Death of a Crafty Knitter

by Angela Pepper

  She let out a squeaky laugh, and Jessica and I joined in awkwardly.

  Marcy said, "You'll still sit at our table, won't you? We promise to behave."

  "Of course we will," Jessica said, with enough warmth to smooth out the discomfort.

  We all walked into the cozy, noise-filled pub, and gave our tickets to the doorman. Marvin and Marcy went ahead to the upper level to scout for a table while Jessica and I left the group's winter jackets at the coat check.

  "What's going on with those two?" I asked Jessica.

  She raised her red eyebrows high above her glittering red masquerade mask. "They're always a bit edgy when they don't have the dog with them. He's some sort of relationship buffer. I'm sure everything's fine."

  We finished at the coat check and made our way through the crowded bar. Less than a third of the people in attendance wore masquerade masks, but I was surprised at the effect. I hadn't been back in Misty Falls long enough to know everyone, but as I glanced around, I didn't see a single familiar face. I felt unsettled and surrounded by strangers, some of whom could be dangerous.

  I followed Jessica up the stairs to the upper level of the pub, paying minimal attention to where I was going. I'd heard the words "voodoo lady" buzzing around in me in conversations, and now I was curious about this Voula Varga person. I scanned the pub for someone who looked like a "psychic extraordinaire."

  It didn't take long to spot someone who fit the name and title. A regal figure with billowing, curly, dark hair sat near the upper level's railing, the wall to her back and the entire place within her view. She wore dark, iridescent layers of deep purple and green. My own mask would have been a perfect match for her outfit, if she'd needed one, which she didn't. Instead of a mask made of fabric, glue, and sequins, like the rest of us had, she wore a makeup mask of dark paint around her eyes. The edges were defined with glued-on sequins, and she wore long false eyelashes that glittered and caught the light. She saw me looking her way and caught me in her gaze, her gold-hued eyes practically glowing.

  I nearly tripped over nothing. Voula Varga had the theatrical aura of a circus performer and the hungry eyes of a tiger.

  I broke away from her visual grip on me and elbowed Jessica, saying, "If that woman over there isn't the one with the hearse parked outside, this town has two voodoo ladies."

  Jessica snickered. "That's Voula, all right. She's just sitting there with some friends, though. It doesn't look like she's telling fortunes tonight, but who knows. The night is young. Hey, she might be able to help you with Logan."

  "Hah! In what way? A love potion?"

  "Something like that. She makes these knitted dolls that are magical. You dress them up like the person you want to fall in love with you."

  "That's adorable, yet disturbing. Wait. Jessica, how do you know about this? Don't tell me you have one of these voodoo dolls hidden in your apartment."

  "I certainly don't have one… hidden under my pillow."

  I let out an exaggerated gasp. "You wicked girl! Who's the guy? I mean, who is the voodoo doll supposed to be?"

  "Can't say. But if it works, you'll find out soon enough."

  "Um… okay." I racked my brain to think of who her top crush might be. She liked a few guys, including a banker from the credit union, who ate lunch at the sandwich shop several times a week, plus there was her on-again-off-again former boyfriend, the professional skateboarder, who "chilled" in Misty Falls when he wasn't touring, and then there was the new guy, a driver who delivered lunchmeats to the cafe. It could have been any of those guys, or someone new. I got so wrapped up in trying to figure it out, I came to a standstill.

  Jessica caught my hand and tugged me to keep walking. She kept me close as we squeezed our way through the crowd. I finally spotted a few familiar faces—people I knew from school days, from before I left town, as well as some people I'd gotten to know recently, thanks to owning a busy retail store.

  We reached our table, where Marvin and Marcy were already seated, and took our spots across from them. They seemed to have gotten over their tiff, and were helping each other put on pointed party hats. Theirs were gold, the same as their masks, and as I was commenting on how perfectly everything matched, our waitress appeared and handed me and Jessica a purple hat and a red one, respectively.

  "Good evening, darlings," the waitress said. "Aren't we all looking gorgeous tonight!"

