Patterns in the Sand: A Seaside Knitters Mystery by Sally Goldenbaum

Author:Sally Goldenbaum [Goldenbaum, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2009-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Izzy walked across the back room of the knitting studio. Outside, the sky was overcast, casting dark shadows across the room.

“Birdie, you can’t be doing things like that,” she scolded, her flip-flops slapping the floor more soundly than usual. “You’re seventy-, eightysomething—you shouldn’t be following people up hills, pretending you’re Kinsey Millhone or Jessica Fletcher.”

“Izzy, my dear, when will you begin to understand that age doesn’t dictate actions. What is that saying Hallmark is so fond of—it’s not how old you are but how . . . Oh, dear, I never get it right. But what matters isn’t how old you are but what you do with those years. And if I chose to live them proving that a sweet young girl is innocent, then I shall jolly well do so.” Birdie’s voice was unusually caustic.

“Calm down, Ms. Favazza. I’d say you live your years mighty well. Just don’t go getting yourself killed in the process.” Cass walked across the room with a bottle of water in one hand and a lumpy knitting bag in the other.

Cass had pulled her thick hair back and tied it at the base of her neck with what looked to Nell like a piece of thin rope. Probably something from The Lady Lobster, she thought, amused.

The late-Sunday-afternoon gathering was impromptu. It was Nell’s idea, stimulated by spotting Birdie in the woods, Izzy’s new quota to have a dozen chemo caps a week, and the emotion lacing Willow’s voice that morning, yearning for an end to the horrible mess that had put her life on hold.

Knit caps. Regroup. Cocktail hour, the text message read. It still mystified Nell how Izzy sent lightning-fast messages with her thumbs. Her own were limited to single words, and she’d only recently learned to add periods.

“This mess just has me seeing red,” Birdie said. “What are we missing here? People are starting to lock their doors in Sea Harbor. We’ve got to put an end to it.”

She sank back into the sofa, her red tennis shoes barely touching the floor.

Nell pulled her sweater from her bag. More head hugger hats were the goal, but she could easily knit up several of those at meetings she had scheduled this week. Willow’s sea sweater—as she had begun to think about it—was less portable as it grew. And besides, if truth be known, the intriguing, intricate designs that magically appeared as she worked the cable stitches running from the top of the sweater to the bottom had become something that she couldn’t put aside for long. And the texture of the yarn brought comfort to her fingers and her spirit.

“What were you going to do if Billy or Ellen turned around and saw you?” Izzy stopped straightening up the stray scissors, yarn markers, and measuring tapes on the worktable and looked over at Birdie.

“I would have said, ‘Good morning. Lovely day, isn’t it?’ I certainly had as much right to be there as they did. What’s the matter with all of you?

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