2 Knot What It Seams (22 page)

“Of course he did! But you know Ramsay. He’d rather stay in denial so he can relax and read Keats and write sonnets.” Beatrice was aware some of her irritation was spilling over into her voice. But really, Ramsay could be so stubborn sometimes about not wanting to see crime, even when it was right in front of him.

“You drove yourself away afterward? After such a scare? I’d have been shaking too hard to drive home. I wish I’d seen you last night to give you a ride, but I stayed in to catch up on some work. You know what? There’s some ointment that you should try. Bub’s carries it. It’s like an aloe cream with some other herbs added to it that really helps with scrapes and cuts. I used it when I took a tumble hiking one day. And it smells delicious, too.”

“Thanks, Karen. I’ll try to find it at the store. It’s amazing that the scrapes still sting like they do.”

“I’ve still got some left over. Let’s get you set up with some wine, and I’ll go dig it out. Wine will take the edge off. White or red?”

While Karen was getting their drinks and the ointment, Beatrice gazed around her living room. Like with Meadow’s house, there were quilts everywhere. But unlike Meadow, Karen had carefully taken the time to display her quilts in artistic ways and with an eye for showing them in the best light. She had several quilts draped over an antique ladder that was propped against a back wall. Karen had mounted and framed a few unfinished quilt blocks, which made a stunning visual display over her sofa. Quilts were also hanging from the walls with lighting carefully pointed their way to show them to their best advantage.

Karen came back with their wineglasses on a small tray. “Beatrice, I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping you could give your opinion of my display approach for the quilts. As you can see, I’ve made quite a few and it’s a challenge to show them off. But not a challenge for a former art museum curator.”

Piper smiled proudly at her mother.

“Actually,” said Beatrice. “I think you’ve done a fantastic job here. You’d mentioned something to Meadow a while back about displaying quilts on the wall, and it made me a little worried. That’s such a static way of presenting quilts, and quilts need to be shown off in different ways. Some of them show really well on walls, of course, but too many on walls makes it all sort of stiff. I love the way you’ve draped some of them. They’re really meant to be draped over people . . . to be soft and comforting. And I think you’ve captured some of that. The quilts’ texture.”

Karen beamed at her. “That’s exactly what I was trying to accomplish. I wanted to show them off in a variety of ways. To me, quilts are art. If I could put them all under glass with spotlights, I’d do it. But recently, someone with a lot of experience and wisdom convinced me to try other approaches.” She motioned Piper and Beatrice to follow her upstairs. There they saw a couple of bedrooms that had curtain rods mounted over the beds and draped quilts as textured headboards.

“How did you display the quilts at the folk art museum?” asked Karen. Beatrice started answering, but then was quickly interrupted by Karen, who wanted to show her some of her more unusual quilts. Piper glanced at Beatrice and shrugged. Karen did warm to an audience. It was all right—Piper would have ended up bored to tears if Beatrice had launched into a lecture on the rotation of antique quilts to incorporate a resting time in between displays.

Their supper was delicious and Beatrice was surprised to discover that she was famished. Karen seemed pleased when she asked for seconds. The conversation around the table was lively, and if Karen dominated it, at least she wasn’t boring. It was obvious that Karen was very well read on quilting and had very clear goals for herself in the craft. And was competitive. Her eyes gleamed when she explained her plans for winning at national quilt shows. She actually used the word
plans
in regards to winning, instead of
hopes
.

They were finishing their supper when the doorbell gave several merry rings. Karen frowned. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She quickly got up from the table to answer it. Beatrice sighed. Meadow. There went their quiet evening.

Piper whispered, “You act like you know who’s at the door.”

“It’s Meadow. She’s planning an ambush. She’s going to invite Karen to join the Village Quilters.” Beatrice took a rather large sip of her wine. Good thing Piper was driving.

“Right now?” Piper shifted uncomfortably. She was the kind of person who never enjoyed potential conflict. Apparently, she thought that Meadow might be pushy and that Karen might not be interested in the group.

Meadow was loudly apologizing. “Oh my! My! I am so, so sorry, Karen! I had absolutely no idea that you had company here. Hi there, Beatrice and Piper! My most favorite people all in one place. Isn’t this
nice
?” Behind her, came a suspicious-looking Miss Sissy. “Uh. Well, I saw Miss Sissy walking down the street and she flagged me down. It was getting dark, you know. . . .” Meadow gave a helpless shrug and watched as the old woman strode across the room and sat down with great determination.

