“Yes, dear?” Funny how still, after all these years, her calling him dear was almost painfully pleasant.
“Can I see your box of needles?”
“Certainly,” she said, putting down the canvas after tucking the needle into it. “May I ask why?”
“Believe it or not, it’s for a case I’m working on.”
She handed over a gray-blue plastic box about four inches long, two wide, and half an inch deep, with a twist-snap closure. He opened it and found a white magnetized surface scattered with blunt-pointed needles of varying sizes. He selected the biggest and compared it to the photocopy, grimacing as he tried to get them both in focus.
Without a word, she handed him a pair of magnifying glasses. He used the glasses without putting them on, looking first at one, then the other.
“Huh,” he grunted after a minute, disappointed.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I had a notion this thing might be a tapestry needle. But it isn’t.”
“May I see?”
“Sure.” He handed over the needle, the photocopy, and the magnifying glasses.
She put the glasses on, slid them down to the end of her pert little nose, and compared the needle with the photocopy. “Oh, I see what you mean,” she said. “The needle forms its point right at the tip, while the point on whatever this is starts back almost a quarter of an inch.”
“You got a good eye, Liz.” He reached for the paper and refolded it, careful not to form a crease across the object.
“You know what it might be?” she asked, putting the needle back in its box and nodding at the paper in his hand.
“What?”
“A knitting needle.”
“Go-wan, it’s too thin to be a knitting needle.” Liz knit, so he’d seen lots of knitting needles in many sizes, but none even approaching this slenderness.
“It is not! There are people who knit lace and doll clothes and baby sweaters with needles as thin as triple zero.”
“Triple zero?”
“Just when you think you can’t get a size smaller than one, they come up with zero, and then double zero, and even triple zero. Steel ones, usually, because wood is awfully fragile when ground down that thin.”
Mitch unfolded the paper again. “You really think this could be a knitting needle?”
“Possibly, but just the end of one. They’re generally about seven or eight inches long.”
“Yes, this one was snipped off.”
“I see.” She picked up her canvas and pulled the needle out of the corner where she had tucked it in. She didn’t ask for any more details, so he didn’t offer any. But before he went to get their evening glass of wine, he kissed her very tenderly.
IT was time for another sock lesson. As before, Doris came first, her lavender sock bristling with needles at the top and hanging down about seven inches from her hand. Phil was next, his sock in an opaque plastic bag, the needles making tiny peaks from inside. “How’re ya, Ms. Doris?” he shouted in his rough voice.
She shied, then saw him smile and managed a smile back. “I’m fine, Mr. Galvin.”
“Call me Phil!” he ordered, then smiled sheepishly when she winced. “Sorry,” he said, much more quietly. “Y’see, I’m a little deaf.”
“It’s all right—Phil,” she said. She raised her own voice, and held up her sock as a further aid. “Did you get your sock’s cuff done?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure,” he said, holding out the bag. “You?”
“Yes.” Doris was a little shy and couldn’t think how to continue the conversation, and after a moment she bowed her head and went to sit at the table.
Phil looked at her for a few seconds, crestfallen and baffled, then went into the back to look at counted cross-stitch patterns.
Lucille came next, with the smile of someone who has successfully completed her homework. She went to sit across from Doris and engage her in conversation. They got their socks out to compare progress.
As the start time approached, Betsy began to worry that Jan and Katie might miss the class. Then they came in together. Katie seemed protective of Jan, looking around at the others with a “don’t start something” expression on her face.
Which Lucille ignored. She stood and asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing!” snapped Katie.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said Jan. “Everyone will know. It’ll be on the news tonight.”
“What will?” asked Godwin, entering with Phil from the back of the shop.
Jan stopped and heaved a quick sigh. “You know that my Aunt Edyth died?”
“You mean Edyth Hanraty?” asked Doris. “I didn’t know she was your aunt! I’m so sorry.”
“Well, she was—my great-aunt, actually,” said Jan. “And it seems she didn’t…” She hesitated, unsure how to continue, and finally blurted, “She was murdered.”
Everyone gasped and stared at her except Katie, who touched her on the shoulder comfortingly.
Jan looked down as if ashamed. “I know, I know, it’s too terrible, it’s so horrible I can hardly believe it. The Orono police are investigating. And although they say they don’t suspect a member of the family, I think they do. And as one of the two family members who stands to inherit some money, I’m high on the list!” She seemed more angry than frightened about it.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jan, don’t be silly. They can’t seriously think you’re a murderer!” Katie stroked Jan’s shoulder.
“Maybe I should just go home. I’m so upset over this.”
“No, no!” said Godwin and Lucille, almost in chorus. They looked at one another and smiled.
“Please don’t go,” Godwin went on. “Sometimes a class like this can be a break from trouble.”
Lucille added, “We’re your friends here. Maybe we can help.”
“Help? What could any of you do that would help?”
“Um,” said Godwin, casting a sideways look at Betsy, who nodded. “One of us really can help. Some of you know what Betsy did for me.”
Hope flared in Jan’s eyes as she looked at Betsy. “That’s right, it was your doing that got him out of jail, wasn’t it?”
