Needled to Death

by Sefton, Maggie

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Tropical Shell in 4 sts/in

  Kelly’s Eyelash Yarn Scarf

  Ruth’s Blueberry Pie

  Praise for Knit One, Kill Two

  “Maggie Sefton has knit together a mystery with more twists and turns than the scrumptious yarns in the fictional shop of Lambspun. This is a clever, fast-paced plot, with a spunky sleuth and cast of fun, engaging characters. Knit One, Kill Two delivers the goods.”

  —Margaret Coel

  “Cozy up with a great new author. Knit One, Kill Two has well-drawn characters and a wickedly clever plot—you’ll love unraveling this mystery.”

  —Laura Childs

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  NEEDLED TO DEATH

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / December 2005

  Copyright © 2005 by Margaret Aunon.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-436-27085-4

  BERKELY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design

  are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to all the helpful alpaca breeders and ranchers in the Northern Colorado area who were kind enough to allow me a peek into their fascinating business. Most especially, I want to thank Marjean Bender of Kitchell Kriations Alpacas in Fort Collins, CO, who welcomed me to several alpaca shearings—as well as into her home. Over many cups of coffee and tea, she never ran out of patience with my endless questions about the alpaca ranching and the beautiful animals with the to-die-for soft wool.

  One

  Kelly Flynn grabbed her empty coffee mug as she opened the glass patio door leading to her cottage’s small backyard. “Go for it, Carl. Another sunny day. Squirrels are waiting.” She gave her rottweiler a parting pat as he raced outside, clearly eager to face the furry tormentors that kept him running.

  Spying the deep rose circlet of yarn that rested on the dining room table, Kelly snatched her knitting bag with her latest project. The silk-and-cotton, raspberry sherbet yarn had tempted her for months in the knitting shop across from her home.

  Kelly paused near her desk, nestled in a sunny corner of the cozy white stucco and red-tiled roof cottage. It was her cottage now. When Aunt Helen was killed, Kelly inherited everything, and her life turned upside down.

  Glancing at her corporate client’s folder beside the computer keyboard, she checked the clock. The analysis of the client’s financial statements was going smoother than she’d anticipated. Some accounting issues were easier to solve than others. There was ample time for a knitting break.

  The caffeine lobe deep in her brain sent out another insistent signal—coffee, now. Kelly headed for the front door. She could almost taste Eduardo’s potent brew. The knitting shop had an attached café with the best regular coffee Kelly had ever tasted. Eduardo, the genial cook, always laughed when she asked about his secret for the coffee that kept her coming back for more.

  July’s intense heat radiated in the Colorado air even though it was only mid-morning. Afternoon would be brutal and in the high nineties, Kelly decided as she glanced at the shimmer coming off the adjacent golfing greens. That reminder caused her to turn and check on her dog’s whereabouts.

  Carl had developed an unfortunate habit these last three months she’d stayed in Fort Connor. Golf balls. They were an irresistible temptation to which Carl frequently succumbed. Kelly had tried several tactics to discourage him from climbing the fence and racing onto the greens to steal balls. Memories of angry golfer encounters were still fresh in Kelly’s mind.

  She spotted Carl standing, paws up on the chain-link fence. “Don’t even think about it, Carl,” she warned in her best attempt-to-control-dog voice. Carl looked over his shoulder in pleading mode. “Nope. You’ve gotten us in enough trouble already. Go play with your legal stash over there.” Kelly pointed to a cluster of golf balls near several decorative pots filled with colorful shade plants.

  Carl rolled his soft brown eyes in an obvious last effort to convince, then lay down in the grass and stared longingly at the greens.

  “I know it’s more fun to chase down stray balls, but you just can’t. I don’t want to have to bail you out of doggie jail,” Kelly warned as she headed across the driveway toward Aunt Helen’s former farmhouse, now turned knitting shop.

  Passing by the oaken front door with its carved sign that read HOUSE OF LAMBSPUN, Kelly followed the flower-bordered pathway around the sprawling stucco and red-tile roof building to the café entrance. The enticing aroma of coffee greeted her as soon as she opened the door. She glanced around at the tables filled with customers lingering over late breakfast and brunch until she spotted a familiar face. One of her knitting friends, Jennifer, worked mornings at the café and afternoons as a real estate agent.

  Kelly aimed straight for her. “Cof-fee, cof-fee,” she demanded in a deep, raspy voice, mug in outstretched hand.


  “Look, it’s the return of the Coffee Zombie,” Jennifer joked to the café owner. “Hide, Pete. She hasn’t had her caffeine yet.”

