The Gray-Haired Knitting Detective Series: (Books 1 - 3)

by D. E. Haggerty

  Mr. Smith ushers me to the table, and I sit. He doesn’t speak at first, arranging his files. I can’t handle the silence any longer and blurt out, “You’re awfully young.” Ugh! I really need to go to Walmart and see if they sell brain-to-mouth filters.

  Mr. Smith smiles at me. “Don’t worry. I’m perfectly qualified.”

  I shake my head. “Sorry. It’s just that I can’t see my grandma using such a young lawyer.” But then I take a second look at him and change my mind. He is a fine specimen of the male creature. Blond, wavy hair a tad long for a lawyer, and sparkling bright, blue eyes – although that could be because he’s laughing at me. His suit is pulled taut over his shoulders and biceps. He’s hiding a fit body underneath that boring, conservative suit. I casually scratch my nose to ensure there’s no drool escaping my mouth.

  “Well, actually,” he says and finally stops shuffling paperwork. “My father normally handles your grandmother’s legal issues, but he’s semi-retired now.”

  I nearly jump out of my seat when a cup of coffee is placed before me. Chignon lady is apparently a ninja in training, I didn’t hear the door open or her walking over. I place my hand over my heart and try to breathe normally. My anxiousness about this meeting is skyrocketing by the second. I need to calm down. I should have asked for tea or maybe valium. Yeah, valium would have been good.

  “So,” Mr. Smith says as he takes a drink of his coffee that has magically appeared before him. “Should we get started?”

  I nod and pull the letter out of my purse. “Yes, this is the letter I called you about.” I hand it to him and wait as he reads it.

  “Actually, Mrs. Archer,” he starts, but I interrupt him. “Please, call me Izzy.” I don’t like being referred to as a Mrs. as if I’m dependent on a man and not independent. I nearly snort. As if my man was ever dependable for anything but a good time.

  “Oh,” Mr. Jones’ voice brings me back to the present. “This letter was written by my father. I actually called you in for a different reason.”

  “Then you don’t know anything about this letter?” How disappointing. “But wait. Why am I here then?” Oops. Said that aloud.

  Mr. Jones points to the papers on the table. “The reading of Mrs. Archer’s will, of course.”

  Of course. There’s no of course here. Why would I need to be present for Grandma’s will reading? “But that has nothing to do with me.”

  Mr. Jones smiles, but it’s condescending. Or is that pity? Either way, not a good look on him. “But it does Mrs. Archer, er, Izzy.”

  I leave the law firm an hour later in a complete daze. I can’t believe what just happened. I shake my head. I must be dreaming. I’m probably still in my bed tossing and turning and this meeting hasn’t even happened yet. Yep! That must be it. Except, my dreams are never this vivid. I’m always blind in my dreams, unable to open my eyes. I widen my eyes and look around. Huh, everything seems to be normal, although I do feel like someone is watching me. I shiver as I feel someone’s eyes boring into me.

  Feeling weirded out, I decide to walk across the street to the diner. I can never find a bathroom in my dreams. If I can find a restroom and actually use it, then maybe I’m not dreaming.

  The bell rings as I stroll in. The waitress looks up and smiles. “Can I use your restroom?”

  “Sure, honey,” she says and points down the hallway. “On your right.”

  I walk down the hallway and find the restroom. Continuing to test my dream theory, I use the facilities. Huh. This is crazy. This is the most vivid dream of my life. I find a booth and sit down. I still feel eyes following my every move. Man, this is one spooky dream. The waitress strolls over with a menu, but I waive it away. Since this must be a dream, I might as well live it up.

  “Waffles with chocolate ice cream and whipped cream, please.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  Perhaps it’s a good thing this place doesn’t serve liquor because getting drunk before noon seems incredibly appealing at the moment. Only because I’m dreaming, I would never drink alcohol with breakfast otherwise. And if you believe that, I have some prime real estate in the swampland for sale as well.

  The waffles arrive quickly, and I woof them down. For a dream, these waffles are delicious! My phone rings just as I finish licking the plate. “Hello,” I answer cheerfully.

