by Anne Canadeo
A Black Sheep & Company Mystery:
Knit to Kill
Purls and Poison
Hounds of the Basket Stitch
Hounds of the Basket Stitch
Anne Canadeo
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Notes from the Black Sheep & Company Bulletin Board
MAGGIE’S FLATBREAD
DAISY’S FAVORITE BISCUITS
Teaser chapter
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 by Anne Canadeo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number:
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0865-6
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: November 2019
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0866-3 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-0866-0 (ebook)
To the clever, faithful, sweet, and funny dogs who have
given me unshakeable, unconditional love: Loozy, Daisy,
Rose, Abby and Lily.
And to everyone who treasures their own beautiful,
wise dogs.
“The world is full of obvious things which nobody by
any chance observes.”
Sherlock Holmes
The Hound of the Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle
Chapter 1
“We’re almost there. I promise.” Dana turned and offered an apologetic smile to the rest of the group, who sat shoulder to shoulder in the backseat of Suzanne’s huge SUV.
Like birds on a wire, Maggie thought. Birds with knitting bags on their laps.
“No need to apologize. We’re fine. Aren’t we?” Maggie glanced at Lucy and Phoebe. “I come this way all the time in the summer for the farm stands. It just seems longer in the dark.”
“Said the woman who would cheerfully drive to Antarctica to teach penguins how to knit.” Lucy had been watching out her window but now turned to catch Maggie’s eye.
Maggie shrugged. “I guess I would, if they invited me.”
“Sign me up for that trip.” Phoebe sounded as if she thought it could actually happen. And as if she’d much prefer that adventure to their present one. “Did you see that video on the internet with this cute old guy who knits sweaters for penguins? It was unbelievably sweet.”
“No wonder they haven’t called me yet,” Maggie said.
Penguins had not asked for a knitting lesson, just the Piper sisters, Holly and Rose. Or rather, Dana had asked Maggie if she would teach the young women some basic stitches. Dana was Holly’s godmother, and both sisters were as dear to her as family.
Holly and Rose had been set to join the group’s usual Thursday night meeting, but just before seven, Holly had called. One of Rose’s dogs had given birth to eight puppies about two weeks ago. The new mother was not feeling well today, and Rose couldn’t leave her.
Maggie had heard a bit about Rose’s pack of rescued hounds. She didn’t know how many dogs there were in all, but as of two weeks ago, you’d have to add eight more.
Without much debate, the group had decided to pack their knitting gear, along with the dinner they’d prepared, and bring their weekly meeting to the Pipers, who lived in a far corner of Plum Harbor.
Maggie was not sure which consideration had weighed heavier in each member of the group: sympathy for their fearless leader, who had put together a special lesson for the night, or the lure of puppies. The end result was the same. Here they were, driving down a black ribbon of a road that cut through thick woods on either side, with houses few and far between.
The calendar had announced the first day of spring, but you’d never know it from the weather, just more of the raw, ragged edge of a New England winter. A brisk wind tossed bare branches that arched above their path, and low gray clouds gathered in the night sky. Heavy rain was coming, and Maggie hoped the storm would hold off until they were safely back in town. The puffs of frosty mist that floated out between the trees made Maggie think of wandering ghosts who had lost their way.
But we’re not lost, Maggie reminded herself, though they had fallen behind the usual schedule.
Usually, by this time of night, they’d be seated around the big oak table at the back of her knitting shop, snug and warm, sharing a good dinner, juicy gossip, and showing off their knitting projects and discussing their stitching predicaments.
“At the risk of sounding like a five-year-old,” Lucy said, “when we arrive there, we’ll get to see the puppies.”
“Personally, I’d prefer kittens, as you already know.” Phoebe, the youngest in their group and the most expert stitcher except for Maggie, had pulled out a project and was managing the needles well, despite the moving car and dim light.
“At the risk of also sounding like a five-year-old, I’m really hungry and definitely need a bathroom,” Suzanne said, her gaze fixed on her driving.
“Come on, Suzanne,” Maggie coaxed. “We haven’t even left Plum Harbor. Not the town limit, I mean.”
“Not officially.” Suzanne knew about such things. Maggie would trust Suzanne, a real estate professional who had just opened her own office, Cavanaugh Fine Homes, to find the town line blindfolded and also recite the zip code for every neighborhood on the way.
Lucy watched out her window again, though there was little to see. “Holly and Rose must feel isolated out here. Don’t you think?”
“Holly never complains,” Dana said, “but I’m sure she must be lonely at times with only her younger sister for company.”
“It is very rural out here, compared to town,” Suzanne agreed. “But the zoning has been tweaked, and pretty soon new houses will be popping up like mushrooms. I’d say those Piper sisters are sitting on a gold mine.”
“They’ve already had offers,” Dana confided. “Holly said she’ll never sell their property. Moving away would be too upsetting for Rose.”
