Knit One, Kill Two

by Maggie Sefton

  “Okay, now you try,” Lisa held out the needles to Kelly.

  Kelly stared at them suspiciously.

  “Go on, take them. They won’t bite.”

  “If you say so. Let’s see how patient you really are.”

  “Quit stalling.”

  Kelly took a deep breath and accepted the needles, trying to hold them the way Lisa did. “Okay, now you’re gonna have to talk me through this. Right needle goes here . . .” She tentatively aimed the needle’s tip toward a stitch.

  “Under, under.”

  “Under, like this?”

  “Yes. Now, take the yarn and wrap it around the needles back to front.”

  Kelly hesitantly did as she was told. “Now what?”

  “You slip the stitch off the left needle and onto the right.”

  Kelly stared at the stitch, then poked at it with the right needle. It didn’t move. “It won’t go.”

  “Not by itself it won’t. You have to slip it off.”

  “What if it doesn’t want to?”

  Lisa snickered. “Trust me, it wants to. You just have to convince it.”

  “You mean argue with it? I’ve never argued with wool before.”

  Lisa laughed out loud this time. “No wonder Helen gave up on you. You’re so stubborn.”

  “Hey, that’s one of my few virtues.”

  “Yeah? Well, guess what? I’m the queen of stubborn. I’ll outlast you.”

  Kelly gave in with a sigh. She believed her. Lisa gave new meaning to determined. “Okay, convince it to leave, convince it to leave.” She tentatively slipped the needle beneath the stitch and pushed. “You want to leave the left needle, yes, you want to leave . . .”

  Lisa laughed as the stitch finally slipped off the left needle and onto the right. “Alright! See? That’s all there is to it.”

  Kelly stared at her. “All? All? That was like the labors of Hercules, for pete’s sake. And that was just one stitch.” She held up the beginnings of the scarf—one row of stitches, all Lisa’s, and one stitch of hers. “Most scarves are four feet long. I can’t argue with yarn for that long. A couple of inches, maybe, but not four feet. I’m exhausted.”

  “It gets easier with each row. Just sit here and relax and knit. In a couple of hours you’ll be surprised how much smoother the motion will be.”

  Kelly feigned a look of horror. “A couple of hours! You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t sit here and do this for two hours. I’ve got errands to do.”

  “Do them in the afternoon.”

  “Carl needs me.”

  “He’s got the squirrels.”

  “I’ll get bored.”

  “No, you won’t. Someone is always here at the table to talk to. Besides, it’s a challenge. And I’ll bet you’ve never resisted a challenge in your life.”

  Rats. Lisa spotted her weakness. Kelly was all out of excuses.

  “True enough, but give me a minute, and I’ll come up with something else.”

  Lisa shook her head, her eyes twinkling. “You are something else. But you’ve met your match, this time, Kelly. You’re not getting out of this. You’re learning to knit today if it takes all morning.” She reached around Kelly’s chair and snatched her briefcase. “And to make sure, I’ll take your briefcase and keys to Mimi’s office,” she teased and sprang from the chair before Kelly could respond.

  Kelly burst out laughing. “Hey, no fair!”

  “What’s not fair?” Jennifer asked as she approached the table and sat down. “Hey, you’re knitting!” she exclaimed, pointing to the beginning effort. “Good job. Helen would be proud.”

  “Boy, you guys work together, don’t you?” Kelly said, feeling that little tug inside at the mention of her aunt.

  “You bet,” Jennifer agreed, pulling the green sweater from her tote bag. “How’d you get her started?” she asked Lisa.

  “Coercion, intimidation . . .”

  “And guilt,” Lisa added. “I used Helen.”

  “Good job,” Jennifer nodded. “How far have you gotten?”

  Kelly held up the needles. “One stitch, and it was excruciating.”

  “See what I mean?”

  “Oh, yeah. Listen, Kelly, make it easy on yourself and do what Lisa says. She’ll nag you to death otherwise.”

  Lisa grabbed the nearly completed coral silk sweater and dangled it between her hands. “Just keep telling yourself raspberry sweater, raspberry sweater . . .” she taunted.

