2 Knot What It Seams
Read 2 Knot What It Seams Online
Authors: Elizabeth Craig
THAT’S ALL, FOLKS. . . .
The Looney Tunes ring tone on Meadow’s phone went off, loudly. Meadow frowned. “That’s the ring for Ramsay. Why would he be calling me? He knows I’m at a show.”
“If you answer it,” said Beatrice through gritted teeth as Looney Tunes merrily played on and on, “then maybe you’d find out.”
Meadow put the phone up to her ear. “Ramsay? I’m sort of busy at this show here. Can I call you back . . . what? What!” She listened intently for a moment, her mouth rather comically agape. “Oh. Ohhh. Okay. Yes.”
“Something wrong, Meadow? It wasn’t bad news, was it?” asked Karen.
“Yes,” said Meadow slowly. “Yes, actually, it was bad news. Jo is dead. Her car drove right off the side of the mountain.”
The Southern Quilting Mystery Series
by Elizabeth Craig
Quilt or Innocence
Knot What It Seams
Knot What It Seams
A SOUTHERN QUILTING MYSTERY
Elizabeth Craig
OBSIDIAN
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
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Copyright © Elizabeth Craig, 2013
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Contents
Excerpt form
SOUTHERN QUILTING MYSTERY
For William and Caroline. Welcome to the world!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks, as always, to Coleman, Riley, and Elizabeth Ruth for their love and support. Thanks to my fantastic editor, Sandra Harding. To my agent, Ellen Pepus. Special thanks to my mother, Beth Spann, for being a wonderful beta reader (and mama.) And thanks to the quilting community and the writing community, for their support.
Chapter 1
“It’s
dying, Beatrice. A gasping, tragic death. And it’s up to us to save
it!”
Beatrice Coleman studied her neighbor Meadow Downey. To the casual eye, she didn’t
look
fanatical. But when it came to the Village Quilters guild, Meadow was nothing less th
an obsessive. “I hardly think the guild is dying, Meadow. We’re just hitting a little membership snag, that’s all. More like a hiccup, really. It’s the kind of thing that happens in all groups from time to time.”
“A membership
crisis
, you mean! We must infuse new life into the Village Quilters!” Meadow’s eyes gleamed maniacally behind the red frames of her glasses. “Beatrice, this guild has been around since the late 1800s. And it’s our responsibility to keep it going. It won’t die on my watch. We’ve lost two members recently—one to a retirement home and one to another town. And Piper’s not even coming to guild meetings half the time,” said Meadow with a meaningful look at Beatrice.
Piper was Beatrice’s grown daughter. “She comes most of the time,” protested Beatrice. “She’s just really wrapped up right now in this staff development conference for her school. They’ve got to learn all the new state standards, and she’s there all day and most of the night, listening to speakers.”
Meadow didn’t appear satisfied with this excuse. “Well, anyway, it’s still not enough quilters. We’ve got to do something. Have you noticed what’s been going on with the Cut-Ups guild, though?”
Beatrice thought this might be a rhetorical question but decided to answer, anyway. “I know they’ve got a couple of new members in their group.”
“Not
just
a couple of new members, Beatrice. More like a couple of new, expert quilters in their guild. They’ll be winning gobs of prizes at shows. Then we’ll lose even
more
members because everyone will want to join the Cut-Ups,” said Meadow, thumping Beatrice’s coffee table emphatically.
“Clearly, you have someone in mind to invite. Considering your unexpected visit and your carefully practiced, impassioned speech,” said Beatrice drily. “Who’s your intended victim . . . er . . . your candidate?”
“Jo Paxton would be the perfect new member,” said Meadow, sitting up straight and confident in one of Beatrice’s armchairs. Her long gray braid swung off to the side. “She’s smart, capable, reliable, and a fabulous quilter. She also judges quilting competitions throughout the Southeast. She’s ideal.”
“Jo Paxton? Isn’t she our postal carrier?” asked Beatrice.
“The very one,” said Meadow, beaming.
“Capable and reliable? Those are words you’d use to describe her? Really?”
“You wouldn’t?” asked Meadow, her sunny face clouding up.
“Not if she’s to be judged based on her mail delivery aptitude, I wouldn’t. I’ve never been able to figure out when exactly the mail is supposed to be in my mailbox. And frequently, I end up with your mail and you’ve been getting mine. And I find Piper’s mail in my mailbox almost every day.” Not that her daughter usually got anything but catalogs.
Now Meadow’s broad face creased with a frown. “I can’t imagine where you got this impression of Jo. She seems like an incredibly efficient carrier to me. Prompt and accurate!”
“If the mail in your mailbox is correctly addressed, that’s because I’m switching them out. They’ve already been corrected by the time you get your mail. And you apparently don’t know when your mail is actually delivered. I promise it’s frequently late,” said Beatrice.
“Of course I know when the mail is delivered! And I’m very impressed that Jo brings it so early in the morning. She must be at my house by five a.m. to get it in the box by the time I go out to get the paper! And those Sunday deliveries . . . remarkable!”
Beatrice sat back and studied Meadow. She looked a little clueless, placidly sitting there with her mismatched clothes, red spectacles, and messy gray braid that fell to her waist. “Meadow, she doesn’t deliver the mail at five in the morning. Or on Sundays. She delivers it sometime the day before. You’re
checking
it that early in the morning, but you’re getting the mail from the previous day.”
Meadow waved her hands dismissively. “I don’t even care. All I ever get in the mail is bills, anyway. Besides the delivery problems, do you have any other issues with Jo?”
Beatrice thought carefully. “Well—” She didn’t even know the woman aside from receiving mail from her.
“Exactly! Me, either. That’s why she’s going to be such a great member of the group. I’ve gone ahead and asked her and she said she’d love to join up with us!”
Beatrice gritted her teeth, before taking a deep relaxing breath. That New Year’s resolution to be patient was really getting put through its paces this year. “Then why did you ask me about it if you’d already invited Jo to join the Village Quilters?”
“I needed to be validated. We all need validation, Beatrice.”
“But . . . isn’t she in another quilting guild? I remember her being with another group at that last quilting bee.”
“She
was
with the Cut-Ups, but she had a misunderstanding with them, so she ended up leaving the group. Or maybe they asked her to leave. Anyway, she’s free to join our guild,” said Meadow.
“That should be a red flag right there. Why was she asked to leave? Who did she upset? Why would we want someone like that in our group?”
“To make life interesting, of course!” Meadow slapped her hands on her thighs to loudly emphasize her point, and her huge beast, Boris, sprang up and started excitedly galloping around Beatrice’s sofa.
Beatrice’s head hurt. Her cottage living room was tiny enough without Meadow’s larger-than-life presence. The fact that Meadow had brought Boris along for her breakfast time visit didn’t help matters, either. Beatrice’s corgi, Noo-noo, watched with concern. Meadow claimed that Boris was a mixture of Great Dane, Newfoundland . . . and corgi. If there
were
any corgi in Boris, it had gotten the short end of the genetic stick. And Noo-noo certainly didn’t see evidence of it at all.