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The woman hadn’t aged a day in the decade-plus since Alanna had set eyes on her. Even her straight, black hair and blunt bangs hadn’t changed. It was like she and her shop existed in some kind of eternal time capsule.
“Is that Alanna Sandoval?” she asked in an accent that sounded vaguely Eastern European. “The last time I saw you, you couldn’t even see over this counter.”
“It’s been a while,” Alanna admitted. And yet, the store felt exactly the same. She marveled at the rows bursting with colorful skeins of yarn, the stacks of baskets, and displays stuffed with new pattern and instruction booklets.
Knitting was the one small luxury her mother allowed herself when Alanna was growing up. In the less bad times (there were no “good times” in those days), she remembered her mother carefully picking out one or two skeins, usually from the clearance pile.
“Come here, let me look at you,” Madam Hargrove ordered, beckoning Alanna forward. She clapped her large hands on Alanna’s shoulders and turned her left and right. “Oh, you’re so beautiful, but you know that, don’t you?” Her throaty laugh made Alanna smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too,” Alanna replied. “I should have stopped by sooner to say hello.”
Madam Hargrove released her. “Nonsense. Your mother tells us how hard you work up in L.A. You’re a very busy woman.”
Alanna looked down at the countertop. Too busy, apparently, to even say hello to the people who cared about her.
“But, I see you have found a man at last,” Madam Hargrove continued. “Very good. Very good. Your mother was losing hope. We all were.”
“We?” Sully asked innocently, though Alanna could tell he was holding in a laugh.
“The knitting club,” she explained to him. “The worst bunch of gossips you’ll ever find.”
“We do like to pass information along,” Madam Hargrove admitted.
Talk about the understatement of the century. Gossip mill was too insignificant a term for what happened every Tuesday in the shop at 6 PM. Gossip mega-corporation was more sufficient.
“So, uh, what happens now?” Alanna asked Sully. “Do I get another clue?”
He shook his head. “Look on the back of the card.”
Alanna flipped the card and noticed more writing.What is the worst gift you’ve been given?
Alanna looked to Sully in confusion. He pointed to Madam Hargrove. “Ask her the icebreaker.”
The door opened, and an elderly woman entered, an equally ancient poodle cradled in her arm.
“Madam Hargrove, do you have any merino wool in teal?”
“In a moment, Mrs. Moffat,” Madam Hargrove said to her customer, then returned her gaze to Alanna. “You were saying?”
Alanna sighed. “What’s the worst gift you’ve ever been given?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Madam Hargrove slapped a hand on the counter, causing a ball of yarn the color of daffodils to roll off the edge and hit the floor. “I shall NOT name the individual. In fact, I can barely stand to even think their name. But, one Christmas day many years ago, I received…” She heaved in a shaking breath.
“What was it?” Mrs. Moffat asked, breathlessly. The tiny woman now stood next to Sully at the counter.
“A… a…” Madam Hargrove lowered her voice. “A cross-stitch kit.”
Mrs. Moffat gasped. “NO! Who would do such a thing?”
Madam Hargrove fanned her face. “This individual who shall not be named thought I might be interested in another hobby.”
“Ouch,” Sully said.
“Is this individual still breathing?” Alanna asked.
“Oh, you’re silly,” Madam Hargrove laughed, notably avoiding the question. “I believe this is yours.” She pulled a small white envelope from behind the counter. “Now, off with you two on your adorable little adventure. Mrs. Moffat, how is that sweater for Princess coming along?”
“That’s just it!” Mrs. Moffat said, rocking her dog. “It was going so well, but then Princess vomited on it. I don’t think she liked the color. I think she might prefer a teal.”
