Last Wool and Testament: A Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery (2 page)

“If nothing else, by your size, I can see the resemblance. Little bitty red-haired thing like you shouldn’t be going so fast.” He glanced at my license again. “Ms. Rutledge, is it? You slow down, Ms. Rutledge, or you’ll end up in the cemetery sleeping next to Crazy Ivy. Hey, now, are you feeling all right?”

Little bitty thing like me might have been growling and ready to bite. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Her name was Ivy McClellan. She was a kind, caring, generous woman and a wonderful human being.”

“And some folks called her Crazy Ivy. Didn’t you know that? Well, you’re from way up north there in Illinois, so maybe you didn’t.”

Actually, I did, but I didn’t think a sheriff’s deputy ought to be calling her that on the day we buried her. “I spent plenty of summers here with her and never saw or
heard anything from anyone but love and respect for her.”

“And I’m sure plenty of people will miss her and are sorry she’s passed on,” he said. “I just think it was mighty convenient for her that she did.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her death. Convenient. As in good timing.”

With those jaw-dropping statements, he handed me the ticket along with my license. Then he stood, chest puffed out, hands on hips, waiting for me to continue sedately on my way, duly chastised and contrite.

Being pulled over by an insulting, insensitive oaf of a sheriff’s deputy wasn’t in my happy birthday plans, either. I sat for another moment, memorizing his face in my side mirror, promising myself that never would I or any of my children, should I have any, ever consider procreating with the likes of, or a close relative to, Cole Dunbar.

I started the car, wishing it could backfire and belch black smoke on command. As Deputy Clod disappeared behind me, the fresh green Tennessee mountain air flowed through my open window, providing aromatherapy of the simplest kind. Grief washed over me again, replacing anger. I followed the road down through a wooded hollow, across the single-lane bridge over Little Buncombe Creek, and around the last bends of cracked and faded asphalt climbing Embree Hill. The final stretch passed in another blur, this one not due to excessive speed.

Then there were the wrought-iron gates, standing open like welcoming arms. I hesitated, wiped my eyes. Now that I could make out the burial party in the distance, farther up the hill, urgency took over again. Not checking to see whether Clod loomed behind me, I scattered gravel with a final burst of speed up the cemetery’s winding drive.

I left the car door hanging open and ran to join the others, knowing I was late, hoping they’d waited. I got
there in time to see my grandmother’s ashes lowered into the grave. Pressing one hand to the stitch in my side, I held the other to my mouth and finally let the tears come.

No, it wasn’t the way I’d planned to spend my thirty-ninth birthday. Then again, it wasn’t the way Granny had planned to spend it, either.

Chapter 2

G
ranny might not have planned
when
she’d go, which was a month after her own birthday. Eighty was a fine age, by any standard, to still be competently in charge of one’s own business and living alone, but it wasn’t the ninety or one hundred Granny had hoped to see. Nor had she anticipated
how
she would go—walloped to the floor by a massive heart attack. She’d been feeling puny, as she called it, and the doctors concluded she’d had a sneaky, silent heart attack that left her feeling out of sorts but otherwise unaware of the damage or danger.

But Ivy McClellan was an organizer and she knew exactly
what
she wanted to happen after her death. She left instructions with her lawyer, the funeral home, her longtime store manager, and me, her only living close relative. The gist of those instructions: cremation, no funeral, minimal burial service, and no plastic flowers,
ever
, on her grave.

Her plans were meticulous and complete, so when I was walloped to the floor myself, by the phone call telling me she was suddenly and unexpectedly gone, I was able to get my feet back under me by burying myself for a few more days in the textile evaluation I was doing for a small museum in Richmond before charging down to Blue Plum.

I’d meant to be up by five thirty, on the road by six.
That didn’t happen, and between the late start, construction delays, and the very annoying stop for speeding, I missed most of Granny’s minimal burial service. I heard the final words, spoken after the ashes were lowered, through sobs I muffled with a wad of Kleenex. After the conclusion, and after pulling myself mostly back together, I saw what a nice-size crowd had made the trip out from town to this pretty hillside to see Granny off.

