“I guess Charlotte didn’t know about Jeannette,” Bettina observed.
“No, she apparently didn’t,” Pamela said, “or Jeannette would have been the next to go.”
“The charm didn’t work, so Charlotte unraveled the sweater.” Bettina reached for a second slice of poppy-seed cake. The four of them were grouped companionably around Pamela’s coffee table.
Pamela nodded. “And then she killed Pierre. If she couldn’t have him, then no one would. She probably shot both him and Millicent in those woods that surround the Wentworth mansion. No fear of neighbors hearing or seeing.”
Wilfred spoke up. “With the same gun. The police confirmed that.”
“The antique rifle came from the mansion’s attic,” Pamela said. “I’m sure of it—that puzzle piece fell right into place once I latched on to the idea that Charlotte was the killer.”
“How?” Wilfred asked.
“A separate set of stairs led to the attic from the groom’s quarters. I noticed it when we stopped in to tell Charlotte about the next Knit and Nibble meeting. Charlotte could have gone up there to rummage around anytime she felt like it, without anybody knowing. And that corner of the attic was where I heard the conversation I took to be Pierre and Jeannette, with a sneezy woman’s voice telling Pierre how much she loved him. It was actually poor Charlotte—and Pierre was probably trying to escape the whole time. I could hear stuff falling over.”
“You did a very reckless thing,” Bettina said, folding her hands on her lap. She regarded Pamela with a stern expression quite at odds with the festive effect of her bright scarlet hair and her dangly earrings, which resembled miniature Christmas-tree balls. “Inviting a person to come to your house with a loaded rifle. And look what happened! She could have shot Richard.”
“I am sorry,” Pamela said meekly, “especially about that.” She turned to Richard. “You were very brave to come to my rescue.” He shifted his gaze from Bettina to her.
He was brave. And the fierce cast his strong features sometimes lent to his expression seemed appropriate now, appealing even. But as if catching himself looking more intense than he intended, he smiled and his face softened. Before he could say anything—or perhaps he hadn’t planned to, Wilfred spoke up.
“All’s well that ends well,” he announced as his gaze traveled around the little group, his ruddy face the very picture of cheer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I hope you delivered that loaf of poppy-seed cake to Richard Larkin,” Bettina said as soon as she opened her door. She was already bundled in her pumpkin-colored coat. “He saved your life last night.”
“Not exactly.” Pamela smiled. “But Charlotte could have done a lot of damage to the dress form if she’d managed to hit it.”
“Well”—Bettina put her hands on her hips—“Richard thought he was saving your life. So . . . what about the poppy-seed cake?”
By this time Pamela had stepped into Bettina’s living room, to which the lights on the Christmas tree gave a welcoming glow. Pamela’s smile took on a teasing quality. “If I say I did, will you stop talking about him?”
“Did you?” Bettina’s voice rose an octave. Woofus lifted his shaggy head at the sound but didn’t stir from his comfortable sprawl on the sofa. Bettina clasped her hands in a praying gesture and stared at Pamela, her eyes bright with excitement.
Pamela lowered her gaze to the floor, controlling her desire to smile more broadly. “Yes,” she whispered.
“What was it like?” Bettina whispered too, but urgently.
“He came to the door,” Pamela said. “He’s a little stiff from last night. I handed him the poppy-seed cake.”
Bettina stared at Pamela as if watching a particularly mesmerizing drama unfold on a television screen. “And then . . . ?” she prompted.
“He said ‘Thank you.’ I said ‘You’re welcome.’ And then I crossed the street to come here. We’ve got a Knit and Nibble meeting to get to.”
“Ohhh!” Bettina twisted her lips into a disgusted knot. “It wouldn’t have mattered if we were late.” She lifted her handbag and gloves from a small table near the door. The gloves were the purple ones Penny had given her for Christmas. “I saw the reporters were around today,” she commented.
Pamela nodded. “And I did speak with Clayborn,” she said as they walked toward the driveway, where Bettina’s faithful Toyota waited. “He reminded me that the residents of Arborville pay taxes so they don’t have to solve crimes themselves. He didn’t seem to want to get into the dress form issue.”
