by Nancy Warren
He nodded. “And nobody’s contacted you? Offering to sell them back? Nothing unusual has happened?”
For the third time, I shook my head. “I wish someone would contact me. I’d love to get those things back.”
His face hardened. “Don’t do anything stupid, Lucy. Whoever hit you over the head most likely killed Bryce Teddington. Anything suspicious happens, anything at all, and you call me.”
“Of course, I will.” Of course, I wouldn’t. I’d be calling Rafe and Theodore. But once I’d called them, I’d certainly bring in the Oxford police.
“Thank you. That’ll be all for now.”
I made my way back through the college, and as I came out the main door, a student was going by.
But something drew my eye back to her. It was the woman who’d appeared in the background of the photographs, speaking to Bryce Teddington. Her hair was different, and she looked like a student, with a backpack on and a hoodie and jeans. But I was certain it was her. What was she doing here? Was she a student? And if so, why had she been talking to Bryce Teddington?
She glanced at me as though she felt my eyes on her and then quickly glanced away again and turned her head. Oh, the heck with it. I walked over to her. “Excuse me. I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
She was clearly startled at being accosted like that. She took a step back and looked at me with a completely bland expression. “No. I don’t think so.” Her voice was like her, middle of the road, from somewhere in England that wasn’t particularly identifiable. Her face was unremarkable. She’d pass in a crowd without causing me to look twice. And if I hadn’t studied the woman in those pictures, I would have walked by her without a second glance.
I could still be wrong, but I didn’t think so. “I’m sure I saw you here the other night. There was a gala.”
She gave a casual laugh that seemed forced to me. “I’ve got one of those faces. Everyone thinks they know me. I’m just a girl-next-door type, I’m afraid.” She made to move on.
I stood in front of her and blocked her path. “I don’t think you’re a girl next door at all. There’s a police officer through that door right now. Shall we go and get him?”
My heart was beating a little too quickly. For all I knew, this woman was an international jewel thief and a murderer. But I felt quite bold being that it was the middle of the day and two Oxford CID detectives were yelling distance away.
I could almost see the way she was frantically trying to come up with something to say. “Look, I’m just a student.”
“Oh yeah? What are you studying? Where’s your room? Who are your professors?” She opened her mouth, and I cut her off again. “Don’t even bother to lie to me. You were there that night. And you know something. What is it?”
I took a step closer, getting right up into her face. That’s how freaked out I was. I was acting like a wiseguy in a mob movie. This wasn’t me. Well, this was me feeling terrified about what Sylvia was going to do if I didn’t get those jewels back. This woman had no idea how desperate I was. Though I suspected she was getting some idea from the way she swiftly looked around as though seeking escape.
When it was pretty clear there wasn’t any escape unless she actually was the student she was telling me she was, she dropped her tone and said, “Fine. I’m a film student. I got in by pretending to be one of the wait staff and then ditched my costume and joined the party.”
“Why were you talking to Bryce Teddington?”
She looked as though she was shocked I’d seen them together, then recovered. “I have a script. I’m trying to sell it to the studio. I asked him who to talk to, and he said to make nice to Lord Pevensy.”
That actually made sense, especially as there was a photo of her and his lordship snapped later, when Lord Pevensy looked peeved.
“What was written on the paper he handed to you?”
“Lord Pevensy?”
No. Peter Pan. “Bryce Teddington.”
She licked her lips. “It was Annabel somebody’s direct number. She’s the creative director, and he said if I could get either her or Lord Pevensy to read my script, I had a chance of having my film made.”
A group of students walked by, and she stepped away. “Sorry, I’m late for class.”
And before I could stop her, she’d melted into the group of students.
Chapter 16
The vampire knitting club met that night, and I did not want to go. Gran told me she’d convinced Sylvia to attend, as though that was a comforting thought. Even the knowledge that I’d be surrounded by a dozen or so strong vampires who were my friends didn’t make me comfortable to be in Sylvia’s company. That vamp could carry a grudge.
“You must come, dear,” Gran said, looking troubled. “We’ve got to move past this. I can’t bear to have all this discord.”
“I don’t think we’ve passed discord when a vampire looks at you with literal bloodlust in their eyes.”
She opened her mouth as though she were going to argue with me, or perhaps chide me for being too dramatic, and then shut it again without speaking. If anything, I was playing down the situation. Sylvia wouldn’t even look at me, as though I were beneath not only contempt, but existence. I’d cast a terrified glance at her face, and I would swear on my dying breath, which quite possibly would be very soon, that her eyes had gone blood-red. Blood-red.
I didn’t want to be one of those wimpy women who relies on a man for protection, but in this case, I decided that I wasn’t going to go to the club meeting that night unless Rafe was going as well. I knew I could count on him. I called him and asked his advice.
“Do I go or do I not go?”
There was a long pause. I could imagine him weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he said, “At some point you two will have to sit through a knitting circle together. I’m not certain this is the best time, but on the other hand, Sylvia may be able to help us in our investigation. I think, perhaps, you should go. I’ll be on one side of you, your grandmother on the other side—”
“Gran?” I asked. I loved Gran with all my heart, but pitted against someone ruthless and violent, my sweet grandmother who’d spent her life running a knitting shop didn’t seem like the best protector.
