Fair Isle and Fortunes

by Nancy Warren

  An older woman came over to watch Clara unpicking my work and spoke to me. “Do you really own a knitting shop?”

  “Yes. Cardinal Woolsey’s, in Oxford.”

  Sylvia said, “It’s the most marvelous shop. Lucy stocks nothing but the highest quality of knitting and crochet supplies as well as patterns and notions. And her classes are excellent.”

  It was great that she was doing such a good sales job on my shop, but I wondered why. The last thing I needed was a bunch of witch hunters coming to Cardinal Woolsey’s. The only thing worse would be vampire hunters.

  But when she looked at me and gave me the ghost of a wink, I waited, knowing she had something in mind. She said, “In fact, she’s expanding her classes.” Expanding my classes? I had trouble finding teachers for the few I did offer.

  I gazed at her in astonishment as she continued, “In fact, if there’s enough interest, perhaps we could offer one here in Moreton-Under-Wychwood.”

  Who was this “we” she referred to?

  Before I could speak, the woman who’d been watching Clara broke into a delighted smile. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Why, there are at least half a dozen of us here who love to knit. I know people say you can order things online, but I don’t like the computer. I like to see and touch before I buy.”

  I might be a novice witch who’d narrowly escaped being attacked by a mob, but I was also a businesswoman, and I took pride, as did my undead grandmother, in growing our little business. I looked at Sylvia. “If you’d be available to teach the classes here, I could bring a selection of wools and patterns. In fact,” I said, warming to the idea, “If anyone finds something online and they’re unsure, email us, and I can bring merchandise out for you to look at. No need to buy in advance.”

  I had never seen anything so astonishing in my life as the way the atmosphere in that café changed as the villagers went from a bunch of suspicious witch-haters to retirees and stay-at-home moms excited about knitting classes.

  “Certainly. I’ve been developing some Fair Isle patterns. I could teach a simple one for the novices and something more complex for the more experienced knitter. What do you think, Lucy?”

  I’m sure my smile looked like that of someone who’s heard the punchline to a joke and they don’t get it. Fair Isle? Wasn’t that a place in Scotland?

  All the knitters seemed super excited about this, but I was still silent. Clara leaned closer and whispered, “Fair Isle is when you knit with two colors at the same time to make a pattern.” There’s a reason why Clara is one of my favorite vampires.

  “Sure,” I said. “What a great idea.”

  The woman had been so excited, but now she grew solemn. “But where will we hold a class? Normally, I’d suggest the village hall, but the police have cordoned it off.”

  There was a moment of awful silence as we all were jerked back to the reality of yesterday’s death.

  “Joanna? What about your farmhouse?” I recognized the speaker. She was the lady who’d run the white elephant yesterday. She seemed like a sensible woman and as eager as I to bring goodwill to the café.

  Joanna turned out to be a tall, stylish woman who looked more London than Moreton-Under-Wychwood. “What a wonderful idea. I’d be delighted to hold the lessons at our farm. We run the old farmhouse as a holiday let and corporate retreat.” She said it would hold thirty people, and the way interest was already brewing, I suspected we might have that many. Never one to let business slip away, I pulled out my phone and immediately started a list, adding people’s emails.

  A few who signed up said they had friends who would be interested and began texting them immediately, worried the class would fill up before they had a chance to register.

  The woman whose two online dates had both canceled on her suddenly said, “But how do we know that she isn’t a witch?”

  No wonder she had trouble getting a date with those interpersonal skills. Fortunately, before I could say anything, the lady who had offered her farmhouse laughed. “Really, Sarah, what kind of witch would run a knitting shop?”

  Sarah looked unconvinced for a moment, and then as everyone seemed to be in agreement with the woman who owned the farmhouse, she backed down. “No, I suppose not.”

  Dodged that bullet.

