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  Die in the Wool

  A Knitty Kitty Cozy Mystery - Book One

  Katherine Hayton

  Copyright © 2019 Katherine Hayton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Also by Katherine Hayton

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Tangle! What have you got yourself into this time?” Tash Mallory put her hands on her hips and laughed as the black kitten trotted towards her, a long trail of green wool spinning out behind him. “If Auntie Fran sees you like this, she’ll send you straight back to the shelter.”

  The kitten turned, following Tash’s gaze, and jumped in fright at the unfurled strand. He pounced on the wool and beat it repeatedly with his paw, then sat back, apparently satisfied it was now dead.

  Tash picked him up and tickled the splash of white on his bib, then unhooked the end of the wool from his claws. After a weekend spent in Auntie Fran’s company, she’d be rambunctious, too. She stored Tangle in an empty cubbyhole while winding up the yarn until she found its source.

  The small kitten was a recent addition to the store, and Tash adored him. The most astonishing thing was he had thawed out Fran’s frozen heart and convince her to adopt him.

  “Well, this is going in the seconds’ bin, thanks to you,” Tash told the kitten who blinked at her in astonishment. Who, me?

  “Natasha!” an angry voice called from the back room and she closed her eyes for a second before heading that way.

  “Yes, Auntie Fran?”

  “Did you sign for this delivery?” The woman shook the slip in her hand while her cheeks turned red with fury.

  “You can see I did.” Tash took a step back, not wanting to stay too close. Despite the name, Auntie Fran was no relation to her, although she’d been her boss for the last twenty years. It was just a title she insisted everyone call her.

  Perhaps having only one blood relative of her own made her crave companionship, though to see her now it didn’t seem likely.

  “They botched this entire order. Look at this wool!” Fran held it up in one arthritic hand, shaking it wildly. “This is green. I ordered lichen. And there’s an entire skein missing, not to mention this one’s label is torn.”

  Tash shot a quick glance back at Tangle who feigned innocence. “The numbers on the labels match the delivery slip. Perhaps if you check the colour again out front, it’ll look better.”

  The light in the back room could only enter through one small window above the sink. It was dim at the best of times and right now, edging into early afternoon, it was just plain dark.

  “Next you’ll be telling me I need my eyes checked. Call the store and get them to send the right ones or the bill for this will come out of your wages.”

  “You can’t do that,” Tash said, but under her breath so Auntie Fran wouldn’t hear her. The woman’s eyes probably needed testing along with her ears. At the grand age of seventy-three, the woman was mighty fit, but even she couldn’t withstand the ravages of time.

  “I’ll give them a call,” Tash said in a louder voice, just as the bell on the entrance door jingled.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do it,” Auntie Fran said, shooting Tash a glance filled with venom. “You sort out the customers in the store like you’re paid to do.”

  Tash walked away, biting her tongue. She’d done that so often during her employ, it was amazing she didn’t have a callus.

  “Come on, Tangle. You’re meant to be doing meet and greet.” Tash picked up the kitten and took him across to their latest customer. May Harraday was a lovely woman: fair, fat, and over forty. Since she only had a few years on Tash, they’d always got on well.

  Not today.

  “Don’t try to bribe me with a kitten cuddle,” May said, raising a hand. “I’m not in the mood.” Her normally pale skin was blotched with crimson and her blue eyes were red-rimmed. She tugged on the bottom of her lime green and hot pink cardigan, pulling the ribbing out of shape.

  “What’s happened?” Tash said, spotting a cascade of tears about to flow—obviously not the first set of the day.

  “My felting club is ruined!” May said, waving her hands in frustration as her emotions got the better of her. “The order turned up this morning at the clubhouse and there’s not a single hank dyed the right shade.”

  “Take a seat,” Tash ordered, dropping Tangle into the protesting woman’s arms as she manoeuvred her to a chair. “Where’s the order?”

  “It’s… in… the… car,” the woman choked out between sobs. “I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t cry and here I am, blubbing all over the place.”

  Tash handed her a box of tissues and tickled Tangle under the chin before heading out the door. It was easy to spot May’s car—the vehicle was painted a bright metallic purple that stood out even on the dullest of days.

  “Oh, goodness,” Tash said, pulling at the neck of her blouse as she stared into the back seat. A flap of the box stood up, allowing a glimpse into the contents. Shades of grey, beige, and cream were nestled inside. The colours were so far from May’s usual picks, they were a travesty. If something so dull deserved such a vibrant word.

  “Let’s get to the bottom of this,” she announced inside, plonking the box on the counter and fishing for the packing slip. Tangle thought it was a new game, and try to jump in and ‘help,’ but May rescued him.

  “Hm.”

  May’s expression crumpled. “It’s me, isn’t it? I can’t do anything right these days. The felting club’s going to meet later tonight and instead of all our gorgeous bright colours, I’m giving them drib and drab.”

