“I didn’t realize Lyndon was staying with you,” Josie said, surprised. “I thought he was moving in upstairs. I rented him the second-floor efficiency apartment as a package deal.”
“It’s just temporary. He said he wants to get the shop running before he moves in and has to start doing his own cooking and cleaning. His business partner, Harry Oglethorpe, rented a room from me too, though he hasn’t checked in yet. I don’t think Harry is planning to stay in town full-time. He’s on the road a lot.”
Josie nodded. “Lyndon said Harry was on a buying trip in the Catskills. Though where they’re going to put anything else over there, I don’t know. The shop looks full to me already.”
“Well,” Lorna said. “There’s plenty of space upstairs over every building on Main Street. If they need more storage space, they could certainly find it.”
Evelyn and Helen, who had resumed their seats on the couch, were studiously examining their knitting. Helen owned the empty building across the street, but Josie seriously doubted Helen would be renting out space there anytime soon.
Helen piped up, shrewdly changing the subject. “I grew up with Lyndon, you know.” She frowned at her knitting, pulled a stitch off her needle, and picked it up again.
Evelyn stared at Helen, then narrowed her eyes just a bit. “Funny you didn’t mention that,” Evelyn said. “Since we were just talking to him. And we’ve known for weeks he was opening up next door.”
Helen’s face was unreadable. “Don’t get your purls in a twist, Evelyn. I wasn’t sure it was the same fellow. His father was a lawyer, and his mother was a part-time nurse in old Doctor Ryder’s office. Lyndon went away to prep school, and his family moved away when we were in fifth grade.”
Evelyn didn’t look convinced. “Why didn’t you say anything to him just now?”
“I wanted to see if he recognized me.” Helen set her project down in her lap, then reached for a napkin and one of Lorna’s brownies.
“Did he?” Josie said. Helen cut three more brownies and doled them out to Margo, Gwen, and Josie.
“Not yet. But he will. I’m sure of it.”
Josie wasn’t so sure about that, and from the expressions Margo and Gwen wore, they weren’t either. It had to have been more than fifty years since Lyndon and Helen had seen each other. However, this prior relationship might give Helen a slight advantage over Evelyn in the competition. At this early point, though, it seemed like anybody’s game.
The brownie was every bit as delicious as the scent had promised. Josie took a sip of her coffee, which intensified the dark chocolate flavor. “How is Darrell?” she asked Margo. “Did his arm heal up from where he cut it?”
Margo paused her work to count a few stitches. “He’s fine and back at work. Just a few sutures and a tetanus booster shot. It’s a cost of doing business when you’re a carpenter.”
“I hadn’t heard about that. How’d it happen?” Evelyn asked.
“Oh, he got tangled up in a bit of barbed wire out at the old Ryder place. The new owners hired Darrell to build some hops poles, and he was out there taking measurements. No biggie.”
“Hop poles?” Josie had no idea what Margo was talking about.
“Hops. As in the plant that beer is made from? I don’t know much about it, only that it’s a vine and that it’s grown on tall poles.” Margo smiled, her eyes meeting Josie’s. “I hear the new owners are planning to start a craft brewery here in Dorset Falls.”
A second new business opening in town? That was almost too good to be true.
Josie opened her mouth to comment, but was interrupted by Evelyn. “Helen? Helen. What’s the matter, dear?” Evelyn put her arm around Helen’s shoulders. Her friend’s head was bowed, and when Helen finally looked up, her eyes glistened with tears. She sniffed, and Evelyn handed her a tissue that she’d procured from somewhere. Probably from the sleeve of her cardigan.
“Oh, I was just thinking about Bea Ryder,” Helen said, dabbing at her nose. “She was my friend.” A deep breath and a sip of coffee seemed to restore some of Helen’s composure. “The reason her house was available is because her younger cousin in Florida lost the tenants a few years ago, couldn’t find more, and finally decided to sell.”
Josie reached out and took Helen’s hand. “I’m sorry you lost your friend,” she said. “When did she die?”