  “You sound happy, babe,” Noel responds.

  “I’m having the best dream ever!”

  Noel chuckles. “Dream?”

  “Duh, this has to be a dream.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Cuz this can’t be real. So it has to be a dream. Duh.” Dream Noel is a bit slow.

  “Izzy, where are you?” He sounds concerned. Uh oh, is this where the dream becomes a nightmare?

  “I’m at the diner across the street from Grandma’s lawyer.” Shouldn’t he know where I am? In my dreams, the players always know everything. Then again, I’ve never had a ‘normal’ about Noel before. He hangs up without responding. That’s weird, but then again, this a dream.

  I’m strolling out the diner when Noel runs up to me. He grabs my head and studies my face. I scrunch my nose at him. “What’s up with you?”

  “What’s going on Izzy? Why do you think you’re dreaming?” He sounds out of breath. Now that’s more like my dream Noel.

  I shrug. “Because it can’t be true.”

  “What can’t be true?”

  “It can’t be true that Grandma was a millionaire and left me everything.”

  Noel’s eyes widen in surprise and then he pulls me to him and hugs me tight. “Izzy, this isn’t a dream?”

  “Not a dream? Of course, it’s a dream.”

  Noel pulls away and shakes me slightly. “Izzy, please, it’s not a dream. You’re awake.”

  “I’m awake?” I ask just before the curtain comes down.

  Chapter 16

  "Price Tag” by Jesse J

  I awake cradled in Noel’s arms on my couch. I snuggle into him. I don’t remember how I got here, but I’m no fool – I’m taking advantage. I hear someone clear their throat and snuggle even closer to Noel. I’m not ready to be interrupted.

  “Iz,” a very irritated Jack says. “Now is not the time.”

  “Why not?” I pout. Noel laughs, kisses my forehead, and then gently lifts me off his lap and places me next to him on the couch. I snarl at Jack, but he’s immune to my snarls. Bummer.

  “What’s going on?” I ask when the silence lasts more than two seconds. That’s two seconds too long in my non-stop talking book.

  Noel grabs my hand. “You thought you were dreaming.”

  I snort. “Well, of course I was dreaming. And now I’m awake.” Seems simple to me really.

  Jack grabs my purse and starts digging around. “Hey! What are you doing?” He pulls out a bundle of paper and flips through it. “Shit, Iz,” he says and hands the bundle to Noel.

  Noel raises his eyebrows and hands the papers to me. He doesn’t even take a peek! Gotta love that guy. Well, not love, love, but you know what I mean. I look down at the bundle and it all comes back to me. I gasp. “Damn. It wasn’t a dream.”

  Noel puts his arm around me and squeezes. “No, it wasn’t a dream, baby.”

  I drop my head. “I knew it felt too real to be a dream, and now I’m going to have to run five hundred million gazillion miles to work off the waffles and ice cream for breakfast.”

  Jack laughs and shakes his head. “Seriously, Iz? You just became a millionaire, and you’re worried about what you had for breakfast.” I roll my eyes at him. “Where did she get all this money?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I asked, but baby Mr. Jones didn’t know much about it. He said I’d have to ask Daddy Jones. That reminds me,” I dig through the papers until I find the letter, which started my trek to the lawyer’s office and hand it to Noel. “Looking for clues.”

  He doesn’t look at the letter. “Izzy,” he says calmly. “The fact that your grandma was a millionaire and kep
t it a secret is a clue.”

  I shrug. “If no one knew, they wouldn’t kill her for the money, now would they?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s impossible no one knew. Someone knew. Someone always knows.”

  “Okaaay,” I say, but I still don’t believe him. I mean, if I didn’t know she was a millionaire, no one else would either, right? Well, maybe her husband but he died ages ago before I was even on the scene. “But it’s not a motive if no one would gain from her death, right?”

  Noel smiles. “Yes, whoever would profit from her death has the best motive to murder her,” he explains.

  I sigh. “So that doesn’t help at all since I’m the one who profits from her death.”

  Noel grabs the papers from my hands and raises an eyebrow at me. “May I?” I nod. He shuffles through the papers quickly and then hands them back. “It looks like you’re not the only one who inherits.”