  “But you didn’t fill out the order form, did you?” Tash held a finger to stop the new wave of tears and grabbed the binder from beneath the counter. Her stomach dropped as she saw the chicken scribbles on the document.

  Usually, Tash would fill in the online order form and print out a copy for their records. But sometimes, Auntie Fran insisted on completing things the old-fashioned way, painstakingly filling out the forms by hand. Even worse, she’d boot up the fax machine and curse at it until the message was sent.

  Tash loved doing things the traditional way. She knitted, crocheted, and sewed her clothes by hand, eschewing the fast fashion that much of the modern world embraced. Occasionally, she’d even bake bread like her nan had; ripening a sourdough starter for a fortnight before she syphoned some off to bake a sour and heady loaf.

  But artisanal slowness differed from ineffectiveness. An order was an order was an order. To take an hour longer to send one in to be processed made no sense to Tash. If Auntie Fran had been flummoxed by technology, it would be one thing, but the lady spent half her nights watching movies she’d illegally downloaded online.

  “You’re not the one responsible,” she said to May, pulling the form out of the binder for easier viewing. “The sample colours on the order are completely different.”

  It was a requirement Fran insisted upon that every order had a sample of the wool attached. The store couldn’t keep bulk q
uantities on hand, but her mouth would purse at the thought of buying something without a physical specimen to examine beforehand. It was a pain, but it had saved Tash’s bacon enough times over the years that she didn’t quibble.

  Judging by the riotous colours attached to May’s order form, something had gone very wrong downstream.

  “If you keep Tangle occupied, I’ll bring up the website and see what’s happening.” Tash tapped away at the computer, glad to see May’s shoulders relaxing—a combination between her skills and the superior charms of Tangle. “I can’t see the reference numbers under this brand at all.”

  May giggled as Tangle attempted to disappear into her ample cleavage. “It should be Korowai, same as always.”

  The brand was popular in New Zealand, named after the spectacular and intricate feather cloaks that took thousands of hours to produce. Starting in feathers, the company had since branched out to include a range of other handicrafts, including wool.

  “Let me type the numbers in and we’ll see what pops up,” Tash said, frowning at the screen. The colours it showed were the same as the form. If the stuff-up had happened at the supplier’s end, it would make everything much easier for this one incident, though it would leave a lingering doubt for future orders.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “What is it?” May pushed at Tash’s shoulder. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “We’ve placed the order under the wrong brand name. Another company uses the same numbers for different colour coding.” Tash put her hands to her face, dragging the skin down. “What a horror show. I can reorder the correct colours today, but they won’t be delivered for another week.”

  May’s collapsing face told her everything she needed to know about that option.

  “Let me check out back. We have the facility to dye some ourselves. At least, enough to tide your felting group over. If you have something to work on today, everything will be sorted out by next week.”

  Just before she hustled out the back, Tash put her hand on May’s. “I’m so sorry for our mistake.”

  “What mistake?” Auntie Fran asked, sneaking up behind Tash so she jumped. “What are you two up to out here?”

  “The wrong brand name went on an order form.” Tash quickly slid the document back into the binder and popped it underneath the counter. Her boss might irritate the heck out of her, but that was no reason to embarrass her in front of a customer. “I’m just going to see if we have the right colours to fast track some replacements.”

  “Come here, Tangle,” Auntie Fran said, eyeing May as though she was the enemy instead of a valuable client. “Come to Mumma.”

  The shelf of dyes was halfway along the back room wall, opposite the sink. Tash pulled out a half-dozen jars from memory, lining them up like colourful soldiers on the bench before pulling out the drawer of natural merino wool. She had topped up the slivers the week before with a day spent on the drum carder. As she gently separated out a few, her fingertips relished the smooth feel of the fibres.

  “Hey, Tangle,” Tash called out as the kitten padded into the room to join her. “I’d love to spend time with you, but you don’t want to be around here while I’m dyeing this bunch.” She gave him a bop on the nose. “You might end up coloured pink, yellow, and lime green instead of black.”

  Although the dyes they used were natural colours, it didn’t make them safe. Nature reserved bright reds and yellows for the most poisonous things in its arsenal. Even after processing, Tash wouldn’t trust them around a kitten so small and so likely to stick everything into his mouth.

  Raised voices tore her from the back room into the shop. Auntie Fran’s face was mottled crimson and the cords on her neck stood out as she yelled, “You told me the wrong company! I’m not paying for your mistake. If you don’t want these felting supplies, you can leave them here, but I’m not refunding you one red cent!”

  May’s eyes were filled with tears again, this time from anger instead of regret. “I’ve been a customer here for decades. I deserve a bit of respect.”

