The Gray-Haired Knitting Detective Series: (Books 1 - 3)

by D. E. Haggerty

  “Hello!”

  “Izzy? Izzy, is that you?” A desperate voice asks.

  “Yeah, it’s Izzy. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Ally. I think there’s something wrong with Anna. She’s not responding.” I jump up and start running to the door. Besides being a member of her knitting posse, Ally is also grandma’s neighbor and checks in on her a few times a week. This isn’t good. “Call 911! Now! I’m on my way.”

  Grandma’s house is only a fifteen minute drive from mine, but by the time I arrive, the police are there as is an ambulance. Shit! I park my car and start running for the house screaming, “Grandma!”

  Ally rushes out of the house and runs toward me. She grabs me in a hug. For an old lady, she’s pretty strong. Her hug stops me in my tracks. “What’s going on, Ally? Where’s Grandma?” Only after I ask do I notice the tears streaming down her face. “Ally?” She only shakes her head.

  “Oh God,” I mutter and release her. I head to the house, but I’m stopped by a cop before I can enter.

  “Sorry ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside.” I look at him as if he’s batshit crazy, and then I decide that maybe it’s me that’s batshit crazy because there’s no way in hell he’s keeping me out.

  “Get out of my way!” I yell. “That is my grandma’s house!”

  He holds me back. “Is there maybe someone I can call for you?”

  I nod. “Yeah, your supervisor because I’m not putting up with your crap!”

  Ally is right behind me now and pulling on my arm trying to get me to retreat. “Come on Izzy. You can’t help her now.”

  “I want to see her!” I scream in the cop’s face. To his credit, he doesn’t back down. He looks at Ally. “Is there someone we can call to calm her down?”

  I tune them out and try once again to get into the house, but now both Ally and the cop are holding me back. I’m pretty sure I can kick Ally’s ass. She is 70 years old after all, but the cop is built like a ton of bricks, and I’m not moving him an inch. Crap!

  I’m staring the cop down when I hear my name being called. “Izzy?” Oh great. And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse. I hang my head and turn around.

  “What’s up?” I ask as if I’m not trying to push a cop out of my way while wearing pajama bottoms, an old t-shirt without a bra, and fuzzy bathroom slippers.

  Noel smiles and looks like he’s trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. I narrow my eyes at him, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Can I help?”

  “Yes,” I nod furiously. “I need to get inside to see my grandma and this oaf won’t let me pass.” I thumb my finger to indicate the cop.

  Noel looks at the cop who just shakes his head. I’m pretty sure they’ve communicated in some weird macho man way, but I don’t speak macho man and have no idea what’s going on. Noel walks over and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” he murmurs into my hair, “but she’s gone.”

  “NO! She can’t be gone. She’s my only family,” I grab onto Noel’s shirt and shake him. “She can’t be gone,” I repeat before my world goes black.

  When I wake up, I have no idea where I am until I see my humongous television screen in front of me. How did I get to my apartment? I sit up quickly and shake my head to clear it. I’m fuzzy and disorientated; confused as to why I’m napping on my sofa in the middle of the day.

  “Iz,” a soft voice beckons beside me. I look to my left and notice Jack sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.

  “What? How?” Apparently along with my memory of how I ended up on my sofa in the middle of the day, I’ve lost my ability to speak.

  “Noel brought you home and called me.”

  Noel? Shit! My memory comes crashing back, unwanted but unstoppable. Grandma’s gone. I hiccup as the tears start to fall down my face. Jack rushes to me and folds me in his arms before sitting back on the sofa and cradling me.

  “Shhhhh,” he murmurs. “It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.”

  “Alright?” I ask, incredulous. “How is anything ever going to be alright again? I have no one left.” I’m crying and gasping. I don’t know if Jack can even hear me, let alone understand, until he answers.

  “Of course you do. You have me. You’ll always have me.”

  Chapter 8

  "Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton

  I’ve been in hell for a week by the time Grandma’s funeral rolls around. Fortunately, my BFF Jack put his life on hold for the week to help me. I’ve eaten enough ice cream to fill the Gulf of Mexico and Jack’s done his best to finish off a mountain of caramel corn. Let’s not even talk about the amount of red wine we’ve polished off.

