Quilt Trip: A Southern Quilting Mystery (21 page)

“What! With no trial?” Meadow asked.

“Of course with a trial. But Dot plans on pleading guilty, apparently. If it makes you feel better, she was very pragmatic over the whole thing. She was very matter-of-fact when she said that at least she had a roof over her head and knew where her next meal was coming from.”

“So, in a way, everything ended up all right in the end,” Beatrice said.

“Well, except for Colton and Muriel,” Meadow reminded her. “And Dot. Although Dot apparently has found a silver lining to her situation.”

“Except for them. And I, for one, was delighted to get back to my cottage and my Noo-noo,” said Beatrice, reaching down to her corgi, who had joined her by her side. She scratched behind her ears. Boris bumped her hand jealously with his head.

“Boris and Noo-noo don’t seem any the worse for wear, do they?” said Meadow. “From all accounts, they loved being at Camp Cork.”

Ramsay chuckled. “Cork was good to take them in for us. I somehow get the impression that Posy is usually the one who takes care of their dog. I heard him say that Noo-noo was very good, but he didn’t seem to have anything positive to say about Boris’s behavior.”

Boris lifted his head and gazed sadly at Ramsay before laying it back down in Beatrice’s lap.

“You know Cork loves Boris. Everyone loves Boris!” Meadow said stoutly. “He probably just forgot to mention how much he enjoyed his company because he got so busy, you know. Taking care of the dogs and searching for Posy and us and trying to get extra help to fill in at his wine store.”

Ramsay glanced at Beatrice’s wall clock and stood up. “Hate to say it, but I’ve got to head over to the police station. Don’t you have things you’ve got to do, too, Meadow?”

Boris leaped up at the realization that a walk back home was in order. He loped over to join Ramsay as he headed to the door.

Meadow made a face. “I suppose so. Laundry and cleaning, I think. I’m in no hurry. I’ll hang out with Beatrice for a while and keep her company.”

Beatrice stifled a sigh. Ramsay winked at her.

As Ramsay was opening the front door, he stopped. “You’re about to have more company, Beatrice. Pastor Wyatt is pulling into your driveway.”

Beatrice’s heart leaped and she carefully calmed herself down. “Really?” she asked, feigning indifference. “That’s nice of him.”

She apparently wasn’t fooling Meadow, who rolled her eyes. She stood up behind Ramsay and peered outside, pushing Boris aside. “I think he’s got a box of restorative chocolates, Beatrice! And a bag of treats for Noo-noo!”

Beatrice smiled and said sedately, “Very good of him to do that.”

Meadow nodded. “Sometimes being at home is the best thing of all.” She grinned at Beatrice. “But the next time you want to take a quilt trip with me, just say the word. There’s this quilt show in Georgia . . .”

Ramsay and Beatrice both groaned simultaneously.

Sav
e time by cutting all your fabric for a project at once so that you can pick up a project whenever you have a few minutes to work on it.

Color wheels are helpful tools when you’re trying to experiment with different color combinations.

Small hammers make good seam flatteners.

Try doing a sample block for a quilt to decide whether you want to make a whole quilt with the same blocks.

Fabric swaps among friends can be a good way both to get rid of unwanted fabric and to get new fabric for projects. Or use some of your leftover blocks to make pillows or miniature quilts.

Cork bulletin boards provide excellent places to hang and evaluate blocks, pin up ideas for future projects, and easily find patterns and instructions.

Although Beatrice and her friends were stuck with canned food and no electricity, here are recipes for some of Meadow’s favorite comfort foods that she wished they
did
have with them.

Chicken and Broccoli Casserole

Salt and pepper to taste

3 chicken breasts

2 chicken thighs

1 package frozen chopped broccoli, cooked

1 can cream of chicken soup

½ cup chicken broth

6 T mayonnaise

¾ t lemon juice

1 t curry powder

2 cups seasoned stuffing

¼ cup butter

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Salt and pepper chicken as desired and boil until cooked. Debone chicken and cut into bite-sized pieces. Cover a 3-quart casserole dish with cooking spray and place cooked chicken on the bottom. Cover with the cooked broccoli. Mix the chicken soup with half a cup of chicken broth, the mayonnaise, lemon juice, and curry powder. Spoon mixture on top of broccoli. Sprinkle the stuffing over the top. Melt the butter and drizzle on top of the stuffing. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes.

Spinach Bake

1 6-oz package corn muffin mix

2 eggs, beaten

8 oz sour cream

2 10-oz packages frozen chopped spinach

½ cup melted margarine

½ cup grated cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cover a 9-by-13 casserole dish with cooking spray. Combine all the ingredients and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

Chili con Carne

6 T butter

6 medium onions, sliced

3 lbs ground round

3 20-oz cans tomatoes

1 6-oz can tomato paste

1 cup ale or beer

1 T salt

½ t hot sauce

2 T chili powder (or more, to taste)

2 12-oz cans whole kernel corn

Melt the butter in a large saucepan. Add the onions and cook until softened. Add the beef to the pan and cook until browned. Add the remaining ingredients, except for the corn. Cover the saucepan and simmer for 45 minutes. Add the cans of corn and simmer for 15 more minutes.