  And speaking of dodging bullets, or not dodging arrows, what I particularly loved about Sylvia’s strategy was the way it gave me a perfectly good reason to return to Moreton-Under-Wychwood. Perhaps I didn’t have a strong reason to get involved in trying to help solve this murder, but I was fond of my cousin Violet, and I didn’t like that her neighbors were looking askance at her.

  Margaret Twig seemed as though she could take care of herself. However, since she was the head of my coven, I supposed I should show a little respect and try to help her if I could.

  There was so much enthusiasm about knitting classes that Sylvia said she’d be happy to start the classes one evening this week. “Lucy?”

  “So long as we have at least ten confirmed students by tonight, then yes. We can start Wednesday.” I knew from experience that until a student had booked and paid, there was no certainty that they’d show up. We agreed that Sylvia would provide the patterns and both beginner and advanced would use the same wools to make the logistics easier.

  We settled on Wednesday evening for the first class. Joanna, the woman who owned the farmhouse, said I was welcome to come and see her space. I wasn’t only thinking about how suitable it was for classes. I sensed she was well-known and well-liked in this community. She might have some insights into the personalities involved.

  I was about to suggest to Sylvia that we should head out when a man entered the café. All conversation suddenly hushed. The silence was even more strained than when the witches had walked in. He looked to be in his early fifties, ruggedly good looking, or had been. He looked like a man who was normally quite pleased with his life, but his eyes were currently strained and red-rimmed. Nora, the dead woman’s best friend, rose from her chair and walked forward with her arms out. “Oh, Jason. I’m so sorry. Come and sit down.”

  I didn’t need any magical powers to figure out that this was the husband of the dead woman. Perhaps Sylvia and I wouldn’t leave the café quite yet. Since Clara had left her cappuccino untouched, I began to sip it. I watched as the new widower settled himself beside his dead wife’s friend and her husband.

  They put their heads close together and began to talk in soft voices.

  “Such a tragedy,” the woman who liked to knit said. “The four of them did everything together. Now it’s only three. And Jason looks so sad, poor love. Perhaps I’ll bake him a pie.”

  A woman at the next table heard her and agreed that would be a nice gesture. From the enthusiasm of the local women deciding what type of food they would take the new widower, I did not think Jason Palmer was going to starve anytime soon.

  Still, these neighbors demonstrated such community kindness that I could hardly reconcile so much generosity with the sharp suspicion they had showed the witches earlier. I had to remember that as nice as these people might be on the surface, there was a dark side to this village. Somewhere here was a murderer.

  Chapter 9

  Joanna Newman, the owner of the farmhouse, lived about two miles from the center of town. She said there was a shortcut, a pleasant walk across the fields, and I would normally have been tempted. However, Clara and Sylvia wouldn’t want to tramp across fields on a sunny spring day, so I said our time was a little tight and that we would drive to her home.

  Also, I wanted a few minutes alone with Sylvia to plan our strategy. I took Joanna’s address and told her we’d meet her at her home in thirty minutes.

  We drove down a narrow country road following Joanna’s directions and came to a brightly painted sign that said Nickleby Farm. Below the sign were hanging baskets overflowing with spring flowers.

  We drove down quite a long drive. There were two horses in the field who stopped chewing grass and looked up at us
, presumably hoping we would stop and bring something like carrots or apples. However, when we continued driving, they put their heads back down to the green lawn.

  Any idea I’d had that the farmhouse would be old and shabby were soon put to rout. The farmhouse was a beautiful old stone building with dormer windows and an orchard behind. On the other side of the orchard, a swimming pool glinted, and beside that was a tennis court and then something that might be mini-golf.

  When we pulled up, Joanna opened the green painted door and greeted us. She let us into a large room that was part high-end farmhouse kitchen and part sitting room. “We rent the farmhouse, you see, for corporate retreats, big family gatherings and weddings. So there’s plenty of room downstairs.”

  She toured us around briskly as though we might be thinking about a corporate retreat. She pointed out the excellent lighting, a good number of plugs for laptops, how well the kitchen was stocked and that there were six bedrooms upstairs. “There’s a full bathroom and a powder room down that hall and two more bathrooms upstairs.”