  "You're Dharma, right?" I said to the waitress. We'd only met once before, but she'd made quite an impression on me. With her snowy white hair, she had to be in her sixties, but moved like she could work a shift slinging drinks and then go home and bake a pie or two before sunrise.

  Her eyes twinkled as she smiled, revealing teeth as pearly white as her downy hair. "That's right, honey. My name's Dharma, which rhymes with karma, and I live a charmed life because I help others as much as I can."

  "It's nice to see you again," I said.

  "You too, dear."

  We were interrupted by loud laughter that sounded like cackling, cutting through the din. Everyone at the table, plus our waitress, turned to look for the source of the noise. It was Voula's table making all the racket, and she was the loudest one, laughing with her head thrown back in a theatrical way.

  Dharma turned back to us with a sour look on her face. "You know that woman is a witch, right? She practices powerful magic. You young folks should steer clear of her, do you hear me? She's going to make some people in this town very rich, but nothing comes without a cost." She pulled out a notepad and tapped her pen to it. "Now what can I bring you to drink?"

  The four of us exchanged looks, but with the masquerade masks on, it was hard to see each other's expressions. I finally raised my hand and ordered a bottle of Chardonnay for us to share.

  Dharma nodded, turned her head to cast a dirty look toward Voula's table, then left to get our order.

  Jessica leaned in over the table. "What was that all about?"

  Marcy nodded and answered, "Professional rivalry. Dharma Lake thinks she should be the only matchmaker in town."

  "That's right," I said as a memory came back clearly. "That Dharma lady is totally a matchmaker. The first time I met her, she tried to set me up with someone. But it seemed more like a hobby than her profession. Are you guys saying she charges for setting people up?"

  "Dharma doesn't charge," Marvin answered. "She does good deeds for karma, remember?" He let out a disapproving chuckle. "What a sucker," he muttered under his breath.

  Marcy smacked him on the arm. "Don't be nasty. Some people really are nice."

  The two of them bickered for a few minutes, then Marvin said to the group, "Dharma Lake isn't as sweet and innocent as she pretends to be. I've heard things."

  Jessica and I asked, in unison, "Like what?"

  Marvin just smiled and tilted his chin up to alert us that Dharma had returned with our wine and four glasses. We all sat in rigid silence as she set up the stemware and poured our first round. I studied her finely wrinkled face and tried to find any sign of malice, but all I found were a few sunspots and some white hairs on her chin. I'd pulled a few stray hairs out of my own chin recently, so I knew chin hairs were evil, but evil in a grooming and aging sort of way, and not a sign of repressed evil.

  Dharma finished pouring the wine, took our order for chicken wings and other appetizers, then went to tend the other tables in the area.

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as she approached the table where Voula was sitting. Sure enough, I could see Dharma's body language changing when she talked to her so-called rival. She was clearly on edge, her movements jerky and her posture defensive.

  My friends complimented the wine and chatted amongst themselves while I kept my gaze riveted on Dharma and Voula.

  It was hard for me to estimate Voula's age because of her masquerade makeup. She sat with three other women, and the two I could see clearly appeared to be dark-haired sisters in their sixties. Voula seemed younger, either early forties or a well-preserved fi
fty. Her dark, curly hair looked thick, like the mane of an exotic jungle cat.

  She and Dharma were clearly arguing about something. The voodoo lady's voice was rising in volume, but I couldn't hear her words over the music and chatter in the crowded pub. I felt sorry for Dharma, and had a difficult time keeping my butt glued to my chair and not jumping up to defend the white-haired waitress.

  Suddenly, Dharma lunged for the pitcher of ice water that had been sitting on the table. She tossed the entire thing on Voula, who jumped to her feet in a sputtering rage.

  The whole section now noticed the fight between the two women and went quiet, waiting to see what would happen next.

  Voula howled, "You dare call me a WITCH? I'll SHOW YOU a witch!"

  "It's not fair!" Dharma yelled back. "You can't use your black magic for gain. It's not fair. Using magic isn't fair."

