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

by D. E. Haggerty

  I can’t listen to any more of Ally’s story. I can’t handle any more information. The wound is still raw. Luckily, Ally understands. She stands before leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the head. I’m still sitting on the sofa when I hear the door shut.

  Chapter 10

  "Call the Police” by James Morrison

  I toss and turn most of the night, unable to sleep due to Ally’s revelations and my kinda sorta promise to Betty to go to the police. I’m sure the police will think I’m crazy if I claim my eighty-something-year-old Grandma was murdered when she obviously died of a heart attack. I hit the pillow hard in frustration. Screw it! Maybe I should just go to the police. If they don’t believe me, then my duty is done, and I can get on with my life. Decision made, I finally fall asleep.

  Of course, I’m feeling less confident when morning arrives, convinced the police will indeed think I’m coo-coo for cocoa puffs. I’ve made up my mind, however, and I’m nothing if not stubborn. And okay, to be perfectly honest, I also don’t look forward to dealing with Betty and her crew if I don’t go to the police. Those ladies are tenacious as hell!

  I arrive alone at the police station shortly after nine. Jack wanted to come with me. He insisted even though I feel bad for taking him away from his life for a week. Turns out he had a rare work emergency and had to back out at the last minute anyway. I catch my reflection in the glass door as I walk in. When I see my tight jeans and t-shirt, I almost turn around. I definitely should have thought about my wardrobe selection before leaving the house this morning. I start to think up a gazillion reasons to chicken out, but stop myself. What if Grandma really was killed?

  But how to approach the situation? Do I just go up to the desk sergeant and say “‘Someone killed my grandma, do something about it!”? Unfortunately, standing here thinking about how to handle things isn’t going to get me home any faster. I force myself to march up to the desk and nearly shout, “I need to report a crime.”

  The bored desk sergeant only looks up from her magazine for two seconds before returning to it. “Have a seat.”

  I don’t move. “Aren’t you going to at least call someone?”

  The desk sergeant, who obviously finds her job extremely tiring, raises her head to stare at me. “I said have a seat.” She then uses a shocking pink nail to point at a row of chairs against the wall.

  “Fine,” I huff and move to sit down. Some people have obviously chosen the wrong career.

  It takes about two hours for someone to finally come out from the bowels of the police station to help me. Or ten minutes according to the clock on the wall, but I’m pretty sure the clock is rigged. I follow the man to his desk and take a seat.

  The police officer starts up his computer before turning to me. “How can we help?”

  Time for the police to think I’ve gone batty. “I think my grandma was murdered.”

  To his credit, the cop merely blinks a few times in surprise before he starts asking questions. “And why do you think that?”

  Here comes the crazy part. “Well, she was found with knitting needles in her lap, but she doesn’t knit anymore.”

  The cop clears his voice loudly before continuing. “Okay. Let’s start over. Who is your grandma? How and when did she die?”

  I quickly explain that my grandma is Anna Archer and she died a week ago.

  “How did she die?”

  “She had a heart attack.”

  “So,” the cop struggles to continue, “you think someone faked her having a heart attack.”

  Yes! He gets it. I bob my head up and down. “Exactly!”

  “And why would anyone kill your grandma? Was she rich? Who would benefit from her death?”

  “Um…,” I stall for time because I don’t have any clue what the answers to his questions are. Actually, that’s not entirely true. “I think Grandma had some money. I don’t know how much, but she didn’t have any living relatives so she made a trust for charity.”

  The cop narrows his eyes at me. “She didn’t have any relatives, but you call her Grandma?”

  My face burns. “She’s my late husband’s grandmother.” The cop nods in understanding. One benefit of being a widow? People tend to let things slide when you mention your dead husband. A situation I’ve had to take advantage of in the past. Not that I’m proud of it or anything, but when needs must…

  “Listen,” the cop rolls his chair closer to me as he begins, “I’m not sure there’s really a crime here.”

