Knitting 06 - Fleece Navidad

by Maggie Sefton

  “Where is she now?”

  “Burt said Lizzie’s staying with her at the motel. Bless her heart. Lizzie’s a lot tougher than she looks. We’ve gotta give her credit.” Kelly looked up and saw Mimi approaching. “Here comes Mimi. Do you have time to bring her up to speed on what Marty said? I really need to get back to my client accounts.”

  Megan nodded. “Sure, my consulting has already slowed down for the holidays. Corporate IT always does. I’m going to catch up on e-mail here at the shop today. Sit and knit and catch up.”

  Kelly pushed back her chair. “You mean, sit and knit and gossip about Claudia, right?”

  “Was that Marty I saw leaving? What’s happening with Claudia?” Mimi asked as she approached, pointing to the door.

  “Megan will update you, Mimi. I’ve gotta get some work done now, so I can drop in this afternoon and finish Steve’s scarf. See you guys later.” She gave them both a wave as she headed for the café doorway.

  At the rate that gossip and news spread via the Lambspun network and around the knitting table, Kelly had no doubt that the table would be crowded this afternoon with knitters and gossipers alike.

  Kelly could hear the sound of voices coming from Lambspun’s main room the moment she stepped into the foyer. Too loud to be a buzz. It was a cacophony of sound. Voices rising and falling. Excited voices. Angry voices. Kelly peered around the corner into the room.

  Whoa. The knitting table was beyond crowded. People were wedged into the room so tightly it looked like they’d need a shoehorn to dislodge them. Chairs were shoved everywhere around the table, in the corners, and spilling over into the doorway to the classroom. Any more bodies, and it would be declared a fire hazard.

  She hesitated in the archway leading between rooms and surveyed the scene. No sign of Mimi or Burt. They were probably preparing for the bazaar. Boxing up inventory or whatever. Or, maybe they were steering clear of the heated discussions taking place.

  Kelly scanned the faces around the room. There wasn’t a calm expression visible anywhere. The passion of strongly held opinions was evident on every face. Everyone seemed to be arguing. Loudly arguing, too. The topic of discussion, of course, was the now-disgraced Merry Widow, Claudia Miller.

  Claudia was a self-absorbed, conceited, arrogant, man-hungry gold digger. Claudia was a funny, fun-loving social butterfly. Claudia was a thief. Claudia was innocent. It was calculated and deliberate. It was all a misunderstanding.

  Kelly noticed the room appeared to have divided into two camps around either end of the knitting table. Hilda held forth from her favorite spot at one end of the table. Sheila sat beside her, and around her were several of Mimi’s new spinning and crochet students. Clearly all wound up, and not with yarn. Two of Lambspun’s regular knitters held down the opposite end of the table as well as the opposing argument with the help of some of the other shop regulars.

  Kelly hesitated, not sure she wanted to enter the maelstrom of dissent. All she wanted was a few quiet minutes of relaxed knitting so she could finish Steve’s scarf. But with all those arguments swirling around her, she might get swept up in the intense emotions and drop stitches or mess up the bind-off.

  That wouldn’t do. Kelly wanted to make sure the scarf edges were smooth and even, particularly since she wasn’t using fringe. Steve wasn’t a fringe kind of guy.

  She was about to retreat to the café when she scanned the faces again. Was that Megan? And Lisa right beside her? They were facing opposite directions. They looked angry, too. Were they angrily debating Claudia’s motives or just angry to be stuck in the middle of it?

  Kelly couldn’t believe her eyes. What is happening here? Lambspun was normally a haven of solitude and peace and tranquility. Now, it fairly bubbled with an incendiary witches’ brew. It was the holiday season, for Pete’s sake!

  Mimi’s voice sounded behind her. “I cannot bear it a minute longer, Kelly. This dissension is spoiling the holidays for me. All this rancor and arguing . . . I can’t stand it.”

  Kelly eyed her friend. The warm, motherly Mimi was gone. Nowhere to be seen. A new Mimi stood beside her. This Mimi was mad.

  “I agree with you, Mimi, but what can we do to stop it? Short of throwing everyone out of the shop, I mean,” Kelly joked, hoping to elicit a smile.

  Instead of a smile, Mimi’s eyes lit up. “That’s a wonderful idea! Let’s do it. Right now!”

