Teddy gives my tresses a tug. “Oh, let’s look at the yarn, Lottie. We can’t just zoom in here and start with the hard questions. Carlotta says you have a bad habit of throwing the horse before the cart.”
A choking sound emits from me. “For Carlotta’s information, that’s how you’re supposed to do it.” I head over to the shelves, pull out a couple of fuzzy mauve skeins, and sniff them. “Oh wow, these are scrumptious.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t eat them, Lottie,” Teddy says as she hooks one of her long dark claws into the ball of yarn and I help detangle her. Since she’s a ghost and has the ability to slice right through anything, I know for a fact she’s willingly tangling herself up with the yarn.
“But they look so delicious.” I steal a moment to snuggle with it, drawing it ever so close to my lips. “I think I’ll buy a few and see if my mother will knit me a scarf. Oh!” I chirp as another far more delicious skein catches my eye. “Look at that butter yellow. That would make the perfect baby blanket whether it’s a boy or a girl. Who doesn’t like butter?”
“Carlotta was right. You’re as hungry as a horse twenty-four seven.”
“What’s with all the horse analogies?” I wrinkle my nose as I pull a few fuzzy yellow skeins my way, too.
“Say”— Teddy reaches over and gives a branch of the ficus tree a tug—“this reminds me of home.”
“Speaking of home”—I glance through the window at the bakery across the street, and thankfully, there’s still no sign of Noah or Everett—“I’d better speed this up.”
“You do that,” she says, slinking over to the ficus. “I think I’ll do a little reminiscing.”
I pull a few more skeins off the shelf in that Granny Smith apple green color I plan on painting the nursery and take my loot to the counter.
There’s a sign hung on the wall behind the register that reads to knit or not to knit? Is there really a question?
Just below that is a slender white shelf with a row of dark Mason jars, and next to them sits a small handwritten sign that reads jams and jellies, locally sourced from Jax Farm.
And just like that, I have a craving for both jelly and yarn.
The teenager in question glances up from her phone before scowling over at me and hopping off her stool. Her long auburn hair hangs down to her waist, and she has delicate features and a smattering of freckles.
“Welcome to the Social Knitwork. Will that be cash or charge?” She begins scanning the balls of yarn without so much as looking up.
“Actually, I was hoping to speak with the owner, Juliet? We’re sort of friends. I was going to ask her advice on which yarn would go best with which project.”
“So you don’t want them?” She stops midflight from ringing up the third skein.
“Oh no, I do,” I say as I reach for my purse. “It’s just I thought I should get her opinion. You know, she’s the expert around here, right?”
The girl gives a slow blink. “Juliet’s not here tonight. She’s holding a special workshop across town.”
“Across town? Where would that be?” A mild panic sets in. How am I supposed to have a relaxing buffet with Noah and Everett and be across town at a knitting workshop questioning a suspect?
“It’s the party with the knitwits event at the Rendezvous.” She says party with the knitwits in air quotes.
“The Rendezvous Luxury Resort?” I can hardly believe it. “And by nitwits, I presume you mean the owners of that bawdy establishment.” That was more or less a rhetorical question.
The girl sputters with a laugh. “The two bubble-headed blondes? They came in yesterday talking about some investigative services. Really set everyone on edge.”
“Featherby Sleuths?”
“That’s it.” She snaps her fingers my way. “Anyway, they wanted to schedule a private party and that’s where Juliet is tonight.”
Just great.
Leave it to Cormack to snag my suspect—and my mother’s B&B.
On the bright side at least she hasn’t snagged Noah.
A twinge of guilt rides through me for having the thought.
It looks as if we’ve had a change of plans tonight. Noah, Everett, and I will be sharing our dinner with my mother and Wiley—and that will put me in the prime position to sneak off to speak with Juliet.
Let’s face it, having a cop and judge in the vicinity is a great way to get a suspect to clam up.
A whooshing sound emits from behind, and I turn around to see that silk ficus tree on the floor and Teddy immersed in a basket of yarn marked half off just south of where the ficus stood to begin with.
“Oh dear.” Teddy flails as she struggles to untangle those knife-like claws of hers from a pile of red and pink yarn.
The girl lets out a short yet shrill scream. “I think there’s a mouse in there!”
The poor girl hops back on her stool and draws up her knees as I quickly run toward the melee, tossing yarn in the air as I struggle to free Teddy from the impending yarn-ageddon.
“No mouse!” I shout over at the girl who’s gone white as toothpaste, but with a hint of anger, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was one step away from calling the local security guard. “I’m just loving all this yarn.” I turn back and growl over at Teddy, “You’re a ghost, for Pete’s sake. Can’t you just float out of this mess?” I hiss while getting down on my knees in an effort to free the rowdy little specter.
“I don’t
