Cast On, Kill Off (A Knitting Mystery)

by Sefton, Maggie

  Kelly read the number again and flipped to the dialing screen. She didn’t hold out much hope that she’d learn something the police hadn’t, but she still had to try.

  “Sunny Acres Day Care,” a cheerful voice came over the line. “This is Anna.”

  “Hi, Anna, my name’s Kelly Flynn. My friend Jayleen Swinson gave me your name and number. I hope I’m not getting you at a bad time.”

  “Actually, this is a good time, Kelly. I’m outside supervising the kids on the playground equipment in my backyard. So we may be interrupted a few times, but it’ll work. Jayleen said you had some questions about that class I took with Zoe Yeager. The sewing class.”

  “Yes, well, my questions are not about the class exactly. I’m more interested in hearing everything you remember about that last class with Zoe. I’m . . . I’m asking for a friend of Leann O’Hara’s.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d met Leann O’Hara at a class she was teaching a few years ago. That’s when I first got interested in sewing. She’s a really good teacher.”

  Brother, did Zoe steal away Leann’s students as well as her customers? “That’s good to know. Then you’ve met Leann before. Tell me, what did you think when she came into Zoe’s class that night? I saw Leann at the Lambspun knit shop that afternoon, and she really looked mad. She swore Zoe copied her design.”

  “You know . . . I didn’t know what to think when I heard her accusing Zoe. It was clear she was really upset. I have no idea if what she said was true or not. But it doesn’t really matter, because poor Zoe is dead. Joey! Don’t grab Susie’s hair! Let go. Yes, now! Sorry . . . as I said, there will be interruptions. Uhhhh, yes . . . Leann. Yeah, she kind of toned it down a bit after a minute. You know, we were all staring at her . . . and Zoe.”

  “Did Zoe look scared of Leann at all?”

  “No, not really. She looked kinda stunned, you know? I mean, someone comes in and accuses you . . . Joey, no! Do not hit Billy! Put that stick down right now! Sorry, Kelly.”

  Kelly had to smile. Little Joey sounded like a terror. “No, no, take your time. Joey sounds like a handful.”

  “Ohhhh, yes,” Anna said, a smile in her voice. “But I was a primary teacher for years before I started doing day care. So I’ve seen lots of ‘Joeys,’ if you know what I mean.”

  “Tell me, Anna, did Zoe ever mention her husband Oscar?”

  “Ohhhh, yes,” Anna repeated, but this time there was no smile in her voice. Quite the opposite, Kelly noticed. “In fact, Zoe told us at the beginning of class that she had left Oscar and was filing for divorce. I applauded. Some of us had even seen Oscar in all his glory.” A scornful tone crept in now. “I took one of Zoe’s classes last year, and one night Oscar charged into our classroom. Drunk . . . from the smell of him. If not, he was close to it. Now, that’s when Zoe looked scared. Really scared.”

  “Whoa, that does sound scary,” Kelly agreed. “What did he want? Was he mad about something? I’ve heard he’d lose his temper over lots of things.”

  “He came in for money.” Anna gave a derisive snort. “He swore he wouldn’t leave until he got it. So, of course, Zoe gave him some. Bastard.”

  Clearly Anna did not hold Oscar in high regard. Kelly decided to probe deeper. “Did Oscar become violent at any time while he was there?”

  “No, but you could tell it was right below the surface. Waiting to explode, if you know what I mean. I had seen bruises on Zoe’s face and wondered if she was in one of those abusive marriages. I’ve had other friends who’ve gotten into those relationships, and it’s tragic. And once I saw Oscar in action, then I knew. I remember telling Zoe then, last year, that she should leave him.”

  “Boy, I wish Zoe had taken your advice,” Kelly offered.

  “Ohhhh, I wish she had. She’d be alive today,” Anna said emphatically. “I have no doubt in the world that he shot Zoe. That Oscar was one nasty piece of work.”

  Kelly wasn’t expecting that. “Did you tell the police that? I’d heard a detective came out to question all of you in Zoe’s last class.”

  “You bet I did. And the other gals all said the same thing.”

  “Did you call them or something?”