  I’m staring at myself in the mirror when Jack strolls in. He puts his arms around me and hugs me tightly. He’s wearing his black, funeral suit. The same one he bought for Ryan’s funeral and hasn’t worn since.

  “It’ll get better,” he whispers into my hair. “You know it’ll get better. Just get through today.”

  I nod before turning around and hugging him back. I don’t know what I’d do without him. The doorbell rings and I nearly take out Jack’s jaw with how quick my head snaps up. “Relax,” Jack says. “It’s just Noel.”

  Noel? What the hell is Noel doing here? Jack doesn’t give me time to come to grips with Noel’s appearance. He merely grabs my hand and pulls me to the front door. Noel stands at the door with a bundle of white lilies, Grandma’s favorite. He hands the flowers to Jack and pulls me in for a hug.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers as he holds me tight. I can’t wrap my head around why Noel is here let alone why he’s hugging me and calling me baby. Nevertheless, I take comfort in his large frame holding me, protecting me until Jack clears his throat and tells us it’s time to go.

  I start to walk towards Jack’s car, but Noel pulls me towards his. “We’re going to Grandma’s funeral in a GTO?” I stutter.

  Jack jumps in place and claps his hands. “Grandma would have liked this car,” he says and smiles at me. I smile back, thinking of Grandma and her love of all things übermasculine and totally not old lady like, muscle cars, tattoos, Harleys. Grandma loved them all.

  I smile back at Jack. “Grandma would have fucking loved this car.” Yes, I’m swearing and I don’t care. Sometimes you just need to drop an F-bomb.

  We arrive at the funeral home early, but there’s already a small crowd gathered at the entrance. Grandma was loved by everyone who knew her. I’m not surprised to see her friends and fellow church goers here to honor her life.

  I’m extremely fortunate Grandma planned her death in precise detail. She never talked to me about what she wanted for a funeral or remembrance, but she did tell me who to contact upon her death. The only ‘business’ I’ve had to attend to this week is calling her lawyer to get the ball rolling. I’m beyond thankful to her for taking away the need for me to make decisions in my time of grief.

  Grandma had apparently requested a ‘simple’ coffee and cake reception after the service. I don’t know how many old ladies you know, but Grandma’s friends weren’t going to go along with her wish for ‘simple’ coffee and cake. They’ve commandeered the VFW hall next to the funeral home and set out a buffet to beat all buffets for after the service. Those women could probably plan a war better than the U.S. government.

  I take a deep breath and grab Jack’s hand. He pulls me quickly through the crowd into the funeral parlor to our place of honor in the front. Jack and Noel surround me during the service. Jack keeps his arm tight around my shoulders and Noel holds my hand. I try not to cry, but when Grandma’s casket is rolled away for the last time, I can’t help but let my head fall and the tears flow. Somehow I end up in Noel’s arms blubbering away. I don’t know how long I cry for but when the tears finally end, he gently grasps my chin and raises my head before kissing my eyes. He smiles tenderly at me, which nearly starts the tears off again.

  Jack must sense how fragile and s
till close to tears I am, because he interrupts by grabbing my hand away from Noel and pulling me toward the exit. I hear Noel’s grunt of irritation behind us, but Jack just keeps going.

  Grandma wasn’t much for standing on ceremony and neither am I. She’s thus saved me from having to stand in a receiving line getting condolences from everyone and their mother. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and say a silent thank you to Grandma’s foresight as we leave the funeral home and walk across the street to the VFW.

  It may seem strange to hold a funeral lunch at the VFW, but the VFW hall is the center of our community. The hall hosts all important events from Friday fish fries to wedding receptions to bar mitzvahs. You don’t need to be a member of the VFW to rent the hall, but Grandma’s husband was a veteran and thus it’s fitting that her funeral lunch take place here.

  “Come on,” Jack says to Noel as we enter the hall. “Let’s find Iz a place to hang and then get some food. It’ll go fast. These ladies can cook!” He actually rubs his hands together in anticipation. I don’t know how he manages to maintain his sleek physique with the amount that man puts away.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be over there.” I point to a table in the corner before waving the boys off.

