Lia was so proud that Hayley had taken her job situation in hand, decided what she really wanted, and gone for it. Salary hadn’t been mentioned, but that was another thing that was Hayley’s decision. Being able to look forward to each workday with excitement was worth a lot. And Lia suspected working at the alpaca farm would be just a start for Hayley. It would be a very enjoyable start, but there might be more opportunities presenting themselves along the way.
Lia suddenly grinned as she thought of one thing that surely hadn’t figured in Hayley’s job assessment but which held a definite upside for Lia: all the skeins of beautiful alpaca yarn that would be so much more available to her. And possibly at a discount!
With that thought, Lia settled into her knitting chair and pulled out the sweater she’d been working on for Paulette. She ran her hand over the luxuriously soft yarn, looking forward to working once again on the intricate pattern. She was ready for her life to get back to normal. It was time to knit.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Linda and Mitchell Dickinson, from whom I learned so much about alpacas and their fibers. The Painted Sky Alpaca Farm in Maryland was a delight to visit as well as the inspiration for my fictional alpaca farm.
Our long-running critique group once again deserves my gratitude. Besides helping press my first-draft chapters into proper shape, Becky Hutchison, Debbi Mack, Sherriel Mattingly, Bonnie Settle, Marcia Talley, and Cathy Wiley continue to inspire me with their own writing. I’m especially grateful to Bonnie, whose knitting expertise saved me more than once from a blunder.
Jordan Hughes generously advised me on certain police-related protocols, which helped so much. Thanks, Jordan!
I’m very grateful to my editor, Sarah Blumenstock, and all the behind-the-scenes staff at Berkley, who worked so skillfully and patiently with me to make this the best book possible, and to my agent, James McGowan, who so ably got the ball rolling.
Top thanks go, as always, to my husband, Terry. His support and patience with my regularly appearing writing angst apparently has no limits. Let’s hope the angst does.
Don’t miss the next Craft Fair Knitters mystery
Stitched in Crime
Coming Winter 2021 from Berkley Prime Crime!
The next morning, Lia called Cori about her customer’s request and arranged to drop off the photo he’d left with her. Hayley, true to her promise, had cleared several of her boxes from the living room, giving a little more breathing space to the area. The fundraising event she was working on was taking place in less than two weeks, when hopefully Lia’s living room would look much less like a storage locker, though Lia knew many of Hayley’s personal, boxed-up things would remain. At least the area around Lia’s knitting chair had remained clear. Hayley understood that that space was sacrosanct and had so far avoided piling anything near it. So far.
Maybe Lia could pitch in on the search for an apartment for Hayley?
With that thought, she gathered up her keys, the dog photo, and the sheet of paper with Cori’s address and headed out her door, noticing the fresh tidiness of her lawn as she did so. She smiled. There were definite advantages to having a housemate. That and the occasional gourmet dinner like the one Lia came home to the previous night. Maybe she wouldn’t press too much on that apartment search. Her little house wasn’t actually bursting . . . yet.
Lia soon discovered that Cori Littlefield’s house was surprisingly large. Large, that is, for a single woman whose means of income, as far as Lia knew, was fairly modest. She double-checked the address to be sure she hadn’t gotten it wrong, but it appeared to be correct. Spotting the beautiful crocheted wreath on the door convinced her, its multiple crocheted flowers picking up the bright blue color of the well-kept, century-old house’s siding. Lia climbed the three steps to the wraparound porch and knocked on the door. Soon she heard locks turning, and the door opened a crack on its chain as Cori peered out.
“It’s you!” Cori closed the door in order to slip the chain, then opened it wider to face Lia.
“Good morning,” Lia said. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.” She started to reach into her purse for the photo, ready to slip it through the crack and leave, but Cori unexpectedly stepped back.
“No, it’s fine. I was waiting.” She smiled. “Want to come in?”
“Thank you. Just for a minute.” Lia stepped into the small foyer and followed Cori’s wave toward the living room on the right. It held an interesting mix of styles, hinting at having been furnished over several years. A sprinkling of antiques mingled with maple tables, and Lia wondered if the wall-to-wall carpeting hid a hardwood floor. As she sank onto the flower-printed sofa, she recognized the stained-glass Tiffany–style lamp beside it as similar to one she had coveted when she and Tom were first married.
“I have lemonade,” Cori said, indicating a tray with glasses and a pitcher. “Would you like some?”
“How nice,” Lia said, genuinely pleased. “What a lovely house you have,” she said as Cori poured out two glasses. “I love houses with lots of character.”
Cori handed Lia her lemonade, then sat on one of the side chairs. “It’s my mom’s,” she said.
