ALL SHE WROTE
“That’s why I’m here.” Harriette pulled out one of the tall bar chairs and hoisted herself up in it. She leaned back against the leather back, placed her elbows on the armrests, and clasped her fingers together. “I wanted to know what she said when you delivered all them packages today. I noticed Grady helped her with her landscape, and I didn’t care too much for it.”
“You? Me either.” I sighed and put the glass down in front of her along with a napkin. I opened the Pie in the Face Bakery box and pushed that in front of her too. “I know Grady has a heart of gold, but I’m not so sure Courtney does.”
I barely got my words out before a bloodcurdling scream came from outside, louder than the thunder.
“What was that?” Harriette jerked around and looked out the side window of the kitchen, which faced Courtney’s house.
“I think someone screamed.” Quickly I moved around the island and pulled the window blinds open to see if I could see through the blustery storm. “I think it’s Courtney.”
Without thinking, I hurried out the small back door off the kitchen and into the rain with nothing to cover me.
Courtney was standing at the side of the house. Her hair was matted down from the rain. She had her mulch shovel in her hand, and her body was trembling. The rain poured down, and only glimpses of her scared facial expression could be seen through the flicker of lightning.
“Courtney, are you okay?” I asked from across the chain-link fence. “Courtney,” I yelled louder a couple of times because she didn’t flinch.
After about the fifth time, her chin slowly rose, and through the darkness, I could see the whites of her eyes.
“Are you okay? I heard you scream.” I searched the darkness for any light.
The biggest clap of thunder was followed up by three or four lightning strikes, which lit up the sky just long enough for me to see a pair of shoes sticking out of the freshly laid mulch.
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Chapter 1
“Bernadette Butler, I never figured you to be a hot-pink-and-bright-blue-yarn gal.” Leotta Goldey, the owner of Social Knitwork yarn shop, stood over me. “Lily Sugar ’n Cream Yarn is a nice brand too.”
“Thank you.” I picked up the hot-pink yarn and wagged it in the air. “It’s not my color of choice. It’s Julia’s favorite, and with them redoing the farmhouse to match their style, I’m guessing from the bright-colored palette and patterns they’ve been picking out that there’s going to be some hot-pink and blue shades. I thought it would make a nice housewarming gift since Julia loves to cook now that she’s on a leave of absence from her job until the baby comes.”
“You can never go wrong with these basic yarn washcloths. And for a beginner, I’m sure you’re going to make lovely ones.” Leotta moved behind me to check on the other students in the beginner knitting class. “And for the record, I think you’re right about her colors. The blanket she was making here a couple months ago had hot pink and blue in it.” She tapped me on the shoulder as she passed completely by me. “I’m glad you’re taking the class now. Something the two of you can have in common.”
Something I didn’t want to sign up for, but my best friend Iris Peabody insisted I find something to do with the extra time on my hands now that I gave the farm to Grady and Julia and moved into town.
Iris was right. Not about taking knitting classes, because at various times during the one-hour-long class, I’d had irrational thoughts of stabbing Leotta in the eyeballs from my pure frustration of trying to knit six purl six. . .or was it the other way around? Regardless, Iris was right about filling my time.
When I lived in the farmhouse, there was plenty to do. Cut acres of grass, weed the garden, plant the garden, tend to the garden and all my flowers. Then there were the few farm animals we still had that needed to be cared for.
After I’d become a widow and gone back to being a full-time mail carrier again, long workdays didn’t leave a whole lot of time for the chores on the farm, which made me behind on a lot of it.
Moving to town to a much smaller house with a teeny-tiny yard that was a hop and a skip away from the post office did give me a few hours to myself at night. After I made the final move a couple of months ago, I enjoyed coming home to Rowena, my ornery cat, and Buster, the inherited pooch, and just sitting on my front porch, yelling down to the other ladies sitting on their porches, but it wasn’t something I could do the rest of my life.
I was only fifty years old, and I needed a little more stimulation. Not that Mac Tabor, my boyfriend, didn’t keep me company, but sometimes he would work late at Tabor Architects, his own firm, and we didn’t need to spend all our spare time together. We were in what I called a companion relationship, no matter what other people thought.
“I’m hoping I’ll have time to finish this. We are going to have so much love for my grandchild.” I looked down at the knitting needles in my hand and tried to remember where I’d left off before Leotta interrupted me about the yarn. “Ummm. Leotta, I don’t know where I’m at.” I glanced over my shoulder and past Harriette Pearl.
Harriette Pearl glanced over the top of her readers and eyeballed me from the seat across from me.
“Don’t look at me for help,” she grumbled. “I’ve got my own issues over here.” Like me, Harriette wasn’t a knitter, but the rest of our friends were.
“You’ve got more than your own issues.” Ruby Dean, Harriette’s neighbor, snickered. Her hands were moving her knitting needles a mile a minute. She could whip out a complete knitted outfit in an hour. Not that I’d ever wear a knitted outfit, but you got the idea.
“I’ll look.” Gertrude Stone, another neighbor, laid her project on the table. Before she could get up to come help me, Leotta stopped her.
“Let me see.” Leotta swept past the back of us, her crocheted shawl fluttering behind her. Her blond and brown hair was in a messy bun on the top of her head, with knitting needles crisscrossed in it to keep it up.
I wondered if she did that after having her long hair down all day or if it was a cute marketing or image hairdo. Either way, Leotta was a very artsy-looking older lady. She mainly wore the items she made with loose-fitting pants and Birkenstock sandals. Her look was beautiful, and I would look like a bag lady if I tried to wear what she did.
“It looks like you are in the middle of the purl stitch.” She used her long fingernail to peel apart my stitches from my tiny seven-by-seven-inch washcloth. “Yes. You need to finish the purl.”
“Oh-kay.” I sighed and concentrated on finishing the stitch before I decided I needed a break.
“Bernie,” Harriette called, “you know that lovely scented letter I got in the mail today?”
Ruby, Gertrude, and Millie Barnes popped their heads up from their projects.