Louie’s Knit Shop: A Permelia O’Brien Mystery

By ARLENE SACHITANO

Permelia O'Brien happily opens the door to the new Portland yarn store where she's scheduled to teach a beginner's knitting class. The last thing she expects to find is a dead body. Yet, here is a man, flat on this back with a knitting needle sticking from his ear. Her students are due to arrive any minute and the store owner is away on a buying trip in Seattle. Who is this man and why is he lying there dead on Permelia's class day? No one knows, but Permelia is determined to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781470927172

Book preview

Chapter One

P

ermelia woke up in the night; at seventy years old, it was a regular occurrence. Her job answering the night phones at the county morgue in return for reduced rent on her attic apartment meant that several times more per month, her phone rang, causing her to get up again. This awakening was different. It was three in the morning, and someone was leaning on her downstairs door buzzer. She got out of bed, slid into her wool slippers and robe, grabbed her cell phone, and shuffled out of her bedroom and into the office area, where a small video screen allowed her to see and hear whoever was on the doorstep of her downstairs porch.

She squinted at the image of a person slumped against the door, a black hijab askew on her head, revealing familiar dreadlocks. She pressed the talk button on the screen.

Hello?

She let up the button and listened.

Permelia, the voice croaked. Get Doctor Grace, the person said and slid down the door.

Wilma? She whispered under her breath as she hurried down the stairs, dialing Dr. Grace with her cellphone as she went.

Harold, she said when he answered.

What have we got?

Wilma is collapsed on my doorstep. She said to call you. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but she’s in a bad way.

I’ll be right there, he said and hung up. Permelia opened the door wide.

Wilma, what’s wrong? Can you stand?

Wilma’s breathing was raspy. She struggled to stand and could barely do it with Permelia’s help.

Can you make it up the stairs? Here, she helped her friend locate the banister. If you can steady yourself on that side, I can lift you on this side, she put Wilma’s left arm over her shoulder and lifted.

Wilma gasped as she tried to take a step. Permelia looked down and saw blood pooling around Wilma’s right leg.

Okay, she said. Sit down on the step facing the door. Wilma did her best to position herself and, with Permelia’s help, finally was secure on the step. Now, I’m going to put my hands under your armpits. If you can use your hands to push yourself up, do it. I’m going to count to three and then lift you to the next step. Help however you can.

Permelia counted and then lifted. Wilma was able to push herself, and in this way, they slowly made their way to the top of the stairs. Permelia shoved her door open wide, dragged Wilma into the entrance, and stretched her out as gently as possible. Wilma’s face was gray, and her breathing was in gasps. Fenton, Permelia’s Bengal cat, came out of her bedroom, sniffed Wilma, then ran to the living room and climbed onto his wooden cat tree.

I’ll let you lie on the floor until Dr. Grace gets here. I’m afraid I might injure you further if I try to get you onto the bed.

Wilma smiled weakly.

Permelia dragged her further into the hallway and gently lifted Wilma’s long coat away from her legs. She swallowed her gasp at the sight of the torn flesh on Wilma’s leg.

She hated to leave Wilma’s side, but she needed supplies. She got a flannel sheet, a summer blanket, and a stack of clean towels and set them beside Wilma. She covered her with the sheet and blanket and had collected bottled water from her pantry when Dr. Grace arrived.  He must have run all the lights between his house and the morgue to come so quickly. He kneeled beside Wilma and put his fingers on her wrist, checking on her pulse.

What happened? He asked Wilma in a loud voice.

Wilma turned her head toward him.

Gunshot, she croaked and then passed out.

She should be in a hospital, he told Permelia.

Wilma roused briefly.

No hospital, she whispered. Promise me, no hospital. Her eyes closed again, and Permelia wasn’t sure if she was unconscious or didn’t have the energy to hold her eyelids open. Dr. Grace sighed and opened the leather medical bag he’d brought in with him. He took a syringe from its sterile wrapper and loaded it with a clear liquid.

I’d say this will pinch, but as painful as this leg must be, I doubt you’ll feel it.

Permelia watched as he injected the liquid into several locations around the jagged wound in Wilma’s leg.

I wish she’d let us go to a hospital. She needs IV liquids.

Anyone who lives behind a fortress wall as she does probably has a good reason not to want to be in a hospital, Permelia observed. Do you need a bowl to put waste in?

Harold lifted her long black tunic to her waist and began cutting what remained of her black tights from around her wound.

That would be helpful, he said without looking up. Probably should line it with a plastic bag.

Permelia did as instructed and set the bowl on the opposite side of Wilma from where Dr. Grace was working, pulling shreds of her tights from her leg with a pair of curved tweezers.  Dr. Grace set his tweezers down.

