Crewel Intentions (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mystery) Read Free Page B

I’ve become a great listener.”
    “Exactly what have you told people about your past?”
    “Not much. Only that I grew up in New Jersey. I figured no one here would know the difference between a Bronx accent and a Jersey accent.”
    “What about family?”
    “I’m an only child whose parents died several years ago, my father from a heart attack, my mother from cancer. I settled in Oakmont because I wanted a slower pace of life.”
    “And who am I? In case we bump into any of those friendly neighbors of yours.”
    “You’re my Aunt Anna. Anna Miller. You own an art gallery in Manhattan.”
    I stopped walking and turned to confront her. “You’re kidding, right?”
    Erica threw her arms up in the air. “I had to make up something, Anastasia. I couldn’t say we worked together at a magazine in New Jersey. With your background, I figured you’d know something about art. At least I didn’t make you an accountant.”
    “Have you forgotten that American Woman is sold at supermarket check-out lines all across the country? What if someone recognizes me from my editorial photo?”
    “Oh. Damn.” Her forehead creased with worry lines. “I didn’t think about that.”
    I shook my head, then continued down the sidewalk. Erica fell in step alongside me. “You better hope none of the women of Oakmont read American Woman . Or if they do, they’re not interested in the crafts section.”
    “Actually, they do a lot of crafts around here,” she mumbled.
    “Great.”
    A few blocks later we arrived at the outdoor market. About three dozen vendor tables set up around the perimeter of the parking lot sold everything from locally grown produce to canned goods to freshly baked pies. Knickknacks and doodads, most likely scavenged from attics and basements, covered about a third of the tables. Of those selling handcrafts, I spied one table of handmade American Girl and Barbie doll clothes, another with personalized pet accessories, and a third with crocheted toilet tissue covers.
    We wandered along the aisles, searching for anything embroidered. Finally at one table covered with an assortment of junk, I spied a chicken-scratch-embellished gingham hand towel and several knitted dishrags.
    “May I help you find something?” A rotund woman with tight bleached pin curlsand a ruddy complexion nearly pounced across the table in her eagerness to part me from my money.
    “I collect fabrics embroidered with roses. Do you have any?”
    She grabbed a set of salt and pepper shakers from the table and thrust them at me. “How about these? They have roses on them.”
    “No, thanks. I’m only interested in embroidery.”
    “This here’s red like roses,” she said, grabbing the gingham hand towel.”
    Her face pleaded with me to buy something. I caved. “How much?”
    “A dollar?”
    I reached for my wallet. Anastasia to the rescue. When I handed her the bill, she seemed relieved I didn’t want to haggle her down and expect change.
    “That was nice of you,” said Erica who had hovered in the background during the transaction.
    “What’s the unemployment rate around here?”
    “High.”
    “Not surprising.” I didn’t see any other tables with embroidery, so we decided to walk over to the used furniture shop.
    As we left the school parking lot and headed down the sidewalk, a tall, gawky man wearing a Batman T-shirtapproached us from the opposite direction.

 
     
     
     
    THREE
     
    When the man lifted his head and spied Erica, his face lit up like a lovesick puppy. His skin flushed pink from his neck to the tips of his ears. He stopped in front of us and tipped the brim of his Pittsburgh Steelers cap. “H…he…hello, M…m…miss M…m…miller.”
    “Hello, Eldon.” Erica turned to me. “This is my Aunt Anna. She’s here for a short visit.”
    Eldon extended both his hands, clasping mine in a limp, sweaty handshake. “M…m…ma’am.”
    “Nice to meet you, Eldon.”
    “Eldon and I work together,” said