Lucille looked at Godwin, scandalized. “You were in jail? What for?”
“Murder.”
Lucille went from scandalized to horrified and saw Phil and Doris backing up Godwin’s serious nod with nods of their own.
“But I didn’t do it, and Betsy proved it,” he said.
“Betsy is amazing,” said Doris. “She can solve crimes just like Miss Marple.”
“Well, dip me in glitter and call me a Christmas tree ornament,” said Lucille. “I had no idea!”
Phil stared sideways at Lucille. “Dip me in glitter?”
“It’s just an expression,” she said impatiently. “The thing is—” She looked at Jan. “How seriously do the police suspect you, and can Betsy, here, help?”
“Oh, never mind,” said Jan. “I mean, they haven’t even talked to me yet, so I can’t believe I’m in real trouble. I’m just upset, that’s all. It was a shock when Aunt Edyth died, so unexpected.”
“How can you say that?” said Katie, sharply. “She was older than dirt!”
“Mary Kate!” scolded Jan.
“Well, she was. Rude, cranky, and unfair, too. Come on, let’s sit down.” She went to the table.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jan followed. “Mary Katherine, I can’t believe you’d speak ill of the dead,” she said.
“If she were alive, I’d say it to her face,” said Katie obstinately.
“So, your aunt was old,” said Lucille with the air of a peacemaker. “Was she sick?”
Jan said, “No, that’s why her death surprised all of us. I—I’m the one who found her. Her housekeeper had gone to help out her daughter with a new baby, so I went to check on her, take her to church. It was kind of a shock, but she was in her bed, and it looked as if she’d had a stroke or something in her sleep.”
“So how come they now think she was murdered?” asked Godwin.
“I don’t know all the details. Mother called to say the mortician found something like a pin or needle stuck in Aunt Edyth’s skull.” She touched the nape of her neck. “So they did an autopsy, and the medical examiner said it was murder.”
Lucille touched the nape of her own neck and looked thoughtful. Phil asked, “You can kill someone by sticking a little pin in the back of their head?”
“Oh, yes,” said Jan, nodding. “If you stick it in the right place.”
“Oh, ick!” exclaimed Katie. “Stop talking about it! I can’t stay if you’re going to talk about it!”
“All right, all right,” said Betsy. “Katie’s right. If we’re here to give you two a break from it, then let’s do that. Goddy, are you all set to start them turning the heel?”
Godwin wrenched his attention to business with a visible effort. “Sure. Did everyone get their cuff done?”
Everyone sighed, some from relief and others from disappointment that such an interesting topic was finished. Everyone held up his or her sock. Katie’s pretty pink one had just the top inch or so as knit-purl cuff. The rest of the leg was just knit. Lucille’s blue and white and Jan’s dark red were knit-purl all the way down. Phil and Doris had done three and four inches of cuff, respectively. Phil’s light green sock was several inches longer in the leg than everyone else’s. “Don’t like them mingy short socks,” he said.
“You’d better pick up another ball of yarn, then,” said Godwin.
“Already did.”
“No, I mean a third ball. Not only did you make your legs longer than the directions call for, your feet are big, so you’ll need more yarn than average.”
Phil turned in his chair and stuck out an ancient work boot of considerable size, which he contemplated for a moment. He said loudly, “Y’hear that, Betsy? I need another ball of this green color.” He held up his sock; with his foot also lifted, he looked as if he were performing a circus stunt.
Betsy, who had been doing her books, rose promptly. “I’ll get it right now,” she said, and went to the bin of sock yarn. A not infrequent consequence of classes was the student who saw something she wanted or who needed to buy more materials for the class.
Godwin said, “Phil, I think I remember telling you to cast on seventy-two instead of sixty-four, right?”
“Yep.” He turned back around and prepared to knit.
“Good. Last week I had the instruction sheet but forgot to give it out. So here it is—” He handed them around. “Put this on the table in front of you and find the part about turning the heel.”
The instruction sheet was printed on two sides of a yellow sheet of paper and laminated. A color picture of a striped sock was in the upper right-hand corner. Everyone nodded when he or she found the place.
“First,” said Godwin, “divide what you’ve got onto three needles, half onto one needle and a quarter onto each of the other two needles. That’s thirty-two stitches on one needle and sixteen apiece on the others.”
Phil anticipated Godwin by saying, “Thirty-six and eighteen for me and my big feet. Got it.”
“Good. Now the heel is a flap that wraps around the foot, and we’re going to work it first. Make sure your sock is right side out.” He paused while his students checked, and Jan, with a little exclamation, righted hers. “The flap is the bigger section. We start with it. Everyone ready? Okay, slip one stitch.” He saw Doris’s confused look. “Just slide that first stitch off the needle onto your working needle.” He watched Doris slip the needle into her lavender yarn carefully. “Got it? Now, purl across.”
Everyone’s hands got busy. Godwin, of course, was fastest, and as soon as he was done, he went around the table to make sure all of his students were on the right part of their segmented socks and had slipped the first stitch. Doris, despite her big, clumsy-looking hands and lack of experience, was nevertheless doing well with her lavender sock. Lucille, narrowing her blue eyes in concentration, was making good progress on her white-flecked blue sock. Jan, squinting identically, was swiftly purling on her red sock. Phil, lips pursed, was stoically progressing along the green row. Katie, still unhappy, was making sharp movements with her needles on her pink sock.