  “No, we got together one evening after Zoe’s death to . . . well, talk about it. We were simply blown away by what happened. And we all had the same feeling that Oscar shot Zoe.”

  Since Anna was so convinced of Oscar’s guilt, Kelly decided to follow up on that. “Did you see Oscar hanging around that night? Or parked along the street?”

  “Oh, no. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. We wouldn’t have left Zoe alone in the parking lot if we saw him there. No way!”

  Kelly’s little buzzer went off. Zoe was alone after the class that night? Wasn’t the women’s shelter staff coming to drive along with her to the shelter?

  “Wait a minute . . . Zoe told Mimi that she was taking her own car to the class because she was going early, and there would be plenty of people at the church. And she said that one of the women’s shelter staff would be at the church parking lot waiting for her after class. Then they’d drive with her to the shelter. That way she was never alone.”

  “That’s right. She told me the same thing.”

  “Then why wasn’t a shelter staffer waiting in the parking lot after class?”

  “I wondered the same thing, Kelly. And I told her so. But Zoe assured me that they were probably delayed. And she’d drive down to the shopping center parking lot and wait for them. There were lots of people there.”

  Kelly pondered what Anna said. There was something about the scenario that didn’t feel right. “You know, that sounds funny. I’d think the shelter staff would be there early, you know. Considering Oscar was off at the bars, drinking.”

  “I know, Kelly,” Anna said with an audible sigh. “I told Zoe that I’d wait with her in her car, but she assured me she’d be fine at the shopping center. She was already in her car, so I told her I’d wait until she drove off, just to be safe. But her cell phone rang then, and she said it was probably the staffer saying she was on the way. So I got into my car and waited for her to pull out of the parking lot into the residential street before I drove off.”

  “What? She drove off? But Zoe was found shot inside her car, which was still parked in the church lot. I know, because Mimi and I spoke with the shelter staffer who arrived at the parking lot while the police were there.”

  “Please don’t remind me, Kelly. I’ve been thinking that if I had just stayed with her at the parking lot, Zoe would be alive today.”

  “Don’t feel guilty, Anna. You’re not responsible. Something made Zoe drive back into that parking lot. Maybe it was the phone call.”

  “It must have been. I mean . . . I saw her in my rearview mirror, turning onto the residential street.”

  “Did you see anyone else on the street? Or sitting in a parked car nearby?”

  “No, I didn’t, and believe me, I looked,” Anna said emphatically. “I checked every parked car I passed to make sure that bastard Oscar wasn’t sitting there.”

  Kelly didn’t know what to make of Anna’s story. It didn’t make sense. Was it the phone call that made Zoe turn around and park again? It had to be. Then, who was on the phone?

  “What time was this, Anna? Do you remember?”

  “Ohhhh, it was after nine o’clock. The class ran a little late, as you can understand. So it was after nine when we got out, nine fifteen or so. I remember glancing at my watch as we were walking out.”

  “Did you tell the police all of this? I mean, about your conversation with Zoe in the parking lot and watching her drive off? Did you tell them that?”

  “I sure did, Kelly. And I told the detective how guilty I felt for not staying. But he said the same thing you did, almost.”

  Kelly’s thoughts were racing. Who called Zoe? Was it Oscar? It had to be. What did he say? There was no way that Zoe would agree to wait for Oscar in an empty parking lot at night. What could Oscar say that would make Zoe stay?
Was it Oscar? Was it the shelter staff?

  “This makes no sense, Anna. I can’t see Zoe waiting for Oscar or anyone in a dark, deserted parking lot.”

  “I can’t, either, Kelly . . . Joey! No! Don’t walk in front of the swing! Ohhhh, noooo!”

  Playground Terror Joey had obviously struck again. Himself, this time.

  “Gotta go, Kelly. I wish I could have been more help.”

  “You were a great help, Anna. Now go patch up Joey,” Kelly said before Anna’s phone clicked off.

  Kelly shoved her phone into her jeans pocket and picked up her mug. Empty. Rats. She’d drained her coffeepot already. Time for an Eduardo refill. Besides, there were too many thoughts buzzing around her brain right now. She had to let them buzz around before they settled. Then she could return to her accounts.

