You Better Knot Die

“Pink, these need to be starched and William and I have plans.” It wasn’t an unreasonable request. We were making them to decorate the bookstore, and in all fairness, she had made many more than me, but in typical Adele fashion, she came across as high-handed and annoying. Adele often acted as though she were in charge; however, the minute there was any kind of trouble, she would throw her arms around me and expect me to take care of everything. I gathered her thread creations up and put them in my tote bag.

When they left, I finally went to work on the swatch. I had learned the basics of knitting during the retreat but not enough to be comfortable. Casting on and doing rows of knit stitches felt awkward. The swatch didn’t have to be that big, did it? As soon as I’d done ten rows, I laid down the swatch, anxious to crochet.

I thought of the discussion the group had had about making things to give to a shelter we supported. I pulled out the list of suggested items we’d come up with. My eyes stopped on toys. Yes, that was definitely what I wanted to work on. What could be better than making a holiday gift for a child? It would also be my first attempt at Amigurumi—small toys crocheted in the round using single crochet stitches.

I found a pattern for an elephant that was just a nice size for a child to hold. I checked the stash of yarn we had for our charity endeavors and found a skein of soft gray yarn. Within moments, I’d finished the first round. This was going to be fun.

My thoughts went back to Emily Perkins. How well did I really know her?

I wondered about the argument she’d mentioned. Was it real or made up? All I’d ever heard was their voices coming from their backyard, and they always sounded friendly. My pondering was interrupted when a young man stopped next to the table. I realized he was one of the holiday helpers our cashier Rayaad had been training.

“Mrs. Fazaha ...” he faltered. I had trouble with Rayaad’s last name and I’d known her for a while.

“We just go by first names around here, except for Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal.”

The young man seemed relieved. “Okay, then Rayaad said to talk to you.” Before he could finish two women had joined him. They were giggling and appeared a little embarrassed.

“It’s about the Anthony books, the Blood and Yarn series. We wanted to get copies of Caught By the Hook and Caught Up in Yarn ...” She let her voice trail off as if I was supposed to understand.

The clerk stepped in. “The display is empty. Are there any more books anywhere?”

“Oh, please say there are,” the other woman said. “My girlfriend had Caught By the Hook on CD and I heard the beginning in her car. We got stuck in traffic, but eventually I had to get out of the car. I need to find out what happens. When he picks up the hook for the first time,” she said in a tremulous voice, “and when he realizes that he’s found a way to control his lust for blood.”

Her friend laughed. “But luckily not his lust for women. Whew. I hear there are some really hot scenes.”

I left my work and followed them to the front of the store. A freestanding cardboard display had a blowup of the cover of Caught By the Hook. It featured a dark-haired man crocheting. There was just the slightest hint of a fang. Near it there was a cardboard cutout of Anthony holding a sprig of mistletoe in one hand and a woman in a trench coat in the other. Her head was thrown back with her neck exposed and he was leaning toward her with just a touch of fang showing. A banner across the middle announced the upcoming midnight launch of Caught Under the Mistletoe and the first public appearance of A. J. Kowalski. One of the women touched the poster with awe as she began to ask questions. Had I read the books, yes, and yes, I agreed Anthony was hot and, yes, I thought he had a heart even if he didn’t have a real one beating in his chest. Then she leaned close and lowered her voice.

“You know who the author really is, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “All I know is A. J. Kowalski lives in the area.” She looked at me with the same disbelief I’d been getting a lot of lately. The two women started talking to each other about whether A. J. was a man or woman. Even though they both agreed that when people used initials it was usually a woman, one of the women kept insisting the author had to be a man.

“I don’t think a woman could write a male character that well.” Her friend saved me the trouble and brought up J. K. Rowling, who did a great job with Harry Potter, and Stephanie Meyer, who pumped life into Edward Cullen.

I had a few books stashed in the office. When I handed them over, the women were so excited they almost tripped over themselves.

“I have to get this, too,” one of the women said, seeing the sign for Crocheting with the Vampire. I had to explain the companion pattern book wasn’t out yet but promised to let her know when it was. They seemed excited when I mentioned we were supposed to be getting Anthony action figures, along with a Colleen figure. She was the reporter who was bringing his story to the world and also the woman he’d fallen hopelessly in love with.

They wanted hooks, too, so I took them back to the yarn department and showed them our accessory display. One of the women picked up one of the golden K hooks and began stroking it. “Is this the kind he uses?”

“It could be,” I said. “The author isn’t exactly specific.”

“I’m going to ask him about the hook at the launch party.” She looked at me. “I’m sure it’s a man.” They had some discussion about whose credit card to put it on.

I watched them go to the cashier stand and suddenly I knew how I could help Emily find Bradley. That is if she was really looking for him.

CHAPTER 3

THE DAYS WERE SO SHORT AROUND THIS TIME OF year, it seemed liked midnight when I headed home, though it was more like eight. Some weather front had blown in and my light jacket didn’t do much to keep out the cold damp air. My street was quiet and dark. The lights were on at the Perkins’, but their lawn display was dark. I wondered if Emily’d had any more news about Bradley.

I pulled into my own driveway and left the car outside the garage. When I opened my back door, Cosmo flew past me into the yard. The small black mutt took off into the bushes. His long fur would no doubt be full of redwood bits when he came in. Blondie was probably sitting in her chair. The strawberry blond terrier was nothing like any other dog I’d had. Before I’d adopted her, she’d been in a shelter for a year and a half, and living in a kennel for all that time had left its mark. She was the only dog I’d ever had who didn’t mind being boarded. It was like going home. The cats circled my legs with plaintiff meows as I walked in the kitchen. They were hungry and still considering whether I should be forgiven for leaving them at the vet’s while I was gone.

As soon as all animals were fed, I called Emily. She still hadn’t heard anything from Bradley and was thrilled to hear I had figured a way to locate him. I was going to tell her my idea on the phone, but she wanted me to come over.

I hated to go empty-handed, but there was no time to throw together a batch of cookies. I noticed the tin of fudge I’d picked up when Adele and I’d stopped on the way back from San Diego. In Emily’s condition, she probably could really use some chocolate.

I crossed her front yard, being careful to avoid tripping over the dark holiday decorations, and barely had time to check out the huge hanging light fixture on the porch before she opened the door. Emily had all the lights burning inside. In the distance I heard the television and her daughters’ voices.

“The girls still don’t know,” she said in a nervous voice. “They figured out something is wrong because we went out for pizza and I’m letting them watch a movie—two things I never do on a school night.” I sensed she was telling me all this so I wouldn’t think she was a bad mother. Far be it for me to judge anybody. I’d been known to eat ice cream for dinner. I handed her the fudge, which she gratefully accepted before bringing me into the living room. We sat down and she tore off the top of the fudge and took a piece. I was right about her needing some chocolate. She caught herself and apologized for not offering me a piece first. I passed and expected her to set the tin on the coffee table, but she kept hugging it. She really needed chocolate.

Curious about Mrs. Shedd’s reaction when I mentioned Bradley, I asked Emily how he knew my boss.

“Bradley knows everybody. Leave him in a room with ten people, and in a few minutes, he’ll have ten friends. He gets a lot of his business that way.”

“What exactly does Bradley do?” I said, a little embarrassed that after having them as neighbors for a couple