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LATER, ARIADNE WOULD BE APPALLED that her first reaction at seeing Edith Perry's body sprawled on the floor of her shop, a tangle of yarn around her throat, was that Edith had finally chosen good yarn. She would be horrified that she had wished the yarn wasn't one of her favorites. It was shock, she knew: finding a dead body always had that effect.

After her initial reaction she stood, shocked in place, then kneeled beside the counter. "Omigod. Omigod," she gasped. A purple wool homespun yarn was tangled about Edith's neck and tied in back to two sticks in a crude, but effective, garrote. "Omigod, Edith, wake up." She took the woman's wrist in her hand, hoping, praying that she might be alive. There was no pulse. Instead, Edith's hand was limp and cool. "No, Edith, not in my shop," Ari said, hearing herself for the first time. Dear God. There was a dead body in her shop.

It couldn't be real. Until this moment her morning had been unremarkable. She'd yawned over the newspaper, tussled with her young daughter, Megan, about what to wear to school, and fielded a call from her friend Diane, who rose before the birds. Ari was a night person who moved in slow motion in the mornings. It was only as she took her usual brisk walk from home through the center of Freeport to her shop that she came fully awake. Only then did she become excited about the day ahead, her mind teeming with ideas for new sweaters, scarves, hats. Finding someone murdered in her shop changed all that.

She looked up. The shop itself seemed normal. The plate glass windows on the front and side of her building still filtered the bright September sun through the gray coating designed to keep the light from fading the yarn. The high shelves on the inside wall still held diamond-shaped bins filled with various yarns: Heilo yarn from Norway; Lopi, made from the wool of Icelandic sheep; fisherman yarn from Ireland. So did the low shelves under the side windows; so did the waist-high counter in the middle of the shop, with its colorful knitted goods displayed on top. Soothed as she always was by the sight of her yarns and the possibilities they presented, she looked back down. Edith's body was still there, between the counter and the wall, sprawled in the careless abandon of death.

Calm, Ari, she told herself as she rose. Odd how her mind seemed to have separated from the rest of her, viewing what was happening with detachment. Again she looked at her yarn, and suddenly stopped, counting. One ball of the purple yarn was missing. Only a small amount was twined around Edith's neck. The murderer had, at some point, taken one of the balls of yarn.

Ari stumbled as she crossed the room to the phone. She had to call 911. After she reported the murder and the police assured her they would arrive shortly, she sat at the old wooden desk in her office, elbows resting on the tidy surface, and put her fisted hands to her eyes, trying to control her shaking.

"Ariadne," a voice called from the shop's front door, sharp and concerned. "Ari! Where are you?"

Ariadne straightened, both relieved and dismayed, and rose to leave her sanctuary. "Here, Aunt Laura."

"What happened? Was it a robbery?" Laura Sheehan, eyes sharp, her trim, athletic body tense, rushed toward her. Her polo shirt wasn't quite tucked into her jeans, which was unusual for Laura. "There's no sign of a break-in —oh." She looked down in disbelief at the body behind the counter. "Edith? Edith Perry?"

Ari leaned her head against the door frame. "Laura, what are you doing here?"

"I heard the call on my police radio. They didn't say anything about a body."

"And you decided to come here?"

"You might have been in danger."

"For God's sake."

"I did take that self-defense class. I must say, this is a bit of a sticky wicket, isn't it?"

Ari let out a breath. "You've been reading English mysteries again."

"No, Ed McBain. This could be a good cozy mystery, though. The Body in the Yarn Shop." She shook her head. "No. Not a good title."

"Laura, please."

Laura's bemused expression faded. "I'm sorry." She stood beside her niece. "Poor Edith," she said, and then slung her arm around Ari's shoulders. "And poor you."

Ari closed her eyes, suddenly tired. "I know. Oh —the police." She crossed to the door as an officer rapped sharply against the glass, and opened it for him.

Much later, she would think that finding the body was the easy part.

Copyright © 2005 by Mary Kruger