“Well done,” Godwin said when they were all finished, returning to his seat and picking up his own sock again. “Now, slip the first stitch of the next row, and knit to the end. When you’re halfway across, put one of these on the needle.” He pointed to a little pottery bowl that held a dozen tiny plastic circles, each one jointed so it could be opened and closed. “Just slide it on the needle and keep going. It’ll mark a place so you can find it later.”
They did the slip-stitch thing for twenty-nine rows—thirty-three for Phil—and then Godwin said, “Okay, here comes the tricky part. Everyone just finished a purl row, right?”
They all nodded, except Doris. “No, I’ve just finished a knit row.” She smiled and blushed. “But my feet are kind of big from all those years of standing at the factory, so an extra row or two couldn’t hurt.”
“Your feet are just the right size for you,” Phil said, managing to keep his voice down, and Doris, despite a blush, pretended she was concentrating too hard to hear him.
The rest of the class exchanged secret smiles as they waited for her to complete another row.
“Now,” said Godwin, when she had finished, “for this row, slip one, knit sixteen—eighteen, Phil—then we do what the instructions say is ‘SSK.’ Slip two stitches, then put the left needle into the front of these two stitches and knit them together.” He went around the table with his own sock, SSK-ing for those who didn’t understand, un-knitting it between students. Back in his own seat, he said, “Knit one, and turn the knitting around.”
“But I’m not at the end of the row,” said Doris.
“I know, it’s all right.”
“Okay,” said Doris doubtfully. She obediently turned her knitting.
“Now, slip one, purl three, and purl the next two stitches together, purl one, and turn.”
Phil, his tongue just showing in one corner of his mouth, gamely followed instructions. Then he grinned encouragingly at Doris, who was groaning softly.
“Slip one, purl three, purl two together, purl one, turn.”
Row by row they worked, until the fourteenth one. “Slip one, purl fifteen, purl two together, purl one, turn,” intoned Godwin, his fingers flashing as he followed his instructions.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in glitter,” said Doris as she stared down at her sock. “Look, it made kind of a pocket!” She held it up. “Isn’t that cute?”
Godwin said, “Very well done! Phil, you have to do two more rows—”
Phil said, “I bet I knit sixteen on the next row, and purl seventeen on the last.”
Godwin chuckled. “Very good! It’s always nice to find a student who can extend—” He turned and looked at Betsy. “Extend? Is that the right word?”
“Extrapolate,” said Betsy without looking up. “But ‘extend’ works, too.”
“Extrapolate a concept,” he said to Phil, then looked around the table. “You should all have twenty stitches on the heel needle.” He waited a bit anxiously while they counted, but each of his students nodded.
Phil, after all this practice, going much faster than at the start, gave a great gasp of triumph and said, “Hah, done!”
“Great! And we’re done for this class, which was the difficult one—the hardest part of knitting a sock.” He checked his watch. “And in less than the hour allotted, so you are really doing well! Those of you who understand picking up stitches can follow the instructions and continue down the instep. The rest of you can wait until the next class, our last one, to tackle that. But—” He lifted a slim forefinger. “All of you, every single one, can now turn a heel. This is not a common accomplishment. Congratulations.”
As she did after the previous class, Katie signaled Jan to stay behind.
Then she turned to Betsy. “Is what Godwin said true? That you helped him when he was accused of murder?”
“Yes,” said Betsy, nodding.
“Can you help my aunt?”
“We don’t know that I’ll need her help,” objected Jan, but not too strongly.
“You told me,” said Katie, slowly emphasizing her words by thrusting a forefinger at her cousin, “that your mother told the police investigator that my father had no motive, and the policeman told her he didn’t think she did it. And that therefore you were the most logical suspect, because you are an heiress under Great-aunt Edyth’s will.”
“Strewth! Is that true?” asked Godwin.
“Well…yes,” admitted Jan. “But I didn’t murder her. She was ninety-seven, for God’s sake! I wasn’t in any hurry for her money. Don’t you think I should trust the police to find that out?”
“No,” said Betsy and Godwin together. They looked at one another and smiled.
“Well…” hedged Jan. “Do you charge a lot for your services?”
“No, I don’t charge anything.”
“Jan, I thought you were an heiress,” said Godwin.
“I am, but so what? That’s not why I’m asking, all right?”
“All right,” said Godwin with a shrug, trying not to intercept the quelling look Betsy was sending him.
Katie said, “Does the person have to be arrested before you’ll help her?”
“It’s been a him, often as not,” Godwin pointed out.
“No,” said Betsy, giving Godwin another look. “You said the police haven’t talked to you yet.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Jan.
“Well, then, maybe you are worried over nothing. If they talk to you and you realize you really are a suspect, call me. I’d love to help if I can—but remember, I’m an amateur.”
“Yeah, but an amateur with a terrific track record,” said Godwin.
“All right. Thanks.”
After Jan and Katie left, Godwin said, “Well, what do you think?”
Sins and Needles Page 7
