by Holly Quinn
A Crafter Knits a Clue
A HANDCRAFTED MYSTERY
Holly Quinn
Wendy and Jason
A real couple. Who make a real difference. In a real community.
Acknowledgments
Thanks readers! Considering the abundance of text we are inundated with on a daily basis, I feel honored and blessed that you took the time to read my work. I hope as you spend time in the fictitious town of Heartsford you’re entertained, it’s a place you’ve come to love, and everyday stress takes a back seat to a curious escape.
It takes many helpful hands to bring words from a laptop to a finished cozy mystery that you now hold in your hand. Please indulge me while I gush over a few that have helped along the way.
Sandy Harding; my agent and confidant. Thank you for your insight in those early days and guiding me like a beacon of light to take a shot when I was ready to quit. Your professionalism and years of skill have brought us here. Also, my editor at Crooked Lane Books: Faith Black Ross, who sharpened my pencil and added invaluable insight, it’s been a privilege to work with you. Jenny, Sarah, Ashley, and the rest of the team at Crooked Lane Books, your work has not gone unnoticed in this author’s eyes … Thank you team! And to the cover artist: Ben Perini-awesome job. Because books really are judged by their covers!
Those at Spencerhill Associates and Crooked Lane Books who have worked behind the scenes on our behalf. Thank you.
A very special note of thanks to: Maria Leigh / Vanilla Pod Socks and Kay Nitschke / The Easy Sock for creating unique knit sock patterns just for you readers! Their patterns are included in the back of this book. Please feel free to send me pics of your final creations to pass on to them.
Wendy and Jason. What you do for the public and how you motivate others has been true inspiration for the sense of community in this book. Sharing yourselves and loving others. You guys are just full of Faith and Giggles. Keep shining your light!
Jared, Sara, Jesse, Aubrey. How I miss you and wish we all shared life closer.
My sweetheart of a husband, Mark. Your continued support and encouragement amazes me. Only you would put up with our imaginary book friends this long and enjoy them as much as I. When I think of love, I think of you.
Finally, the original S.H.E. Yes. Those were the best of times …
Chapter One
It was yet another gray and colorless Wisconsin day, and Samantha Kane peeked out the front display window of the Community Craft store, urging the sun to make an appearance. Well, at least spring would be showing up inside—if not outdoors. She turned and lifted her round hazel eyes in search of Carter. She found him perched on the top step of the ladder, stretching a long arm to hang a colorful umbrella from the ceiling. Spring Fling—an annual event and parade held the second Saturday in April, designed to drag the community out of the long winter hibernation—was fast approaching, and Samantha wanted her shop to look seasonally festive.
“Over here, Sammy?” Carter balanced on one foot, hooking the umbrella to its final destination with one hand.
“Sure.” Sammy brushed auburn bangs away from her eyes. “Please be careful, I don’t want you to fall.” She loved that he called her by her childhood nickname. Even though she was fifteen years his senior, they had a great rapport because of his older sister, Kate Allen. Carter’s sister had been Sammy’s best friend since grade school. When Sammy had returned to the small town of Heartsford, Wisconsin, to attend Kate’s funeral, she had realized Kate’s store—the town’s favorite gathering place, Community Craft—would be closed permanently. The shock of losing Kate was hard enough; the tight-knit community couldn’t lose the store too.
Kate and her store had brought everyone together through the selling of handmade goods. Knit items, homemade soaps, handcrafted wooden furniture, wood burned plaques, quilts, hand sewn garments and doll dresses, pottery. Anything that was handmade by people in the community was sold at Community Craft. The store even had a section with books for sale, and Kate had held book signings for local authors.
The sales weren’t the most important part of the shop though. It was the numerous fundraisers and community efforts that made it thrive. When Jane Nelson fell ill with cancer, local quilters had come together at the store to piece together a blanket to bring her comfort. When Miles Danbury lost his job, people had bought his handcrafted wooden furniture to help him pay his bills. He was never late on his mortgage and, most importantly, kept his dignity. When Bob Dueck’s brother went missing, the whole town had met at Community Craft to hand out fliers to start a search team. The knitting group supplied the local hospital with soft-knit hats and booties for the new babies born in Heartsford. Whatever the townspeople had needed, the store had provided.