The muffled sound of furniture moving came through the wall adjoining the antique shop, but it barely registered this time.
Helen’s fingers shook under Josie’s. “That’s just it. I don’t know if she’s dead. Not for sure. One day, decades ago now, she disappeared. And never came back. And I miss her every day.”
“I remember reading about that,” Evelyn said. “It was just after my first husband and I moved here from Massachusetts.”
First husband? Josie wondered how many others there had been. Well, there couldn’t have been that many, could there?
“Of course,” Evelyn continued, “the newspapers called her disappearance just that. A disappearance. As though she decided to up and leave Dorset Falls on a whim and might turn up somewhere else someday.”
Josie saw Helen’s face, which had been soft with memories and tears, harden.
“But most of us thought—and I still think—she was murdered. Though I don’t know by whom,” Helen said.
A fist tightened around Josie’s innards as she recalled the dead, cold body she’d found lying just yards away in the storeroom of Miss Marple Knits, not long ago. Was this little town cursed?
“There must have been some theories,” Margo said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard this story,” Lorna added.
“You’re both too young, and it happened a long time ago. But let’s not talk about that anymore,” Helen said, removing her hand from Josie’s and picking up her knitting. She made a few stitches, then seemed to relax, obviously soothed by the repetitive motion, or by the feel of the yarn in her fingers. Knitting was like Valium to these women.
“Then let’s talk about going to see a show in New York,” Evelyn declared. “There’s that new needlecraft musical—the one where the main characters tell the story of their lives while knitting one crazy-long scarf?”
“Singing and dancing while they do it?” Helen said, the usual cheerful lilt returning to her voice.
Josie looked over at Helen, then Evelyn. There were some strange plays produced in New York, but—
“Kidding!” Evelyn said. “But there should be a knitting musical. Let’s pick out a show, and we’ll ask the limo company to send Rodrigo to drive. Josie, you’ll come with us. Gwen, Margo, and Lorna too.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
Josie hadn’t returned to New York since her move to Dorset Falls. Was she ready to go back? She supposed she’d find out eventually.
Chapter 3
Dougie’s General Store, which most locals, now including Josie herself, simply called “the g.s.,” was its usual uncrowded self the next morning. Although, even mostly empty, it was still one of the busiest places in Dorset Falls.
At a table near the counter sat just the person Josie never wanted to see, Diantha Humphries, who appeared to be in deep conversation with a man Josie had never met. Josie shifted the box containing the store’s standing order of four dozen eggs, which she’d retrieved from her chicken coop only an hour ago, and debated for a moment. There was nowhere to set down the box except where it belonged, which was on the lunch counter. Which was right next to Diantha.
Drat that woman. Why couldn’t she have chosen a seat closer to the restrooms? Josie steeled herself. You’ve done nothing wrong, she thought. It’s Diantha’s problem if she doesn’t like you.
Josie plastered on a big smile, crossed the wooden floor, and laid her box down on the counter. “Good morning, Diantha. Lovely spring day, isn’t it?” Nothing like a preemptive strike of cheerfulness.
Diantha’s face twisted from its usual expression of haughty distaste into one of pure dislike. She set
her coffee cup down on the table and glared up at Josie. “Maybe for you,” she spat out. “It’s been weeks since I’ve had a good morning or a lovely day, thanks to you. Why don’t you go back to the city where you belong, before you cause any more trouble in my town?” The man, who appeared to be in his early sixties, seemed annoyed, whether at being interrupted in his conversation with the old battle-ax, or for some other reason, Josie couldn’t say.
Josie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Diantha was on the town council, at least until elections rolled around in the fall, but unless she’d suddenly been crowned Queen of Dorset Falls, the town most certainly was not all hers. The woman was like a broken record. Every time Josie encountered her, Diantha commanded her to leave. Which gave Josie all the more desire to stay.
Josie opened her mouth to respond when the sound of angry voices punctuated the air. Diantha whipped her head around toward the back of the store. Josie turned too.
