Her cell phone rang as she rounded the corner of the baking aisle. “Kelly, I just got off the phone with my Florida friend,” Burt said. “He knows a guy in the Sarasota police department and was able to check out the stolen car situation. Apparently there hasn’t been an official report filed yet, so nothing has gone into the national database. The Sarasota cop told him that during their investigation at the retirement home, one elderly resident recalled Claudia telling her she was borrowing Mary Ann’s car for a while. So the cops haven’t decided how they’re going to proceed. This woman appears credible, he said. That’s why they haven’t issued a warrant for Claudia’s arrest.”
Kelly pulled her cart to the side of the aisle beside the bags of sugar. She grabbed one. “That’s fantastic news, Burt. It proves Claudia’s telling the truth. She didn’t steal the car.”
“Well, not exactly. It simply shows there’s another version of the story. After all, that resident had no way to know if Claudia was lying to her or telling the truth. Apparently, the family’s convinced Claudia’s lying.”
“Hmmm, you’re right,” Kelly said, stepping aside so a man could gather two large sacks of sugar and drop them atop an already full cart. “So what’s going to happen now?”
“My friend said the Sarasota police have been interviewing more people at the home to see if they can figure out what happened. They’re hoping to have some answers soon.”
She selected a rectangular plastic bag of dark brown sugar and dropped it into the cart. “Well, I’m sure Claudia will be relieved to hear that. Maybe they’ll find more corroboration of her story, and she’ll be cleared.” Kelly pushed her cart ahead to get out of the way of the holiday bakers pawing over the sugar. Parking near the sugar shelves obviously wasn’t a good idea.
“I’ll give her a call later. Right now, I’ve got a spinning class to teach.”
“If you have time, Burt, why don’t you give Sheila a call, too? Tell her what you’ve learned. Maybe that will be enough to convince her to tone down the accusations. Claudia may turn out to be innocent.”
“I’ll give it a try, Kelly. Mimi said she’d persuaded Sheila to take a crochet class, so she may show up today. Talk to you later.” He clicked off.
Kelly shoved her phone into her jacket pocket and continued her pursuit of recipe items. Baking soda and baking powder. What’s the difference? Kelly examined the small can and the small box before she tossed both into the cart, where they rattled between the lemons. Her cart was relatively empty compared to the ones some of these other shoppers were pushing around. Their carts were piled with flour, sugars of all kinds, spices, chocolate chips, baking chocolate, tins of cocoa. Obviously they were serious holiday bakers.
Kelly aimed for the shelves loaded with five-pound bags of flour only to be presented with a quandary. There were many kinds of flour. Regular white flour, self-rising flour, whole wheat flour, cake flour, and others too numerous to mention. She scowled at the multiple bags and back to the recipe. Aunt Helen had written “flour.” That was all. No mention of type. Oh, brother. She knew her cooking inexperience would throw a wrench into things.
Noticing a middle-aged woman browsing the aisle beside her, Kelly smiled her brightest. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m trying to make my late aunt Helen’s cookie recipe, and I’m not much of a cook. In fact, I don’t cook at all, so I’m confused about this recipe. Could you help me decipher it, please?”
The woman returned Kelly’s smile. She appeared to be in her fifties or so and had a round, friendly face. “Certainly, I’ll be glad to help.”
Kelly eagerly handed over the recipe. “Thank you so much. I don’t want to poison anyone with my first cooking effort.”
The woman laughed as she scanned the paper. “Oh, gingersnap cookies. They’re some of my favorites. And this is a good recipe, too. Dark brown sugar, molasses, lots of ginger.” She peered into Kelly’s cart. “Looks like you’ve got some of the stuff already.”
“I was doing fine until I got to the flour.” Kelly pointed to the shelves. “I have no idea which kind my aunt used. Look at all these. Should I use cake flour since cookies are kind of like cake?”
The woman grinned at her. “Not really. Cake flour is mostly used for cakes. You’ll want to use regular white flour. A five-pound bag will be plenty. This is such a good recipe, you may want to make it again.”
Cooking twice? What a concept, Kelly thought as she added a bag of flour to her cart. “Where would I find molasses?”