So, when Kate had died in a freak accident, Sammy wouldn’t let Community Craft close. No. She hadn’t allowed that to happen. She had taken over the store in hopes of eventually selling it to someone who would keep her friend’s legacy alive. Yet three years later, she was still running the shop on Main Street. Happenstance. The last thing in the world she ever thought she’d do was retail. And yet here she was.
Sammy looked up at the high school basketball star, grateful he was on the ladder, so she didn’t have to overcome her fear of heights, at least for today. She knew it wouldn’t last though. With the basketball team heading to the championships, she’d have to prioritize Carter’s help for the next few days since she would only have him for a few hours after school each day. His cell phone buzzed, and after he had secured the umbrella to the ceiling, Carter sat atop the ladder with his legs hanging at length off each side. Sammy shook a warning finger at him to not waste time on the phone. She had a feeling she would be working a few late hours this week to prepare for Spring Fling.
Maybe it was time to hire additional staff. Sammy just wasn’t sure she could afford it. With the holiday season over and folks still paying off their Christmas debt, the end of winter was seasonally slow. Carter interrupted her thoughts. He cupped his hand over the phone to shield the person on the other end from hearing. “It’s Ingrid. She wants to know if I can come over and help hang a knit afghan in the window.”
Sammy grunted aloud. The new neighbor who owned the yarn supply shop a few doors down on Main Street, seemed to think she could call on Carter any time she wanted. Even when it was on Sammy’s dime. Carter was so good-natured that he bent to the older woman’s demands too often. Since Ingrid had turned out to be the high school basketball coach’s long-lost aunt, she had some extra pull over the teen. Sammy wondered secretly if Carter would eventually grow up to become the town mayor like his dad, Mark Allen. Always coming to everyone’s rescue.
“Tell her I’ll be right over. You keep hanging those umbrellas. It looks good. I’m happy you hung one upside down to show the design. Clever work.”
Carter grinned at her compliment, showing his newly gleaming straight teeth—his much-loathed braces had been removed just a few days prior.
“I’ll be right back.” She waved a hand at Carter. The more she thought about Ingrid, the more she fumed. She realized that Ingrid had just opened the yarn shop a few months ago and Sammy should cut her new neighbor some slack. But seriously, why couldn’t she hire someone? Why did Ingrid always call on her or Carter for help? Although, she knew that wasn’t exactly true. If Sammy hadn’t agreed to go over now, half the town would be called upon to fix Ingrid’s problems. Well, Ingrid was going to have to wait a bit longer, Sammy decided. If she rushed over right away, what boundaries was she setting? Instead, she purposely visited her office to check a few emails. When the guilt wouldn’t allow her to wait any longer, she closed her laptop, zipped on a nylon jacket, and set off through the back door.
The al
leyway behind the shop was wide and ran along a large parking lot that serviced the public when visiting the many businesses along Main Street. This time of day, the lot was vacant, except for a dark blue car screeching out of the exit. Where were the police when you needed them? She’d have to mention that to Tim the next time she saw him at the coffee shop. Someone should patrol these parking lots. Geez. Thank God there were no pedestrians around. People really needed to slow down. Someone could have been hit by that car!
Sammy pulled the nylon jacket hood up over her head to protect her from the postwinter chill as she trudged across the parking lot toward her neighbor’s shop. Evidently, the weatherman hadn’t factored in the windchill, as the temperature was nowhere near the fifty degrees he’d promised on the morning news. Maybe it was just the lack of vitamin D that was making her unusually grumpy. It seemed the whole town was suffering from the lack of sun. There weren’t a lot of people out and about. Everyone seemed to be hibernating. There was a heavy feeling in the air along with the low hanging clouds. Like it could rain or snow again at any minute.