“You don’t like the way I run things in my own store, you can find another job.” The voice was male, and since it was coming from the direction of Douglas Brewster’s office, Josie had to assume it was his.
“Dougie,” a female voice said. Lorna, Josie thought. “Think about what you’re doing. You can’t cut corners with the food service. Margarine instead of real butter? Powdered eggs? You’ll put yourself out of business.”
“Fat lot you know about business. You’re just the cook and sales clerk here. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You want to keep buying those fresh eggs from Eben Lloyd and that niece of his. Can you say ‘conflict of interest?’”
Josie suppressed a snort. Douglas Brewster, mayor of Dorset Falls, was rather well versed in the subject of conflict of interest, at least based on what the events during her tenure in town had shown.
“Think about it,” Lorna said in a reasonable tone, though there was an underlying hint of agitation. “Other than the occasional pancake breakfast or strawberry supper at the Congregational church, this is the only place in town that serves food. You’ve got a good thing going. Why would you want to mess with that?”
“I’ll remind you that you’re my employee, and you’ll do what I say. I need to get costs down on this business, and I’ll decide how that’s going to be done. If continuing to work here is something you’d like to do, then I suggest you shut up and get back to work. And send Rick in.”
Lorna stormed out from the back office, her long braid of dark hair bouncing over her left shoulder. Josie watched her draw a deep breath, then another. Lorna picked up a mug made of white china and took a sip, then set it down again. “Cold,” she said, to no one in particular. She tossed the contents of the mug down the sink and reached for a jar of tea, presumably to make a fresh cup.
Josie waited a beat. “You okay, Lorna?”
Lorna turned toward her friend. She cut her eyes around the room, where they landed on the man sitting with Diantha, who had apparently heard his summons because he now stood and headed behind the counter toward Dougie’s office. “Sorry I didn’t notice you. Yeah, everything’s just peachy.” Josie was sure everything wasn’t peachy, but Lorna could hardly unburden herself while Dougie, or Dougie’s cohort Diantha, was in earshot.
Josie decided to change the subject. “Who’s that guy?” She inclined her head toward the office door.
“Rick Steuben. Some old prep school friend of Dougie’s. They’re planning a reunion and want me to cook a dinner.” Something slapped against the table Diantha was sitting at, probably the newspaper she’d been reading as she drank her coffee.
“Last night was fun, wasn’t it? We should do that more often,” Josie said. A huff sounded from Diantha’s direction.
Lorna gave a rueful smile. “I only felt a little weird, being a nonknitter in a group of experts.”
“At least we have each other.” Josie returned the smile.
“Disgraceful.” Diantha’s voice was laced with contempt. “Why don’t you sell the shop to somebody who knows what she’s doing and be done with it?”
Lorna turned to Diantha. “Great idea! Why don’t you make Josie a great big offer? You’ll do well in business, with your advanced customer-service skills.”
Diantha stood abruptly, throwing her napkin on the table. “You’d do well to remember, Miss Fowler, that your employer is a friend of mine. Sounds as if you’re on thin ice as it is, so you might want to stay on my good side.” She jammed her arms into the sleeves of her coat and grabbed her purse.
“And another thing,” she said, jabbing a finger of her free hand in Josie’s direction. “If you think you can break up the Dorset Falls Charity Knitters Association by running your own knitting circle at that shop of yours—a shop that has lost my business permanently, I might add—think again.” She stormed off.
“That’s too bad,” Josie called toward Diantha’s back. “Because I just got in a shipment of the most unusual blend of opossum, merino, and silk. The colors are glorious.” Diantha stopped short, shoulders shaking, then continued toward the front door.
“Opossum yarn? You’re kidding.” Lorna began to giggle.
“Not kidding. It’s a real thing.” Josie reminded herself that Dougie was still in the store, even though his office door was shut tight. She lowered her voice. “Seriously—you’re not going to get fired, are you?” Josie did a quick mental calculation. There was no way she could take Lorna on at Miss Marple Knits, not yet, anyway.