Rafe chuckled low in his throat. “The love that woman has for you is extraordinary. If I’ve learned anything in all my time wandering the earth, it’s that love is the strongest force there is. Your grandmother would tear Sylvia to bits before she’d let her hurt you.”
He didn’t say the rest of the sentence, but I could hear the unspoken words. “And so would I.”
And so at ten o’clock that night, with my heart doing terrified somersaults in my chest, I went down to the shop. I hadn’t been working there for the last couple of days due to the aforementioned bloodlust, so it felt strange walking in. Like coming back after a holiday. I took a quick glance around the shop to make sure that everything looked to be in order. If anything, it was in better order than when I was running it. All the shelves had been tidied to within an inch of their lives.
Wools are not the easiest substances to line up perfectly. But between them, Clara and Mabel had managed it. They had shuffled around my collection of ready-to-wear sweaters, I noticed, so that their own creations were closer to the front. That made me smile. That little bit of ego. And, though they were on the homely side of beautiful, I didn’t disturb the arrangement.
On the back wall, the diamond sweaters looked great. I’d have to ask the two women currently running the shop how they were selling. I had an idea that we might add some of the extra-long stockings that had been such a hit at our Christmas booth last winter.
Rafe came in the front door and looked almost angry when he saw me. “Lucy. You were to wait for me upstairs. What are you doing here in the shop all by yourself?”
“I was waiting for you.” I couldn’t complain that he was late, because I was about ten minutes early. “I wanted to see the shop and make sure it looked okay.”
&n
bsp; He came up very close to me. “Until Sylvia calms down, or preferably, we find her missing jewels, you are not to be alone. Do you understand me?”
In spite of the high and mighty bossing around, of course, I did understand him. I nodded. “I knew you were close. And Sylvia’s not the only vampire downstairs. There’s a whole lot of them that would come to my defense.” I gulped. “I hope.”
“Stay close to me and your grandmother tonight.”
We went into the back room and, since we were the first ones, he helped me arrange the chairs into our usual circle formation. Gran was the first one to come up from downstairs. It was so strange to see her come alone, when she did nearly everything and went nearly everywhere with her best friend, Sylvia. But Gran was drawing her line in the sand, and I really appreciated it. She was saying, by actions rather than words, that if anything went down, she was on my side.
Almost as though they’d prearranged it, which perhaps they had, Gran took the seat beside me. She pulled out her tapestry knitting bag to show me what she was working on. Gran being Gran, she’d taken that basic diamond knitting pattern and added a new twist. She’d embellished it with embroidery and bugle beads. On the green knit background, she’d embroidered Christmas baubles on a red ribbon. “I’m doing a couple of very pretty ones. I thought I’d do some children’s knits, with snowmen and elves and so on, and finally, for fun, I’m doing some very ugly Christmas jumpers.”
“We’ll sell out,” I said, picking up on her enthusiasm.
She said, “I thought it might be fun to add a couple of more elaborate sweaters to your display wall. People could buy them ready-made if they wanted to, or you could build a kit with everything already in it, including the extra directions.”
I thought that was a great idea, and I told her so. The kits were not only convenient for shoppers, but there was a little extra profit in it for the hardworking proprietor of a knitting shop. She got busy with her knitting, and I pulled out my current project. You couldn’t own a knitting shop for nearly two years and have tuition from some of the greatest knitters in history without learning a thing or two. I would never be passionate about knitting, but I was getting better. I’d decided that I was good enough that I could make sweaters for my mom and dad. They rarely made it back for Christmas, and I rarely made it to whatever archaeological dig site they were working on, so we mainly spent time with each other on social media and the phone. I couldn’t manage a diamond sweater. It was way too complicated for my basic skills, but with a little help from friends like my grandmother, I was making my mother a lap blanket and my father a multicolored scarf. I got out my knitting and tried to get to work, but I was so nervous, my hands trembled and the needles clicked together.
Every time the trapdoor opened, I’d look up fearfully. Theodore and Dr. Christopher Weaver came up together. Hester and Carlos came next. Carlos looked disappointed to see Gran sitting beside me. He usually took that seat because we were kind of like the remedial class, and we usually sat together for companionship and mutual support. However, Hester was only too happy to have him to herself, and so the two young vampires took seats not far from me.
Clara and Mabel came in together, chattering away, and then Alfred came up looking extremely debonair in a tweed jacket and cravat. There was one seat left. Would she come?
I could not concentrate. I looked at the mass of wool on my lap and tried to remember what it was supposed to be. What I was supposed to do next.
Finally, the trapdoor opened once more and Sylvia rose from it like an ice queen. She stepped out and stood there for a moment as though she were about to walk on stage and make a grand entrance. And she really did. Every pair of knitting needles stopped moving. Every pair of eyes turned to her. There was absolute silence.
It might have lasted forever, except there was a meow, and suddenly Nyx came padding from the shop into the back room. It broke the moment the way a glass would shatter. And suddenly everyone was at work again, knitting and speaking in soft voices. Though every eye was keeping Sylvia in its peripheral vision, I was certain of it.