  Kelly’s jaw dropped. “Mimi, I was kidding. You can’t throw your customers out of the shop. It’s . . . it’s the holiday season. They’re making their gifts. . . .”

  “No, they’re not. They’re arguing with each other. Forming ugly cliques.” Her hand shot out in aggravation. “Customers can’t even reach the yarns. Assuming they’re brave enough to venture close to that quagmire of dissent. I’ve had it! I’m putting my foot down right now!”

  Mad Mimi swooped down on the knitting table like a Valkyrie, minus the sword. This Mimi didn’t need one. She fairly radiated Righteous Zeal.

  “Attention, everyone!” she announced in a loud voice. Kelly hadn’t known Mimi could talk that loud. “As the owner of this shop, I have the right to operate Lambspun as I see fit. As of this moment, there is a No Arguments Allowed policy at the knitting table.” She surveyed the cowed participants, who stared at her, openmouthed. “This room and the knitting table are officially off-limits to anyone who insists upon arguing or discussing volatile subjects while they work on their holiday projects. If you cannot knit or crochet or spin or stitch without verbal dissent, then you’ll have to go elsewhere. Lambspun is off-limits to arguing, loud voices, or heated discussions. Period.”

  The knitting table went quiet. Not a peep was heard. Not only dissent, but all conversation ceased. Until Megan’s voice piped up loudly. Kelly recognized Megan’s on-the-field game voice.

  “Good for you, Mimi,” Megan declared as she quickly rose from her chair. “I don’t think I could take this arguing another minute. It’s giving me a headache.”

  Lisa sprang to her feet as well, shoving her knitting into its bag. “I second that, Megan. This is the holidays, people! Get it together!”

  Megan and Lisa’s support seemed to embolden Mimi even more. “From now on, the girls here will be my eyes and ears and will keep order.” She pointed to Kelly, Megan, and Lisa. “I warn you, they’re athletes, so I wouldn’t give them any trouble if I were you.”

  Kelly had to look away to hide her smile. Clearly, she and her friends were going to be the “muscle” to enforce Mimi’s Peace Policy. What were they supposed to do? Escort angry knitters outside to cool off?

  Most of the fiber folk around the table were either looking embarrassed or hiding their own smiles of self-recognition. Mother Mimi’s kindergarten message had clearly gotten through. Either play nice, or you can’t play at all.

  Jennifer sidled up beside Kelly, coffee cup in hand. “Boy, I’m glad I left the office early. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Mimi is really hot.”

  “Oh, yeah. She was about to throw them out a minute ago, but I think she’s changed her mind.”

  “So, right now, I need this table cleared,” Mimi announced. “There’s a weaving class tonight, and I’ve decided to teach it here.” She clapped her hands, sounding every bit like a kindergarten teacher.

  “Then again, maybe not,” Kelly observed as Jennifer laughed softly beside her. Meanwhile, chagrined and embarrassed knitters and needleworkers gathered their things and skulked from the table.

  “SO you and Megan are gonna be Mimi’s enforcers, right?” Marty said as he bounced the chartreuse tennis ball on his racket. “I love it.”

  Kelly stretched one leg out behind her as she leaned against the net post. “Yeah, Steve nearly busted a gut laughing when I told him.”

  Marty grinned. “Good. I’ll remind him when he’s about to serve.”

  “Mimi’s enforcers, that’s us. And Lisa, of course.” Megan bent her arm behind her back, still holding her racket, stretching. “If you’re
real quiet, you can hear Greg laughing from here.”

  “Hey, Mimi’s Muscle, grab your racket and start hitting,” Steve said as he walked up, two tennis balls in hand. “Someone else has signed up for this court after us.”

  “You’re kidding,” Kelly said, looking around the indoor tennis facility at the waiting players. “Not fair. We always have it until nine o’clock.”

  “You wanna go beat ’em up?” Steve said with a laugh. “Good practice for Mimi’s Peace Police.”

  “You guys are having way too much fun with this.” Kelly grabbed her racket and swung it up, over, and around her head, while Steve cackled in reply.

  Marty pointed to the waiting twosome as he sprinted backwards to the baseline. “They look kind of puny. Kelly and Megan can take ’em easy.” He dropped the ball and sent a solid forehand over the net.

  Kelly watched Steve race to the ball. Mimi’s Peace Police. They would never live that down.

