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

by D. E. Haggerty

  LOVE IN THE TIME OF MURDER

  By D.E. HAGGERTY

  Copyright © 2015 D.E. Haggerty

  All rights reserved.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Love in the Time of Murder is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The incidents depicted are pure imagination.

  Synopsis

  In Love in the Time of Murder, the Gray-Haired Knitting Detectives face their toughest case yet. Delilah, or Dee as she wishes everyone would just call her already, is the granddaughter of one of the knitting detectives and her life is in a bit of a shambles. She finally manages to pry herself away from her husband’s clutches, move out on her own, and start her own business. But then her estranged husband is found dead and she’s the number one suspect. The Gray-Haired Knitting Detectives aren’t about to let one of their own get sent to the slammer and jump at the chance to search for the true killer. As if Dee doesn’t have enough problems, the knitting detectives decide that Delilah being a widow is the perfect opportunity to find her a new man and decide to put their matchmaking skills to use. Will Dee end up in prison for a murder she didn’t commit or will she be taking another walk down the aisle?

  Dedication

  To the innocent, to the falsely accused ~ Fight the good fight

  “A day without laughter is a day wasted.” Nicolas Chamfort

  Chapter 1

  “Sometimes I feel my whole life has been one big rejection.” Marilyn Monroe

  “Hurry up, Delilah,” Grandma yells from the front door. I stop myself from groaning in frustration because only whores groan out loud. “We can’t be late to a surprise party, girl,” I hear as I continue to rush around getting ready.

  Of course I’m running late because I don’t want to go to Jack’s surprise birthday party. Jack is my boss and the owner of the store where I work, Fabulous, Darling. He’s a great boss, and I’m super appreciative that he gave me a job, even if it was only because he’s friends with Grandma, but I don’t do well in groups. Add Grandma’s knitting club being at the party into the mix, and it’s a recipe for a disaster, otherwise known as an anxiety attack.

  I finally find the sandals I want to wear in one of the boxes stacked along the wall of the guest bedroom in which I currently reside. I’m glad I didn’t unpack as I’m moving out tomorrow anyway. Moving from a penthouse in the place to live in Oklahoma City to a studio apartment above a nail salon in a tiny, provincial town may sound like a step or two down, but I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m owning my new found freedom. I’d paint my face blue, but I don’t particularly like people staring at me. Whatever you do, don’t attract any attention.

  When I finally make it downstairs and out the front door, Grandma’s already waiting in the car. Thankfully, she’s letting me drive. Her idea of driving is honking the horn at everyone she thinks is in her way or honking to get another driver’s attention for whatever crazy reason. She’s been known to shout obscenities as well. I’d say it’s embarrassing, but after ten years of being told you’re an embarrassment, I don’t use that word anymore. Apparently she’s baked some fancy-schmancy cake for Jack’s birthday and doesn’t trust me to hold it on the way to the party, which is taking place at Izzy’s house. Izzy is Jack’s best friend. I’ve only met her a few times since moving back to town, but she seems nice enough. A bit klutzy, but nice.

  Luckily there aren’t many people at Izzy’s house when we enter. I can easily hide in a corner until it’s time to go home. Knowing Grandma, we’ll be one of the last to leave, but I can hardly complain about the woman who opened her home to me in my time of need. Don’t be such a bitch, Delilah. I freaking hate the b-word.

  From my corner of the living room, I notice when the hot man I met on my first day at Fabulous, Darling enters. And by met, I mean bowled into him while carrying a bunch of shoe boxes, which I then promptly dropped all over the floor. I can barely keep my eyes off of him although I don’t know why I bother. On the day we literally bumped into each other, he promised to come back and talk to me after his meeting with Jack, but then he just scurried out of the store as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He wouldn’t even raise his head to look at me. If picking out losers was an Olympic sport, I’d have a closet full of gold medals.