Can you slide a couple of those towels under her leg when I lift it?

Permelia placed the towels and then handed over water bottles one at a time. Dr. Grace squirted something from a small bottle into the open flesh, rinsed the wound, and eventually began stitching.

This is going to take a while. Maybe you could make some coffee?

She went to the kitchen and filled the coffee maker, then took a couple of scones from the container on the counter and put them on a plate and into the microwave.

Permelia set Harold’s coffee cup on the floor beside him. He took off one of his gloves and picked the cup up.

You’re pretty good at this for a guy who works on dead bodies, she observed.

He smiled.

I did go to medical school, you know.

Her face turned pink. Of course, Harold had gone to medical school; what was she thinking?

I worked as a surgeon for several years before turning to the dead.

He put his cup down, slid on a fresh glove, and resumed stitching.

I was in the army after medical school and, as I said, did surgery for a few years. Eventually, the army sent me on a mission to help identify bodies right after the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia. The rest, as they say, is history. I never went back to working on the living.

Wilma squirmed.

That’s not very reassuring, she mumbled without opening her eyes.

It would be more reassuring if you let me call an ambulance.

No hospital. Trust me. It’s not an option. Just keep stitching.

Whatever you say, Dr. Grace said with a shake of his head. Lucky for you, I was a good surgeon, and it’s like riding a bike, as they say.

Harold made a knot and cut his suture thread before starting in another area.

Permelia, do you have any of those bendy straws?

I do, she answered.

Could you put one in a water bottle and help Wilma drink some? She needs IV fluids, but this will be better than nothing.

Permelia did as instructed and then knelt beside Wilma and helped her sip some of the water. Harold finally looked up from his stitching. He’d been at it for nearly an hour.

Is your guest room available?

It is. I just need to take the fancy pillows off it and put the sleeping pillows in place.

Do that. I’ll be done in a minute. And lay some towels out where Wilma’s leg will be.

I can go home, Wilma groaned.

Dr. Grace chuckled.

You’re not going any further than Permelia’s bedroom and bathroom. You’ll realize that when you try to put weight on your leg. If I’d had proper supplies, I could have put a pain block in your leg, and you wouldn’t feel anything until tomorrow, but under the circumstances, I’m afraid we’ll be lucky if you don’t pass out when we stand you up.

I’m tougher than that, Wilma mumbled.

Harold patted her arm.

I’m sure you are, but we're not going to risk having you go down in the middle of the street.

Wilma didn’t say anything, but Permelia could tell she knew he was right.

Permelia made a fresh pot of tea and retreated to the living room with the tea and scones.  They’d gotten Wilma to the guest room bed with the aid of the wheeled chair in the office area.  Dr. Grace had given her some pain medication, and she fell asleep.

Harold sat in one of Permelia’s two easy chairs after helping himself to a cup of tea and a scone.

If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here and watch her. I know she doesn’t want to go to the hospital, and she’s stable right now, but if that should change, I’m calling an ambulance whether she wants it or not. Besides, Harold added with a glance at his watch. It’s only two hours until time to go downstairs and start the day. We’ve got showers and clean scrubs, so I don’t need to go home.

Permelia sipped her tea, and Fenton jumped down into her lap.

What do you think happened?

Harold took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I think we both know Wilma is a complicated person. That walled compound is way beyond your typical agoraphobic setup. Besides, she doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who is afraid of anyone or anything. Given that, she leads a secret life of some sort. When we had that trouble a few weeks back, she proved more than competent with the computer.

When I wake up at night, I usually drink water at the kitchen sink and glance out my kitchen window. Several times, I’ve seen her come out of her gate, dressed in black, and take off running.

That fits with her muscle tone. She’s a very fit woman.

I wonder if she’s Muslim or if she was using the outfit to conceal her identity?

Harold took a bite of his scone and thought for a moment.

It could be both.

Judging from some of the artwork in her parlor, I would have guessed she was Catholic.  I guess she could just be a collector of icons.

Do you have time to pick up a prescription for her later? She needs to be on antibiotics. I can call it in, but we have a couple of clients in the refrigerator downstairs who need attention, or I would do it myself.

Permelia gave him a tired smile. The morgue workers' euphemisms to refer to the dead bodies they autopsied amused her. She knew they were being respectful, but it still amused her.

I’d be happy to go get it. Will Wilma be okay when I go out?

It would be better if someone were with her all the time, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want us to let anyone else know she’s here.

Harold set his cup and plate on the coffee table and leaned back in his chair.

I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to try and doze a little here before I start work.

Permelia got up, pushed an ottoman to his chair, and then handed him a knitted afghan and a throw pillow.

Make yourself comfortable. I’ll check on Wilma and then lie down on my bed for a few minutes myself.

