Reunion Under Fire. Geri Krotow

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СКАЧАТЬ freedom to ring up orders. I really don’t have a handle on everything yet.” As evidenced by her hot-and-cold emotions over her return to her hometown.

      “No problem! And give me a break—like you said, you’re a city girl now. There’s nothing you can’t handle.” Ginny’s sincerity slayed her.

      “I’m hardly equipped to run a business. Different brain cells than working at NYPD.” Annie’s grandmother had bragged to all of her customers about her one granddaughter’s “big city” job, so she wasn’t telling Ginny anything she didn’t already know.

      “We’re all glad you agreed to help Ezzie because this shop is important to a lot of us in Silver Valley. It gives us a reason to get out of the house. Speaking of which, I’m going to run out to the grocery store to pick up a birthday cake for Lydia, with whipped cream frosting and strawberry filling. She’s seventy-five tomorrow.” Annie knew that Lydia was one of the dozen or so women who religiously attended knit and chat sessions.

      Annie couldn’t help but notice the far cry running a yarn shop was from the life-and-death atmosphere of NYPD.

      As they planned for the weekly Friday night gathering, a new customer came in. Petite, blonde and made up like a movie star, with perfect makeup, designer clothing that hung perfectly where her two-hundred-dollar jeans weren’t hugging her tiny frame. A large, leather designer bag that complemented the heeled sandals finished the woman’s ensemble. Annie couldn’t help but take notice of her. It wasn’t as if there weren’t other women in Silver Valley who dressed with high fashion in mind, but it wasn’t her outward appearance that pinged Annie’s internal radar. It was how she held herself as she slowly walked to the counter. The blonde’s eyes darted from Ginny to Annie and back again, her mannerisms a little jerky. Something had her wound tighter than a cheap skein of acrylic yarn.

      Ginny caught her staring past her shoulder and turned around. “Oh, hi, Kit! Are you going to stay for knit and chat?”

      The woman shook her head like a shy child. “No. Maybe. I thought about it. I don’t know. I should go home earlier than I did last week. I’m almost done with my shawl.”

      Ginny waved her hand at her, much as she had done with Annie. “Oh, no, missy. You’re having fun, and that’s all there is to it.” Ginny turned back to Annie, her eyes wide. “Kit’s new to our group, and I told her we need fresh blood.”

      “Where is Ezzie?” Kit spoke with a slight accent, which Annie would bet was Russian. Annie had studied it in college and worked with a lot of Russian-speaking cops. Kit’s pronunciation was distinctly Russian, maybe Ukrainian. The pale woman under the heavy makeup looked lost, as if she’d never been in the store before. Her obvious wariness combined with the way Ginny treated her flipped Annie’s internal alarm bells, and her training shifted into full alert.

      “Hi, Kit. I’m Annie, Ezzie’s granddaughter. She’s had a mild stroke and is taking a break from the shop for a bit.” She stepped from around the counter and held out her hand.

      Kit took it, but instead of the timid grip Annie expected, it was a strong, almost painful clench. As if Annie were her lifeline. Kit’s motions were more like those of a frail octogenarian instead of a young woman Annie estimated was in her twenties.

      “I need to talk to your grandmother. I’m sorry she’s sick.” Kit’s eyes blazed. “Is she in the hospital? Will she come back soon?”

      Annie looked into the woman’s stunning ice-blue gaze and saw fear, trepidation and concern for Ezzie. Something else, too. Anxiety that didn’t have a name, the result of living with a constant threat to your life. Annie had seen enough of it in victims and police officers. She knew how stress affected first responders over the years, and it was even worse for civilians. Kit displayed outward symptoms of a trauma survivor.

      Keep her calm, show her she can trust you.

      “Grandma Ezzie’s fine, really. My parents insisted she go to their place in Florida for a few months while she does some rehab and relaxes. Since my grandfather died, she hasn’t given herself a break from the business, and my parents knew she wouldn’t do an honest rehab if she stayed here.”

      “I understand.” Kit said it as if she’d been betrayed. Annie made a mental note to ask her grandmother about Kit. Annie was certain there was more to the woman than knitting a shawl.

      “Can I help you pick out some yarn today? A pattern?”

      “You can trust her, Kit. Annie’s from New York City and...” Ginny trailed off at the “shut the heck up!” look Annie threw her. She instinctively didn’t want Kit to know she was in law enforcement. Not yet. She wanted this woman to trust her first.

      “New York?” Kit’s brow wrinkled. While her eyes seemed wise and old, her skin was positively translucent. Looking at Kit’s hands, Annie thought her first assessment was correct and that Kit was quite young. Early twenties at the most.

      “I grew up here, went to Silver Valley High, then left for college. How about you, Kit? Have you been in Silver Valley long?”

      “Yes. Well, for the last five or six years I’ve lived here, anyway. Are you the granddaughter Ezzie said works for the police?”

      Dang Grandma Ezzie and her bragging. “I am. But I’m not a cop. I’m support staff.”

      “Oh.” Kit nodded, looking anywhere but at Annie. “This new yarn is beautiful!” She grabbed a hank of alpaca variegated and squeezed it, the universal sign of a rabid fiber freak. Annie smiled at the gesture, then froze as she noticed muted purple spots on Kit’s upper neck and jaw. Bruises covered with the carefully applied makeup she’d noticed earlier. Her stomach clenched, and she consciously forced herself to remain calm and not reveal what she’d seen. It’d be too easy to scare Kit away, and she’d never be able to help her. Annie couldn’t let another person who needed help get away.

      It’s not all about what happened in New York with Rick. Although after losing her dear colleague to suicide, after he murdered his wife, would it ever not be about New York?

      Letting out a slow breath, she leaned against the counter. “Yes, that’s a lovely blend, isn’t it? I have to say that my grandmother only picks the best for her customers. I happen to knit, too, and even if this wasn’t my grandmother’s shop, it’d still be my favorite shop in town. It’s better than any I’ve ever found in the city.” There were one or two yarn shops in New York City that she frequented, but none gave her the sense of being at home and safe as Grandma Ezzie’s.

      Kit looked around. “Yes, I’d like to make a new shawl. Ezzie said some new alpaca linen blend was shipping in, too. Is it here?”

      “Absolutely. It’s been our best seller this week.” Annie led her to the antique washstand that had the new hanks splayed out in a rainbow of colors. “With the heat, everyone wants to knit lace.”

      Kit ran her fingertips lightly over the fiber, then picked up a hank and clasped it before rubbing it between her fingers. Annie realized that she missed being around other knitters like this. Even though she hadn’t pursued Ezzie’s passion for fiber as a career, she still relied on knitting to keep her grounded at the end of long, hard days working at NYPD. Days she cherished, but needed space from, for the time being. Work she’d taken a three-month sabbatical from in order to help Grandma Ezzie. And to escape the media surrounding the murder-suicide of one of NYPD’s finest, an officer who’d come to the end of his coping skills while dealing with his opioid addiction. СКАЧАТЬ