Read Online Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_04 by Unraveled Sleeve - Free Book Online Page A

teacher, I remembered Kaye lives in Duluth and was hoping it would be her.” The literature had announced a class but, hoping to stir up interest, said the nature of the class and its teacher would be revealed at the stitch-in.
    â€œSee? You were hoping she’d be here, and so you dreamed she was. And because you’ve been having bad dreams, you dreamed she was murdered.”
    Betsy sighed and closed the magazine. “Now I do feel like an idiot. Poor Mr. Owen, what he must have thought of us! I’m sorry, Jill, dragging you into this—but it seemed so real!”
    â€œI’m sure it did. Well, don’t worry about it. I’m going back to sleep. You?”
    â€œYes, all of a sudden I’m tired.”
    And this time, despite her concerns, despite the naps, despite a fear of nightmares, she’d barely closed her eyes before she was asleep.
    But no matter how many times she fled up the stairs, she always found herself in the lobby. James was behind the counter, his friendly eyes gone cold and his smile evil. Betsy would make some feeble excuse and flee up the stairs, only to step back into the lobby at the top. She knew she’d been going up these stairs for a while. And she knew that one of these times he was going to bring out a great big knife and stab her with it.
    But there was nothing else she could do but run despairingly up the stairs.
    Here she was again—and there was James, and thistime he had a Crocodile Dundee knife in his hand. He put it crosswise in his mouth, like a pirate, so he could use both hands to climb over the counter. She turned toward the stairs. But her legs were moving slowly, as if mired in molasses.
    She yelled and struggled, but he was beside her, saying her name.
    He grabbed her by the arm, she struggled to pull free—and someone had taken her by the shoulder and was saying her name.
    â€œNo! Help, no, leggo!” Betsy said, or shouted.
    â€œBetsy, Betsy, wake up, wake up!”
    Jill’s voice.
    It was all right, it was Jill.
    â€œOh! Oh, my goodness, wow! Gosh, what a nightmare! Thank you, Jill!” Betsy sat up. Her hands were trembling, her heart was racing. “I thought . . . I thought James was going to get me that time.”
    â€œJames?”
    â€œYes, he was behind the counter in the lobby, and the lobby was at the top of the stairs, or the bottom, it didn’t seem to matter.”
    â€œI see.” Jill’s tone was very dry.
    Betsy shook her head. “Well, I guess you had to be there.” She lay back down. “Whew!” she said. Then, “Sorry about that. Was I very loud?”
    â€œMore thrashing than noisy. You mentioned stairs, so I guess that’s what it was, climbing stairs.”
    â€œYes, lots and lots of stairs, but none of them got me away.”
    â€œThat’s the way it is, sometimes,” Jill said. In a firm tone Betsy thought of as her “cop voice,” Jill said, “But now you’ll go back to sleep and dream only slow, quiet, pleasant dreams.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” she said obediently—and to hersurprise, she not only went right back to sleep, she slept the rest of the night in peace.
    She was wakened the next morning by a pleasant alto rendition of “Let the Punishment Fit the Crime.” She thought for a moment she was in her own bedroom, listening to KSJN’s zany Morning Show, then realized the tuner wasn’t a little off station. The hiss was the rush of a shower.
    No need to drag herself out of bed to get down to the shop. Today she would sit among stitchers and get some real work done.
    The thought startled Betsy. She hadn’t felt her growing interest in needlework was anything other than an honest attempt to learn enough to be an intelligent help to her customers. She had inherited the shop. At first, she kept it open because there were customers waiting to give her money for things already in the shop, and