  I don’t let him continue. This is bullshit! Sometime between listening to the knitting crew’s murder hypothesis and my trip to the police station, I realized that something is indeed not right with Grandma’s death. Maybe I don’t entirely believe she was killed, but something isn’t right. You know that little voice inside your head? The one that tells you not to walk down dark alleys late at night? My little voice was shouting at me that something was up.

  I stand up and jerk away. “Fine! I’ll figure it out myself.” I may have shouted a teensy bit. I begin walking toward the front desk and the exit of the building, but I’m stopped by someone shouting my name.

  “Izzy? What are you doing here?” Oh crap, just when I thought my discomfort can’t get any worse. Bam! The universe proves me wrong.

  I could try to ignore Noel, but that doesn’t seem prudent when he’s a detective, and I’m in the police station. I turn around slowly and put on a plastic smile. “Hi Noel!” Even to me my voice sounds fake.

  Noel grabs my hand and pulls me into an interrogation room. Or at least I assume it’s an interrogation room since the sparse decoration only includes one scarred table, four chairs, and a mirror, which covers one entire wall. Oh yeah, and the sign on the door that says interrogation room #2 probably gave it away as well.

  Once we’re in the room, Noel turns and shuts the door. He jumps right in. “Why have you been ignoring my calls, Izzy?”

  I hang my head. Seriously, is it that hard to figure out? The man is a detective, after all. Shouldn’t he have a clue? I clear my throat. “Noel, you’re nice and all, but seriously, were you not at the restaurant when I mooned the entire dining area? You are way out of my league.”

  Noel shakes his head. “Isn’t that my decision?”

  I sigh and look up at him. “I don’t want to embarrass you every time we’re in public. You deserve better.”

  I don’t know if Noel didn’t hear me or decides to ignore me. Probably the latter. “Why are you here anyway?”

  Is it possible for my face to get any redder? I think not. “We think grandma was murdered,” I mumble to the floor.

  Noel grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Why don’t I take you out to dinner tonight and you can explain it all to me?”

  I want to say no. This man is only going to break my heart when he realizes that I am indeed out of his league, but I’ve got to figure out what happened to Grandma, and it looks like the police are going to be of no help. I straighten my back with determination. I will go out with Noel. I’ll probably suffer heartbreak, but that’s nothing new. Been there. Done that. Have the t-shirt to prove it.

  Chapter 11

  "With a Little Help from my Friends” by Joe Cocker

  I have no idea what to wear on my ‘date’ with Noel. I mean, yeah, it is a date. But, on the other hand, I’m only going because I want him to help me with Grandma’s murder or whatever it is. Face plant. I’m a complete jerk-a-lerk. I can’t only go out with Noel because I want to use him. I grab my phone and hit Noel’s number to cancel the date, but, of course, the one time I call him, he doesn’t pick up. Grrrr…

  I settle on something between hot date clothes and work meeting outfit. This translates into work pants with a flirty blouse. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. “What in the world?” Great, Jack’s here.

  I turn and look at him. “What?” I don’t wait for a reply but go back to applying make-up.

  “What are you wearing?”

  �
��Um, clothes.” Seriously, is this the dumbest conversation ever?

  “I thought you had a date with Noel.”

  I put down my mascara wand and place my hands on my hips. “And how do you know I have a date with Noel?”

  Jack shrugs, but he doesn’t look chagrined. “Noel told me.”

  “What? Are you two buddies now?”

  Jack puts his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugs again, but doesn’t say anything. I cross my arms on my chest and plant my feet shoulder width apart. Jack knows perfectly well this translates to answer me or else.

  “Fine,” Jack puts his hands up in surrender. “Yes, we’re friends.”

  “Freaking great,” I mutter. “That’s not gonna be awkward at all when things don’t work out.”

  Jack sighs and reaches forward to pull me in his arms. “Why do you assume things won’t work out?”

