The Knitting Needle Murder (The Middle Way Mysteries Book 1)

A Murder in the Stacks—A Secret Buried in the Past

When widow Jenny Meaden moves to the quiet Cotswold town of Kerston, she dreams of a life defined by routine, not revelations. But peace is shattered when she discovers a body in the local library—an elderly man, murdered with a knitting needle to the chest. What begins as a horrifying encounter draws Jenny into a mystery far deeper than she ever imagined.

Joined by sharp-tongued fellow volunteer Neeta Biddle, Jenny digs into the life of the victim, Avery Sykes—a man with a scandalous past, an unexpected fiancé, and a hidden identity as the author of risqué romance novels. As their amateur investigation weaves through town secrets and buried memories, another body is uncovered, and a web of lies unravels, connecting old crimes with new motives.

Tensions rise between Jenny and the local detective, Marek O’Keeffe, whose own haunted past becomes tangled in the case. With poisoned chocolates, false leads, and a masked figure at the center of it all, Jenny must confront not only a killer but the darkness lurking behind familiar faces.

Discover The Knitting Needle Murder—a cozy yet chilling whodunit where friendship and fear share equal footing.

Get your copy today and uncover the secrets stitched into every page.

Excerpt from the book

Jenny steered the trolley round the end of the bookcase. The Rs were done, now for the Ss. She slotted the books into place, one by one. It was a peaceful, undemanding task. When she noticed a book out of alphabetical order, she replaced it in its proper home. Stibbe, Nina after Stewart, Mary. Before Jenny shelved each book, she flicked quickly through the pages as Valerie Raeburn, the library manager, had told her to do, just in case there was something unexpected hidden inside.

‘Quite astonishing what people will use for bookmarks,’ Valerie had said. ‘I once found a rasher of bacon inside a Richard Osman.’

Cooked, or uncooked? Jenny had wondered, but hadn’t asked.

‘Streaky,’ Valerie added, with a shudder of disgust.

There were no bacon rashers in any of the books today, although an envelope fluttered out of one of them. Loo rolls, marmalade, sweet chilli sauce, cat litter Jenny read. She had a lively curiosity about people and their hidden lives. This borrower evidently had a cat. Perhaps one that liked its Whiskas spiked with chilli.

Jenny found a home for her last book just as a bell tinkled. This was Valerie’s signal that the library would be closing in five minutes. In fact, it was nearly empty already. A brown-skinned woman with glossy hair coiled in a bun was heading towards the desk pulling a tartan shopper behind her. As Jenny watched, she lifted piles of books out, placed them on the desk in front of Valerie, and offered her a fan of library cards.

A family of readers, Jenny thought. Or perhaps a book club or a reading circle. She wondered if she should think about joining a book club. She loved reading, but for her it was a solitary pleasure, curled cosily in an armchair, allowing an author’s words to transport her to another world. She didn’t really want to talk about what she read with other people, no matter how friendly and welcoming they might be.

I’ve become very anti-social Jenny said to herself.

She scanned the library: the long table where the students sat with their phones and laptops out, earbuds in, secretly nibbling biscuits and swigging from cans of energy drink; the stand with the Recommended Reads colourfully on display; the circles of chairs in tucked-away corners, where people parked their shopping and rested their legs, and sometimes snored … Oh, there was someone still there. An elderly man with a large book splayed open on his lap, chin resting on his chest. As Jenny approached, she saw a ragged piece of paper—like something torn from a newspaper—lying on the floor next to him. Without thinking, she picked it up, folded it, and slipped it into her pocket.

‘Excuse me,’ Jenny said. ‘I’m afraid the library’s about to close.’

The man did not move or give any sign of having heard her.

Gingerly, Jenny placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘But you’ll have to leave soon.’

Still nothing. Jenny exerted a little more pressure. The man slid down in his seat, his head rocking slightly to and fro. Something long and shiny was sticking out of his chest. Jenny gasped and jumped back, and the man’s body slumped sideways, then off the chair and on to the floor, landing awkwardly, limbs flung anyhow, with the book underneath him. Jenny must have made a noise, because suddenly the woman with the shopper was beside her. She knelt by the body and felt for a pulse at the neck—with what Jenny, even in her shock, could see was calm proficiency. Then she stood up.