The Vampire Knitting Club: A cozy paranormal mystery series

by Nancy Warren

  “Don’t think so. Your gran reckoned they was drunk or heard somebody coming and ran off.” She put her bag in the cupboard under the cash register and sighed. “I was so sorry about your poor old grandma.” Something about the way she said the words set my teeth on edge. She sounded smarmy and insincere. My hand felt hot suddenly and when I glanced down I saw that Gran’s ruby ring was glowing, so slightly only I could see it, but it was glowing all the same. Between fingers that sparked electric storms and a ring that glowed all on its own I was beginning to feel like a freak.

  I didn’t like Rosemary and I didn’t like the sound of the thieving son at all. I’d have to ask Gran if she knew anything about him.

  When I didn’t respond to her false sympathy, she immediately gushed over my new sweater. She identified every bit of wool that had been used in the sweater, all of which we carried. “But wherever did you get it? I’m sure you don’t know how to knit like that.”

  “Nope. I’m still the world’s worst knitter.” I couldn’t tell her the truth, obviously, so I said I had found the sweater upstairs and thought I’d wear it to remind me of my grandmother. “If anyone wants to make one, we can gather together the supplies. Do you think this knitting pattern’s from the shop?”

  She put her head to one side and studied me. “No. I’d say that’s done freehand. But I can find something in our pattern books that would be similar.”

  “Excellent. I just hope we have some customers today.”

  I need not have worried that there’d be no business on our first day open. I’d barely flipped over the open sign when three young women walked in. Two had backpacks over their shoulders and one carried a book bag. One wore a sweatshirt with the name of her college embroidered on it. They were in their early twenties, and looked confident, intelligent, and very much at ease in my grandmother’s shop. One of the three stepped forward as I came around from behind the cash desk to greet them. She said, “We’re so happy you’re open today. We were awfully sorry to hear about the lady who used to run it. She was so nice, and always ready to help if you got in a muddle with a pattern.”

  “Yes, she was. She was my grandmother. I’m Lucy.”

  The confident girl who seemed to be their spokesperson said, “We’re all reading law and some of those lectures would do your head in if you didn’t have knitting to keep you busy. I’m making scarves for all my friends at Christmas, and now my dad says he wants a sweater.”

  I loved the mental image of the three of them sitting in their lectures knitting away, and was pleased to hear them speak so highly of my grandmother. “You probably know better than I do where everything is. Let us know if we can help you.”

  All three purchased wool and patterns. While we were ringing up their purchases the talkative one asked, “Are you going to offer knitting classes again? They were so good.”

  I didn’t even know if I was going to keep the shop open, never mind schedule knitting classes. “I’ll put our schedule up on the website as soon as it’s finalized.”

  As I was ushering them out of the store, two older women came in and raved about my new sweater. Rosemary collected the various wools and showed them the pattern she had found that came closest to what I was wearing. The elder of the two said, “That would look lovely on my granddaughter. I’ll take the wools and the pattern.”

  I silently thanked Clara, my sweet vampire knitter.

  A woman came in soon after, glanced around, and asked, “Do you do brioche?”

  “Brioche? The French bread?” I remembered Gran’s adage that every customer deserved to be treated with respect, even if they came into a knitting store looking for baked goods. “You might try the tea shop, next door.”

  My customer looked around, confused. Rosemary overheard me and laughed, a very superior, nasal sound. “Lucy, she means Brioche Knitting. It’s a very popular knitting technique.” She took over from me, which was fine, but I could have done without her condescending explanation. “Lucy’s new here. She doesn’t know much about knitting.”

  She knows about paying your salary, though.

  Traffic in the shop stayed steady after that. A few times we even had a lineup for the till. I was glad I had an assistant who knew where most things were and could answer complicated questions about knitting. She had noticed right away that the wools were horribly out of order and whenever there was a lull went to work putting things back the way my grandmother had always kept them.

