Chapter 9
“T
ell me about the Charity Knitters Association,” Josie said the next day. “It sounds so official.”
Evelyn laughed. “Well . . . it is. A few years ago, Cora dreamed up the idea. I told you that knitters usually give away what they make?” Josie nodded, then booted up her computer. “Eventually, we run out of people to bestow our bounty upon. A person only needs so many scarves and hats and sweaters, no matter how kind the intention behind the gift. Yarn junkies like us need new recipients all the time.”
Josie pulled up her inventory document. She hoped they'd make a good dent in the job today. “Junkies,” she laughed. “I had another less-nice word in mind.”
Evelyn pursed up her lips, then laughed herself. “We call ourselves less nice things too, especially after we've had a glass of wine at our meetings.”
“So you're actually registered with the state as a charity?”
Evelyn dumped a basket of yarn on the counter and began to sort. “No, a nonprofit. They're similar though. It was Cora's idea. That way we could get a tax break on the yarn and supplies we bought for our Charity Knitters projects. Not only that, when we went on that knitters' cruise to the Bahamas a few years ago, we got to write it off.”
Josie was impressed. “So why would you elect Diantha Humphries as president?” She wanted to clap a hand over her mouth and take it back. Evelyn and Diantha were probably friends.
Evelyn laughed again. “She's not a fan of yours either, from what I hear.” The yarn piles in front of her were growing into color-coded mountains. “And we didn't elect her. Cora has always been the president. But when she died, the vice president had to step in. And that was Diantha. By the way,” she added, “thank you for not selling Miss Marple Knits to her.”
Josie looked up, startled. “You knew about that?”
“Of course, dear. She and Lillian both wanted it. Or said they did.”
“I . . . just couldn't. I can't explain it.” Josie's computer dinged, indicating she had a new e-mail.
“Cora wouldn't have allowed either one to buy Miss Marple Knits,” Evelyn said, her tone firm. “Diantha is too snooty and would drive away any customer who walked through the door. And Lillian, poor thing, had no head for business.” Evelyn picked up a ball of yarn. “Ready? Two skeins of organic cotton, ecru.”
“Got it.” Josie made the notation. “So where do you meet?”
“Three skeins of organic cotton, light blue. We rotate meeting at each others' houses. Although I'm not sure if we'll continue.”
Josie looked up. “That would be a shame.” Her stomach fluttered.
“It would. We've done quite a bit of good for other people, and had quite a bit of fun doing it. Even Diantha. But with the shop closing, and two of our members dead just a few weeks apart, the Charity Knitters may very well disband. I'm not sure any of our hearts are in it anymore.”
Now that they had a rhythm and an established process, the work went quickly. Within a few hours they'd managed to inventory half of the remaining stock in the front room. But by one o'clock, Josie was ready for a break.
“Let's go to the general store for a bowl of soup, my treat,” Josie said. “I'm starving.”
“Good idea. Why don't you go on ahead and order for me? Whatever you're having will be fine. I need to make a phone call, then I'll be right there.”
“Sure. I'll take the key. Just set the lock and shut the door when you leave.” Josie saved the document on her computer.
“Oh, I need to go to my car. I left my phone there.” Evelyn put on her coat and looped her giant handbag over her arm.
“Then I'll just go to the ladies' room and head to the g.s. I'll lock up.”
“Perfect.” Evelyn left and walked briskly to her car, a dark red Buick parked just outside Miss Marple Knits.
When Josie passed the car less than ten minutes later, it was empty. Evelyn must have only needed to make a quick call, or perhaps her party hadn't answered. She was probably waiting in the toasty warm general store, so Josie made her way there and went directly to the back counter. There were only a couple of shoppers wandering about, neither of whom was Evelyn.
“Hey, Lorna. What's the soup today?” Josie shoved her gloves into her pockets and ran her fingers through her hair. It didn't seem to help. Strands floated about her head, giving the occasional crackle of static electricity.
