Authors: Janet Bolin
Dire Threads
Table of Contents
Willow’s Embroidered Cell Phone Case
PRAISE FOR
Dire Threads
“A wonderful debut, embroidered seamlessly with clues, red herrings, and rich detail. And though the mystery will keep you guessing until it’s sewn up, Willow and her friends will leave you in stitches.”
—Avery Aames, bestselling author of the Cheese Shop Mysteries
“What a great start to a new series. Janet Bolin has stitched together a colorful cast of characters and wound them up in a murder. The cop car alone is worth the read. Lots of fun and machine embroidery, too.”
—Betty Hechtman, bestselling author of the Crochet Mysteries
“Quirky characters, charming town, and appealing sleuth are all beautifully stitched together in this entertaining first mystery.”
—Mary Jane Maffini, author of the Charlotte Adams Mysteries
“A deftly woven tale embroidered with crafty characters who will leave you in stitches!”
—Krista Davis, bestselling author of the Domestic Diva Mysteries
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
DIRE THREADS
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / June 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Janet Bolin.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-52884-6
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PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
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To the original Edna and the original Naomi, who loved creating with thread.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my supportive critique partners, Krista Davis, who writes the Domestic Diva Mysteries, and Avery Aames, who writes the Cheese Shop Mysteries. I couldn’t have done this without you.
I really appreciate the enthusiasm of my first agent, Jacky Sach, then at BookEnds, and my acquiring editor, Sandy Harding, then at Berkley Prime Crime. Jessica Faust of BookEnds never ceases to amaze me for the time she’s willing to devote to my projects. Faith Black, my editor at Berkley Prime Crime, took my manuscript and turned it into a
book
. Thanks to all of the people at Berkley who helped her, particularly Robin Moline, who created the beautiful painting for the cover, Annette Fiore Defex, the cover designer, and Tiffany Estreicher, the interior text designer, who added touches that make the book even more special.
I also have to thank Bill Richardson and Shelagh Rogers of CBC radio for their encouragement over the years and for understanding my humor and making it funnier in the way they read my stories aloud on their radio programs.
Sisters in Crime, especially the Guppies Chapter, have been very helpful, including Lorna Barrett, Sandra Parshall, and Annette Dashofy. I loved hanging out with other members of the New York /Tri-State Chapter when I lived in New York. Those dinners in Greenwich Village made me feel like a real writer. Besides, I learned important things like the mechanics of getting published, and that authors, agents, and editors are approachable. Also that shouting, “Let’s kill him!” in a restaurant can get one some funny looks. And no, I wasn’t the one who did the shouting.
Thanks to all my friends at
www.KillerCharacters.com
, where the characters of our books carry on a dialogue (and just plain carry on). Thanks to Avery Aames, Lorna Barrett, Krista Davis, Betty Hechtman, and Mary Jane Maffini for taking time to read my manuscript and comment.
And thanks to my friends and family for engaging in some rather peculiar conversations about murder and how to solve it. We’re nice people—really!
Last but not least, thanks to my readers. You’re the greatest.
1
F
OR THE FIRST TIME, MY NEW BOUTIQUE, In Stitches, was officially part of the Threadville tour, which was both exhilarating and daunting. What if the ladies from today’s tour avoided my shop, or worse, hated it?
But the first person to enter In Stitches on its opening day was a man. Mike Krawbach was gorgeous, if you liked icy blue eyes and an underfed look that made a certain type of woman want to take him home and fatten him up. I didn’t trust him. He always talked to me like I was two years old, for one thing. He tossed an envelope onto a bistro table displaying my embroidered white linen tablecloth. “Here you go, Willow. My decision on your application to renovate that
shed
at the back of your property.”
Shed? Blueberry Cottage was a Victorian confection of curlicues and gingerbread trim. Small, made of wood, and quaint. Definitely not a shed. Renting it to others would help ensure my financial survival, but it needed work. “You mean Blueberry Cottage.”
Mike stretched his neck up as if to make himself taller and remind me that he was the village’s zoning commissioner, and I wasn’t. “It’s been called that grandiose name since my granddad was a boy. It’s a shed, and it’s on a flood plain, too close to the river for us to allow a building permit. You can paint it, inside and out, but you can’t do anything structural, like replace leaky plumbing. Or leaky windows.”
I resisted the urge to peek at his feet. He was tall, but even standing on his tippy toes, he wouldn’t be able to loom over me as much as he might like. I argued, “The hiking trail is between it and the river, and that trail is wide. The Elderberry River couldn’t rise that far.”
Mike shrugged. “The decision is final. Take it or leave it.”
That was a choice? He strode out, leaving me seething. In Stitches hadn’t had a customer yet, and I was almost ready to return to investment counseling in Manhattan.
Almost, but not quite. Outside, the Threadville tour bus arrived, and ladies streamed from it. Their handmade hats, coats, mittens, and scarves outshone ice crystals dancing in the pale February sunshine. Women disappeared into The Stash, Batty About Quilts, Tell a Yarn, and Buttons and Bows.
Threadville’s real name was Elderberry Bay. The village had been heading toward ghost town status until my best friend, Haylee, had fled Manhattan, opened The Stash, and inveigled other people to open other textile arts boutiques. Now, crafty women flocked to this small village on the Pennsylvania shore of Lake Erie to browse, take courses, find inspiration, and spend money.
