Garters and Gargoyles: A paranormal cozy mystery (Vampire Knitting Club Book 10)

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  A Note from Nancy

  Diamonds and Daggers

  The Great Witches Baking Show

  Also by Nancy Warren

  About the Author

  Introduction

  A Secret Society leads to Murder

  The Gargoyle Club is a secret society in Oxford’s Cardinal College, where privileged young men from important families get drunk and rowdy and cause trouble. Rafe, as a member of the club, is not impressed with these newest Gargoyles.

  Meanwhile, a social climbing high school friend of Lucy’s is in town. Is she really after an art history degree or is her purpose more devious?

  When someone dies during a club dinner it looks like more than boys behaving badly. It’s up to Lucy and her undead knitters to solve the crime.

  You can get Rafe’s origin story for free when you join Nancy’s no-spam newsletter at nancywarren.net.

  Come join Nancy in her private Facebook group where we talk about books, knitting, pets and life.

  www.facebook.com/groups/NancyWarrenKnitwits

  Praise for the Vampire Knitting Club series

  "THE VAMPIRE KNITTING CLUB is a delightful paranormal cozy mystery perfectly set in a knitting shop in Oxford, England. With intrepid, late blooming, amateur sleuth, Lucy Swift, and a cast of truly unforgettable characters, this mystery delivers all the goods. It's clever and funny, with plot twists galore and one very savvy cat! I highly recommend this sparkling addition to the cozy mystery genre."

  Jenn McKinlay, NYT Bestselling Author

  “I’m a total addict to this series.” *****

  “Fresh, smart and funny” *****

  Chapter 1

  Rafe tossed the newspaper aside in disgust. “In my day, secret societies were exactly that, secret. None of this showing up on the front page of the newspaper looking drunk and disorderly.”

  I was busy restocking the shelves of Cardinal Woolsey’s Knitting and Yarn shop, but at the words “secret society,” I had to look over his shoulder. Something about the notion intrigued me. Probably because I was pretty sure I’d never be invited to any secret club. Unless you counted my local coven, which I wasn’t invited to join as much as forced into by my annoying witch relatives.

  The front page of the Oxford Daily showed a fuzzy photograph of four young men looking definitely the worse for wear. One appeared to be peeing into the bushes outside a very nice house. Behind them was a broken window. The headline read: “Rowdy Youth Damage Oxford Property.” I skimmed the article, but it was only a couple of paragraphs about how these young men had disrupted a quiet neighborhood, vandalized property and police believed a young woman had witnessed their behavior. They were looking for help in identifying the men and wanted the young woman to come forward to help with their inquiries.

  “There’s nothing there about any secret society,” I said, disappointed. I wanted to read about bizarre midnight rituals and feasts that lasted days. This just looked like a stag party gone wrong.

  Rafe shook his head at me. “There used to be dignity and honor associated with The Order of the Gargoyles. Now it’s nothing but rich lads with weak heads and no morals.”

  I had to hold back my laugh. “Order of the Gargoyles?” Was he kidding me?

  When he gave me that snooty look down the length of his nose, I had to ask. “Were you in this secret club, Rafe?”

  “It’s a very old order that’s long existed at Cardinal College. Technically, I still am a member.”

  I glanced at the paper and back at him. His jaw was set, and he looked very peeved. “Do you know those kids?”

  “Oh, yes. And I think it’s time I paid them a visit.”

  He looked so forbidding, I put a hand on the sleeve of his navy cashmere sweater. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing like what they deserve.” With that, I had to be contented, as he left Cardinal Woolsey’s with a determined stride. I ran to the window and watched him head in the direction of Cardinal College.

  A few days later, I was holding the door open for a woman who’d made the trip to Oxford specially to visit Cardinal Woolsey’s. An avid knitter, she’d stocked up, buying so much wool and patterns and magazines that her arms were too full to manage the door. I was delighted.

  After we’d said our last goodbyes, I went back inside, reminding myself it was really time I put out another newsletter. I should also update our website. People all around the world shopped at my store, some bought online and some would drive miles to come here in person. The online store was a growing and valuable part of my business.

  I usually did that kind of work at night, but I was making notes when the cheerful bells went, signaling I had a new customer. I turned with a smile of welcome on my face, which froze when I recognized the woman who entered. She was tall and slim, with long, dark hair, intense, dark eyes, and a face that at first glance appeared beautiful but was really perhaps more stunning. She did everything she could with that face, making up her dark eyes with darker shadow and keeping her lipstick fresh and her hair nearly always newly brushed. Her wardrobe was expensive and meant not to look that way. Her name was Pamela Black, and she was one of the last people I’d expected or wanted to see. Ever.

  She smiled a bright, happy smile and came toward me with her arms out. “Lucy. I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were here in Oxford. One of my best friends ever. I’m so excited to see you.”