  I study the hottie from underneath my lashes for the first hour of the party. He’s tall although being only a bit over five feet, everyone seems tall to me. He has blond hair that could use a cut and clear-blue eyes. I swear the sky has got nothing on this man’s eyes. He’s like the boy next door. You know, the one you had a secret crush on? But then to the tenth power. After he talks with Martha, a friend of my grandma, I see him approach me and I smile. He trips and laughs at himself. The smile and laugh add at least another fifty points to the hot-o-meter.

  “Hi,” he greets as he finally reaches me. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Tommy.”

  Ah, that’s his name. “Delilah, but you can call me Dee,” I say and reach out to shake his hand. He has a firm handshake, the strength of which should probably scare me, but, for some reason, he doesn’t scare me one little bit.

  “Dee,” he repeats softly and then releases my hand.

  Tommy continues to stare at me and that does make me feel uncomfortable so I search for something to talk about. “What were you talking to matchmaker Martha about?”

  He blushes. How can a man look hot when he blushes? That’s just downright unfair. He clears his throat. “She’s quite the matchmaker alright.”

  “Really?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Did she set you up with someone?” I try not to sound angry at Martha for neglecting to set the man up with me. Of course, if she knew my secret, she wouldn’t let her matchmaking skills come within ten feet of me.

  Tommy’s face now looks like it’s on fire. He gulps. “Yeah, she did.” He looks around before leaning towards me and whispering. “With Jack.”

  I let out a breath of air I didn’t even know I was holding. So that’s why he doesn’t want anything to do with me? He’s gay. “I take it you and Jack didn’t hit it off.” I shake my head. “Too bad. He’s a really nice guy. Course he’s with Damien now so that ship has sailed.” Damien is also an employee at Jack’s store. Unlike me, he works in the back office with Jack. He’s also super-duper hot. Jack’s a lucky man.

  “Yeah,” Tommy nods. “Now Martha is trying to set me up with Brad.”

  “Who’s Brad?” I look around the room and try to spot someone named Brad. Tommy moves to stand beside me and points to a hot male specimen with curly brown hair. “Oooh, he’s hunky. Are you going to go out on a date with him?”

  Tommy shakes his head.

  “Why not?” Another blush. This boy blushes more than I do!

  “I’m not gay.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him until I realize what he’s saying. “Oh, you’re bi?” Another shake of the head by Tommy. I just stare at him in confusion. “What’s going on?” I finally ask, completely confused.

  “I lied to Martha about being gay.”

  “What?” I whisper-shout. “Why would you lie about who you are? That’s wrong! And it’s demeaning to gay people.”

  “I didn’t want her and her crew setting me up with their granddaughters.” My eyebrows nearly fly off the top of my head at that one. I guess I can cross Tommy off my list of potential boyfriends. You’re worthless anyway. Man, that voice in my head is annoying.

  And just like that my temper disappears and shame takes its place. I’ve got to get out of h
ere, like now. But I don’t want to draw any attention to myself either. Bathroom! That’s always a good excuse. “Excuse me,” I say. “I just need to go to the bathroom. I’ll catch you later.” Not! Not in a million years will I catch him later.

  “I’m sorry,” Tommy says with another one of those adorable blushes on his face, but I’m not falling for it this time. I just shake my head and walk away. No way I’m excusing his behavior. I’ve done enough of that for the past decade.

  I go in search of my grandma and find her and her cronies in the sunroom attached to the back of Izzy’s house. Grandma’s cronies consist of her four knitting buddies: Betty, Ally, Rose, and of course Martha, the matchmaker. Grandma has a huge glass of lemonade in her hand, her face is flushed, and she’s giggling like a school girl. Huh. I guess the reason I needed to drive didn’t have anything to do with that special cake after all. Fine by me.

  “Delilah,” Grandma slurs when she sees me. Yep, I’ll be playing Dee the Designated Driver this afternoon.

  “Hi Grandma,” I say and sit next to her on the loveseat.