  Kelly had to laugh. “Okay, I’ll keep trying, but I’ll be on Medicare before I finish.” She stared at the needles again. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, arguing with the wool.” She slipped the needle beneath another stitch, wound the yarn, and pushed at the stitch. “You want to leave, you want to leave.”

  “What the heck?” Jennifer peered at Lisa.

  “Don’t go there.”

  Accompanied by much mumbling, Kelly cajoled another stitch off the left needle and onto the right, then another, and another. But it was slow going. Great, she thought glumly, she really would be on Medicare before she finished this sweater.

  Just then, voices bubbled through the doorway of the adjoining room. “Burt’s class must have finished,” Lisa observed.

  Kelly glanced up and spotted Megan in the midst of the others filing past, all chatting eagerly and pointing to a picture-filled booklet. She grabbed the chance to cease her labors. “Hey, Megan,” she called. “How was the class? What did you learn, spinning?”

  “Yes, Burt’s beginning class,” Megan replied as she approached. She dropped her tote bag and started to pull out a chair, then stopped and stared at Kelly. A big grin spread. “Hey! You’re knitting! That’s great! Did Lisa teach you?”

  “I’m not sure teach is the word. Coerce, browbeat, punish, annoy—”

  “And guilt,” Jennifer added. “She used Helen.”

  Megan laughed, settling in herself and pulling out the turquoise sweater and skinny circular needles. “Well, whatever works.”

  “A-hem!” Lisa prodded, pointing to Kelly’s motionless hands. “Speaking of working. Get busy.”

  Kelly heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Slavedriver.” She slowly began the maneuvers again, without mumbling this time. She decided to actually try the motions without complaining and see if they became smoother. Sometimes, yes. But sometimes, a strange knot would appear in the yarn out of nowhere. Other times, Kelly felt like she was forcing the needle through the stitches. The yarn seemed to bunch around the needle, tighter and tighter. It was like the wool had a mind of its own, and it was tired of cooperating. Now it was fighting her.

  She was tempted to stop and ask for help, but stubbornness raised its head and urged her to keep going. It should get easier. Alas, it did not. She glanced around the table at the others, their hands moving deftly, creating row after row of stitches. All the while they talked and laughed and, it seemed to Kelly, barely paid attention to the yarn and needles.

  “Hello, everyone,” a girlish voice chirped. “I was hoping there’d be someone here after class.”

  Kelly looked up and stared. She couldn’t help it. Bright pink-and-white lace flounced into the room as the older woman, barely five feet tall and as round and plump as a dumpling, settled into a chair beside Kelly. Her silver hair was pulled back into a neat twist and anchored with—what else—matching pink ribbon. Kelly blinked. She doubted Helen’s kitchen curtains had that much lace.

  “Hi, Lizzie, how are you?” Megan greeted her.

  “Oh, I’m fine, dear,” Lizzie said and withdrew a pastel blue baby blanket from her bag. “Burt is such a good teacher. I’m almost convinced I can spin when I listen to him. But then I go home,” she sighed, “and I seem to forget what he said and get so confused.”

  Ah, a kindred spirit, Kelly thought. Perhaps we can sit and mumble at the wool together. Then, Kelly peered at the baby blanket. Row upon
row of beautiful, even stitches, with a pattern woven into the design. Small holes outlined the shapes of flowers throughout.

  Kelly examined the rows of laborious stitches she’d created. They certainly looked different from Lisa’s smooth even row that started the scarf. There were holes in her piece, too. Unfortunately, they were not part of any recognizable design. Instead, they appeared at random. Boy, if this was the best she could do, it didn’t matter if she finished a sweater or not. She wouldn’t wear it. It’d be too ugly. Better to bury it in the garden and hope it didn’t kill the flowers.

  She heaved another dramatic sigh and returned to her labors, hoping that someone would notice and take pity. Maybe they’d let her stop. Admit that she was a failure at this. But the others were studiously ignoring her.

  Lizzie, however, leaned over and gave her a dimpled smile. “Hello, Kelly. We met briefly at Helen’s service the other day. I’m Lizzie Von Steuben. My sister, Hilda, and I were friends of Helen since . . . well, since forever, it seems. We all grew up in Fort Connor, you see.” Her round face saddened. “It was such a tragic loss for us all. My condolences to you and your family. I hope you’re holding up under all this stress.”

