Read Online Darned if You Do by Monica Ferris - Free Book Online

right and look for the sign on your right.”

Chapter Eight

    C REWEL World was the middle of three stores in an old, two-story redbrick building. On one side of it stood a used-book store, and on the other side a deli. Each had a big front window of plate glass with a narrow, diamond-paned window stretched above it. The needlework shop had a hanging wooden signboard painted with a needle pulling thread that spelled out
Crewel World
.
    Luckily, there was a parking space right in front. Valentina pulled into it, then got out of the car into the bright September sunlight. She shivered a little, despite the sun, because there was a sharp chill in the air and her Windbreaker was inadequate against it. The previous day had been overcast, but at least it had been warm. “Almost feels like frost,” she murmured to herself. Back home in Muncie the leaves were still on the trees and not even starting to turn. Here in Minnesota the season was far advanced.
    She remembered what her cousin had scrawled on one of his rare Christmas cards:
All thet is tween hear an the North Pole is a bob wire fence ha ha ha.
    Tommy never was good at spelling or grammar. On the other hand, his comment had been clever. And—she thrust her bare hands into her pockets—it had been right on the mark, too.
    She stopped to look in the big front window of Crewel World, which had finished needlework projects displayed all over it. The theme seemed to be Christmas. Ugh, Christmas already? It wasn’t even Halloween yet. There were samples, big and small, of needlework, but mostly big and mostly needlepoint. Valentina was not big on needlepoint, because the canvases it required were so expensive. Besides, for rich detail, she thought counted cross-stitch was the way to go. Like the piece in the window, right at eye level, which depicted a country cabin deep in snow with three deer looking at a Christmas tree in the cabin’s window. The stitcher had used some sparkly white floss for the snow.
    She noticed that there were no knitting models. Valentina loved to knit. Her house back in Muncie had knitted afghans on chairs and on the couch and bed. She had sweaters and mittens and shawls and table runners in wool and cotton and acrylic and blends, all of them knit by herself.
    But wait a minute: Inside the shop she could see a counter, and on top of it sat a gorgeous fuzzy shawl and a sweater knit in a complex pattern.
    Valentina drew a happy breath and went in.
    As the door opened, she heard a silly tune on what sounded like a toy organ. Startled, she paused to listen. Wasn’t that a song she recognized? She rather thought so but couldn’t identify it.
    From behind a spinner rack holding white cardboard squares of Very Velvet floss came a young man with blond hair and wide, innocent-looking blue eyes. He was dressed all in a medium brown, from his shoes to the thin, faintly shimmering sweater he wore. Silk? wondered Valentina.
    â€œMay I help you?” he asked.
    â€œI’m looking for Betsy—uh—” Rats, she’d forgotten her last name.
    â€œDevonshire?”
    â€œYes, that’s right.”
    â€œShe went to the post office to pick up a delivery. She should be back in a few minutes. Would you care to wait?”
    â€œYes, thanks.” Casting about for something to say, Valentina asked, “Are you her husband?”
    The young man’s mouth fell open in surprised laughter. “Oh, my
dear
—!”
    Enlightened, Valentina laughed back. “I guess not,” she said.
    â€œNot that she isn’t a perfectly wonderful woman,” the man hastened to say. “But . . .
que sera, sera
. Meanwhile, is there something I can show you?”
    â€œI’m in town on . . . on business, I guess you’d say, but it’s turning out I’ll be doing a certain amount of sitting and waiting, and I need something to do with my hands . . .” She gestured