  “Did Tommy find you?” Martha asks from her spot on the chair across from us. She smiles and winks outrageously at me.

  I nod but keep my mouth shut. Who knows what Grandma and her buddies would do to Tommy if they found out he pretended to be gay to avoid their matchmaking skills? Not that he doesn’t deserve for me to sic them on him, but I’m not mean like that. I sigh, lean back and close my eyes.

  “Why was Tommy looking for you?” Grandma asks me, but she’s got her hawk eyes pinned on Martha. Everyone who knows Martha knows she loves to matchmake. She claims she has some mystic matchmaking skill, but in truth everyone just humors her.

  Martha giggles and claps her hands. “Oh, wouldn’t they be such a cute couple!”

  “But Delilah’s married. She can’t be dating anyone even if her husband talks with his fists.”

  I gasp. Grandma promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone my secret. She freaking promised! I jump up and run out of the room smack dab into Noel, Izzy’s husband, who’s looking at me with pity in his eyes. Obviously, he heard. Great. The whole town is going to know what a loser I am by morning. I guess it’s a good thing Tommy didn’t ask me out after all. He’d feel obligated to give me a pity date. Now wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

  “I need to get out of here,” I whisper into the huge chest belonging to Noel.

  He squeezes my shoulder in response. “Go. We’ll take Rosemary home.”

  I nod and rush out of the house as quickly as I can without making a scene or more of a scene than I already have.

  Chapter 2

  “Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim.” Robert Frost

  You know what the best thing is about living with your grandma when she’s feeling guilty? Breakfast – that’s what! I can smell the bacon sizzling and the cinnamon buns baking from the guest room. I jump up from my bed without bothering to try taming my hair or brushing my teeth and run down the stairs toward the kitchen. Which is where I learn the worst thing about living with your grandma – her posse.

  Everyone stops talking when I enter the kitchen. Oh great, a confrontation. I do so love confrontations, especially when I’m dressed in sleep shorts and a tank top with no bra. It gives me no end of confidence to confront people with my boobs hanging out. Egad! Izzy, Noel, and Jack are here as well. I guess I should be happy Jack’s hot boyfriend, Damien, isn’t around.

  I cross my arms over my nipples that are trying to have a peek at what’s going on and glare at Grandma. “Seriously? An ambush on a Sunday morning? Isn’t that sacrilegious or something?”

  Jack chuckles from his place leaning against the kitchen wall. “I didn’t know she could speak above a whisper.”

  Grandma shakes her head. “It seems my baby-girl returned to town with a bit of a temper. She never used to raise her voice in anger until somebody got his hands on her.”

  Okay, that wasn’t a very subtle hint about my husband at all. I continue to glare at Grandma until she walks over to me and envelopes me in a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything and I broke your trust. Can you forgive me?”

  Ugh, who can resist Grandma when she’s being sweet like that? Such a sneaky one. She knows that as quick as my newly developed anger starts to flare, the inevitable deflation is even quicker. I pat her back. “Yeah, of course.” She smiles as she releases me and walks back to the stove.

  Noel clears his throat to gain my attention. When I glance at him, he indicates with a nod of his head that I should sit in the chair they’ve left open for me. I look at the ground as I walk toward the chair knowing that my eyes are holding all kinds of defiance at the moment. Defiant women need to be punished.

  I sit and wait. I’m not going to make this any easier for anyone. Noel finally breaks the silence. “You don’t need to tell me what happened.” I look up at him in surprise, and he’s holding his hands out in a surrender motion. “I just want to know if you need a restraining order. Even if you don’t feel you need one, I’d strongly advise on getting one.” Did I mention that Noel’s a detective?

  I shake my head. “It’s fine. He lives in the city. He doesn’t even know where I am.” Thing is, I don’t know who I’m trying to convince – him or me?

  Grandma brings over a plate of bacon and a tray of cinnamon buns and the subject is dropped while everyone digs into breakfast. While everyone is finishing up their coffee, I decide I might as well take advantage of the situation. “So,” I smirk. “Who’s up to helping me move today?”

