A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) Read Free

few apartments on this street.” Lucy looked over at Maggie again. “Who do you think it was?”
    “I’m not sure . . . but I have a good guess.” Maggie paused. “The Knit Kats. Who else could it be?”
    “Oh . . . right. They would do something like this.” Lucy smiled. “I never thought knitting graffiti artists would strike in our quiet little town. But you never know.”
    “Me, either. But you never know where the Knit Kats will strike next. That’s part of their mystique.”
    The Knit Kats did have a certain mystique. The group could be called fiber artists, but they displayed their work anonymously, in public places, always with a clever flair. They often poked fun at somber public works—statues or monuments. Or brought attention to wasted tax dollars, like an unsightly and unnecessary pedestrian footbridge that arched over a turnpike in Peabody. The crafty knitting circle had hit the news about two years ago, Maggie recollected, and had not been caught yet, their targets ranging from the city of Boston all the way out to Rockport, at the tip of the Cape Ann peninsula.
    Maggie pulled off the nearest cat face to check the stitching.
    “Nice work. Whoever did this is very accomplished. And creative. Looks like they took a pattern for a stuffed toy or child’s hat and just altered it here and there.”
    Lucy had pulled one off, too, and was looking it over. “Yes, it is nice work . . . Are the identities of the Knit Kats still secret?”
    “I took a look at the group’s website once, a year or so ago. They were anonymous then, and I’ve never heard that they’d come out of the closet.”
    Lucy dropped the cover over a meter again. “Perhaps the right term would be ‘bag’? As in cat is out of one?”
    “Right . . . or maybe even ‘knitting bag.’ But the Knit Kats have managed to maintain their anonymity, as far as I know. I’m sure the press has tried to unmask them. Every time they do something like this, I’ll bet some ambitious reporter tries to track them down.”
    “Speaking of reporters, here they come . . .” Lucy turned from the meters and pointed toward the end of the street.
    Maggie turned to see the same TV crew she’d spotted earlier whipping around the corner. “I saw that van a few minutes ago. They must have made a big circle through the village.”
    She hoped the van would pass. But it swung into a parking spot a few feet from where they stood. A woman in the passenger seat pointed at the knitting shop, then looked out the window, smiling and waving as she scrambled to release her seat belt.
    Maggie stared down at her boots, still holding one of the cat faces. She quickly put it back on a meter.
    “Oh dear . . . looks like the paparazzi have us cornered.Let’s make a run for the shop and lock the door.” She turned, about to do just that.
    Lucy grabbed her arm. “What do you mean? You’re the perfect person for an interview. A knitting expert who also knows about the Knit Kats? It would be great publicity for the shop. Andy Warhol once said everyone will get fifteen minutes of fame.”
    “I’d rather have some warning before my minutes. So I can plan a better outfit.”
    She shook off Lucy’s hold, determined to take cover with or without her friend. “You could be interviewed just as easily as I could. Really, I don’t mind.”
    Lucy smiled and started to follow with her dogs. But before she could reply, another voice called after them.
    “Ladies? Hello there! . . . I’m Chelsea Porter, from News Alive 25! I’d love to get your thoughts about these cat faces on the parking meters.”
    Maggie had made it to the porch, but the newswoman was right behind her. Chelsea Porter had dark-red hair. A thick wedge of bangs fell straight to her eyebrows, and a white down coat matched a supernaturally bright smile.
    A brawny guy in an orange ski jacket followed like a loyal pet—a big video camera balanced on one shoulder.
    Lucy had jumped out of their