Free Yarned and Dangerous by Sadie Hartwell Page A

she feeding the detective a heaping helping of . . . poppycock?
    â€œYou do that. Miss Blair, I’ll be in touch. You can have the store back now.” He closed up his notebook and replaced it in his jacket pocket.
    When he and Sharla had gone, Evelyn patted Josie’s arm. “Don’t worry about him, dear. There’s a new police chief in town, and he’s probably putting pressure on Bruno to get this case solved quickly.”
    â€œDo you know him well?” Josie couldn’t help but ask.
    Evelyn tsked . “I was his third-grade teacher. He was a brat then, and he’s still a brat. Now let’s get to work.”
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    Josie set up her computer on the sales counter and was pleased to find an unsecured wireless signal labeled Bondgirls pop up when she checked for networks. Where it was originating from, she had no idea, because she didn’t see a router anywhere nearby. But why argue? She opened up a new spreadsheet document and labeled the first column Type of Yarn . The second column was Quantity and the third was Value. “Okay, Evelyn. I’m ready to start.”
    Evelyn hefted a basket of yarn up onto a table and dumped it out. She began to sort, using some system of her own. Josie was impressed. Evelyn was very efficient. When she finished, the yarn lay in soft heaps of varying sizes, separated by color. “Four skeins of Killarney Irish worsted-weight wool, color natural. Six skeins—”
    â€œHold on a second. I need another category.” Josie added a column titled Color, then entered the information Evelyn had given her.
    The two worked steadily for a couple of hours, emptying four of the big baskets and one of the cubbies on the wall. Once the yarn was sorted and inventoried, Evelyn placed the skeins into individual plastic bags, of which there seemed to be a more or less endless supply behind the counter. Evelyn hadn’t been kidding about knitters and plastic bags.
    Josie stood next to Evelyn and surveyed their handiwork, which consisted of rows and rows of bags along one wall.
    â€œNothing sadder than empty cupboards,” Evelyn said. “You sure you can’t find a local buyer? I’m going to miss this place.”
    Josie looked around. “You know something, Evelyn? I think I am too.” She shook her head, trying to ward off a swell of emotion that was threatening to wash over her. “Isn’t that crazy? A week ago I’d never even been here.”
    â€œI don’t hold with a lot of woo-woo.” Evelyn stared at Josie, her face unreadable. “But Cora put her heart and soul into this place, and friendships were formed around that coffee table.” Evelyn inclined her head toward the front window and the couch and chairs. “When a person knits, they put love into every stitch. Knitting is optional, you know.”
    â€œOptional?” Josie didn’t understand.
    Evelyn patted Josie’s arm again. “Nobody has to knit anymore. Clothing is made in factories now.”
    â€œWell, except for couture, of course. That’s hand sewn.”
    The older woman chuckled. “Okay, most clothing is made in factories now. The point is, people knit by choice today, not out of necessity. So they do it because they love it. They love the yarn and the physical act of knitting.” A smile creased her face and made her look ten years younger. “And they love the people they give their knitted items to. Knitters tend to give most of their projects away.”
    Josie nodded. She thought she understood. “Positive energy.”
    â€œWhatever you want to call it, Cora had that in spades.”
    Once again Josie’s heart gave a little squeeze. Why had she never made time to drive up here and meet Cora? It was only a couple of hours’ trip. “Cora made me this,” she said, pulling the blue scarf out of the sleeve of her coat, which was hanging over the back of the chair she’d been