Page 15 of Christmas Mittens Murder

Chapter Seven

Even though Hayley had attended only one meeting of Helen Woodworth’s knitting circle in the past, and that was a blatant attempt to extract information from the members on another investigation she had so zealously embarked on, Helen appeared not the least bit nonplussed by Hayley’s sudden appearance on her doorstep on this snowy, cold Tuesday afternoon when the Crochet Mafia held their weekly meeting. In fact, Helen ushered her inside her home as if she had been expecting her.

“We’re having champagne in the living room, sort of a celebration of life for poor Esther. Why don’t you join us?”

“Thank you, Helen, that’s very kind of you,” Hayley said, following Helen down the hall to join the other surviving members of the group—Doris, Abby and Betty—who were all seated on the floor, their knitting needles clicking away on a joint project, different corners of what looked like the beginning of a large blanket.

Hayley marveled at the progress they were making. “What are you working on?”

“It’s a memorial quilt to commemorate Esther’s life. We’re going to include a bunch of different types of clothing and fabric and some of her favorite designs she knitted during her time in the Crochet Mafia,” Helen explained. “When we’re finished, we’re hoping the YWCA will hang it on the wall in the gym for a time this spring since Esther did a lot of fundraising for them.”

“What a lovely gesture,” Hayley said as Helen poured her a glass of champagne and handed it to her. Hayley raised her glass. “To Esther.”

Helen raised her own glass as Doris, Abby and Betty set down their knitting needles and picked up their flutes of champagne to clink for the toast.

There was a beat of silence before Abby finally spoke. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

Hayley glanced at two empty champagne bottles on the coffee table in addition to the one Helen held in her hand. The ladies of the Crochet Mafia were definitely drinking away their sorrows on this somber day, which might prove useful. The more their guard came down, the more loose-lipped they might become. After all, Hayley was here to ask questions. She wanted to try to find out whether any of them knew anyone who might have had it out for Esther besides Rosana Moretti and her Happy Hooker crew, none of whom, Hayley staunchly believed, had anything to do with Esther’s murder. She had known Rosana for far too long as the devoted wife of her old boss Sal Moretti, and she knew Rosana’s heart. She might talk a good game, but deep down Rosana was a shy, docile little pussycat incapable of stepping on a spider.

“Did you bring your knitting needles, Hayley?” Doris asked.

Before she had a chance to answer, Helen jumped in. “Of course she didn’t bring her own knitting needles, Doris! She’s not here to knit or drink champagne with us!”

Hayley took another sip. “Actually, the champagne is quite lovely.”

“Then what is she doing here?” Doris asked.

Helen sighed. “Oh Lord, Doris. Where have you been, living in a cave? Haven’t you seen Hayley running around town all these years investigating local crimes? What do you think she’s doing here? She’s here to pump us for information about Esther.”

So much for subtlety steering the conversation to Esther Willey’s murder. Helen had already done that for her.

Doris shot Hayley a disapproving look. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too soon to be doing that? At least give us a day or two to properly mourn the loss of our friend.”

“Well, I for one am happy she’s here,” Abby insisted. “I want to know who took our dear friend away from us.”

Betty Dyer remained suspiciously silent, her eyes glued to her end of the quilt, which piqued Hayley’s curiosity. She was not the only one who noticed.

Helen plopped down on her couch after gulping down her champagne. “Cat got your tongue, Betty?”

Betty snapped out of her thoughts. “What?”

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Helen said, eyes narrowing.

“It’s hard to get a word in edgewise with all of you chatterboxes!” Betty snapped.

“Oh, you usually manage just fine,” Doris scoffed.

“I didn’t do it, all right? I know what you’re all thinking, but I never touched a hair on Esther’s head, so stop acting like I’m some kind of suspect!”

There was a stunned silence.

“Relax, Betty, nobody here believes you killed Esther.” Helen laughed.

Hayley, however, could not resist following up on what was just put out there. “Why would anyone have reason to think that, Betty?”

“Because it’s no secret Esther and I had our issues. I wanted to open my own Christmas shop, which I was going to call Frosty’s Treasures, and I found the perfect space to lease. But I didn’t have enough money for the down payment, so Esther and her husband, Bub—this was before he died—they agreed to co-sign the loan, which I would pay back with interest as the business got going,” Betty explained breathlessly. “But they got cold feet at the last minute and pulled out after I had already signed the lease and put down my half of the down payment using my entire life savings. Esther swore it was Bud who made the decision, but she just let it happen and didn’t fight him on it. I get it, he was her husband, I was just a friend, but I felt so betrayed. We were never the same after that.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Betty, that was years ago. And Esther was telling you the truth. It was cheapskate Bud who squashed the deal, not Esther. I was there when he came home from the bank and told her they weren’t going to help you. Esther did stand up for you and tried very hard to convince him otherwise, but the bastard just didn’t want to hear it. His mind was already made up.”

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