Penelope spent the next week in a state of suppressed excitement. She went about her household chores on autopilot, all the while planning how she would capture the counterfeit knitter on camera. Every morning, after Bill left for work, Penelope set up a card table in the garage to represent the teaching table at Llama and Lamb. She dubbed the water heater in the corner “Counterfeiter,” and practiced chatting away with students, snapping pictures that also included the water heater.
As Penelope plotted, practiced, and schemed, her excitement hardened into determination. She’d watched Gwen grow her business from a corner booth in a consignment shop into a store of her very own. A vibrant knitting community had grown right along with the business. On Knit Night, laughter and camaraderie filled the shop, turning it into an oasis of creativity and encouragement. The idea that anyone would steal from her beloved Llama and Lamb, whose profit margin was still on the thin side, made Penelope’s blood boil.

Agent Donovan had asked Penelope to get a profile shot of the yarn thief, but Penelope got to thinking how much better it would be if she could get a full-face photo as well. She pondered how to get the woman to turn and look over at the knitting table. Gwen could try to get her to sign up for knitting classes, directing her attention to the class in progress. Penelope quickly saw the flaw in that idea. Suggesting she take classes might alert Ms. Fake Knitter to the fact that they knew she didn’t know circular needles from a circular saw.
What if somebody dropped something–something noisy? Metal knitting needles, perhaps? The bigger the better, Penelope decided as she dug through her knitting bag for a pair of Size 13 straight needles. She practiced using her elbow to give the needles a little push while she clicked a photo of the water heater. They made a satisfying and distracting din on the cement. She adjourned to the front hall, where she dropped the needles on the hardwood floor, similar to the floor at the shop. Not as loud, but loud enough, she decided. She stowed the Size 13s in her knitting bag.

Penelope’s phone pinged, announcing the arrival of more pictures of her grandson, six-month-old Robbie. She pored over the photos, admiring the way her daughter, Rachel, had zoomed in on the baby’s face. Oh, those bright eyes! The one-toothed smile! The absolutely devastating dimples! Once she’d recovered from the almost unbearable cuteness, Penelope found herself thinking how useful it would be to be able to zoom in for a close-up for what she had come to think of as her mission. Every time she tried to get a close-up of Robbie, his chubby little hands grabbed for the phone. She’d deleted a good number of blurry pictures of the ceiling and the floor as a result.
She tapped a reply to Rachel: He gets cuter by the minute! How do you get such great close-ups?
“Zoom feature” came Rachel’s swift reply.
Well, for goodness’ sake, Penelope thought, these smart phones can do everything but cook supper! She eventually figured out how to get the camera on her phone to zoom in and practiced in the garage until it was time to cook supper herself.

By the following Tuesday afternoon, she was ready. The Size 13 metal needles protruded from the top of her knitting bag. Her phone was fully charged. Bill’s favorite supper was in the fridge, all set for him to heat up when he felt like eating.
“Be careful,” Bill told her at the door, caressing her cheek and looking into her eyes.
“I will,” Penelope replied as usual. “Remember, I have knitting needles and I know how to use them!”
They chuckled together at the joke that helped them walk the fine line of tension that stretched between them. Penelope wrapped his desire to keep her safe around her like a warm shawl as she sallied forth into the late autumn dusk to teach knitting and catch a counterfeiter.