  “Seriously Jack,” I complain. “He’s so far out of my league I’m surprised the dating police haven’t hauled him away for a grievous felony.”

  “Oh, good Lord woman! When did you lose your confidence in yourself?” Jack spins me around to face the mirror. “Look at yourself. You’re pretty. You have a great career. You’re hilarious and fun to be with. What’s not to love?”

  “You’re forgetting clumsy, lacks brain-to-mouth filter, and embarrassing.” Jack only snorts in response. I decide to enlighten him further. “Number one,” I use my fingers to count off my violations. “He met me while I was not-so-gracefully shooting tequila. After which, I proceeded to scream at my speed date, nearly fall over my chair, and then run out of the bar like the devil was on my heels. That’s two. Let’s not forget number three during which I mooned an entire restaurant on our first date. And, finally, today, aka number four, I screamed at a police officer while at the station.”

  Jack reaches forward and runs his knuckles down my face. “And yet he’s still calling you, stood by you at Grandma’s funeral, and is excited to be going out on a date with you.”

  “Excited?” That can’t be right, but Jack nods. “Really?” I need double assurance on this one. Jack nods again. “I’m nervous,” I admit.

  “About what? You’re never nervous.” That’s not exactly true, I’m just really good at hiding my nerves behind snarky comments. Jack should know this by now.

  “I haven’t, you know… been with a man since Ryan,” I admit and feel my face burn with the humiliation of it all.

  “But Ryan’s been dead five years!” Jack yells, but then stills. “Oh, okay.” Now he feels me. He pulls me in for a hug. “It’ll be alright. When things get that far, just tell Noel. Any man who can’t understand, isn’t worth your time.”

  I nod. Jack is done being Mr. Sensitive and pulls away. “So,” he claps his hands in excitement, “now that’s all settled, what are you gonna wear?” He cocks a hip and points his finger up and down my body. “Because that outfit, ain’t doing it for anybody.”

  By the time I’ve applied my make-up, Jack has gathered all of my ‘date’ clothes onto the bed for his perusal. I may agree that Noel kinda sorta wants to actually see me and maybe, just maybe, is only slightly out of my league, but there’s no way I’m changing into date clothes. Why tempt fate?

  I plant my hands on my hips and face Jack. “Nuh uh, not gonna happen.” I point to the clothes and shake my head.

  Jack groans and mumbles, “Why me?” under his breath, but loud enough to make sure I can hear him. He grabs a pair of skinny jeans and shoves them at me. “At least change those hideous pants.”

  “Fine,” I huff and quickly get out of my work pants and shimmy into the skinny jeans. When I’ve changed, Jack hands me a pair of heels so high that I’ll probably get a nosebleed if I wear them. Yeah right, like that’s gonna happen. I just shake my head at him. After much bickering, we finally agree that I can wear flats as long as they are sparkly.

  I’m just stepping into my sparkly no-heeled sandals, when the doorbell rings. Jack claps his hands in excitement. “Your beau is here,” he says before running to the front door. Whose date was this anyway?

  Chapter 12

  "Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves

  Needing a little Dutch courage for this conversation with Noel, I’m on my second glass of wine when he finally gets around to asking about my trip to the police station. “Why, exactly, do you think your grandma was murdered?” His question is blunt, but he looks sincere.

  “Well,” I start, and put down my wine glass to avoid any spillage should my hands start talking on my behalf. “It just doesn’t add up.” Noel cocks an eyebrow in question. “There are a few things. First, she never sits in her recliner during the day. Like Never. But that’s where she was found. She was also found with knitting on her lap, but she doesn’t knit anymore because of her arthritis. Well, she knits at the knitting group but not really. Oh yeah, and the knitting wasn’t really knitting.”

  Noel shakes his head in confusion. “The knitting wasn’t really knitting?”