  I thought it seemed perfect and I said so. “If you’re kind enough to offer the farmhouse for lessons, then naturally your class will be free.”

  She didn’t look as though she needed the money, but still she looked quite pleased at my offer. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll probably bring my daughter, as well, but I’m most happy to pay for her.”

  I really wanted to get Joanna gossiping, and so I said, “I hope we get enough people. It would be so much fun to run a class here. Do you know many people in the area?”

  “Oh, my dear, yes. Bill’s parents owned this farm, you see. We used to come up from London on weekends and bring the children. We spent most of our summers here. The property came to Bill when his parents died and we built the corporate retreat and, when we retired, moved up here permanently. Because Bill grew up here, we’ve never been looked on as outsiders. So, yes, I think it’s safe to say I know most of the people around here,” she twinkled at me, “and most of the gossip.”

  I laughed as though gossip were the last thing on my mind. “But what a terrible shock for the whole community to lose that lovely woman yesterday.”

  She immediately sobered. “It’s unthinkable. Elizabeth Palmer really was a lovely woman. Everyone liked her. It’s such a terrible accident.”

  She drifted to one of the overstuffed couches and sat down, and with a slight nod of my head indicating the vampires should follow me, I sat down across from her. Clara and Sylvia sat slightly back in armchairs. I had to admit, this would be a very comfortable space in which to knit. For those, unlike me, who found knitting a comfortable occupation.

  I nodded. “Of course I only met her briefly, but she was so excited about her twenty-fifth anniversary. She said she and her husband were going on a cruise.”

  “Yes. She talked of little else. Things weren’t always easy for Elizabeth and Jason. Frankly, he wasn’t the businessman that her father was. I think money was sometimes a bit tight. Still, they were pulling out all the stops for their anniversary trip. I suppose Jason will cancel it now. I wonder if Tony and Nora will go in any case. It seems a shame not to now that it’s all booked and presumably paid for.”

  “Tony and Nora?”

  “Oh yes, the four of them were great friends. They were all going on the cruise together.”

  Had I heard a certain something in her tone? Or was my busy brain searching for possible murder motives? I didn’t know, but I found myself asking whether the four of them had always been close. What I really meant was how close.

  Like me, Joanna seemed to hear the meaning beneath the words. She said, “Nora and Jason are both keen golfers. Neither Elizabeth nor Tony cared for the sport, so Nora and Jason went off golfing together quite often.”

  Her tone seemed a tad too breezy. Sometimes talking in subtext was too tiring. I decided to be very American and ask a direct question. “Did you ever think it was more than golf between them?”

  If she was taken aback by my directness, she didn’t show it. “There were rumors, of course. But you know how people can be. Tony and Liz didn’t seem to mind, and if they were happy to see their spouses go off and play golf, then what business was it of anyone else?”

  “But now Elizabeth’s dead,” I reminded her. “If it was murder, the police will be looking for motives.”

  Her head jerked up and her eyes widened, startled, as though she hadn’t connected Elizabeth’s death with the possibility of her husband having an affair. “What are you suggesting? That Jason killed his wife? Or that Nora killed her best friend? It’s unthinkable. Besides, they were both at the fair. Everyone was at the fair.”

  Certainly, Nora had been in the tent with Violet at the time of the murder. But didn’t that provide her with an excellent alibi? She could plan the murder in cahoots with her lover, Elizabeth’s husband. She could’ve made sure that her friend was headed down the path toward the archery field and somehow let him know.

  I hadn’t seen her go into the tent. I’d been too busy trying to catch up with Elizabeth. Nora could easily have sent off a quick text before her psychic reading.

  I thanked Joanna and got to my feet before I came across as a prying busybody. But one thing was still bothering me. “Did Tony and Nora seem completely happy to you?” I had seen them briefly in the coffee shop this morning, and there had been no sign of discord, not even when Jason joined them.

