Knit One, Kill Two

by Maggie Sefton

  “What’s her name?” Jennifer prodded. Kelly noticed she no longer looked anxious to leave.

  “Ummm, let me see, I think she said it was Martha. Yes, that’s it. Martha. I’m afraid Helen neglected to tell me the last name.” Lizzie smiled. “Maybe she was afraid the Altar Guild would come calling.”

  Martha. Martha. She had a distant relative named Martha. “Thank you for telling me, Lizzie,” Kelly said. “I had no idea there was another family member in the area.”

  “Helen never mentioned another soul in the three years I knew her,” Jennifer volunteered.

  Kelly’s mind started racing. Obviously this Martha was someone Helen felt close to or she wouldn’t have been so protective of her. Shy cousin Martha. Kelly had to find her. But how without a last name? Then, an idea tickled.

  “Lizzie, does that church—”

  “St. Mark’s, you mean?”

  “Yes, St. Mark’s, does it have a directory of members or something like that? Maybe I can go through the entire directory checking out all the Martha’s until I find her.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary, dear,” Lizzie said with a wave of her hand. “I’m fairly certain you can find her at the weekday mass. I think she comes nearly every day. I notice her every Monday when I go to Guild meetings.”

  Kelly couldn’t believe what a gold mine of information Lizzie turned out to be. “There’s only one problem, Lizzie. I don’t know what she looks like. Can you describe her a little, so I can recognize her?”

  Again, the airy little wave. “Oh, I can do better than that, dear. Why don’t you come to church with Hilda and me this Sunday, and I’ll point her out to you. I’m fairly certain she comes to Sunday service as well. And if you can’t speak with her in all the crowd, then you surely could on a weekday.”

  Jennifer turned her head and gave Kelly a sly grin and a wink. “Boy, she trapped you on that one,” she whispered.

  She did, indeed. Kelly had to admire Lizzie’s style. But that didn’t stop her from trying to get out of it. She hadn’t been to church in years, since before her dad died. Holidays and Helen’s service didn’t count.

  “Jennifer, I think it would be ever so lovely if you could join us, too,” Lizzie continued with her dimpled smile. “Hilda and I would simply love to have your company.”

  Kelly couldn’t resist. She turned to Jennifer with a wicked grin of her own. “Yes, Jennifer, I’d just love to have you join us. Please do.”

  Jennifer waved away the double assault. “Ladies, thanks so much, but you’ll enjoy the service much more without me. I haven’t been to church in so long, I’m sure the walls would shake. You wouldn’t want to lose all that stained glass, now would you?”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. It’ll be fine, and Hilda and I will take you both to the Jefferson Hotel for their special Sunday brunch afterward. We like to treat ourselves every Sunday. They have those cinnamon rolls you like so much, dear.” She eyed Jennifer, the invitation dangling.

  “Lizzie, you truly are wicked,” Jennifer gave in with a sigh. “You know I can resist anything except those.”

  “Wonderful!” Lizzie enthused. “Now, I suggest we come early for the nine o’clock service. That way we can make sure we don’t miss Martha.” Lizzie’s knitting picked up speed.

  Kelly caught Jennifer’s eye. “Give me your address and phone number and I’ll pick you up Sunday morning. I’ll even bring coffee.”

  “Please. Lots of it,” Jennifer said with a resigned shake of her head as she withdrew a business card from her bag.

  Seven

  Kelly bent over, hands above her knees, and squinted at the batter hunched over home plate. The sky was that brilliant Colorado blue she remembered so well, and the mile-high sunlight was brutal. She adjusted her USS Kitty Hawk baseball cap. Its brim was frayed, but it was her good luck charm. It was also her dad’s. She couldn’t play without it.

  Her right knee was skinned from her slide into second base in the last inning. There was dirt and grit imbedded in her left knee from an earlier slide. Her knees stung, her back ached from first basemen’s crouch, and her right shoulder was sore from throwing—and she couldn’t be happier.