  Her knitting bag sat at the end of her new sofa, which gave her an idea. She needed to “knit on it.” That’s what Mimi always said when she needed to think about something. Kelly had discovered a few years ago how conducive to problem solving knitting was. Thoughts and ideas that bombarded her whenever she was sleuthing slowed down and became more ordered when she sat and knitted. Maybe it was the orderly process of stitching itself that helped, the slip, wrap, slide repetitive motion. Whatever it was, Kelly found it peaceful and soothing. And she’d gotten some of her best ideas while immersed in the process.

  That settled it. Kelly grabbed her knitting bag and her mug and left the cottage. Heading across the driveway, she looked around for Burt’s car, but didn’t see it. She wanted to tell him what she’d just learned. Maybe Dan hadn’t shared everything with Burt.

  Kelly raced up the café steps, the caffeine lobe of her brain starting to throb in anticipation. Bursting into the crowded café, she wove her way around the customers and tables until she reached the counter and grill. There she spied Jennifer and gave her a wave, then jiggled her empty mug.

  * * *

  Almost there, Kelly thought as she approached the end of the top row of her blue shawl. Five more stitches to bind off, four more, three . . . two, one. Done! At last! She was finally finished. Megan, Lisa, and Jen had finished their shawls weeks ago.

  She reached for some scissors that sat in the tool tray in the middle of the long knitting table and snipped the dangling yarn tail. Now there were only a few inches to weave inside the other stitches, out of sight.

  Kelly examined the long top edge of the triangular shawl. Not bad. Not bad at all, she decided. Her stitches had gotten better, more even. And no dropped stitches. At least, she didn’t notice any. Of course, she hadn’t really scrutinized the lovely open weave design. She’d probably find something if she looked hard enough.

  In fact, she hadn’t had the time to eyeball the shawl at all because the edge she was working got longer and longer with every row, thus taking longer to finish. Since time was always in short supply for Kelly, she found herself simply pulling the shawl out of the bag to knit for a few minutes, then shoving the shawl inside the bag when she ran out of time.

  Kelly held up the soft royal blue shawl by both ends. Glancing across the rows starting from the top, she looked closely at the open weave design, checking for any large or extra holes where there shouldn’t be holes. Down, down, everything looked okay. No extra holes yet. Down to the bottom tip of the triangle. So far, so good. Yay! No holes.

  But Kelly did see something else. She hadn’t noticed it at first. The left side of the shawl looked different than the right side. It looked smaller somehow. But that couldn’t be. All the stitches were there. It must be her imagination.

  She tried to spread the shawl out on the knitting table to get a better look, pushing aside the patterns and books and balls of yarn scattered about. Was one side of that triangle wider than the other? Kelly peered at the lacy blue shawl and frowned.

  Okaaaay . . . there’s only one way to tell for sure, Kelly decided. Measure each side of the shawl. Searching through the assorted knitting paraphernalia and tools tray in the middle of the table, she found the tape measure. Now . . . exactly where to measure? Since the shawl was a triangle, she should be able to measure the distance from the top edge of the shawl triangle to the bottom of the other two sides. Even though the shawl was a soft fluffy knitted triangle, it was still a triangle. So it had to be geometric, right? Of course it did. Kelly remembered her geometry. Pythagorean theorems.

  Now . . . how to do it? Maybe she could fold it in half. That way she could actually compare the two sides against each other. That would work. Convinced that she’d found a logical, geometric answer to this knitting puzzle, Kelly picked up the shawl and carefully folded it in half, with the top edges aligned and the two ends touching. She stared at the folded shawl and the new triangle it had created. The two sides of the shawl were together, and . . .

  She couldn’t miss it. One edge of the shawl was about three inches higher than the other edge. Kelly stared in disbelief. How did that happen? Everything looked fine while she was knitting. How did the left side shrink? And why hadn’t she noticed?

  Kelly knew the answer to the second question. She never had the time to examine the shawl. She was knitting in whatever moments she could steal away from other duties. It was all she could manage to knit several stitches at a time. Examining the shawl was out of the question.

  She stared at the shawl with a mixture of disappointment and disgust. Just then, Rosa walked into main room.

  “Hey, Kelly, how’re you doing?” Rosa asked as she shoved a book onto the shelves.

