I looked back to the door, wondering if she would follow me into my house if I ran inside and shut the door.
“I had me a security system installed,” she continued. “I got a camera right on them flower beds.”
Because I couldn’t help myself, I turned back around and replied, “Did you catch him?”
She shook her head, the “party in the back” portion of her hair fluttering around her shoulders. “If you don’t put an end to it,” the woman replied, “I will.”
“Well,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and giving her my sunniest smile. “Good luck with that.”
I turned back around and opened the front door. Faster than lightning, Sherbet shot between my legs and inside the house. I looked at him as he settled himself on the floor and went to licking himself.
“And where have you been?” I asked him.
Sherbet glanced up at me, and I could have sworn he was giving me a wry smile. I sincerely hoped that on his way to wherever he’d been going, he’d taken a moment to stop and smell the flowers on the other side of the street.
* * *
The St. Francis Knitting Shop was located downtown, just about a block from the house on Maple Street. I considered walking, since it was so close, but the blast of cold air that confronted me when I stepped out onto the porch that evening was enough to send me straight to my car. I stared longingly at the shed, where I knew the Volkswagen was parked. I was dying to drive it, but tonight probably wasn’t the night.
Instead, I took my own car downtown and parked on the street, amazed and thrilled I didn’t have to pay a meter for the parking spot. I had to try not to laugh out loud at the sign, which was a picture of St. Francis, the patron saint of animals, holding what appeared to be a hairless dog in a sweater. It was a sweater not unlike the one I’d seen the cat wearing on my first night in Timber Creek.
It was still a few minutes before seven o’clock, so I got out of my car, stuffing the knitting needles from Yulina in my back pocket, and went inside to take a look around. I had to admit, there had been so much buildup about the club that I couldn’t wait to see what it was all about, even though I knew it was probably just as Gary said—a bunch of women sitting around and gossiping about the town. I wasn’t even sure how anyone was able to knit and talk at the same time, let alone gossip about anyone.
The shop was small, with rich wooden floors and exposed brick walls. It looked like it had probably looked when the building had first been built, which gave me a little thrill. I loved it when older buildings survived being modernized or—worse—demolished altogether. Inside, the air smelled of floor polish and wool, and the walls were filled with rows and rows of yarn and knitting needles. There was no one in the shop, not even behind the register on the right-hand side of the room, so I wandered around looking at all the shop had to offer.
I was reaching up to touch a particularly enticing piece of yarn when I felt someone tap me on my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice behind me said.
I turned around. “Hi,” I replied. I’d expected to find Alice or someone who looked like they worked at the shop, but instead I found a harried-looking woman with a baby on her hip. “I’m sorry,” I continued. “Am I in your way?”
The woman glanced around the store before shifting her gaze back to me. “No,” she said. “I, um, I need to knit my husband a scarf.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay.”
We stared at each other for a few uncomfortable moments before the woman leaned in and whispered, “Can you help me?”
“Oh, I don’t work here,” I said. “And trust me, you don’t want my help knitting anything.”
The woman took a step back from me and said, “I just saw the knitting needles in your back pocket and thought . . .”
“She can’t help you,” called a voice from the back of the shop. “But I can.”
Florence swanned into the room, all smiles and gold jewelry. She wore a gauzy dress that hung on her frame like a tent, and she was barefoot. I curled my toes inward from inside my boots. Even with fuzzy socks, my feet were cold just looking at hers.
“That’s okay,” the woman said. “I can come back.”
“Nonsense,” Florence replied. “Now, you’d like to knit a scarf for your husband, is that correct?”
The woman nodded.
“Follow me over to the register,” Florence said. “I’ll get you one of our starter kits. Inside you’ll find everything you need to begin.”
The woman shifted the baby to her other hip and complied, taking a second to glance at me once more over her shoulder.
“Now,” Florence began. “My name is Florence. If you have any questions, my number is on a card inside the kit.”
“Okay,” the woman replied. She took a brown paper bag with twine handles from Florence. “Thank you.”
“About how long do you think you need to get the scarf finished up?” Florence asked.
“A couple of weeks,” the woman replied. “Not more than a month. I’d like . . . well, I’d like to have it finished before Halloween.”
“Oh, that’s plenty of time,” Florence said. “Promise you’ll call or come see me if you have any more questions?”
The woman nodded again.
“Great, then you’re all set!”
“What do I owe you?” the woman asked.
“Starter kits are always free,” Florence replied, giving her a wink.
The woman hesitated. “All right. Thank you again.”
The woman hurried out of the shop, followed by Florence, who turned the sign around from “Open” to “Closed.” Then she turned off the lights above the front door and faced me.
“Come on,” Florence said, pulling me along with her toward the back of the store. “Everybody but Alice is already here. She’s late most of the time, so we just start without her.”
I followed Florence beyond the main part of the store. To my surprise, there was a little apartment in the back. It was cozy, with deep red accents and a thick carpet in front of a fireplace. There were two other women seated on an antique couch, their knitting needles poised. They looked up when we walked into the room.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I said, and sat down in the chair to the right.