Harold reached out and took her hand in his.

Thank you for all your help tonight. You’re outstanding in a crisis.

She chuckled.

Something about raising eight kids on a remote ranch brings that out in a person.

Good to know, he said. He let go of Permelia’s hand and was asleep before she reached the kitchen.

Chapter Two

Permelia cracked the guest room door open and peeked inside. Wilma was sitting up, watching the news on the television.

Knock, knock, she said before entering the room.

Enter. I was just checking out the news to see what I’ve missed while I had my little vacation from consciousness.

How do you feel? Permelia asked her. Would you like some tea or coffee? Maybe a muffin or scone? I baked some of each in case you were hungry when you awoke.

Yes, to everything. Coffee and a muffin and scone. I feel like I could eat an elephant, too.

I tried to get you to drink some of that meal replacement liquid Dr. Grace brought, but we weren’t too successful with that.

Wilma chuckled.

So, I wasn’t dreaming when I thought someone was trying to pour liquid chalk down my throat.

Permelia laughed.

That bad?

You mean you didn’t try it?

After the first twenty-four hours, Harold and I thought you needed something with calories in it.

Next time, not that I expect there will be a next time; try Jello or maybe throw a steak in the blender.

Seriously, is there anything you want to tell me about what’s happening here?

Wilma was silent for a full minute.

Telling you anything could put you in more danger than you’re already in by having me here. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here, but I didn’t have another choice that resulted in my staying alive.

This sounds serious.

It is, and I’m sorry I’ve involved you in it. I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can arrange it. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve had to use the walker you left here to get to the bathroom, and even with that, it was touch and go.

I found it in the storeroom off the landing outside my door. I thought you might need something to help you walk. Besides your leg, your right shoulder is badly bruised.

Wilma smiled weakly.

I went out a window backward to get away.

That would explain the glass I picked out of your back.

I know it’s not fair, but I’m going to have someone come help me move home. I can’t tell you anything other than that person isn’t going to walk me across the street. I need a little more help if you’re willing. I’ll understand if you’re not.

What do you need?

First, I need you to go to a discount store somewhere in the suburbs and buy several burner phones, each from a different store. Second, I’m going to give you a note, and when I give it to you, I’d like you to take Fenton for a walk like you usually do and drop the note on the sidewalk across from the oak tree in the park.

Just drop it?

Just drop it. Someone will pick it up. Thirdly, I’ll need you and your cat to go somewhere for an hour or so when I'm ready to leave. When you return, I’ll be gone, and after a day or two, you can resume visiting me just like you always have.

This all sounds very mysterious, but if it’s what you need, it’s what the cat and I will do.

Did I see you visiting Wilma a couple of days ago? Dr. Grace asked Permelia a week later during their afternoon tea. The two had fallen into the habit of getting together if both were available at four pm. Teatime allowed them a chance to talk about the night calls and anything else that was going on in their lives. It happened two or three times a week.

Permelia stirred a cube of sugar into her tea and sipped it. It was just right, and she set it back in its saucer.

It’s the first time Fenton and I have gone to visit since she moved back home.

How is she?

She told me she has a doctor who makes house calls, and he is very impressed with your handiwork. She didn’t tell him who you were.

It all seems very cloak and dagger.

Well, whatever it is, she looks a lot better. She’s using a wheelchair with her leg propped out in front of her.

Oh, that’s good.

I didn’t ask her too much because frankly I don’t want to know, other than her physical health. I’m teaching a class at a knitting store starting a week from now, and I lost a little prep time. Not that I begrudge her that, but I did lose time, so I’m having to hustle to prepare handouts and such.

What are you teaching?

An assortment of simple patterned stitches. The students have taken a basic learn-to-knit class. Their teacher for that had to leave to take care of an aging parent who fell and broke a hip. I guess she didn’t have a syllabus, or any teaching materials prepared, so I’ve had to start from scratch.

Harold sipped his tea.

Is this something you’ve done before?

Not this exactly, but I’ve done something similar before. It’s not difficult, just time consuming. In the past I’ve had people do an afghan, but this shop wanted a scarf, so a scarf it is.

I’ll expect a full report when you meet your class, he said and exchanged his teacup for a scone.

Permelia refilled her cup.

Is this a new tea set? I’ve not seen this cup before and it matches the tea pot. Both pieces had patterns of lemons printed on them.

Harold’s face turned pink.

I decided if we’re going to make afternoon tea a regular thing, we need a dedicated tea set, not just the rummage sale collection we have in the communal kitchen. I’m going to keep this one in my office.

Permelia smiled at him.

Well, that’s very nice of you.

Back to Wilma, are you sure it’s wise to keep developing a relationship with her?

