by Bonnie Vanak
“I’m so glad you’ve come home, finally! Your grandmother must be ecstatic.” Ginny Vanderbruck, Grandma Ezzie’s lifelong friend and one of the shop’s most frequent flyers, glowed with small-town wonder. As if their town cornered the market on a happy life.
Annie looked up from the shop’s business records to watch Ginny place three hanks of the expensive cashmere blend on the counter.
“My grandmother’s happy I’m here to help, but it’s only temporary.” Annie didn’t want anyone to think she’d stay away from New York City longer than she had to. She might be a Silver Valley native, but she was a city person through and through, happily so. Except she hadn’t been feeling the love for city living lately, had she? And since Rick’s death, along with his wife’s, she’d been flat-out miserable.
An immediate cascade of horrible memories associated with the reason she was on sabbatical assaulted her. She gripped the service counter and fought the urge to run from the shop. Run, run, run. But it wouldn’t bring her former client—one of her best friends and oldest work colleagues—back to life. Wouldn’t erase the fact that she’d failed at what NYPD had trusted her to do: keep officers safe.
“Annie, are you okay?” Ginny’s face creased with concern and reminded Annie why she’d been eager to take a longer break than normal from her job. She needed to be in a familiar place.
“I’m good, thanks. I guess I’m getting used to the idea of being back in Silver Valley for the next three months, is all.”
Ginny waved a hand at her. “You made the right decision to come back and help out your grandmother. You know all of her customers are grateful you’ve kept the best yarn shop in the state open for us.” Ginny’s smile turned contemplative. “You do know that your old flame is still single, don’t you?”
And just like that, Annie remembered why she’d stayed in the city. She ignored the pang that poked her heart at Ginny’s assumption that she was single by proxy and not choice. “Ms. Vanderbruck, high school was a long time ago for me.”
“You’re still so young, dear. Do you have someone special in New York, though, is that it?” The way Ginny said “someone” made Annie wonder if the woman thought a passport was needed to travel to Manhattan.
“Oh, no. I’m enjoying my single life.” Liar. Big-time liar. “Looks like you’re having some luck finding the fiber you wanted. What have you decided on for your cardigan pattern?” Ginny had shown Annie a quite contemporary photo from a recent knitting magazine when she’d entered the shop. A tiny tug of excitement surprised Annie. She hadn’t picked up knitting needles since she’d worked for Grandma Ezzie during college summers. When she’d avoided the high school “flame” Ginny pointedly mentioned.
“Do you like this shade?” Ginny brought her back from the edge of another awful flashback. Annie eyed the pile of purple fiber, trying not to mentally add the sale before it was a done deal. She was here to help, to keep things moving, not to beat any sales records.
“I do. It’s lovely next to your skin.”
“I really shouldn’t spend the money this month.”
“Grandma Ezzie always preaches that if you’re going to hold yarn in your hands for an entire project, make it the best you can afford.”
“You’re right, of course. I’ll take it. And I may be back to get enough for a second one if I like this pattern.” Ginny pulled out her credit card.
“You’ve picked the exact same shade as your hair.” Annie began to ring up the order, wondering for the millionth time how her mother had convinced her to use her sabbatical from NYPD in sleepy Silver Valley, no less: the hometown she’d fled and vowed to never return to, save for family visits, over twelve years ago.
It’s for Grandma Ezzie.
“Isn’t it fab?” Ginny ran her fingers through her short violet hair, the ends tipped with fuchsia. “Who says my teenage granddaughters should have all the fun?”
“Not I.” Annie began to wind the hanks on the swift that stood next to the counter, quickly producing neat cakes of yarn. “I need to thank you for agreeing to run the knit and chat tonight. I’ll be here, but this way you’re giving me the freedom to ring up orders. I really don’t have a handle on everything yet.” As evidenced by her hot-and-cold emotions over her return to her hometown.
“No problem! And give me a break—like you said, you’re a city girl now. There’s nothing you can’t handle.” Ginny’s sincerity slayed her.
