“And Stony Point’s favorite postal clerk, Miss Norma, brought in five hand-knitted blankets yesterday. She said she’d had them for a while because she ran out of people to give them to, but kept making more. I had no idea she could even knit. So, as you can see, she got to fill in the next blanket on the poster.”
Norma had used rainbow colors on her one and two-thirds blankets, but hadn’t signed her name.
“That means we are up to a grand total of eight blankets; we still have one hundred and twelve to go. Can we go around the circle and share our progress on our own projects, please? Stella, would you mind going first?”
Ian leaned over to Annie. “When did Kate become such a taskmaster?” he whispered, making her stifle giggles.
Stella sniffed at the pair. With a flourish, she snipped yellow yarn with a small pair of antique silver scissors, tied the yarn into her blanket, and held it up with a flourish.
“Mine is complete,” she said, to the oohs and aahs of the group.
“Beautiful, Stella! That means we’re up to nine blankets!” Kate walked over and took the piece from the older lady. Bending down, she kissed Stella on the cheek and whispered, “Thank you.” She then colored in the final third of the blanket that Norma had started.
“Voilà! Only thirty-seven more blankets to fill in it.”
“You are quite welcome, my dear,” Stella replied. “Ian’s presence here has given me the idea to recruit Jason to our cause. He also knows how to knit, and unless I need him to run errands for me, he might as well sit in on the meetings as well.”
Everyone looked surprised—Jason? Stella’s New York born-and-bred driver, Jason? He could knit?
“Goodness. Don’t look so shocked, everyone. I taught him years ago as a way for him to pass the time when waiting on me. These days we do it together in the evenings while watching the news and before we both retire for the night. He might even have some blankets already made that he’d be willing to part with.”
“How wonderful, Stella,” Kate managed to say. “OK, who’s next?”
Each member talked about their works in progress: Alice neared completion on a pink-and-blue crocheted afghan; Mary Beth had only a few rows of purple left to knit; Peggy’s green-and-white cotton quilt just needed the edges bound, so she’d started cutting squares for a blue-and-white quilt; and Gwen needed to add white edging to her yellow knitted blanket.
“Annie?” Peggy asked.
Annie held up a few rows she’d crocheted in a shell pattern with green yarn. “I’m starting my next afghan—I completed all of the squares for the previous one, and I meant to sew it together this weekend but …” She blushed and then continued, “I ran out of time.”
“Ian?”
The mayor held up his yard-long practice piece, to which he’d added a number of rows in single-crochet. It was starting to get lopsided, a common error for those learning the craft.
“Almost done!”
Everyone laughed.
“And what about you, Kate?” Annie asked. “What are you working on?”
“I just finished this!” Kate went behind the register and pulled out an exquisitely crocheted blanket in rainbow hues.
“Why, it’s beautiful!” Gwen exclaimed, looking over the top of her chic tortoiseshell glasses. “I’d love to have one just like it for myself!”
Kate laughed. “This is probably the easiest piece I’ve made in years. I wrote down the pattern for the crocheters if you’d like to try it.”
Her statement was met with silence; Alice especially felt certain such a feat was beyond her skill.
Then Ian spoke in a serious tone. “I would like a copy. It looks easy, and I’m sure I’ll have my blanket done by the next meeting.”
“Thank you, Ian,” Kate said grandly as the ladies laughed. She handed him the photocopied pattern. “It actually is a very easy stitch that only looks difficult.”
“OK, fine. Hand one over here,” Alice said. “I’d hate for the mayor to do better than an official Hook and Needle Club member.”
“I’ll take one, too, of course,” said Annie. She glanced sideways. “You know, just in case Ian needs some help.”
Kate winked and handed Annie her copy. “I’ll have extra copies here on the register if anyone wants one.
“Oh, and I almost forgot—Vanessa, Mackenzie, Lily, and some of their classmates are starting a Teen Hook and Needle Club, and they’ll be meeting here every Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock. If any of you have time and would like to stop by today and help out, feel free.”
