Anne Canadeo - Knit, Purl, Die (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery 02)

I wish to thank attorney Dwight Vibbert of Peabody, Massachusetts, for a thorough review of the estate probate process. Thanks also to Chief Gavin Keenan of the Ipswich Police Department in Essex County, Massachusetts, for his explanation of police procedure at the scene of a drowning.

I would also like to thank Crystal Palace Yarns and designer Lisa Dykstra for permission to include a link to the mist lace scarf pattern, and Wendy D. Johnson, author of Socks From the Toes Up, for permission to include a link to Sprucey Lucey Socks pattern and WendyKnits.net.

Id also like to thank my editor, Kathy Sagan, for her sage advice and encouragement, and my agent, Bob Mecoy, for his unflagging yes, we can! spirit.

Last but not least, my family must get some credit for putting up with all that takeout food and a frightening lack of clean laundry as I staggered toward the finish line.

Everyone is a moon and has a dark side
which he never shows to anybody.
Mark Twain

Hemingway was wrong. The rich are different. Lucy gazed out the passenger-side window of her friend Maggies car as gated entryways, privacy hedges, and lawns as lush as country club greens rolled by. They definitely have longer driveways.

And better haircuts, usually, Maggie agreed. But Gloria isnt different from us. Not really.

They were on their way to Gloria Sterlings house, driving down tree-lined roads deep with afternoon shade, traveling from the heart of the village to The Landing, a neighborhood of gracious old homes that flanked not-so-gracious minimansions and a variety of architectural styles in between.

Maggie had known Gloria a long time, but Lucy had met her only recently.

Gloria wasnt born with money. Just the opposite, Maggie reminded her. Its nice of her to have us all over tonight. Shes not even part of the group.

Their knitting groupfive friends in allnormally met on Thursday night at one anothers homes, or at the Black Sheep, the knitting shop Maggie owned. Gloria had just jumped into the rotation like a sidelined player in a volleyball game. She wasnt an official member of their circle, more like a guest star, Lucy thought.

Since Gloria had returned to Plum Harbor a few months ago, after a long stay at her house in Florida, shed been spending a lot of spare time at Maggies shop. If Gloria happened to be hanging around when one of their meetings started up, it seemed rude to exclude her. She was always interested in Maggies demonstrations of a new stitch or technique. Or just happy to stitch and chat.

Glorias irreverent humor and live large style had taken some getting used to, for Lucy at least. But the plain-talking blonde bombshell definitely kicked up the evening a notch. And they all liked her husband, Jamie.

Gloria Sterling and Jamie Barnett were pretty much a package deal. Newlyweds, joined at the hip. Or so it seemed at times. Jamie was Glorias third run at matrimony, clearly the trophy husband. Gloria, the iconic cougar, wasnt coy about it. Ive put in my time with men my age. This one is dessert, shed told them one night.

The invitation had been for cocktails, knitting, and supper, poolside. Perfect for a surprisingly warm night in June. Would Gloria actually make the meal herself, or have it catered, Lucy wondered. She didnt seem the cooking type and probably had a housekeeper. There was always Jamie.

Maybe Jamie is doing the cooking. Lucy turned to Maggie and smiled. Those macaroons he brought to the meeting last week were intense.

Ive had dinner there. He is a good cook. Among his other talents. Maggie was still watching the road, but Lucy caught her small smile.

Jamie was a man of considerable talents. He cooked, he baked, he even knit with the group from time to time, all without seeming to feel any threat to his masculinity.

Who would question his masculinity? No woman Lucy knew, that was for sure.

A big, broad-shouldered, dirty blond hunk of guy, he had less guile than a golden retriever and even more devotion when it came to Gloria. They did seem amazingly happy together, both blissfully unaware of their age difference. Which was in the double digits, Lucy guessed.

If Gloria were a man and had hooked a babe ten, fifteen, or even twenty years younger, no one would think twice about it. But with the roles reversed, the pair did raise a few eyebrows around town. Plum Harbors Main Street was not exactly Rodeo Drive.

Of course, the fact that Gloria could easily pass for forty made the math less obvious. But Lucy had to wonder how long anyone could keep that up. How many mindless treadmill miles or gallons of Retinol cream did it require? How many discreet nips and tucks and cellulite suctions?

How much money did it take to hold back times handiwork? The inevitable changes had to catch up sooner or later. At least on the outside.

But Lucy didnt want to take a pessimistic view. The connection between Jamie and Gloria seemed more than skin deep and they seemed to have made some separate, private peace with what others might view as a fatal flaw in the partnership. They even joked about it.

No, it was the real thing. You could tell by the way they looked at each other. She delighted in him. Everything Jamie did was charming to her. And Jamie acted the same way about Gloria, even her flaws, her impatient and demanding side, seemed amusing and even endearing to him. You only had to be around them for a short time to see it. Lucy had witnessed enough relationships, good and badincluding her own failed marriageto know the difference.

I think the turn is coming up soon, on the right, Maggie said. Then she suddenly swerved into a narrow lane. The sign read Sugar Maple Way.

Here we are. Number five. Maggie steered the little car up a long, gravel-covered drive. Lucy noticed that their other friends Dana and Suzanne had already arrived; their cars were parked farther up, near the front door. Phoebe, a college student who worked part-time at Maggies shop and who was also part of the group, wasnt coming tonight. Her boyfriends band had a gig at a bar in Gloucester. Phoebe was needed to clap loudly and help move the equipment.

Which was probably just as well, Lucy decided, eyeing Glorias impressive house and property. Phoebe was likely to have an attack of social conscience in this setting and act out in some countercultural, college-student way.

Maggie hadnt said much about Glorias house. Lucy had pictured an older home, beautifully decorated and meticulously maintained. Just like Gloria herself. But it wasnt quite what she expected.

The house was a large, abstract-looking structure with clean, stark lines, constructed of wood and glass. A style very popular in the 1970s. Considered modern back then, though the years since had continually redefined that term.

Maggie parked on the drive and Lucy reached into the backseat for her knitting bag and a knapsack that held a bathing suit and towel, though she doubted shed swim. At this time of year, she was reluctant to bare too much skin. Her legs especially looked pale and doughy, she thought, like slices of Wonder Bread. When Lucy got out and headed for the stone path that led to the front door, Maggie waved her back.

I hear them in back. Well just go round the side. Follow me.

Lucy followed Maggie up the driveway and then around the far side of the house. From behind a tall white fence she could hear the sound of voices, splashing water, and music. Was that Latin jazz? Her friends always kicked back at a knitting night, but Glorias version already seemed like a real party.

Sounds like they started without us, Maggie said, pushing open the gate.