While My Pretty One Knits (3 page)

Plum Harbor wasn’t really Ellen’s speed anymore. She was more of a Nantucket or Martha’s Vineyard type now. Lucy basically had the place to herself. Ellen hadn’t even wanted any of the furniture, with the exception of a small, tiger oak secretary and a mohogany ballroom chair. They were the only pieces of any value, of course. But Lucy knew she was still getting the better of the bargain.

Lucy’s own belongings, her half of the furniture she’d shared with her ex-husband, made a curious mix with Aunt Laura’s home decor—early American meets early IKEA. Lucy was still trying to sort it all out.

The village did get somewhat desolate in the winter, as Maggie had warned. It was especially so after the holidays, when it was like watching an ant hill, Lucy decided. At first there doesn’t seem to be any activity, but if you keep staring, you’ll eventually see a steady stream of coming and going, a flow of quiet, methodical industry. The empty beach and open spaces had a strange, subtle beauty this time of year, making their summer glory seem obvious and ordinary.

Looking back now, she wasn’t sure if she would have stayed if it hadn’t been for Maggie. She had wandered into the Black Sheep one day, purely by chance and didn’t even know how to hold knitting needles. But one thing led to another and it was impossible now to trace back to the moment when she and the sisterhood of traveling knitting totes had become true friends, or the moment Lucy realized she was totally hooked on knitting—something she at times considered a mixed blessing.

Early the next morning Lucy dressed quickly, leaving the house with her hair wet and altogether skipping makeup. She’d definitely duck any photographers from the
Plum Harbor Times.
She had promised Maggie she’d come to the shop by nine to help with any last-minute details.

By the time she parked in front of the Black Sheep, the dashboard clock read 8:55. Lucy was surprised to find the shop dark, still closed up tight, and Maggie’s car nowhere in sight. She walked up on the porch and peered into the bay window. Maggie was definitely not in there. Neither was Phoebe.

She waited a moment, thinking she might walk up the street and pick up some coffee. But before she could decide, Maggie’s dark green Subaru pulled up and Maggie jumped out, white plastic shopping bags dangling from each hand and a bouquet of flowers tucked under her arm.

“Oh, good, you’re here. Could you grab this stuff while I open the door?”

Maggie handed over a bag, then unlocked the front door.

“After I picked up my order at the bakery, I realized I wasn’t serving anything healthy. So I ran over to the supermarket for some fruit. Berries. Nice ones. You’d never expect it this time of year.”

“Good idea.” Lucy nodded. Knowing Maggie, there would be more than enough food, with or without berries. But Maggie did want the event to be perfect.

While Maggie carried the shopping bags inside, Lucy went back to Maggie’s car, where she found several white cardboard boxes from the bakery in the trunk. She carried them inside and walked back to the storeroom.

Maggie was working near the sink, arranging flowers in a tall vase. She glanced at Lucy over her shoulder. “Could you take these outside, please? I think the counter near the register would be a good spot.”

The vase was slippery and Lucy carried it carefully. She had just set it down in its assigned spot when the shop door swung open. A tall, thin blonde stood in the doorway. She paused and looked around, then stepped inside. Her long, swishy shearling coat was the real thing, Lucy noticed, not a faux version from L.L. Bean. Under that, Lucy caught a glimpse of an attractive three-quarter-length sweater made of multicolored yarn.

The young woman had barely shut the door behind her when Maggie seemed to fly through the air, appearing out of nowhere.

“Cara! So good to see you.” The women shared a quick hug and Maggie stepped back. Cara Newhouse smiled down at her former teacher.

“Good to see you, too, Maggie…. Wow. Look at this place. The flowers. Everything. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

Maggie shook her head, but looked pleased. “I wanted to do something special now that you’re so well known.”

Cara seemed embarrassed by the praise. “Don’t be silly. I’m no celebrity.”

“You are in the knitting world. Which counts for a lot around here.” Maggie turned to Lucy and waved her over. “I want you to meet my good friend, Lucy Binger.”

Lucy stretched out her hand as Maggie introduced them. “Nice to meet you, Cara.”

“Thanks. Nice to meet you, too.” Cara nodded and smiled.

“We put a table for the demonstration back there.” Maggie pointed to the far side of the shop’s main room. “We thought that would be the easiest place for everyone to see. But we did leave an aisle, so you can walk around as you talk,” Maggie explained.