“I would love to, but of course I’ll still be working,” said Peggy. She looked a little wistful.
“Not to worry, Peggy. I believe my Tuesday afternoons are free, and I’ll be happy to assist,” Gwen said.
“Thank you so much, Gwen,” Kate said, clapping her hands together. “Now, back to work!”
The ladies—and Ian—bent over their projects for the next fifteen minutes or so, talking quietly and munching on the fudge bars Alice had brought. Stella started a new blanket, and Ian continued with his practice piece. Suddenly, Peggy sat up, quilt squares falling to the floor.
“Hey! What about our mystery? Here we’ve been eating these fudge bars and haven’t talked about the recipes hardly at all! And I don’t think we talked about it last week, either.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Alice said. “Annie and I made a list of what we know for sure. Annie, did you bring the notebook?”
Annie dug around in her tote, flipped to the right page and handed it over.
“OK. One—we found the items in a hole under a floorboard in the upstairs spare bedroom of the carriage house.” Alice summarized the most important part of each clue, figuring that they would be there all day if she read every single word Annie had written down. “Two—the floorboard was a different wood than the rest, and no one noticed it all this time.” She looked up at Ian. “Our kind mayor has let us know that the lumber difference won’t help us solve the mystery. Three—that means the rug over it has probably been there for awhile.
“Four—we found a bunch of recipes in a mason jar, with a square of fabric, a spatula, a knife, and a bottle of spices. Five—most of the recipes are handwritten, and some of them are unreadable. They may have been first or second drafts of recipes. Six—a cook probably hid the recipes. Seven—the first recipe I attempted turned out terrible, even though the second one was delicious. And, finally, eight—Annie found the plans from when Betsy and Charles renovated the carriage house, and it turns out my spare room was the original bedroom, so our cook could have lived there as far back as Captain Grey’s time.”
“But not necessarily,” said Mary Beth.
“No, not necessarily,” Alice agreed. “Unfortunately it means we can’t use that to narrow down the possible time frame. Nor can we use the recipes themselves, as they are all handwritten and none of them are dated.”
“How many recipes are there?” Gwen asked, brushing off her navy blue pants.
Alice and Annie looked at each other.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” said Alice.
“Since they are handwritten, and some are illegible, I don’t think we ever thought to count them!” Annie added.
“You said they are handwritten. Is the handwriting the same on all of them?” Gwen asked.
“I hadn’t thought of that either,” Alice admitted. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, John told me about a fraud case they’re working on.” Gwen’s husband, John Palmer, served as president of Stony Point Savings Bank. “Now, I can’t tell you exact details—nor could he tell me—but apparently a customer had some checks stolen, and the thief did a remarkable job forging the signature. The customer swore he hadn’t written the checks, and so the authorities brought in a handwriting analyst who could prove that the checks had been forged. The analyst even determined some characteristics of the forger that should help them find the criminal.”
“Wow, that’s really wild,” sa
id Peggy.
“I’ve seen specials on TV about stuff like that,” Mary Beth said excitedly. “You know, where they look at a historical document and try to determine if it’s real or fake from the handwriting and whatnot, like, copies of the Declaration of Independence. Maybe you should have the recipes examined!”
“I guess I could ask John who he used and find out how much the analyst would charge,” Alice said.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Mary Beth said, putting her project on her lap, “and if I remember correctly, the Swanns enjoyed holding parties. The Swanns were very odd, and they served odd things at their parties. If you got an invite, you knew to eat before you went so you wouldn’t starve to death—we called their parties ‘culinary adventures.’ So maybe the recipes you’re making are theirs.”
“But why would the Swanns have hidden recipes in their own home?” Kate asked.
“Maybe the Swanns didn’t hide them,” Stella said. “Maybe one of their party guests did. Someone could have done it as a joke.”
“Why, Stella, do you know something about that? Were you at a party when that happened?” Alice asked.
