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Knit of the Living Dead. Peggy Ehrhart
Читать онлайн.Название Knit of the Living Dead
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781496723680
Автор произведения Peggy Ehrhart
Жанр Ужасы и Мистика
Серия A Knit & Nibble Mystery
Издательство Ingram
“Arborville Hairdresser Murdered at Town Halloween Celebration” read the bold headline, and in smaller print below were the words, “Unaware, Revelers Frolic Around Bonfire.” According to the article’s first paragraph, Dawn Filbert had been killed by a blow to the head shortly before her body was found by two teenagers whose names were not being released. Pamela skimmed down a bit further, but there was no mention of the strands of yarn. She left the newspaper unfolded on the table and headed for the stairs.
Unlike Bettina, Pamela was not a fashionista. Up in her bedroom, she slipped into a cotton turtleneck and the same pair of jeans she’d been wearing all week. To the outfit she added a hand-knit pullover in a soft shade of brown and a pair of loafers. She was tall and thin, and the casual look suited her, but Bettina never stopped lamenting her friend’s lack of interest in the clothes Pamela’s figure could have shown off to advantage. In the bathroom, she ran a comb through her shoulder-length brown hair and she was ready to go.
* * *
“I started coffee as soon as I hung up the phone,” Nell said by way of greeting. She escorted Pamela and Bettina down the long hallway, decorated with souvenir art from the Bascombs’ many travels, which led to her kitchen, and invited them to take seats around the table. Holly Perkins, who embraced all things mid-century with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t actually lived through the era, never tired of expressing her delight in the Bascombs’ kitchen. Their house itself predated the 1950s by several decades, but the kitchen had been redone shortly before they bought it in the early days of their marriage and had remained the same ever since, with pink Formica counters and avocado-green appliances.
An ancient aluminum percolator gurgled cheerfully on the stove. “I’ve had my tea and my breakfast,” Nell added, “but there will be coffee soon, and how does homemade granola sound?”
“Or doughnuts?” came a voice from behind the door that led to the mudroom.
That door opened and in stepped Harold Bascomb, dressed for an unseasonably warm fall day in jeans and a flannel shirt faded to a pleasant greenish gray. He carried a white cardboard bakery box secured with a crisscross of white string.
“So that’s where you went!” Nell gave Harold a look that a fond but irritated mother might give a mischievous child. Harold responded with a broad grin that creased his cheeks and crinkled the skin around his faded blue eyes.
“I thought we could all use a little treat after last night,” he said. “Especially you.” He placed the box on the table, slipped off the string, and folded back the top. Inside were half a dozen plump doughnuts, glistening with a translucent sugary glaze. A look of concern replaced Harold’s grin and he gazed at his wife fondly. “You were certainly ready to go home by the time that cop came up and fetched me.”
“They had a lot of questions,” Nell said. “And I had to wait around while the crime scene people took pictures before they could lift the hat off her face. And then, of course, I could see right away that it wasn’t Mary. But I had no idea who it was until I saw the Register this morning. And sugar is not going to make me feel any better.”
But Bettina was eyeing the doughnuts. “I’d love one,” she said. The corners of her mouth lifted and she looked a bit more like herself. The aroma of the perking coffee, which had begun to fill the kitchen, might have also contributed to the boost in her spirits.
Nell sighed and her lips stretched into a defeated half smile. She reached into a cupboard, took out four small plates, and transferred them to the table. Like Nell’s kitchen, her dinnerware dated from the 1950s, with a coral and gold color scheme, now faded, and a pattern that evoked wildflowers and wheat.
“You’re wondering why I was so sure the body of that poor woman was Mary Lyon,” Nell said as she set plates in front of her guests, and in front of Harold, who had taken a seat. He put a doughnut on each plate, then jumped to his feet again.
“We certainly are,” Pamela said.
“It was her blog,” Nell explained. Harold motioned her into a chair and began bustling around the kitchen. As Nell spoke, he busied himself at the counter and then added napkins, spoons, and cream and sugar to the table setting. Nell went on. “Mary had posted photos of the costumes she and her husband planned to wear: Little Bo Peep and a sheep. So anyone who followed her blog . . .”
Pamela nodded. Harold appeared behind Nell and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. He bent toward Nell’s ear and whispered, “More tea, my dear?”
She turned and looked up at him. “Oh, Harold, yes,” she said. “That would be so sweet—especially if I’m going to eat one of your doughnuts.”
“So how did Dawn Filbert end up wearing the Bo Peep costume?” Bettina asked.
“Mary and Brainard had a fight and he stayed home last night,” Harold answered from the counter, where he was spooning tea leaves into a squat brown teapot. “That’s why he was nowhere to be seen at the bonfire—or later. Mary recruited her hairdresser—Dawn—to go as Bo Peep. She herself wore the sheep costume.”
“Harold talked to Brainard this morning,” Nell explained. “They were both outside first thing, collecting the Register.”
The teakettle began to hoot and Harold stepped toward the stove. He added boiling water to the tea leaves in the squat teapot and began serving the coffee.
“Sad,” Nell murmured as she watched her husband focus on these domestic tasks. “So sad when couples can’t get along.”
Harold slipped steaming cups of coffee in front of Pamela and Bettina. “That’s what comes of marrying after a whirlwind romance,” he commented. “Not like Nell and me.” He winked at Pamela. “She was elusive,” he said, pointing at Nell. “But I was determined. The Lyon-Covingtons, on the other hand—love at first sight, once he got a look at Mary. At least that’s how she tells it. Of course, he was already engaged to her sister—” He jumped up. “I’m forgetting the tea!” he said. He reached the counter in two large strides and with two more had delivered Nell’s tea.
They were barely settled and taking the first bite of their doughnuts when Bettina, uncharacteristically, reached into her purse and pulled out her smartphone. “I’m just too curious,” she said as her fingers danced over the little screen. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Here it is!” She passed the smartphone to Harold, who glanced and nodded and handed it to Nell.
“That is the blog post,” Nell said, handing the phone to Pamela.
Laid out on what looked to be a bed covered with a smooth spread was a pink-and-white-striped dress. A scalloped overskirt in solid pink and a wide white organdy collar trimmed in lace gave it a charming old-fashioned look. Above the dress was perched a straw sunbonnet trimmed with a wide pink ribbon, and a shepherd’s crook lay alongside. Next to the dress was a lamb’s costume, like a long-sleeved, hooded jumpsuit sewn from a fleecy white fabric, with fleecy mittens attached to the ends of the sleeves. The hood featured ears. A separate mask lay atop the hood, a half mask, actually, with eyeholes and a lamb’s snout.
* * *
An hour later, Bettina swung into her driveway and parked her faithful Toyota next to Wilfred’s ancient but lovingly maintained Mercedes.
“Well,” she said, turning to Pamela. “That was interesting. It certainly sounds like the killer could have been aiming for Mary.”
“Could have been,” Pamela agreed. “With the blond wig and the sunbonnet—those hats really hide a person’s face from any angle except straight on. And it was dark. Anybody stalking Dawn Filbert to kill her would have had a hard time recognizing her. On the other hand, anybody who knew, or thought they knew, exactly what Mary’s costume was going to be . . .”
“I’m