  Before I could do anything more than gape helplessly at her, she was wrapping me in her arms. I smelled the familiar scent of her and felt myself gag.

  I pulled away as soon as I could. “Pamela. What are you doing here?”

  It would be foolish to say that I had left Boston and come to England to escape anyone. Well, okay, there’d been the heartache over discovering that Todd, my boyfriend, wasn’t exactly true blue. But now that some time had passed, I saw him for the jerk he was and knew I’d had a lucky escape.

  Pamela was the kind of person that, once she’d drawn you into her web and pretty much sucked the life out of you, all you wanted to do was escape. Far away. Forever.

  If I’d thought about it, I was relieved to live thousands of miles away from the woman who’d broken my heart far more thoroughly than Todd ever could.

  Pamela seemed to have completely forgotten the past. How convenient. Or she chose to either ignore it or pretend it had never happened. Worse, she likely thought it meant nothing to me. As it most likely did to her.

  We’d been sixteen years old. I’d never have called her my best friend, but we’d been close. I’d been giddy in love with a guy named Sam. He wasn’t the best-looking guy; he wasn’t the smartest or most athletic. He was quirky. Different. Funny. He drew cartoons—that’s how uncool he was.

  I don’t know what it was that made Pamela decide she wanted Sam. In my narcissistic moments, I suspected she only wanted him because he was mine. Even now, with the hindsight of more than ten years’ exper
ience, I still wasn’t certain if that was why she’d gone after my boyfriend.

  A classic frenemy, she’d come to me, when she and Sam first started going out together. Sat me down. “Oh, Lucy, I need to know you’re okay with this. You know Sam and I would never do anything to hurt you. You’re my best friend. It’s just that—” She’d giggled. “It’s so overwhelming. I know you only want the best for both of us. We’ll always be friends. Right?”

  I was stunned, and brokenhearted, and there was a fierce pride inside me that refused to let her see how hurt I was. And perhaps she was right. What did I know about love? I didn’t own Sam. If their hearts belonged to each other, maybe I needed to be the bigger person.

  And I really tried to be that bigger person, as much as I could at sixteen. She still insisted on us remaining tight. For a while it even worked. But I wasn’t honest with myself. Seeing Sam with his arm around Pamela, giggling at secrets behind their open lockers, did hurt.

  And then, after Sam was well and truly ensnared, she moved on to someone else’s boyfriend. That was the worst of it. I didn’t think she even wanted Sam; she wanted him because he was mine.

  That was what, twelve years ago? And I still felt the burn in my chest as though it was yesterday. I never gave my heart as openly or fearlessly again.

  Betrayal is like that. It eats away long after the hurt’s been done.

  “What are you doing here?” I tried to keep my voice pleasant. This was my place of business, after all. “In Oxford.”

  She put her hands together under her chin. It was a mannerism that was so Pamela. Her nails were perfectly manicured, and I noticed her watch was a diamond-encrusted Cartier.

  “I needed to get away after the horror of my divorce,” she said as though we were still close. I didn’t know she was married. Now she was divorced. “You must have heard.”

  I shook my head. “No. I hadn’t heard that. I’m sorry.” I really didn’t follow her movements. I assiduously avoided any contact with her on social media, and none of my close friends ever bothered to talk about her. In one way or another, she’d hurt or infuriated all of us. If we ever wanted to describe someone loathsome, all we had to say was one word. Pamela. And then everybody got it.

  “I’m a student here. I’m doing a master’s degree in the history of art, at Cardinal College. I can’t believe no one told you.” Right. Because Pamela was the center of the universe, of course I should be aware of all her actions.

  Me with my two years of college and Pamela was taking a master’s at Oxford. Was I jealous? Maybe I felt a quick, sharp pang of envy, but it was followed by a creeping sense of horror. Cardinal College was only a short walk from here. She pretended to be thrilled. “I can’t believe we’re neighbors.”

  My smile was unenthusiastic. The school terms in Oxford began in October. It was now halfway through April, and Trinity term would begin next week. She’d been here months and hadn’t bothered to stop by (which was fine by me). Why the sudden interest?

  “And look at your little shop,” she said, turning in a full circle to scan the shelves of wool, the ready-made sweaters that were in endless supply thanks to the vampire knitting club, the magazines and books and the knitting-related pictures on the walls. “It’s so sweet.”

  She could try and belittle me with her poison dressed as honey, but I was older now and mostly immune. So I treated her the way I would an enemy in my shop. Perhaps someone I suspected of shoplifting and wanted out. “Do you knit?”

  As if. Unless it was knitting up trouble. Knotting people’s emotions. Crocheting an emotional crisis. I could go on and on with my knitting metaphors. The point was, she was bad news. And I didn’t want bad news here. I’d have to cleanse the space once she’d gone.