“Of course not. Don’t be silly. I didn’t even live here when the Swanns did. It’s merely conjecture.” She sniffed and then went back to her knitting.
“So, maybe you should ask the Swanns about it, Alice,” Mary Beth said. “Even if the recipes aren’t theirs, maybe they’ll know something.”
“Well, I’ve been hesitant to get in contact with them,” Alice replied. “I’ve rented from them for years, but I’ve never really dealt with them directly, just the company they hired to manage the property. I only met them one time when I moved in. Plus, I don’t want to mess anything up with the negotiations to buy the place.
“Plus, to my untrained eye, the recipes seem older than that,” Alice replied. “Best I remember, Betsy sold the place to them in the early 1990s. Of course, it could have been someone Charles and Betsy rented to, or even further back. We don’t even know if someone lived in the carriage house during Captain Grey’s time.”
Peggy, dressed as usual in her waitressing uniform, had gathered her fallen quilt squares and put them in her bag. She looked at her watch, jumped up, and exclaimed, “Gotta go! Jeff will kill me if I’m not there to help with the lunch rush!”
“I, too, must bid you ladies a fond farewell,” Ian said, getting up and bowing to the assembled group. “Time waits for no mayor.”
Laughter ushered both of them out the door.
10
“However—and when—did you manage to make that beautiful blanket?” Mary Beth asked Kate as soon as the last Hook and Needle Club member had left. “And to write down the pattern too? Seriously, when did you have time?”
Kate smiled at the praise as she joined her boss in cleaning up from the meeting.
“I’ve actually been working on the pattern for a long time, and I used that weekend I had off to perfect it. I wanted it to look elaborate, but be easy enough for beginners. I actually got the blanket done in a week. And I only worked on it in the evenings.”
“Someday, girl, you really must publish a book of your patterns—or rather several books,” Mary Beth said. “I bet they would sell like gangbusters. And luckily, I know all the publishers.”
“That is lucky! And how lucky am I that I work for the infamous Mary Beth Brock. I feel ever so special!”
“Oh, hush,” Mary Beth teased. “I’m serious. You’ve got a talent for creating crochet patterns.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Kate said. “I’m pretty busy between the store and Vanessa, and don’t forget the article I’m writing every other month for Hook and Needle Artistry magazine.”
“Well, if you do try your hand at books, just promise me that you’ll include ‘from A Stitch in Time in Stony Point, Maine’ on every book.”
“I’m pretty sure I can do that.”
“Good,” Mary Beth said as she finished rearranging the chairs.
“I hope the teen group is this neat,” Kate said as she finished sweeping. “I guess we’ll find out this afternoon.”
“Do you need any help to get ready for that meeting?”
“No, actually, and my help isn’t needed either. Lily, Mackenzie, and Vanessa apparently had a powwow on Saturday, and they picked out yarn and needles for everyone, and one crochet pattern and one knitting pattern. Vanessa said something about making it easy for the new members.”
“Oh yeah,” Mary Beth said. “I remember seeing the girls in here on Saturday, laughing and giggling about who knows what. It was during the time you used my SUV to take a bunch of boxes to the recycler. The girls had left before you got back. Did you know Lily is driving now, and has apparently done so long enough to carry passengers?”
“Yup. I guess she and her mom cashed a couple of those stock certificates that Annie had found in the attic to buy that car she drives.”
“She just doesn’t seem old enough to be driving. Cute car, though. Some sort of hybrid I think,” Mary Beth said.
“Vanessa is old enough to drive too, but she doesn’t seem very interested in learning.”
“I guess not, since her friend has a car and doesn’t mind driving.”