Lorna shook her head. “I doubt it, unless Dougie can find another cook willing to work both the griddle and the cash register for what he’s willing to pay. And the food section of the store makes more profit than anything else. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will.” Josie picked up her empty egg box, which Lorna had unloaded while they’d been sparring with Diantha. “Uh, can I come by later for a couple of stuffed pork chops and some garlic butter green beans for Eb’s dinner?” She shrugged. “I’ve got a busy schedule, you know.”
Lorna laughed. “They’ll be ready when you get here.”
* * *
Evelyn wasn’t due in to work until later, so it was dark and quiet when Josie entered Miss Marple Knits. She flipped on the light switch, blinked rapidly, and felt rather like Dorothy stepping into Oz for the first time. Yarn in every imaginable color and texture greeted her. Sample knitted and crocheted items hung from hooks on shelves, begging to be touched or, even better, tried on. It didn’t matter that she’d seen this same tableau every working day for weeks. The light coming through the big plate-glass windows changed and made the colors more or less vibrant, the details softer or clearer, each time.
Much as she loved Evelyn’s company and, Josie freely admitted, needed her expertise, it was nice sometimes to be alone here.
Except she was never alone. Cora, the woman who’d owned this shop for years before Josie, and who’d married Uncle Eb when both were in their late sixties, was everywhere. And the movie still of a snowy-haired actress playing Miss Marple, knitting away, held pride of place on the wall behind the cash register. Someday Josie should look up the woman’s name.
“Cora? Miss Jane?” Josie said aloud. “What should we tackle first? Straightening up? Or we could look at the new catalog from that Australian company.” Josie almost expected one of them to offer an opinion, but of course they didn’t.
Last night’s plate of brownies covered in plastic wrap sat on the counter near the cash register. Josie and her friends had made a good dent in the treat, but there were still half a dozen left. Much as she wanted one—it would be so delicious with a hot cup of coffee—she resisted. Yankee food was comforting and addictive, and she’d been eating a lot of it, thanks to Lorna and Evelyn. Even though Josie had taken to wearing comfortable sweaters and jeans most days, rather than the torturous heels and tight, slim skirts she’d worn in her New York design career, it wouldn’t hurt her to forego these sweets.
Besides, it was likely Evelyn would bring something when she came
in this afternoon. Cupcakes, maybe.
That decided it. Josie shrugged back into her coat, then reached for the plate. “I know just what to do with you, my little chocolaty squares of sin.” She could kill two birds with one stone, getting rid of the brownies and paying Lyndon for that box of doilies. She headed back out the front door, locking up as the shop bells jingled behind her. A glance up and down Main Street showed the usual landscape of empty storefronts, with nary a car or human in sight, so it was unlikely she’d miss any customers if she didn’t open right on time this morning.
Josie walked the few yards to number 15, blowing out a frosty breath. It was nippy this morning, but it would likely warm up later. Balancing the plate in one hand, she knocked on the door of the antique shop with the other.
She peered through the glass, then put an ear up against it. No sound of footsteps coming toward her. She knocked again, then tried the handle. The big oak door, identical to the door of Miss Marple Knits except for the color, swung open in a heavy arc. “Lyndon? It’s Josie.”
Light blazed from the overhead fixtures, and the door hadn’t been locked, so her new tenant had to be here somewhere.
Lyndon seemed to have made more progress last night after Josie and the ladies had left. Some of the furniture had been arranged into vignettes. A comfy-looking vintage chair sat next to a mahogany reading table, which was topped with a china lamp and a stack of old books. A tribe of charmingly tattered brown teddy bears poked their heads out of a wicker baby carriage, their black button eyes still shiny.
A faint rustling sound came from the back of the shop. Josie headed toward it. “Lyndon?” She peered over the pile of boxes on the sales counter. And froze.
A man stood there, his face pale and covered with a light sheen of sweat. He stared at Josie, who took an involuntary step backward, not sure if she should be concerned for the man or afraid of him. At least the counter stood as a buffer between them.
A Knit before Dying Page 3