Till Death Do Us Purl (5 page)

M
aggie sent a short e-mail around on Friday
morning to let the knitting circle know Nora had dropped off the rest of the yarn for the bridesmaids’ sweaters, just as she’d promised.

Please come pick up your yarn for the shrugs ASAP. You should all be finished with the sample by now and needing the rest. We have a deadline to meet. Let’s not let dear Rebecca down.

Lucy cringed. She had hardly made a dent in the sample of dark pink yarn she’d taken home the night before. She’d planned to knit for a little while in bed before going to sleep. But once Matt came up, the needles had been tossed overboard without a second thought.

She decided to walk down to the shop to pick up her share of yarn that afternoon, whether she needed it or not. Right after she sent off a project she’d been working on
all week.

It was a fairly simple brochure for a local jewelry store, promoting their top-selling spring items—mainly engagement rings and wedding bands. Lucy hadn’t noticed the graphics very much. But she suddenly felt smothered this morning by photos of diamond solitaire rings and gold bands. It seemed like some sort of conspiracy.

The moment Lucy shut her computer and stood up, her dog, Tink—stretched out under her desk doing a perfect imitation of a yellow bath mat—jumped to her feet.

“Ready to go out?”

What a question. When was Tink ever not ready?

The dog picked up a sneaker and raced to the back door, her long tail swishing from side to side like a brush in a car wash.

The past winter had been brutal, even by New England’s standards, with snow piles that often reached to Lucy’s shoulder and frigid cold temperatures. It was a challenge to walk to the car without breaking a bone. No less walking a large, rambunctious dog down the street. Tink had definitely been deprived of exercise the past few months, but now that spring was almost here, Lucy vowed to do better.

She slipped on her jacket, then hooked up Tink’s new harness. Lucy had adopted Tink about a year ago but had not progressed much with training, including walking properly on a leash. “Calm” was not a word in Tink’s limited canine vocabulary. Though she did seem to understand multiple variations for the concept of dog treat.

“Just hold still now for a second.” Lucy struggled to make the clasp meet under the dog’s chest. “Suck it in a little, pal.
And don’t tell me that’s just fur.”

Did she talk out loud to the dog too much? Lucy sometimes wondered. Maybe that was a sign she should be more eager for Matt to move in.

With Tink leading the way at a relatively sedate pace, they headed down the winding streets that led to the village of Plum Harbor. Tucked into Boston’s north shore, the town had once been a popular summer destination, but had since evolved into a place some might call an ex-urb. Not close enough to Boston to be a suburb, but not completely rural, either.

Lucy lived in an area of the village known as the Marshes, a neighborhood bordered by tracts of tall grasses and marshland that eventually led to the town beach.

The community of summer cottages had been winterized and expanded over the years, evolving into a distinct, year-round neighborhood. Small, cozy houses were the perfect fit for young families or seniors looking to downsize.

Lucy and her sister had inherited one such cottage from their aunt, who had died three years ago. They’d spent many summers with Aunt Laura and the place held special memories. Lucy had arrived intending to stay just for the summer and ended up making it her full-time address.

Somebody should have told the weatherman spring was coming, Lucy thought as she rounded the turn onto Main Street. There was no sign of it today and she pulled the zipper of her jacket up to her chin. A cold, sharp wind blew straight into her face, making her squint and making Tink squint, too, her ears blown flat against her
head. The wind rose off the harbor and they were walking straight into it.

Lucy tugged Tink down the street toward Maggie’s shop, then up the brick-lined path that led to the steps and covered porch. The shop looked stark this time of year, bare of flowers or even holiday decorations. But the bay window in front always held a creative display that rarely failed to amuse.

As Lucy tied one end of the dog’s leash to the porch railing, she noticed Maggie had set up a new window today, showing different knitted pieces—a hat, a mitten, a baby sweater—floating against a blue sky, like airborne kites. Lucy had to look close to figure out how it was done. Very clever and original, she thought.