Banana Nut Bread

3 very ripe bananas, mashed

¼ lb butter

1 cup sugar

2 eggs

2 cups flour

1 t baking soda

½ cup finely chopped pecans

Whip bananas until light. Cream the butter and sugar together and add the eggs. Sift flour and baking soda and add to egg mixture. Combine with the pecans and the bananas. Spoon into a greased loaf pan and bake at 350 degrees for one hour.

“The funny thing, Beatrice,” said Meadow, beaming through her red-framed glasses, “is that all this time I never knew that Boris wa
s a genius.”

Beatrice looked doubtfully down at the aforementioned Boris. The massive animal of mixed bloodlines was grinning at her with his tongue lolling out. He actually looked rather slow. And this was the same dog who strong-armed his way into her kitchen on a regular basis and upset her canisters while searching for food. “How did you come to that conclusion, Meadow? I mean, I’m sure Boris is
smart
, but I wouldn’t have said he was more clever than . . . well, Noo-noo.” She looked with satisfaction at her own dog, a well-behaved, alert corgi.

“He’s just so incredibly intuitive and communicative. Lately, he’s put his paw on my leg whenever he wants to tell me something. I’ve been amazed.” Meadow looked wonderingly at the huge animal’s tremendous paws. Boris yawned. “Yesterday morning I had a real absentminded episode. I put eggs on the stove to boil and then something distracted me. . . . I don’t now remember what it was. Anyway, I walked outside to get the newspaper. While I was outside, I saw weeds were really making inroads into my flower bed. So I pulled weeds for a bit.”

Beatrice took a bite of her shortbread cookie. She was used to Meadow’s meandering stories and had confidence that her friend would eventually come to her point.

“Out of the blue, Boris bolted out the door. I swear, I don’t even know how he opened it. Do you think he turned the handle?”

Beatrice didn’t.

“Anyway, he galloped outside, giving me this incredibly intelligent pleading look. I get goose bumps whenever I remember it.” Meadow thrust out her arm for Beatrice to view the indisputable truth. “He put his paw on my shoulder—that’s because I was stooped over, weeding—clearly telling me to come inside. He gave a few sharp barks and ran to the front door. I tell you, Beatrice, I started running. Sure enough, the pot was already blazing when I went in, so I sprayed my kitchen extinguisher on it and put it out. Boris saved the day!” Meadow choked up at this last bit and pulled a tissue out of her purse, blowing her nose loudly.

Noo-noo looked concerned, and Beatrice reached over to rub the dog’s head. “That’s a very scary story, Meadow. Thank goodness that Boris paid such close attention. I’d hate for this gorgeous barn to burn down.” Beatrice gazed around her. The old barn had been turned into a beautiful home. Skylights in the cathedral-like ceiling lit the large, open living area, illuminating vibrantly colored quilts hanging from the walls.

Meadow reached over to refill Beatrice’s iced tea before she could protest. Meadow took her hostessing duties seriously, but Beatrice was wondering if she’d need to make a pit stop by the powder room before she and Noo-noo walked home. Before she knew it, Meadow had put another couple of shortbread cookies on the china plate in front of her. “Meadow!” she groaned.

“Oh, please. Like you need to worry about calories. I’ve never seen a fitter sixtysomething-year-old than you. Platinum blond hair, carelessly stylish button-down, and capri-length khakis.” Meadow snorted. “How did I end up with the big bones and crazy hair? The least you can do is eat a few cookies with me in sympathy.”

“I’m afraid my hair is white, not platinum. I’m not as fit as you’re giving me credit for. And your hair isn’t crazy at all. I’ve always thought your braid suited you.” It was a long gray braid, which did suit Meadow to a T.

Meadow said, “Hey, how is your quilt coming along?” Her eyes were wide and innocent, but Beatrice knew that this was a dead-serious follow-up.

“Oh, I figured I’d finish it the night before the quilt show. There’s still plenty of time,” said Beatrice in a studiously careless voice. Meadow gasped, choking a bit on cookie crumbs, and Beatrice chided, “Meadow! It’s all finished, of course. You know how I am about meeting deadlines.” She reached down and gave Boris a distracted pat as he laid his mighty genius head on her lap to look lovingly at her shortbread cookie.

Meadow flashed her a relieved look as she reached for her drink to wash down the cookie. She said, “Well, thank goodness. I only wish that everyone else in the guild had your work ethic. This show might be featuring a bunch of unfinished quilts from the Village Quilters.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think we can spin that somehow? Promote it as high art? ‘The Process of Quilting,’ or some such thing?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Somehow, Beatrice didn’t think a modern-art deconstructed-quilt exhibit was going to go over well in tiny Dappled Hills. “Are you sure that everyone is running so far behind? That doesn’t sound like Savannah, for instance.”

Meadow cleared her throat. “Well, Savannah has been busy doing other things lately.”

