A Wicked Yarn Read online

  They had moved on to talk of ribbon colors for the baskets when two men dressed in business suits strode into the craft barn. They ignored the craft stalls and vendors and instead wandered about, the shorter, stouter one pointing out various points, high and low, in the facility. Shoppers were few at the time, and the place was quiet enough for his voice to carry, which seemed to be his intention.

  “Not nearly big enough to convert into anything like a supermarket,” he boomed. “And old. Would have to be totally rewired and remodeled for any good use. Not worth the cost.” His taller companion nodded agreement as they circled the area, seemingly oblivious to the stares and question marks on every vendor’s face.

  “Best thing,” he pronounced, “is to tear it down, start from scratch.”

  “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you, Darren.” Belinda suddenly appeared, striding toward the two.

  “Ah, my not-so-lovely ex.” Darren Peebles, whom Lia had finally recognized, stopped to face the manager, his lips curling slyly. “I didn’t dare to hope we’d see you today.”

  “Come off it, Darren. You couldn’t wait to rush over and rub this in my face. But it’s not going to work. I know enough about your shady business to make Schumacher shred any contract before you get anywhere near it.”

  “You don’t know squat, my dear. And never did, simply because there was nothing to know. And before you even think about making threats, you might keep in mind that little incident from the summer of ’oh-eight. Wouldn’t like to see that spread around, would you?”

  Belinda’s eyes narrowed. “I knew you were low, but I didn’t know how low. If you would stoop to—”

  “I’ll stoop as low as necessary to clear whatever gets in my way, so I’d advise you to stay out of it. Now, unless you want to air more dirty laundry in front of these lovely people . . .” He waved an arm toward the stunned vendors and shoppers. Belinda, uncharacteristically speechless and with a beet-colored face, turned on her heel.

  Darren Peebles grinned as he watched her stomp off. When the office door banged, he actually chuckled and murmured something to his companion. The two turned and eventually left, though not in any kind of hurry, Peebles chatting casually the entire time.

  Once they’d gone, Lia glanced around the barn. The vendors seemed frozen in place. Quilter Maggie Wood’s arms were outstretched, holding a half-folded quilt. Beekeeper Zach Goodwin gripped the jar of honey he’d been stacking on a row of others. Joan Fowler still held one of her watercolor paintings for a shopper, who’d turned her back on it at the start of the argument. Both looked stunned.

  Slowly, the craft fair came back to life, though the vision was eerie. Lia, standing at the side of her booth where she’d been chatting with Olivia, saw that her neighbor was okay—as wide-eyed as Lia probably was, but not overly upset. Perhaps the excitement of her big sale had been enough to insulate her? Just as well, since Lia didn’t have a thing to say about what they’d witnessed, a condition that lasted until it was time to leave.

  Chapter 3

  Lia’s daughter had texted that she’d arrived, so Lia set aside craft fair problems for the time being and drove home in a lighter mood. The professed reason for Hayley’s visit was Mother’s Day weekend, but she had been driving from Philadelphia often. Lia sensed a need in Hayley to regularly check on her mother—unnecessary, to Lia’s mind, but she wasn’t going to protest just yet, since she enjoyed the visits. When she thought they were becoming too much of a burden for her daughter, Lia would say something.

  She’d given Hayley an extra key to the house and wasn’t surprised to see lights on inside when she pulled up in front. Lia had bought a much smaller place than she and Tom had owned in York, but it fit her current needs. It was a well-kept-up but older home, built before the Civil War, and something about the place spoke to her when she had first toured it.

  She liked the welcoming porch that fronted one of Crandalsburg’s quiet side streets and the cozy parlor that was small enough for one person to feel snug in but with enough space for three or four to gather comfortably. The plumbing and wiring had been updated, a very important consideration, but the character of the house remained, making her feel, as she sat and knitted by the light of a single lamp, as though she had gone back in time. She loved imagining the lives of the previous occupants and sometimes felt pleasantly surrounded by them.

  “That would creep me out,” Hayley had said when her mother shared that tidbit with her, but it was fine with Lia.

  As Lia climbed out of her car, Hayley stepped out onto the porch, her long blond hair, the same color Tom’s had once been, catching the late-day sun and framing features that were a mix of both parents. Her temperament was totally her own, more lively than either Lia’s or Tom’s, but also less practical and much more impulsive, traits that had caused difficulties when she was growing up. Lia was relieved that maturity had moderated both, but Hayley was still a work in progress.

  “Happy Mother’s Day!” Hayley came down the short walkway to throw her arms around her mother. She wore a flower-printed tee knotted at the waist of her artfully torn jeans.

  “Thank you, dear,” Lia said, hugging back. “How was your drive? Any problems?”

  They turned and headed back to the house, arm in arm. “None whatsoever. Unless you count the turtles on the turnpike.”

  “Turtles? Oh, you mean drivers going the speed limit?”

  “In the left lane, Mother!” She held the door open for Lia.

  “Yes, I see,” Lia said, stepping inside. “Unbearable. Are you hungry? I fixed a chicken dish to pop in the oven. But it’ll take about half an hour.”