  That’s true. While I thought Grandma had left all her money to charity, it turns out she left the bulk to me and made some small contributions to local charities. They’re not actually small contributions, but in comparison to the millions in her bank account they look small. Now I know why she never wanted me to do her finances. Liked to balance her checkbook, my ass!

  “I don’t think any of the charities she donated to would actually kill her.” I roll my eyes to emphasize the ridiculousness of Noel’s statement.

  “Which charities did she donate to?” Jack asks as he grabs a pen and paper from my purse. I growl at him digging around in my purse again, but he ignores me.

  “The church, of course. The VFW, the animal shelter, and the women’s shelter,” I answer as Jack scribbles notes on the paper. “All worthy causes. I really can’t believe anyone from those charities would kill her to get more money out of her. It doesn’t make any sense. Grandma gave them money every year anyway. Everyone knew you only had to ask her for a donation and she’d give one.” Jack rips a piece of paper from the notepad and hands it to me. He’s written each charity down under a large title ’To Check Out‘. In case I missed his meaning, he’s underlined the title three times.

  “Huh,” Noel grunts. “Maybe it wasn’t someone wanting charity but someone angry she wouldn’t give to their cause?”

  I shake my head, but Jack speaks before I get a chance. “I can’t believe that. She gave money to everyone. She gave beggars on the street money. Anyone who asked for money got it. And I don’t think anyone knew she had this much money.”

  “Well, if you two are convinced no one killed her for her money, and no one killed her for not giving them money, who killed her? If anyone killed her, that is,” Noel mutters the last part but I hear him and give him the evil eye, which only makes him smile.

  “Don’t you believe me that someone killed Grandma?” I don’t give him a chance to answer and turn to Jack. “What do you think?”

  Jack shrugs. “I find it hard to believe anyone would kill Grandma. I mean she was a firecracker, but she was also the sweetest, kindest person I ever met. She accepted me and never batted an eyelash over the fact that I’m gay.” He raises his hands in defense when he sees I’m about to blow up on him. “But, I find it hard to believe that she was sitting in her armchair in the middle of the day with that piece on her lap. She obviously wasn’t knitting.”

  Noel clears his throat. “What’s the deal with the piece of knitting she had on her lap? Everyone keeps mentioning it as if it has some special meaning.”

  I sigh and look at Jack, who smiles in encouragement. “Well, when I first married Ryan, Grandma was super excited about having little ones running around. She started knitting these adorable onesies for any children we would have.”

  “But you don’t have any children,” Noel interrupts to say.

  I nod. “Yeah, I quickly learned my husband was a child himself and was never going to grow up. I worked full-time while he farted around doing pretty much nothing. How was I supposed to have a child with a man who couldn’t change the toilet paper roll when it ran out?”

  “So you wanted children then?”

  I shrug. “Sure, I guess, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m too old now and Ryan’s dead.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, after Ryan died, Grandma put the onesie she had been working on in the bottom of her knitting basket. She promised me she wouldn’t touch it again out of respect to Ryan. She thought I was still in love with him,” I snort.

  Noel grabs my hand. “And this was the knitting on her lap when she was found?” Jack and I nod in unison. “And that’s why you think she was murdered?” We nod again.

  After my bizarre meeting with the lawyer, this melancholic mood is too much for me. I clear my throat and grab the letter from Papa lawyer Smith and hand it to Noel. “That’s why we need to find out what this letter is all about.”

  Noel quickly reads the letter. “This doesn’t say much of anything.”

  “I know. That’s why I made an appointment with the real Mr. Smith for the day after tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Noel says and leans forward to kiss my forehead. “But be careful.”

  “Careful’s my middle name.” Noel smiles, but Jack snorts.

  Chapter 17

  "I Knew You were Trouble” by Taylor Swift

  Even Noel admits Grandma’s wealth could be a motive for murder. The fact that her wealth was a secret makes the motive possibility that much stronger. Even so, Noel’s still not convinced it’s murder, which makes the police utterly useless. No big surprise there. It’s up to me, I guess.

