A Wicked Yarn

by Emmie Caldwell

  “Wow,” Sharon said.

  “Yes, wow,” Maggie agreed. “But that’s Joan. So,” she said to Lia, “I take it this was your first time at one of the professor’s talks. What did you think?”

  “Very interesting,” Lia said. “And it made me very grateful that my little house escaped the burning.”

  “You and a lot of others,” Maggie said. “The worst damage was done to the more important buildings of the time, like our town hall. Not that it was the first time or the last for that one. We’ve gone through a few town halls over the years, but we’re getting better at it. The current one has been around at least fifty years.”

  “Sounds like you know your Crandalsburg history,” Lia said.

  “Not as well as our professor. But I do volunteer a bit with the historical society.”

  “Do you? Is Professor Brewer the head of it?” Lia asked.

  “Uh-huh. We never had one until he got it going. It’s all volunteer, including his work. We run on donations, which sometimes means running on fumes,” she added with a cackle. “But Brewer manages to keep it all going. He’s very passionate about it.”

  “How is he to work with?” Lia asked. “I mean, sometimes people who are that driven can be pretty demanding.” A particular surgeon came to mind. Great at his job but drove the staff crazy.

  “Thinking of volunteering?” Maggie asked with another elbow jab. “We could use you. But, yeah, Brewer isn’t the easiest. There was the time he nearly tore the place apart when he thought the papers he’d brought in were lost. All was well once we found them.

  “Another time, though, he went ballistic when he learned an old house had been torn down. The place had no historic value other than being old; I mean, nothing of any consequence had happened there, and it was only one of several others of the kind. Plus, it was already half-crumbled, but that didn’t matter to the professor. We all walked on eggshells around him for a long time. But that sort of thing doesn’t come up often.”

  Really? “Did he know about the possibility of the Schumacher barn being sold?” Lia asked.

  Maggie paused, suddenly serious. “That’s been tickling the back of my mind, too. Did he know what Darren Peebles was up to before he was murdered? I don’t have an answer. You’d think he’d always be on top of things like that. Then again, he sometimes misses stuff, like he did with that old, dilapidated house.”

  “The barn does have historical value,” Lia pointed out.

  “Yes, it does,” Maggie agreed.

  “You said he’s gone ballistic. Has the professor ever been violent?”

  “No, never.” Maggie shook her head firmly. “Shouting, yes, and the occasional fist pound, but never anything more than that.”

  “Well, if you’re wondering if he could commit murder to preserve a historic barn, I’d say he’d be more likely to go to court,” Sharon put in.

  “Does he have that recourse?” Lia asked Maggie. “I mean, are there statutes in Crandalsburg to protect historical buildings?”

  Maggie grimaced. “Actually, no. That’s something Professor Brewer has been pushing hard on.” She drew a breath. “But it hasn’t happened yet.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I’ll bet he’s our guy,” Hayley said after Lia returned home and described the evening.

  “I’m not so sure. Yes, he would be horrified to see the craft fair barn torn down. But he’s a scholar, an intellectual, and, yes, he gets upset, but according to Maggie he’s not a man who resorts to physical violence to get his way.”

  “She isn’t around him twenty-four/seven, though, is she?” Hayley argued. “She probably only sees the more controlled side of him. And if he can lose it in front of his volunteers, what would hold him back alone in a remote place with a man he must have been furious with?”

  “But why would Brewer be meeting Darren at the barn in the first place? And so late?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he tried talking to him reasonably and got nowhere? So he worked out some kind of trap. You said he was passionate.”

  “About historic preservation, yes,” Lia conceded. “But passion doesn’t necessarily lead to murder.”

  Hayley reached down to Daphne. The cat had left to explore the house and returned to find her preferred sofa cushion occupied. A few seconds of a mild accusatory stare was all it took to get a warm lap as replacement. “You hate to think the worst of people, Mom. You’re going to have to get over that.” She scratched at Daphne’s ears.

  “I am?” Lia smiled.

  “We’re looking for a murderer, you know, someone who so far has gotten away with it. Which means that person was pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes for a long time. Everyone he or she knows has been convinced that they’re way too nice to do anything terrible. So the person we’re looking for must be hiding a dark side, right?”

  Lia looked at her daughter. “When did you get so wise?” she asked.

  “The psychology course you and Dad paid for back when I thought I might major in it wasn’t a total waste.” Hayley grinned. “That and plenty of crime shows. “

  “Uncovering a dark side will be difficult if our person of interest has become very good at hiding. I’m afraid one psychology course isn’t going to do it for us.”

  “What about all those years of working as closely as you did with your surgery patients? You must have learned how to read people.”

  Lia sighed. “Remember, my patients were unconscious most of the time. This is going to be a challenge.”

  “Well, I’ll go for a run first thing tomorrow,” Hayley said. “That’s always been my best time to think. Maybe I’ll figure out something. Want to come?”

  Lia shook her head, saying, “Not on a craft fair day. And I do my best thinking as I knit.”

  Hayley ruffled Daphne’s fur and leaned forward to ask, “Wanna come along for a run?” Daphne stood up to stretch, but then circled into a back-to-sleep position. Silly question was clearly her answer.