She’d told me she chose this cemetery, Oak Grove, because of the view. She hadn’t liked the cemetery closer to town. That one was convenient, but it ran along the highway like a bedraggled bit of rickrack, squeezed between the new jail and the county nursing home, neither one a joyful prospect for eternal contemplation. In Granny’s estimation, Oak Grove was more like it. From this hill, with its scattering of sheltering trees, you could see the classic setup of the mountains. Ridge behind ridge behind ridge, like an appliquéd quilt, each layer of hills a deeper color, from jade to emerald to cyan to amethyst, the last disappearing into an indigo so black you could imagine infinity.

“Kath, honey, you held yourself together real well.” Ardis Buchanan brought me back from that infinity with her forgiving lie. Then she drew me into her honeysuckle embrace.

I murmured something even I couldn’t quite hear. Ardis was a foot taller than I and her hugs were all-encompassing. She was Granny’s store manager and had worked at the Weaver’s Cat for as long as I could remember. Granny nimble and spry, Ardis solid, steady, and always smelling of honeysuckle.

At the point where I might have had to gasp for air, Ardis let me go, then whispered, “I know she didn’t want any fuss, but some of us are having a little wake down at the shop after we leave here, and we need you there.”

“Why the sotto voce?” I whispered back. “Are you
afraid she’s listening and will find out you’re already bucking her instructions?”

“I’m afraid the Spiveys will hear and crash the party.” Ardis tipped her head toward three women who had the funeral director cornered behind an ornate pink granite headstone. Neil Taylor nodded to whatever they were saying, his solemn face polite. Only his crossed arms hinted at impatience, or maybe resignation.

“The twins and who else?” I recognized Shirley and Mercy. They were well past sixty, with married names decades old, but in Blue Plum they were still, and always would be, the Spivey twins. They were also Granny’s cousins, once or twice removed. Or, as Granny often said, the further removed, the better, bless their hearts.

“The third one is Angela,” Ardis said. I must have looked blank. “Mercy’s daughter.”

“Really?” Angela looked to be about my age, but she wasn’t familiar to me. “Did I know the twins had children?”

“Possibly not,” Ardis said. “You know Ivy wasn’t one to spread bad news.”

“Ardis.”

“What? I’m not speaking ill of the dead. Actually, I think there might be hope for Angela. Used to be, you could call her Mercy Junior, but after she married she got herself a little tattoo. I don’t know if she’s ever officially told her mama, but if she bends over it’s hard to miss.”

“Tattoo of what?”

“I’m not entirely sure. That’s an area of Angie I’ve never wanted to stare at. But here, now, I’ll let you go. Other people are waiting.”

“Thanks, Ardis.” I gave her another quick hug that felt like home. “Can we talk later?” I was remembering my encounter with Deputy Dunbar. I’d decided to be charitable and not blame him for slamming the brakes on my mad dash to the cemetery. He was only doing his duty. But I wasn’t about to forget his bizarre remarks about the
timing of Granny’s death, or his attitude toward her. Ardis would know, if anyone did, where that came from.

“We’ll talk at the shop, hon. And it looks like later might be sooner.”

She was right. The breeze was picking up, dark clouds moving in. The farthest ridges were blacker yet, wilder and foreboding.

“Kath?”

I took another look at the sky, then refocused on the person in front of me. Nicki Keplinger stood there, dabbing her eyes.

“You look so sweet, Kath.” Nicki was another of Granny’s employees. She’d been at the shop a couple of years. She was in her late twenties, my height but boyishly slim. According to Granny, she was also bright and dynamic, with a good grasp of e-tail possibilities. I didn’t know her as well as I knew Ardis, but Granny sang praise of her ambitions for the business. She grabbed my hand now and pressed it between both of hers, bending her head toward mine so we were nose to nose and looking into each other’s eyes. Hers were red from crying, as mine must certainly have been. Her dark hair swung forward and brushed my cheeks, making me more claustrophobic than Ardis’ enveloping hug.

“Ivy and her gifts will be sorely missed,” she said, “but all anyone will ever have to do is look at you and they’ll think they’re seeing her all over again, you favor her so much. Except for your age, of course, because she was your grandmother and you’re younger. Though I believe you are older than I am, aren’t you?”

“Nicki?” I took a half step back, wondering where her level head had disappeared to.