“I can walk around. I can work at the table, I’ll do whatever you’d like,” Cara said agreeably.

“How about the TV people? Where do you think they’ll put the camera?”

“Oh, they’re not coming. They called this morning and canceled.” Cara shrugged as she took off her long coat. “I don’t mind. I’m really not ready. This will be good practice. I’m going to audition at the studio next week.”

Maggie looked disappointed for a moment, then quickly recovered. “Just as well. A camera crew in here today would have made it even crazier.”

Phoebe had come down from her apartment, Lucy noticed. She poked her head out of the storeroom and waved at Maggie. “I need another basket for the muffins. Are there any more back here?”

“Looks like I’m needed,” Maggie said. “I’ll be right back…”

Cara started toward the table and Lucy offered to help with the large tote bags she was carrying. Cara handed one over. It was filled with all kinds of things: knitting tools, yarn, measuring sticks.

“I feel like Mary Poppins when I start pulling all this stuff out of my bags.”

Cute
, Lucy thought, though she’d be hard-pressed to figure out anything else Cara had in common with the original Nanny 911. Cara looked every inch the knitting world diva and soon-to-be TV host. She was a perfect TTB—Lucy’s ex-husband’s acronym for tall thin blonde. She had the type of figure that looked good in long, draping sweaters and shawls, and…okay, a body that would look great draped in almost anything. Or nothing.

Lucy studied Cara’s three-quarter-length sweater coat, knitted in a tweedy, medium-weight wool. The coat was embellished with fringe on the cuffs and hem, and wonderful felted flowers that covered snap fasteners. Her black top, black pants, and boots set off the piece perfectly.

“Nice jacket,” Lucy complimented her.

“Thanks, the design is in my book. I’m going to talk about it and show everyone how to make the flowers,” she promised with another toothpaste-ad smile. “I can make the stuff just fine, but I can get a little confused if I have to stop and explain how I do it,” she admitted with a laugh. “So please ask a lot of questions.”

“Okay, I’ll remember that,” Lucy promised.

Cara was different than Lucy had expected. More down to earth. Modest even. Not nearly the prima donna she could be. Maybe it was just Maggie’s description of Cara’s success that had given that impression.

As for Cara’s concerns about her show-and-tell skills, Lucy didn’t think Cara needed to sweat it. Just look at her. What producer would care if she didn’t know a knitting needle from a chopstick?

Just as Cara finished setting up, the audience began to arrive. Phoebe handed out programs. Lucy noticed Dana come in. She waved, but was too far away to make her way over. Suzanne was late, as usual. Lucy hoped she could save a good seat.

Where was Amanda Goran? Amanda had definitely not been one of the early birds, as she’d promised last night. Lucy would have noticed that entrance. Had Amanda slipped in under the radar somehow? Lucy looked around but didn’t see Maggie’s notorious rival in the rows of guests already seated.

Amanda’s absence suddenly made Lucy worry. She wondered if Maggie had noticed, too. Was Amanda planning to make some scene that would undermine the event? Or had she just chickened out? No matter what she’d said last night, from Amanda’s point of view, coming here this morning was a sign of submission. Even defeat. For everyone’s sake, Lucy hoped Amanda had decided to just stay in her own territory.

The audience was mostly women, with a few men sprinkled in here and there. About fifty guests, Lucy estimated, probably the largest turnout for a Black Sheep event to date. While Plum Harbor was a small village, little more than two square miles around, the Black Sheep did draw customers from all the neighboring towns and Cara was well known in the community.

The reporter from the
Plum Harbor Times
had arrived. Lucy saw Maggie and Cara pose for a photo in front of the flower arrangement. Cara held up a copy of her book and they both smiled for the camera.

Everything was going perfectly. At precisely eleven, Maggie stepped in front of the group and gently raised her hands for quiet, revealing her past life as a schoolteacher, Lucy thought. The chattering voices stopped.

“Thank you all for coming to the Black Sheep this morning,” she began. “We try to present speakers and classes that will enrich and inspire your love of knitting. Today, we have a very special guest, Cara Newhouse. Cara will be talking about her new book,
Felting Fever
, and giving some great tips on the process.”

The audience answered with a smattering of applause.

Maggie continued. “A lot of you have told me you’d love to try this technique, but feel intimidated. Time to let go of your fear of felting, ladies.” She smiled widely as she urged Cara forward. “Here she is, consulting editor and writer for
Knitting Now!
and two other bestselling books. Plum Harbor’s own Cara Newhouse…”

Lucy watched Cara stroll front and center. She turned to the audience, her smile growing even wider as the welcoming applause rose.