  Kelly was touched by Lizzie’s obvious concern. “Yes, thank you, Miss, uh, Mrs. Von Steuben. Everyone has been so very kind and helpful.”

  Lizzie dimpled again and blushed, fluttering a hand. “Oh, it’s still Miss, my dear. But you can call me Lizzie. Everyone does.” Glancing at Kelly’s endeavors, her eyes went round. “Ah, what, uh, exactly what are you knitting, dear?”

  “She’s just started on her very first scarf,” Lisa piped up. “I convinced her it was a fitting tribute to Helen.”

  “Ah, yes,” Lizzie said, intently watching Kelly’s studied movements. “A scarf, very good. How’s it going, dear?”

  “Agonizingly,” Kelly complained loudly.

  Megan giggled and bent her head over her knitting but said nothing.

  “Don’t pay attention to her complaints, Lizzie,” Lisa warned. “She’s trying to play dumb and incompetent. But we’re not buying it.”

  “I see,” Lizzie observed with a smile, then glanced to her own stitches, needles moving swiftly in the baby blue yarn. She’d glance at Kelly, then back to her own knitting. Again and again.

  Kelly pushed another stitch off the needle, forcing it. Arguing was out of the question. The wool wasn’t listening. “Whoever said this was relaxing was nuts,” she declared loudly. Jennifer snickered but said nothing.

  Noticing Lizzie’s continued interest, Kelly waited until Lisa and Jennifer started talking again, then she leaned closer to Lizzie.

  “You know, sometimes the stitches slip off easier, and other times I have to force them off,” she whispered. “Why is that? I’m doing the same movements Lisa taught me.”

  Lizzie leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s because you’re strangling the wool, dear.”

  Six

  Strangling the wool? How’d she manage that? Kelly wondered. She’d started out arguing with it and wound up killing it. She stared blankly at Lizzie. “How’d I do that?”

  “Oh, it’s easy, dear. All beginners do it,” Lizzie said with an airy wave of her hand, barely missing a stitch. “Here, let me show you how to loosen the stitches.” She set down her own yarn and reached for Kelly’s.

  Kelly clutched hers tighter. “I have to do it, or I don’t learn. Show me on yours,” she bargained.

  “Very well, dear.” Lizzie picked up her needles once again. Kelly noticed they were about the same size as hers. “Now, just watch how I loosen each stitch, just a little. Give it room to breathe.”

  Kelly watched Lizzie’s hands slowly move through the familiar motions. But this time, Kelly noticed something different. Lizzie worked the right needle forward somewhat in a smooth motion, and sure enough, the yarn looped between the needles was looser and moved easily over the needles.

  “Wow, that does make a difference,” Kelly admired. “No wonder mine were so tight.”

  “Now, you try,” Lizzie encouraged. “You’ll be surprised how much easier it will be. I promise.”

  Somehow, Kelly believed her. Lizzie’s gentle manner was encouraging. She picked up her needles and concentrated on emulating Lizzie’s movements. To her amazement, the yarn cooperated. “Look at that,” she said, slipping one, two, three stitches off the needle. “Thanks, Lizzie. You’re a doll.”

  Lizzie dimpled again. “Oh, it’s nothing, dear. We were all novices once.”

  Kelly concentrated on the new movements, watching the stitches move from left needle to the right. Before she knew it, she’d finished an entire row—and it hadn’t been excruciating at all like her previous efforts. She examined the inch or so of scarf she’d created. Pretty homely. Maybe if she kept going she wouldn’t notice the ugly inch once she finished. After all, this last row looked a lot better.

  A loud contralto voice boomed across the room, “Lizzie, come here. You simply must see this piece.” A tall, large-boned woman beckoned in the doorway to the classroom near Mimi’s office.

  “Yes, dear, I’m coming,” Lizzie said and popped from her perch on the chair in a flutter of pink and lace.

  “Hey, Hilda,” Jennifer called to the woman.

  “Hello, my dear. I see you have taught Helen’s niece to knit. Excellent. Helen would be pleased,” Hilda decreed before disappearing into the classroom again.