Beatrice thought she saw a flash of irritation in Karen’s eyes for the briefest of seconds. She’d have to be superhuman not to feel irritation with Meadow and Miss Sissy, too. But it was impossible to be upset with Meadow for very long—she was almost like a child. Irrepressible and innocent. And annoying. At least, Beatrice was glad to note, Meadow no longer had the twigs and leaves in her braid from earlier in the day.

Karen was smoothly back in perfect hostess mode. “Meadow, can I get you something to drink? A glass of wine, maybe?”

“Yes! That would be wonderful. Oh, bring the whole bottle, Karen. I think we might have something to celebrate.” Meadow winked broadly at Beatrice and Piper watched them both, curiously.

Obediently, Karen returned with another tray with the rest of the white wine and also brought along an unopened bottle of red and a wineglass for Meadow. “Just in case. I’m never one to shirk celebrating.”

Meadow gave a hearty laugh, poured herself a glass of white wine, and said, now solemn, “Karen, I’d like to ask you to become part of the historic Village Quilters guild. As a longtime resident of Dappled Hills, you know that as long as this town has existed, there has been a Village Quilters guild. For many generations, women have shared friendship and their talents to create art, and I hope you’ll join us in that fine tradition. It would be an honor to have you as a member.”

Piper appeared to be holding her breath. Beatrice watched as some unrecognizable emotions passed across Karen’s face. Then she quickly grinned and said, “The honor is mine. I’d love to join the Village Quilters.”

Meadow let up a whoop and jumped up to fiercely hug Karen. “I knew it! I knew you’d do it!” Then she pulled back and anxiously studied Karen from arm’s length. “The ladies in the Cut-Ups won’t hate you, will they? I know they’re going to be sorry to lose you.”

“They’ll live,” said Karen with a short laugh. “They’ve got enough members to really not miss me at all. You know, I’ve been thinking about leaving the Cut-Ups for the Village Quilters for a while.”

“Have you?” asked Meadow with a wide grin.

“There’s a lot of talent in your group. Our group. And forgive me for saying so, but I think some of it is being wasted,” said Karen.

“Really?” Instead of sounding insulted, Meadow appeared intrigued. She took a large swallow of her wine.

“I’m afraid so. Let’s take Savannah, for instance. Her craftsmanship is absolutely amazing. She puts tremendous effort into everything she quilts. I inspected one of her recent projects and couldn’t believe how densely stitched it was. But she doesn’t experiment with her talent or choose projects based on their artistic merit. It’s almost like her quilts lack creativity.”

That was certainly true. But Savannah was a bit eccentric. Her idea of a perfect pattern was something rigidly geometric where she could really shine in the constraints. And she did.

“And, Beatrice,” said Karen, turning toward her. “You’ve got a real eye for art. I think your compositions have been striking and I’ve overheard some of your conversations at quilting bees—ideas for others’ designs. You’ve got some fascinating ideas and I really want to pick your brain. But you don’t have any skill.”

Beatrice nodded calmly, ignoring Meadow’s shocked gasp and Miss Sissy’s dire mutterings. What Karen said was true. And she’d been in the art world long enough to retain at least a modicum of distance from any artwork—even her own.

Meadow, though, was clearly distressed at the direction that the conversation was taking. She drained her glass of wine and gratefully took more when Karen offered it. “Well,
isn’t
it wonderful that you’re going to be a part of the group? I’m sure you do have many fabulous ideas to share with us, too. Uh . . . hey, weren’t you telling me about your quilt poster? Something like that? Displaying quilts on posters? Something?” Poor Meadow was now grasping at straws to prevent her new inductee from possibly stepping on more toes.

Karen, always willing to show off some of her work, quickly made the transition. “I was showing Beatrice and Piper some of the ways I’m presenting my quilts before you came in. But I have other displays I’ve done, too. I found this antique quilt at a flea market and the poor thing was literally falling apart at the edges. I was shocked they’d even tried to sell it. I guess they know there are people like me who’ll have ideas for threadbare quilts. So I used corkboard, wire cutters, and a staple gun to attach a portion to the board and make a display. Now, it’s not the thing to do if you have something really valuable and you’re trying to preserve it,” she said quickly, sensing some objection from the retired curator. “But it’s great for something that was unusable to begin with.