Phoebe held a needle up to her nose to examine a row. “You said Rose had a head injury a long time ago. How did it happen . . . if you don’t mind telling us?”
Maggie was also curious to hear more about Rose, without breaching her privacy, of course. When Dana had asked if Maggie would give the sisters a lesson or two, Maggie had gathered there was some special reason Dana thought Rose should learn, but she hadn’t asked too many questions.
Dana turned to answer Phoebe. “It’s okay. I can tell you a bit about her. I should explain so that you know what to expect. About fifteen years ago, Rose and Holly were in a car accident. Holly ended up with only a few cuts and bruises, but Rose emerged with a serious brain trauma. At first, you probably won’t notice anything different about her. She’s bright, charming, and very warmhearted. Very trusting, too,” Dana added, sounding as if that trait was a mixed blessing.
“But a large part of her personality is frozen in adolescence,” Dana continued. “She hasn’t matured much since
the accident, which happened when she was just fourteen. Which is why Holly is so protective of her and devoted to her care.”
“Admirable. But sad,” Lucy said. “Sad for Rose and the whole family.”
“They don’t have much family left. Their parents passed away not long after the accident, within a few years of each other, and there aren’t any relatives in the area,” Dana continued. “When the accident happened, Holly was about to leave for college, but she decided to stay home so she could watch over Rose. She learned the family business and has been running it on her own for at least ten years now. She and Rose are very close. And very much alone.”
“But they have you, Dana. An unofficial aunt and guardian angel rolled into one,” Maggie reminded her.
Dana laughed. “I’m not sure about the angel title, but I am Holly’s godmother, and I try to help them as much as I can.”
“You knew their mother, right?” Lucy asked.
“She lived right next door when I was growing up.” Dana’s voice softened with the memory. “Ava was a few years older than me, but we were very close friends. She got married after high school and moved to Vermont. The marriage didn’t last long, and she came back to Plum Harbor with a son. We reconnected, and when she married George Piper, I watched the girls grow up. They still call me Aunt Dana,” she added with a smile.
Phoebe turned her work over and started a row. “I bet you’ve been a very good aunt. You understand Rose’s condition and can really help her. Is it just that she’s stuck in adolescence, or are there other things going on, too?”
“There are other issues,” Dana said. “Mood swings and problems concentrating. She can act impulsively or even black out if she’s overwhelmed. Trauma can derail the timekeeping part of the brain, and there’s sometimes memory loss. But she’s been doing very well lately. Most of those problems have disappeared, with the help of the new therapies and her comfort dogs.”
“Comfort dogs?” Lucy sat up, suddenly alert. Maggie had a feeling the term would catch the attention of Lucy, a dedicated dog lover who had recently married a veterinarian.
“She calls them comfort dogs,” Dana explained. “Most people would call them therapy dogs. They’re specially trained to offer their owners comfort and emotional support in stressful situations. The dogs can even short-circuit a stress reaction. Rose has three special pets of her own and is training some of her rescues as therapy companions. The work has made her much more responsible and has definitely boosted her self-esteem.”
Everyone needed a sense of purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. Maggie thought it was the key to a happy life, and it was wonderful that a person with Rose’s challenges had found a meaningful role for herself. Still, it sounded like a lot to handle for Holly.
“Is there any hope Rose will recover someday?” she asked.
“Head injuries are still mysterious. But there have been some amazing discoveries recently. Treatments for this type of injury, and for post-traumatic stress, which often results, have really advanced. Rose is very lucky that an expert in this field, Dr. Timothy Riley, opened a center right in Plum Harbor. She’s made so much progress there the past few months. It’s remarkable.”
“Isn’t that where you’re working now? To get that new certification?” Suzanne asked.
“Yes, it’s the same place. I can’t work with Rose directly. It wouldn’t be professional. But I keep an eye on her and hear how she’s coming along in meetings. It’s inspiring to work with Dr. Riley. He has degrees in both neuroscience and psychology. He’s making real breakthroughs with innovative treatments that go way beyond talk therapy. I’m learning a lot from his partner, Dr. Curtis too. She’s the unsung hero there, I’d say. Tim is an innovator, but Emily is a fine doctor in her own right and keeps everything running smoothly. They’ve known each other since early college days and make a dynamic pair.”
Dana was very dedicated to her patients and was an excellent therapist, too. Maggie would easily say that. She already had several degrees hanging on her office wall, but she had decided last fall to work toward this new certification and somehow managed to juggle several days a week at Dr. Riley’s center, along with private appointments at her office on Main Street. Which was not far from Maggie’s shop and convenient for frequent knitting breaks, which, Dana said, were her favorite therapy.
Maggie wasn’t sure how Dana kept her schedule straight, or where all that energy came from. Dana chalked it up to green smoothies and her yoga routine. She loved helping her patients and was very inspired by this step in a new career direction, coming in her midfifties.