  I let her go for lunch at noon and so I was alone when a man walked in shortly after she’d left. He was the kind of person who seemed to bring a burst of energy with him. Somewhere in his forties and outrageously handsome, with a tan that suggested he spent winters in Spain, dazzling white teeth, and dark eyes, he looked around the shop with a sense of delight. “I never walk into this charming shop without feeling I’m stepping into the past. It’s a perfect little slice of history. All the shops along this road are like that.”

  Did he knit? He didn’t look like a knitter but then, as I had discovered, there really was no stereotypical knitter. At least not in Oxford. “I’ve always loved this street. Can I help you with something?”

  “I was so happy to see the store open today and be able to come and give you my condolences in person. What terrible news on the loss of dear Agnes.”

  So many people today had given me their condolences and each time I felt a stab of pain in the region of my heart as I was reminded once more that Gran, at least the mortal woman who had been my grandmother, was gone. I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “And you must be her beautiful granddaughter? I’ve heard so much about you from your grandmother.”

  “Really? That’s nice.”

  He laughed, showing more of those dazzling teeth. I was certain he’d whitened them. “You’re wondering if I knit. I must admit, every time I come into the shop I’m tempted to take up the hobby. Heaven knows, my wife would be only too pleased if I would sit still for five minutes. But I have too much energy. No, I’ve been speaking to your grandmother on a business matter.” He glanced behind him but we were alone. “I think my estate agent has been in. Ms. Lafontaine? Sidney Lafontaine?”

  I nodded, not looking encouraging. He was clearly a man who didn’t waste time on silence. “I know your grandmother wanted to discuss the proposal with you. That’s why I know so much about you. She respected you enormously, and said you had training in business.”

  Well, two years of business college because I couldn’t decide what I wanted to be when I grew up.

  He looked at me expectantly. “Did she?”

  “Did she what?”

  “Discuss my proposal? I’m Richard Hatfield,” he said as though I would immediately know the name. “No doubt your grandmother spoke of me.”

  I shook my head. “I hadn’t heard anything until Sidney Lafontaine came in. Perhaps Gran was waiting until I arrived.”

  “Well, she was very excited about my proposal. Very excited.” He took a deep breath in a rather dramatic fashion. “I hate to be indelicate, but do you know who inherits? When your grandmother passed away, she hadn’t signed the contract, but she intended to. Now that she’s gone, I think my plan makes excellent sense for the new owner of Cardinal Woolsey’s and this property. I believe she has a daughter, that would be your mother. Is she the sole beneficiary?”

  I hesitated to inform the somewhat pushy man that I was the one he should be speaking to so, instead, I said, “Why don’t you explain your proposal to me? As you said, my grandmother liked to talk over business matters with me. My mother’s difficult to get hold of right now.”

  He looked as though pitching me would be the greatest pleasure on earth. “Excellent idea.”

  The bell jingled indicating that I had new customers and, when I looked behind Richard Hatfield, I saw a middle-aged couple entering. “For heaven’s sake don’t be in here all day,” the man grumbled, in a hopeless way as though he knew perfectly well she wouldn’t listen to him.

  His
wife said, “Go and walk up and down the street if you want to. Or go next door and have a cup of coffee. I’ll come and find you when I’m finished.”

  He gave a jeering laugh. “No thanks. I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t spend too much money.” He saw that Richard Hatfield and I were both looking at him and spoke to Richard, man-to-man, “You know what they’re like. How they can spend so much on something that they have to make themselves is beyond me. You could buy a sweater at Marks & Spencer for half the price of what she spends on her wool and her knitting needles and her buttons and I don’t know what.”

  The woman looked at her husband as though she would happily take a couple of knitting needles off the wall and poke him with them. She said sweetly, “Imagine how many sweaters I could knit for the price of your golf membership.”

  He mumbled something under his breath and headed to the single chair we kept for visitors. I had the sense that this argument played and replayed itself.