  She said, “Tony would do absolutely anything for his wife. He worships her.”

  “I can see that everyone is on edge. It must be awful having one of your neighbors murdered in a lovely, quiet village like this one.”

  Joanna looked at me oddly. “I think people are particularly worried because it’s not the first murder we’ve ever had here.”

  My eyes widened in shock. “This isn’t the first one?” I really, really hoped the first one had nothing to do with witches being victims.

  She turned to look outside, as though the story were written on the windowpane. “It happened, oh, it must be thirty years ago now. A man named Grayson Timmins surprised someone in the act of robbing him and was bludgeoned to death.”

  “How awful.” The retired detective had mentioned the case to me only yesterday, and in all the drama, I’d actually forgotten.

  No wonder those people were freaking out. “You think there could be a connection between Elizabeth’s death and a cold case?”

  She turned her head back toward me, and her eyes looked both sad and a little frightened. “One has to wonder.”

  “Is there any link between them?” Once more I was certain I could read her thoughts. “Or could it be the work of a deranged serial killer?”

  Her eyes fluttered shut. “I’ve got the grandchildren coming this weekend, Lucy. Please don’t say those words.”

  Sylvia spoke, “I think, if I were you, I would reschedule your grandchildren.”

  Chapter 10

  I thanked Joanna again for offering the space for the lessons.

  She rose and handed me a brochure. “It’s got all my contact information and directions to get here. Don’t you worry. I can almost guarantee we’ll have thirty people at your knitting class. Certainly getting to your ten won’t be a problem.”

  The three of us, me and the two vampires, said goodbye, and I pulled on my sunglasses while Clara and Sylvia put on their big sun hats and gathered their parasols. Then we piled into the little Ford once more and headed back to Oxford.

  I complimented Sylvia on her excellent maneuver suggesting the lessons and Clara in saving the day by coming in looking for knitting help. They both laughed and Clara said, “I’d love to take credit, but it was Rafe’s idea.”

  The gears ground as I changed from second to third, not clutching properly. Of course it was Rafe’s idea.

  As we drove back to Oxford, the three of us discussed what we’d learned. “I know you were both watching Joanna. Did you get the idea that the relationship between Nora and Elizabe
th’s husband, Jason, wasn’t completely platonic?”

  Neither of them rushed into speech. Clara, who always thought the best of people, said, “It could be a warm friendship between people who have known each other a very long while. If their spouses didn’t mind and they both were golf fanatics, then perhaps there’s nothing more sinister than unkind village gossip.”

  Sylvia was both more cynical and more worldly-wise. She was sitting behind me. I looked in the rearview mirror to try and catch her expression, but all I saw was the back seat. It was hard to remember sometimes that these women who’d become my friends were vampires and didn’t have reflections. I used my words. “Sylvia? What do you think?”

  “Joanna didn’t seem to be the kind of person who gossips for gossip’s sake. You know the old saying, ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire’?”

  “But there’s also the possibility of a serial killer,” I reminded her. “What if the same person who killed Grayson Timmins also killed Elizabeth?”

  “Thirty years is a long time between attacks. I would say that looking into the relationship between the husband of the dead woman—Jason, was it?—and her friend Nora would be more worth exploring.”

  “But how? We’re not the police.”

  “Let’s get dear Nora to sign up for the knitting classes. Yes,” she said, ruminating on the idea. “That’s what we must do.”

  “Please don’t ask me to make a spell that will encourage her to come to the class. I don’t think I’m up to it.”

  “I’ll use my own talents.”

  “Vampire talents?”

  “Mostly charm and persuasion, and I was born with those.”

  I needed to remember that Sylvia resented any implication that she might be more powerful now than when she’d been alive, since she’d so clearly been spectacular. A famous stage and screen actress of the 1920s, she found it cruelly difficult now to be a person who had to fade into the background, who needed someone else to apply her makeup and who could never see her own face in the mirror.