“I’m hardly equipped to run a business. Different brain cells than working at NYPD.” Annie’s grandmother had bragged to all of her customers about her one granddaughter’s “big city” job, so she wasn’t telling Ginny anything she didn’t already know.
“We’re all glad you agreed to help Ezzie because this shop is important to a lot of us in Silver Valley. It gives us a reason to get out of the house. Speaking of which, I’m going to run out to the grocery store to pick up a birthday cake for Lydia, with whipped cream frosting and strawberry filling. She’s seventy-five tomorrow.” Annie knew that Lydia was one of the dozen or so women who religiously attended knit and chat sessions.
Annie couldn’t help but notice the far cry running a yarn shop was from the life-and-death atmosphere of NYPD.
As they planned for the weekly Friday night gathering, a new customer came in. Petite, blonde and made up like a movie star, with perfect makeup, designer clothing that hung perfectly where her two-hundred-dollar jeans weren’t hugging her tiny frame. A large, leather designer bag that complemented the heeled sandals finished the woman’s ensemble. Annie couldn’t help but take notice of her. It wasn’t as if there weren’t other women in Silver Valley who dressed with high fashion in mind, but it wasn’t her outward appearance that pinged Annie’s internal radar. It was how she held herself as she slowly walked to the counter. The blonde’s eyes darted from Ginny to Annie and back again, her mannerisms a little jerky. Something had her wound tighter than a cheap skein of acrylic yarn.
Ginny caught her staring past her shoulder and turned around. “Oh, hi, Kit! Are you going to stay for knit and chat?”
The woman shook her head like a shy child. “No. Maybe. I thought about it. I don’t know. I should go home earlier than I did last week. I’m almost done with my shawl.”
Ginny waved her hand at her, much as she had done with Annie. “Oh, no, missy. You’re having fun, and that’s all there is to it.” Ginny turned back to Annie, her eyes wide. “Kit’s new to our group, and I told her we need fresh blood.”
“Where is Ezzie?” Kit spoke with a slight accent, which Annie would bet was Russian. Annie had studied it in college and worked with a lot of Russian-speaking cops. Kit’s pronunciation was distinctly Russian, maybe Ukrainian. The pale woman under the heavy makeup looked lost, as if she’d never been in the store before. Her obvious wariness combined with the way Ginny treated her flipped Annie’s internal alarm bells, and her training shifted into full alert.
“Hi, Kit. I’m Annie, Ezzie’s granddaughter. She’s had a mild stroke and is taking a break from the shop for a bit.” She stepped from around the counter and held out her hand.
Kit took it, but instead of the timid grip Annie expected, it was a strong, almost painful clench. As if Annie were her lifeline. Kit’s motions were more like those of a frail octogenarian instead of a young woman Annie estimated was in her twenties.
“I need to talk to your grandmother. I’m sorry she’s sick.” Kit’s eyes blazed. “Is she in the hospital? Will she come back soon?”
Annie looked into the woman’s stunning ice-blue gaze and saw fear, trepidation and concern for Ezzie. Something else, too. Anxiety that didn’t have a name, the result of living with a constant threat to your life. Annie had seen enough of it in victims and police officers. She knew how stress affected first responders over the years, and it was even worse for civilians. Kit displayed outward symptoms of a trauma survivor.
Keep her
calm, show her she can trust you.
“Grandma Ezzie’s fine, really. My parents insisted she go to their place in Florida for a few months while she does some rehab and relaxes. Since my grandfather died, she hasn’t given herself a break from the business, and my parents knew she wouldn’t do an honest rehab if she stayed here.”
“I understand.” Kit said it as if she’d been betrayed. Annie made a mental note to ask her grandmother about Kit. Annie was certain there was more to the woman than knitting a shawl.
“Can I help you pick out some yarn today? A pattern?”
“You can trust her, Kit. Annie’s from New York City and...” Ginny trailed off at the “shut the heck up!” look Annie threw her. She instinctively didn’t want Kit to know she was in law enforcement. Not yet. She wanted this woman to trust her first.