She was dressed all in black, as though she were about to attend a funeral. She had everything but the black hat with a veil hanging over her face of mourning. Theater was in Sylvia’s blood, and she’d never proved it more than at that moment. If I weren’t already tormented by guilt, which I was, I would have felt the cold blade of her despair pierce my heart.
Nyx looked around, and when her green-gold gaze landed on Sylvia, her back arched. She opened her mouth in a silent hiss. Then she jumped up onto my lap and, instead of curling herself in a ball to sleep, she sat there like a sentry. I’d seen statues like that in the British Museum. The cat sitting upright and guarding monuments and tombs. That’s what she looked like. Not a cute kitten anymore, but a force to be reckoned with. I felt as safe as I could ever be with Rafe on one side, my grandmother on the other, and one tough, determined familiar on my lap.
Sylvia didn’t say a word. She trod over to the empty chair, which put her between Carlos on one side and Alfred on the other, and sat down. She pulled out her knitting, and it was a black coat. Honestly, she was starting to look like Hester in her worst goth phase with that very pale face and garbed in nothing but black.
Our usual cheerful and industrious knitting circle seemed to have a black hole right in the middle of it, sucking all the cheer and goodwill into it. There was awkward silence and then Clara said, “Right, everybody. Let’s begin our show and tell.”
I thought it was cute that Clara had undertaken the emcee role. I imagined that running the knitting shop had made her feel a sense of entitlement. Whatever the reason, I was grateful to her for starting. And I could feel the strain as her voice was pitched higher than usual and she said the words much louder than necessary.
She cast around and said, “Hester, let’s begin with you.”
Hester brought out the diamond sweater she was working on for the shop. Gran had obviously talked her into also doing one of the pretty embellished sweaters, and she was at pains to explain how she’d decided to applique her designs onto sweaters. Instead of Christmas motifs, she’d gone for a double helix on a green background and a black music note on a white background. “I thought they’d make good gifts for college students if they were studying science or music. I’ve got ideas for lots of different motifs.” She seemed argumentative about her idea, which meant she was worried we wouldn’t like it.
But I loved her sweaters and told her so.
“Is one of them for me?” Carlos asked, laughter in his eyes.
“No!” she almost hurled the word. No one said a word about the boyfriend sweater curse, but it floated in the air. Finally, Carlos said, “Good,” which nearly had Hester floating in the air.
As we went around the circle, all of our show-and-tell bits were truncated. This wasn’t going to be a normal meeting, and all of us knew it. When we got to Sylvia, she offered the black cloth and said in a sepulchral tone, “I am working on my shroud.”
I wanted to giggle. I really did. That kind of nervous, horrified, inappropriate giggle that you make in the middle of a solemn funeral because your nerves get the better of you. Plus, she was really laying it on thick. When was Sylvia going to need a shroud? She hadn’t needed one in the last hundred years, and she looked to have a few centuries in her yet.
No one said anything, and we passed mercifully along to Alfred, who was only too happy to show off the blanket he was crocheting.
“Do you feel the cold?” Clara asked him.
He looked down his very long nose. “No. It’s for charity.”
We didn’t even get to me, thank goodness, before Sylvia suddenly stood up and said, “Yes, yes, but I didn’t come here to look at a load of badly knitted and hideously composed, amateur designs. What have you discovered about my jewels?”
To say the silence that greeted her outburst was strained was to say the least.
There was an energy in the room as though a lo
ne human had tried to attack a pack of hungry and angry wolves. I felt the control that they were all exerting to damp down their ire.
Theodore spoke up. “Well, if it’s all right with everyone, we can move on to discussing the unfortunate theft of Sylvia’s Cartier set.”
She made a very rude sound. “Unfortunate indeed.”
I didn’t even look up from my knitting because I could feel her staring directly at me for the first time since this had happened. And I didn’t want to see those blood-red eyes again. It was the stuff of nightmares.
Theodore laid out what we knew so far: the discovery of Bryce Teddington’s body and the mysterious woman he’d been seen talking to, who had turned up again at the school today.
“So you have nothing,” she said in a furious tone.
Theodore said, “I’m still curious as to why the studio contacted you now. Why they were so anxious to get the jewels and have a gala celebration so close to the beginning of the project.”
Sylvia looked thoroughly irritated at this line of questioning. “Obviously, it’s a brilliant, iconic film. My performance was legendary. I’m surprised it’s taken this long.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Theodore said hurriedly. “But your lawyer was contacted virtually out of the blue by Rune Films. Is it normal for a film to have a gala before anyone significant’s been attached to the project? We know the male lead was only just out of rehab and would have jumped at the chance. There was no director, no screenwriter, no female lead. Even the costume designer had no contract. Bryce Teddington told Lucy he thought things were out of balance. Do you think he could have been right?”
“Do not speak that name to me!”
He looked at the rest of us, his cherub face a masterpiece of patience. “I wonder how we can discover why there was such a push to have the gala.”
“No doubt it was a publicity stunt to encourage funding,” Sylvia said.