  The batter swung at Lisa’s curve ball and missed. Kelly’s foot reached out for first base instinctively. Why had she deprived herself of this simple pleasure these last few years? She loved playing ball. She’d played it her whole life. In fact, softball had been the one thing she could depend on when her dad took a new job and they had to move again. Every time she’d come to a new school, that’s how she found friends.

  The batter swung and cut the air. Strike two. Lisa’s got some stuff, Kelly had to admit. She glanced over her shoulder at the varied group on the field. Coed leagues were always a melting pot of twenty- and thirty-somethings. It reminded her of the accounting firm’s team she used to play on before . . . well, before her dad got sick. She’d let a lot of things go when Dad got sick.

  Yeah, like your life, a voice nagged inside.

  Over in left field, Megan was swaying side to side, her fielder’s glove at the ready and her face smeared with enough sunscreen to shut down a solar array. Kelly grinned. What a contradiction Megan was. Shy, geeky tech writer, hardware-software guru, and, according to Lisa, a passionate fashion designer at heart. Kelly was surprised that Megan played softball. Kelly would never have imagined quiet, dainty Megan running down a ball. But there she was, playing her heart out and getting dirty.

  “Hey . . . batter-batter-batter-batter-batter!” yelled a grinning middle-aged guy from the bleachers. Memories surfaced as Kelly recalled hearing the familiar parental chant, called out to children still learning the game.

  A woman’s movement caught her eye, and Kelly stifled a laugh. There was Jennifer, hiding her hangover behind sunglasses and a hat that would have done Scarlett proud, sipping a double espresso latte.

  “Too many tequila shooters last night,” was all she muttered as she passed Kelly on the way to the bleachers. The fact that Jennifer was even here at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning was amazing.

  The batter swung again, and this time she connected, then headed down the baseline as the ball landed fair. Old instincts took over then, muscles long trained into movements that were second nature. Kelly didn’t even have to think. Lisa snatched the ball in a nanosecond and whipped it to Kelly. It hit her glove with a satisfying whap. Oh, yeah. Kelly reached out to tag the girl as she slid into base. Gotcha, she said inside.

  “Way to go, Lisa!” she called out as she threw the ball back to the pitching mound. Lisa snagged it with her graceful long-armed movement. Kelly rubbed her right shoulder. Even sore, it felt good. In fact, she felt good—until she spied the next batter.

  Steve Townsend strolled to the plate with the easy assurance of someone who knows he can hit anything the pitcher sends across. Not a problem. Kelly frowned at him out of habit. Of course, he’d probably hit it out of the park. Everyone said he was a baseball star in high school and college. It was too much to hope for that he’d play down a notch.

  She was right. Steve connected on Lisa’s first pitch, a low-dropping slider that seemed to hang over the plate, just waiting for Steve to hit it. He obliged. Kelly winced at the satisfying smack of ball meeting bat—the reverberation that carries on the wind when wood meets force and sends it back again. She watched the ball sail over everyone’s head and far into the outfield.

  A homer, of course, she thought glumly and debated whether she should trip the smug bastard as he rounded her base.

  Kelly pulled in front of Jennifer’s condo and grabbed her cell phone. When she’d called five minutes ago to let Jennifer know she was on the way, Jennifer said she was straggling out of the shower. Punching in the numbers, Kelly was surprised to see Jennifer coming down the concrete steps.

  “Wow, that was fast,” Kelly commented as Jennifer climbed into the car. �
�I’m impressed. I thought you’d still be getting dressed.”

  “Old memories returned. I could swear I heard Sister Josephine’s voice nagging me to hurry up or I’d be late for mass.” Jennifer looked around. “Where’s that coffee?”

  “Right here.” Kelly reached in the back and brought out the tall cup with familiar green logo. “Drink up.”

  Jennifer complied without a word.

  “I guess you went to parochial school, then?” Kelly asked as she headed through the early morning Sunday traffic.

  “Yeah, until eighth grade. You can imagine how happy the nuns were to see me go.”

  Kelly laughed. “I’ll bet you gave them fits.”

  “I did my best. How about you?”

  “I went to public schools, everywhere we lived. My dad was a district manager for a large automotive chain, so we moved around a lot.”

  “Boy, I sure would have liked moving around as a kid,” Jennifer said between sips. “I was bored out of my skull back in the Midwest.”