Lorna reached under the counter and pulled up a small bottle of hand lotion. “Rub a drop of this between your hands, then smooth your hair down. And you're in luck. We've got creamy tomato bisque, with homemade croutons. Want a bowl?”
Josie's mouth watered as she tamed her hair. “You know I do. Make it two.”
“Should I put them in travel containers for you and Eb?”
“No, I'm meeting Evelyn Graves here for lunch. Is she here?”
Lorna looked around. “I haven't seen her.” She began to ladle soup into bowls.
Where was Evelyn? She wasn't in her car, she wasn't here, and every storefront on the block between the yarn shop and here was closed, except for the insurance agency. She could have popped in to pay her insurance premium, but there was one other interesting possibility.
“It's a shame all these little shops along Main Street aren't open,” Josie ventured.
Lorna frowned. “Yeah, anybody who's tried starting a new business here in recent years has failed. The town's too small to support any more than what we've got, and most everyone works and shops somewhere else.” She swirled some olive oil on the surface of the soup, then sprinkled buttery grilled cubes of bread on top.
“So what's upstairs, over the shops? I haven't been to the upper levels over Miss Marple Knits yet. I'm not even sure where the stairway is.” She glanced toward the front door. Still no sign of Evelyn.
Lorna looked thoughtful. “They're all different spaces, though I've only seen a couple. We use the upstairs here for storage. In the old days I think it was used for additional retail space, plus apartments. But as far as I know none of the spaces are occupied now. Why do you ask?” She handed the bowls to Josie.
“Oh, no reason. Just curious.” The front door opened, and Evelyn came in, her face red. Was she cold? Or had she been in a hurry to get here after going on some mysterious mission to the upstairs floors of a reportedly abandoned building? Josie could just come right out and ask, but it wasn't really any of her business. If Evelyn wanted Josie to know what she was doing, she would have told her. But, darn it, Josie was curious. She took the tray from Lorna and made her way to a table.
Evelyn shrugged off her coat, parked herself at the table, and dug into her soup. She nodded in appreciation. “Delicious. Lorna, you can be my private chef anytime,” she called toward the back.
Lorna laughed and came out from behind the counter, carrying another tray containing glasses, bottled water, and a small dish of sliced lemon. “I may have to take you up on that. Dougie's been talking about shutting down the homemade food service here and switching to premade sandwiches and hotdogs on rollers.”
“What?” Evelyn's face went red again, closely matching the tomato soup. “Douglas Brewster may have ancestors who go back to the
Mayflower,
but his brains don't stretch from one ear to the other.” She gave her soup a violent stir that caused some of it to slop over onto the saucer underneath. “Imagine trying to turn this place into a convenience store. Next he'll be digging up Main Street to put in gas pumps. Where is he so I can give him a piece of my mind?”
“He's over at the town hall, preparing the agenda for the next town council meeting.”
A woman sat down at the table and hung the straps of her bag over the back of the empty chair beside her.
“Josie,” Evelyn said. “Have you met Helen Crawford? Helen, this is Eben's niece.”
The two older women exchanged a look. Impossible to say what it meant.
“You want something to eat, Helen?” Lorna called out.
Helen shook her head, but her heavily sprayed pale blond hair didn't move at all. She looked at her watch. “Evvy, have you forgotten about our date tonight? Don't you need time to get ready?”
Evelyn dipped her spoon into her bowl. “Plenty of time. The limo doesn't get here for another two hours.”
Josie recognized Helen, though this was the first time they'd been introduced. She'd been in the shop with Lillian the other day. And she was the other woman Josie had seen across the street from Miss Marple Knits, entering the door between storefronts.
Helen harrumphed. “You're not going dressed like that, are you? Aren't you going to put on something more glamorous?”
The mystery of what kind of date they were scheduled for was solved when Evelyn responded. “I just need to change into my red beaded jacket and silk shell, then I'm all set.” She looked at Josie. “Tony Bennett is playing at Mohegan Sun tonight. The Charity Knitters are having a meeting in the car on the way there. So it's tax deductible.”