The chilly air was scented with wood smoke from a nearby fireplace. There were no clouds, and the few stars were like bright pinpricks in an expanse of black. Bettina followed Pamela around the car and unlocked her door.
“Woofus seems calmer,” Pamela said as she settled into the passenger seat.
“He is.” Bettina nodded from behind the steering wheel. “We’re down to one kitten now, dear little Punkin.”
“What happened to Midnight?” Pamela asked, startled. “I’d have taken him.”
“He’s back with Wilfred Jr.’s boys.”
“I know the boys really missed him,” Pamela said, “but Maxie can’t be happy about keeping a pet that gives her boys a rash.”
“It wasn’t the kitten.” Bettina laughed. “It was a new brand of laundry detergent. Maxie figured it out when she and Wilfred Jr. started itching too.”
* * *
Pamela had no sooner settled onto Roland and Melanie’s low-slung turquoise sofa than the questions began. Yes, she acknowledged, the Register’s description of the previous evening’s events was accurate.
Holly looked up from rummaging in her knitting bag. “But what on earth made Charlotte decide she had to kill you?” she asked, a puzzled frown taking the place of her usual smile.
As Pamela hesitated, Bettina jumped in, breathlessly narrating—just as Pamela had described it to her—the prologue to the drama that had unfolded in the driveway: the sudden realization brought on by the article on the symbolism of knitting patterns, the phone call to Charlotte, the decision to set the dress form up as a decoy . . . But somehow, overnight, the disapproval Bettina had expressed so clearly the previous evening had turned to pride in her friend’s clever ruse.
Disapproval, however, is always lurking, seeking a willing host. No sooner had Bettina finished than Nell spoke up from the comfortable armchair Melanie had offered her when she arrived. “That was a very, very foolish—and dangerous—thing to do,” she said. Nell’s faded blue eyes sought Pamela’s and Pamela couldn’t evade their gaze. Nell underlined the statement with a sorrowful headshake.
“I think it was amazing,” Holly said, her dimply smile returning. Holly had come alone. Karen, still in the early stages of motherhood, was at home with her new baby. Holly looked across the room at Roland, who was sitting on the sleek turquoise chair that matched the sofa. “Don’t you?” she inquired.
“That’s one way to describe it.” Roland looked up. He’d been knitting industriously as Bettina spoke. “Not quite the word I’d use,” he added.
“Well, she saved the taxpayers some money.” Bettina aimed a teasing smile his way. “You’re always in favor of that.”
Roland gave a grudging nod. “I suppose the Arborville police can wrap up the Farthingale case now.”
“And Pierre’s murder too,” Bettina said. “All because of Pamela. Charlotte did confess, you know.”
“Pamela was taking quite a risk.” The expression on Roland’s lean face sharpened. “Who do you suppose would have been liable if Richard Larkin had been shot? I would call that dress form a dangerous nuisance.”
Nell had been glancing back and forth from Bettina to Roland. Now she put her knitting down and raised both of her wrinkled hands in a peacemaking gesture. “As Wilfred would say, all’s well that ends well,” she declared. “And I hope dear little Penny is at ease now. What a shocking start to her Christmas vacation.” She let her kindly gaze travel ar
ound the room. “Now let’s tend to our knitting.”
Pamela smiled to herself. All’s well that ends well indeed. And Penny had an Arborville boyfriend in the bargain.
Five people bent to their projects. Pamela fielded more questions, but this time about the lilac yarn and the lacy pattern taking shape under her needles. Holly was working on another orange square for her color-block afghan, Roland on an angora sweater for his mother, Bettina on the Nordic-style sweater for Wilfred.
“It might be his gift for next Christmas.” She laughed in response to Holly’s comment. “I’m not as speedy as all of you.” She looked across the room to where Nell was nestled into the comfortable armchair. “That’s not a stocking,” she observed.
“No.” Nell held up a needle from which a fuzzy pink object, slightly bowl-shaped, hung. “The Christmas stockings were a big hit with the children at the women’s shelter. Now I’m making caps for newborns. The hospital loves to get them. Karen and Dave will be able to provide little Lily with everything she needs, but some new parents aren’t so fortunate.”