“That’s right down here,” the woman said, walking down the aisle. “Let’s take a look. Let’s see, you’ll need unsulfured molasses, so this would be fine.” She retrieved a bottle from the top shelf and handed it over.
Kelly stared at the thick black substance in the glass bottle. “This one is unsulfured. Does that mean the rest of these brands taste like sulfur?” She wrinkled her nose.
“No, not really,” the woman said with a good-natured laugh, clearly enjoying the recipe guidance.
“See how confusing this stuff is for us noncooks,” Kelly said as she pushed the cart behind the woman.
“Don’t forget eggs,” the woman continued. “Oh, and do you have a grater for the lemon? It calls for grated lemon rind.”
Kelly shook her head. “Nope, afraid not. Boy, am I glad I met you. I would never have been able to make these cookies tonight.”
“You remind me of my daughter. She’s not too domestic, shall we say,” the woman said as she retrieved little spice canisters of ground ginger and cinnamon.
“Ahhhh, that pretty much describes me. But I can microwave with the best of them.”
“Well, I think you’ll enjoy making this recipe. These cookies sound scrumptious.” She grabbed a metal grater from a hanging rack beside the spices and dropped it into Kelly’s cart. “You’ll do fine.”
“Thanks to you. You’ve been a sweetheart to help. Thanks so much again,” Kelly said, turning the cart around. “I hope you and your family have a happy holiday. Oh, and if you want to support a worthy cause, come to the holiday bazaar at the community center this weekend. All proceeds go to charity. I’ll be helping at the Lambspun booth. And hopefully, these cookies will be on sale.”
“I may do that,” the woman promised with a grin. “But aren’t you forgetting something? Eggs are that way.” She pointed to the dairy section behind her.
Kelly gave a sheepish grin and turned the cart around.
The bell atop Lambspun’s front door tinkled as it closed behind Kelly. She freed up one hand to squeeze a tempting ball of red and white yarn as she paused at the bins in the front room. New holiday yarns were always a distraction. However, she couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. She wanted to make headway on Steve’s scarf this afternoon. Tonight she was making cookies.
“Hey, Kelly,” Burt said as he approached from the adjoining yarn room. He beckoned her over to the corner, away from the noise of loud voices drifting from the main room.
“Sounds like you have a full house in there,” Kelly said, fondling more candy-striped yarn. How did Mimi expect them to finish projects when she kept putting tempting new yarns on display?
“I wanted to tell you that I had a chance to speak with Sheila right before her class, and I told her that police interviews at the retirement home had turned up a resident who could corroborate Claudia’s claim that she didn’t steal the car.”
“How’d Sheila take it?” Kelly asked, lowering her voice.
Burt shrugged. “Well, she acted surprised by the news but didn’t flare up or anything. In fact, she didn’t say a word. She just went into the class. So maybe Mimi’s magic is working.” He pointed toward the doorway. “She’s around the table right now, crocheting.”
Kelly grinned. “Fantastic. I can’t think of anyone who needs high-powered mothering more than Sheila. She is wound tighter than a seven-day clock, as Aunt Helen used to say.”
“I haven’t heard that old expression in years,” Burt said with a chuckle. �
�Talk to you later, Kelly. Gotta take inventory downstairs in the basement.”
Kelly fondled a few more yarns then forced herself away and headed toward the main room, which was crowded with knitters, crocheters, and stitchers of all kinds. There were even spinners in the corners. She spotted Hilda, Lizzie, and several of the regular fiber folk. But there were newcomers around the table as well. Sheila was beside them, crocheting away. Kelly pulled out an empty chair and squeezed in beside Lizzie.
“Ah, Kelly, I’m so glad you dropped by,” Hilda said from her usual spot. “You’ll be delighted to hear the good news. Our little brown wren is officially engaged. She showed us the ring this morning. Jeremy proposed last night. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Kelly tried to hide her surprise as she pulled the alpaca wool scarf from her knitting bag. “That is wonderful news. Lizzie and I saw Juliet yesterday when she brought her Christmas capes to the shop.”
“That reminds me, I want one of those capes,” a knitter beside Hilda said.