“And I’ve used scraps to make Christmas ornaments for craft fairs. They sell like hotcakes. They’re really easy to make with foam balls, Christmas fabric scraps, wire cutters, and ribbon. See, we could do things like this as the Village Quilters and really raise some money in our coffers with a minimum of time or effort.”

“If it’s not all taxed to death by the good mayor,” said Beatrice drily.

“So sweet!” said Meadow a little unsteadily, looking at one of the ornaments. “Such a sweet thing. Ha!” She hiccupped. Piper and Beatrice glanced at each other. “I can drive her back home,” said Piper in a whisper.

“Might be a good idea,” said Beatrice.

“Did you hear about what happened to Beatrice yesterday?” asked Meadow. She sloshed a bit of white wine from her glass as she stumbled and caught herself on Karen’s sleeve.

To her credit, Karen was unperturbed by the spill or the stumble. “Piper told me about it earlier. So horrible.”

Meadow nodded solemnly. “Awful. Dappled Hills is falling apart. Jo, Opal, now Beatrice!” She clucked and hiccupped again.

“I’m glad that I had y’all over for supper tonight, then. It’s good to have something fun and relaxing happen for a change.”

“And the food was so delicious!” said Piper, helpfully chiming in.

“Food is always comforting, isn’t it?” said Karen with satisfaction. “I baked myself extravagant breakfasts every day last week—just to keep my spirits up. Well, except the morning when I had the repairman out. I picked up breakfast that day . . . and I made sure it was decadent . . . doughnuts. The other days, I had blueberry baked French toast, garlic cheese grits, a breakfast casserole . . .”

“We could have had leftovers for supper!” said Beatrice. “At my house, that’s almost certainly what we’d have eaten.”

“This talk of food reminds me . . . what in heaven’s name am I going to do about cakes now?” asked Meadow in exasperation. “Dappled Hills is bakerless without Opal around! So thoughtless of the murderer.”

“So we don’t have a cake for the next show?” asked Karen, looking concerned. “Everyone counts on them being there. I think some people show up so they can eat cake.”

The rapidly frying synapses in Miss Sissy’s brain momentarily connected with each other. “June Bug!” she barked.

Meadow frowned vaguely at her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Sissy?”

“June Bug. She bakes cakes. Quilts, too.”

Meadow tilted her head to one side, considering this information. “Now, that name is familiar to me. Is that the little woman who cleans for Opal Woosley? Or
cleaned
, I guess I should say now.” Meadow sniffed sadly at the thought, and Beatrice quickly jumped into the conversation to head off a full-fledged cry.

“That’s June Bug. I saw her when I was there to pick up the cake for the guild meeting. Surely her name can’t be June Bug, though.”

“It is!” said Miss Sissy fiercely, waving a gnarled fist. “It is.”

“I guess it is,” said Meadow, raising her eyebrows. “So she can bake cakes, too? She’s a good baker?”

“You ate her cakes, didn’t you? Ate them all,” Miss Sissy growled.

“I . . . no, I don’t think so, Miss Sissy. I’ve never had the pleasure of eating a June Bug cake,” said Meadow pleasantly.

“Yes, you did! She baked all the cakes.
She
did.” Miss Sissy became more agitated than ever. “She is my friend and she brings me cakes every visit!” She stamped her foot. Miss Sissy must have made a formidable toddler back in the day.

“I guess Opal decided to subcontract her baking,” said Beatrice drily. “Maybe business picked up and she couldn’t keep up with the demand.”

Meadow’s brows knit. “It all sounds a bit fraudulent to me. But okay. I suppose it’s a type of business model. I’ll ask June Bug to make some cakes for the next quilt show . . . the one in Lenoir. Where would I find her? Do you have her phone number?”

Miss Sissy glared at her. “Don’t have a phone!”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you don’t make phone calls.”

“She comes to my house on Thursdays,” offered Miss Sissy, a bit more helpfully.

“To clean?” asked Meadow in a doubtful way. Miss Sissy’s house wasn’t exactly in pristine condition.

“To visit,” proclaimed Miss Sissy smugly. “And to bring cake.”

“Well, all right, then. I’ll have to drop by your house Thursday,” said Meadow.