She clapped her hands over her mouth and burst into tears. Debbie Keith and I watched Ardis lead her away.

Debbie rounded out Granny’s staff, working part-time at the shop and more than full-time raising sheep
on her farm, out in the county, along the Little Buck River. She was only a couple of years older than Nicki, but always struck me as closer to my own age. Granny said they both brought energy to the store and complemented each other. Nicki was her sprite—all fizz and imagination. Debbie was her young earth mother—grounded and full of common sense. “Nicki hasn’t been herself since she found Ivy,” Debbie said.

“Nicki found her? Oh, poor thing.”

“Truly awful. It’s given her nightmares. I don’t think she’s ever lost anyone close that way before.” Debbie had. I’d forgotten. Granny told me she’d lost her husband three or four years before, after only three years of marriage. Maybe that was one of the reasons Debbie seemed older.

She gazed after Ardis and Nicki, looking wretched, and shook her head. Then she sighed and nodded as if confirming that assessment of nightmares and death. I didn’t feel capable of adding anything more eloquent. She gave me a quick hug and then followed Ardis to her car.

“People like to hug on us,” Granny had told me once. “Something comes over them when emotions run high and short women are present, and unless you have the heart to nip it in the bud, you might as well get used to it.” Granny tolerated hugs, generally, and she would have been proud of me that day. I exchanged them with people I knew somewhat from distant summers, and others I’d met during more sporadic visits in recent years, and with many more I’d rather have met with Granny standing beside me.

“Kath?” The woman holding her arms out to me now looked like one of those elegant, silver-haired models in ads for expensive retirement communities. “I’m Ruth Wood. Your grandmother bragged to me about your studies and career every chance she got. Congratulations on all you’ve accomplished.”

“Ruth, yes, of course. The Homeplace, right?”

She nodded. “Ivy was so proud of you. I’m sorry it took this occasion for me to finally meet you.”

“Did you know she called you ‘the Elusive Ruth’”?

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere in Ruth. She looked as though she might be able to keep it down, but it spilled over and she gave in to it. “Oh,” she finally said, “it breaks my heart. Ivy was one of my favorite people. But look at you—you don’t need to be comforting me. I do have a message for you, though, from my husband. He was Ivy’s lawyer.”

“Handsome Homer?”

She laughed again. “Ivy was always right. Yes, well, ‘Handsome’ was horrified when he realized he needed to be in Knoxville today and couldn’t be here.”

“Granny wouldn’t have minded.”

“But he did. Anyway, he wanted you to know he expects to be back in time for your appointment tomorrow morning. And
I’d
like you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, while you’re here, you can just call me.” She took a business card from her purse and handed it to me. “The number for the Homeplace will reach me during the day. The cell will reach me anytime.”

“You’re very kind. Thank you, Ruth.”

She shook her head. “She was a dear. I’m going to miss her.”

As I tucked her card into a pocket, thunder rolled across the hills and the first fat drops of rain began to fall. Ruth touched my shoulder, looked at the sky, and ran to her car. There were people I hadn’t greeted yet, including the Spivey trio. That was probably no loss, but I wanted to thank Neil Taylor, the funeral director. His faithful attention to Granny’s instructions had eased my burden.

Another roll of thunder, and the rain came down in earnest. A few people waved before sprinting. I caught Neil Taylor’s eye. He shooed me along and I obeyed. The
car seat was already wet when I leapt inside, thanks to my earlier negligence in leaving the door open. I was about to pull away when Mr. Taylor materialized out of the rain and rapped on the window.

“You’re getting soaked,” I shouted, lowering the window a few inches and squinting against the rain pelting in.

“I won’t melt. I have something for you.” He leaned in close and quickly passed me an envelope wrapped in plastic. “From your grandmother.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“She was one in a million. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

“I won’t.” Wait a second. Why would they? But before I could ask him, he disappeared into the downpour.

I raised the window and looked at the package in my hand, recognizing Granny’s forethought in the plastic wrapping. It was a cheery orange. Probably a rain wrapper she’d recycled from the
Blue Plum Bugle
. She liked to say if you could see the top of Banner Mountain that meant it would be raining soon. And if you couldn’t see the top, then it already was.