Cara was just about to speak when the front door flew open.

Suzanne stumbled into the shop. She stared at Phoebe, looking pale and wild eyed, her lipstick smeared. Lucy’s heart kicked into overdrive.
What in the world happened? Was something wrong with one of Suzanne’s kids?

The entire audience grew quiet as all eyes turned toward the doorway.

Suzanne’s chin trembled. She glanced around the room. “Didn’t you hear what happened to Amanda Goran? She’s dead!”

L
ucy quickly stepped over to Suzanne and grasped her arm. “Come and sit down, Sue,” Lucy said. She led Suzanne to a chair and Phoebe appeared on Suzanne’s other side.

Maggie still stood next to Cara at the front of the assembly. Her face was pale as paper and she covered her mouth with her hand. The noise level in the room quickly rose, everyone talking at once. Lucy could tell from the chatter that most, if not all, had known Amanda.

It was big news, all right. Sad and shocking. It was simply…unbelievable.

“Better put your head between your knees.” Phoebe rested one hand on Suzanne’s shoulder. “You look like you’re going to lose it.”

Suzanne shook her head, resisting the first-aid lesson. “Please, Phoebe…I just had my hair done.”

Lucy handed Suzanne a bottle of water she’d scooped off the buffet table. “Take a few deep breaths. You’ll be okay.”

Suzanne sighed and twisted the cap off the bottle. “Just goes to show, you never know. She was right here, last night. Standing right in that doorway. And she’d never looked better.”

Lucy shared the thought, then added, “And for once, Amanda hadn’t been her usual witchy self, had she?”

Suzanne sighed and shook her head, then took a sip of water.

“How did you hear about it?” Phoebe asked.

“I had an early appointment at the Cut Above. I dropped the kids off at school and went straight over. A woman came in just as I was going out. She’d just heard at the village hall. She said it was a real mess,” she added, her voice trembling again. “Very…bloody.”

Bad news traveled fast, especially in a small town.

The Black Sheep would definitely be bumped off the front page of the local newspaper now. Lucy wondered if Cara’s talk would even go on.

She looked back at Maggie, who stepped forward and tried to quiet down the group. “This is terrible news. What a shock. I’m sure we all sympathize with Amanda’s loved ones right now. It’s a loss for our whole community. Especially our knitting community.” Maggie’s voice trembled as she delivered her impromptu speech. “Out of respect for Amanda, I think we should bow our heads and have a moment of silence.”

The request seemed appropriate and well spoken. Maggie had gracefully sidestepped any mention of her own feelings for the deceased, Lucy noticed.

After a few moments, Maggie lifted her head. Cara stood close beside her, looking suitably solemn. “We can continue with the presentation, if enough of you want to stay,” Maggie suggested. “Can I see a show of hands?”

Practically everyone in the audience raised their hand. Lucy did notice a few women gather up their bags and coats, then wiggle through the rows to exit. One of them dabbed a wadded tissue to her eyes. She’d been crying. A true Knitting Nest loyalist—a small but sincere faction.

Maggie waited a moment. “Okay, let’s try this again. Here’s Cara.”

Cara took her place once more in front of the group, her smile tentative. She began her presentation, glancing at some note cards on the table, recalling how she’d learned to knit as a little girl, right here in Plum Harbor, taught by her grandma Nattie. And how she rediscovered the hobby in college with a roommate while studying fashion design in New York City.

“One day it all just came together for me. My lifelong love of knitting and newfound interest in design. I knew what I wanted to be,” she said brightly. “Working for
Knitting Now!
and writing my books help me share my passion and know-how with others, like you. Which is what I love best.”

Cara’s speaking style had all the wit and depth of a beauty pageant contestant delivering her essay on world peace, and Lucy found it hard to focus as snarky comments broke into her thoughts, like pop-up ads.

Thoughts of Amanda Goran were equally if not even more distracting, and Cara’s chipper tone seemed oddly out of synch with the solemn mood that had fallen over the room after Suzanne’s grave announcement.

Lucy forced her attention back to the show just as Cara picked up a copy of
Felting Fever
from the table. “As you may already know, felting is a process that dates back to ancient times. Some of the earliest knitted objects discovered by archeologists were felted, like socks found in Egyptian ruins, for instance. There are a few ways to felt. Blending loose fibers or felting knitted or woven objects.”