“New York?” Kit’s brow wrinkled. While her eyes seemed wise and old, her skin was positively translucent. Looking at Kit’s hands, Annie thought her first assessment was correct and that Kit was quite young. Early twenties at the most.
“I grew up here, went to Silver Valley High, then left for college. How about you, Kit? Have you been in Silver Valley long?”
“Yes. Well, for the last five or six years I’ve lived here, anyway. Are you the granddaughter Ezzie said works for the police?”
Dang Grandma Ezzie and her bragging. “I am. But I’m not a cop. I’m support staff.”
“Oh.” Kit nodded, looking anywhere but at Annie. “This new yarn is beautiful!” She grabbed a hank of alpaca variegated and squeezed it, the universal sign of a rabid fiber freak. Annie smiled at the gesture, then froze as she noticed muted purple spots on Kit’s upper neck and jaw. Bruises covered with the carefully applied makeup she’d noticed earlier. Her stomach clenched, and she consciously forced herself to remain calm and not reveal what she’d seen. It’d be too easy to scare Kit away, and she’d never be able to help her. Annie couldn’t let another person who needed help get away.
It’s not all about what happened in New York with Rick. Although after losing her dear colleague to suicide, after he murdered his wife, would it ever not be about New York?
Letting out a slow breath, she leaned against the counter. “Yes, that’s a lovely blend, isn’t it? I have to say that my grandmother only picks the best for her customers. I happen to knit, too, and even if this wasn’t my grandmother’s shop, it’d still be my favorite shop in town. It’s better than any I’ve ever found in the city.” There were one or two yarn shops in New York City that she frequented, but none gave her the sense of being at home and safe as Grandma Ezzie’s.
Kit looked around. “Yes, I’d like to make a new shawl. Ezzie said some new alpaca linen blend was shipping in, too. Is it here?”
“Absolutely. It’s been our best seller this week.” Annie led her to the antique washstand that had the new hanks splayed out in a rainbow of colors. “With the heat, everyone wants to knit lace.”
Kit ran her fingertips lightly over the fiber, then picked up a hank and clasped it before rubbing it between her fingers. Annie realized that she missed being around other knitters like this. Even though she hadn’t pursued Ezzie’s passion for fiber as a career, she still relied on knitting to keep her grounded at the end of long, hard days working at NYPD. Days she cherished, but needed space from, for the time being. Work she’d taken a three-month sabbatical from in order to help Grandma Ezzie. And to escape the media surrounding the murder-suicide of one of NYPD’s finest, an officer who’d come to the end of his coping skills while dealing with his opioid addiction. Rick had been Annie’s friend and client, and she’d failed to save him or the young wife he’d taken along with him. She wondered if the raw wound in her heart would ever heal.
“You are a good granddaughter to come here and help Ezzie out.” Kit wore a frown, but Annie knew the sad look was for Ezzie’s predicament, and saw the warmth in Kit’s eyes that conveyed her admiration for Annie’s choice. Annie wanted to ask, to know, where and how exactly this young woman had come to the States but again, the fear of scaring Kit off stopped her.
“Are you staying in her apartment upstairs?” Kit’s question seemed casual, but Annie knew better. This might be the olive branch that Kit sought.
“Yes. It’s the easiest solution as it keeps the place occupied, and I’m used to a smaller place in New York, so it’s like a real vacation for me.” Minus the emotional baggage.
“I’ll take three of these.” Kit picked out three tonal shades of blue. Annie thought the hue matched Kit’s countenance. The woman was struggling with despair, if her training was putting the cues together correctly. But something else about Kit seemed to be triggering a memory in Annie.
Why else was Kit sending alarm bells through her?
