Kept In Stitches

Melinda Andrews sat watching the news, where a story about a missing heiress named Savannah Hodges played. As the news anchor droned on, her mind began to drift. Melinda’s attention returned to the screen as the newsperson announced a $20,000 reward for information leading to Savannah’s return. The scene cut to a detective holding a small black notebook.

“This notebook, filled with some form of code, was found at the bedside of the missing woman,” and the screen changes to show a scanned sample of the text inside.

Ch8, hdc3, st2tog…… the text went on in this way. The handwriting was neat, and had a feminine curl to it. She sat up in her chair, leaning toward the television in rapt attention. Her brain was translating this seeming gibberish into a message. A phone number scrolled across the bottom of the screen, as the detective asked for anyone with any information to please call. Melinda’s hand reached out for the cell on the end table and she quickly dialed the number displayed.

“Harrison County Sherriff’s Office, can I help you?” came the voice at the other end of the line.

“Yes, I just saw the detective talking about the Savannah Hodges case on TV and I may be able to help with the code,” she blurted out excitedly.

“You can?” the voice said, a heavy dose of skepticism present in those two words.

“Yes! I believe it to be a crochet pattern,” Melinda explained excitedly, only to receive the common reply of “What is that?”

“It is a craft you do with yarn, kind of like knitting” she replied.

“I see. Can I get your name and number in case the detective would like to follow up with you?”

She provided her information to the officer, happy she had been able to help.

Meanwhile, Detective Harger was returning from the TV studio and received a message from the tip line. “A lady called and thinks the notebook is some kind of knitting pattern or something.” The person who had taken the message relayed. Harger went back to the Hodges family home, and looked for signs of knitting supplies. In a back room that looked almost forgotten was a bookshelf containing yarn, and on the side table next to a rocking chair were a couple of pamphlets with a logo on the front of a chicken and the company Lil Red Hen Designs. Laid across the pamphlets was a tool that he supposed looked like an old-fashioned orange peeler. No knitting needles were seen anywhere in the house.

“Savannah Hodges is 17, a reclusive heiress, who shows a mathematics and engineering aptitude. Why would she have this written in a journal at her bedside?” he mused as he searched. He pulled out his cell phone and called back to the station.

“Hey Kelly, what was the contact info from the tip line on the knitting tip?” he asked the dispatch officer who answered. Quickly he scribbled the information relayed onto his trusty notepad, and signed off the call. With a mental shrug, he input the number and pressed dial.

“Lil Red Hen crochet designs,” Melinda answered as the caller ID displays an unfamiliar number.

“Ms. Andrews? This is Detective Harger with the Harrison County Sherriff’s office. I have a few questions about your call to the tip line.” He says, knowing this is a long shot.

“Absolutely, how can I help?” Melinda says.

“You claim that the writings in this notebook have something to do with knitting, is that correct?” he asked.

“No, it’s crochet. Crochet is similar in some ways to knitting but instead of the needles, you use a hook,” she explained, and his mind flashed to the tool on the side table.

“Do the hooks look like an old orange peeler?” he inquired, and Melinda stifled a laugh.

“Yes, I guess they could be mistaken for that” she responded.

“And you believe the notebook to contain a pattern? Could you tell what it is for?” the detective pressed, hoping this lead might make progress.

“From what I saw on TV, I don’t know, but if I could see the whole thing I can recreate it, so we can see,” she offered, and Detective Harger arranges a time to meet at the station.

On arriving, she was shown to an empty conference room and a moment later a man identifying himself as Detective Harger entered. In his hands was the black notebook she had seen on television. He set it down on the table in front of her, and opened the cover. The familiar shorthand of crochet patterns greeted her. The pattern continued for several pages, and was too complex for her to construct in her head, so she reached into her purse and extracted a ball of yarn, and a moderate sized crochet hook.

Melinda’s fingers made visible to the world what was written on the page. Harger sat silently and watched her fingers and hook quickly work the yarn into a bowl shape. There were a series of bumps and gaps appearing into the sides as the item took shape.

“What is that?” he asked, indicating one of the bumps, “Is it an error in the pattern?”

Melinda paused in her work and surveyed the item dangling from her hook. “I don’t think so, it seems to be intentional. Maybe it will be more recognizable if I get a few more rounds completed.”