She closed the book and walked over to her display items set out on the table. “Socks, hats, place mats, toys, these adorable handbags…” She picked up a small bag and wiggled it over the audience, like live bait. “Just about anything you knit can be felted.”

Cara stepped back and opened her book. “As I say right here in chapter one, ‘Heat and agitation. That’s really all there is to it.’”

Cara’s description sounded to Lucy just like her social life lately. Or lack of one. Of course there were other stages—attraction, flirtation, connection…rejection.

“Only animal fibers can be felted,” Cara noted, breaking into Lucy’s rambling thoughts. “Super-hot water and the motion from a washer, or motion by hand, make the hair cuticles open and tangle. Like getting the frizzies.” Cara touched her own blonde locks, though her own bad hair days were probably few and far between. “The fibers merge and melt into one another, and you get this lovely fabriclike finish. The hot water makes everything tighten and shrink.”

So, Lucy realized, when she’d accidently washed sweaters on the wrong cycle and they’d shrunk to Munchkin size, she’d actually been felting? Who knew?

“There are many ways to create special effects. Marbles, braiding…umm…” Cara paused, checking her notes. “And all of those advanced techniques are explained in depth in my book.” Cara smiled again, looking as if she’d lost her train of thought.

Lucy heard two women in the row behind her whispering intensely about Amanda, and she noticed at least two other women up front, doing the same, their heads close together as they commiserated.

Cara was trying her best, but the bad news continued to ripple through the group like an earthquake’s aftershocks. Everyone felt shaken and scared, still trying to catch their balance.

Lucy glanced over at Suzanne. “How are you doing, Suzanne?” she whispered.

“Okay, I guess,” Suzanne whispered back. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I keep expecting her to be here. Then I look around and remember…”

Lucy nodded. She felt the same. It was as if Amanda was in the room, her silent presence upstaging the star performer. If Amanda had been here right now, Lucy was sure she’d be sitting up front, sneering—dismissing Cara as all flash and no fiber. Lucy herself was reserving judgment. Cara seemed a bit unsure of her subject matter, but the dreadful news must have shaken her, too. It wasn’t easy to give a perky presentation under these circumstances.

Lucy leaned toward Suzanne again. She hated to be rude, but she couldn’t help it. “How did it happen?”

“I’m not exactly sure. There was some sort of accident in her shop this morning. She had a head wound. Maybe she fell? I did hear that she died before the ambulance got there…” Suzanne’s hushed voice trailed off.

Lucy leaned back in her chair and sighed. No matter what you thought about the woman, it was very sad.

Lucy forced her focus back to Cara, who stood at the display table. She was scrambling now to recapture her audience. She was using a knitted rectangle about the size of a place mat as an example, and now showed how the piece looked before and after felting. “We just fold it like so, shape a bit, sew up the sides, add handles, and voilà…you’ve made this adorable handbag.”

She chose one of the handbags on display and handed it down to the audience to pass around. Lucy examined it when it was her turn.

The leap from mundane mat to designer original took a little more than a mere “voilà,” but Lucy got the idea. You could make cool stuff this way quickly. It was a good technique for knitters like herself who craved instant gratification. Right now most of her projects screamed, “I have number twenty-five needles and I’m not afraid to use them!”

Phoebe examined the felted handbags Cara had on display with interest. “Check this out. This is sick.”

“Absolutely,” Lucy agreed. Lucy already knew that coming from Phoebe, “sick” was a good thing.

Suzanne leaned closer, her voice hushed. “God, I love that coat.”

“She said she was going to talk about it. Why don’t you remind her?” Lucy suggested.

Suzanne shook her head. For someone who rarely filtered a word of what she was thinking, Suzanne could be surprising shy in a group.

“Would you, Lucy?” Suzanne asked.

Lucy shrugged. She raised her hand and Cara smiled at her. “A question?”

“My friend and I were wondering about your jacket?”

Cara looked grateful for the nudge. “Oh, right. This is my own design and the pattern is included in
Felting Fever
. The body of the coat is mostly a seed stitch, with some popcorn on the hem and cuffs,” Cara explained. “The flower fasteners are felted and have snaps underneath. The technique for the flowers is a little advanced…but not too hard.” She paused, staring down at the yarn flower, then back at Lucy. “Well, you can read about that on your own. I won’t take up everyone’s time now explaining.”

