see the house. “It’s a fine time for rain,” he grumbled, reaching into the backseat for his umbrella.
As he ran up the flower-lined walkway, he noticed something blue peeking out from under a marigold. He bent down, picked it up, and then ran up the steps. He shut the umbrella, shook it off over the banister and then knocked on the door. He waited, and then knocked again. “Don’t tell me there isn’t anyone home,” he said, looking at the object he had picked up. It was a crochet hook. He laid it on the rocking chair so Sadie would find it. She must have lost it when going out or something.
Rich turned to leave when he saw several pieces of papers lying by the bottom of the door. He bent down and picked up some and read them. “Sadie has a lot of dissatisfied customers, it seems.” One note in particular was nasty, saying if Sadie didn’t get the ladies afghan delivered today, she was going to take her to small claims court since it was already paid for.
He shook his head. “Now that’s a little excessive if you ask me.” He placed the notes back on the floor, when he saw a string of red yarn sticking out from under the door. He reached down and pulled on it, not really knowing why, but as he kept pulling, the red thread turned to white with red spots intermittently in places after that.
“That’s odd,” he said, still pulling on the yarn. Now, it didn’t come out as easily and seemed to get stuck. He yanked harder on it and stepped back as the door creaked open.
Rich glanced around. He felt like a criminal. Here he was standing on Sadie’s porch and messing with all kinds of stuff, and now with the door open too. He decided he might as well open it a little further and yell and see if maybe Sadie didn’t hear him because she was sleeping again. “Hello, Sadie? “Is anyone home? It’s Rich Norris. I came to get Brenda’s afghan.”
He opened the door a little further and stuck his head inside the door. “Hello! Anyone home?” He yelled loudly, jumping when a loud burst of thunder rolled across the heavens seeming to make the wooden porch floor vibrate beneath his feet. Without thinking, he stepped inside the small living room.
It was like stepping back in time. Handmade doilies decorated the stands in all different shades of color and in all different patterns. Afghans were draped across the back of the couch, chair, and rocking chair and others were folded neatly against the arms to cover up with when it was cool. Hand braided rugs dotted the hardwood floor here and there, and nothing matched, but the effect of colors seemed to coincide with the room and give it a warm, homey look. It was a place where one would feel perfectly comfortable.
Rich walked into the middle of the room, and called out again. “Sadie? You here?”
When he didn’t get an answer, he walked through a door on his left to the kitchen. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes and there were kettles on the stove with dried up food in them. “What on earth is going on?” He wondered aloud, noting the fine, white crocheted tablecloth. Sadie was definitely a talented woman, he thought, as another loud crack of thunder rumbled overhead, seeming to shake the windows.
Rich turned around and searched the rooms in the rest of the house. It was only one floor and had one bedroom and a bath. He entered the bedroom first. Here, the walls were painted a soft lilac, and a purple and lilac afghan covered the bed clear to the floor. Even the pillowcases had been crocheted with lilac edging and purple petunias. The dressers had matching embroidered scarves on them. Nothing seemed disturbed in the room at all, so Sadie must indeed have gone somewhere, but why would she leave dirty dishes in the kitchen?
Just as Rich moved to go to check out the bathroom, the phone rang. He looked at the phone beside the bed and debated on whether or not to answer it. After the twentieth ring, he stepped over to it, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Rich?”
“Brenda?”
“Yes, silly. What are you doing? I thought you would have been home an hour ago and I was worried about you with the storm and all and thought I’d call Sadie and see if you had stopped by and what time you had left.”
“Sadie’s not here.”
“Then what are you doing in the house? Is her sister there?”
“No.”
“Rich, what’s wrong?”
Rich turned and looked at the bedroom again. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I got this feeling that something is definitely wrong here.”
“Then why don’t you call the police?”
“And tell them what?”
“Well, that Sadie hasn’t been seen for a few days and…” her voice trailed away.
“And that maybe something happened to her, and here I am in her house with my fingerprints all over the phone and door.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be home within forty-five minutes. If I’m not, then call the police ok?”
“Now I am worried. What are you going to do now?”
“Check out the bathroom and then out in the back yard.”