  Pete’s round face spread with a wide grin as he poured orange juice into a glass pitcher. “It’ll only be a minute, Kelly. Eduardo’s got some brewing. We had a business breakfast group in here this morning, and they drained the last drop.”

  Kelly’s heart almost stopped. “Pete, don’t even joke about something like that,” she warned.

  “It’ll only be a moment. You can make it,” Jennifer teased. “C’mon, have a doughnut.” She gestured to the tempting pastries displayed in a nearby glass case.

  Kelly tried to ignore them, but one lemon-glazed creation called her name. “Okay, but sugar’s not gonna do it. I need coffee. I can only last so long on that supermarket brand I have at home. I’ve already spent most of the morning combing through one corporate account, and I’ve got several more waiting.”

  “Boy, you’re surlier than usual this morning,” Jennifer observed, handing her the napkin-covered doughnut. “Numbers not adding up? Clients getting unruly? I can help with that.” She winked.

  “Actually, everything’s going smoothly. I just want to work ahead so I can take the whole day off tomorrow,” Kelly said before she sank her teeth into the sugar.

  “You guys have a game tomorrow?”

  “Games all day. It’s the Fantastic Fourth at the Fort tournament. Teams are coming from all over the state.”

  “I’d better tell Eduardo to put some more shoelaces in the coffee, then. You’ll need it,” Jennifer said with a laugh as she took Kelly’s mug and headed for the kitchen.

  Kelly brushed sugar flakes from her T-shirt and checked the barrette holding back her chin-length, dark brown hair. One of the best things about telecommuting to her office in Washington, D.C., was she could dress the way she liked. And in Colorado in the summertime, that meant a T-shirt and shorts.

  Tomorrow would bring back a ton of memories, she was certain. She remembered playing in that same softball tournament years ago when she grew up here in Fort Connor. Lots of memories. In fact, that’s all she had left from the past. The people were all gone—her dad, her aunt Helen, everyone.

  “You’re saved,” Jennifer announced, coming toward her, mug in hand. “Coffee’s ready, and you’re all set. Go forth and knit.” She handed the mug to Kelly. “I’ll be over on break.”

  “Thanks,” Kelly said and headed for the doorway that led into the knitting shop.

  As always, her senses went on overload the moment she entered the shop. Room after room of the renovated farmhouse was filled with yarns of every hue and texture—frothy mohairs in ice cream colors, nubbly wools and luscious alpacas, seductively soft silk spun with cotton or wool or all alone. Kelly couldn’t get through a room without stroking a fat skein or squeezing some enticing fiber. She’d become a “fiber fondler,” as the shop’s knitting regulars called themselves.

  Rounding the corner into what was once the farmhouse living room, Kelly went straight to the long library table that now dominated the room. “Hey, there,” she greeted two of her friends who sat around the table knitting.

  “How’s the sweater going?” Lisa asked, glancing up from the lacy ribbon vest she was creating.

  “Well, okay, I guess. I’m still doing the ribbing along the edge,” Kelly replied as she settled into a chair.

  “Getting used to the circular needles?” Megan asked, pausing over the vivid purple froth that lay piled in her lap. Was that one of the new boa eyelash yarns that were so enticing?

  “Yeah, gradually. It still looks strange, but I hope to finish the ribbing soon so I can start knitting the sweater. I mean, it doesn’t feel like a sweater yet, just this circle of yarn.” She held up the circle of rosy red yarn. The two slender wooden needles were connected end to end by a ribbon of thin plastic. Kelly scrutinized the rows of ribbing that covered the entire circumference and frowned. “You sure this is gonna work?”

  Lisa grinned and brushed a lock of blond hair from her forehead. “Ohhh, it’ll work all right. Trust us.”

  “Wait’ll you see those rows of stockinette stitch appear, then you’ll be convinced,” Megan added with her usual bright smile. With her fair, fair skin and almost black hair, Megan always looked delicate to Kelly—except, of course, when she was on the softball field. Underneath the porcelain, Megan was tough as nails.

  “Okaaaay,” Kelly said, still skeptical. “If you say so. I still don’t understand how I’ll get stockinette if all I do is the knit stitch. I mean, when I did my first easy sweater with the chunky yarn, I had to do it the regular way—one row of knitting, one row of purling. How do you get stockinette without doing that?”

  “It just happens,” Megan reassured.