I remembered just a split second too late that I had a pair of knitting needles in my back pocket, and when I sat down, the tops of them dug right into my back. I jumped up, yelping a curse word.
All three women stared at me, and I was frozen for a second. Slowly I reached behind me and pulled the knitting needles from my pants pocket and held them up.
“I forgot I had these,” I said, sheepish. “Whoops.”
“She stick them in her back pocket?” a familiar voice behind me said.
I turned and saw Alice standing in the doorway to the apartment. She had one hand on her cane and the other on her hip.
“She did,” Florence replied.
“Just like Annabelle used to do,” Eva said.
“She also curses like Annabelle used to,” Harriett said.
I sat back down in the seat and muttered, “I didn’t have anywhere else to put them.”
“Let me see those,” Alice said, coming over to inspect the needles. She took them from me and held them up for the others to see. “You remember these, right? Annabelle gave them to Yulina.”
The women all nodded.
Alice handed them back to me and sat down in the chair nearest to the fireplace, while Florence sat down on the floor, crossing her legs one over the other the way Rowan did during reading time at the Seattle library.
“How are you finding Timber Creek so far?” Eva asked me. “Quite a switch from Seattle, I’d expect.”
I nodded. “It’s a change, that’s for sure.”
“Do you have plans to stay?” Harriett asked. “In the house?”
“I plan to stay for a while,” I said. “I don’t know how long.”
“You’re single, then?” Harriet
t continued, her eyes not on me but on her knitting. It looked like she was knitting a baby sweater of some kind.
“I am,” I replied. “I’m also jobless, and up until a few days ago, I was living with my parents. Those are usually the next two questions I’m asked, so I figured I could just get it out of the way right now.”
Harriett looked up at Alice and raised an eyebrow.
“Not too many single men in Timber Creek,” Eva said. “Trust me, I’d know.”
“I’m not looking for a man,” I said.
“All right,” Florence said, giving Eva and Harriett a stern look. “That concludes the question-and-answer portion of the evening.”
I gave her a grateful smile. “I really do appreciate being invited to be here tonight,” I said. “I’m still just very uncomfortable being here, in Annabelle’s hometown.”
“That’s understandable,” Harriett said. “I truly cannot imagine how you must be feeling right now.”
“Confused, mostly,” I said.
“Do you know how to knit?” Eva asked, pointing at my knitting needles. “Those are good needles to begin with.”
“That’s what Yulina said,” I replied. “She came by the house today. She said she used to be in this . . . club, or whatever it is, and she said she wanted me to have these needles. I guess Annabelle gave them to her.”
The women shared a glance with one another, and then Florence said, “Your mother gave those to her when she first started with us. We miss them both, your mother and Yulina.”
“At least we can see Yulina at the supermarket,” Harriett grumbled. “Gotta die to see Annabelle.”
“Well, you’re not far off,” Eva said, a sarcastic grin on her face.
Harriett pointed her knitting at Eva and replied, “And I’m going to haunt you first.”
All four women began to laugh, and I felt myself relax a little. I sat back in the chair and eased the death grip I had on the knitting needles. “So,” I said. “Is this like a club? Do you just sit here and knit?”
Florence reached into a basket by her chair and held up what looked like another baby sweater. “We mostly sit here and enjoy each other’s company,” she said. “But we also work on these.”
“Baby clothes?”
“That’s not for a baby,” Harriett said, shoving her own knit concoction at me. “It’s a sweater. Flo’s is for a cat, see?” She pointed to Florence. “It’s smaller and shorter. This one here that I’m working on is for a dog.”
I stared at them. “You’re making clothes . . . for animals?”
“Well, somebody has to,” Harriett replied.
“It’s starting to get cold out there,” Eva said. “We can’t have the animals of Timber Creek freezing to death every time they go outside.”
“I saw a cat in a sweater my first night in town,” I said. “I thought I was hallucinating.”
“Big cat?” Florence asked. “Black and white?”
I nodded.
“That’s Cyclops,” she said. “He’s my cat. I got him from your mother five years ago. He tends to wander.”
“Cyclops?”
“He’s just got the one eye,” Florence replied, one of her hands moving up to her face.
“I noticed that,” I said.
“You noticed the sweater, too, right?” Eva pointed out. “See, not only does it keep the animals warm, but it’s free advertisement for the shop.”
“So you just go around putting sweaters on random animals?” I asked. I was starting to wish I’d hallucinated the cat. The reality seemed far stranger.
“Well, of course not,” Harriett replied, looking at me as if I had two heads. “We give them away here. People love them. It’s our trademark.”
“The dog on the sign is supposed to be my dog, Iggy,” Eva said. “But I messed up and sent the designer a picture of him when he was a puppy and had mange. He’s really a Jack Russell, but he looks like a Mexican hairless instead. Flo won’t change the sign because it’s too expensive. I can’t even look at it. It’s too embarrassing for Iggy.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. It was clear this was a source of contention for Eva and I doubted she’d appreciate that reaction. Instead, I attempted to wade back over into neutral territory. “Maybe I can knit one for Sherbet,” I said hopefully.