“Go ahead,” Harger gestured, and watched for about ten minutes as the item grew and took shape more. The groupings of bumps had begun to form a pattern. It looked familiar but he could not place it. The bumps and gaps were not present on the base, but as the work progressed, they spiraled up the sides. As she worked, she turned the piece in her hands, so different aspects were visible from where he sat. When the patterning started, he saw something familiar and asked if he could hold the piece. She secured her hook and handed him the work in progress. He ran his fingers over the first set of bumps, a set of three, followed by a normal looking stitch, then three gaps, a normal stitch, and three more bumps. Normally this pattern is heard and not seen or felt, but he recognized it as Morse code, the signal for SOS. His memory of the remainder of the alphabet was rusty, so he exited the room and asked the officers in the bullpen if anyone was fluent in Morse code.

“I am,” an officer just arriving for his shift replied, “My son recently did a project on it for school.” Harger ushered him into the conference room and asked him to read the crochet bowl. Following the message around the piece, he read aloud “SOS, my guardian is keeping me secluded to gain control of…” and this is as much progress as Melinda had made. Harger reached for a notepad on the table and a pen for the officer to jot the message in progress, as the officer returned the work to Melinda to continue. Melinda worked with an increased speed, careful to replicate the pattern exactly, as any errant stitch could alter the message. An hour later, with her hands cramped and tired, she reached the end of the pattern, and finished off her yarn.

The officer who had deciphered before was brought back in, and carefully he examined the piece. Other detectives had heard of the goings on and were curious, so they lingered in the doorway to see this lead unfold. “SOS, my guardian is keeping me secluded to gain control of my trust fund. I fear for my safety, because he loses that control when I turn 18.”

“Seems kind of formal for a plea for help,” the Sargent commented. “But then again the family is well spoken, and she is well educated”

“The lawyer for her parents’ estate is her guardian, where is he?” Harger asked, and another detective offered to bring him in.

A few hours later, the guardian occupied the interrogation room, Detective Harger seated across from him.

“Thank you for coming in, we just had a few more questions regarding Savannah’s disappearance,” the detective said, assuming an air of calm to put the suspect at ease. The lawyer responded “Do you have any leads?”

“We are working on a few, trying to verify information, that’s why we asked you to come in,” Harger replied. “Do you know if Savannah had any hobbies, like knitting?”

The lawyer scrunched up his face in thought, “I don’t think so, she was more into science than arts and crafts. Why?”

“We noticed a room with some yarn and patterns in the back of the house,” Harger started, and the lawyer interrupted him “Oh, Violet, Savannah’s grandmother did some yarn things when she was alive, and the family has kept those items as a remembrance.”

“So, to your knowledge, Savannah doesn’t know how to knit or crochet?” Harger pressed.

“Maybe, I don’t know, she is a teenage girl, she keeps to herself, it’s not like we sit down to chat at dinner,” the lawyer brushed off the question. Harger decided to metaphorically go for the jugular and said, “We have received a message from Savannah implicating you in her disappearance.”

“What… no… that little brat…how did she...where did she say she was?” The lawyer stammered, totally floored by this accusation.

“Interesting response,” the detective commented.

The lawyer tried to compose himself and deflect, stating, “She’s probably off on a beach somewhere playing a joke at my expense.” Harger wasn’t buying it, and the look on his face made that clear. A few more minutes of hard questions and he folded, admitting he had her locked in a room in a remote cabin to force her to sign over control of her trust indefinitely.

Officers were dispatched to the location right away, while the lawyer was mirandized and led to a holding cell.

At the cabin, a windowless bedroom with locks outside the door confined the young woman, and officers quickly freed her and had her checked by paramedics to ensure she had not been injured.

When she was brought to the station for her statement, she asked Detective Harger how they were able to find her.

“The message you left in your notebook. A woman recognized it as crochet and followed the pattern, revealing your message. Quite ingenious,” he replied.

“He had kept me locked away from most everyone for the past year, and I was afraid with my birthday coming up, but he monitored all my communication, so I couldn’t say anything. I had hoped I was just being paranoid to journal a pattern for help, but I guess not.” Savannah shrugged, “Is there a way for me to meet the woman who followed the pattern to thank her?”

A few days later, Melinda and Savannah met at a nearby park so Savannah could thank the woman who played such a big role in her rescue.

Savannah said, “My mema taught me crochet and patterns to keep me occupied when I was younger. She said it was a skill that could one day help me when I least expected it.”

“And my mother said that a career as a crochet pattern designer would be an enjoyable living, if not much of a financially profitable one.” Melinda looked wistful thinking of the time and money it took to keep her business going.

“Well, I know the reward will help you, but would you also be interested in a partner?”

“I guess crochet can save lives” Melinda joked. Savannah agreed, “To the power of crafters.”