Yarned and Dangerous (4 page)

Eb was watching her intently from underneath his formidable brows. “You'll do what's right, missy. I'm sure of it.”

 

At nine thirty the next morning, Josie arrived at Miss Marple Knits. Since she hadn't chosen a bedroom yet, or even unpacked, she'd spent the night on the living room couch under a warm hand-knit afghan. The animals were fed, Eb was breakfasted and settled in with his morning crossword, of which he seemed to have an endless supply, the kitchen was cleaned up, laundry was started, and the eggs were gathered and delivered to Lorna at the general store. To-go cup of hot coffee in hand, Josie felt as if she'd already put in a full day's work.

Life was certainly on a different schedule in Dorset Falls than in New York. Back in the city she would just be getting to the office, after having spent at least an hour on her hair, makeup, and clothes. Today, she'd rolled off the couch, brushed her teeth and splashed some water on her face, and thrown her hair back into a ponytail. She felt a little naked, but it was liberating at the same time.

Josie pulled the list she'd made last night out of her pocket and reviewed. Number one item for getting this shop closed down: Set up computer. She opened her laptop and set it on the counter. She hunted around until she located a phone jack and plugged in. Hoping Cora had an Internet connection (and that somebody had paid the bill for it since she'd been gone), Josie booted up and crossed her fingers. Bingo! She was online—a feat that had proved impossible at the farmhouse, so far. If Cora had installed Internet capabilities at the house, Eb didn't know about it. Or was too ornery to tell her.

Number two, start making an inventory of the store goods. Eb had told her there was a back room on the first floor, as well as an empty apartment upstairs where Cora might have stashed her excess. A glance around told Josie there was only one interior doorway, so that must lead to the storeroom. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and flipped on the lights.

To her left was a bathroom. Thank goodness. Now she wouldn't have to walk down to Lorna's when the need arose. Beyond that was a large room lined in shelves. Cardboard boxes full of old books, patterns, and various types of yarn were stacked on the shelves. As she moved around the room, her heart sank. This was a huge job, and she had no idea how to put a price on any of the stock. But there was nothing for it but to get down to work.

In one dim corner stood a tower of boxes as tall as she was, all marked C
ASHMERE
in black ink.
Mmm, cashmere sweaters
. So soft, light, and warm. That seemed as good a place to start as any. Pulling the top box off the stack, she set it on the floor. The movement must have disturbed the balance of the stack because it began to teeter. Josie put out her arms to try to steady it, then jumped back as the boxes tumbled over. She landed hard on her bottom on the unforgiving wooden floor.

There was no time to worry about whether she'd broken anything. She was too shocked at what had been uncovered when the tower fell. Scrambling to her feet, she moved closer.

A woman lay atop a bier of open boxes. Face pale and still as that of a statue, her gray head rested on a pillow made of skeins of fluffy yarn. A blue, tightly twisted cord was wrapped around her neck, the tassel end fanned out and situated precisely in the center of her ample bosom.

Josie stifled the urge to scream. She'd met this woman, if only briefly, the day before. Lillian Woodruff. One of the women who'd tried to buy the shop. The one who'd accused Josie of taking advantage of Uncle Eb. Josie ran to the front of the store and punched 911 into the keypad of the phone on the counter. “Send an ambulance to Miss Marple Knits. And hurry.”

J
osie's stomach roiled as she disconnected the call and returned, reluctantly, to the storeroom. Could she help the woman? She had no first-aid skills beyond basic peel-and-stick bandages. To her untrained eye, the woman appeared stone dead. Lillian's skin was as gray as her hair, her chest was not rising and falling, and she hadn't so much as twitched. Should Josie cover her up? Start CPR? Mouth-to-mouth? She shuddered, then looked at her watch, a gift from Otto to her last Christmas. How long would it take for someone with medical skills to get here? She shouldn't disturb the crime scene, that much she knew.

The sound of the bells at the front door caused her heart to jump into her throat, but then she breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the front. A uniformed police officer stood there. The woman was petite, with her dark hair pulled back into a rather severe bun. She unzipped her winter jacket and put her gloves in the pockets.

“The ambulance is on its way,” she said with efficiency. “I'm Officer Coogan. Take me to the injured person, please.”

“Uh, this way.” Josie led the way to the back. Officer Coogan scanned the room, then made a beeline for the body. She put her fingertips to the woman's wrist, then looked thoughtful. “No pulse,” she said. “I think it's too late, but we'll wait for the EMTs from the fire department to get here to confirm. Looks like Lillian Woodruff.”

Josie swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. The woman was dead. In her storeroom.
Eb's storeroom,
she mentally corrected. What was she supposed to do now? Fashion school had prepared her to design clothing to wear to funerals, not how to behave in the face of death.

Officer Coogan's large brown eyes softened, as she apparently took pity on Josie. “I haven't seen you around town. Are you Eb's niece, the one who's here to take care of him while he recovers?”

Wow. Big surprise. Everyone in town already knows I'm here
. Memories of living in Dorset Falls, where everybody knew everyone else's business, came flooding back. “Yeah, I'm Josie Blair.”