Kate picked up more scattered plates and napkins. “Did the girls make copies of anything? Or take anything with them?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I had customers to tend: Joan McTavish and Frieda Stillwater. Oh, and Viola, Estelle, and a woman I hadn’t met before. I think she said her name is Katherine. Odd that I’d never met her. She said that she’s lived in Stony Point for a number of years. Anyway, I guess they talked Katrina into bringing them here for their weekly activity away from Seaside Hills Assisted Living. They’re all sweet ladies, but God bless ’em, they wore me out.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever been in the store when they’ve come in,” Kate said, throwing away the trash. She grabbed a dust rag from behind the register and started wiping down the chair arms, the table and the counter.
“Count your lucky stars. Individually, they are sweet as can be, and I love helping them, but all together …,” Mary Beth said, mock-groaning. “However, in the good news category, someone had taken the Blanket Haiti flyer to the retirement home, and that’s why they all came in—to get some supplies to make blankets.”
“That someone was Katrina. She came in last week for some flyers,” Kate replied. “I’m glad the ladies want to help, and that they brought someone new with them. They all do such lovely work. I’m so worried we won’t make our goal.”
“Nonsense,” Mary Beth retorted, straightening some pattern books on a shelf. “It’s just late January, so we’ve got plenty of time, and everyone is excited to help, even the mayor.”
“Speaking of the mayor, is it just me or were he and Annie getting rather cozy? Even more than strictly necessary for a crochet lesson?”
“Nope, it wasn’t just you. Everyone knows they make such a cute couple.”
“Except for them.”
“Yeah, except for them—well, Annie at least. And that ‘we’re just friends’ nonsense Annie’s always spouting—did you see how much she blushed when Peggy brought up Sweet Nell’s?”
Kate started giggling. “I sure did. Hard to miss the red tips of her ears! Of course, we never did hear how the date went.”
“Nope. Guess we’ll have to ask next meeting,” Mary Beth said. “I’d call her, but it’s more fun to make her spill the details in front of everyone.”
“And to see her blush.”
“That too.”
****
The rest of the day passed quickly, Mary Beth and Kate each grabbing a few minutes to scarf down their lunches in the back room while the other helped customers. Word definitely was getting out, and everyone wanted to learn more about Blanket Haiti. Some customers bought crafting supplies, while others dropped off checks or a few blankets. Kate happily got to color in two more blankets on their tracking poste
r.
In a rare lull, Kate ran out to pick up some snacks for the teen group—she knew how hungry growing girls could get. And they’d be more likely to come back if they knew they’d get something to eat.
Their FedEx guy surprised them with a delivery of yarn.
“I can’t believe this is here already. I just placed the order this past Friday!” Kate exclaimed, signing his tracking device. “By the way, be ready,” she told him. “I’ve got a lot more stuff on its way.”
He laughed and then rolled his cart down the sidewalk to the next store.
“Let’s see,” Kate said to Mary Beth. She grabbed the box cutter and sliced open the packet on the side for the packing slip. She unfolded the slip and grabbed a pen to start marking things off. “Oh! It’s from Jenn Gracie’s company. She included a note: ‘Best of luck with Blanket Haiti. I expedited shipping on this, just for you. No extra charge.’”
She grinned at Mary Beth, who said, “Well, quit gawking. Let’s get this yarn on the shelves!”
****
True to her word, Gwen got to the store a little before the girls’ arrival. She still wore her outfit from the earlier meeting, pressed brown slacks and a cream cashmere sweater. Her tortoiseshell glasses were perched on top of her head.
“Hello, Gwen,” Kate called from the back room. “Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you,” she responded. “Hope it’s OK, but I grabbed the chair next to the window so I could capture the last of the light. The girls’ young eyes don’t need it as much as I do.”
Kate laughed as she entered the main part of the store. “Of course,” she said. “You can sit anywhere you want.” She carried a tray of mugs, which she then put on the table in the middle of the circle of chairs.
“I thought the girls might like some hot cocoa and snacks,” she said, returning to the back.
“Do you need any help?” Gwen called after her, but Kate had already reappeared, this time carrying a basket of cookies and one stuffed with bags of chips.
A Spicy Secret Page 10