Free Murder of a Needled Knitter by Denise Swanson

side and assessed the situation. Having read somewhere that removing an object from a wound made it bleed even more, Skye was afraid to pull out the needles. Instead she looked around for something she could use to staunch the blood that was pouring from around the metal rods. Spotting a pile of T-shirts with U - KNITTED N ATIONS , D IAMOND C OUNTESS 2007 printed on them, she grabbed a couple, wrapped them around the steel shafts, and pressed down where the needles entered the woman’s neck.
    â€œWe have to get out of here right now.” Trixie grabbed Skye’s arm and tried to lift her up. “Whoever did this could still be here.”
    â€œBut we need to help her.” Skye put the fingers of her left hand around Guinevere’s wrist. Was there a faint pulse or was Skye feeling her own heart pounding?
    â€œWe will.” Trixie continued to try to tug her taller, heavier friend to her feet. “But first, we should get somewhere safe. I definitely feel like someone is watching us.”
    â€œI can’t abandon her. You go for help.” Skye held her left palm over Guinevere’s mouth. Yes! There was a rapid and shallow breath. Skye touched the woman’s cheek. Her face was cool and clammy. “She’s going into shock.”
    â€œI’m not leaving you here alone with a killer on the loose.” Trixie gave up on her attempt to make Skye move, darted to the bar, and grabbed a tiny paring knife with one hand and the phone with the other. As she frantically punched random numbers she shouted, “Whoever’s watching us, I have a knife and I’m not afraid to use it. Don’t make me cut you.”
    The only response was a gurgle of hysterical laughter from Skye, which she stifled before it fully emerged.
    Finally, someone answered the telephone, and Trixie shouted, “A woman’s been stabbed in Cloud Walkers! Send medical and security here right away!”
    â€œMaybe this was an accident,” Skye said as she grabbed the remaining dry T-shirts and used them to try to stem the flow of blood that continued to spurt from around the needles. “Maybe she fell.” Even as she said it, Skye knew that her suggestion was ridiculous, but she didn’t want to believe that someone had deliberately committed such a horrific act.
    Trixie answered, “First, can you think of any scenario where a person would have the needles at her throat, trip, fall, and land on them faceup? Second, how about the banging door we heard right after the thud?”
    Apparently phoning for help had calmed Trixie down because she began to search the room. Seconds later, she darted back and reported, “The service closet and pantry are empty, and there’s nowhere else in the lounge to hide. Whoever slammed the door is gone.” She dug a camera out of her purse.
    â€œSomeone could have been with her.” A lump formed in Skye’s throat as she clung to her accident theory and tried to ignore the facts. “Maybe they ran to get help.” The last of the T-shirts was soaked, and thepool of blood around Guinevere was spreading rapidly. Skye realized she was kneeling in the gore, but she didn’t look up as she instructed, “Get me something I can use as a compress.”
    Trixie fetched a box of napkins and handed them to Skye, then began to snap pictures. Moving around Guinevere and Skye, Trixie shot photos from all angles.
    Skye glared at her friend. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
    â€œDocumenting the scene.” Trixie continued to photograph Guinevere, the space around her, the area near the bar and the rest of the lounge leading to the exit.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œLast night, after Wally mentioned how different the regulations at sea are from American laws, I did a little research on the Internet. I thought a cruise might be a good setting for my book.” A while back, Trixie had decided to write a mystery and she now