  Chapter 11

  Hayley headed back home after they attended Mass at St. Vincent’s, but Lia lingered, chatting with whoever was willing to chat, which turned out to be mostly about the weather. She was simply killing time. It had been only a week since she’d shown up early at the craft fair to discover Belinda standing over the dead body of Darren Peebles. Though she knew deep down she was being silly, Lia couldn’t face a repeat of that solitary approach to the barn’s near-empty parking lot. The memory of seeing the side door ajar, inviting her into the dim interior and what awaited within, was too strong. She preferred to arrive that Sunday morning when the other vendors did, with their comforting numbers and hustle and bustle.

  Hayley had told her about running into Brady earlier that morning. “Not literally running into him,” Hayley added, laughing. “But he was up early for a jog, too! What a surprise.” They’d run together for a while, she’d said, and somehow or other Hayley had convinced Brady to help with their search for Darren Peebles’s murderer.

  “He’s police,” Hayley pointed out unnecessarily. “There’s things he’ll be able to find out that we can’t.”

  “I hope he wouldn’t be overstepping his position.”

  “Oh no.” Hayley had answered breezily, but Lia couldn’t help having some concern. Sometimes a young man’s emotions—and she was sure she’d seen them on Brady’s face when Hayley had hugged him—could lead him into trouble. Lia would be glad of any help as long as it came without too much cost to the helper.

  The craft fair began as slowly as it had the day before, but Sunday mornings were often that way, she reminded herself. Lia looked over the items she’d brought back from the Ninth Street Knitters meeting, lingering over a girl’s pale pink cardigan that Tracy had made with a lofty eyelash yarn. Lia loved its fluffy softness. Surely a young mother or doting grandmother would fall in love with it, too, if not
that day, then another weekend. She sighed. Assuming the craft fair would survive the current slump. If sales lagged too long, vendors would start leaving for greener pastures, especially cranky Joan Fowler, who was the fair’s biggest draw.

  Lia glanced toward Joan’s booth. Shoppers were looking over her paintings, but instead of attending to them, Joan was engaged with her neighbor, Mark, in what looked like another tirade. Lia noticed Maggie watching the same scene from her quilting booth across the way and knew she was thinking the same thing. Poor Mark.

  Ginny Norton, the fair’s biggest fan but worst customer, wandered by and confirmed Lia’s impression that Joan had been complaining once again about Belinda and her management.

  “Nothing new,” she said, pushing up the sleeves of her flower-printed smock, whose pleats only added unflatteringly to her shape. “Joan seems stuck on that same script.”

  “Maybe some of us should help her find a new one.”

  “Good luck with that!” Ginny stepped aside as an actual customer approached. To Lia’s pleasure, it was a fiftyish woman named Paulette, who had bought from her before. She’d come, she explained, with a special request. She wanted a sweater knitted from alpaca yarn.

  “Would that be possible to order from you?” Paulette asked.

  Lia’s face lit up with delight. “Absolutely. As a matter of fact, I was meaning to visit the alpaca farm and fiber mill to see what they had. What did you have in mind and how soon do you want it?”

  The sweater would be a dreamed-of gift to herself, Paulette explained, something that she’d wanted for ages but had put off because of the cost. “I finally decided I’m worth it!” she said, laughing. “Plus, regular wool makes me itchy.” She described the color and style she had in mind, and Lia checked through her books for a pattern that might fit the bill.

  “That’s it!” Paulette cried when Lia showed her a photo of a cream-colored cardigan with a Fair Isle–patterned border at the bottom in contrasting colors. Those various shades of brown and rust also trimmed the V-neck opening. “Exactly what I want.”

  “An alpaca sweater will keep you nice and warm in cooler weather and be beautiful for years. Besides being extra soft and silky, it won’t be itchy at all. I’ll be thrilled to make it for you.”

  Lia wasn’t exaggerating. She loved working with alpaca yarn and didn’t get the opportunity often enough. She was definitely going to do it herself, she decided, not pass it on to another Ninth Street Knitter. Her afghan squares were nearly done, and now she would have a wonderful new project to look forward to.

  They worked out the timing and the cost, and Paulette put down her deposit, excited to take the first step toward her dream sweater. She reached out and gave Lia a big hug. “I can hardly wait!” she cried, nearly dancing as she took off.

  “Wow!” Olivia said, looking after the woman. Ginny, who’d been sniffing samples of Olivia’s fragrant herbal soaps, glanced over but then turned back to sort through a tray of Olivia’s lip balms. “I’ve never made a customer that happy,” Olivia added. “What did you do?”

  Lia told her about the special order. “I’ll head to the alpaca farm tomorrow to get the yarn. I can hardly wait to get started.”

  “Oh, the Weber Farm? I’ve been there. We took Michael to see the alpacas,” she said, referring to her young son. “He loved petting them. They’re so friendly! I know one of the workers.”

  “Do you?”

  “Uh-huh. Shelby Fischer. We were in school together. She always loved animals, so this is her dream job. She taught Michael a lot about alpacas.”

  “Michael is what, six?” Lia asked, getting a smiling nod. “Is he close in age to any of Annie Bradburn’s children?” The potter had mentioned having young children, but Lia didn’t know how young.