  Voula stood glowering, an imposing figure at nearly a foot taller than the senior waitress. She plucked an ice cube from her plunging neckline like she was pulling out a dagger, and tossed the ice to the floor. She drew back her dripping wet arm, like she was about to hurl something at the waitress, but then she stopped.

  Around me, people murmured about spells and curses and getting on the wrong side of scary people.

  Voula seemed to feed off the energy of the crowd, getting bigger, or so it seemed. It was possible the tossed water was making her curls frizz up.

  She tipped her head from side to side nonchalantly, shook out her arm and said, "You're not worth it. I'll save my magic for the paying customers, who appreciate my talents for making them rich."

  Dharma bowed her head, turned, and walked away briskly. Even in the dim light of the pub, I could see her cheeks flushing with rage or shame.

  Across the table from me, Marvin began to clap.

  "Wonderful performance," he said, still clapping.

  People around us let out sounds of relief and joined in the applause. Some of them were already inebriated enough to believe they'd just witnessed dinner theatre, by the sound of it.

  "Now, that's entertainment!" Marvin kept clapping while Marcy looked like she wanted to crawl under the table and pretend she didn't know him.

  I leaned over to Jessica and whispered, "We can't say our first New Year's Eve together in a decade was boring, can we?"

  She whispered back, "I'm sorry about Marvin. He's not usually so obnoxious. Something's gotten into him lately."

  I nodded toward the bottle of wine, which was being emptied into Marvin's empty glass by Marvin. "Some Chardonnay is getting into him tonight."

  "That man is a hero," she said in a low voice. "He's heroically saving all of us from a wicked hangover."

  "You look thirsty, though. I'm not sure if our waitress will be back, so I'm going to head over to the bar and get another bottle."

  Jessica reached for her purse. "It's my turn. Let me get this one."

  I pushed my chair back and got up quickly. The wine hadn't been expensive, even by Misty Falls standards, but I knew Jessica's accounts were at their limits.

  "This next one's actually on the house," I lied.

  "Really?" Even with the red glittering mask over her eyes, she gave me a skeptical look.

  "Yes, that bottle was on the two-for-one list."

  Jessica grinned. "Oh, Stormy, you're so brilliant at getting deals! I didn't even know there was a two-for-one list. And it was nice wine, too, from what I tasted." She licked her lips in anticipation of a second glass, assuming we could keep it away from Marvin's thirsty lips long enough to liberate a serving.

  I grabbed my purse from the back of my chair. Jessica's gaze went to my purse, and I anticipated her thoughts: If the second bottle was free, what did I need my wallet for?

  "Just going to freshen up in the washroom," I explained. "If the food shows up, don't wait for me to dig in."

  I left the table and wove my way through the crowd, stopping at the bar to prepay for another bottle of wine, then making my way to the ladies' room.

  The washroom was relatively quiet and chilly compared to the rest of the bar. A tiny window was open for fresh air. The doors for all the stalls were open, and there was only one other person in there with me: the voodoo lady.

  The front of her dark clothes were black from the tossed pitcher of water, but she didn't seem as concerned about that as she was her face.

  Facing the mirror, she scrubbed at the smeared dark makeup around her eyes. She did not look happy. The water had caused her beautiful mask to melt down her cheeks. I couldn't help but flinch when she looked my way, because the sopping-wet, bedraggled woman looked like something from a horror movie—something that might crawl out of a dark lagoon.

  "Don't be frightened," she said. "I don't bite."

  "Here, let me help you with that," I said as I dug around in my purse. I could feel her eyes on me, which caused me to nervously start a dialog with the contents of my bag. "Hello, purse guts, hello, breath mints and things I forgot I had in here."

  She didn't say anything in response to my rambling chatter, so I kept going, even while I told myself to shut up. It was like a case of nervous giggles, only without the giggles.

  "Darn you, purse, I know you have tissues. Don't hold out. Soft tissues are so much nicer than those awful brown paper towels. Those darn things are scratchier than tree bark, aren't they? And when you get them damp, they have that weird pulpy smell. Why is that, do you suppose? How can freshly cut wood smell so good, yet the smell of damp cardboard is the epitome of revolting?"