Josie had heard of Mohegan Sun, and its counterpart, Foxwoods. Her mother had taken bus trips to the casinos more than once. “Evelyn, you should have told me you had plans tonight. No need for you to come back to the shop this afternoon, or even tomorrow if you're tired from your late evening. You've already done so much.”
“Nonsense,” Evelyn said. “I wouldn't help if I didn't want to. Cora was a good friend.” She sipped at her sparkling water. “We bought these tickets months ago, before Cora and Lillian died, so there are a couple extra. You're welcome to come along.”
“That's right,” Helen piped up. “Please don't think we're being disrespectful by going tonight. We're planning to celebrate the lives of Cora and Lillian.”
Josie hadn't thought any such thing. She hoped when it was her time to go, her friends would be having fun in her memory, rather than grieving. The offer was tempting. Wasn't Tony Bennett that old-timey singer who did some performing with Lady Gaga? Staying up past ten o'clock and seeing some bright lights and being surrounded by lots of people sounded pretty good.
“Of course,” Evelyn added. “Diantha will be there.”
That settled it. No way was Josie riding a couple of hours, or however far away the casino was, in close quarters with Diantha Humphries. “Thanks for the offer,” she said. “But Eb needs me.”
Helen nodded in approval. “Very good. You're here to take care of dear Eben, so that's what you should do.” She looked at her watch again and turned to Evelyn. “I'll expect you at four o'clock at my house. Don't be late. I asked the limo company to send Rodrigo.” Her eyes went dreamy. “He's dishy.” She hefted her purse and left.
“Rodrigo
is
dishy,” Evelyn said. “It would be worth the trip for you just to see him.” She dabbed at her lips with her napkin, then folded it up and placed it inside her empty bowl. “If you really can spare me, I think I will go home and take a short nap. It'll be a late night.”
“Don't be silly. Go on. Send me a picture of Rodrigo.”
The wind picked up as Josie made her way back to Miss Marple Knits a few minutes later. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and hunched her shoulders, but she was still chilled to the bone when she unlocked the door and went inside. More than half of the cubbies were empty, and if the place had felt empty and forlorn the first time she'd entered it a few days ago, it was downright depressing now. The sooner she got this job finished, the better.
Josie brought her laptop over from the sales counter and sat down on the couch. Her e-mail in-box was crowded, so she deleted all the obvious junk, then clicked. She felt a little surge of adrenaline. Monica, one of the sales staff at the Haus of Heinrich, had responded to her query.
Putting out feelers in yarn stores throughout Brooklyn and Manhattan. Will let you know if anyone interested in contents. Have fun in the sticks. Monica.
If anyone could find a buyer for the inventory of Miss Marple Knits, it was Monica.
There were several messages from Jennifer, Otto's other assistant, begging her to make up to Otto and come back.
He's refusing to hire anyone to replace you, so I know this is just temporary. Please. I stink at writing the blog, let alone the magazine. I'm dying here.
Josie thought about not responding, but finally sent off an answer.
Can't leave yet. Not sure I want to be unfired.
That might or might not get back to OttoâJennifer was fairly new at the company, and it wasn't clear where her loyalties lay. But it wouldn't hurt to play a little bit hard to get.
What was this? She felt her eyes widen in surprise. There was an e-mail from Otto himself.
Don't be an idiot. Send me some decent designs for the fall collection and you can come back.
Her heart soared. Yes! Apparently absence made the heart grow fonder, because he wanted her back. Jobs in the fashion industry were tough to get, even tougher to keep, as she well knew. Not that she intended to stay there forever, especially after Otto had put the moves on her in the restaurant the other night. But she had those pesky student loans to pay, as well as rent on her apartment. And she needed a steady cash flow to feed her shameful designer handbag habit. So until she could secure a spot at another fashion company, the Haus of Heinrich it was.
Still, Josie didn't want to seem too eager. She decided to let him stew like a pot of hasenpfeffer for a while. It wasn't like she could leave right now anyway. She closed the lid on her laptop and set it next to her on the couch, then texted her mother with a request that she call when she got somewhere with cell service.