  I bob my head in confirmation. “Yeah, it was just knitting stuff laying on her lap, but not like you would have if you were knitting. There was no yarn attached to the piece she was working on. Oh, that’s another thing,” I’m starting to talk faster and faster in my excitement. “The knitting piece was a delicate piece that she hadn’t worked on in years.” I gulp to calm myself as I think of the onesie. Noel reaches across the table and grabs my hand, silently giving me support. “She couldn’t work on it, you see, it was too difficult with her hands. She had really bad arthritis and was having a bad bout of it over the weekend as well.” I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair. Confident that I’ve convinced Noel something’s afoot.

  Noel lets go of my hand and leans back as well. “I admit this all seems strange, but why do you think it’s murder?”

  I shrug. “I’m not really sure of anything, but you know that little voice in the back of your head?” He nods in agreement. “It’s screaming at me that something’s not right.”

  Noel is quiet for a few minutes. I’m tempted to say something as I’m not good with quiet. I like to fill silence with ramblings about inane and inappropriate stuff. Finally, Noel replies. “Okay, let’s just assume that, despite the evidence to the contrary, your grandma was killed.” He puts one hand up in the stop position before I can object. “Why would someone want to kill her?”

  I slump in my chair. This is indeed the crux of the problem. “I don’t know. Everyone loved her.”

  “So you’ve basically got two problems. One, she died of a heart attack.”

  I can’t let that go. “But aren’t there ways to fake a heart attack?”

  Noel nods. “There are, but they are sophisticated methods. Which brings me to problem number two: Where’s the motive? Who wanted to kill her? And why?”

  As much as it pains me to admit, Noel’s right. In order for there to be a murder, there has to be a murderer. And who in the world could that be? Our food arrives and we drop the discussion of grandma’s death for the time being, but I’m not going to let it go that easy. This is my grandma we’re talking about. She was my rock when I needed one. I owe it to her to find out what happened. If anything unusual happened, that is.

  I’m drinking my third glass of wine when I catch sight of Ed, speed dating disaster number one. I nearly drop my glass as I duck my head so he doesn’t see me. Of course, Noel the detective, notices. I’m starting to see why old girlfriends had a problem with dating a detective. It’s one thing to notice every little nuance, but can’t he pretend sometimes not to see everything?

  Noel leans over and mock whispers, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s one of my dates from the speed dating,” I answer as I try to hide my head with my hair.

  Noel looks around curiously. “Where?”

  “Over there,” I mutter under my breath and point my head toward the bar where Ed is sitting.

  Noel checks Ed out and then asks, “Which one was this?” On our first date,
I had told Noel all about my three speed dating disasters. Noel is smiling, obviously amused by my discomfort. I glare at him, but he’s staring at Ed.

  “The guy who was into BDSM.” I try to talk without moving my lips, terrified Ed is going to notice me.

  “What? I can’t understand you.”

  I groan. “The guy who’s into BDSM.” Oops, that came out a bit loud. I think the entire restaurant has stopped talking to stare at me. My cheeks flush, and I stare at the floor wondering if I can hide under the table or if an escape is worth a try.

  Noel, however, isn’t bothered at all. This is evidenced when he leans back and starts to laugh – loudly. I glare at him, but he continues to laugh until the restaurant goes back to normal. I dare to peek at Ed, but he somehow hasn’t noticed the commotion in the restaurant from his perch in the bar. Pheew.

  Noel is still laughing and it’s starting to annoy me. I cross my arms across my chest and lean forward. “I told you I was out of your league and embarrassing to boot!”

  He slowly stops laughing and wipes tears from his eyes. “Babe, you are precious. I think it’s me that’s out of your league. Every time I’m with you it’s an adventure.”

  “An adventure,” I huff. “Watching me embarrass myself is an adventure?” I’m no longer annoyed, now I’m getting mad.

  Noel’s face turns serious. He leans forward. “You’re the only one who thinks you’re embarrassing. The other diners barely noticed you. Well, the men are checking you out, but that’s a different matter.”