That’s nice of you to worry about my safety, but I’m certain nothing dangerous takes place in that fortress. Whatever happened to her happened somewhere else.

Harold grinned.

If she asks you to go on any secret missions with her, just say no.

I will take that under advisement.

Chapter Three

Permelia dropped a spoonful of kitty treats in Fenton’s dispenser toy and set it to the most challenging level. That would keep him busy while she was at the yarn store. She needed to look at the classroom area and find out how many students she’d be teaching.

Louie’s, the yarn store, was in the southeast part of town. It was an older neighborhood, and the shopping area was on what used to be a tree-lined residential street. The restaurants and shops were in converted homes with colorful paint and neatly tended gardens in front, giving the area a storybook feel.

She found a parking spot at the curb a few houses down and picked up her canvas knitting tote and purse before getting out of her car and heading for the store. She could hardly wait to find out the origins of the name. Most yarn store names had something to do with fiber craft: Tangled, Twisted, Yarn Garden, and Knotty Girls, to name a few. Louie’s sounded like a bar.

A bell tinkled as Permelia entered the shop.

A young woman stepped into the middle of what had probably been the parlor. She was stout, with pitted skin and chipped green nail polish. She had dyed her straight shoulder-length hair that shade of black that doesn’t occur in nature.

Welcome to Louie’s. How may I help you?

I’m here to see Lois, Permelia said. I’ll be teaching a class here next Thursday.

I’m Lois’s daughter, Ruth. Mom’s in the back. I’ll get her. Can I bring you some tea or water?

I’m fine.

Mom, Ruth bellowed as she disappeared through a doorway at the back of the room.

Lois was a slender, gray-haired woman who walked with a slight limp. Her wool skirt and cardigan matched the gray of her hair.

Hello, thanks for coming by. Let me get your class list, then I’ll show you the two spaces we have, and you can decide which one you want to use. Did Ruth offer you some tea?"

Lois grabbed a clipboard from the checkout counter and led the way to the far end of the room without waiting for an answer.  Not one for getting-to-know-you chit chat Permelia thought.

An oval-shaped wooden dining room table sat in front of a window that looked out onto the wrap-around porch. Six mismatched chairs sat spaced around it.

This is a nice space. You get the natural light from the front and side windows. And we can bring a couple of more chairs to the table. You have seven people signed up, and if they all show, you’ll be a group of eight counting yourself.

Permelia walked over to the table and tried to imagine eight people and their bags sitting around it. It would be a little crowded, but it could work.

Let’s have a look at the other space.

Lois guided Permelia through the doorway into a hall. It led through the kitchen, past a bathroom, two closed doors, and a stairwell, and ended in a large room that was once a porch but was now enclosed and enlarged.

One end of the room had a large square table. The other contained rows of storage shelves. The table currently held bags of new yarn.

We just got a yarn delivery, but Ruthie will have it all put away before Thursday. As you can see, the atmosphere isn’t as nice, but it’s a quieter space, and I have an easel you can use if you need it.

Permelia looked around.

Would it be okay if we started back here when I show them a new stitch and then move to the front room when they’re knitting on their project? Maybe half of each session.

A perfect solution. Why didn’t I think of that? This room is not an inspiring place to learn, but I just can’t think what to do with it.

Maybe if you added some lighting, it would help. And possibly a screen to separate this area from the yarn storage area.

Lois smiled.

That’s a great idea. I think there’s an antique screen in the attic. I don’t know if you know this, but this shop was once my husband’s pawn shop. When he died, it sat here for a while, and eventually, I decided to turn it into a yarn shop. Her cheeks turned pink. I kept the name as an homage to Louie, and I inherited a lot of pawn shop refuse that was never reclaimed, which is now in the attic. If you need anything, we probably have it upstairs. Feel free to look for lamps there, too, if I’m not here.

That’s quite a history for a yarn store. And this room will be fine. A little extra light would help, but we can work with it like it is if you don’t want me poking around in the attic.

Permelia was mentally counting how many stand lights she’d brought from her fiber coop. She’d expanded it with her share of her divorce settlement. She owned the property and a percentage of the co-op, but with it in eastern Washington, it was not a practical drive if she needed more than the two lamps she’d brought with her.

I never go up to the attic, but you’re welcome to go look. I’m sure there will be something up there.

What can you tell me about my students? Permelia said, changing the subject. She wasn’t sure why Lois was so anxious for her to ‘help herself’ to the attic. She seemed unwilling to go up there herself.

Lois held out the clipboard.

Most of them took their learn-to-knit class here. When Permelia took the list, Lois used her pen to point at each name as she described them.

"Mary, Dawn, Tanya, and Alice are from our learn-to-knit class. Tanya’s work is very tight, and