Patterns in the Sand

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patterns in the Sand
Sally Goldenbaum

 

Penguin Group USA

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table of Contents

 

Copyright Page

 

 

Dedication

 

 

Acknowledgements

 

 

Chapter 1 - The Friday before . . .

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Chapter 3

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

Chapter 6

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

Chapter 8

 

 

Chapter 9

 

 

Chapter 10

 

 

Chapter 11

 

 

Chapter 12

 

 

Chapter 13

 

 

Chapter 14

 

 

Chapter 15

 

 

Chapter 16

 

 

Chapter 17

 

 

Chapter 18

 

 

Chapter 19

 

 

Chapter 20

 

 

Chapter 21

 

 

Chapter 22

 

 

Chapter 23

 

 

Chapter 24

 

 

Chapter 25

 

 

Chapter 26

 

 

Chapter 27

 

 

Chapter 28

 

 

Chapter 29

 

 

Chapter 30

 

 

Chapter 31

 

 

Chapter 32

 

 

Chapter 33

 

 

Chapter 34

 

 

Chapter 35

 

 

The Inside-Out Knit Chemo Cap

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ALSO BY SALLY GOLDENBAUM

 

Death by Cashmere

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OBSIDIAN

 

Published by New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First Printing, May 2009

 

Copyright Š Sally Goldenbaum, 2009

 

All rights reserved

 

OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

 

 

 

 

Goldenbaum, Sally.

 

Patterns in the sand: a seaside knitters mystery/Sally Goldenbaum. p. cm.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-03111-7

 

1. Knitters (Persons)—Fiction. I. Title.

 

PS3557.O35937P37 2009

 

813’.54—dc22 2008051617

 

Set in Palatino

 

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

 

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

 

http://us.penguingroup.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Luke Robert McElhenny, Atticus Sage Goldenbaum, and Ruby Jane McElhenny

 

 

 

 

 

 

Acknowledgments

 

M
any thanks to my family, my sisters, friends, and readers—who have offered support, knitting patterns, ideas, and most of all, have invited the Seaside Knitters into their homes. A thank you to my brother Bob, whose art inspired Aidan Peabody’s. And a special thanks to Polly Arango and Mary Bednarowski, who are always there at the end of an e-mail with a welcome supply of sleuthing support.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

Sunday

 

The fireworks that exploded in the midsummer sky were a surprise. None of the Art at Night flyers pasted on store windows along Harbor Road mentioned that the ocean sky would light up like the Fourth of July.

 

 

But Nell Endicott suspected that few people in the packed crowds that milled about the narrow streets—moving in and out of art galleries and studios, greeting friends, nodding to strangers, enjoying a beer or iced tea—would focus first on the extravagant display when thinking back to that sultry Sunday night.

 

 

What they would think of first was not dazzling colors against a black sky, but a death that would change the course of their summer days in a heartbeat—adding suspicion and gossip to long days at the beach and fishing off Pelican Pier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

The Friday before . . .

 

I
t was Purl, curled up in the center of a cushy pile of organic cotton yarn in the deep bay display window of Izzy’s shop, who first took notice of the stranger—a small young woman with a magnetic gaze matched only by that of the cat’s own green stare.

 

 

It seemed to be love at first sight. Or at least an understanding between souls who may have shared a similar past.

 

 

The Seaside Knitting Studio’s window display was more than a changing smorgasbord of rich, soft yarn. It had also become the calico cat’s favorite place to watch the people of Sea Harbor go about their lives. The task brought purpose to Purl’s day.

 

 

In winter she’d find a circle of sun in the window and settle in its center, watching figures wrapped in downy jackets scurry up and down Harbor Road, to the bookstore next door or the dentist above Harry’s deli. To Jake’s Gull Tavern on the corner or the county offices just off the main street. People walked fast on those snowy days, with direction, shoulders rigid, bracing themselves against the freezing ocean air that brought color to their cheeks.

 

 

In the summer, Sea Harbor slowed to a languid pace, and through the glass Purl watched tan, half-bare bodies stroll down the road, wandering in and out of shops, sitting on wooden benches with strawberry ice-cream cones or Coffee’s famous frozen mochas.

 

 

And in summer, Izzy’s window boasted bright cotton and silk yarn for airy sweaters or lacy stoles. This night, Purl had found a wicker basket piled high with spun balls of pink and celery green organic cotton that could be knit up into the perfect light sweater for ocean-chilled evenings. Purl curled up cozily in the center, her white paws resting on the basket’s edge. A sliver of moonlight touched the white V on her forehead. Life was good.

 

 

Beyond the window, gaslights blinked on, allowing Purl a cat’s-eye view of the village’s nighttime activity. Though many of the boutiques and shops were closed for the evening, music poured from Jake’s tavern on the corner, Harry Garozzo’s deli still served some lingering customers, and restaurant doors were held open to the soft summer breezes, welcoming summer people to a Friday night fish fry or lobster feast. Not many people paused at Izzy’s window at this time of night, though the security lights were on, offering a glimpse of lovely yarn if anyone cared to stop.

 

 

But this Friday night—a treat for the sociable Purl—someone did.

 

 

When Purl looked up into the striking black eyes of the young woman, she welcomed the attention and purred in delight.

 

 

The visitor placed one hand flat on the cool plate glass that separated them—woman from beast. Her eyes locked onto Purl’s. For a long time the two looked at each other, steady and unwavering. Then she smiled as if finding a friend, stepped back, and looked up at the weathered Seaside Knitting Studio sign above the door.

 

 

The name of the store seemed to register on her face and she smiled again at the cat, then slipped a thick handful of dark hair behind her ear. She shifted the heavy backpack between her shoulder blades and walked over to the front door, a weathered door with an awning above it. The knob refused to turn. She rapped lightly, peering through the glass on the door.

 

 

From her perch inside the bay window, Purl followed the movements of the young woman with interest. The store was locked, of course—a routine even shopkeepers in this sleepy ocean town practiced.

 

 

When no one answered, the young woman walked back to the window and stood there for a few minutes, looking at Purl as if the kitten would know the next step. Her brows lifted and her dark eyes grew round as the moon above. She had come a long way and was bone-tired. She needed to rest. A locked door was a minor inconvenience—and the kitten was welcoming.