Free The Lover's Knot by Clare O'Donohue

far,” she laughed again. “Three husbands, two fiancés that didn’t make the cut, and more lovers than I can remember. Which is a shame, since they would be very good memories.”
    “I guess I have some catching up to do.”
    “Best way over a broken heart is a romance,” she said as she leaned back in her chair. “But guessing by the interest you’ve generated, you may already have figured that out for yourself.”
    Interest? I blushed, then realized what she must have meant. “No. Marc just drove me to the hospital.”
    She waved me off. “Marc is a lovely distraction. But he’s not a romance. There’s a darkness around that boy.”
    “I sensed that he wasn’t well liked by some of the women in the club.”
    She smiled. “He’s not well liked by some, too well liked by others, but everyone can choose their own friends.” She poured herself the last of the coffee. “Make a fresh pot dear,” she ordered, which I did without argument.
    She watched me, smiling. “The girls laugh at me, but I’m a bit of a psychic,” she said. “I sense things.”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t think you’ve seen the last of your wayward fiancé.”
    “No, I haven’t. He’ll be at work tomorrow.”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    I laughed. “Bernie, I hope you’re right. I think.”
    She finished her coffee and got up. “Just be careful, Nell. Make sure you keep your eyes open.” She smiled at me, then turned away. “Tell Eleanor I’ll be by later.”
    Though the game plan was that I would spend the morning at the hospital, I knew I had to make one stop first. The car keys that were so elusive the night before were now hanging on a hook by the back door. Didn’t I look there yesterday? I tried to remember, but it was all a frightening blur. It didn’t matter now. I grabbed them and headed to Main Street.
    The shop wasn’t open when I arrived, so I let myself in. Normally my grandmother and Nancy would have cleaned the place in the evening, putting fabrics and notions back where they belonged, so the next day would start fresh. But in the excitement of last night, all of that was left undone. Bolts of fabric lay on the cutting table and magazines were spread out on the counter. Even the cash had been left in the register.
    I walked to the back of the shop and stared down the stairs. They were empty, just as I had left them. Carefully I walked down one step, then another. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but it just didn’t feel right. To everyone else it was a case of an elderly woman who slipped on steep, narrow steps. Something that happened all the time. But I had cleared the stairs because I had been afraid of something like that happening. And something about it just didn’t make sense.
    I slowly walked step after step, looking for a loose board or a nail that might be sticking up, something Eleanor had tripped on. Something I could fix. But I couldn’t find anything. Then, with only four steps to go, my foot came out from under me and I went, butt-first, down into the basement.
    With nothing but my tailbone and my dignity injured, I got up and walked back up to the fourth step. I pulled at it, but it wasn’t loose. There were no nails sticking up. I ran my hand gently over the wood. The step felt sticky, almost greasy, but not quite. I rubbed my fingers on the spot and sniffed. No smell. It felt a little like wax, but it didn’t have the thickness of wax. What was this stuff?
    I heard the door open upstairs. Footsteps came toward me.
    “Who’s there?” a voice called down.
    “Nancy?” I shouted back. She appeared at the stop of the stairs.
    “Oh, it’s you, Nell. Are you all right? What are you doing?”
    “There’s something on the step. Something slippery.” I held up my hand, as if that were proof.
    She came down the stairs quickly and stopped just above me and, reaching down, she ran her fingers over the wood.
    “Someone must have spilled something. Do you think