  I’m barely seated when Grandma’s knitting friends come strolling over. Betty, Ally, Rosemary, Martha, and Rose sit down effectively caging me in. The gang’s all here. They collectively lean toward me and motion for me to lean forward as well. What in the world? I look around suspiciously before I comply. I raise my eyebrows in question.

  Betty, gang leader that she is, rummages around in her huge purse before finally pulling out a newspaper clipping and handing it to me. It’s Grandma’s funeral announcement from the local gazette. I don’t need to read it. I’ve already memorized the text. “I don’t understand.” Why am I whispering?

  Betty sighs and points to the article again. I notice a few sentences have been highlighted. Anna Archer was found dead of natural causes by her neighbor, Mrs. Ally Jackson. Mrs. Archer suffered a massive heart attack while knitting at her home on the morning of…

  After I finish reading the highlighted section, I look up to Betty. “Still not getting it.”

  Betty huffs at me like I’m a small child who needs to have everything explained to her. “She wouldn’t have been knitting. She almost never knitted anymore. She only knitted a bit when we gals got together.” Hmm… I hadn’t thought about that, but it’s true. Grandma didn’t knit much anymore. “And besides that, she was complaining about her arthritis on Sunday.”

  I gasp as I remember the lunch we had with Grandma the Saturday before she died. Grandma had been rubbing her hands more than normal during lunch. I asked her if she was okay, but she had just shrugged and looked away. A telltale sign that the pain was worse than normal.

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “What are you trying to say?”

  Betty leans in even further and whispers. “We think someone killed her.”

  “Killed her?” I nearly shout, and the ladies quickly shush me. “Who would kill Grandma?”

  They shrug their shoulders as one. “We don’t know, but something’s fishy.”

  “Are you sure you just haven’t been watching too much Matlock?” The ladies quickly become indignant, but lucky for me, Jack and Noel arrive at that moment to distract the ladies from their wild accusations of murder. I mean, geesh, everyone loved Grandma. Why would anyone murder her?

  The ladies look Jack and Noel up and down like they are pieces of candy. I laugh when I see Noel noticeably gulp, but Jack is eating up the attention – as usual. The ladies quickly, well as quickly as elderly ladies can, stand and move on.

  Noel yelps as he sits down. “That lady just pinched my butt,” he whispers in horror to me. I pretend to analyze such butt and shrug. “Well, it is a pretty nice butt.” Noel starts stuffing his face, but he can’t hide the blush that spreads over his face and neck.

  Chapter 9

  "Listen” by Beyoncé

  I’m not given the chance to think about the weird accusations Grandma’s knitting group made at the funeral. It’s noon, the day after the funeral, and I’ve had to turn off my phone to try and get some work done. It makes my skin itch, not having the phone on, but the ladies have been bombarding me with phone calls all morning.

  Jack returned to his house last night, and I’m trying to get my groove back on with work. Unfortunately, life goes on even without Grandma in it and bills need to be paid. I haven’t yet managed an hour of staring at my computer before the front door bell rings. I huff in annoyance, but secretly I’m glad to be off the hook from work for a while.

  When I open the front door, Betty pushes her way in without so much as a how do you do. She walks straight to my kitchen table where she puts down a Tupperware cake taker. “Well,” she says as she sits down, “are you going to stand at the door all day with your mouth gaping open, or are you going to shut the door and make some coffee?”

  Obviously, I’ve seen the cake and I’m making some coffee. I shut the door and walk to the kitchen to grab coffee mugs and plates. Betty has taken the cake, ooh looks like German chocolate, out of its carrier and pulled a cake knife out of her purse by the time I return to the table with the coffee and plates.

  After she dishes up a huge piece of cake for me, which makes her my current all-time favorite person, she leans back in her chair and watches me. I know she wants something. Chocolate cake is, after all, the perfect tool for bribing a forty-year-old woman. But I’m not biting. Well, I am biting – into the cake. I’ll hear what she has to say when I’m done.