  Kelly pondered that and drank deeply from her mug, savoring the coffee’s familiar harsh assault on her taste buds. “That’s no answer. There has to be a reason why it works.”

  “Trust in the process,” Lisa said with her enigmatic smile.

  “That’s what Jennifer always says, but that’s hard for me,” Kelly admitted, picking up the circular needles. “I mean, I spend most of my days examining the process with all my accounts. It’s hard to switch off.”

  Mimi, the owner of the shop, leaned around the doorway. “It’s magic,” she said with a smile. “I couldn’t help overhearing you, Kelly. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  “What’ll be fine?” Jennifer queried as she approached the table, knitting bag over her arm.

  “Oh, Kelly’s worrying about knitting in the round,” Mimi explained and went back to straightening the surrounding shelves of books and magazines.

  “That’s Kelly’s standard operating procedure,” Jennifer said, pulling a luscious, multicolored fringed yarn from her bag. “Whenever she starts a new project, she always worries that it won’t turn out.”

  “Hey, not always,” Kelly protested, compelled to defend herself even though she knew her friends were right.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “Always.”

  “I rest my case.” Jennifer grinned. “You’ll be fine. Just trust—”

  “In the process, I know, I know.” Kelly drank from her mug as she reached out one hand to fondle the glistening and vibrantly colored fibers that Jennifer was knitting into one of those new trendy scarves. Yummy soft. “I’m going to have to make one of those scarves. They are simply irresistible.”

  “Get a little further along on your sweater, first, before you leave it,” Megan advised. “I know what it’s like to be tempted away from a bigger project.”

  Kelly nodded and went back to creating the ribbing that would be the bottom of her new sweater. At first, it seemed strange to knit two stitches, then purl two stitches, but after a few rows, she actually saw the ribbed effect appear. Another few rows and she’d have created the inch required to form the sweater’s edge.

  Lisa broached another subject, one that had been niggling in the back of Kelly’s mind. “How long do you think your boss will let you work away from the office? Did he give any clue when you went back to D.C. last month?”

  “I don’t know. He was doing his cool, aloof routine when I spoke with him. He does that whenever he wants to keep someone off balance.” She frowned at the memory of sitting in her corporate CPA firm’s offices, pleading her request for an extension of family leave.

  With the death of both her aunt and her long-lost cousin, Martha, Kelly was suddenly the heir and beneficiary of a good deal of property. It would take several months to sort through both estates, even with trusted family lawyer Lawrence Chambers overseeing the process. Kelly didn’t have a clue when she’d be able to return to Washington—or if she even wanted to.

  “Well, you know how we all feel,” Megan spoke up. “We want you to stay here with us.”

  Kelly felt her heart give a little squeeze. Deep inside, that’s what she wanted, too.

  “Any chance of that happening?” Jennifer pr
obed. “You’re managing those huge mortgage payments on the cottage, right? And you’ve got a renter for your town house back in Virginia. How’s that working?”

  “Oh, Chuck is great. He absolutely loves the place,” Kelly replied. All the more reason to let him have it, the little voice inside whispered. If it were only that simple, Kelly thought. “But it’s a delicate balance. The only way I can manage the cottage mortgage payments is with my CPA salary.” She shook her head. “I can’t quit my job.”

  “Well, we’ll simply have to find a way for you to earn money here,” Jennifer declared.

  “Boy, that’s not as easy as it sounds,” Kelly said. “Consulting on my own simply wouldn’t cut it. I’ve done some checking, with Megan’s help.”

  “Something will come up. I can feel it,” Jennifer said.

  The front door’s jingling bell sounded. More customers. Over the past three months that she’d been a regular, Kelly had noticed the ebb and flow of customers. Mid-morning to lunchtime was often hectic, with classes and customer questions. Then a brief pause often occurred before the afternoon press of customers and more classes began. Of course, weekends had no pause at all. It was nonstop shopping and classes the entire day. Kelly marveled at how Mimi managed to handle the constant flow of questions and instruction and helping customers find “just the right yarn” while staying so warm and reassuring. It must be her passion. It flowed over into everything she did and all she’d created. Kelly glanced to the billowy mohairs that draped against the walls and the stacked bins that bulged with summer-bright yarns. Mimi had truly created a wonderland here. No wonder knitters flocked to the shop.

  “Well, hello, everybody,” a woman’s voice spoke from the doorway. “Looks like half the Tuesday group is here.”

  Kelly turned in her chair and recognized Vickie Claymore, another of the Tuesday group regulars. “Hey, Vickie. What brings you out of that beautiful canyon and into town?”