  Richard Hatfield turned back to me. “It’s a rather time sensitive issue. Why don’t I come at the end of the day? Perhaps I could take you for a drink and we could talk? Or, we could have lunch? If you haven’t eaten yet?”

  I thought lunch would be much easier than a drink after work. And if he was telling the truth, and Gran had been interested, I should hear him out. “I could meet you next door at Elderflower at one o’clock.”

  He glanced at his watch. It was big and round and seemed to have a variety of functions. This was the watch of a man to whom time was precious. “Roughly half an hour from now. Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll see you there.”

  As I rang up the woman’s purchases, her husband pulled himself to his feet and came over, scowling. When I announced the total he threw his hands in the air. “Good Lord. It’s the national debt.”

  “Oh do shut up, Harry.”

  Chapter 12

  The Elderflower Tea Shop was busy with the lunch crowd when I arrived, and I imagined I’d have to wait, but Richard Hatfield was already seated and he waved to me from a table he had managed to snag in the only quiet corner. He rose politely as I reached the table. “Excellent. You made it.” He gave me his charming grin. “The specials are broccoli quiche with salad and chicken pie. The soup of the day is potato and leek. I’m having the quiche.” I agreed that sounded good, and he waved a hand to summon the waitress. It wasn’t one of the Miss Watts, but a young woman with a French accent. She took our order and then left.

  He said, “I won’t beat about the bush. I love this little corner of Oxford. I’ve been coming here since I was a boy.”

  “Really?” I was surprised. I don’t understand British accents the way British people do. They can practically pinpoint where a person came from and how wealthy they are every time they open their mouths. But I knew enough to know that he didn’t have the elegant, upper-class accent that I heard so often in Oxford.

  He said, “I grew up in South London, but I had an auntie who lived here and we used to visit her in the summers. She’d take me to the little grocer’s up the road, and buy me sweets.

  “We’d go for tea in this very tea shop. She didn’t knit, so we never went into your grandmother’s knitting shop. She did like to poke around Pennyfarthing Antiques, though I think it was called something else then. I got a few lead soldiers there. I still have them.”

  Our food came then and as we settled to our meal, he said, “Coming here is quite literally a walk down memory lane. And, I don’t want to appear rude, but as recent events have shown us, the proprietors of these shops are not young. I’m proposing to buy all four of the shops in this row.”

  “You want to buy Cardinal Woolsey’s?” I wanted to be absolutely certain that I had understood what he was getting at.

  He put down his knife and fork and gestured widely. “Not only Cardinal Woolsey’s but this tea shop and the antique shop and the gift shop.”

  I’d heard that Oxford was second only to London in its property prices, so to buy up four shops he was talking about a lot of money.

  “Why What’s in it for you to buy a string of shops? These buildings are all listed, you know?”

  He looked at me approvingly. “Americans are so direct. I like that. The simple truth is I am buying the properties for an investment. They’ll continue to increase in value over the years and I will have the pleasure of knowing that these charming little shops I have loved since I was a boy will remain as they were.”

  I put down my knife and fork and drilled him with my gaze. I might be young, but I wasn’t stupid. “Usually when developers buy a series of properties at once, they plan to knock them down and build something else.”

  “Not me. I simply want to preserve them.”

  I thought of my unorthodox roommates living beneath the shop and I knew I could never let the old building be torn down. Besides, there were all sorts of rules and regulations regarding heritage buildings. I was certain the facades had to be preserved but a little fuzzy on what was permitted inside. Still, he must have very deep pockets to plan to purchase most of a block. I narrowed my eyes. “You definitely won’t knock them down?”

  “Not unless they are structurally unsound.”

  “Well, they’ve been standing for hundreds of years. I imagine if they were structurally unsound, they’d have fallen down by now.”

  “Exactly.”