  She laughed. I had a feeling she’d been working on that laugh. I never remembered it being so silvery and charming. I thought when she’d been younger it was like the sound a horse makes when it gets close to feeding time. “No. I’m only here because I heard my dearest friend from the old days was in Oxford as well. I wanted to come by and say hello. And to invite you to a little party I’m having.”

  If Pamela, with her designer clothes and fancy watch, was inviting me to a party, there was an ulterior motive.

  I might not be the sharpest knitting needle in the shop, but I wasn’t a naïve sixteen-year-old anymore either. “What kind of party?”

  “Just a few friends.” I couldn’t imagine what she wanted me for.

  I was about to refuse as politely as I could when William Thresher walked into the shop. William was Rafe Crosyer’s butler, his estate manager, I suppose you’d call him. William’s passion was cooking. Since Rafe, being a vampire, obviously didn’t put much strain on William’s culinary talents, William had started catering events. Word had quickly spread, and he was so popular that he’d become very choosy. He particularly liked weddings.

  It was a bit sad, because William was in his thirties and, according to his destiny, the first son he sired would be groomed and trained to serve Rafe when he came of age and William got old enough to retire. This pattern had remained unbroken since the first William Thresher served Rafe back in the 1500s. But how many appropriate women did William meet living in a grand estate run by a vampire? The answer was very, very few. To meet a woman with a strong pulse, he really needed to get out more. I’d been quite hopeful that the catering would encourage him to find someone nice. I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about him fathering Rafe’s next servant, but it wasn’t my business. Nobody had forced William into the job, and nobody could promise that the next William Thresher, assuming there was a next William Thresher, would grow up and want to serve Rafe.

  Maybe he’d want to be a firefighter, a cop or a race-car driver. In my meaner moments, I hoped the next William Thresher chose any profession but butler to Rafe Crosyer, who had altogether too many advantages as it was.

  Far be it from me to interfere with destiny, though. Especially since I’d discovered that I was a witch and part of a long tradition of witches here in Oxford. If I knew anything about destiny, it was that you can’t escape yours.

  Pamela brightened immediately when she saw William. When I looked at him dispassionately, I could see that William was a nice-looking man. Usually when I saw him, he was with Rafe, and it was like trying to admire the moon when it was beside the sun. But on its own, the moon was very handsome. He clearly noticed Pamela and gave her a shy nod.

  “Lucy,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you about something. But I can come back later.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve got some time.” I turned to Pamela with what I hoped was an “it’s time for you to leave now” expression on my face. “Thanks for dropping by.”

  She ignored me and stared at the new arrival. “Aren’t you William Thresher?”

  I don’t know who was more surprised, William or me, that she knew who he was. He wasn’t a movie star or a rock star or a media personality. He looked quite startled. Glanced at me as though I might know how she knew him, but I shrugged my shoulders. Finally, he answered, “Yes. I am.”

  “I thought it was you.” She turned on the charm. And when Pamela turned on the charm, it was quite something. Even I, who distrusted and frankly loathed her, felt the warmth in her smile. “You’re surprised I even know who you are. But you’re a wizard in the kitchen. I was hoping you might cater a small party I’m having. I was just asking Lucy here to come by. We’re old friends, you know, from America.”

  “I caught the accent, yes.” He looked so pleased for me. “Lucy, how nice for you to have a friend from home. I know you get homesick sometimes.”

  So not homesick for Pamela.

  “Well, I don’t do very many private parties. It would depend on the date and the kind of party it is. But, since you’re Lucy’s friend—”

  And boom. There it was. The reason Pamela had sought me out. She must have discovered that William was the best caterer in Oxford and, somehow, that I knew him.

&n
bsp; She laughed and made a sort of fluttering motion with her hands. “In truth, the party’s for my professor. I’m an art history student, you know. He’s having a book published by Oxford University Press. And I wanted to organize a little shindig. Of course, I’m only going to be a waitress there myself. I was hoping that Lucy might help me out and be another server.”

  Ha. I’d known there was some backstabbing trick embedded in her quote, unquote invitation.

  “Really?” William looked delighted. “Have you got much waitressing experience?”

  What? How was this conversation getting so skewed? The only kind of serving Pamela knew how to do was to serve her own interests. I suddenly knew why William was here, and I did not want Pamela having any part of it.

  “I’m sure Pamela’s not interested in being a waitress,” I said. Then turned to her. “Listen, Pam, I’ll call you.” I didn’t know how much more obvious I could be that I wanted to get rid of the woman, but she remained oblivious to my broad hints.

  She pretty much talked over my shoulder to William as though I wasn’t even there. “I’ve done a lot of waitressing.” (Not true.) “I had to save up the money to be able to afford Oxford.” (So not true.) “But if you want something badly enough, it’s worth waiting for.” She laughed again, that pretty, silvery laugh. “You probably won’t believe it, but I’m as old as Lucy.”

  Oh, and thanks for that.