When she walked in, the shop was empty. Maggie was at the table in the back unpacking and sorting some new stock. The bright spring colors were enticing and put Lucy in the mind for warm-weather projects, like a halter top or felted summer bag.

“Hmm . . . this looks interesting,” Lucy picked up a skein of sunny yellow yarn and touched it to her cheek. “Soft, too. What can I make with this?”

Maggie snatched it from her hand with a disapproving shake of her head. “Not so fast, my dear. First things first.”

She picked up a plastic bag of yarn from the sideboard and handed it over. “Here’s your share of the bridesmaid yarn. I think we need to have everything done by next Tuesday, so we can block the shrugs and they have time to dry.”

“Next Tuesday? I thought you said Thursday.”

“I had to rethink that plan. I’m concerned that the sweaters might not dry in time for the ceremony.
We’re really cutting it close as it is.

“Tell me about it. I thought Thursday would be a tough date to make.”

“Don’t worry, Lucy, you’ll make it. My mother used to say, ‘A task will expand or shrink, according to the time you have to do it.’”

Which was probably true, Lucy thought, knowing how she could fiddle and procrastinate for weeks on a work project with a long, loose timeline.

Before she could reply, another voice chimed in, “I know just what you mean. It’s the same about pocketbooks. Ever notice? If you carry a big clunky bag, you find all kinds of junk to fill it. Stuff you absolutely must have handy. Feels like you’re carrying a ton of bricks. But if you grab a little bag, you can’t fit half that stuff and never miss it.”

“Oh, hello, Edie,” Maggie said. Both Maggie and Lucy had turned to find Edie Steiber walking toward them. She’d obviously entered the shop without their noticing. Which was saying something, since Edie was not the type of woman who easily flew under the radar.

Edie ran the Schooner, the town’s most popular eaterie, though certainly not the fanciest. The diner was an unofficial historic landmark and Edie, sort of an unofficial landmark, as well. Edie worked at the diner from dawn until late at night, ruling her little fiefdom from a stool behind the cash register and filling her downtime by passing along town news—commonly known as gossip—and knitting.

She often trotted across the street to Maggie’s shop to stock up on supplies, solicit a tip
or two, or just to sit and chat. Lucy suspected that most of the time, the former reasons were just an excuse for the latter.

“Oh, that’s a nice color. It would go with my coat.” She picked up a bag of the bridesmaid yarn and held it up against her down coat, which reached to her ankles and puffed out around her body like a lavender thunder cloud.

“So what are you up to with all this pretty yarn? Did I miss a sign-up sheet for a class?”

“Nothing like that,
Edie. The knitting group is just doing a good deed. Rebecca Bailey is getting married and she needed some help knitting shrugs for her bridesmaids and finishing her gown.”

“Rebecca who . . . ? Oh sure, I know who you mean. She’s making her own wedding gown, right?” Maggie simply nodded. “Well, good luck to her. Who’s she marrying anyway?”

“Jeremy Lassiter. Do you know the Lassiters?” Maggie’s tone was polite, though they both knew Edie was acquainted with everyone in town. If not personally, then by hearsay, which was just as good in her book.

“At-Las Technologies? Those Lassiters you mean?” She sat down at the table with a grunt and yanked open a few snaps on her coat. “Well, well. She reeled in a big fish. You wouldn’t think she was the type to go after money. To look at her, I mean. She seems so homespun. So wholesome and whole foodie.”

Lucy actually agreed with Edie’s assessment. Though she would have phrased the impression in a more polite way.

“Edie, please. You make it sound like poor Rebecca is a gold digger. She’s nothing like that. I’m sure it’s a total love match,” Maggie insisted.

Edie shrugged, unfazed by Maggie’s scolding. “If you say so. Otherwise, she might be in for a little surprise. All mighty At-Las has hit some hard times, I hear. Her new in-laws might not be as loaded as she thinks.”