  “Arrrrgh!” Kelly replied, eyes closed.

  Rosa turned in surprise. “What’s the matter?”

  “Look at this!” Kelly pointed at the disappointing, disgusting shawl. “I’ve been working on it for weeks, and it looked fine. And now that I’ve finally finished the darn thing, I discover one side is way shorter than the other. Look!”

  Rosa examined the shawl, fingering the two edges, placing them together. “Yeah, that happens sometimes, Kelly.”

  That was not the response Kelly was hoping for. “That’s what you guys always say! Whenever something weird goes wrong with a knitting project, you guys tell me ‘it happens sometimes.’” She scowled at the shawl. “That is unacceptable. There has to be a reason.”

  Rosa smiled a little. “Okay . . . the most likely reason is the shawl has been shoved in and out of your knitting bag for weeks. Believe me, Kelly, it really does happen. To everybody. It’s happened to me.”

  “Hah!” Kelly countered, still aggravated.

  “No, really. But don’t worry. We can steam it; that will help it stretch. C’mon, I’ll show you how.” Rosa beckoned Kelly into the adjoining workroom.

  Kelly gathered the soft mohair wool and followed Rosa. “Everyone else’s shawls are perfect. I saw them. Mine will be the only one deformed.”

  Rosa laughed as she picked up a large corkboard and laid it on the long worktable. “It’s not deformed, Kelly. Your stitches look fine. It’s simply shorter.” She took the soft wool mohair from Kelly’s hands and spread it out on the corkboard.

  Kelly watched as Rosa shoved pushpins all along the top edge of the shawl. Then she smoothed out the wider side of the shawl and began pinning that in place.

  “Hand me that tape measure over on the counter, would you, please?” Rosa pointed to the counter behind her, laden with small portable looms for Mimi’s weaving classes.

  “Do you think the shorter side will really stretch enough to match the other?” Kelly asked as she retrieved the tape measure and handed it to Rosa.

  “Well, let’s hope so. The steaming will be key in softening and loosening the wool fiber. I’ll show you how to do it after I’ve gotten it all pinned in place.”

  Rosa measured the good side, then marked the spots on the corkboard that would match for the other side of the shawl. Then Rosa’s quick fingers began deftly stretching the shorter side and pinning it into place, right over the measured lines.

  Kelly was heartened to see the w
ool stretch into place. “Hey, it’s stretching on the board. Do we still have to steam it?”

  “Oh, yes. The steaming is what loosens the yarn twist. Why don’t you plug in the steamer for me, please? It’s right on the counter, and it’s ready to go. I’ve already used it today.” She continued stretching and pinning.

  Kelly spotted the metallic wand on the counter, its long cord draped beside it. She retrieved it and dutifully plugged in the mysterious appliance. Kelly had never steamed anything before, but she’d seen several people at the shop doing it.

  “There now. All pinned into place. You’ve seen someone steam yarn before, haven’t you?” Rosa asked as she picked up the appliance. A soft hiss sounded from the flat head.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen them, I’ve just never had to do it myself.”

  Rosa grinned. “You’ve lucked out. All of us make friends with the steamer sometime or another. It’s really simple, Kelly. You start at the top and press the steamer against the wool and move the wand down slowly, pressing the steam button at the same time. Here, watch me do it once, then you can do it.”

  Kelly watched intently as Rosa placed the steamer wand at the top of Kelly’s shawl and slowly moved down to the edge, steamer hissing loudly while it traveled over the wool. As she studied Rosa’s movements, Kelly also sent a yarn plea out to the heavens. Stretch . . . please.

  Twelve

  “Well, hello, Kelly.” Mimi greeted her in a cheerful voice. “It’s always good to see you early in the morning.” She returned to filling a yarn bin with skeins of black and gray, tweedlike yarn. HAND-DYED ALPACA, the sign proclaimed.

  Kelly dropped her briefcase on the Lambspun knitting table. “I thought I’d work here today, Mimi. That way I can check on my shawl during coffee breaks.”

  “You sound like a mother hen,” Mimi said with a light laugh. “The wool needs time to stretch, Kelly. Don’t worry about it.”