Free Death of a Crafty Knitter by Angela Pepper Page A

me.
    Tony answered from an upstairs room, his voice clear even though he was unseen, "Anything noteworthy down there? Don't let Stormy distract you."
    Kyle replied, "There's a clock down here that's going to start chiming on the hour. Don't shoot anything when it does."
    Tony called down, "I won't if you won't."
    Right on cue, the clock let out one GONG to signal that it was one o'clock. I'd been inside the house for a full hour—an hour that had felt like nothing, and also like an eternity.
    Kyle grimaced at the post-GONG noise still echoing in the red room. "Now, did you see an appointment book around here?"
    We looked, and talked through what we were thinking. Voula probably kept her appointment book on her phone or laptop, but we still hoped to catch a break and find something on paper that would tell us who her morning appointment had been with.
    Kyle Dempsey's blue eyes didn't linger on anything for long, until he looked at me, and then it seemed like he couldn't look away.
    "I'm distracting you," I said. "As soon as the tow truck gets here with my car, I'll go."
    "No, you can keep helping me. Tony doesn't like to think out loud."
    "He thinks he's the strong, silent type."
    "And he's my captain." Kyle cleared his throat. "So, who do you think killed her? You saw the dustup with the waitress at the Fox and Hound last night."
    "You saw me last night?" I could feel my cheeks blushing. "I mean, you were there, too? You saw that waitress woman—her name is Dharma Lake—throw a drink on Voula?"
    "I saw. And I noticed that not one of those women at her table went with her to the washroom. Just you."
    "I was only in there by coincidence. That was the first time I met Voula Varga, Psychic Extraordinaire, I swear. And right before I came here, I was at my house with Jessica. I'll give you her number."
    He smirked and raised his light brown eyebrows. "Guilty conscience? Don't worry. You don't need an alibi. You're not a suspect."
    I made a sniffing laugh sound, almost a snort. "I should be. I keep turning up dead bodies. If I'm not a suspect, I'm certainly a bad omen."
    "No way. There's nothing pretty about a bad omen, and you are the prettiest girl in this whole town. I can see why Tony's so possessive of you."
    "Tony?" I turned my head to give him a sidelong look. "We're just old friends. What do you mean, possessive ?"
    Kyle glanced toward the stairwell, then changed the topic, asking me what sort of music I liked. I named off a few bands and was surprised when Kyle was familiar with them. Hearing that we had similar taste in music almost made me consider accepting a date with him.
    Almost.
    Unfortunately, there was still the ten-year age difference. Plus I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd once put baby powder on his little red butt.
    "What are you thinking about?" he asked. "You keep frowning and shaking your head, like you're wrestling with something."
    "Just this murder case," I lied. "I wish I could remember something about the vehicle that ran me off the road, but it was dark in that grove of trees, and all I saw was headlights and my life flashing before my eyes."
    "Don't be hard on yourself. You're doing great."
    Kyle led me over to the red room's sofa. It was a tufted couch with tight upholstery—the kind of couch you perch on rather than sink into. We both sat on the edge, turned toward each other. A foot of space remained between our knees.
    Kyle had his notepad and pen out, and asked me to start at the beginning. I walked him through my drive to the house, and the accident that sent my car into the ditch. This time through my story, I remembered the dark-haired girl I spoke to before I entered the house.
    "Very good," Kyle said. "There aren't that many Corgis in town. If we don't round up an ex-boyfriend or a disgruntled client and this case drags out, I could call the local vets and get the girl's name."
    "I could make some calls, if you'd like."
    Kyle smiled up from his notepad. "We could trade jobs for the