Skein of the Crime (7 page)

“Yeah, way. I made more mistakes than a dog has fleas.” Some of the girls laughed softly, while others stayed focused on their knitting, rows forming on their needles. The little Megans, Jennifers, and Lisas of the world.

Burt walked into the knitting room carrying a large plastic bag filled with creamy white wool fleece. “Hey, Kelly, that’s nice of you to come by today and help Mimi with her class.”

“Well, I thought it would help relax me before I start my account work this afternoon. Speaking of relaxing, why don’t you pull up a chair and sit and spin while we knit away?”

“I was thinking of doing that very thing,” Burt said. “Hey, girls, mind if I sit and spin awhile? I’ll be glad to answer any questions you might have.”

All eight girls nodded their heads, peering at Burt’s spinning wheel as he settled into the corner. He set the large bag of fleece on the floor beside him and grabbed a handful of fluff.

Kelly watched Burt gently stretch the handful of wool fleece, drafting the fleece into what spinners called
batten
or
roving
. She glanced around the table at the eleven-year-old beginning knitters. Their attention had obviously shifted from their knitting to Burt’s activities. She decided this was an ideal time to stoke their curiosity.

“Do you know what Burt’s doing now?” she asked them as she walked beside the table. She pointed toward Burt. “He’s stretching the wool fleece so he can spin it.”

“Is all that wool from one sheep?” a girl asked.

Burt looked up with a smile. “Oh, no. This bag contains the fleeces from two sheep.”

“Does the wool come off the sheep looking like that?” another asked.

Kelly knew the answer to that one. “Oh, no. The original fleece when it comes off the sheep is pretty dirty. It’s filled with dirt and bits of twigs and leaves and stuff. Once the sheep shearer comes with the razor and takes off the fleece, it has to be cleaned and washed.”

“Washed? How? In the washing machine?”

Kelly and Burt laughed along with the girls. “Actually, yes. The fleece can be washed in a machine. But first, you have to card it to get the dirt out. They do that with metal brushes that brush through the fleece to get out all the dirt and leaves and stuff.”

“Boy, that sounds like a lot of work,” a girl at the end of the table said, picking up her knitting again.

“It is, believe me,” Burt said with a chuckle. “I’ve done a lot of it.”

“What kind of combs do you use?”

“Well, they’re actually brushes,” Burt explained, then motioned to Kelly. “Check in the spinning room, would you, Kelly? I think there are some brushes there.”

Kelly went into the small room adjacent to the main knitting room where bags of colorful fleece sat beside luscious wound skeins of hand-dyed wools and mohairs, silks and alpaca, ready to be spun together into custom yarns. Scanning the crowded room, she grabbed two carding brushes on the table and returned to the class.

“Here you go, girls,” she said, holding them up. “I’ll pass them around. See those metal teeth? They’re designed to catch all the dirt and leaves and stuff that gets caught in the sheep’s fleece over the winter.” She handed it to the first girl at the end of the table.

“Take some of this, Kelly, and show how they brush it,” Burt suggested, handing her a chunk of the fleece.

Kelly took the bunch of fleece and placed it on one brush, then used the other brush to brush through it. “See, it’s tricky, and it does take a long time.”

“Isn’t there a machine that does that?” someone asked.

“Matter of fact, there is,” Burt answered. “But they’re expensive so most spinners do it by hand. But, there are people who do it as a business. Spinners who want to pay to have their fleeces done take it to someone who’ll card it, get out all the dirt and stuff, then they’ll wash and dry the fleece.”

Kelly remembered that Curt Stackhouse’s late wife, Ruth, used to provide that service for spinners before she died of a heart attack years ago. “How expensive is it, Burt?” she asked as she watched each of the girls around the table take a turn trying to brush the fluffy fleece.

“Well, it’s not cheap, but it’s really a matter of whether it’s worth it to you or not. Some people don’t have much time to spin each day, and they’d rather pay someone to do the time-consuming task of cleaning and preparing the fleece. That way they can spend their time doing what they like best—spinning.” Burt pulled another handful of fleece from the bag and began drafting again.

“Why do you have to do that before you spin?” a girl sitting closest to the wheel asked.