Pamela focused on her knitting, letting the rhythm of her needles and the soft buzz of conversation induce a welcome tranquility. Lined up next to her on the sofa, Bettina and Holly chatted about visits they’d made to Karen. Then they returned to the evening’s earlier topic, but quietly, as across the room Nell and Roland knit on, undisturbed. Though Charlotte had been arrested, Bettina was explaining, not everything had been resolved—particularly Coot’s claim on her mother’s estate, which, with Pierre gone, might now be entirely hers if the DNA evidence held.
Pamela began to smell coffee brewing, and Roland began to stir, pushing back his shirt cuff to consult his impressive watch. His usual suit and tie had been set aside this evening in favor of slim wool slacks and an elegant V-neck sweater, though his shirt cuff was as aggressively starched as ever. But before he could announce that it was eight p.m. and time for refreshments, Melanie appeared in the living room doorway.
“It’s so nice to see you all,” she said with a smile. “All of you who are here, anyway—and I hope Karen is doing well.” After her excursion into pink angora, Melanie had reverted to her customary look. Her well-toned legs were encased in black leggings, and an elegantly slouchy cardigan, knit from impossibly soft wool in tones of black, gray, and camel, topped a black turtleneck.
Roland set his knitting atop his closed briefcase and rose from the sleek turquoise chair. It was then that Pamela noticed he hadn’t been the chair’s only occupant. Lingering in the chair was a small ball of black fur. The ball of fur uncurled, leapt lightly to the floor, and scurried after him as he strode toward where Melanie stood. Pamela recognized the kitten Roland had adopted from Catrina’s litter.
“That’s Cuddles,” Melanie explained. “They’re inseparable.”
“You started the coffee,” Roland said, an edge of accusation in his voice. “I can take over from here.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Melanie smiled serenely and Roland continued on to the kitchen, followed by the black kitten. “He’s serving fruitcake,” Melanie said with a shrug. “It’s actually very good. His mother makes it and she sends it every year.”
Roland was a busy host, popping back and forth between kitchen and living room countless times. The fruitcake arrived, carefully sliced and arranged on a platter, along with dessert plates, forks, and napkins. Cream and sugar were staged on the coffee table, the coffee-drinkers were provided with coffee, and a special pot of tea was delivered to the small table next to Nell’s armchair.
The fruitcake was good. It was dark and fruity and nutty—and very moist, thanks to a noticeable infusion of brandy. Pamela savored the rich, bitter coffee and its contrast with the rich, sweet cake. Christmas wasn’t really over yet, she reflected, gazing at Roland and Melanie’s tree, with its sophisticated gold and silver ornaments set off by twinkling white lights. Now that Millicent’s murder—and Pierre’s—had been solved, she could enjoy what was left of the season. Penny would be home for another week, and as the carol reminded everyone, Christmas really lasted for twelve days.
Roland had settled back onto the turquoise chair with Cuddles perched on his thigh, contentedly kneading it with his tiny paws. Looking pleased with himself, Roland had fielded the compliments that came his way—his mother was to be congratulated on her fruitcake and his coffee was excellent (never mind that Melanie had made it). Now, in the lull that had fallen over the room, Nell spoke up.
“It’s almost the New Year,” she said. “Who has a resolution?”
“I do.” Holly laughed gleefully. “I resolve to be part of this amazing knitting group forever. How about you, Roland?”
Roland looked puzzled. “I’ve never felt the need to make them,” he said.
Bettina spoke up. “I can suggest a few things you might consider.”
Nell leaned forward from the depths of her armchair. “If we’re going to suggest resolutions other people might consider, I have one for Pamela.” Pamela looked over the rim of her coffee cup to meet Nell’s kindly gaze. “No more mysteries,” Nell said firmly. “That’s what the police are for. Will you promise me that?”
Pamela set her cup down. “Well . . . I . . .” she began, but before she could complete her thought, Bettina caught her eye. In a moment Bettina had leapt to her feet from the low-slung sofa, nearly defying gravity. “Let’s all have more fruitcake,” she cried, seizing up the platter. “Nell! You’ve only had one slice.” She bounded across the room to offer the platter to Nell, then darted toward Roland.
