A Knit before Dying

by Sadie Hartwell

  Clicks and taps.

  Xs and Os.

  Dots and dashes? She found a piece of wood about the same thickness as the book, placed it under the table leg, and took the book with her.

  It took only a minute to traverse the house, then settle herself in the morning-borning room at the desk. She found paper and a pen, then pulled out the notes Roy had made.

  Morse code was a simple combination of long dashes and short dots. There was nothing cryptic about it, nothing that left room for interpretation. The only thing she didn’t know was whether Roy had recorded the longs as Xs and the shorts as Os, or vice versa. But it was simple enough to figure out. If one didn’t produce a comprehensible document, the other would, as long as this really was Morse code.

  Dot. Dot. Dash-dash-dot-dash. Her first attempt at translation made no sense at all, the letters combining into unreadable words. But the second attempt produced better results.

  W-O-O-D-R-U-F-F. Y-O-U. D-O-P-E.

  It turned out that Eb simply repeated that phrase, six times. Or at least, six was as many times as Roy wrote it down.

  Josie had to hand it to Eb. He’d outdone himself this time. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Mitch, then told him she’d confirmed what they suspected.

  Mitch gave a low whistle. “Good detective work. Now the question is, do you and I get involved?”

  You and I. She liked the sound of that. But there were other things to think about now. “You know these two better than I do. What do you think?” Josie reached into the bottom drawer of her desk. The yarn and knitting needles were there. She pulled them out and set them on the desk, running her hand back and forth over the yarn.

  “Well . . . I don’t see any way around this but to put them together in a room and see if we can get Eb to confess. I’ve got to tell Roy.”

  “I agree,” Josie said. Stroking the yarn was calming her, the same way stroking Coco’s black-and-white fur would have done. “Roy’s got to be told before he’s affected psychologically any more than he already is. And Eb’s got to understand that he went a little too far this time.” She wasn’t actually so sure Eb would understand anything, but the effort had to be made.

  “We should be there when it happens,” Mitch said. “Roy is going to be humiliated, then he’s going to go ballistic. Better that happens when we’re there to mitigate any damage.”

  “You doing anything tonight? Let’s get this over with. Lorna packed up two roast beef dinners last night, but there’s more than enough for all of us. Bring Roy over around seven.” Josie caught her lower lip between her teeth. She’d just asked Mitch over for dinner. Don’t be a dope, Blair. It’s not a date. It’s a business meeting.

  There was a short silence on the other end of the line before Mitch spoke. “The promise of one of Lorna’s dinners might just be the only way to get Gramps over there. See you at seven. I’ll tie Gramps to the bumper if I have to. And Josie? I’m looking forward to it. Well, not the impending nuclear explosion, but seeing you twice in one day will make it worth it.”

  He rang off before she had to respond.

  She took the book back to Eb’s workshop and replaced it under the table leg. Eb should be home soon—he never stayed out much past six—but there was no need making him suspicious or getting him riled up before the main attraction.

  The dining room table, as usual, was covered with Eb’s stuff. There wouldn’t be time to do more than a dash and stash job on it, though it was tempting to just take everything into Eb’s workshop and dump it there. The kitchen table was smaller, but it would seat four comfortably, and it only had Bea’s doilies on it.

  She felt one. Dry. She pulled a plastic storage box out of a cabinet and stacked the doilies inside, then set the box on the counter out of the way. She only needed to drag the boxes of old dishes out from underneath the table and put them in the corner, then wipe down the table.

  When that was done and the table was set, she pulled the to-go containers from the fridge. There was plenty there. The skins of the baked potatoes would probably crisp back up if she put them in the oven. The green beans and beef would only need a quick reheat so they didn’t get overcooked. Dessert? It wasn’t going to be anything fancy, that was for sure. Where was Evelyn or Helen with some home-baked cookies when you needed her? A fresh package of Nutter Butters she remembered was in the cupboard, plus coffee, would have to do.

  Josie was just closing the oven door on the potatoes when Eb came in. She quickly checked to make sure the beef was back in the refrigerator, because she could hear Jethro’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor, getting closer.