Edie was still not conceding that Rebecca was not interested in Jeremy for his money, Lucy noticed. But her tidbit of gossip piqued Lucy’s curiosity.

“What do you mean, Edie? Is the company having problems?”

“You might say that. Lassiter’s partner, Lewis Atkins, up and left about a year or two ago. That was a nasty split. Nearly brought the whole place down around him. See it was Atkins and Lassiter from way back. At . . . Las, get it?” she asked the other women. “College roommates and close as brothers. They started that business fresh out of school with Lassiter’s father’s money. What, nearly forty years ago?”

“Why did they part company?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, the usual. Some fight over money or royalties from a patent. Something like that. Anyway, Atkins got a payout that drained the coffers. Not to mention the lawyers’ fees. So now Lassiter is left beating the bushes for investors. He’s definitely got a cash-flow problem since his BFF left. Mainly with the flow part,” she added curtly.

“Investors? Is the family selling off shares of the company?” Maggie asked curiously.

“I wish. I would have bit on that carrot,” Edie countered. “All my guy would tell me was that I could get in on the ground floor, on something big. But risky.” Edie paused and pulled out
her knitting. “I was tempted. But I decided to pass.”

Lucy had no idea of Edie’s net worth, but guessed that their local queen of hash browns was one of the wealthiest people in town, if not all of Essex County. In addition to a thriving business, a prime chunk of Main Street real estate, and a grand Victorian showplace she called home, Edie had been the sole heir to her father’s savings and investments, and spent almost as much time analyzing and manipulating her nest egg as she did knitting.

“Rebecca’s future father-in-law is cooking up some hot new product and looking for R and D money,” Edie continued. “Research and development,” she translated.

“Yes. We get that.” Maggie glanced at Lucy with a bland smile. “Nora Bailey did say that Jeremy’s father insisted that the wedding date be changed because there was something very important going on at the firm. Perhaps it’s all related.”

“Sounds like. These things can be a boom or a bust. I need a safe bet at my age. It’s almost time to cash in my chips. Or time for my kids to,” she added with a laugh. “Hey, why did I come in here anyway? It sure wasn’t to talk over my portfolio. Oh, right, Some buttons for this little sweater I just finished. Isn’t it sweet?”

Edie had already taken the project out of her bag and now smoothed it on the table. A creamy white baby sweater with a pink border. Edie had done a nice job, Lucy thought. The sweater was totally sweet and Lucy had to admit, these knitted baby items could get her biological crocodile ticking without too much encouragement.

“That’s for my new grandbaby. A little something
for the spring. I have so many grandkids now, I can barely keep track of who I need to knit for next. I need to make a chart or something.”

Edie suddenly rose, holding on to the table as she stood, then balanced on her big tan snow boots. The last flake had fallen some weeks ago, but Lucy knew Edie didn’t like to take any chances, and would probably wear the boots until the temperature hit at least fifty-five or even sixty.

“Will you show me your famous button collection, Maggie?”

“Help yourself,” Maggie said, though she only allowed her special customers that privilege. “Buttons for children’s wear are in the top drawer.”

Edie eagerly ambled over to the cabinet and Lucy saw her cue to depart.

“Well, I’d better get going. Tink must be restless. And I have to get cracking on the shrug, of course,” she added in a dutiful tone.

“Don’t make me feel so guilty. I’m sure you’ll manage to squeeze in a few hours with Matt here and there. Despite your dedication to the cause.”

Lucy laughed and zipped up her jacket. “We’ll get together tonight. But he has to pick up Dara tomorrow, and they have a busy schedule this weekend. A few birthday parties and some family events.” Lucy often spent time with Matt and Dara. But she wasn’t included this weekend, which was just as well, she thought. “Maybe I’ll finish on time after all.”

“Yes, please. No excuses now,” Maggie warned as she walked Lucy to the door.

Just as Lucy was leaving, Dana walked
in. “Ready for more yarn?” Maggie asked.

“Not a moment too soon. I whipped right through that first skein.”