Dyeing Up Loose Ends Read online

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Maggie Sefton

  KNIT ONE, KILL TWO

  NEEDLED TO DEATH

  A DEADLY YARN

  A KILLER STITCH

  DYER CONSEQUENCES

  FLEECE NAVIDAD

  DROPPED DEAD STITCH

  SKEIN OF THE CRIME

  UNRAVELED

  CAST ON, KILL OFF

  CLOSE KNIT KILLER

  YARN OVER MURDER

  PURL UP AND DIE

  KNIT TO BE TIED

  ONLY SKEIN DEEP

  DYEING UP LOOSE ENDS

  Anthologies

  DOUBLE KNIT MURDERS

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2018 by Margaret Conlan Aunon

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Sefton, Maggie, author.

  Title: Dyeing up loose ends / Maggie Sefton.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2018. | Series: A knitting mystery ; 16

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017061341 | ISBN 9780425282540 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780698405936 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Flynn, Kelly (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Knitters (Persons)—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3619.E37 D93 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017061341

  First Edition: July 2018

  Cover art by Chris O’Leary / Lindgren & Smith

  Cover design by Rita Frangie

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes.

  Version_1

  I want to dedicate this sixteenth book in the Knitting Mysteries to all of you wonderful readers and fans of Kelly and the Gang. You took Kelly and all her friends into your hearts and followed their many adventures as well as their misadventures. I have immensely enjoyed meeting many of you over the years at various conferences, seminars, and readers’ conventions. This year, I hope I got the chance to see you at the Malice Domestic Mystery Conference in Bethesda, Maryland, outside Washington, D.C. I will also be at the 2018 RWA Readers’ Convention on July 18–21 in Denver, Colorado.

  Please visit me on my two Facebook pages: (1) Maggie Sefton and (2) Maggie Sefton Author. Those two pages plus my weekly Tuesday blog post on cozychicksblog.com will be the “go-to” places to learn what’s happening with Kelly and her friends.

  Acknowledgments

  There are so very many people who have provided help over the several years I’ve been writing the Knitting Mysteries. Whether it was sharing information that I needed to take the next steps along the path of Amateur Sleuth Mystery Author, writing wonderful reviews of my books, or by simply providing a kind word when difficulties appeared along that path.

  Some names have to be mentioned: All of the super helpful and encouraging staff and knitters at Lambspun Knitting Shop in Fort Collins, Colorado, especially the owner, Shirley Ellsworth; my fantastic and supportive agent, Jessica Faust of BookEnds, who never wavered in her belief in me and my writing—Thank you, Jessica. Multipublished author of wonderful award-winning historical romances Maggie Osborne, who was kind enough to give me some sage advice early in my career—Thank you, Maggie. And, the great editors I was fortunate to have from the beginning with Berkley Prime Crime at Penguin Group—Samantha Mandor, Sandra Harding, and Michelle Vega. Thank you. And all the fellow authors, bookstore owners, and others who were “book people” who crossed my path over these many years—Thank you so much.

  Of course, I have to thank my family and dear friends, who have loved and supported me, believed in me, and let me sleep on their couches during all the times I showed up in their cities for book signings, author appearances, and various promotional events. Thank you, thank you, Family.

  Contents

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Maggie Sefton

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Knitting Pattern

  Recipe

  About the Author

  One

  “Here you go, Jack,” Kelly Flynn said as she unhooked the child car seat restraint straps, then stood, holding open the side door of her sports wagon. The little boy with sandy brown hair had already freed himself from the loosened straps and was scrambling across the seat toward the open door.

  Jumping down to the pavement, Jack started to race toward the group of preschool children already on the outdoor playground.

  “Hey, hey! Where’s my hug?” Kelly called out, then leaned down toward Jack and held her arms open.

  Jack turned around, threw both his little arms around Kelly’s neck, and gave her a quick hug and a grin. Then he raced off toward the irresistible lure of his friends sliding down the slide, swinging on the swings, and climbing the smaller-sized jungle gym bars.

  Kelly grabbed her carryout coffee mug from inside the car, then closed the door and walked over to the preschool parking lot, watching the children play. Another preschool mother strolled over to join her.

  “Hi, Kelly,” the young woman said.

  “Hey there, AnaSofia,” Kelly said. “It looks like Jerry’s leg has completely recovered. He’s barely limping now.”

  “Oh, he’ll be limping a lot once he gets back home after preschool. I told him not to run, but he forgets everything I tell him the minute he gets here and sees his friends,” she said with a smile.