  I debate having a second piece, but Betty is having none of that. She shuts the cake carrier and places it out of my reach. She puts the knife on top of her empty plate but holds onto the handle. I raise my eyebrows at her.

  “So,” she begins. “Have you had a chance to think about what we said at the funeral?”

  I moan and collapse a little in my chair. I don’t want to think about Grandma’s death and I certainly don’t want to entertain the idea she was murdered. Besides the fact that it's utterly preposterous, it’s also a little disturbing – okay a lot disturbing.

  Betty won’t be giving up that easily, however. “You need to do something about it.”

  “Me?” I squeak. “Why me? You ladies are the ones convinced she was murdered. Why don’t you go to the police?”

  Betty grunts. “Seriously? Do you think the police will give old ladies two seconds of their time? They’ll claim we’ve been watching too much Matlock and kick us out of the station so fast it’ll make our heads spin. Just like you did yesterday and are doing now.”

  My face heats as Betty’s arrow hits its target, but I’m not giving in that easy. “Why would someone want to kill Grandma anyway?”

  Betty shrugs. “Don’t know. The police will need to figure that out.” Yeah right. I don’t think the police will take me any more seriously than they would Betty and her posse of knitters.

  I convince Betty to give me a second helping of German chocolate cake before she leaves. She makes me promise to go to the police before she’ll cut me another slice. I don’t really promise. It doesn’t count if I keep my fingers crossed behind my back and don’t actually say the words, “I promise”, but just nod when she asks if I promise, right?

  I get nearly two hours of work done before the next old lady comes a-calling. This time it’s Ally at the door. She hasn’t brought any baked goodies to convince me to do her bidding, but I let her in anyway.

  We sit on the sofa in the living room and I watch Ally as she wrings her hands. I can’t stand it anymore. I have to put her out of her misery – even if it only brings me grief. “What’s wrong, Ally?”

  She stops her hands and sighs. “Betty told me to come. She said I had to convince you, that I have to tell you what I saw that day.”

  I gasp. Did Ally see someone? Was Grandma really murdered?

  Ally seems to sense my thoughts and shakes her head. “N
o, it’s nothing like that.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s not like I saw something unusual or anything, but Betty says it’s important.”

  Betty is obviously the head instigator and troublemaker in this tale. I harrumph. Not like I’m surprised or anything. I shake my head and get back to the discussion at hand. “Okay. Tell me what you saw.”

  Ally takes a deep breath before beginning, “Well, you know I always checked up on Anna on Tuesday mornings.” When she pauses, I nod to encourage her to continue. “Normally, she was puttering around the house, but she didn’t answer the door so I knocked again and then walked in.” She turns to me. “I normally wouldn’t just walk in. I promise. But I waited and her car was in the drive. I was worried she had fallen or something.”

  I grab Ally’s hand and smile at her. “I know Ally. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like Grandma would have minded you walking into her house anyway.”

  Ally holds my hand tighter as she continues her story. “I was shocked to see Anna sitting in her recliner with her feet up. She never sat in the recliner during the day, only at night when she was watching her shows.” She pauses to gather her thoughts before carrying on. “Her knitting basket was next to her and it was a mess. It looked like someone had been pawing through it. And her knitting was on her lap, but it wasn’t like she had been knitting. It was more like someone had thrown some knitting on her lap.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

  “Well, the needles were just laying on top of her hands. She wasn’t holding on to them. And there was no yarn pulled out. The ball of yarn was just lying next to her needles.” She starts to talk quickly now. “And it wasn’t even the piece she was working on last time the group met. This was something she hadn’t worked on for a while. A delicate piece her hands could no longer handle.”

  I know which delicate piece Ally means, and it nearly breaks my heart to think of it. When Ryan and I first married, Grandma was super excited about the prospect of great-grandchildren. She started to knit some onesies for us. It didn’t take me long to figure out that I didn’t want children with Ryan though, at least not right away. He was still a child himself. I didn’t think I could handle having two children to raise. Grandma was undeterred and kept bugging me and continued knitting onesies until her arthritic hands couldn’t take it anymore. The last onesie she was working on was always in her basket though. It was nearly finished, but she couldn’t work on it anymore.