Knit One, Kill Two

by Maggie Sefton

  “Good Lord, girl, you’ve practiced enough,” Hilda decreed, and reached over to yank the piece from Kelly’s hands.

  So shocked at Hilda’s quickness, Kelly just stared at her for a few seconds. “Hilda!” she cried. “I was in the middle of a row!”

  “Your stockinette looks fine,” Hilda decreed, examining the stitches much as Lizzie had done. Then, to Kelly’s amazement, Hilda whipped out a pair of small scissors and snipped the length of yarn that attached the piece to the remainder of its skein.

  “Hilda!” Kelly protested, ignoring the students who were hiding their laughter behind pattern books. “Do you treat all your students this way?”

  “My students don’t need prodding. You do. It’s time you started your sweater.” She dropped the forlorn practice piece on the table.

  “What?!” Kelly protested. “I can’t do that sweater yet. It’s too . . . too complicated. It has a pattern . . . and . . . and I’ve never followed a pattern before.”

  “You can read, can’t you?” Hilda peered overtop her spectacles, her pale blue eyes hawklike.

  Kelly couldn’t believe it. She’d fallen into the clutches of the Nazi Knitter. Where had helpful Hilda gone? She managed to scowl back. “Patterns are different. They look strange. All those little lines and squiggles.”

  “That’s only because you’ve never done one before. Everything new is strange at first. You simply need to choose a simple pattern. Come with me.”

  Hilda turned smartly on the heel of her industrial-strength nurses’ shoes and headed toward the other room where all the new sweaters and tops were dangling from ceiling and cabinet doors and draped across shelves. Kelly gave in and followed after.

  “Now, look at all you have to choose from,” Hilda said, gesturing to the multitude of yarns spilling from crates and piled on shelves. “You need something to build your confidence, Kelly. I suggest you choose one of those bulky knit yarns you used so successfully with your scarf. We’ll find a simple pattern, and you’ll have a sweater before you know it. Then, you’ll be ready to tackle that sweater you’re pining for.”

  Kelly stared at Hilda, shocked at the clever suggestion as well as her uncanny read of what was causing the hesitation. The suggestion resonated within, but pride reasserted itself. Kelly wasn’t going to capitulate that fast, so she forced a frown, even though her fingers were itching to dive into the crates and start touching.

  “Wellllll . . .” she demurred.

  “Stop stalling, girl, you know you want to do it.”

  Rats. Hilda was outsmarting her at every turn. Kelly wasn’t used to that, but she gave respect where it was due—albeit grudging. “How long would it take to do a sweater with these yarns?”

  “Not much longer than it took to knit your scarf. You remember how fast that went, don’t you?”

  Kelly nodded.

  “And how proud you felt when you finished? And how—”

  Kelly held up her hand. Only total capitulation would satisfy Hilda. “Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me, Hilda. I’ll make the sweater. Brother, you’re relentless, you know that?”

  “I pride myself on it.” Hilda said, and Kelly could swear she detected a twinkle in that stern gaze. “Now, look up there. See the sweaters with the larger pattern? They were knit with those yarns. Tell me which one strikes your fancy, and I’ll find the pattern.”

  Kelly scanned all the sweaters that were displayed, searching for a simple design. She found it hanging in the corner. A sleeveless shell with wide neck. No scalloped edges to maneuver, no fancy edging. No frills, just row upon row of neat stockinette top to bottom. Plain and simple. “How about that one,” she chose, pointing to the light pink creation.

  “An excellent choice. Now, you choose a yarn you like while I find the pattern,” Hilda ordered before she headed for the pattern books.

  This time, Kelly eagerly complied with Hilda’s instructions. She dove into the bins, squeezing and stroking yarns fat and thin. Obediently concentrating on the chunkier wools, Kelly found some of the variegated yarns she used for her scarf. But these were spring colors—pale azures, cool lavenders, and minty greens.

  Eyeing the sweater once more, she noticed how even the stockinette looked and realized the chunky yarn that was so perfect in her scarf would not yield the same effect in the sweater. She needed an even thickness all over this time. She began to plunder other bins of solid colors—creamy oatmeal, lime sherbert, cherry parfait.