“Me, too,” another chimed in. “They’re gorgeous.”
“Well, you’d better hurry and grab one. There aren’t many left,” said a spinner in the corner.
“I think Mimi sold four of them yesterday. I saw Claudia with one of them before she left. It was stunning.”
“How ironic,” Hilda announced, her deep voice taking on an unmistakable tinge of sarcasm. “The Little Brown Wren has run off with Prince Charming, and left the Merry Widow with only the cape. It’s fitting. Does Claudia even know that she’s been competing with Juliet for Jeremy’s affections these last few weeks?”
“Probably not,” said the knitter at Hilda’s elbow. “Claudia’s too self-absorbed.”
“Oh, don’t be so harsh,” the woman crocheting beside Lizzie replied. “Claudia’s just full of herself and full of fun, that’s all.”
Kelly felt the atmosphere change around the table as talk turned to the Merry Widow and her behavior. Hilda held forth that Claudia was a gold digger and out to snare a rich husband, while some of the other fiber folk came to Claudia’s defense. Gone was the mood of holiday cheer. Dissension crackled and snapped like a live electric wire.
“Sleeping with Jeremy didn’t get Claudia a ring, did it?” Snide laughter followed.
“Sounds like Juliet’s keeping Jeremy warm at night now.” More laughter.
“You’re mistaken,” Hilda said in a disapproving tone. “Juliet is a modest woman and not about to sully her reputation. She’s an old-fashioned girl with old-fashioned morals. She does not spend the night with her fiancé—”
“How do you know?” someone jibed.
Hilda lifted her long nose. “Because she told me so. These past few months when she’s been dating Jeremy, she walks home every night after they’ve dined together. Jeremy’s a gourmet cook, so he insists on making dinner.”
Light laughter sounded again.
“She walks? In the winter?” a crocheter asked in a shocked voice.
“Old-fashioned girl,” a knitter replied.
“She only lives a few blocks away,” Hilda continued. “Besides, Juliet is an environmentalist of the first order. She barely uses her car unless she has to drive to Denver.”
“Walking is good exercise,” a spinner offered.
“I can’t imagine Claudia walking home from Jeremy’s at night.” More snickers.
“Neither can I.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Give it a rest. Leave Claudia alone.”
“Attention, everyone!” Mimi’s voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. Louder than usual. “I’m giving a free demonstration of felting techniques if any of you are interested. If so, please join me in the classroom.” Mimi eyed everyone around the table before she disappeared into the adjoining classroom.
Evidently, Mimi had overheard some of the rancorous discussion and decided to put a stop to it in her own special way. Mimi’s felting techniques were second to none and usually available only in workshops. The knitting table cleared immediately as fiber folk flocked into the classroom, leaving Lizzie, Hilda, Sheila, and Kelly behind.
Kelly knitted two rows quietly while she tried to find a way to ask the question that was dancing in her head. Juliet must be ecstatic, but how was Claudia taking this rejection? Especially since she’d been so convinced that Jeremy would ride to her rescue and save her from the scary things that threatened in her future. Finally Kelly just jumped in, in her usual forthright manner.
“I’ll bet Juliet is floating on air.” She deliberately caught Lizzie’s gaze.
“Oh, she is, she is,” Hilda replied instead. “And the diamond ring is beautiful. Apparently Jeremy is making a cel-ebratory dinner tonight.”
Kelly tried again. “You know, I can’t help worrying about Claudia—”
“Ha!” Hilda’s triumphant cackle resounded.
“She’d set her heart on a proposal, too,” Kelly continued.
“Serves her right,” Sheila interjected in a harsh tone. “You reap what you sow, as my father always said.”
Kelly persevered, despite the comments. “Lizzie, you know Claudia better than anyone. How is she taking this? Have you spoken with her?”
Lizzie lifted her chin, her cheeks flushed with an uncharacteristic anger. “Yes, I have, and she’s devastated, simply devastated. And if anyone’s taking satisfaction from this poor woman’s heartbreak, I think you should be ashamed of yourselves!”
Both Hilda and Sheila stared intently at their yarns, not speaking.