Lia nodded, wondering if Cori’s mother would soon appear.
“I moved back about a month ago,” Cori said. “I used to live in York.”
“Did you? I lived in York for many years.” Lia talked about the knitting group that she drove back to meet with once a week. “We started getting together years ago at one of the women’s homes.”
Cori seemed to be waiting for more, so Lia went on. “We all love to knit, but over time we began running out of people to knit for. So when the opportunity at the craft fair came up, we jumped at it. Now we can knit to our heart’s content. The house we meet at, Jen Beasley’s, is on Ninth Street in York. That’s how my craft booth got its name: Ninth Street Knits.”
Cori nodded. “I wondered about that.” She smiled, but when she didn’t offer anything about herself, Lia decided to ask.
“Did you sell your crocheted art when you were in York?”
“A little. There was a craft store that took things on consignment. At first, people that came there mostly wanted to try their own versions.” She grinned. “Most of them found out it wasn’t so easy.”
“I’m sure they did!” Lia grinned back. “Oh, before I forget, let me give you the photo of the dog that this man hopes you can duplicate in yarn. His contact information is on the back.” Lia got it out of her purse and handed it over.
“Cute dog,” Cori said. She studied it for a few moments, then nodded. “I think I can do that.”
“Great. You’ll make his daughter very happy, I’m sure.”
“Would you like to see some of the things I’ve been working on?” Cori asked.
“I’d love to.” Lia set down her lemonade and followed Cori to the back of the house, where Cori’s workroom was located. They passed through the kitchen, but no “Mom” was there, nor did Lia hear sounds of another person in the house.
Cori showed her around the workroom, which contained a dizzying array of crocheted angels, flowers, animals, and birds lined up on several tables.
“My goodness!” Lia exclaimed. “I guess you’re ready for the next rush. These are wonderful!” She picked up one of the angels. “Do you follow patterns?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” Cori said, clearly pleased to talk about her craft. “But I can figure out a lot of these on my own. After a while, you learn.”
“How long have you done this?” Lia set down the angel and picked up one of the birds, a red cardinal.
“Oh, gosh! I started way back. My mom taught me how to crochet when I was little, and I liked it. It was relaxing.”
The phone in the kitchen rang. Cori started. “Once I learned, I couldn’t stop!” she said, glancing nervously back at the kitchen as the phone continued to ring.
By the fourth ring she gave in. “I’d better get it. It might be important.”
Lia smiled and nodded. While Cori dealt with the phone, Lia examined a bowl of crocheted carrots, peppers, and lettuce arranged prettily in a small basket. Behind that was a folded afghan. Lia lingered over the afghan, fingering it and admiring the color pattern, until something in the corner of the table caught her eye. It was a diorama of some sort in a three-sided shadow box, tucked in the back.
Lia reached over to carefully lift the box and bring it closer for examination. There was a sloping green crocheted hill and two crocheted figures, along with a scattering of flowers and a small bush. Studying it closely, Lia realized it depicted a nursery rhyme: Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.
Except . . . something was wrong. Instead of Jack at the bottom of the hill, a female figure lay there, a small red bucket tipped on its side beside her. The male figure stood at the top, looking down at Jill. Though Lia told herself she was being silly, that a crocheted figure couldn’t really show what he was thinking, his crocheted eyebrows looked menacing.
“This shouldn’t be out!” Cori had returned. She rushed over and snatched it up.
“I’m so sorry,” Lia said. “I wanted to see it better. I was very careful.” She paused. “Is it supposed to be Jack and Jill?”
“Jessica! Not Jill, Jess—No! It’s nothing! Just something I made up. It’s stupid.” She hurried the shadow box out of the room, and Lia heard her stomping up the stairs.
When Cori came back down, Lia had returned to the living room, and she apologized once more. Cori waved it away, though she still seemed flustered. “I have to go,” she said. “My phone call . . .” she added, vaguely implying something important about it.
“Of course,” Lia said. “I didn’t mean to stay this long. Thank you so much for the lemonade! I hope your special order works out.”
“My . . . ? Oh, the dog. Yes. Thank you for bringing the photo.”
Cori walked Lia to the door, where she politely but briskly said good-bye, and Lia left with a highly unsettled feeling. Something was wrong, but she had no idea what it was. Or what, if anything, she could do about it.
About the Author
Emmie Caldwell is the national bestselling author of the Keepsake Cove Mysteries, the Pickled and Preserved Mysteries, the Craft Corner Mysteries, and the Maggie Olenski Mysteries, written under the name Mary Ellen Hughes. A native of Wisconsin, she's lived most of her adult life in Maryland, which has inspired many of her stories.
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