  As the new owner of Cardinal Woolsey’s and the building, I was being offered my freedom on a silver platter. However, I knew the contents of my grandmother’s will, and now I knew why she had stipulated that the knitting shop must remain in my care.

  “And you would preserve them? Exactly as they are?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  It was almost too good to be true. What if I could give my grandmother what she had wanted, and still be able to do whatever I wanted? Of course, I didn’t even know what I wanted. I had hoped that spending these next few months with Gran would help me discover my path. I knew my parents considered me to be an entitled millennial, and that at my age I should have my act together. When they’d been my age they were already married and working as archaeologists. All I had to show for my twenty-seven years on earth was a business degree from a community college and a string of failed relationships.

  He named a figure. I stared at him. He said, “That’s pounds not dollars. The amount will be even higher when translated into American dollars.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Is that the amount for all four shops?”

  “No. Just the building that houses Cardinal Woolsey’s and the living accommodation above it.”

  With that kind of money I could travel, buy a nice condo pretty much anywhere in the world, and do whatever I wanted without having to worry about money for a little while. I admit, it was intoxicating.

  But I couldn’t make this kind of decision without thinking about it carefully. And, what he didn’t know was that I could consult my grandmother. Also, even if my mother hadn’t been named as the beneficiary, I wanted her opinion. “I need to get hold of my mother.”

  “Of course. I hope we can move on this quickly.”

  “What about the other shops?”

  “They’ve all agreed. But I want all of them or none, you understand.” Great. Now he was putting pressure on me as the last holdout.

  He handed me a business card. “Talk it all over with your mother and anyone else you like. Get back to me when you’ve made up your mind. Don’t leave it too long, though, I have a notoriously short attention span.”

  I could believe that. He’d made short work of his quiche and was even now gesturing for the bill. Mary Watt saw him and brought the bill over herself. “Why Mr. Hatfield. How nice to see you again.”

  “Miss Watt. Always a pleasure. You know I’d come a long way for your delicious home cooking.”

  She giggled and blushed like a schoolgirl. To me she said, “I’m glad you’ve met Mr. Hatfield.”

  He put down cash then stood and said, “I’ll leave yo
u two ladies to chat then.” And to me he said, “We’ll be in touch.”

  I appreciated that he was leaving Miss Watt and me alone for a few moments. I asked, “Has he really talked to you about buying the tea shop?”

  “Oh yes. And, at our age, how long do we want to continue working so hard? Of course, we love the tea shop, and would never want to lose it, but he promises to continue to run it as is.”

  “It almost seems too good to be true.”

  She leaned closer. “He’s willing to give us a really good price. We could finally retire and spend some time in the South of France. I’ve always wanted to spend the winter somewhere warm, but the shop does tie one down. The people who own the gift shop are very keen. They’ve only had it a couple of years and I think it’s more work than they realized.”

  I knew that the Wrights were keen, as their son had told me so. “Was Gran really ready to sell?”

  Miss Watt glanced around, possibly to make sure Richard Hatfield had left. She said, “I’m not sure, honestly. She seemed reluctant, though we all tried to convince her it was for the best. He wants all the shops, you see, or none of them.” She began to stack the plates. “Naturally, we shared the same worry, that he wouldn’t respect the tradition, and the fact that these little businesses have been here for so long, but he does. We all agreed. Except your grandmother.”

  “Except my grandmother?” Richard Hatfield had suggested she was anxious to sign the deal. Now, Miss Watt seemed to be telling me something different.

  “I’m not saying she was against the deal, exactly, but she wasn’t keen. I think she planned to discuss it all with you.”

  Well, if my grandmother hadn’t been in a hurry, I needn’t be in one either. Alive or undead, I still wanted her advice.

  I came out of Elderflower and as I turned to go back into the yarn shop, Detective Inspector Ian Chisholm was walking toward me. I waited until he reached where I was standing.

  He said, “It’s nice to see the store open again. I hope you’re thinking of staying?”