  “Oh! I was thinking I’d treat you to dinner tonight. We can’t do it tomorrow. You’ll be at the fair all day, and I have to head back before dinner. But if you have something ready . . .”

  “Such a lot of driving in two days! It’s very nice of you, Hayley, but you know I’m just as happy to pass on a made-up holiday like Mother’s Day, especially when it means putting you to so much trouble.”

  “It’s not a lot of trouble, Mom. I enjoy driving, really. Well, except when there’s turtles in front of me. But I kinda wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh?” Lia paused on her way through the house to look back at her daughter.

  “It can wait.” Hayley passed her to get to the kitchen. “If dinner’s not for half an hour, got any munchies?”

  “There’s cheese and crackers, grapes, carrot sticks. Help yourself.” Lia squeezed past her daughter, who had opened the refrigerator door to peer inside, narrowing the walking space in the already tight room. She turned the oven on to preheat and pointed out the covered dish on the middle shelf of the refrigerator. “Want to slip that in when the temp gets to three-fifty? I’m going to run upstairs.”

  Lia headed to the narrow, nineteenth-century, squeaky staircase to the right of her front door, wondering once again how the original occupants had negotiated it—meaning anyone with hoop skirts or standing taller than five feet four. She ducked slightly halfway up to negotiate the landing. She also wondered what Hayley wanted to talk about, something that she wasn’t eager to jump into. Money problems? Lia shook her head. Not likely. Her daughter had landed a good job shortly after graduation, which allowed her to stay in Philadelphia, the city she’d come to love during her college years. Roommate trouble? Doubtful. She and Jessica had been friends since middle school. Lia was sure that any issue that came up would be worked out without her help.

  Lia freshened up and changed out of her craft fair attire into more casual and comfortable clothes: elastic-waist pants and a loose blouse. Whatever Hayley had on her mind, Lia would simply have to wait to hear. She trotted downstairs and found her small dining table set for two with Lia’s good china.

  “Is this okay?” Hayley asked. “I thought since we weren’t going out, we should still make it a special dinner.”

&
nbsp; Lia smiled. “I haven’t had those dishes out since I moved here. It’s nice to see them again. But where did the flowers come from?”

  “My car. I forgot and left them in the back. Like them?”

  “They’re lovely. Thank you! You didn’t have to do that.” Lia gave her daughter a hug.

  “I know,” Hayley said. “But Dad always got you flowers, didn’t he? I thought I’d keep it going.”

  Lia blinked away the tears that came to her eyes at that, and she caught Hayley doing the same. Eleven months wasn’t long enough to mention Tom without feeling emotional, but it was getting easier, and Lia didn’t mind. Shedding a few tears once in a while with her daughter was probably therapeutic for them both, and when it was just the two of them, neither was embarrassed in the least.

  “Well!” Lia said. “Let’s see if our dinner is ready to eat. I’m hungry!”

  * * *

  * * *

  They lingered at the table over coffee after finishing their meal, and Lia told Hayley about the fight that had occurred between Belinda and her ex. “When it ended, everyone seemed to recover in slow motion,” she said, describing the stunned vendors.

  “Freaky! Do you think he’ll really tear down the barn?” Hayley asked.

  “It sounded like it, unless he was just trying to agitate Belinda.”

  “Ha! It worked. But he must be a real piece of, well, you know, a real creep to do that. Good thing she got rid of him, I mean with the divorce. But what about the craft fair?”

  “It’s in real jeopardy,” Lia admitted.

  “Oh shoot! Your knitting booth!”

  “Which would go, along with all the others, and I’d hate that. The bigger problem would be Belinda’s. But . . . ,” Lia said, pausing to drain her cup, “it’s not a done deal. Nothing’s been signed or any plans put in motion. Things could still change.” She didn’t mention Belinda’s prediction that Darren would be sorry to go down that road. Surely that came from her anger and distress and meant nothing.

  “Well!” Lia said. “Enough about that. You had something you wanted to talk about?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Hayley stood and began picking up plates and silverware to carry into the kitchen. “How about we go out for ice cream to top off dinner? My treat. Is that little stand open yet? We can talk on the way.”

  Lia followed Hayley, carrying the cups and saucers and worrying a bit about what might be coming. But she helped load the dishwasher and wrapped up and put the leftovers away. Once her kitchen was set to rights, she threw on a light sweater as Hayley grabbed her purse before heading out.

  “I love this little town,” Hayley said after they got their cones at the stand just three blocks from Lia’s house and on the edge of the town center. Licking their ice cream, they strolled on, checking out store windows. A gift shop and a clothing store sandwiched a small tea shop that was closed and dark. Those were followed by a hardware store that had interesting gadgets on display. “It’s so easy to get around. Not like Philly and all the traffic.”

  “It is nice,” Lia agreed. “But Philadelphia has a lot more to get around to. Restaurants, theaters, museums.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Lia waited. After more window-shopping, Hayley said, “Mom, I’m thinking of taking some time off from work. I’d like to come back and stay a few days, if that’s all right with you.”

