Yarned and Dangerous (8 page)

Her stomach rumbled. It was well into the afternoon, and she and Evelyn had not stopped for lunch. But it was too close to dinnertime to eat more than a snack. She looked toward the back of the shop. At some point she'd have to face going into the storeroom, where a person had died. But not today.

J
osie picked up cat food and a candy bar at the general store before heading back to Eb's place. She'd decided to walk to the store, which just happened to give her an opportunity to cross the street and look in the unmarked window of the door that the yarn-crazy women of Dorset Falls kept disappearing into. But all she could make out through the frosted glass were the fuzzy outlines of what might have been a stairwell. And of course, the door was locked. Not that she'd really expected it to be open, but it was worth a try.

The Saab's heater was about the only thing that worked well, and Josie had it going full blast, along with the radio, which refused to pick up any stations other than AM. She switched it off.

Since there was still some daylight left, this seemed as good a time as any to take a drive through Dorset Falls. The Saab sputtered as she motored down Main Street, past the small snow-covered town green. The spire of the Congregational church was bright white against the fading blue of the sky, as a ray of remaining sunlight made its last stand for the afternoon. At the stop sign in front of the redbrick town hall, she took a left onto Maple.

Two blocks down, the house was still there. It had been painted a pale green with darker green trim, which seemed a little monochromatic for a proper Victorian color scheme, but was pretty enough. The clapboards had been yellow when she and her mother had rented the house for a couple of years, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

She pulled up and parked in front of it. It wasn't large, or grand, like the houses over on Elm Street, but it was being lovingly tended just the same. The front walk had been shoveled, the edges cut precisely and neatly into the snow. The steeply pitched roof appeared to be new, and a wreath covered in pink and red silk flowers hung on the door, presumably in honor of Valentine's Day next week.

It had been tough, changing high schools in her sophomore year, leaving behind her friends. She'd eventually made a new friend in Lorna, but she'd never felt like she fit in. Dorset Falls was always temporary, just a stopping place. So when graduation came, the city called her, and she'd never looked back. She wondered now if maybe that had been a mistake.

Lost in her musings and distracted by the white noise of the car's heater, she didn't realize someone was at her driver's side window until a gentle tap brought her focus to the present. A woman stood there, her pink puffer coat open despite the cold.

“Can I help you?” she said as Josie rolled down the window. “Do you need directions?” Her face was friendly, framed in dark blond hair that feathered softly. She seemed to be about Josie's age.

“Oh, no,” Josie said, feeling her cheeks heat up. “I used to live here, that's all. It looks really nice.”

The woman smiled. “How wonderful! I'd invite you in for a tour, but I'm just on my way to pick up my kids from the bus stop. I'm Gwen Simmons.”

“Josie Blair.”

Gwen looked thoughtful. “Oh, I know who you are! You're here to close up Miss Marple Knits. Such a shame about Cora. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“I . . . didn't really know her.” Every time someone said something sweet about Cora, Josie felt a stab of guilt.

“Well, she was wonderful. And the fastest knitter I've ever seen. I could never keep up with her.” Gwen glanced toward the next intersection.

Was everyone in this town a knitter? No wonder Josie had never felt like she belonged here. “I should let you go.” A big yellow bus appeared in her rearview.

“There it is. I need to catch my little monsters before they wreak their special brand of havoc on Dorset Falls. I'm downtown three mornings a week to do the books for my husband's gas station and car repair shop. Maybe I'll stop in and say good-bye to Miss Marple.”

“Sure,” Josie said. “That would be nice.” She found she meant it, then chastised herself. No sense getting attached to people when she'd be leaving soon. She rolled up the window and drove off, waving to Gwen as she passed.

Another left turn took her onto Elm. This was where the big houses were, ancient saltboxes that were as old as Dorset Falls itself interspersed with oversized Victorians completely impractical for the small families of the twenty-first century. One of these would have belonged to Cora, though it was impossible to tell which one. Josie alternately watched the road in front of her and glanced at each home as she passed, trying to read the dates on the plaques on some of the historic houses.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Diantha Humphries, the last person she wanted to see, had emerged from one of the houses and was walking gingerly toward a late-model car that idled in the driveway. Why could Josie not seem to get away from that woman? Diantha got into the car just as Josie passed by. Maybe the—what was it Lorna had called her?—old battle-ax hadn't seen her. Though why should Josie care? She had just as much right to be driving down Elm Street, Dorset Falls, Connecticut, as any other person on the planet.