  Eb took one look at the set table and scowled. “What’s this?”

  “We’re having company for dinner. Go wash up.”

  Eb raised a hairy eyebrow. He wasn’t used to being told what to do. But he also didn’t ask who was coming over, for which Josie was grateful.

  “I’ll be doing my crossword,” he said. “With my dirty hands. Tell me when dinner’s ready.” He went back out to the dining room and sat down in his velour recliner near the front window. Eb was crankier than usual. Perhaps things hadn’t gone well at Tractor Supply. Or maybe he had some kind of sixth sense about what was going to happen tonight. Well, it was his own fault. He wasn’t going to get any sympathy from her.

  A couple of minutes after seven, a knock sounded at the front door. There was a pause, and then another knock. Josie came out of the kitchen. “You’re three feet from that door. You think you could open it?”

  Eb glared at her. “That’s Woodruff’s vehicle, which I don’t mind. The boy’s all right. But why’s that bastard Roy Woodruff with him?”

  Josie didn’t answer, but opened the door. Eb was about to find out.

  Chapter 27

  Mitch came in first. He greeted Eb and Josie. Roy stood still in the doorway. Mitch took his arm and guided him inside.

  “Glad you could make it, Mr. Woodruff,” Josie said. “You can hang your coat here.” She indicated a row of hooks on the wall to the right of the door. “Come right on out to the kitchen. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  Eb’s glare had been replaced by a smug look. “Hey, Woodruff. How’s the radio going?”

  Roy turned sharply. “How do you know about that?” he ground out.

  “Let’s eat. Josie’s gone to a lot of trouble,” Mitch said. “Come on, Gramps, Eb. We don’t want it to get cold.”

  “You mean Lorna went to a lot of trouble,” Eb said.

  “Yeah, well, I made the potatoes. You can let me know how I did.” Josie led the way to the kitchen.

  Mitch sat Roy down at one end of the table. Eb sat at the other. They could look directly at each other, but they weren’t quite in touching distance, which was good. Mitch walked over to Josie at the counter. “It wasn’t easy, but I did it,” he said, his voice low. Then louder, he said, “What do you want me to carry?”

  Josie handed him a platter containing the meat and potatoes. “You can put this on the table.” She brought the green beans and the gravy boat. Thank goodness the cupboard had also yielded a jar of premade gravy, which always had a soothing effect on Eb. Left to his own devices, he’d put gravy on chocolate cake.

  They ate, Mitch and Josie supplying the only conversation. Eb and Roy refused to look at the other, each keeping his eyes on his own plate. When they’d finished, and the dishes had been cleared and coffee and cookies put out, Mitch spoke.

  “Eb. Gramps. Josie and I want to talk to you about something.”

  “You want our blessing?” Eb said. Josie’s cheeks burned. The man had an uncanny ability to home in on the exact thing that would cause you the most embarrassment. She supposed it was a gift.

  “That might come later,” Mitch said, giving Josie a smile. The heat in her cheeks was now accompanied by a little warm tingle in her chest. “But tonight,” Mitch continued, “we’re going to talk about the two of you.”

  Eb grunted. “Nope.”

  Roy gave a grunt of sol
idarity. “For once I agree with you, Lloyd.” He reached for a cookie, then dunked it in his coffee.

  “Yes,” Josie said. “We are.” She turned to Eb. “Now suppose you explain why Mr. Woodruff here—”

  “Mister? What is this, the Waldorf?” Eb interjected.

  Josie shot him a look, which didn’t register because Eb was twisting a cookie apart, probably in preparation for eating the frosting out of the middle. He had a habit of doing that. “Why Mr. Woodruff here has been getting some strange messages on his radio.”

  Eb looked at Roy. “Strange messages for a strange man.” He used his butter knife to scrape the frosting off the cookie, which he transferred to his plate in a peanut-buttery pile.

  Understanding dawned on Roy’s face, transforming quickly to relief, then rage. “You, you, you!” he spluttered, apparently unable to put any more coherent words together. Mitch tensed, ready to step in if things got physical. According to Mitch, Eb and Roy always stopped short of physically hurting each other. But that didn’t mean it would always be that way.