The black kitten, interpreting Bettina’s swooping approach as a threat to his master, reared up from Roland’s thigh. Snarling, he leapt at Bettina with tiny claws extended. He landed on the fruitcake platter, which tipped, dumping the remaining slices of fruitcake onto Roland’s lap. The kitten then regained his balance, scaled Bettina’s arm, and clambered onto her shoulder. From there he launched himself toward the Christmas tree. He perched on a slender branch, setting ornaments to swaying. A gleaming golden ornament slipped off, bounced, and rolled across the carpet.
Roland stood up, shedding fruitcake slices, and Melanie dived for the fallen ornament. Bettina stood in the middle of the floor with the empty fruitcake platter, looking as if she was about to cry. The kitten burrowed into Holly’s knitting bag.
In the general hubbub, no one noticed that Nell’s question to Pamela had gone unanswered.
KNIT
Cozy Hands Fingerless Gloves
For this project you will need about 90 yards of medium-weight yarn. A typical skein of acrylic yarn from the hobby shop contains at least twice this amount. You will also need size 8 knitting needles, though 7 or 9 would work if that’s what you have. The pattern is based on about 4 stitches to the inch and it makes fingerless gloves that fit a woman’s rather large hands. You can recalibrate by measuring the hands you plan to fit and adjusting the number of stitches you cast on. These directions start with the glove for the left hand.
If you’ve never knitted anything at all, it’s easier to learn the basics by watching than by reading. The Internet abounds in tutorials that show the process clearly, including casting on and off. Just search on “How to knit.” These gloves use the stockinette stitch, the stitch you see, for example, in a typical sweater. To create the stockinette stitch, you knit one row, then purl going back the other direction, then knit, then purl, knit, purl, back and forth. Again, it’s easier to understand “purl” by watching a video, but essentially when you purl you’re creating the backside of “knit.” To knit, you insert the right-hand needle front to back through the loop of yarn on the left-hand needle. To purl, you insert the needle back to front. The gloves also have ribbing, which will be described when we get to that point in the directions.
Cast on 28 stitches, using either the simple slip-knot cast-on process or the more complicated “long tail” process. If you are adjusting the size, try to cast on a number of stitches that is a multiple of 4. If you do th
is, the joint where one edge of your ribbing meets the other edge after you sew your gloves up will look nicer.
Ribbing is the effect often found at the cuffs of sweaters. It’s the basic knit 2, purl 2 concept. For your first row, knit 2 stitches, then purl 2, then knit 2 more, purl 2 more and continue like that to the end of the row. On the way back, knit 2, purl 2 and so on again. But if you’ve cast on a multiple of 4, you’ll see that now you’re doing a knit where you did a purl, and vice versa. This is what creates the ribs. After you do a few rows you will see them starting to form and the concept will become clearer. One important note: after you knit the first two stitches, you must shift the yarn you’re working with to the front of your work by passing it between the needles. After the two purls, you must shift it to the back, and so on back and forth. If you don’t do this, extra loops of yarn will accumulate on your needles in a very confusing way.
Do the knitting and purling for about 9 rows or until you have about 1 to 2 inches of ribbing. You have now created the cuff of your first glove.
The body of the glove is worked in stockinette stitch. Knit, using the stockinette stitch, for about 18 rows or 3 or 4 inches. You are now ready to make the hole for the thumb, but you can hold the in-progress project up against the back of your hand to make sure you’ve knit far enough. At this point, with the ribbing lying on your wrist in a natural position, the body of the glove should reach the spot where your thumb joins the rest of your hand.
It’s best to do the thumb hole when you are on a knit row rather than a purl row. Knit 4 stitches, then cast off 4 stitches. Resume knitting and finish out the row. On the way back you will be purling. Purl 20 stitches. (If you adjusted the size by casting on fewer than 28 stitches, purl until you come to the spot where you cast off the 4 stitches.) Cast on 4 stitches, using the slip-knot process. Resume purling and finish out the row. Keep on with the stockinette stitch for about 8 rows, or 1½ inches. Again, you can hold the in-progress work up against the back of your hand to make sure you’ve knit far enough. At this point, the body of the glove should reach the base of your fingers. Cast off and clip your yarn, but leave a nice long tail. You’ll see why this is useful in a minute.
Silent Knit, Deadly Knit Page 24