  “Hey!” Tash said, repeating her words as a shout to be heard above the two women. “What’s going on?” She turned to Auntie Fran. “There’s been a mistake on the order and I’m sorting it.”

  “There’s no mistake. I wrote the brand name she wanted.”

  So much for trying to spare the woman’s dignity. Tash pulled out the binder and opened it to the right page. “You didn’t. The hanks in the box are clearly not the colours she pulled from the samples.”

  “You’ve switched them around to make a fool of me.” Auntie Fran waggled her finger in Tash’s face, so apoplectic with rage that her eyes bulged. “It’s not the first time but I can assure you, it’s the last. Get out of my store. You’re fired!”

  Chapter Two

  You can’t fire me!

  Fine. I never wanted this job in the first place!

  If you think you can handle this business without me, go ahead!

  You can take this job and shove it!

  Those were just a few of the phrases that Tash didn’t say on the spot. Instead, she dreamt of them on the short drive home, the words bubbling up like lava until she shouted at the road.

  As she walked onto her front porch, tears prickled at the back of her eyes. “No. You’re not going to cry. Not over that harridan.”

  Despite the admonition, Tash’s nose began to run, and her throat grew tighter. Getting within stepping distance of safety had opened the floodgates.

  “Hey, neighbour. What’d you doing home so early?”

  Tash turned and forced a chunk of emotion down to smile at her next-door neighbour, Aura Overton. The bubbly woman had a headful of tightly wound ginger curls and the freckled skin to match.

  Despite being the same age as Tash, Aura had inherited a large stock portfolio from her father—something she promptly liquified just before the credit crunch dropped the market from a great height. With her modest spending habits, she’d cheerfully announced to Tash one day she could live off the proceeds until age two hundred or thereabouts.

  Aura wore a pair of denim dungarees covered with patches over a hot pink T-shirt, looking like Orphan Annie all grown up. Her arms draped over the short wooden fence that separated their two properties with her chin resting on top.

  Faced with such a friendly smile, all excuses died on Tash’s lips. “I got fired,” she said, adding a shrug as if the event was of no consequence.

  “Rubbish.”

  Tash’s lower lip wobbled until she bit down on it. “It’s true, I’m afraid. Unemployed and soon-to-be homeless.”

  “But Frances can’t just fire you like that! What happened?” As Tash opened her mouth, Aura held up her hand. “No, not like this. I’m coming over.”

  A few minutes later she knocked on the door, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a packet of chocolate biscuits in the other. “I have more of both in the pantry if we need them. Now, sit down and tell me everything.”

  It didn’t take long. By the time she finished recounting the story, Tash had moved on from tears to anger. “And you’re right. I’ve worked there for twenty years, give or take. I’m owed at least two written warnings before she can dismiss me.”

  “From what you said, you’re owed a lot more than that. Throwing a wobbly in front of a customer is bad but canning you as well is disgraceful.” Aura shook her head and gripped her wine glass tighter. “And all over a mistake she made. You should get onto the employment relations authority immediately and file a personal grievance.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” The fire in Tash’s belly dimmed down at the thought. Getting another job in a town as small as Patiti would be hard enough. Add a reputation as a troublemaker on top of that, and it would nigh on impossible.

  “At least give an employment helpline a call to find out your rights.” Aura fished her mobile out of the side of her bra and opened a browser. “Here’s a freephone number.”

  “Right now?” Tash polis
hed off her glass of wine. “I suppose it can’t do any harm.”

  “Yeah. She can’t fire you twice.”

  Tash snorted and dialled the number onscreen. When the operator answered, and she laid out her problem, his voice turned reassuring as he went through her rights in the situation. By the time she hung up, Tash felt a million times better.

  “Well?” Aura gestured at her to spill the beans.

  “He recommended I turn up to work tomorrow, at the same time as usual, and ask for a formal notice of dismissal. Since it occurred in the heat of the moment, he thought Auntie Fran might change her mind with a night to cool down.” Tash frowned at the melting biscuit in her hand and took care of the problem by eating it. Through a mouthful, she added, “He’s sending me an email with potential conversation responses, for me to practice.”

  Aura grinned over the lip of her wine glass. “Something along the lines of, ‘you can’t just fire me for no reason, you old coot?’”

  Tash laughed, putting a hand to her mouth, so she didn’t spray out any crumbs. “Like that but hopefully politer.”

  “Well, cheers then.” Aura clinked her glass against Tash’s. “In that case, let’s celebrate your unexpected half day of freedom. Do you want to watch a soppy movie while we polish off the rest of the wine?”

  “That sounds delightful.”

  “And you can sign up for a dating profile under my watchful eye and finally get yourself a nice man.”

  Tash rolled her eyes. Despite being the grand age of thirty-nine—a number her teenage self would be appalled at reaching—she’d remained single. Not an easy feat considering the pressure her parents, then her so-called friends, had applied.