“Be careful, Rich. I love you.”
“I love you too, honey. Be home shortly.” He hung up the phone and walked into the bathroom. Everything in here seemed to be all right. He turned to leave, when he saw the medicine cabinet and walked to it and opened it up. There was a bottle of aspirin, Tylenol, some over the counter cough syrup, Band-Aids, corn pads, eye drops, and then he saw two prescription bottles. He reached inside and picked one up, turning the bottle around so he could read the label. It was Motrin six hundred milligrams, prescribed for Helen Mory. The other bottle was a prescription for vicodin also prescribed for her.
“That’s odd,” Rich said, replacing them back in the cabinet. If Sadie was the one who had arthritis and also needed pain medications, then why were the prescriptions in Helen’s name?
Rich closed the cabinet and walked out to the kitchen, and out the back door. There was a cement patio here with a green awning overhead. Pretty pink and white flowers lined the patio and a small cement step led into the yard. Rain fell from the awning, drenching the flowers, and creating a sheet of water as he stepped out into the yard, and waked to the mound of newly dug earth at the side of the house. Someone had planted the flats of flowers he had seen the other day and he wondered if they had also planted grass since it seemed strange to see flowers on plain dirt and nothing more.
Just as he ducked back under the awning, he heard the motor of a car approaching. He ran back into the house, grabbed his umbrella, and had just got out the door when Helen drove into the driveway and parked beside his car. He watched as she grabbed a couple bags off the seat beside her and get out of the car. “Hello,” he said, “I just stopped by to see if Sadie had Brenda’s afghan ready.”
“No, she doesn’t, but she said she would have it ready by the end of the week,” Helen said, walking up onto the porch. She quickly bent down and picked up the notes that people had left and as she did, a crochet book slipped out of the bag.
“Here,” Rich said, picking it up, surprised to see that it was a how to book on crocheting. He handed it to her. “Why would Sadie need an instruction book on crocheting?”
“Oh, it’s not for her, but for me.”
“Can’t Sadie teach you?”
“She doesn’t have the patience. I’m a slow learner and she suggested I go out and get one.”
“I see,” Rich said. “I knocked but there wasn’t anyone home.”
“I dropped Sadie off
at the doctors. Her arthritis is acting up and since she had a long wait, I did my shopping and she’ll call me when it’s time for me to pick her up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do.”
“Sure,” Rich said, walking to the porch steps and opening his umbrella. “Tell Sadie I’ll call Friday and see if the afghan is finished yet.”
“Will do, but we won’t be home until late that night.” Helen said and opened the door and disappeared inside.
Rich ran to his car and quickly glanced inside Helen’s. There were several afghans lying on the backseat of her car and an enormous bag of yarn. He closed the umbrella and jumped in his car. As he drove away, he saw Helen staring at him through the door window.
***
Rich arrived home just as the rain was beginning to abate some. By the time he parked the car, Brenda stood in the doorway motioning for him to hurry up. “What’s wrong?” He asked, running up to her.
“Guess what I just found out?”
Rich shook his head as he followed her into the kitchen. “I won’t know until you tell me honey.” He said, sitting down at the cherry wood table in the middle of the kitchen, as Brenda poured two mugs of coffee and joined him at the table.
“While you were at Sadie’s, I called a few friends and a couple women whom I knew ordered afghan’s from Sadie. Lyza Thompsin was livid that Sadie hadn’t delivered her afghan on time, but she said, just today, Sadie’s sister, Helen delivered it. She said it wasn’t as big as she had ordered, but since Helen explained that Sadie was having a hard time with her arthritic fingers, Lyza decided to let it go.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it? Sadie never shorted anyone at any time.”
“No she didn’t and she wouldn’t unless something was definitely wrong. Then I talked to Gail, Pat, and Linda, and they all had their afghan’s delivered today too. Gail and Pat’s were the way they ordered them, but Linda said Helen brought her the wrong one, and she refused to take it.”
“What did Helen have to say about that?”
“Well, you know how Linda is. She wants what she paid for and I can’t blame her for that, but she said Helen offered to give her ten dollars back of her money if she would take it instead of the one she ordered.”