  Eb went to work on another cookie, adding the frosting to the pile on his plate. He took one of the denuded peanut-shaped desserts and dipped it into the frosting before taking a bite. Talk about strange men. “All’s fair,” was all he said.

  Roy’s face had gone purple. “Fair? You’re gonna pay for this, Lloyd. You wait and see.” Josie wasn’t so sure. From what she’d seen in the last few weeks, her great-uncle was a more imaginative prankster than their neighbor. Had a better command of the subtleties.

  “Go for it,” Eb said. Roy made a sudden movement in Eb’s direction. Mitch checked him and sat him back down.

  “Now,” Mitch said, in an authoritative tone. “I want to know what it is between you two. I’ve heard about the feud between the Woodruffs and the Lloyds my entire life. And I want to know what caused it.” He returned to his chair, but kept an eye on his grandfather.

  Josie was impressed. She was dying to know the source of the animosity too. “Eb?” she prompted. “Why don’t you start, since you’re the reason we’re here tonight.”

  Eb sat there silent, dipping his bare cookies into the small amount of frosting each had yielded.

  “Gramps?” Mitch said, after it became clear Eb wasn’t talking.

  Roy’s jaw was set hard, and his mouth was compressed into a line so thin his lips were invisible. He, also, apparently wasn’t talking.

  Mitch looked at Josie. She knew what he was probably thinking. What do we do now?

  She remembered something Mitch had said when they first met. She’d dismissed it at the time, but it came to the forefront now. “You two don’t know how this all started, do you?” Neither looked up. Neither spoke.

  Mitch picked up where she had left off. “Just how far back does this go? Gramps?”

  Josie had had about as much as she could take. “Eben Lloyd, you answer or I will never bring you dinner—or any meal—from Lorna ever again. And you’ll be back to taking care of your own chickens and washing your own dishes.”

  Eb finally looked up, his gaze meeting Josie’s. They’d bickered and sparred over the weeks she’d been here, but she’d never given him a direct order like this. The question was, would he obey it?

  He did.

  “Don’t know. Always been this way. Always will be.”

  Mitch caught Josie’s eye. They were on the same wavelength. If they had anything to do about it, the feud, whatever had started it, ended with their generation

  With them.

  “Our fathers fought. Theirs before too,” Roy said.

  “And you just blindly went along with it, for no reason?” Mitch said, exasperated.

  “Yup.” Eb and Roy answered together.

  Josie looked at Eb, then at Roy. The feud would never end for them. These two old bachelors didn’t want it to end. It was all they knew.

  “Well, this particular prank is over now, got it? When someone’s health is at risk, you’ve gone too far. Don’t cross that line again, either of you.” She got up and topped off the four coffee cups.

  She felt a little—just a little—bit bad about coming down so hard on Eb. She was pretty sure he couldn’t have known Roy would react the way he did. Eb had probably thought Roy would have figured it out long ago instead of jumping to crazy conclusions. Josie began to clear the table. Mitch jumped up to help.

  “No leftovers. That’s good,” Josie said. “Less cleanup.” Mitch replaced the lid on the butter container, then put it into the fridge. Mitch came to stand beside her. It felt right having him here. But now was the wrong time to think about it.

  She ran hot water into the sink, squirted in some soap, and began to wash plates, glasses, and silverware, which she stacked in the drainer. Mitch dried almost as fast as she could stack, and they were done in minutes. Eb and Roy sat at the table drinking their coffee, not talking and not looking at each other, at least that Josie could tell.

  Josie and Mitch returned to the table. “Now what?” Josie said. “What do people do in the country anyway?” She’d been working a lot of hours in the few weeks she’d been here. But there didn’t seem to be a lot going on in town—or anywhere—anyway.

  “We could play cards,” Mitch said.

  “We could go home,” Roy said, draining his cup. “Josie, I thank you for the meal. But we’re done here.” He rose.

  Mitch took a long draught of his coffee and stood. “I suppose he’s right. I’ll be in town for a while tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see you?”

  “Maybe,” she said. The word came out coy, and she hadn’t meant it to. Not really.