“You want to stretch the wool’s fibers so it’s easier to go through the wheel,” he said, stretching the fibers for them to see. “We call it roving or batten once it’s stretched. And after I’ve got a bunch of roving, I’ll start to spin.”

Kelly noticed most of the girls returned to their knitting, hats slowly forming on their circular needles. But they kept glancing up at Burt, watching the pile of fluffy roving grow in his lap. Once it did, Burt looked up at them with a smile.

“Okay, now I’m ready. Who’s ever watched a spinner before?”

All the hands shot up in the air as each of the girls vied for Burt’s attention, waving their hands as if they were in the classroom. Waiting to tell their stories.

“We went to the Renaissance Fair, and there was a whole bunch of them there,” one girl said.

Others nodded and added their own stories of colonial demonstrations at school and the county and state fairs. Burt dutifully paid heed to each account and encouraged the girls to talk. Burt would have made a great teacher, Kelly decided.

“Okay . . . now that I’ve got a lapful of roving I can start spinning,” Burt announced and pulled the wheel closer. “Take a look at the yarns you’re knitting with. Hold them up and see how thick the strands of wool are. I’ll bet each one of you has a different thickness.”

The girls began to examine their yarns, holding up individual strands and comparing with each other’s. “See, Burt’s right,” Kelly said, pointing around the table. “Yours is thicker than hers. I’ll bet no two are the same.”

“Does that happen when you spin the yarn?” a girl beside Kelly asked.

“Yes, it does,” Burt answered. “And I’ll show you how we do it. Spinners control the thickness of the yarn by how much roving they feed onto the wheel. Let me show you. You’ll notice there’s already yarn on the spinning wheel. See how it goes from the wheel over to the spindle, this funny-shaped thing. That’s where it winds the yarn.” He pointed to each part. “Now, we can control the thickness of the yarn by the amount of roving we let pass through our fingers onto the wheel. Watch.”

Burt began the familiar movements, explaining as he went along. “First, we start the treadle going as we feed this roving onto the yarn that’s already on the wheel.” As Burt’s feet began to work the treadle, the roving began to slide through Burt’s fingers and onto the wheel, binding to the strand of yarn already there.

“See how the yarn is getting thicker now that I’ve added more to it,” Burt observed. “If you want a thinner yarn you add less roving. If you want it thicker, then you add more.”

Every girl around the table focused on Burt, seemingly fascinated. Kelly understood. She loved to watch the spinners, too. Burt, Mimi, anyone. She found it relaxing to watch. Even though Mimi and others had suggested Kelly might want to try it herself, she declined. There was no way she could get her feet coordinated with the wheel. She’d seen what happened when spinners let their fingers and feet go different speeds, and it wasn’t pretty.

“That’s cool,” one of the girls decreed after a minute or so of watching.

“Yeah, it is,” another agreed.

“Well, if any of you girls are interested, we were thinking of offering a kids’ spinning class this winter,” Burt announced. “On Sundays, like today.”

Mimi appeared in the archway just then. “Well, it looks like you’ve captivated my junior hat class, Burt. Nobody’s knitting anymore. Everyone’s watching you spin.”

“Guilty, Mimi.” Kelly held up her hand. “I decided it was a good opportunity to show the girls how the wool got into those skeins you have on the shelves. “We’re busted, girls. Better get back to those hats.”

“Anyone need help?” Mimi offered, strolling around the table, eyeing the beginning projects.

A couple of hands shot up, and conversation started flowing around the table again as the girls picked up their knitting where they left off. Kelly decided this was as good a time as any for a coffee break. She walked over to Burt’s corner and beckoned.

“Why don’t we go have some coffee and let Mimi get these kids back on track?”

“Sounds like a good idea, Kelly,” he said, rising from his wheel. “I could use some coffee before I start drafting again.”

“You’re a great teacher, Burt,” Kelly said as they wound through the central yarn room toward the hallway that led to the café. “You really had the girls enthralled back there.”

“Thank you, Kelly. I have to confess I love nothing more than working with a group of youngsters who’re eager to learn.”

“Well, I think you just planted some spinning seeds today. I wouldn’t be surprised if several of those girls wanted to take classes.” Kelly paused in the entrance to the café. Sunday morning busy. Jennifer and Julie, the other waitress, were loading their trays with plates of yummy breakfast dishes. “Wow, I always forget how crowded the café is on weekends.”

