Yarned and Dangerous (15 page)

Josie didn't like the next thoughts that popped into her head. Why was Evelyn so insistent that Josie find Cora's sales notebook? Was she afraid of what Cora had recorded? Evelyn might have bought some of this same yarn herself. And she was hiding something across the street.

Acid churned in Josie's stomach. Could Evelyn have made the blue cord and killed Lillian? And if so, why?

Gwen returned with the coffees. Josie picked hers up and took a sip, grateful for the distraction. She was pretty sure it took a fair amount of upper body strength to strangle someone. Could a woman in her sixties manage it?

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Gwen remarked. “You okay?”

Josie snapped back from her musings. “Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Didn't sleep well last night.” Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the display, which indicated a new text message. “Excuse me for a minute, will you? I don't mean to be rude.”

It was from Monica, her friend back in New York.
Have found serious buyer for whole inventory. No need to ship. They'll arrange truck. $40K is the offer. Just take pix and send so they can verify.
Hallelujah.

“S
o we're done?” Evelyn said, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “Just like that?”

“Just like that, and thanks for the help.” Josie felt her body relax with relief on so many levels. Her trust in Evelyn was wavering, so Josie hadn't been all that enthused about working with her any longer. And though she had no idea how much the contents of the store were actually worth, forty thousand dollars sounded like a fair price, one she was sure Eb would accept. That money would more than make up for his lost maple syrup this year, if Mitch hadn't been able to convince Eb to take his help.

“I feel bad, leaving the job undone,” Evelyn said, pulling out her knitting.

“Please don't. You've done so much already.” Josie sipped at her coffee. “I'll just go back and take some photos this afternoon and send them off. The buyer will send movers to do the rest of the work.”

Gwen looked at her watch. “I'm glad everything worked out for you. Time for me to scoot. I've got a couple of errands to run before the kiddies get home.” She snapped a lid on her coffee cup. “Stop by next time you're in town visiting Eb. I'd love to show you the house.”

Josie felt a pang of guilt. Once she got back to New York, would she ever think about coming back to see her great-uncle? Maybe. Maybe not. She wasn't exactly proud of that thought. “I'd like that,” she said. Gwen moved quickly out the door.

“Well. I suppose if you really don't need me, I can find something to do this afternoon.” Evelyn seemed just a bit testy. Why? Had she been working at the shop in hopes of finding and disposing of some kind of evidence, like Cora's notebook, because she was guilty of murder?

Evelyn put her knitting into her purse. “Let me know if you want to get together again before you leave. I'll miss you,” she said, her voice breaking.

Josie's stomach clenched. Evelyn had been nothing but kind to her and Eb, and here Josie was mentally accusing the woman of dreadful things. The thought crossed Josie's mind that maybe Evelyn was just . . . bored. Making casseroles for Eb and Roy and helping out at the shop kept her occupied.

“I'll miss you, too,” Josie said softly. “But I'm not going until Eb is back on his feet or my mother gets here.” Whichever came first.

Evelyn nodded.
Please don't cry,
Josie thought.
I feel bad enough
.

“All right then,” Evelyn said. “I'm off. And don't worry about tracking down that other skein of yarn. I'll find a pattern that will work with what we have.” She patted Josie's hand, then left.

Josie took her time walking back to Miss Marple Knits. She had to stop thinking of it that way, as a business with a name. An identity. Soon the old building would be gone, and a new one would be built in its place. Miss Marple Knits would be just a memory. Like Cora. Josie's stomach knotted again as she opened the door.

Dropping her bag and coat on the couch, she headed directly for the storeroom to assess the contents. There didn't seem to be anything there that the movers couldn't take, other than the shelving, which Eb might want for his workshop. She made a mental note to ask him about that when she told him about the offer. Tonight she'd bag up Cora's yarn from the house and give that to Evelyn to divide up among the knitters of Dorset Falls as she saw fit.

The only place left to check was upstairs, where Cora might have stored an additional stash. If Josie could find it. Was there even an entrance from this shop, or was there an outside door fronting on Main Street, like the building across the street? The door wasn't in the front of the store, so she began to walk the perimeter of the back, scrutinizing the walls, most of which were covered with shelving and boxes. Finally, in the back left corner, a doorway presented itself.