  “Where?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  Memories triggered. “We lived in Fort Wayne for about a year, before we went to Detroit, then on to Newark, New Jersey, for two years, then finally settled in northern Virginia for my last three years of high school.”

  “I thought you grew up here.”

  “I did, but when I was ten my dad got promoted and we went on the road. Actually we went to Saint Louis for a year before Indiana.”

  “Boy, you really did move around. Was it hard making friends? In school and all?”

  “Yeah, it was always kind of scary at first. But playing ball helped. Maybe that’s why I love it so much. That’s how I made friends in every new school.” She shook her head at the flood of memories coming back as she drove. “It was still hard though,” she said wistfully. “Sometimes I’d make up all these fantastic stories about why my dad and I had to move around so much.”

  She turned onto a large avenue, bordered on both sides by older gracious homes, but Kelly didn’t even notice. “One of my favorites was that my dad was this notorious and untouchable card shark who roamed about the country making his living in shadowy back rooms of fancy casinos. I’d sit next to him and pour his whiskey, and count cards, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then afterward, we’d sneak away in the early morning light. In a red convertible, too.” Kelly laughed. Where had that memory come from? “I’d daydream out the window of our old yellow Plymouth station wagon. Dad called it beige, but it looked dog-barf yellow to me.”

  Jennifer raised her hand. “Had one of those.” She upended her cup then pointed. “Saint Mark’s is up ahead.”

  “Oh my gosh, is that Lizzie out front?” Kelly said as she slowed the car, spying pink-and-white fabric fluttering in the spring breeze.

  “Sure is.” Jennifer waved through the window, then pointed to the right. “You can park in this lot on Sunday.”

  Kelly pulled in and grabbed the first space she spotted. “Boy, she really likes pink, doesn’t she?” Kelly said with a chuckle as they both headed through the lot and across the street.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Lizzie stood on the church steps waiting, a huge grin on her face. “Good morning, girls! You’re bright and early, too,” she announced.

  “Don’t remind me how early it is, Lizzie. I’m barely awake now,” Jennifer teased. “I hope the priests are as boring as I remember, so I can go back to sleep. We are sitting in the back, I hope?”

  Lizzie’s musical little laugh ran up the scale as she settled herself between the two of them. “Jennifer, you’re such a caution. Yes, we are sitting in the back. In fact, I’ve got our places already saved. Come along.” And she encircled her arms around theirs and guided them through the open doorway and into St. Mark’s.

  They paused at the entrance to the sanctuary, and Kelly’s gaze swept over the graceful vaulted ceiling, the tall marble columns, and walls of stained glass—window after window. Poignant memories surfaced. The last time she’d been here with Helen was Christmas Eve mass.

  Jennifer deliberately walked over to the sconce of holy water and peered into it. “Well, I don’t see any ripples, so the walls aren’t shaking. Yet. The Heavenly Powers must not know I’m here.”

  “Come, dears,” Lizzie indicated the last pew in the center.

  Kelly settled between Lizzie and Jennifer and noticed that they could watch both entrances from this vantage point. Good job, Lizzie.

  Lizzie straightened her pink flounces and whispered. “I’ve already explained to Hilda why we’re sitting back here. Now, I suggest we start our prayers. That way no one will notice our surveillance.” She pulled out the cushioned kneelers and settled herself.

  “Okay,” Kelly went along and gingerly knelt. Both knees complained, still sore from yesterday’s game. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Jennifer had already cuddled into a cozy position against the side of the pew, arms folded, eyes closed. “I take it you’re praying,” Kelly whispered.

  “Repenting is more like it,” she replied without opening her eyes.

  Kelly leaned her arms on the pew in front and watched the church slowly fill with people. Pastel spring colors were everywhere, and Lizzie was not the only lover of pink. The overcast sky must have cleared, because Kelly noticed brilliant colors splashed across a side wall. Sun painting through stained glass.

  Since she’d been going to the shop, Kelly seemed to notice colors more, vibrant colors everywhere she went. How come everything looked different to her now? she wondered.