  Kelly gave a short laugh. “I know exactly what you mean. Jack sees kids on a playground—any playground
—and he heads straight for them.”

  “Do you have one of those smaller gyms in your backyard?” AnaSofia asked. “I was thinking about getting one since Jerry just loves climbing and going down the slide. Will and I decided we’d get a set for the yard.”

  “Yes, we have one, and Jack really uses it. He’s even taken some wooden blocks outside and built things under the slide in the shade. He loves playing out there during the summertime.”

  “I think you said Jack would be going to kindergarten next year, right?” AnaSofia asked, glancing toward Kelly. “Will and I don’t know if we should send Jerry then or not. Some of my friends are holding their boys back for another year so they’ll be older. Jerry won’t be five until August next year.”

  “Yes, Jack will be starting kindergarten next year, and he’ll be five in May. He can’t wait to get there. Jack plays with a friend’s little five-year-old girl, Molly, and she is constantly telling Jack what they’re doing in kindergarten and showing him things she’s made.” Kelly laughed softly as she stared into the playground. “Steve and I call her Miss Molly because she loves to organize things. Then show everyone what she’s doing and talk a mile a minute.”

  AnaSofia smiled. “That sounds like one of my neighbor’s kids. Brian will talk your ear off whenever he comes over to play and asks questions. He wants to know everything you’re doing and why, even if you’re just raking leaves in the fall.” She laughed out loud.

  “That sounds exactly like Miss Molly. Molly is, well, kind of bossy. Jack just ignores a lot of what she’s telling him.” Kelly chuckled, recalling many of Molly’s moments.

  A phone’s musical ring sounded, playing an old country music song. AnaSofia grabbed it before the male singer started the chorus. “Hey there,” she said, giving Kelly a smiling wave as she turned away.

  Kelly waved in return and walked back to her no-longer-shiny-new sports wagon. Client accounts were calling.

  * * *

  • • •

  Retired Fort Connor police detective Burt Parker stood on the sidewalk that bordered the garden patio of Kelly’s favorite local yarn and knitting shop, Lambspun of Colorado. The garden patio was filled with customers clearly enjoying lunch or a late breakfast while seated at café tables scattered around the picturesque patio under the trees and in the sun.

  A take-out cup in his hand, Burt smiled at Kelly as she exited her car. “I’ve often wondered if you ever miss your sporty little red car, Kelly. I still haven’t gotten used to seeing you drive up to the shop in a family car.”

  Kelly glanced back at the sports wagon. Three years old now and worn in with a growing toddler turned preschooler—definitely a family car.

  “No room in the red car for a child seat,” Kelly said with a grin. “A cute sporty car was fun but didn’t work for a family.”

  “Well, you’re right about that. My daughter and son-in-law switched over when she got pregnant the first time. But that was years ago, and there were no ‘sporty wagons’ then. There were station wagons with three rows of seats.” Burt rounded the border sidewalk that led to the front entry of the knitting shop.

  Walking beside her dear friend and mentor, Kelly shifted the briefcase bag on her shoulder. “I remember those. We only had my dad’s four-door sedan, because he drove to client sites. But some of my school friends had station wagons, and we all loved sitting in the back seat that faced backward. That way we could wave at other drivers.”

  “And make faces. At least, that’s what my kids did,” Burt said with a laugh as they walked up the brick steps leading to Lambspun’s front entry.

  “I refuse to comment, because it would incriminate me,” Kelly teased as she walked through the door that Burt held open.

  Kelly stepped inside the entry foyer of Lambspun and paused, as she always did, and glanced around at the wonderland of fibers surrounding her. Color, color, everywhere. Pastel pink and blue baby sweaters with tiny buttons were hanging from the ceiling with tags recommending patterns. A delicate multicolored shawl was draped over the top of a bookcase, which held several popular books on knitting, spinning, weaving, and all manner of fiber arts.

  “I see that the Lambspun elves have been busy,” Kelly observed as she strolled through the foyer. “There are several new yarns displayed.”

  “Oh yes. We received a shipment yesterday,” Burt said as he followed after her.

  Kelly stroked a brilliant turquoise skein and read the label. Fifty percent merino wool and fifty percent silk. Her fingers had grown much more sensitive over the years, Kelly noticed, so that she could detect the presence of silk in an unknown skein simply by touch. “That’s a striking color,” she said before she slowly wandered into the next room straight ahead.