  Eleven

  “Run, Carl, run,” Kelly called to her dog as he raced to the fence.

  Saucy Squirrel, of course, was way ahead of him, sprinting nimbly along the top rail of the chain-link fence surrounding the cottage backyard. Carl charged the fence anyway, barking furiously, little white puffs of frozen dog breath forming into clouds.

  This morning had arrived surprisingly chilly, much to Kelly’s delight. She’d actually needed a warmer jacket when she went for her regular run along the river trail. Until today, the temperatures had hovered around the fifties, sixties, and seventies for two weeks, dipping into the forties and low thirties only at night. Today there was a hint of the inevitable Colorado Winter yet to come.

  But where the heck is it? Kelly wondered. It was the middle of December, for Pete’s sake. Nearly two weeks to Christmas and it didn’t feel like the holidays at all.

  She slid the glass patio door closed as she heard her cell phone jangle. Grabbing her coffee mug, she settled at her computer desk and flipped open the phone. Burt calling.

  “Hey, Burt, how’re you doing? Still setting up the bazaar?”

  “That’s why I’m calling, Kelly,” Burt said, his voice sounding tired. “Can you round up the others and head to the bazaar to help Mimi? I’m going to be tied up all day and Mimi will need people to set up those booths. We’ve got everything out there, but we need helping hands.”

  Kelly mentally checked her work schedule. “Sure, Burt. I’ll give the others a call. Megan already said her workload was slowing down for the holidays, and mine will be, too. I’m already signed up to work tomorrow, but I can work today as well. Maybe it’ll put me in a holiday mood. The weather sure isn’t doing it.”

  “Thanks, Kelly. I knew I could count on you folks,” he said, sounding relieved. “I may be here all day.”

  “What are you up to, Burt? Did Mimi send you on errands?”

  “I wish. No, I’m over here at the department. Marty’s here, too.” He let out a tired sigh. “Claudia’s been brought in for more questioning.”

  Kelly sat bolt upright. “What kind of questions?”

  “She’s under suspicion for vehicular homicide in connection with the hit-and-run that killed Juliet Renfrow the other night. When they brought in Claudia’s car the other day, investigators noticed damage to the front end of the car. They checked it out and found fibers caught on the grill. Crime lab matched them to Juliet’s cape. They also found blood splatters on the hood and are checking those now.”

  Kelly stared ahead, unseeing. “Oh . . . my . . . God,” she breathed at last. “Are you saying Claudia killed Juliet? Burt, I can’t believe that.”

  “I have a hard time believing it, too, Kelly. But that kind of evidence doesn’t lie. Listen, Dan’s here now, and I want to talk to him. I’ll call you later. Or Marty will. Talk to you later.” He clicked off.

  Kelly flipped her phone closed and stared out the patio door at Carl galumphing about the backyard. Good Lord. Claudia had auto theft charges filed on her in Florida, and now she was under suspicion in Colorado for vehicular homicide. What is happening here?

  Kelly grabbed her empty mug and headed for the coffeepot on the kitchen counter. Had the ill-tempered Sheila been right about Claudia all along?

  Kelly glanced down the crowded aisles of the holiday bazaar. It was late afternoon and people still clustered around the colorful booths that overflowed with gift items. Handmade candles, felted wall hangings, quilts, wreaths of evergreen and pinecones, and stuffed animals of every description covered the tables.

  Other booths beckoned with homemade candies and cookies, sweet breads and ciders, jellies and jams. Kelly had already succumbed to homemade blackberry jam, her favorite. Heavenly.

  Then, of course, there were the usual craft bazaar food booths selling pizza, cotton candy, hot dogs, chili, tacos, burritos. You could walk through the aisles and gain weight.

  Kelly spotted Greg meandering through the aisle nearby. She waved to catch his attention. “Only a dozen gingersnap cookies left,” she called, pointing to the foil-wrapped package nestled amid the colorful balls of yarn on the booth’s front table.

  “Save ’em for me,” Greg said as he approached, munching a slice of pizza. “Boy, this place is cookie central. Every other booth is full of Christmas sweets. I’m in heaven.”

  “That’s pizza you’re eating.”

  Greg grinned. “I’ve gotta clear my palate of all that sugar, right?”

  “Is Lisa here yet? She’s supposed to take over for me at four.” Kelly checked her watch. “I’ve gotta get more shopping done. I’m way behind. Even Steve is ahead of me.”