  Her knees sent a painful message, and Kelly eased herself off the kneeler and onto the seat. Clasping her hands, she still kept her reverent pose. Lizzie was actually saying prayers, Kelly observed, a pearl rosary dangling between her fingers.

  Kelly didn’t pray anymore. It didn’t work. She’d prayed a lot when her dad was first diagnosed with cancer and all through his treatment. All those prayers, and none of them worked. He died anyway.

  Lizzie’s voice broke through Kelly’s painful memories. “Don’t make a stir, dear, but I believe I see her. She just passed us. The woman in the navy blue dress.” Lizzie nodded toward the left aisle.

  Kelly focused on the parishioners in the aisle. A slight, gray-haired woman in a navy blue dress slowly walked toward the front of the sanctuary. Choosing a side pew, she settled in and immediately sank to her knees, head lowered, hands clasped. Kelly wished she could have seen her features. From the back she looked like half the older women in church.

  As if reading her mind, Lizzie spoke up. “We’ll get a better look at her when she leaves, dear. She’ll pass right by us again. I suggest you wait for a weekday service to introduce yourself. Not so many people around, you see. She appears easily startled.”

  Kelly suppressed a smile. Lizzie was turning out to be quite the stake-out queen. But she’d made a good point. The church was filled with people. They’d be standing in the aisles by nine o’clock when the service began. If this Martha was as easily startled as Lizzie suggested, she might panic when Kelly introduced herself. If she chose to run rather than talk, she could disappear into the crowd of departing parishioners. Not the ideal way to begin a relationship, Kelly decided.

  “Thanks, Lizzie, that’s a good suggestion,” Kelly leaned over and whispered.

  Kelly flicked the tiny speck off her dark blue skirt and re-crossed her legs for the fourth time in the last thirty minutes. She leaned back into the empty pew and observed the nearly empty church. Only a handful of people sat in the front two pews for Monday morning mass. Kelly had shown up early and chosen a spot mid-church for her vantage point. She figured when she introduced herself, Martha would be too far from the door to make a run for it. Meanwhile, Kelly did her best to appear absorbed in prayer so the priest wouldn’t include her in the proceedings.

  Her planning paid off. Martha arrived al
one, five minutes before the service began. All Kelly had to do was wait for the service to end. While the priest’s voice rose and fell in the familiar ritual, Kelly pondered the best way to greet Martha. She wanted to appear friendly and nonthreatening, but she wasn’t sure what that looked like.

  Instead, her mind kept bringing back scenes from the night before when she’d joined Lisa, Megan and the rest of their team for dinner and drinks in a cozy Old Town café. Kelly hadn’t laughed that much in a long time. It felt good. It also felt good to hear everyone ask her to continue to play with them.

  “Please, Kelly,” the shortstop, Sherrie, pleaded across the table. “You’re awesome, girl. We need you.”

  The effusive praise and encouragement had stroked something deep down inside that Kelly hadn’t felt in a very long time. That felt better than good. She was really glad she’d gotten her boss’s commitment for a couple of months “or so.” The “or so” might be stretched.

  The sudden movement of the prayerful few in the front captured her attention, as they stood and held out their hands for the blessing that ended each service. Kelly straightened her businesslike attire and grabbed her shoulder bag. Most of the attendees were older, but not all, she noticed as they headed down the aisle.

  Martha was near the end of the group, so Kelly rose, genuflected, and crossed herself out of habit. Then she stood quietly, waiting for Martha to approach, hoping no one else would strike up a conversation with her.

  As Martha drew closer, head bent, hands still clasped as if in prayer, Kelly tried to study her features but couldn’t get a good look. Finally, the older woman was only a few feet from the pew, and Kelly stepped into the aisle to face her.

  “Martha?” she asked in a soft voice which she hoped was nonthreatening.

  The older woman stopped abruptly, her head jerking up in obvious surprise. She stared back into Kelly’s face, her eyes wide with concern, as if she wasn’t used to being spoken to by strangers. Kelly stared into huge blue eyes, made even bluer by Martha’s white face. Kelly sincerely hoped Martha didn’t have a heart condition, because she looked scared to death.