  Caressing the pudgy bundles she noticed the different feel and checked the label. She was surprised to see that it was a blend of cotton and merino wool. Checking the tag that dangled from the sweater, Kelly saw that it was also a cotton blend. That settled it in her mind.

  She grabbed four skeins when Burt approached. “Hey, Burt,” she said, noticing his worried expression. Not him, too, she thought, bracing herself for another lecture.

  “Do you have a minute, Kelly?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Kelly sensed it had to do with Helen. “Certainly, Burt. Why don’t we talk while you spin,” she suggested, heading back to the main room. She dropped the roly-poly bundles of cherry parfait onto the library table while Burt settled at the spinning wheel in the corner. Kelly grabbed a pattern book and spread it out at the end of the table.

  “You talk, and I’ll listen,” she suggested as she leaned over the book, pretending to read. “Hilda’s about to descend on me with a pattern. So you better make it quick.” She nodded toward Hilda, who was across the room busily flipping through pages.

  Burt picked up his spinning where he’d left off, hands deftly working the roving as the wheel hummed. “I heard from my contact at the crime lab again. The DNA tests are final now, and the blood on the carpet and the remnant of burned purple wool are a match.”

  “Does it match the vagrant’s DNA?” she ventured, already sure of the answer.

  “Nope.”

  Kelly exulted inside, even though she couldn’t reveal her reaction. “Told you,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “What’s Morrison going to do now? He has to let that guy go, doesn’t he? He can’t still cling to that worn-out intruder theory now, can he?”

  No answer at first. Just the hum of the wheel. “Actually my former partner says Morrison is checking everything out, but the guy’s staying in jail for the time being. A hearing’s been set for next week, and he’d already been assigned a public defender. If there’s not enough evidence, he’ll be released.”

  “Sheeesh,” Kelly complained scornfully. “Morrison cannot admit he’s wrong, can he?”

  “The intruder theory could still be the right one, Kelly,” Burt pointed out. “Just a different intruder. It’s clear someone else was in the house and left blood specks on the carpet. Who knows? Maybe that’s why they took the purple wool. They were bleeding and they grabbed whatever was handy.” The wheel picked up speed.

  Kelly paged through the book, ostensibly reading. “I’ve thought the very same thing, Burt. And I think I know why there’s blood on the carpet. Helen fought back. She stabbed her attacker. I’ll bet that’s why there was a broken needle on the floor. That’s what she used to defend herself.”

  “Could be—”

  “Finally!” Hilda boomed across the room, smothering Burt’s voice. “I knew that pattern was here.” She snatched the plastic page and strode toward the office.

  “Isn’t there any way we can light a fire under Morrison?” Kelly complained. “Every day he wastes makes it harder to find the real killer.”

  “Morrison’s doing his job, Kelly. He’s just thorough. Meanwhile, don’t go poking around all by yourself anymore, okay?” Burt warned. “Otherwise Mimi will have heart failure. You really gave her a fright the other day. She won’t admit it to you, but she was a basket case until Steve returned and reported you were safe and sound.”


  “I promise,” Kelly said with a nod, spying Hilda headed her way. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Here, you go,” Hilda announced, presenting the pattern with a flourish. “And I see you’ve chosen a beautiful yarn. Well done, my girl.”

  Kelly didn’t even hear Hilda’s compliment. Her attention was focused on the well-tailored gentleman who now stood in the entrance to the main room. Kelly’s gaze settled on the legal-sized leather portfolio in his hand, and her stomach tightened.

  “Ms. Flynn, I have some wonderful news for you,” Alan Gretsky announced, flashing his brilliant toothy grin.

  “Why, hello, Mr. Gretsky,” she replied. “How are you?”

  Gretsky’s grin got even wider if that were possible. “Fabulous, Ms. Flynn, especially now. My clients have made you a most generous offer. A most generous offer, indeed.” He approached, leather portfolio in his outstretched hand.