The women all began to laugh, and Florence said, “You can, but he won’t wear it. Poor Annabelle had to take him to the vet once because he tore a sweater she made him to shreds and then got stuck in it. She couldn’t even get him out with scissors!”
I couldn’t help but laugh along with them, thinking about Annabelle’s strange cat stuck in a sweater.
“Goodness,” Harriett said after we’d all calmed down. “We’re running out of time. We better get started if we want to reach our quota by the end of the week.”
I watched as the women resumed the projects in their laps. They chatted among themselves for a few minutes before Alice looked over at me and said, “Would you like me to show you how?”
I shrugged. “You’re welcome to try,” I said.
“I brought this,” Alice said, taking a ball of yarn out of her bag. “It’s smooth and lightweight. It will be good for you to start with. The color is light, so you can see your stitches.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Watch me,” Alice said, kneeling down beside me. “The first stitch is called the slipknot.”
“Like the band?”
“Like the stitch,” Harriett said.
I watched Alice work and tried to emulate her. After a few unsuccessful attempts and a few curse words under my breath, I created something similar to what she showed me.
“Well,” Alice said, standing up. “That’s probably enough for tonight. I’ll teach you how to cast on at the next meeting.”
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Florence asked. “Next week?”
“I’ll try,” I said. “But if I’m going to stay here, I’m going to have to find a job. I might end up having to work nights.”
“What are you qualified to do?” Eva asked. “I teach second grade at the elementary.”
“I’m not qualified for that,” I said with a laugh. “I have a degree in English. My last job was as a sportswriter for a now bankrupt newspaper. I wasn’t especially great at it.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Florence and Alice holding a silent conversation with each other. After a few minutes, Alice nodded her head.
“Maeve,” Florence said, stepping up to me and touching my arm. “Would you be interested in a little part-time work here at the shop?”
“Really?” I asked. “But I don’t know anything about knitting. It took me twenty minutes to make a sloop knot.”
“Slipknot,” Eva and Harriett said at the same time.
“See?” I said. “I doubt you want my help.”
“Oh, ignore them,” Florence said, waving her hands over at the two women. “I can teach you what you need to know, and I promise not to leave you alone up front until you know enough to help a customer.”
I took a deep breath. “Well,” I said. “Okay, thank you. That would be great.”
“Come by tomorrow,” Florence replied. “After lunch sometime, about one o’clock. I’ll show you the ropes.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll be here.”
I walked out of the store and into the frigid night air. I couldn’t believe how cold it had gotten just in the four days I’d been in Timber Creek, but I also knew that Washington weather was like that, especially the farther north a person went. Suddenly, sweaters for cats weren’t sounding quite as crazy as I’d originally thought.
Chapter 21
SHERBET WAS WATCHING ME FROM THE WINDOW WHEN I pulled into the driveway. He put one paw up against the screen, and I realized he was probably mad at me for not letting him out before I left. I wasn’t used to having a cat, but I’d read somewhere that outside cats lived only half as long as inside cats. I’d made
the decision to make him stay inside, and now I wasn’t so sure it’d been a good one. I couldn’t have him clawing up the couch or doing whatever it was that angry cats did when their caretakers were neglectful.
I was just starting up the steps when I saw something move in the shadows next to the rosebush. I caught a flash of white, and when I stepped closer, I realized it was a dog. And it had been tied to the porch railing. It was shaking and whining, and it took me exactly two seconds to figure out that it was the same dog that had been with the man who showed up my first day at the house.
He’d gone and tied his dog to the porch and left it there. Rather, she’d been padlocked by a chain to the porch.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself.
As I knelt down to pet her, I noticed something that I hadn’t noticed on Monday. The chain around her neck had rubbed the skin raw, and she was bleeding.
I touched my fingers to the cold metal and realized just how heavy and tight the chain really was. Since it was padlocked, there wasn’t any way for me to unlock it without a key. As I sat there, wondering how I could get the chain off her neck, I had an idea.
“I’ll be right back,” I whispered to her.
I stood up and hurried behind the house, fumbling with my keys. I remembered seeing a toolbox in the garage. After a few minutes of rummaging around, I found a rusty pair of bolt cutters. I wasn’t entirely sure they would work, but they were better than nothing.
By the time I got back to the dog, she’d stopped whining and was now licking me and wiggling so hard I couldn’t get a decent grip on the chain.
“Hold still,” I said.
I picked up the chain and went to cut the part around her neck when I realized that if I freed her, she might run away. Instead, I counted back a few links and settled the chain into the bolt cutters. The cutters were so rusty, I could barely close them, let alone cut the chain. After ten minutes, my hands were starting to look like the dog’s neck, and I was cursing myself for refusing to go to the gym with Kate.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
St. Francis Society for Wayward Pets Page 16