“Well, I for one feel sorry for Claudia,” Kelly announced for what it was worth. “It sounds to me like Jeremy may have been stringing her along.”
Lizzie released a huge sigh, her tensed shoulders drooping. “Maybe you’re right, Kelly. But I don’t care a fig about Jeremy Cunningham’s motives right now. I’m concerned about Claudia. She’s in an awful state. She was crying so much when I called this morning, I could barely understand her. Apparently she retreated to the motel in tears after meeting with Jeremy. This morning, she sounded hysterical on the phone. I was so worried I went over to see her immediately.” Lizzie wagged her head as her needles continued their busy pace. A pair of forest green mittens dangled.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kelly said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so, Kelly, but it’s kind of you to be concerned,” Lizzie said pointedly. “Poor Claudia’s in no shape to have visitors, I’m afraid. She was crying and sobbing and walking about wringing her hands. I confess, Kelly, I’m worried about her. It was all I could do this afternoon to keep her from throwing her clothes into a suitcase. She kept saying ‘I have to leave, I have to leave.’ ”
Sheila’s head came up at that. “Well, she’d better not drive off in that stolen car.”
Kelly bit back her first response to Sheila’s comment. Obviously Sheila wasn’t concerned about Claudia’s fragile mental state. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Sheila,” Kelly said in a low voice. “Claudia told me she no longer uses the car. She takes taxicabs everywhere now.”
“Hmph,” Sheila replied, not looking up from the pale blue blanket she was creating.
Kelly figured she should leave the unpleasant discussion before she said something she regretted, so she gathered Steve’s alpaca scarf and rose. “Excuse me, but I think I’ll listen in on Mimi’s class while I knit.”
Lizzie sprang from the chair beside her, more sprightly than usual. “I’ll join you. Don’t hold dinner, Hilda. I’m not coming home until I’ve checked on Claudia.”
She joined Kelly, who was already halfway to the door.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Steve called out from the cottage doorway. “I must be in the wrong house. Kelly, is that you in the kitchen? It looks like you’re cooking, but that can’t be.”
Kelly stopped stirring the floury mixture in the huge glass mixing bowl she’d found in the garage. She scowled over her shoulder at Steve, who was leaning in the doorway, grinning at her. “Yes, I’m
cooking. So don’t bother me, or you’ll break my concentration.”
“I can’t believe this,” Steve said as he sauntered into the kitchen. “You’re actually cooking something. Is it edible? I mean, can we eat it for dinner? I’m starving.”
“Then you’d better grab a pizza from the freezer. This is not for dinner. I’m making Helen’s gingersnap cookies for the holiday bazaar.”
“Whoa! You’re kidding me! I remember her cookies. They were delicious.” He leaned over the bowl, watching Kelly stir the last of the flour into the dark mixture. Aromas of spices drifted up from the bowl. “Are you sure that’s the right recipe? What’s that brown stuff? It looks weird.”
Kelly swatted him away. “It’s molasses. Now stop asking questions. I don’t want to lose track. Let’s see . . . what’s left?” She peered at the recipe taped on the wall behind the counter. “Hand me that saucer over there, will you?”
Steve scanned the counter, which was totally filled with used dishes and bowls of every size. “Which saucer? You’ve got the entire dish cabinet out here.”
“The little one beside the toaster.” She pointed between stirring. “And don’t drop it.”
“What’s this?” Steve asked, handing her the saucer. “Smells like lemon.”
“It’s grated lemon rind. I swear I must have cut myself three times grating those lemons. Nobody told me cooking was hazardous.”
Steve laughed softly. “You’ve got flour on your nose. Wait a minute, I’ve gotta take a picture. This is too cute.” He headed for the dining room.
“Steve, are you deliberately trying to annoy me?” Kelly complained as she tried to mix the lemon rind throughout the sticky mixture. “I told you I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“Hold it right there. I want to immortalize the moment.”
Kelly fought the urge to stick out her tongue while he aimed the digital camera. “Satisfied?” she said when it flashed.
“I won’t be satisfied until I taste this dough,” he said, scooping a finger full right under Kelly’s nose.
Knitting 06 - Fleece Navidad Page 8
