Chapter 1
“Let’s take a break, Evelyn.” Josie Blair tossed a skein of pale green South American wool into a basket, put her hands on the scarred wood of her sales counter, and pushed up from her stool into a stretch.
Evelyn stood, a satisfied expression deepening the fine wrinkles around her eyes. “I’m not tired. I could unpack new shipments of yarn all day long. But how about if I make us some tea?”
“That sounds perfect. Would you rather I run down to the general store and get some?” It was late March in the picturesque hills of Connecticut, but the sun was shining and the almost-warm air held the promise of spring.
“Nonsense. We have some of Lorna’s vanilla mint right here. I’ll put on the electric kettle and we’ll have a cup in no time.” She didn’t wait for a further response, just turned on her heel and marched toward the back.
Evelyn Graves was practical, efficient, and knew everyone in town. Josie couldn’t have asked for a better friend or a better employee at Miss Marple Knits, the shop she’d taken over a few weeks ago. And Lorna Fowler, who worked at Dougie Brewster’s General Store a block away, could blend tea as well as any professional in New York City. Maybe better.
“I’ll just step outside for some fresh air, then,” Josie said to the back of Evelyn’s permed and artificially blond head. She wound a soft wool scarf around her neck as she crossed the floor to the front door, then pulled down the sleeves of her hand-knit Aran sweater. The ivory-colored garment, with its complex pattern of cables and twists, was one of many pieces she’d inherited from her great-aunt Cora Lloyd, who’d owned this shop for many years before her untimely death. Every time Josie wore one of Cora’s items, the kinship she felt for the woman who’d married her great-uncle Eben grew stronger. She’d never met Cora, because Josie had moved away to New York City years before Cora came into Eben’s life. But that didn’t mean Josie didn’t feel her presence every day, both at home and here at Miss Marple Knits. It was strange and comforting at the same time.
Just as Josie put her hand on the knob, a shadow darkened her view. Fighting off a pang of disappointment—she’d hoped to feel the sun on her face after a morning of stocking shelves—Josie opened the door and stepped out onto Main Street.
But it wasn’t a cloud that had blocked out the sun. An enormous moving truck had parked in front of the empty storefront next to Miss Marple Knits.
Hope surged in Josie’s chest. Each new business that came into town would bring more and more people to downtown, and that was good for everyone. Thanks to Great-Uncle Eb, with whom she lived in his farmhouse just outside Dorset Falls, Josie was now the proud owner of not only the building that housed the yarn shop, but the adjacent building at number 15 Main Street.
Less than two months ago, Josie had been living in a tiny Brooklyn apartment and trying—unsuccessfully—to make a name for herself as a fashion designer. But here she was now, a business owner and a landlord. Landlady? She’d have to think about what she wanted to be called, but all she knew was that it felt wonderful. And now she even had a tenant.
The back door of the truck slid open with a cringe-inducing scrape of metal. Josie looked into the depths of the cavernous space as it was revealed, a few inches at a time. The truck was packed full. Most of the items inside were covered in dusty blue quilted cloths secured with bungee cords. Desks? Dressers? Tables? Impossible to know until they, and the dozen or so cardboard boxes she could see, were unloaded.
A moment later, a gentleman came from the vicinity of the front of the truck—gentleman was the perfect word to describe him, she thought, with his tailored Harris tweed jacket complete with suede elbow patches, and his precisely cut silver hair neatly combed back to reveal a widow’s peak and tortoiseshell glasses. Lyndon Bailey’s face lit up with surprise when he spotted Josie.
“Spying on me already, as every good landlady should?” he said, with a good-natured chuckle. Landlady it was to be, then. “It’s good to meet you in person, Miss Blair.”
Josie extended her hand to Lyndon as two men about her age, perhaps a bit younger than her thirty years, appeared. Their matching, utilitarian-looking uniforms proclaimed that these were the movers. Good thing. Lyndon did not seem the type who would want to wrangle his own furniture.
“Lyndon, please call me Josie. I didn’t expect to see you until next week.”
“That’s not a problem, is it? I was able to close up my affairs in Hartford sooner than I expected.”
Josie shook her head. The sooner new shops opened in Dorset Falls, the better. And Lyndon had paid a handsome security deposit plus rent for the next six months in advance. She could afford to be flexible on the dates. “Of course not,” she said. “I’m thrilled you’re here. But where’s Harry?”
Lyndon smiled, showing a nice set of teeth. “He’s gone to the Catskills on a buying trip. He’ll be along in a day or two.” He gestured toward the movers, who were rather noisily setting up a ramp from the back of the truck to the pavement. “Can I let them in? The shop is ready?”
“The shop’s been ready for a few decades, I’d say. You have your keys, so move in. I cleaned for you.” Well, she couldn’t take all the credit. Evelyn and Lorna had joined her for a vacuuming and dusting party, then Josie had treated her friends to dinner at the Italian restaurant in the next town over.
Lyndon seemed pleased. “One less detail to worry about. I thank you.” His eyes darted toward the truck. The movers were maneuvering a bulky shape onto the ramp. “You know these are antiques, right?” he called to them.
The larger of the two men grinned. “Yup. That’s why we’re getting paid the big bucks.”
“Cheeky,” Lyndon said, under his breath, to Josie. He took a deep breath, then spoke louder. “That sideboard is Second Empire. Please be extremely cautious.”