  “Evelyn and I are opening the shop for a couple of hours tomorrow.”

  Mitch grinned. “On Sunday? Dorset Falls has never seen such a thing.”

  “Out with the old, in with the new.”

  “Sounds like it’s worth a try. Come on, Gramps. Time for your beauty sleep.” Mitch and Roy left.

  When they heard the car leaving the driveway, Eb rose. “Time for my show.” He went off to the living room, leaving Josie to clean up the coffee cups and put away the cream and sugar. She thought about trying to talk to him some more, but she decided she’d be wasting her breath. He was clearly done for the night.

  And so was she. It had been another long day.

  But, on second thought, she wasn’t quite done. It had been a few days since she had updated her blog. Eb was watching Fish or Cut Bait, his favorite show. He said nothing as she passed on her way to the morning-borning room, didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Oh, well. He’d get over it eventually. Maybe.

  At her desk, she booted up her computer and began a new blog post. She stared at the screen. Normally she had no trouble thinking of a topic for her dozen or so readers, but tonight nothing jumped out at her. Well, maybe she could postpone this—it wasn’t as if she was going to disappoint anyone who was desperate for new content. Maybe tomorrow’s drop-in session would provide some material.

  The knitting? No, it was too late, and she was too tired. She’d just make a bigger botch of it than usual.

  Maybe she should just make an early night of it again. Back in the city, she’d just be going out for dinner at this time, then to a show or a club. She wouldn’t be getting to bed before three a.m.

  But then, back in the city, she hadn’t had morning chores to do. Although she sometimes missed the excitement of New York, she had to admit it wasn’t bad here in Dorset Falls. She closed the lid of her laptop.

  Eb’s show was still on, but he’d dozed off on the couch. Josie covered him with an afghan, turned off the television and the lights, and went to bed.

  Chapter 28

  Josie slept an hour later than usual the next morning, but couldn’t afford to sleep anymore. The ladies of the henhouse needed her. With a sigh, she rolled out of bed, put on her barn clothes, and headed outside.

  When she returned, Eb was up and sitting in his dining room armchair, newspaper folded out to the crossword. He appeared to sti
ll be wearing the same utilitarian pants and shirt he’d worn yesterday, but then most of his clothes looked alike, so it was impossible to tell, really. “Coffee,” he grunted.

  “Yeah, I’d like some too. Is it ready?”

  Eb grunted.

  “What did you do before I moved in?” He was still sort of in the doghouse, so she wasn’t going to let him off so easily.

  “Made my own. Yours is better.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, Eb, and you know it.”

  “Worth a try.”

  She supposed it was, gave in, and started the percolator, then prepared two bowls of cereal. Bananas this time, instead of blueberries. She took hers to the kitchen table and sat down. “Breakfast is ready, Eb,” she called into the dining room.

  He didn’t answer, and he didn’t come. Well, she wasn’t a waitress. He could come and get it when he was ready.

  She ate her own breakfast, scrolling through her e-mails as she did so. Since she’d moved to the country, her daily in-box was considerably less full, despite the fact that she was running her own business. There was nothing of interest there. When had she gotten on so many mailing lists?

  When you did all that shopping, her internal voice said. Remember?

  She did remember. Designer clothes bought at sample sales, on deep clearance, or at a discount from the Haus of Heinrich where she’d worked. Weekly trips to the nail salon. Monthly trips to the hair stylist. It took a lot of time and money to look good. To stay up to the arbitrary standards of her job in the fashion industry. And now? Eating breakfast in this country house, the same one her ancestors had eaten breakfast in for generations, wearing a sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back into a ponytail . . . Suddenly those city days seemed very far away. And maybe, just maybe, not all that appealing.

  Josie took her cereal bowl to the sink and rinsed it out. Her eyes fell on the box of doilies she’d cleared from the table last night. Today, while the other people were knitting, she could get to work repurposing these. She’d need to either make a trip to a fabric store or place an order online if she wanted to make throw pillows, then sew on the doilies for her fledgling Neo-Victorian Chic collection. It was a silly name, but she thought it would fly, especially if she shortened it. NeoVicChic, maybe.