“Well,” the officer said, giving a wry smile. “I'm sure the Visiting Nurses' Association is thrilled you've come.”

Josie chuckled softly. She liked this woman, despite her no-nonsense demeanor and the circumstances under which they'd met. Officer Coogan was clearly trying to put her at ease, and it was working. A little.

“Eb's family, and I was the only one available to come.”

The officer nodded in approval.

Josie felt her spirits rise as she and Officer Coogan returned to the retail part of the store. Through the expanse of glass in the front windows a set of flashing lights had appeared, and the lights were attached to a big white ambulance with the words D
ORSET
F
ALLS
VFD E
MERGENCY
S
ERVICES
emblazoned on the side.

“Well, Josie. What happened here? Why is Lillian Woodruff lying in the storeroom with a cord wrapped around her neck? I don't think that's a fashion statement.”

Officer Coogan's words echoed Josie's own thoughts. Why
was
Lillian here?

Josie looked the police officer in the eye. “I wish I knew.”

“Me too,” Officer Coogan said, returning the look. “Because I'm pretty sure she didn't die of natural causes.”

Josie gulped. The officer's words confirmed what Josie had already suspected. That cord of blue yarn was wrapped too tightly around Lillian's neck to be anything other than a murder weapon.

Officer Coogan smiled sympathetically. “Why don't you sit down? Is there someone I can call for you?”

“I'll be fine.” Josie realized, a bit ruefully, that there
was
no one to call. She only knew a handful of people in Dorset Falls. Uncle Eb couldn't drive until his leg healed. Lorna, with whom she'd barely had time to reconnect, was busy running the general store. And that crabby lady from the Charity Knitters. Diantha, Trey's mom. Well, nobody was likely to show up at the meeting of their mutual admiration society.

Josie sat down on the couch by the front window just as the EMTs rushed in. Officer Coogan met them and led them to the back.

Josie stared outside. Main Street, what she could see of it that wasn't blocked by the ambulance, was deserted. Despite the fact that she was in semirural Connecticut, she would not have been surprised to see a tumbleweed roll down the two-lane road rimmed with empty parking spaces. Of course, what was there to attract people to downtown? The potentially charming brick storefronts were mostly empty, the windows of the shops papered over. She wondered again how Cora had managed to keep Miss Marple Knits in business. Maybe she'd ask Eb if he knew where Cora's shop records were kept. Josie hadn't seen an office or even a desk here.

“Why do I even care?” Josie mused aloud. Her eyes roved over the bins of yarn and the scarves and sweaters hanging in various spots about the room, presumably sample items made from the shop's inventory of fibers. “I'm only here to help Eb and to close up. I'll be gone in a couple of weeks.” Why did that make her feel just a little bit sad?

She stood at the window and looked out on Main Street again, thoughtful. Across the road, a narrow wooden door between two empty shops opened a crack. Josie glanced up. The upstairs windows were dark and shaded, without any discernible curtains or houseplants sitting on sills. The door opened farther, and a woman dressed in a drab khaki-colored trench coat stepped out onto the short stoop. She glanced around, stared for a moment at the ambulance, then pulled her unstructured hat firmly down over her head. She walked off briskly in the direction of the general store, the tails of the long coat blowing in the cold February wind.

Josie frowned. If she wasn't mistaken, that was one of the ladies who'd accompanied Lillian here yesterday, looking for a sale on Cora's yarn. What had she been doing over there, in an apparently abandoned building? Not that it was any of Josie's business. In New York, you learned to stay out of other people's affairs, no matter how curious you were, and it seemed like good advice here, too.

“Josie?” Officer Coogan's voice made her jump. “Sorry to startle you. I think it would be best if you went on home now. It's going to be a while before the techs get here to process the scene.”

“Process? You mean this is a crime scene?” Officer Coogan nodded. Even though Josie had expected it, the confirmation hit her like a falling anvil in a cartoon. Someone had died at Miss Marple Knits, and it hadn't been an accident.

“You're staying at Eben's, right? If you're all right to drive, go on back there now. I or someone else will get in touch with you. We'll need a statement.”

“Me? I got into town yesterday, and I met the . . . dead woman . . . once for about five minutes. What could I possibly know?” She hated the way her voice had risen along with her agitation level.

Officer Coogan put a hand on Josie's shoulder. “We know that. News travels fast in a village this size. But it's procedure. So go on home, make a cup of tea, and wait until we contact you, okay? We'll let you know when you can come back to the shop.” Her tone was calm and kind, but it also brooked no opposition.

Josie wrapped the scarf Cora had given her around her neck, then buttoned up her coat and donned her leather gloves. Strange. She felt a little proprietary about this shop, somehow, and didn't want to leave it in the hands of strangers. Not that she wanted to be here when they wheeled out Lillian's body. “Okay,” she finally said. “I'm going to stop first at the general store and pick up something for Eb's dinner since I don't know where to buy groceries yet.”

“There's a good-sized store in Litchfield, five or so miles south. You can buy pretty much anything there,” Officer Coogan offered. “But I'd suggest the chicken potpie or the macaroni and cheese from the g.s.”