Josie took a deep breath. The area was dimly lit, most of the fixtures being located toward the front wall. The dark-painted door swung open with a creak that made her fillings ache when Josie turned the knob. Reaching inside, praying she wasn't going to be grabbed by something unseen, she ran her fingers lightly along the interior wall until she located a switch and flipped it on.

She was looking at a stairway, all right. A very steep, very cobwebby stairway. Footprints were visible in the dust on the steps, probably from the crime-scene techs or the detective. There was a narrow pathway cleared through the cobwebs.

Josie returned to the shop area and retrieved a broom. Was this really necessary? Unfortunately, yes. She had to at least take a look at what Cora had stored up there before the building was demolished.

Applying the broom into the corners, Josie held her breath and swept down the webs, which stuck to the broom like a serving of unappetizing cotton candy. Halfway up, she gave in and took a breath, immediately regretting it. The air was stale and musty. She coughed and soldiered on, finally reaching the top.

The stairs opened onto a landing about eight feet square. Natural light shone through a window on an outside wall. Moving counterclockwise, she poked her head into each of the rooms that rimmed the landing. There was a tiny kitchen with 1950s-era appliances and a black-and-white linoleum tile floor. An even tinier bathroom housed pink china fixtures and a clawfoot tub covered in peeling darker pink paint. Ick. She couldn't imagine taking a bath in that thing.

The last room was fairly large compared to the others, perhaps ten by twelve. It was probably meant to be a living room, since a bank of windows lined the front wall, leaving the room too exposed to be a bedroom. A ratty plaid couch sat in the middle of the space.

What a relief. Cora didn't have anything of value up here. Not that Josie had really expected to find anything. No self-respecting yarn junkie would subject her stash to this much dust and grime. Based on the condition of the second floor, checking the third seemed like a waste of time. But she needed to finish the job.

She returned to the landing and picked up her trusty broom. The stairs to the third floor twisted up and around, and her stick of cobweb candy grew even fatter as she ascended.

Instead of a series of small rooms, this set of stairs opened into a large, empty space. Nothing up here to bother with either. There was a bank of windows in front of her, identical to the ones on the second floor. She made her way toward them, then stepped back involuntarily. The windowsills were full of dessicated spiders and flies. Double ick.

From a safe distance, she looked out the windows. Three stories down, Main Street and the sidewalks that lined it wouldn't be visible unless she got closer. Which she was not about to do.

But she could see the individual bricks of the building across the street, outlined in whitish mortar.

A pigeon fluttered, then landed on the windowsill. Josie frowned. Was that the window where the light had been last night? It hadn't been her intent to come up here and look into the other building, but here she was.

And there it was.

She moved closer to the windows, avoiding looking at the bugs. The shades were pulled in all of the windows across the way. Nothing to see here, folks.

Or was there? She stared. She hadn't been mistaken. A third-floor shade moved, almost imperceptibly, as if a breeze had blown across it.

Josie moved quickly to a side wall, out of sight of anyone who might be watching. She felt horribly . . . visible. There were no shades or curtains at all here on this side of the street.

And yet, why should she be uncomfortable? She had every right to be up here, and she had nothing to hide. Still, if there were some Boo Radley watching, she didn't want to give him anything to . . . watch.

Except it wasn't Boo Radley. She was pretty sure it was Evelyn. Or Helen. Doing . . . something over there. Curiosity continued to gnaw at Josie. She forced her gaze from the window and took one last look around. There was nothing here that needed removing before the demolition, so she was done.

Back in the storeroom, she pulled out her cell phone and took a dozen or so photos of the contents, hoping the flash was bright enough to show acceptable detail. She did the same in the front, then bundled the pictures all into a folder, which she sent off to Monica to forward to the buyer.

Her eyes fell on the picture of Miss Marple on the wall. Suddenly, the movie sleuth didn't look friendly anymore.
Traitor,
she seemed to be saying from behind her knitting.

“What do you want me to do, Jane?” Josie said aloud. “I'm just the labor around here. It's not my decision to close.” She took the picture off the wall and placed it face down on the counter. There. Just because she'd promised to let her stay until the end didn't mean she had to look at her.