  Kelly stared at it, reluctant to accept the portfolio. She knew what was in there. A generous offer to buy Helen’s cottage. Her cottage, now, but still—the cottage of memories.

  Forcing herself to accept the portfolio, Kelly forced a lukewarm smile. “I bet I know what this is.”

  Gretsky chuckled. “Yes, I bet you do, Ms. Flynn. But I bet you’ll still be surprised by the generosity of their offer. They were most sympathetic to your situation, what with the recent death of your aunt and all. So they were exceptionally generous with the purchase price. They wanted to make sure you did not share any unnecessary financial burden.”

  “I confess I haven’t made up my mind yet,” she said. “I’ve committed to staying here for three months. So, I’m not sure that will work with your clients’ plans.”

  Gretsky dismissed her concerns with an expressive wave of his hand. “They’re totally flexible, Ms. Flynn. Remember, they wouldn’t be moving into the cottage. So, don’t worry about it. You take the time you need to think it over. You’ll notice the acceptance date is a month away. And if you haven’t decided by then, why, I’m certain they’d be amenable to extending the date.”

  Brother, Kelly thought. They want this land badly. She turned the portfolio over in her hands. Gretsky had skillfully boxed her in. Now, she had no reason not to consider the offer. To refuse to even examine it would be financially irresponsible, her accounting voice piped up. She owed it to herself to see what kind of money Gretsky was so excited about.

  “All right, Mr. Gretsky, I’ll take a look,” Kelly agreed. “But I can’t promise you when I’ll have an answer.”

  “That’s to be expected, Ms. Flynn,” he replied. “The clients are totally comfortable with that, as I said before.” Glancing about, he added, “Please excuse the interruption, folks. I’ll let you all get back to your business. You take care now, Ms. Flynn. Have a good day.” He gave a friendly wave and left.

  Kelly stared at the portfolio, then stared at the cherry parfait bundles on the table. She really wanted to sit down and start that new sweater, but she couldn’t. She had to examine the contract offer. And that would take time.

  She checked her watch. Brother, noon already. Even without the offer, she’d have to leave and get back to her corporate accounts this afternoon. Cherry parfait sweaters and following up Lizzie’s tantalizing information about Chambers would have to wait. She glanced at Hilda, who was standing stoically, pattern in hand, and saw the sympathetic gaze meet hers.

  “Well, Hilda, I guess that sweater will have to wait a while, okay?”

  “Don’t you worry, Kelly,” Hilda reassured. “I’ll have everything in a bag in Mimi’s office waiting for you. Whenever all of this business is finished.”

  “Thanks, Hilda,” she said, scooping up her belongings. Glancing over her shoulder to Burt, she smiled. “Thanks, Burt. We’ll talk again later. And don’t worry, I’ll be too busy for a while to get into trouble.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, Kelly,” Burt called as she left.

  Seventeen

  “So, the offer’s legit?” Jennifer asked as she poured Eduardo’s fragrant dark coffee into Kelly’s stainless steel mug.

  “Yep,” Kelly replied, leaning against the side of the café’s outside door. Pale, early-morning sunshine filtered through the wide windows in the corner where they stood. Daylight savings time said eight o’clock, but the late-April sun was still bashful. Another month would bring the brilliance and summerlike warmth. “I searched the company name listed as the buyer, and it’s authentic. It’s Big Box’s property acquisition division,” she said, savoring the delectable aroma right beneath her nostrils. She couldn’t wait another moment and took a long drink.

  Jennifer scanned the nearly empty café and asked, “How generous was the offer? Burt told us Gretsky raved about his client’s generosity.”

  “He wasn’t exaggerating,” Kelly admitted. “They really did offer above market price. Way above, which would allow me to pay off that horrible mortgage plus penalties and fees for early sale and still walk away with money.”

  “Any contingencies?”

  “None. They really want this property, Jen.”

  “Well, if you want me to take a look at the offer, let me know. Those clauses can hide tricky things.”