“Mmmm, smells good,” Burt said as they headed toward the grill. “Makes me want to eat all over again.”

“Don’t start, Burt. If you weaken, so will I.” She held out her mug to the grill cook. “Hey, Eduardo, could we get a refill, please? Then, I promise we won’t bother you again.”

“No bother, Kelly,” Eduardo said with his usual grin. “Let me grab a pot. Jen and Julie are busy with customers.”

“We noticed. Is that Pete busing tables?” Kelly pointed toward the dining room. “You must be shorthanded. Someone didn’t show up for work, right?”

Eduardo poured a black stream into Kelly’s mug, then Burt’s. “You got it. Saturday-night curse. Late parties and everyone’s hungover Sunday morning.”

“Thanks, Eduardo,” Burt said as he and Kelly maneuvered their way back toward the knitting shop. Jennifer spotted them and gave a hurried wave as she scurried through the dining room.

Kelly took a sip of the hot black nectar. “Ahhhh, I needed that,” she said, eyes closed, tasting.

Burt chuckled. “I don’t know how you can drink it right away as hot as it is.”

“Practice. Learned how in college. My throat is probably cauterized by now.” She took another sip as they wandered back into the shop, bins of yarns spilling over with tempting tactile creations. Kelly trailed her fingers over several skeins, and another thought came forward. “Have you read the newspaper today? Did you see where a young girl was found dead on the river trail? Sounds like it was on that section of trail near the golf course close to here.”

Burt’s smile disappeared. “Yeah, I saw it. That’s a damn shame.”

“Do you think it’s related to those assaults that have been happening these last few months?”

“I don’t know, Kelly. No one’s ever been killed before. One woman was hit several times when she fought back against her attacker. But they still don’t know if there’s more than one guy who’s attacking women.”

“Have you talked to your old partner in the department yet?”

“First thing this morning. I left a message on his cell. I haven’t heard back yet, because I’m sure they’re still trying to sort through what they’ve got. But he’ll give me a call when he can.”

“Do you think it was a college student, Burt? Someone who hasn’t been here these last few months and read about the stalker?”

Burt shrugged. “Who knows, Kelly? That’s certainly one possibility.” He stood and sipped his coffee as he stared out the window.

Kelly glanced at her watch. “Well, I’d better get back to helping Mimi. Steve’s working at his office all day, of course, so I’ll be doing some account work at home. Give me a call whenever you hear something, okay?”

“Will do, Kelly.”

Suddenly Kelly remembered something else she wanted to tell Burt. The newspaper’s ugly headlines had swept the good news out of her head temporarily.

“Hey, Burt, has Megan given you guys a call yet?”

Burt look puzzled. “Megan? No, why?”

Kelly grinned. “Well, she will be. She and Marty gave us the good news Friday night. They’re engaged. Isn’t that great?”

Burt’s face broke into an enormous grin. “That’s fantastic news, Kelly! Boy, wait’ll we tell Mimi. Do you want to do it after class?”

“Perfect. Mother Mimi will be ecstatic.”

 

 

 

Kelly clicked out of the spreadsheet, then checked her watch. It was nearly six o’clock and Steve hadn’t called yet. She’d left a message earlier that dinner was warming in the oven and beer was in the fridge, so she expected him to pull down the driveway any minute.

She glanced outside into the gathering dusk, then back to the blinking cursor on her computer screen. Might as well keep working. Kelly was about to open another spreadsheet when her cell phone rang.
At last
.

“Hey, you’d better get home soon. That Indian food is driving me crazy warming in the oven,” Kelly said into the phone.

“Well, I’m afraid Mimi and I aren’t very hungry tonight, but thanks anyway, Kelly,” Burt’s voice sounded. “I thought I’d give you a call because I heard from Dan.”

“Oh, yeah, what have they learned? Or can you say?” Kelly logged off her computer and shut it down.

“Well, they’ve been able to establish identity of the young woman. Some of the hospital staff recognized her from last month. It’s Holly Kaiser.”

Kelly slowly rose from her chair, a chill settling over her. “Oh, no! That can’t be. I just saw Holly the other day at the shop. She . . . she’s been doing so well. What happened? What was she doing on the river trail?”