  “Ryan Bradburn is Michael’s school friend. They’re both in first grade. I’ve set up playdates for the boys a few times—for Michael’s sake but also to help out Annie a little. She has a lot on her hands. You know about her husband?”

  “Yes, so unfortunate.”

  “Shelby worked in Darren Peebles’s office at the time of the bulldozer accident.”

  “Did she? What was her job?” Lia asked.

  “I’m not sure, exactly. Basic office-type stuff, probably. But she was glad to get out.”

  “Didn’t like the job? Or the boss?”

  “Well, she wasn’t an indoor-work kind of person, so when the opportunity at the alpaca farm came up, she jumped at it. But she said the atmosphere at the office, especially after the accident, was pretty awful. That’s all I know.”

  It sounded to Lia like a very good reason to look up Shelby Fischer when she visited the farm.

  Olivia got a customer, and Ginny ambled back to Lia’s counter. “I couldn’t help overhearing Shelby Fischer’s name. She worked for Belinda for a while, too, you know.”

  “You mean at the craft fair?”

  “Not just the craft fair. She was some kind of general assistant to Belinda for the different events she runs at the barn. But it didn’t last long.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. I ran into Shelby once, and she just said Belinda was really tough to please.”

  Lia sighed.

  “I’m glad she found a job she likes.” Ginny fingered a set of knitted coasters. “I hear alpacas are easy to get along with.”

  Chapter 12

  It took only one word to catch Hayley’s interest when Lia mentioned her planned excursion the following morning: alpaca.

  “I’m going with you! I’ve been dying to see those fuzzy, furry things ever since you first told me about them. They sound adorable.”

  “Fleecy,” Lia corrected, “not furry, but, yes, they are really lovable. They’re used to people because of being raised by them and are like friendly puppies in a way. Only bigger.”

  Hayley frowned. “Do they spit?”

  “Not if you don’t scare them, I imagine. But the handlers can tell you more.”

  “I’ll definitely ask. Forewarned and all that.”

  “I’ll have other things to ask Shelby Fischer, one of the workers there. I hope I’ll get the chance.” Lia explained what she’d learned about Shelby’s previous job in Darren Peebles’s office.

  “Whoa! That should be interesting.”

  “Could be. We’ll see. More coffee?” Hayley had gone for an early morning jog again and was just finishing breakfast after her shower.

  “No, I’m good. Should we take a lunch?” she asked, draining the last of her mug.

  “There’s a small café there,” Lia said. “They’ve offered tours for a long time to help support the farm. The tours grew so popular that they added the café and a gift shop. All very nice and convenient.”

  “This should be great.” Hayley leaned down toward Daphne, who’d been loitering near the breakfast table. “Shall we bring something back for you? A fleecy toy alpaca?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot about Daphne!” Lia said as she loaded her dishwasher. “I’m out of the habit of having a cat around. I’ll make sure her bowls are filled before we leave.”

  “And I’ll check the litter box,” Hayley offered. “When do we have to return her?”

  “It was left up in the air but possibly Thursday, when I go back for the next Ninth Street Knitters meeting. Unless Jen calls before then. Her room painting should be finished soon.”

  “I’ll hate to see her go,” Hayley said, picking up the genial cat for a cuddle.

  “She’s certainly an easy pet to look after.” Lia rubbed Daphne’s head lightly as she walked by and admitted to herself that she would miss her. But she was Jen’s cat, after all. And Lia would get to see her on Thursdays.

  When they had themselves, the house, and the cat accommodations set, Lia and Hayley stepped out onto the porch and into perfect weather for their excursio
n. They heard “Good morning!” and looked over to see Sharon kneeling on a gardening cushion in her yard, surrounded by seedlings and garden tools. A straw hat shielded her face from the bright sun.

  “Looks like a very good morning,” Lia said. “Flowers or vegetables?” she asked.

  “Flowers,” Sharon said, sitting back on her heels. “I’ll get my fresh veggies at the farmers’ market when the time comes. Much less work,” she added with a grin. “I’ll take you to my favorite one if you like, Lia.”

  “Thanks, I’d like that. Enjoy your day!”

  Hayley waved good-bye and followed Lia to the car. As they buckled in, she said, “How great to live in Crandalsburg, with farmers’ markets around and all.”

  “I thought you liked big-city living. You raved about Philadelphia all through college.” Lia pulled away from the curb and headed toward the route that would take them out of town.

  “Yeah, I know. But it was different then.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. Just different.”

  Lia focused on her driving for a while, and Hayley gazed out her window, neither saying anything. Finally, as Lia drove onto the highway and settled into a lane, she said, “You’ve never said exactly why you’re unhappy at your job.”

  Hayley heaved a great sigh. “It’s so hard to explain, Mom. I guess I just feel like I don’t fit in.”

  “You’re new, Hayley.”

  “Right! I’m the new girl. Everyone else has been there, like, forever.”

  “So you don’t feel, what, part of the team?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not all.”

  Lia waited, but Hayley was quiet. “Has there been any kind of harassment?” she asked and was relieved when Hayley shook her head.