  I looked straight at Voula, pretending I'd been talking to her the whole time, and not talking to my purse like a weirdo.

  "Damp cardboard?" She sniffed the wadded brown paper towels she'd been using on her smeared makeup. "You are right. That smell is revolting." She turned to meet her own golden tigress eyes in the mirror, and frowned at her black-streaked face. "I am revolting."

  "No, don't say that." I finally located my pack of tissues, plus a travel-sized bottle of moisturizer. "Here, try this." I set the items on the counter between us, carefully avoiding hand-to-hand contact.

  Maybe it was the fact that the waitress had called Voula a witch and accused her of practicing black magic, or maybe it was the terrifying effect of her smeared dark makeup, but I felt apprehension toward the alleged psychic. I also felt pity, but not as strongly as the apprehension.

  She tentatively applied some of my moisturizer to one dark-streaked cheek to loosen up the makeup, then stroked it off with a clean, soft tissue. The darkness came off—not perfectly, but at least she wasn't scrubbing her cheek raw.

  "Thank you," she said. Her voice had an accent to it, maybe Eastern European, but it could have been an affectation—all part of her branding or image, like driving a hearse around town.

  What next? I couldn't leave without using the washroom in some way. I'm not usually the superstitious type, but I worried she would put a curse on me for being rude if I did. So, I carefully removed my glittering masquerade mask, lifting my cone-shaped party hat so I didn't tangle the elastics. I set the mask on the counter and started fixing my eye makeup. My eyeliner was a little smudged from the mask, but not bad. Unlike the specter next to me, at least I didn't look like a ghoul from a horror movie.

  "You have pretty eyes," Voula commented with her exotic, yet non-specific accent. "Why are you not married?"

  I laughed at her direct approach. "Beats me. I was engaged once, but it didn't work out."

  She arched one thick eyebrow, urging me to continue. "Why did it not work out, this engagement? It was because of you, your temper, no?"

  "Long story short, he was afraid of a little spider."

  She clucked her tongue. "If this is true, that is not the man for you. A woman like you, a woman with courage and fire, you need a real man. Like a horse and a tiger, but in a man."

  "That's a good idea. I should put up an internet dating profile. Courageous woman seeks horse-tiger-man."

  Voula held up one manicured finger, c
atching my attention with her black-lacquered nail, which tapered at the tip like a claw.

  "Be careful what you dream of," she said. "The fates enjoy twisting your desires into your nightmares. Do not ask for anything in jest, or you will not like what happens."

  I powdered my nose and cheeks, keeping an eye on her and those black claws via the mirror. "I'll keep that in mind."

  She kept wiping at her face until the tissue packet was empty, and then she pouted at her reflection. "I look like what the cat spits up."

  "No, you don't," I said with a smirk. "I've seen what my cat Jeffrey hacks up, usually into one of my shoes if he can make it there in time, and you look much nicer than what I had to rinse out of my penny loafers yesterday."

  "I will go home," she announced with a sadness that tore at my heart. The scrubbed-red streaks around her eyes made her look like she'd been crying.

  I picked up my masquerade mask and held it out to her. "You can't go home before midnight. Not on New Year's Eve. I'm not really a mask person, so I'm actually done with this for the night."

  She held her hands to her chest, hesitant to accept my gift.

  "This practically belongs on you," I said. "The purple and green match your outfit perfectly, and look at me—I'm dressed like a zebra. Take it. I insist."

  She fixed her golden eyes on mine. "We will trade. I take your gift, and you take mine."

  "Sure," I said, because it was easier to accept whatever trinket she had than continue to stand in the washroom of the Fox and Hound arguing with her.

  She accepted my mask and slipped it on. It fit her perfectly and made her whole multilayered purple and green outfit come to life.

  I started backing away, toward the door. It struck me as strange that, on the busiest night of the year, not another soul had come in to use the washroom. Had Voula cast some witchy spell to give us this moment? Just as I was puzzling over the idea, the door banged open and a cluster of women came in all at once, laughing as they made beelines for the stalls.