  Uh-oh. “Of course it’s all right, Hayley. But this is sudden. Is something wrong?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. I need to think.” She turned to Lia. “It’s my job. My so-called career. I don’t think it’s working for me.”

  Not working for her. Lia could almost hear Tom’s reaction to that. Last I heard, a person worked for the job, not the other way around. But Lia took a milder tack. “What’s not working about it?” she asked. “You loved your marketing courses, and you were excited when you got the job offer.”

  “I know.” Hayley dropped her unfinished cone into a trash basket. “That was then. Now I feel differently. I’m not sure anymore that it’s what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

  “It’s only been, what, ten months?”

  “Ten long months. Mom, I haven’t made any decisions yet. I’m not jumping into, or rather out of, anything in a rush, you know, like I used to, when I was a kid. That’s why I want the time off. To mull things over. Carefully.”

  “But time off without pay, Hayley? You probably haven’t earned vacation time yet, right?”

  “I have a couple of days due, and I’m willing to use them up. It’s that important to me, Mom.”

  “Okay.” Thinking things over carefully was the advice she and Tom had given Hayley for years, so how could she argue? But there was so much Hayley had left unsaid—ironic for a communications major. Lia was sure there was more to the story but decided not to press her daughter. There’d be time ahead of them, opportunities for the rest to come out.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning, Lia and Hayley went to church—together, but driving separately. St. Vincent’s was between Crandalsburg and the craft fair barn, and Lia had decided to continue on to the barn afterward.

  In the church parking lot, Hayley said, “I’ll come by around one with the picnic lunch, okay? We can eat during your break.”

  “That should be a good time. And you might want to pick up a cake from Carolyn Hanson’s booth while you’re there to take back with you. If she hasn’t sold out by then.”

  “I might pick up more than that. I haven’t had any time to bake. Remember how I used to love it? Maybe that’s what I should be doing, making cakes or something, instead of marketing.” Lia gave her a look, and Hayley shrugged and grinned. “Just an idea. Don’t worry, I won’t be making any hasty decisions.”

  They hugged, and Lia climbed into her white Camry, then lowered her window to wave good-bye as she drove off.

  It was another lovely day. May in the Crandalsburg area wasn’t any different from May in York. But Lia felt more aware of it as she drove on quiet roads lined with spring-blooming trees or acres of sprouting crops.

  She thought of the alpaca farm she’d visited a few weeks ago and decided to make another trip. She loved seeing the animals, and it wasn’t too soon to start knitting sweaters and scarves with those special yarns. But would she have an outlet for those items? The thought of the craft fair folding and not having any reason to knit with those yarns started to bring her down, that and her lingering concerns about Hayley. She clicked on the radio for some distracting music.

  The sight of the craft barn up ahead cheered her, and she soon turned onto the approaching drive. The red-painted sides, set off by white-trimmed windows, were nicely lit by the sun, which also turned the metal rooster atop one of the white cupolas into a glowing beacon. The rooster, she’d been told, had been made by Lou Krause, the metalworker who had a booth at the craft fair. One of Lou’s pieces, a wall hanging, had tempted Lia. Perhaps she’d take another look that day if there was time.

  Lia slowed as she always did when she drove up the narrow drive, to soak in the sight of the three-story structure. She’d been told that the building had been used as a hospital during the Civil War, which touched her heart, especially recalling the minimal medical aid available at the time for the poor young men and the suffering they must have endured. How, she wondered, could anyone think of tearing down such a historic and beautiful structure? It boggled her mind, and Lia dearly hoped Darren Peebles’s statement had been thrown out only to agitate Belinda and was not what he truly intended.

  Coming directly after the nine o’clock Mass, she knew she’d be arriving earlier than the Sunday opening time of eleven and planned to knit in her car as she waited for Belinda to arrive with her keys. Lia was surprised, therefore, as she drew closer, to see the side door ajar. She pulled into the parking area behind the split-rail fence and spo
tted Belinda’s black Acura in the lot. A second car that Lia didn’t recognize, a Lexus, sat a few spaces away, though she hardly knew what everyone exhibiting at the fair drove. Maybe it was Alfred Schumacher’s, and he was there to discuss the sale of his barn with Belinda, or perhaps to be persuaded against it? But the red luxury car seemed an unlikely ride for the elderly man, who claimed to need the money from the property’s sale.

  Lia parked and picked up the box of knitted items she’d brought to replenish her stock from the previous day. As she approached the barn, a feeling of uneasiness fell over her, though she tried to shrug it off. Surely it was only the unusual silence, when she was used to the noisy bustle of other vendors arriving. Still, it felt eerie.

  Lia paused at the opened door. All was dim inside, the only light coming from the barn’s high windows, and quiet, so quiet. She had to urge herself to step inside, and when she finally did, she left the door open behind her.

  She needed to blink several times to adjust to the gloom but eventually was able to discern a figure in the shadows over to her left. Belinda? Lia moved toward her, calling out hello, and expected to see her friend look over. But the woman remained tautly in the same position, slightly bent forward over something on the floor. Finally, her head turned, and the look on her face was frightening.

  “Lia,” Belinda said, her voice cracking. “He’s dead.”