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KNIT OF THE LIVING DEAD

The small procession made its way through the trees until the stone building that housed the restrooms came into view. The path, however, was obstructed by the body of a woman.

“What’s that?” Gus whispered, as if the circumstances now called for reverence. “Around her neck?” He aimed the flashlight at a spot below the edge of the sunbonnet’s brim and above the edge of the organdy collar.

Pamela stepped closer and bent down. Several strands of thick yarn had been wrapped around the woman’s neck. “Yarn,” she whispered.

“Strangled, looks like,” Gus pronounced sagely.

“That’s Mary Lyon,” said another voice. It was Nell. She had caught up with them and her tone was more wondering than shocked. “My across-the-street neighbor,” she added.

“Can’t see her face,” Gus said. “So how do you know?”

“Bo Peep,” Nell said, her voice starting to quaver. “That’s her costume—Little Bo Peep.”

Pamela had looked up during this exchange, but now she motioned to Gus to redirect the flashlight, and she bent toward the dead woman’s neck again. She knew not to touch anything at a crime scene, but she stared—hard. There were no marks on the woman’s neck and the ends of the yarn hung loose. It was as if the plan to strangle had been abandoned at the last minute—though the victim had clearly been killed by some other means . . .