Sammy opened the back door of The Yarn Barn and called out to Ingrid. She was surprised her neighbor wasn’t waiting by the door to greet her. Was she with a customer? But the store was eerily quiet. Sammy was growing increasingly frustrated. She didn’t have time to mess around since Carter was only on the clock for another hour. She stomped her feet a little louder as she walked a few feet deeper into the shop. Hopefully, Ingrid would get the hint from her nonverbal signals, but she doubted it. Sammy bumped into a rack filled with fleece-lined knitted socks. Oh, these are nice and soft. Mental note, after paying off bills, she needed to stop by and pick up a pair. Spring or no spring, her feet were freezing.
Even after Sammy’s slight distraction with the sock rack, Ingrid was still nowhere to be found. Where was she? The smell of hot coffee tickled Sammy’s senses. She must be taking a break in the upstairs office. But she noticed a full cup steaming a few feet from the cash register. As Sammy turned to walk behind the counter, she almost tripped over a foot. The color drained from her face. The shopkeeper was on the floor—a dark green aluminum knitting needle jutting alarmingly from her throat. It was obvious …… Ingrid was dead.
Chapter Two
Sammy didn’t have to wait to run into Tim at the coffee shop. Within minutes, he had answered the call from dispatch and was standing beside her in the parking lot behind The Yarn Barn. She watched in numb shock as the coroner wheeled the body of Ingrid Wilson, covered with a black plastic tarp, toward an awaiting van.
“You were the last person who talked with her? What time was that?”
Tim—Sammy’s cousin’s boyfriend, who worked for the Heartsford Police Department—towered over her. He looked like a professional football player. His uniform fit too snugly on his solid arms, and his wide neck was as large as the outer edge of his head. But as he stood next to her asking questions, it seemed like she was in a fog—her ears barely registered the words coming out of his mouth. An EMT approached as Tim waved his meaty hand closer. “Hey, John, can you take a look at Sammy? I think she’s in shock.”
Sammy shook her head in disagreement and brushed the EMT aside. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, Tim. What did you ask me?” Her eyes rose to meet his as she tried to convince him that she was emotionally capable of answering all of his questions.
“When did you talk to Ingrid?” Tim threw his hands onto his hips and waited for an answer. His overrun eyebrows furrowed, making one continuous line across his round face.
“I didn’t. Carter talked to her. Oh. I forgot about Carter. He needs to clock out soon. What time is it?” From where she stood in the parking lot, Sammy looked toward the back door of her store and saw a perplexed Carter sneaking a look out the door. He was watching the flashing lights and commotion that had taken over the back alleyway of the businesses. Upon noticing Sammy talking with Tim, the teen rushed toward them. His long legs brought him to rest in front of them in record speed.
“What happened?” Carter’s eyes darted around the parking lot in search of answers.
“It’s Ingrid … There’s been an accident.” Sammy put a hand on Carter’s shoulders to brace him for the news.
“Not an accident. A murder.” Tim piped up. “Carter, I understand you were the last person to talk with Ingrid?”
The teens face turned ashen. “I was? Oh God, yes.”
“Tim, he’s a minor.” Sammy stood between the two and ushered Carter protectively to a nearby bench. She sat next to him and glared at Tim as he shrugged, stepped back, and then headed toward the yarn shop, knowing he’d stepped over the professional line. She followed him with her eyes as he entered through the back entrance of The Yarn Barn to continue looking for evidence.
“I can’t believe it. This is totally not possible. What about Coach?” The high school basketball coach, Augustine Ellsworth Wilson III, who everyone in Heartsford referred to only as “Coach” was Ingrid’s nephew. To lose his aunt in such a brutal fashion would be devastating. Carter folded forward and braced his head in his hands. After a few moments, he lifted his head and turned to Sammy wide-eyed. “She died?”
“I’m afraid so.” Sammy rubbed the back of the teen’s now perspiring neck. The stress of the situation had won out over the cold temperature causing him to sweat. “I’m just glad I was the one who went over and discovered her … and not you.”