  Of course, Jack and Noel can’t say no to helping me move after the breakfast ambush. Luckily, the apartment I rented is furnished and I only have boxes of clothes, books, dishes, and some odds and ends to move. In three trips and less than two hours later, we’ve got everything moved and it’s just me in my loft apartment.

  The minute the dynamic duo leaves, I take a deep breath and look around at the loft with a smile plastered on my face. This space if fabulous! Except for the bathroom and a pantry, the loft is one, big open space. The stairs come up in the middle of the rear of the building. To the right is the kitchen, which is tucked into the corner so it isn’t strictly an open kitchen. To the left is the bed on a platform with a curtain around it. Straight ahead is the living room slash dining room area. There are floor-to-ceiling windows covering the entire front of the building. The two sides are windowless as the building is attached on both sides. Behind me is the bathroom and storage room so no windows there either.

  I rub my hands together in excitement at my hard fought freedom as I walk to the bathroom to start unpacking. But there aren’t any boxes in there. Fudgsicles! I’ve forgotten all my toiletries at Grandma’s house. Guess I’ll be taking a fourth trip after all. I quickly grab my car keys and lock up before heading over to Grandma’s.

  I let myself into the house and breathe a sigh of relief when I notice the quiet. Of course, it’s Sunday so that means church and then a knitting group meet. I grab an empty box from the guest bedroom and head into the bathroom to pack up my necessities. The doorbell rings just as I finish filling the box. I drop the box in the guest bedroom and head to the front door.

  I don’t bother looking through the peephole before I open the door. Sugar stains! I should have looked. I immediately try to shut the door, but he wedges his foot between the door and its frame before pushing the door open and barging in.

  “Well come on in then,” I say from my position on the floor where I landed when he forced himself through the door.

  A smirk takes over the bastard’s face. “Good to see you’re where you belong, Delilah.” He doesn’t bother to help me up before moving into the living room and taking a seat on the sofa as if he’s welcome. He’s most definitely not welcome and he flipping well knows that!

  “What are you doing here, Brock?” I try to sound tough, but ten years of his manipulations have made it difficult for me to
confront my husband.

  “I’ve come to take you home.” He snorts as if his answer is obvious.

  “I am home.” I hear my voice getting softer and I cringe.

  “Uh, no babe, you aren’t. Your home is with me.” He shakes his head as if dismissing my words. “Get your shit, let’s go.”

  “No.” My voice is soft, although I’m pretty sure he can hear me.

  ”You don’t talk back to me!” Brock shouts. Guess he did hear my retort.

  I take a deep breath and try to summon my courage. I wasn’t always this weak. I have a backbone somewhere. I’ve just misplaced the thing. “I’m not going with you. We’re done.”

  He stands and moves quickly to me. My arms go to automatically protect my face, but I stop myself and drop them to hang loosely at my sides. He grabs my chin and pinches it. “This is not up for discussion.”

  “No,” I rebel. “It’s not. Please leave.”

  I see his arm that’s not holding my chin raise to backhand me, and I narrow my eyes. “Go ahead. Prove me right.” He drops his arm.

  “This is not over,” he says before storming out of the house making sure to slam the door as he exits.

  “Yes,” I whisper as I fall to my knees. “Yes, it is.”

  Brock wasn’t always an asshat. I know, every woman whose man has hit her says that, but really it’s true. Ask Grandma if you must. Just like a cliché we met in college. He came from a wealthy family and I was a broken girl who was raised by her grandma when her parents died in a plane crash. Of course, he charmed me. It wasn’t hard.

  He proposed at our college graduation and we married a few months later. The first years of our marriage were magical, but then the economy took a nose dive and he changed. He still had a job, though it was without all the bonuses and obnoxious expense accounts. I shake my head from where I’m sitting on the floor. No! I refuse to think about what came after.