  Kelly didn’t even bother to reply this time. But Mimi did, as she bustled into the room, Steve still in her wake. “I agree, Kelly. Helen is probably smiling at you right now.”

  Not if she takes a good look at my first rows of knitting, Kelly thought, but kept it to herself. Thanks to Lizzie’s helpful encouragement, the motions were finally becoming smoother. Another row finished, then another. Her stitches finally started to resemble knitting. Amazing.

  “Oh, Lisa, I just heard from Trish,” Megan spoke up. “She can’t make it to the game tomorrow morning. She sprained her ankle working out yesterday. Poor thing. That’ll really throw off her schedule.”

  “Is she training for a race or something?” Kelly asked, curious.

  “Yeah, triathalon.” Lisa stopped her knitting and frowned. “Darn! It’s Friday night. Where are we going to find another first baseman.”

  “Hey, that’s okay,” Steve spoke from across the room where he was measuring wall space. “You’re playing us tomorrow. We’d love you to show up one short.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Megan taunted. “No way, Steve.”

  Suddenly Lisa zeroed in on Kelly. Kelly could almost feel the red laser light dancing on her forehead. Uh oh. She knew what was coming from the smile on Lisa’s face.

  “Hey, Kelly, I know how you can repay me for teaching you how to knit,” she teased.

  “You mean I have to pay for all that abuse?” Kelly challenged, hoping to head her off. “I refuse.”

  “C’mon. We need a first baseman. That’s your position, right?” she cajoled. “Plus you said you wanted to but you didn’t have the time. Now, you do.”

  Kelly sorted through various excuses, but the idea was already resonating inside with an emphatic yes. However, she wasn’t going to give in that easily. “I can’t. I’m busy tomorrow morning.”

  “Doing what? It can wait a couple of hours.”

  “Knitting. You said I had to practice.”

  “Yeah, right, like that’s gonna happen,” Jennifer said with a snicker. Lisa and Megan laughed out loud.

  “Why don’t you ask Jennifer, instead?” Kelly ventured. This time Lisa and Megan nearly fell off their chairs laughing. Even Steve laughed as he measured. “Hey, what’s so funny?” she demanded.

  Jennifer grunted. “Sweating in the sun is not my idea of fun. I prefer indoor sports.” She gave a sly wink.

  “C’mon, Kelly,” Lisa said when she stopped laughin
g. “You know you want to.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Kelly admitted with a grin. “But I haven’t played in so long, I’m gonna be pretty bad.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” Lisa replied. “Look, meet us tomorrow at Moore Park on the west side of town. Eight o’clock sharp. We’ll warm you up, won’t we, Megan?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “See? That’s why I don’t like sports,” Jennifer decreed. “You’re always playing them at some ungodly hour of the morning.” She gave a dramatic shudder.

  Kelly noticed Steve approach, tape measure in one hand, notepad and pencil in the other, and assumed he was headed to measure another wall. Instead, he stopped by her chair.

  “They trapped you pretty good, Kelly,” he teased with his engaging grin. “First the knitting, now the softball.”

  Kelly was forming a retort, when Lisa piped up. “You’re up to something, Steve. I can tell from your tone of voice.”

  Steve chuckled. “I noticed yesterday Kelly has a pretty short fuse. I was hoping if I annoyed her enough, she wouldn’t show up tomorrow.”

  “All right, ’fess up,” Jennifer prodded. “What happened yesterday, Kelly?”

  Again, Kelly didn’t get a chance to reply. “She chewed me out for playing with her dog,” Steve said innocently.

  “That’s all?” Megan tweaked.

  Kelly knew Steve was goading her, but just like Carl, she couldn’t stop herself. “He left out the part about climbing into my backyard . . . without permission.” She assumed an aggrieved air.

  Jennifer drew back in mock shock, hand to her breast. Megan giggled. Lisa simply smiled.

  “See?” Steve grinned. “If I try hard enough, I can make her mad. Then maybe she won’t show up. I mean, if she’s any good, we don’t want her playing with you guys.”

  Kelly had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from opening her mouth. She started to count to a thousand but only made it to ten. “You can leave anytime now,” she said archly.

  “I was just about to,” Steve said, clearly unfazed by her hostility. “See you folks on the field tomorrow.” He gave a wave as he left.