Josie's stomach rumbled in response. Yankee comfort-food meals and working in the fashion industry were, for the most part, mutually exclusive, at least in public. But goodness, chicken potpie. And she wasn't exactly working in the fashion industry anymore, not until she could convince Otto to give her and her designs one more chance.

“I'll wait for your call,” she said, shouldered her bag, and headed out the door.

 

The general store was blessedly warm. Josie was grateful to be out of the cold wind and unwound her scarf, letting the ends hang loose while she shopped. She picked up a plastic basket and looped the handles over her arm.

Lorna waved her over. “What's going on at Miss Marple? Did Eb fall? I saw the ambulance pull up out front, but couldn't leave the store to see if you needed help.”

Josie's heart warmed. She barely knew this woman after so many years, yet Lorna felt like an old friend. Still, Josie debated. Should she say anything? Officer Coogan hadn't given her any instructions. It could hardly hurt to tell—the news would be all over Dorset Falls by sunset anyway.

“No, it's not Eb. He's home doing . . . whatever Eb does. It's Lillian Woodruff.”

Lorna's eyebrows shot up. “Lillian? What was she doing at Miss Marple Knits? You're selling the inventory online, right?”

Why did Josie's stomach give a little flip every time she thought about closing up the shop? Dread, most likely, at the size and scope of the job before her. And with a murder investigation underway, who knew when she'd be able to get started in earnest? She might be here in Dorset Falls longer than she'd planned for.

“Lorna, were you and Lillian friends?”

Her friend's mouth fell open. “What do you mean,
were?
And I'd say we're acquaintances, not exactly friends.”

Josie caught her lower lip between her teeth. There was no nice way to put it. She dropped her voice. “Lillian's dead. I found her in the storeroom.”

Lorna rushed out from behind the counter and wrapped Josie in another hug. “Oh my goodness,” Lorna said. “Sit down at one of the tables, and I'll make you some tea. Unless you'd rather have a coffee?” Her face was filled with concern.

“I can't stay long,” Josie said. “I should get back to Eb and let him know what's happened, since he owns the shop now. But a cup of tea sounds lovely.” Josie sat back and shrugged off her coat and laid it on the chair next to her as Lorna returned to her station.

A shadow passed in front of her, and Josie looked up.

“I just talked to the police officer at Cora's shop. What did you do to Lillian?” The voice was clipped, laced with barely controlled anger, and came out of the hard lips of Diantha Humphries.

Josie stiffened. “What is it you
think
you know, Diantha?” Josie wasn't a teenager afraid of her boyfriend's mother anymore, and she had no intention of letting Diantha bully her. She'd been through enough today.

Diantha's eyes narrowed, and her voice lowered. “I know everything that goes on in my town, Ms. Blair.
Everything
. Whatever it is you're up to, you won't be able to hide it from me for long.”

“Well. I guess I'll have to go rework my evil master plan, then, to keep you on your toes.” Josie sat back in her chair. “Don't you have anything better to do? I'm sure Trey and his wife have some business you can stick your nose into.”

Virtual steam was emitting from Diantha's ears. Her finger shook as she pointed it at Josie. “You've still got an attitude, haven't you? I want you out of this town before you do any more damage. Head on back to New York and stay there,” she ordered.

Josie smiled sweetly. “Great! I'll make up the spare room for you out at Eb's so you can take care of him. I'm sure you can handle him and the farm chores too. Do you like chickens?”

Lorna returned with two oversized china mugs with real steam rolling off the tops. “Can I help you, Diantha?” Her voice was innocent as she set down the mugs. “That hemorrhoid cream you special ordered should be in any day now.”

“Watch it, Lorna. I'm in no mood to deal with you right now.” Diantha turned to Josie. “Don't underestimate me, Ms. Blair.” She stormed off in a cloud of perfume—Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds, if Josie wasn't mistaken.

Lorna sat down and began to dunk her teabag up and down. “Don't let her get to you. Ever since that old battle-ax got elected to the town council, she thinks she's entitled to run everything her own way.”

“I get the strange feeling she still doesn't like me.” Josie sipped her tea, let some of the hot liquid roll around on her tongue, and swallowed. “This tea is amazing! What is it?”

Lorna waved her hand in the air. “Oh, it's one of my own special blends. Winterberry.”

Josie was impressed. “Well, it's as good as anything I ever tasted in New York. Maybe better.”

Lorna beamed. “I do the baking here, too. I'll send you home with some cookies for Eb. He likes my oatmeal raisin. So what happened to Lillian? Did
she
fall?”

Josie took another sip of the tea. It tasted of blueberries and maple with a hint of vanilla. Lorna could make a fortune selling this stuff in the city. Josie leaned forward, seeing no reason not to tell her old-new friend, but not wanting to broadcast the news about Lillian either. “I think she was murdered. The police think so too. They're investigating the shop now.”

Lorna's jaw dropped. “Murder?” she whispered. “But who would do such a thing to an old woman? Sure, she had her opinions on things and wasn't shy about letting anyone know what those opinions were, but she wasn't disliked.” She dunked her teabag again, then used a spoon to fish it out of the mug. “Not like Diantha. Any number of people in Dorset Falls would have a reason to want her dead.”