see a mysterious package with her name on it.
Betsy finished tying the rope to the hook and came down the ladder slowly. “I don’t know what you’ll think of this, but Hailey had been in the process of dyeing some spun yarn for you. I brought it back with me after I visited her house, and it’s waiting for you to decide if you still want it.”
Irene nodded several times briskly. “Of course I want it! I can think of my piece as a tribute to her—in addition to it being a tribute to progress in the field of fibers. New fibers! New blends! What colors did she finish for me?”
Betsy reached under the checkout desk and came up with a cardboard box. “Here, take a look.”
Irene peered in. “Oh my, this is very nice!” She lifted out a skein of brown yarn. “See how it’s flecked? That’s because of the two kinds of fiber, they take dye differently.” She held the skein up a little too close to Betsy’s face, and snatched it back again before Betsy could change focus. “Marvelous!” She dropped the skein on the desk and reached for the indigo one. “
Such
a pretty color!”
Godwin came to the desk and picked up the brown skein. “Say, it is a mix of light and dark,” he said.
The door sounded its two notes, and he turned to see who was coming in.
Betsy looked around Irene’s shoulder but didn’t recognize the new customer. She was a handsome woman, about twenty-five, with short blond hair, very light blue eyes, and an athletic build. There was a pugnacious air about her.
Uh-oh
, thought Betsy,
a dissatisfied customer.
She braced herself for an outburst.
“Which one of you is Betsy Devonshire?” the woman demanded.
Irene, startled, dropped the skein she was looking at back into the box, and turned to stare.
“I am,” said Betsy. “How may I help you?”
“By keeping your nose out of what’s none of your business!”
“I beg your pardon?”
The woman walked to the desk. Her fists were clenched and her teeth were showing in a snarl. She didn’t have a Crewel World bag with her; this was not someone returning an unsatisfactory item. “You know what I mean! Pretending to be a detective! Snooping around, treating people like criminals! How
dare
you!” The woman slammed a fist on the desk.
Irene made a sound like a whimper and scurried over to hide behind a spinner rack, then peered around it, her dark eyes enormous in her white face. Godwin took a giant step to one side, turned, and picked up a sturdy yardstick that was on the library table. He assumed a determined air.
“Who are you?” asked Betsy.
“You know who I am!”
“No, ma’m, I don’t.” Betsy was amazed to find there was no quiver in her voice. Her stomach was twisting itself into a knot, and her heart was pounding. The fury on the woman’s face was terrifying.
“Don’t stand there lying to me!” Again the fist slammed onto the desk.
“I know you,” said Irene in a quiet but carrying voice.
“You stay out of this!” shouted the woman, lunging at the spinner rack, which fell toward Irene. She got out of the way barely in time.
Then the door sounded its two notes again, and suddenly Jill was in the shop, looking every inch the cop she used to be. “What’s going on here?” she said.
“Ask them!” said the woman, brushing past Jill on her way out the door.
“Wow,” said Godwin into the silence following her exit. “Just wow.”
“Who was that?” asked Jill.
“She almost knocked me down,” whimpered Irene when Betsy and Godwin looked toward her.
“Are you all right?” asked Betsy.
“You said you know who she was,” prompted Godwin.
“That was Joanne McMurphy,” said Irene. “She has a terrible temper.”
“You can say that again,” said Godwin. “Wow.”
Ten
I T was nearly closing time, the end of a busy Friday. Betsy, glad she had worn her red pantsuit, was up the stepladder again, hanging two new entries in the template contest. Godwin was holding the ladder steady.
“I
Betsy finished tying the rope to the hook and came down the ladder slowly. “I don’t know what you’ll think of this, but Hailey had been in the process of dyeing some spun yarn for you. I brought it back with me after I visited her house, and it’s waiting for you to decide if you still want it.”
Irene nodded several times briskly. “Of course I want it! I can think of my piece as a tribute to her—in addition to it being a tribute to progress in the field of fibers. New fibers! New blends! What colors did she finish for me?”
Betsy reached under the checkout desk and came up with a cardboard box. “Here, take a look.”
Irene peered in. “Oh my, this is very nice!” She lifted out a skein of brown yarn. “See how it’s flecked? That’s because of the two kinds of fiber, they take dye differently.” She held the skein up a little too close to Betsy’s face, and snatched it back again before Betsy could change focus. “Marvelous!” She dropped the skein on the desk and reached for the indigo one. “
Such
a pretty color!”
Godwin came to the desk and picked up the brown skein. “Say, it is a mix of light and dark,” he said.
The door sounded its two notes, and he turned to see who was coming in.
Betsy looked around Irene’s shoulder but didn’t recognize the new customer. She was a handsome woman, about twenty-five, with short blond hair, very light blue eyes, and an athletic build. There was a pugnacious air about her.
Uh-oh
, thought Betsy,
a dissatisfied customer.
She braced herself for an outburst.
“Which one of you is Betsy Devonshire?” the woman demanded.
Irene, startled, dropped the skein she was looking at back into the box, and turned to stare.
“I am,” said Betsy. “How may I help you?”
“By keeping your nose out of what’s none of your business!”
“I beg your pardon?”
The woman walked to the desk. Her fists were clenched and her teeth were showing in a snarl. She didn’t have a Crewel World bag with her; this was not someone returning an unsatisfactory item. “You know what I mean! Pretending to be a detective! Snooping around, treating people like criminals! How
dare
you!” The woman slammed a fist on the desk.
Irene made a sound like a whimper and scurried over to hide behind a spinner rack, then peered around it, her dark eyes enormous in her white face. Godwin took a giant step to one side, turned, and picked up a sturdy yardstick that was on the library table. He assumed a determined air.
“Who are you?” asked Betsy.
“You know who I am!”
“No, ma’m, I don’t.” Betsy was amazed to find there was no quiver in her voice. Her stomach was twisting itself into a knot, and her heart was pounding. The fury on the woman’s face was terrifying.
“Don’t stand there lying to me!” Again the fist slammed onto the desk.
“I know you,” said Irene in a quiet but carrying voice.
“You stay out of this!” shouted the woman, lunging at the spinner rack, which fell toward Irene. She got out of the way barely in time.
Then the door sounded its two notes again, and suddenly Jill was in the shop, looking every inch the cop she used to be. “What’s going on here?” she said.
“Ask them!” said the woman, brushing past Jill on her way out the door.
“Wow,” said Godwin into the silence following her exit. “Just wow.”
“Who was that?” asked Jill.
“She almost knocked me down,” whimpered Irene when Betsy and Godwin looked toward her.
“Are you all right?” asked Betsy.
“You said you know who she was,” prompted Godwin.
“That was Joanne McMurphy,” said Irene. “She has a terrible temper.”
“You can say that again,” said Godwin. “Wow.”
Ten
I T was nearly closing time, the end of a busy Friday. Betsy, glad she had worn her red pantsuit, was up the stepladder again, hanging two new entries in the template contest. Godwin was holding the ladder steady.
“I
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