Cara briefly met Lucy’s glance, then her gaze swept the room. “Any more questions?”

A few more hands popped up. Cara finally wrapped up, thanking everyone for coming and offering to sign copies of her book.

“I wish I could make that jacket,” Suzanne sighed. “I’d have to felt my butt to look halfway decent in it.”

Lucy cast her a sympathetic smile, but as usual, Suzanne spoke the truth. The busy design would have been a disaster on Suzanne’s “real-women-have-hips” figure.

“It looks good on her. But it’s a little fussy for my taste. I like the fasteners, though.” Lucy thought the felted flowers, which also embellished the handbags, were an interesting clever touch.

The audience rose from their seats and dispersed around the shop. Some headed straight for the free food, the other group swarmed around Cara, barely giving her room to breathe as she found a seat and began to sign copies of her book and answer one-on-one questions.

Lucy thought Cara looked relieved. It couldn’t have been easy, getting up there after such horrific news had been announced. You had to give her credit.

As Lucy had expected, the talk around the cake table was mainly about Amanda and mostly questions. When had it happened? How had she died? Who had found her…and where?

Suzanne knew very little, just what she’d heard at the hair salon and had related to Lucy. Still, she had as many people crowded around her as Cara, which must have been just a bit annoying for the almost-famous guest speaker.

It was over an hour later when the last mini-quiche, muffin and berry had been consumed and the final autograph signed. Maggie’s friends hung around, helping to put the shop back together, all but Suzanne, who had to hit the real-estate office before her children got home from school. Cara also remained, packing her belongings.

Maggie dropped into a folding chair, looking exhausted but relieved. “I thought that went well. Considering that dreadful news about Amanda. What a shock. I’ve hardly had a chance to take it all in.”

“It’s just terrible,” Dana said. “Suzanne said she fell and hit her head?”

“I’m not sure if it was a fall,” Lucy replied. “She did have a bad head wound. Some sort of accident, I guess?”

“It’s a shock. Very sad,” Maggie agreed.

“Did you guys know her well?” Cara glanced around the group of friends.

“A little,” Lucy replied. She wasn’t sure how to describe Amanda’s relationship with their circle. She exchanged a look with Dana. Wasn’t the feud between Maggie and Amanda common knowledge around town? Obviously Cara was not in the loop.

Maggie glanced up at Cara, then back at the carton of books she was packing up. “We knew each other. But we didn’t get along very well,” Maggie admitted. “Amanda always looked at me as some sort of evil genius, scheming to put her out of business. Still, I wouldn’t wish such an end on anyone, even my worst enemy.”

“Of course not,” Cara said quietly. She took the carton and placed it with her other belongings.

“Did you know Amanda at all?” Lucy asked Cara.

Cara shrugged as she slipped on her coat. “I must have seen her around town. I’m not really sure. She had a shop on Hobson Street, right? I think I’ve only been in there once or twice. I didn’t really get into knitting until I was away at college. And since Maggie opened the Black Sheep if I need anything when I’m in town, I come here.”

Lucy nodded, remembering the biographical tidbit from her talk.

Maggie sighed. “Amanda was very talented. She should have stuck to designing, I think. She wasn’t much of a businesswoman.”

“Was she married? Did she have a family?” Cara was winding a scarf around her neck, another felted creation in a shade of French blue that matched her eyes perfectly.

“She was married but they didn’t have any children,” Dana replied.

“Oh…well, it’s still sad,” Cara answered. She pulled a pair of matching blue mittens out of her pocket, then turned to Maggie again. “Guess I’ll take off. Thanks so much for having me here. It was really fun.”

Maggie jumped up from her seat. “Thank you for coming, Cara. I appreciate it, really. And good luck with the TV show. Let me know what happens, okay?”

“Oh, I will, Maggie. See you soon.” Cara gave Maggie a hug and finally headed out.

Lucy helped Maggie with the last of the furniture arranging to get the shop back to normal, then decided it was time to go, too. Once she got home, she would kick off her boots, yank off her bra, find the thick, comfy socks—which she’d knitted herself, though one had turned out slightly larger than the other—and plant herself at the computer to make up for lost time.

As she was leaving, a few customers wandered in and Maggie ran over to help them. Lucy waved from the doorway as she stepped outside.

Driving home, she couldn’t help thinking about Amanda and her untimely end.
Just goes to show, Gather yea felted rosebuds while ye may…or something like that,
she thought.