  I have no idea how to investigate a murder or solve a crime of any sort, for that matter. Maybe Google will help. I search ‘how to solve a murder’ and there are, gulp, over fifty-five million responses, but are any of them useful? Besides my favorite article, which is ‘A fifteen-step explanation with pictures included’, there isn’t anything else that can be of any use. I don’t need to know how to set-up a murder mystery evening or win a murder mystery event, for that matter. I don’t have time to buy and read a forensic handbook. And I’m certainly not trolling through the FBI’s most wanted pictures to help them solve their crimes.

  I go back to the fifteen-step illustrated explanation. Only now that I actually read the article instead of looking at the drawings - an occupational hazard - I see there are seventeen steps. First step – find a mystery – is done. Check. Second step – grab some friends – also done. Check. I’ve also managed to detect secrets and delve into danger. Oh wait! It says to not delve into danger. Oops! There’s also a rule about tomfoolery. Does taking a mud bath in Grandma’s backyard while running from the police count as tomfoolery? Apparently, we’re also supposed to wear disguises and be sneaky. That I can do.

  What am I doing? Goofing around while reading inane articles on the web isn’t going to solve anything. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m a graphic designer. We’re not exactly known for following how-ever-many-steps plans or logical thinking in any way for that matter. Of course, I do know someone who can help. Do I dare call Noel to pick his brain on how to solve crimes? We’re friends, right? This is what friends do, isn’t it? Help each other. Before I can change my mind, I shoot off a text to Noel asking him if he wants to have dinner at my house tonight.

  Noel’s response I’d love to baby makes me feel a teensy-weensy bit guilty. But I’ve never been one to let guilt stand in my way.

  My mother, when we still talked about such things, convinced me I needed a signature dish. What’s a signature dish? It’s a meal that you can make to utter perfection. My dish is lasagna with garlic bread and Caesar salad. Lasagna may be time-consuming, but you can make it in advance and the prep work done before your guests arrive. It’s important to have time for a proper cocktail and not be slaving away in the kitchen when you invite people over for dinner.

  I go all out with setting the ambiance for the date. I pull out my checkered table cloth, fancy dinnerware, and crystal wine goblets as well as a good bottle of red wine. I’ve always got lots
of the cheap stuff available, but I save the really good bottles for special occasions. Huh. I guess my guilt is bothering me after all.

  Noel calls at six to tell me he’s running late. He just needs to grab a shower, and he’ll be right over. I’m too nervous to sit still, and thinking about Noel naked and wet in a shower doesn’t help calm anything down. I grab my laptop and start scrolling through the hits on my earlier Google search, but it really is useless. I thought you could learn anything from the net. Guess not.

  The doorbell rings, and I rush to answer it. Wow! Noel is looking absolutely divine in an oxford shirt and dark blue jeans. His hair is wet, and his face is flushed. He prowls toward me and grabs my hips before leaning in and giving me a hard, closed-mouth kiss.

  “Wow,” I say when he lets me up for air. Shoot! I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

  Noel chuckles and reaches back to shut the door as he enters. “I’m glad you called, Izzy.” Darn it. He’s going to make me feel guilty right off the bat.

  “Yeah?” I say.

  He nods. “Yep. I really like you. It’s nice that you like me too and want to spend time with me.”

  Oh crap. This is not going as planned at all. I decide to ignore his comment as there’s no response I can give that won’t make me feel like a total jerk. “Come on. Dinner’s ready,” I say and usher him into the dining room. He sits while I go to the kitchen to grab the lasagna.

  “This looks great, Iz,” Noel says as he scoops a large portion of lasagna for himself. He piles his plate high with lasagna, bread, and salad.

  “So,” I ask once we’ve eaten our first helping, and Noel is on to seconds. “How did you train to become a detective?”

  “Police Academy,” Noel says in between bites.

  “Is that where you learned to solve a murder?”

  He raises an eyebrow at me, but answers, “A bit.” He shrugs. “Most of it you learn on the job.”

  “So there’s not like a manual or something about how to solve a crime?” I may be pushing it a tiny bit.