The man nodded, then went back to muscling the covered lump down the ramp on a dolly. He and his partner seemed to be doing a careful job, at least while Lyndon was watching. Presumably they had insurance for any noncareful events. Josie wasn’t sure to what empire Lyndon had been referring—if there was a second, there must have been a first, she reasoned. Regardless, the furniture must be old.
“I’m just about to have some tea. Would you like to join me and my associate Evelyn for some?” Josie asked.
Lyndon hesitated, looking torn. He finally shook his head. “Very tempting, my dear. But I need to supervise the move. Perhaps another time.”
“Of course. You have work to do. Come over anytime,” Josie said. She turned back toward her own shop—and felt a little thrill as she thought the words. Her own shop. Would that ever get old? “And Lyndon,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” he said, then turned to the movers. “For goodness’ sake, be careful, gentlemen.”
Josie left him to it.
When she returned to Miss Marple Knits, she found Evelyn sitting on the flowered loveseat in front of the big window that overlooked Main Street. Two mismatched oversized mugs sat on the coffee table in front of her. Evelyn had used a knitting magazine as a coaster. Steam rolled off the tops of the cups, and Josie sat down, reaching for one gratefully. She wrapped both hands around the mug, interlacing her fingers to maximize the contact with the china. Within moments, her hands and her insides were warm.
“What are you working on?” Josie asked Evelyn, whose nimble fingers were flying. The woman could knit like the wind. Evelyn paused, pulling up a length of yarn from the center-pull ball from which she was working. Josie still wasn’t quite sure why yarn did not come from the manufacturer in balls already wound, but she was proud of herself for having mastered the swift and winder, the simple companion machines Miss Marple Knits had for making usable balls of yarn from just-waiting-to-be-tangled loose skeins.
“Fingerless gloves,” Evelyn said. “Simple lace pattern. Perfect for this time of year when it’s too warm for full gloves or mittens, but too cool to go without.” She held up a configuration of four double-pointed needles attached by sapphire-blue yarn that was forming a ribbed cylindrical cuff.
“Pretty. Too bad they aren’t finished. I could have used them out there.” Josie took a sip of tea. Heaven.
“What took you so long?” Evelyn’s words seemed to come out in time to the gentle clack-clack-clack of her bamboo needles, her weapons of choice. Some knitters and crocheters preferred metal, and some preferred wood, Josie had learned, so Miss Marple Knits stocked both.
Josie sipped her tea and reached for a chocolate cookie. She bit into the perfect circle and closed her eyes, savoring the chunks of semisweet chocolate as they melted on her tongue. Evelyn was not only an expert knitter, the woman could bake. After Josie swallowed, she said, “The new owner of the antique store is here, a few days early, and moving in. Hear all that noise?”
“I did hear it, and I’ve already peeked outside.” Evelyn kept her eyes trained on her work. Josie didn’t comment, but both women knew Evelyn had a predilection for not exactly legal “peeking” that had proved useful when a murder had been committed not long ago. “I didn’t have a good view of the owner. What’s he look like?”
“Well, he’s in his sixties, preppy. If I didn’t know he dealt in antiques, I’d have said he was a tenured professor of history or English at Yale.”
This was enough to make Evelyn glance up, though her fingers continued to move as if without conscious effort of her own. “Married?” Her voice was all innocence.
“Couldn’t say.”
“Doesn’t he have a partner in the business? Where’s he?”
“Lyndon said he’ll be in town soon.”
The shop bells tinkled as a customer came in, unzipping her jacket and heading straight for the sock yarns. Evelyn began to put her knitting down, but Josie waved her hand. “I’ll tend to the customer. You keep knitting. You’re good for business.”
Evelyn wound the yarn around her needle again, made the stitch, then gave the yarn a firm tug as she moved on to the next needle in her configuration. Evelyn had explained to Josie that the tug would prevent something she called laddering, a line of loose stitches where the needle changes occurred . “Doesn’t seem right, you paying me to knit, rather than to do real work in the shop.”
“You help more than you know,” Josie said, and meant it. “And you knitting away in the front window is the best kind of advertising.”
Evelyn’s lips pursed. “I might believe that if anyone actually drove down Main Street, Dorset Falls, Connecticut. This place is a ghost town.”
Maybe. It had been up to this point. But Josie had a feeling that fortunes might be changing in her newly adopted village. Yarn lovers were beginning to trickle in to Miss Marple Knits, perhaps due to the small amount of advertising Josie had been able to do—her budget was tiny for this—but more likely from word of mouth. It seemed that once a yarn lover heard about a new shop, she would travel quite some distance to check it out.
Josie busied herself behind the counter while her customer filled her basket. Based on the size of the diamond that currently resided on the woman’s left hand, which Josie could see sparkling even from across the room, Josie figured this woman had plenty of disposable income. And Miss Marple Knits was an excellent place for her to spend it. Josie did a quick mental calculation. If the woman bought all the yarn in her basket, this sale should be enough to put the shop into the black this month. Don’t jinx it, Josie. The sale’s not made yet.
A half hour later, after the woman had systematically walked the entire perimeter of the shop, stopping to examine the contents of each bin and cubby that lined the walls as well as to thumb through some of the pattern books, she set her overflowing basket on the counter in front of Josie. She smiled, a bit sheepishly. “I can’t help myself. The yarn lust overtakes me.” She pulled out her credit card as Josie rang up the sale.
“Personally, I’m glad you can’t control your desires. Yarn lust keeps me in business.” From across the room, Evelyn laughed. Josie and her customer looked at each other, then both burst out laughing too.