  “Thanks, Jennifer. I’d appreciate your help.” She exhaled a deep sigh. “You know, I wasn’t expecting to have to deal with something like this on top of everything else that’s happened. I mean, I can’t really think about the offer because these murders have totally claimed my attention. Even my work is taking a back seat. The only way I’m keeping up is to work way late at night.” She took another deep satisfying drink.

  “No wonder you need Eduardo’s coffee,” Jennifer commented with a wry smile. “I’d better get you one of our spare mugs to fill up as well. Where’re you off to this morning?”

  Kelly glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear their conversation. No worries. Eduardo was noisily preparing omelets at the grill, while Pete rang up receipts across the room. The other morning waitress was serving the only customer in the café.

  “I’m going to see Lawrence Chambers, Helen’s lawyer,” she confided. “Lizzie was a gold mine of information. She wasn’t allowed to date, so she kept meticulous notes on everyone else’s social life, including Helen’s. And she knew who the mystery boyfriend was.”

  “The hunky cowboy, I hope.”

  “Nope. He was just the decoy so no one would notice the boy she really loved.”

  “Well? I’m waiting. I may get a customer in my section any minute. Hurry up,” Jennifer ordered.

  “It was Lawrence Chambers.”

  “Really? Was he hunky back then?”

  “Hardly. His school photo makes him look like an earnest owl,” Kelly said, unable to hide her smile.

  Jennifer sighed. “Well, if Helen chose him, he must have been special. Helen was a great gal. So, why’re you going to see him?”

  “I’m just fishing. See what I can pry out of him. If not, then I’ll see if I can get him to take a stroll down memory lane. See what happens.”

  Jennifer wagged her head. “There you go, again. Stirring up trouble, poking around. Burt told us you promised to behave.”

  Kelly fixed Jennifer with a wicked grin. “You’re telling me I should behave?”

  Jennifer started laughing. “Okay, okay, you got me. I won’t say another word. But I’m not gonna cover for you. You can go in there and tell everyone yourself what you’re up to.”

  Suddenly Kelly remembered something. “Whoa, thanks for mentioning that. I’ve got to touch base with them. I may be a little late for practice tonight. Won’t know until I log on to my office site.” She headed toward the shop.

  Lisa and Megan were still sitting at the library table, as were some other knitters. “Hi, folks,” Kelly greeted them all as she settled into a chair. “Lisa, I may be a little late for practice tonight. I won’t know h
ow heavy my workload will be till I check with my office later, okay?”

  Lisa glanced up. “Yeah, but if you make it a habit, we’ll beat you.”

  “Severely,” Megan added.

  “I’ll remember that.” Kelly let herself relax as the soft laughter rippled around the table. But as Mimi entered and sank into a chair, one look at her expression swept all humor away. Her face was ashen.

  “Mimi, what’s wrong?” Lisa asked.

  “I’ve just been notified by the new landlord that the shop’s lease won’t be renewed this September. The property’s being sold,” Mimi said solemnly.

  Stitches and yarns were forgotten, dropped unnoticed to laps, as everyone stared at Mimi, clearly horrified at the announcement.

  “But I thought your old landlord said that wouldn’t happen,” Megan protested, her pale face registering her shock at the news.

  Mimi chewed her lip. “He said they ‘probably’ would extend the lease, but I could tell he didn’t know for sure, even when he said it. That’s why I’ve been so . . . so worried lately, wondering if this would happen.”

  Kelly leaned forward, wishing she had an answer. “Mimi, I’m so sorry. I know how much work you’ve put in here.” She glanced around, feeling a little sick that strangers would soon own Helen and Jim’s farmhouse. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Neither can I,” one of the knitters spoke up.

  “Is there any way around the lease?” the other asked.

  Mimi shook her head. “No. All leases are renewed at the discretion of the landlord.”

  “Mimi, we’ll help you look for another place, honest,” Lisa offered. “And Jennifer will scour the multiple listings for you. She’ll find something—”

  “What will I find?” Jennifer inquired as she marched up to the table and deposited another full mug of coffee in front of Kelly.

  “Thanks, Jen,” Kelly said, glancing up. “Mimi’s losing her lease in September. The farmhouse will be sold. You’re gonna have to help her find another place.”