“You're being ridiculous,” Josie said aloud. Maybe if she said it enough times, she'd come to believe it. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed Diantha's taillights. Josie blew out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Her old boyfriend's mother was going in the opposite direction.

Ten minutes later she pulled into Eb's driveway. Her car sputtered again as she shut off the ignition. Hmmm. That was a new sound. Of course, the temperature was in the single digits. Miss Bessie didn't like the cold any more than Josie did, apparently.

She found Eb seated in his usual spot, with his daily crossword in progress. He didn't look up as she came in, but filled something in on the newspaper. “Hope you've got something planned for dinner. Got skunked today.”

“Skunked?” Josie hoped that didn't mean Jethro had been sprayed. That smell might never come out of anything he touched, and the dog had the run of the house. At least Coco would have enough sense to stay away. Where was Jethro, anyway?

Eb looked up at her, over the tops of his reading glasses. “Means we didn't catch anything.” He returned to his puzzle.

Whew. Josie loved to eat fish. In restaurants. Where someone else cooked them. “Oh. Well, I'll figure out something for dinner.”

“Yup. Maybe you could figure out how to use the percolator, while you're at it.”

“Sure thing.” Not. She'd asked Lorna to pick her up an automatic drip coffeemaker next time she went to the big-box store. That percolator thing scared Josie. What if it exploded?

“Your nose is growing, missy. I'll settle for tea.”

By the time the water was hot and the tea was steeping, Eb had moved from the crossword on to the Jumble. She set the mug down on the table beside him. “The detective in charge of investigating Lillian's death talked to me today. You'll probably be hearing from him.”

Eb marked something on the newspaper, then erased it. “Already did. Thanks for telling him where I was.”

Wow. Detective Potts worked fast. “He actually questioned you while you were fishing?”

“I'm an old man on crutches. What was I supposed to do? Strap on some blades and skate away from him? Neighbor Boy told me I should cooperate.”

“I'm glad Mitch was there.” For whatever reason, he seemed to like Eb.

“Hmmph. Takes after his mother's side of the family, not his idiot grandfather Roy Woodruff.” Eb went back to his newspaper and, based on the set of his jaw, was apparently done talking. Well, she could ask Mitch about Eb's encounter with Detective Potts next time she saw him.

“I'll be in Cora's room if you need me. We should get started on her papers.” She gauged his reaction. How had he felt about Cora, really?

Eb grunted. That could mean he missed her desperately, or was over her death already. But it was useless to speculate. People grieved in their own ways. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

The morning-borning room was lit with oblique late afternoon light, a last hurrah before darkness set in. And once the sun went down in Dorset Falls, she'd found, it got very dark, very fast. Not like the city, where lights turned on and stayed on to keep the darkness at bay. Preemptively, she switched on a lamp and sat down at the desk.

A
meow
sounded from somewhere around Josie's ankles. She looked down to find Coco curled up in one of the bottom desk drawers, lying on some paperwork. “Must have forgotten to close that yesterday,” Josie said. “Sorry, girl. You look comfortable for now, but I'll be more careful next time. Wouldn't want the drawer to shut on you accidentally.”

She decided to start with the top of the desk. There was a lamp with a stained-glass shade that looked antique on the right-hand corner. Next to that, pens, pencils, and a letter opener stood upright in a coffee mug that said CORA, the name wreathed in flowers. She wondered if it had been specially made for her. Cora wasn't a name anyone gave a daughter anymore, so it didn't seem likely the mug could have been bought in any regular store. Kind of a shame. The name was old-fashioned, but pretty.

A stack of papers sat to the right. Josie picked up the pile and blew on it. A dozen or so soft black hairs floated off into the air before settling to the oriental carpet on the floor. Coco would never make a good criminal. She left too much evidence of where she'd been.