“Dr. Riley likes the idea of teaching Rose how to knit. It’s such an enjoyable way to improve concentration and focus. We’ve tried traditional sitting meditation with some patients, but it’s difficult for them to master,” Dana added. “Knitting is active, and you feel so good creating something, which really boosts those good brain chemicals.”
And it was probably for the best that Rose had her first lesson in her own home, Maggie thought. The shop may have been too distracting for her.
“I love those good brain chemicals,” Suzanne said. “But my drug of choice is chocolate . . . or shopping. It’s works a little faster than knitting, for me.”
Everyone knew Suzanne was the slowest knitter in the group, and no one debated her declaration.
“There might be some challenges teaching her, but I know it will help her. I’d like to teach other patients, too.” Dana met Maggie’s glance, silently recruiting her for the next stage of the experiment.
Maggie didn’t mind. It was a great compliment that Dana thought so well of her teaching skills.
“And Maggie will make it seem easy as pie,” Lucy said.
Phoebe shook her head, needles clicking in the dark. “I never understood that expression. Pie is not easy for some people.” Phoebe paused to pull out a length of yarn from the ball in her lap. “The crust can fall apart or stick to the pan. A lot of things can go wrong with pie. ‘Easy as toast’ or . . . ‘easy as a hard-boiled egg.’ That would make a lot more sense to me.”
Icy cold butter was the trick, but Maggie didn’t want to digress into the fine points of mixing pie dough.
“I see your point. I’ll go with toast. It’s just knots and sticks. Not much more than that. I’ve prepared a lesson on a special technique. Very simple but fun, and I hope it will pique her interest.” Maggie’s knitting bag, well stocked for the evening, shifted on her lap.
“Now you’ve caught my interest. Do we already know how to do this stitch?” Lucy asked.
“It’s not a stitch exactly . . . It’s a surprise, and don’t try wheedle it out of me. I think you’ll all enjoy it.”
“I’m up for simple and fun,” Suzanne said. “I’ve been knitting for years, and I’m still waiting for that Zen-flow thing to kick in.”
Lucy leaned forward and whispered in Suzanne’s ear. “Maybe if you put down your cell phone and iPad? It’s easier to handle the needles.”
They all heard Lucy’s advice and had to laugh.
“Come on, I’m not that bad. Maybe sometimes. I can’t help it. I’m in demand.”
Maggie heard a pout in Suzanne’s tone but knew she’d soon recover. “Everyone thinks they get more done if they multitask, but it’s really just the opposite. ‘One tangle at a time.’ That’s my motto. ”
Phoebe sat up like a meerkat popping out of a tunnel. “I love that, Maggie. Can I use it on my website? I’ll give you full credit.”
“Oh, it’s all yours, dear. Plenty of fiber wisdom where that came from.”
An intersection came into view. Maggie noticed a gas station with a convenience store, which had to be a busy spot out here.
“Here’s the turn, finally.” Dana said to Suzanne. “Take a left. The nursery comes up quickly.”
A collective sigh of relief rose, along with appetizing aromas from covered dishes stowed in the hatch. Maggie realized she was hungry, too.
The roadsi
de sign for Piper Nursery was reminiscent of the 1960s and looked like it had not been painted since. Suzanne drove through wooden gates, and gravel crunched under their wheels. The vehicle bounced along the rutted drive as a large old house appeared in the headlights.
They pulled up beside a battered green pickup truck, and Suzanne shut off the engine. Raindrops splattered the car windows, and Maggie gathered her belongings in a rush. She wanted to get inside before the rain fell any harder. They all had the same idea and quickly took hold of their totes and food containers and ran up a bumpy brick path that led to the front door.
A yellow lamp glowed above a small portico but did not cast much light. Maggie tried to make out the outline of the house, a shadowy silhouette against the cloudy dark sky.
She could see it had started as a conventional colonial or saltbox but over the years had been extended many times, in many random directions. The result was that now the house looked like a collection of different-sized boxes taped together for a school project. One that would not win a very good grade, Maggie decided, falling back on her schoolteacher standards.
Thick, rough shingles had been painted dark green; the trim painted white, though probably not since the roadside sign had gone up. Huge old oaks on both sides of the house stood guard, their thick boughs dipping down like strong arms, ready to protect the occupants from unseen dangers.
The drive extended into the property and curved around the back of the house. She’d caught sight of a large garage, one that could hold at least three vehicles; there was also a greenhouse and what looked like a potting shed.
The rest of the land was shrouded in darkness, but she could discern open fields that stretched in all directions, bordered by thick woods. The Essex River ran through this area, she recalled, maybe even right behind this property. No wonder the lot was worth money, though from the looks of it, the Pipers were land rich and cash poor.
