A Denial of Death Read Free Page A

said. "We decided it wouldn't be fair to send him into the lion's den unprepared. If Angie's really missing, then he could stumble into a dangerous story. Even if she's not missing, it could be scary. She'd be mean to him, and then he'd be too afraid to interview anyone ever again, and he'd be out of a job, and it would be our fault. None of that would be a problem for you. You're strong enough—mentally and emotionally, that is—to deal with anything Angie throws at you."
    Helen was curious now. "Who is this Angie?"
    "Angie Decker," Betty said. "She's been coming to our Charity Caps Days for at least a year. She makes preemie caps mostly, and they're exquisite. Perfectly even little stitches in the softest yarn you've ever touched."
    "Pretty pastel colors, too," Josie said. "Newborns, especially preemies, can't handle bright colors, you know."
    "I've heard that." Helen's younger niece, Laura, couldn't talk about much other than babies these days, while she was trying to get pregnant. "But why do you think she's been murdered?"
    "She hadn't missed a single Charity Caps Day in at least a year," Betty said. "Then, three weeks ago, she didn't show up, and she didn't call or text or email or anything. Not then or the next week. We were hoping she'd be here today, but since she isn't, well, it's worrisome."
    "Maybe she's just been busy," Helen said, thinking of her friends' propensity for fabricating wildly improbable stories out of the least little thing. "Or out of town."
    "That's what Detective Peterson said," Betty said irritably. "We're not fools, and you know it. Something's wrong, and we're worried about Angie."
    Even if the two women did tend to exaggerate events, they always had some evidence for their stories. "Just the facts, ladies. Is there anything other than her absence that's suspicious?"
    Josie nodded. "Her husband. He's been bringing us a couple preemie caps every week, claiming she made them but had other commitments that kept her from coming herself."
    "He sounds like a nice man."
    "He's a beautiful hunk of a man," Josie said. "But the pretty ones are always guilty of something."
    "You don't understand." Betty picked up the donation basket that held the tiny finished caps intended for preemies instead of adults and rummaged through it until she found the two examples she wanted, one in hot pink and the other in lime green. "He brought these today."
    Helen didn't see what the women found so odd. "So?"
    "So there's no way Angie made these," Betty said.
    Josie explained, "For one thing, they're bright colors, not her usual pastels. And for another, the knitting tension is uneven. It looks like a beginner's work." She glanced down at the remains of the purple cap Helen had spent two weeks creating and that had, in a matter of minutes, been almost completely unraveled. "Sorry. No offense intended. Everyone has to start somewhere. But Angie wasn't a beginner."
    Helen tried to see what the women were saying about the craftswomanship, but the cap looked perfectly fine to her. "Are you sure she didn't make these? Perhaps she just had a bad day or something?"
    Betty shook her head. "Even on a bad day, Angie's work would never look like this. It's hard to explain, but to a serious knitter, a person's stitching is as unique as a fingerprint. I could pick Angie's work out of a line-up if I had to. And this isn't it."
    "Who made it, then?"
    "I can't tell you that," Betty said. "All I know is it's not one of the regulars here."
    "I still can't believe Ralph would hurt Angie," Josie said. "He's too pretty for his own good, but he always seemed like a good guy. Way too nice for Angie. I sometimes think she makes the preemie caps as penance for all the mean things she does. Sort of like one stitch for every nasty thought she has, and a whole row for every time she yells at someone. Except she wouldn't have enough time in her day to do that much knitting."
    "She is a prissy, bossy little thing," Betty said. "And she's downright