Josie shut off the lights and locked the door on the way out.

 

“The offer is forty thousand dollars for the contents of the shop.” Josie scooped out some of the not-so-Spanish rice casserole and added a dinner roll to Eb's plate, setting it down before him.

Her great-uncle tore the roll in half and slathered on a heart-attack-inducing amount of butter. “Take it. I'll maybe buy a new truck. Then you can go home.”

Josie placed her own plate on the table and sat down. “Sick of me already? I'm not leaving till my mother gets here. Who else is going to do your laundry and listen to you complain?” She smiled.

“I don't complain. Why is there no salt on this table?”

She snorted, grateful she didn't have food in her mouth yet. “You're plenty salty. And you don't need more. It's bad for you.”

“Hmmph.” He stabbed his fork into his dinner.

“So, Eb. Did Cora have any family? Anyone else we might have to ask before we accept?”

His Adam's apple bobbed up then down as he swallowed. “Nope.”

No one could ever accuse her uncle of giving too much information. “Mom's handling the estate paperwork, right? Who's the lawyer?”

“Your mother's in charge. Ask her.”

“I can't ask her, Eb. She's on a cruise.” Josie felt her jaw twitch with frustration. She was almost certain Eb could have answered all her questions, but just didn't want to be bothered. And there was a problem. Everything had to be moved out of the building ASAP because Trey was evicting them. If she couldn't broker this deal and get the buyer's movers here fast, she was going to have to figure out how—and where—to transport the inventory until they could come and pick it up.

“Yup.”

Clearly Eb was going to be no help.

After dinner she settled herself into the morning-borning room and fired off another text to her mother.
Have offer on shop. Please call ASAP.
It was only to make herself feel better by taking some action. She'd already asked her mother to call, and her mother would call when she was able.

Eb didn't have any boxes lying around—he'd just grunted when she asked—so she'd grabbed some plastic trash bags from the kitchen. Chances were good that Evelyn would be so happy to get her hands on Cora's stash, she wouldn't mind the less-than-snazzy containers.

As Josie sorted and stuffed, she allowed the yarns to run through her fingers. Each skein had its own weight, its own texture. Her mind began to wander, imagining garments made from some of these skeins. A 1950s-style sweater with gently puffed short sleeves in raspberry, worn over a slim dark skirt and tights. A dove-gray knitted jacket, complete with lapels, belted over a pair of wide-legged pants in cream. A lacy emerald green stole wrapped over a perfectly fitted sheath dress in the same color—perfect for New Year's Eve. The images were clear in her mind.

She could picture them on a model. Or herself.

But she couldn't
make
them. At least, she couldn't make the knitted items. Her degree programs had required her to do some sewing along with her designing, so she would be able to produce only half of each outfit she'd imagined.

She could, however,
draw
the missing pieces. Josie opened up the bag of yarn she'd been working on and dumped it out onto the desk, then sat down, staring at the fuzzy lumps of color. Pulling some sheets of plain paper off a stack on the desk, she began to sketch.

And sketch.

And sketch some more. The pencil flew, and the sheets of paper stacked up with more designs than she'd produced in the last three years working for Otto. Of course, these were all just quick representations and would have to be refined before she gave them to Otto. And for now they were in black-and-white, but she made careful notes on each page about color and textures. Tomorrow when in town she'd see if she could get some colored pencils at the g.s.—even crayons would do, she supposed, in a pinch.

Not all of these designs would make it into her final fall collection. But she had a
concept
—a thing she'd never quite managed to get right before. Knitwear combined with modern garments, which would look just as good on the runway or the red carpet as they would on an average woman. For the runway show at least, the knitted components would need to be handmade. And she had a number of knitters at her disposal in Dorset Falls. Evelyn seemed like just the person for the job.

Josie's whole body was still tingling with excitement when she finally put down the pencil—which she'd sharpened enough times tonight that it had lost a third of its length. Gathering up the sketches, she tapped them against the surface of the desk and patted the top and sides until they were in a neat stack, set them down on the desk, then leaned back in the desk chair, exhausted.
This is a very comfortable chair,
she realized.
And a comfortable place to work, too.
Maybe this trip to the country was exactly what she'd needed to get her spark of creativity back.