Kit held a sky-colored hank to her cheek, sighing dreamily. And leaned a little over to the left, exposing a sliver of her neck above the mock turtleneck she wore. On a blistering summer day the top was out of place, but not for a woman like Kit. All at once Annie knew why Kit had set her police psychologist sirens wailing, beyond the bruises. She reminded her of a witness the DA had asked her to vet. Another woman with a Russian accent whose husband had a penchant for harming her. Her testimony had helped put the abuser behind bars.
Annie made out another mark, this one a definite deep reddish-purple bruise that peeked above Kit’s collar. It looked as if it had a fuzzy filter over it, and the beige-toned stain on the turtleneck’s fabric confirmed it was concealer. If Kit were a teenager, it’d be easy to think the mark was a hickey. But combined with the other bruises, how Kit was dressed, her skittish behavior and the fact that she had wanted to talk to Ezzie, Annie knew that she was dealing with an abused woman. Ezzie was known for helping women out of tight spots and had in fact made it her life’s purpose since she’d fled her first husband after being battered by him in a drunken rage. Ezzie had been lucky—she’d met Annie’s grandfather after that and enjoyed a long, happy marriage. But Ezzie never forgot her ordeal.
“So you and my grandmother are friends?” She kept her demeanor purposefully chipper, casual. Annie made a show of reaching into the drawer of the antique table and pulling out skeins to replace the yarn Kit was purchasing, displaying them in perfect symmetry.
“Yes. She is my friend.” Quietly, with certainty.
“I’ll see you ladies later. Don’t you dare miss tonight, Kit!” Ginny gave them a wave as she gathered up her bags and walked out of the shop, the large front door opening and closing with the familiar sound of the squeaky wood that surrounded the stained-glass window.
“That doorjamb needs to be trimmed. It’s swelled every summer since I can remember.” Annie looked at Kit, who’d taken her skeins to the counter and still looked like a rabbit ready to bolt into the nearest bush.
“I love the old feel of this place.” Kit’s words were softly spoken, wishful.
“You strike me as the contemporary type. Your sense of style is beautiful.” Annie referenced Kit’s chic urban style, from her sleeveless silky turtleneck, long linen cardigan and flared crops. Her stacked sandals revealed perfectly manicured toes, and her designer bag cost more than Annie’s New York City rent.
“Thank you. I do like modern things, but there’s nothing like the comfort of the familiar.” Kit gazed at the balustrade that followed the stairs behind the counter up to a peekaboo corridor above the built-in bookcases that led to Ezzie’s apartment.
“You know, Kit, if you ever need anything, you can stop in, or call me. I’m not my grandmother, and you don’t know me yet, but you can trust me.” Annie rang up Kit’s order and added her personal cell phone number to the back of the shop’s frequent-buyer card that she handed to the woman. It was far less incriminating than if she gave Kit her NYPD business card and her abuser found it. “My number’s on the back. You’re one skein away from a free one.”
“I don’t keep these cards.” Kit f
rowned at the punch card. Silver Valley was like any other American town in that the local business owners did everything financially possible to reward repeat customers. Annie wasn’t surprised that Kit didn’t save them. Abused women learned to leave no trace of where they’d been, what they’d done. It made fewer waves at home from a prying husband who wanted to control their every move.
“Oh, well, I didn’t know. I’m still getting to know all of the regular customers.” Ezzie would have known, and she’d know why Kit didn’t keep the cards. It was probably because she didn’t want her husband to know where she shopped, in case he went through her wallet. Annie had heard every breach of personal boundaries in her career with NYPD.
“No, you didn’t. But I feel you do. Know.” Kit’s eyes dropped all previous defenses, and for a long moment she stood at the counter, emotionally naked to Annie, who saw fear, trepidation and an unexpected emotion. Determination. Kit was going to fight whoever was hurting her.
Annie handed Kit her bag of yarn. “I’m here.”
Kit’s hands shook as she took the bag. Without another word she turned and walked out of the shop.
Annie might not have expected to bring her law-enforcement therapy skills to bear this soon into her stint at Silver Threads Yarn Shop, but having a sense of purpose related to something she knew allowed a sliver of light to slant through the veil of doom she’d carried here from New York.