  “Lisa’s over at the fiber craft booth talking to a friend. You and Steve want to meet for dinner later tonight? Bazaar closes at eight, so Lisa’ll be finished by then.”

  “It all depends on how many presents I can find.” Noticing another familiar face heading toward the booth, she waved. “Hey, Marty. I was hoping you’d come by. I’ve got a lot of questions.”

  Marty strolled up, dark overcoat over his arm. “Hey, where’d you find the pizza?”

  “Two booths down.” Greg pointed. “Why’re you still suited up? Lawyers don’t work Saturdays.”

  Marty smiled. “Today I’ve got a client who needs a lot of help.”

  Greg nodded, suddenly serious. “Sounds like the woman Lisa was talking about.”

  Kelly leaned over the front table. “Burt said the cops found Juliet’s cape fibers on the grill of Claudia’s car.”

  “Whoa, not good,” Greg said.

  “Have they found anything else?”

  Marty loosened his tie. “Yeah, they also confirmed Juliet’s blood is splattered on the hood. The police think Juliet was knocked on top of the car when she was first hit, then thrown onto the street when the car braked.”

  “That is so awful,” Kelly said softly.

  “Yeah, I know,” Marty said. “And to make it even worse, police found tire skid marks on the street that indicate the car was parked, then took off fast. The driver gunned the engine.”

  Kelly flinched. “Oh, no . . . that means it was deliberate, right?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Marty said with a sigh.

  “Man, it sounds like that woman is guilty of murder,” Greg said. “What’s going to happen now?”

  “Well, Claudia maintains she’s innocent,” Marty replied. “Says she never even met Juliet Renfrow and didn’t know her at all. And she swears she was in her motel room all night. She didn’t go out. Of course, she has no witnesses to back her up. Lizzie was there earlier in the afternoon, but left before eight o’clock.”

  “How’s Claudia taking this?”

  “Not well. It was all Burt could do to keep her from breaking down when the police made the allegations and read the list of possible charges. She was nearly hysterical.”

  “You know, Marty, I find it hard to believe that Claudia would deliberately kill Juliet Renfrow. I mean, Lizzie said Claudia didn’t even know Juliet. Besides, Claudia was in hysterics all da
y at her motel, according to Lizzie.”

  “Maybe Claudia’s lying,” Greg suggested. “Maybe those hysterics are all an act. Maybe she’s a good actress and is playing helpless to get sympathy.”

  Kelly pondered what Greg said. “That’s possible, Greg. I’ve met convincing liars before. And they all seem to be good actors. Or actresses.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Marty said with a sigh. “Regardless, Claudia’s my client and I’ll do my best to keep her out of jail.” He glanced down the aisle. “Man, I’m starving.”

  “When aren’t you?”

  “Pot calling the kettle black?” Kelly teased.

  “Where’s that pizza again?”

  “Two booths down on the right.” Greg pointed. “Kelly, let me pay you for those cookies now.”

  “Hel-lo! Did I hear cookies?” Marty made a quick about-face. “Where and what kind?”

  “Dude, they’re mine, so back off,” Greg warned, reaching for the package.

  Kelly got there first. She snatched the package and held it over her head. “Hey, how about an auction? Cookies go to the highest bidder.”

  “No fair! You promised them to me,” Greg protested.

  Marty was already reaching for his wallet. “Ten dollars.”

  “Homemade gingersnaps,” Kelly tempted. “Made with my own hands. Aunt Helen’s famous recipe.”

  “All right, all right. Fifteen dollars,” Greg countered, reaching into his back jeans pocket.

  “Twenty.” Marty offered, removing a bill.

  Greg pulled out his wallet. “Man, this is so unfair.”

  “Stop whining. It’s for a worthy cause. Christmas presents for kids of incarcerated moms,” Kelly said.

  “In that case, thirty.” Marty opened his billfold again.

  Greg leaned closer to Marty. “Nice wallet. Italian?”

  Marty nodded, then grinned. “Yep. A screaming deal, too. Lemme have the cookies, and I’ll give you the website.”

  “Naaaah. I’ll find it on my own.” He flourished two twenty-dollar bills. “Forty. And that’s all I’ve got, Kelly. In the name of all the baseball greats, gimme the cookies.”