“But I just talked to her?” Carter said with disbelief.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry. It’s crazy, isn’t’ it?” Sammy continued to comfort the young man until he leapt up from the bench in a panic.
“I have to get to practice. I’m late.” He ran his fingers over his short blond buzz cut. “Oh God, this is nuts. Poor Coach. Will Coach know? I can’t be the one to tell him.” Carter began pacing back and forth in the parking lot. He stopped abruptly and looked down at her. “I’ve got to get outta here.”
Sammy stood and reached to grab him by the arm. “Are you okay to drive? This is quite a shock.” She wasn’t sure it was the best idea to let him go, but she also knew his personality and that no matter what she said it wouldn’t stop him. He would turn eighteen next week. Although she protected him like a minor, he would soon bump over into adulthood. But Tim didn’t have to know that just yet. Sammy knew Carter had nothing to do with the murder anyway. There was no reason the police should need to question him further.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got to go now.” He headed toward his car and left her standing alone in the parking lot, wondering what had just happened in their sleepy town, and now desperately needing one of those colorful umbrellas that Carter had hung on the ceiling.
The skies opened in an icy downpour and the few people left hanging on the sidelines trying to comprehend the scene before them, ran for cover. Sammy decided to close Community Craft early. Tim would know where to find her if he had additional questions. She sprinted to the back door of her shop, shaking the rain off her jacket as she entered. Immediately, she took the path through the racks of merchandise to lock the front door and change the sign to CLOSED so that she wouldn’t have to answer any questions about the murder. News in a small town traveled fast, and she wasn’t prepared for the gossip that would circle like a flock of vultures.
The realization that she might have been able to prevent this from happening came swift and hard. If she hadn’t gone to check her emails … if she had just gone to the yarn shop right away when Ingrid called. The guilt nagged at her heart. She rubbed the ache in her chest as if she could make it go away. She had also narrowly missed the attack herself—if she had gotten there earlier, she might have been involved. The thought made her shudder.
The jingle of the bell on the back door alerted her that someone was arriving. Sammy maneuvered toward the back of the store to see who it was. Tim stood in the doorway, filling the space with his wide shoulders. “Hey, I still have questions for you, young lady.”
“I know. I wasn’t ditching you. I just
wanted to lock the front door. I’m closing early. In fact, I should probably post an update on Facebook so my customers aren’t disappointed, showing up to find the store closed.” Sammy shrugged off her wet jacket that now clung on to her like an unwanted hug and hung it on a nearby rack. She ran her fingers through her damp, short auburn hair that draped just over her ears. It continued to stay matted to her head, so she gave up trying to look presentable.
“You can’t share the murder on Facebook.”
“I know that. I’m not going to say anything about Ingrid … just that I’m closing Community Craft early.”
“Oh, okay then.” Tim walked through the door and stood in front of the counter, tapping his fingers on the wooden slab. “Hey, do you want to join me and Heidi for dinner at the Corner Grill? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
The Corner Grill was the local hangout on the corner of Main Street and Sumner. With a large bar and mini stage, they offered karaoke on Friday nights and local bands on Saturdays. Wednesday, however, was all-you-can-eat pizza night, which usually filled the two-floor establishment.
“Nah. But thanks.” Sammy moved past him into the office and quickly logged onto her laptop. “Just give me a sec, okay?” she shouted from the adjacent room. After posting the store closing, she moved back to the main room, behind the counter, where Tim waited patiently, digging at a hangnail.
“Who would do this?” Sammy crossed her arms across her chest. She spoke more to herself than the policeman standing in front of her.
“Anything else you can share? I’ve got Detective Nash over at the scene now. Have you met him yet?” The Heartsford Police Department had recently retired Stan Oberon, and now there was a new detective in town. From Minnesota. Sammy hoped for his sake he wasn’t a Vikings fan. If so, he’d certainly be in trouble, as the whole town bled green and gold. Green Bay Packer fans practiced their own religion in Wisconsin.