  Kelly called it the central yarn room because it was filled with bins and shelves that lined every wall. Every bin spilled over with skeins and balls of yarn of every color imaginable. Kelly always loved to stroll through this room and touch, touch, touch.

  “I’ll tell Mimi you’re here,” Burt said as he walked toward the adjoining room. Kelly called that room the Loom Room because it held the largest weaving loom in the shop. Beyond that was the front room of the Lambspun knitting shop with the winding table as well as the counter with the cash register, plus scores of knitting accessories.

  A particularly pretty shade of lime green caught her eye—bright as the limes themselves at the nearby City Market. She fingered the yarn and recognized the familiar touch of pure cotton fiber.

  Kelly noticed the café owner’s niece, Cassie, seated at the end of the long library table located in the shop’s main knitting room. She had a stack of magazines in front of her.

  “Hey there, Cassie. How’re you doing?” Kelly asked as she set her travel mug on the long wooden table. The surface was almost completely covered by small containers holding stitch markers, clips, small scissors, stray knitting needles and crochet hooks, plastic containers with homemade cookies, and a raised glass-covered cake dish that was usually filled with homemade cupcakes or other tasty temptations.

  “Hi, Kelly,” Cassie said, looking up with a smile. “Mimi asked me to find an article on cable knitting she saw in one of these magazines. We have several customers interested in learning the technique.”

  “Cable knitting, huh? That’s way over my head, so I certainly won’t be any help,” Kelly said as she plopped her oversize shoulder bag onto the table and settled into one of the wooden chairs along the side.

  “You’re so funny, Kelly,” Cassie said as she paged through the magazine. “I’m sure you could learn any knitting technique out there if you decided to. But you’re happy knitting what you know.”

  Bingo. Cassie had nailed Kelly’s longtime excuse.

  “Well, you’ve got me there, Cassie,” Kelly said with a smile then took a sip of coffee. “Truth is, I just don’t have time to learn something new and time-consuming. The only time I have to knit nowadays is when I’m here at the shop.” She leaned back into the chair and relaxed.

  Cassie glanced up. “Yeah, I can’t picture Jack letting you knit when you’re at home.”

  Kelly nodded. “You got that right. By the way, have you heard anything about your finals?”

  Cassie nodded. “I already got the email from my literature professor, and I finished the class with a score of 92 out of 100. That really helps, because I’m not sure what my grade in chemistry will be. If it’s in the 70s range, then that lit grade will help average it out to a B range in the 80s.”

  “You’ve got that analyzed for sure,” Kelly said with a little laugh. “That brings me back to my university days from years ago. How’d Eric do? Or does he not know yet?”

  Cassie leaned back into her chair. “He got an 82 on his anatomy exam and a 70 on his econ. But he’s sweating the results of his biochemistry exam.”

  Kelly made a face. “I don’t even want to think about
how hard that one would be. I still remember how challenging those university science classes were years ago.”

  Just then, the sound of fast footsteps echoed as Mimi Shafer Parker walked through the central yarn room into the main knitting room. Her cheerful smile made Mimi’s seventy years melt away. Kelly marveled that Mimi never looked her real age.

  “Well, hello, Kelly. It’s good to see you. How’s little Jack doing?”

  “Going nonstop as usual,” Kelly replied as she relaxed against the chair. “I swear, the only time Jack slows down is when he’s sitting on the floor playing with those large building blocks or when he’s asleep in his bed at night.”

  “Sounds like Jack,” Cassie remarked as she flipped through the magazine pages.

  Mimi laughed her little musical laughter, which went up the scale then down again. “Oh, I can picture little Jack now,” she said. “I bet he’s really enjoying preschool.”

  “Oh yes. He loves it. They’ve got some of those extra large plastic building blocks in one of the playrooms. So the kids get to build all sorts of things. One time when I stopped by to bring the class some fruit juice I bought, Jack and his friend Jerry had built some sort of structure about four feet high. Then, another kid in class knocked it down.” Kelly chuckled, remembering.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Mimi said with a little frown. “Was Jack upset?”

  “Not for long. Jack and Jerry yelled at the kid, then ran off to the playground and jumped onto the slide.” She took a deep drink of coffee.

  “Typical playground drama,” Cassie said, reaching for another fiber magazine. “I remember my preschool, years ago. There was one little boy who was a real bully. He used to threaten some of the other kids that he’d beat them up if they didn’t give him their snack cookies. Most of them got scared and gave him their cookies. Then one day another kid took a long wooden block and clunked the bully on the back of the head. He burst into tears and never gave anyone any trouble again.”