Cora must have paid her bills, but hadn't had the chance to file them away before she died. Invoices from the electric and phone companies, and what appeared to be yarn suppliers, were marked with the handwritten notation “Paid” and clearly pertained to the shop. Josie put those into one pile. There was a bill for an insurance premium, and the rest were bills for the house she was in. The numbers seemed reasonable. Eb had been a bachelor a long time before he married Cora and had been supporting himself. Josie assumed he'd still be able to do so, as long as the feathered ladies out in the chicken coop continued to do business and the pumpkins continued to grow in the fall.

She picked up a manila file folder. The tab was labeled
Historic Preservation Commission,
but the file was empty. Perhaps Cora had been going to reuse or recycle it. Josie set it into a separate pile in case she needed a folder later.

It didn't take long to go through the rest of the paperwork. She looked through the desk drawers and found a checkbook. The register was dutifully noted with each check Cora had written, along with a balance. Josie shut her eyes, and looked at the balance again. Holy Calvin Klein. If Cora's register was up to date, she had several hundred thousand dollars in her checking account.

Josie sat back in the desk chair and whistled. According to Evelyn, Cora had just sold her historic house. It seemed likely this represented the proceeds, and she'd died before she had a chance to put the money into any kind of long-term account. She could have kept Miss Marple Knits going indefinitely with this kind of money, even if the shop ran at a deficit every month.

Did Eb know about this? More important, did Cora have a will? Was Eb the only beneficiary, or were there others? Josie wondered if a lawyer had even been contacted. She wasn't familiar with the laws of Connecticut, but she was pretty sure the estate would have to be probated. Her mother had been here for the funeral. She would know. In fact she'd probably gotten the legal process started for Eb. But Mom was on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean right now, out of cell range.

There was a good chance that Eben Lloyd, Yankee farmer, was now a rich man.

Josie put the checkbook back in the drawer where she'd found it. What else was she supposed to look for? Right. Cora's notebook that recorded her yarn sales. It hadn't been in the desk, so Josie thumbed quickly through the top drawer of the cabinet. The files were neatly organized, which would make this process much easier. The second drawer contained what appeared to be knitting patterns, each encased in a plastic sheet protector, and was divided up into sections. Hats, Mittens/Gloves, Scarves/Shawls, Sweaters, Socks. Socks? People actually still knitted socks? Miscellaneous.

She opened the third, then the fourth drawers. They were crammed with—she should have expected this—yarn. Not just yarn in every conceivable color, but various knitting needles and some other tools she couldn't identify. How many more stashes would Josie find before she went back to New York?

A godawful howl pierced the silence, followed by a barking frenzy. Coco let out a corresponding yowl, then jumped out of the drawer and ran under the skirt of the upholstered armchair. Not that she needed to be afraid. The door was shut, so the beast couldn't get in.

“Jethro!” Eb's voice was commanding, although muffled. “It's just a car going by, ya big dope.” About now Eb would be scratching him behind the ears. She should go out and make sure everything was okay. And it was dinnertime for pets and their humans.

Josie reached down to close the bottom drawer of the desk. Tomorrow she might dust and vacuum this room. This was a nice place to work—and it occurred to her that it was time to check in with the Haus of Heinrich before it was too late to get her job back. She peered into the drawer. Yup, she'd need to vacuum the cat hair out of there too. Hmmm. What was that?

She pulled the drawer out as far as it would go. Coco had been lying on an unopened ream of copy paper. But she had also been lying on something soft and blue. Josie reached in and pulled it out. It was a skein of yarn, wound into a ball. And the variegated shades appeared to be a perfect match for the scarf Cora had made her.

Josie did a mental fist pump. A matching hat was on the radar now. She hoped it wouldn't take Evelyn long to make it, once the cat hair had been washed off the yarn. Why, though, Josie wondered, was this yarn all by its lonesome in the drawer when it could have been all comfy and cozy jammed in with the rest of Cora's stash? It seemed odd for some reason. But Josie supposed she'd never know. Perhaps Cora had just tossed it in there, then never had a chance to put it away. Josie pulled out a plastic bag—she was learning—and zipped the yarn inside.