“That sounds ominous,” said Beatrice, slowly. “Are you talking about her little borrowing problem?” Savannah, who looked like a prim and proper, buttoned-up old maid, was a complete kleptomaniac.

“Let’s just say she’s kept her sister busy lately,” said Meadow with a sigh. “I happened to be in the quilt shop when Georgia came in to return a thimble that Savannah had swiped. Sometimes she goes through spells with it, you know. Just be sure to nail down your stuff when it’s your turn to host a guild meeting.”

“Okay. Well, I can understand the two of them being a little behind then. But Miss Sissy? She’s up all night with insomnia. You can’t tell me that she hasn’t finished her quilt. What else does she have to do?” Miss Sissy was the oldest member of the guild. She’d become a bit demented and was fairly arthritic, but she could still produce the best needlework of anyone in the state.

“Who knows?” said Meadow gloomily. “Whatever she’s doing, it’s not quilting. At least not on the quilt that’s supposed to be in the show.”

“And Piper?” asked Beatrice. “Surely my own daughter is enough like me to meet her deadline with lots of time to spare.”

“I think Piper and my son have been spending a lot of time talking on the phone together lately,” said Meadow. This, at least, put a smile back on her face. “Ah, they’re really a lovely couple, aren’t they? I can tell that Ash is just wild about Piper.”

It was a pity that Ash lived all the way over on the other side of the country. Beatrice was both happy for her daughter and sorry that she was in a relationship that might eventually result in a move. Piper had only recently returned from a long visit in California to see Ash.

“So Piper isn’t done either?” This
was
looking bad for the quilt show. “I wonder how the Cut-Ups are doing with their quilts,” said Beatrice. The Cut-Ups and the Village Quilters had a friendly rivalry with one another. Friendly
most
of the time, anyway.

Now Meadow’s face looked even glummer. “I’m sure they’re completely done, as usual.”

“Well, why don’t we set up some sort of bee?” asked Beatrice. “You know the Village Quilters love to socialize—maybe that would be the best way to keep everybody from procrastinating and finish their quilts.”

Meadow brightened. “Great idea, Beatrice! Maybe Posy will let us use the Patchwork Cottage’s conference room. We could set up a bunch of long tables, run some extension cords, and everyone would have plenty of space to spread out.”

“A retreat,” said Beatrice, nodding. “A quilting retreat. We could all bring some food—that’ll lure them in if the quilting doesn’t.”

“Do you think Posy will go for it?” asked Meadow. “The shop has been so busy lately and it seems like she’s always on the go.”

Beatrice could tell Meadow would keep stewing over this issue until it was addressed. “Tell you what. Why don’t we head over to Posy’s shop and find out right now? We can ask her about the retreat and I can pick up a few things for the new quilt I’m working on. Can Noo-noo visit with Boris while we run the errand?”

Meadow beamed at her. “Boris will
love
it!” she said as she snatched her keys off the kitchen counter.

Noo-noo apparently didn’t share the sentiment and stared reproachfully at Beatrice as she and Meadow left.

•   •   •

Beatrice felt a smile pull at the corners of her mouth as soon as she entered Posy’s shop. The Patchwork Cottage made her feel a bit more relaxed, a little more mindful. Posy always had soft music playing in the store, usually by local artists. The large room was a visual feast for the eyes with bolts of fabric and lovely finished quilts on display everywhere—even draped over antique sewing machines and old washstands. Gingham curtains hung in the windows. Posy had made the shop as welcoming and friendly as she was herself.

Beatrice and Meadow waited a moment while Posy was finishing up with a customer. Meadow elbowed Beatrice. “Looks like Miss Sissy has taken up residence in her usual spot.”

Beatrice glanced over at the sitting section to see the cronelike old woman sleeping on the sofa. As if somehow feeling their gaze, she abruptly awakened, glaring around the store and muttering, “Poppycock! Poppycock!” She spotted Beatrice and Meadow looking at her and brandished an arthritic fist at them.

“Looks like she’s in rare form today,” murmured Beatrice.

Posy quickly walked over and greeted them, and they filled her in on their idea for the quilting retreat. “Oh, I think that’s a marvelous idea!” said Posy, twinkling at Meadow and Beatrice. She was a tiny, bespectacled woman with a gentle smile. “Believe it or not, the store has been so busy that I haven’t finished my own quilt yet.”

Meadow said to Beatrice, “See? This is what I’m talking about. Even Posy can’t get a quilt finished.”

“Can we do it Friday night?” asked Posy. “You know the shop closes early on Fridays, and that would give us a little time to catch up before the quilt show. We can put long tables in the storeroom and extension cords for all the tables.”

“May I come, too?” asked a voice behind them, and they turned around to see an attractive woman who looked to be in her late fifties, although she had a remarkably unlined face. “Sorry for listening in. But I’m way, wayyyy behind on my quilt for the show.”

Posy quickly said, “Oh, Beatrice. This is Phyllis Stitt—she’s a member of the Cut-Ups guild. I don’t know if y’all have met.”

Beatrice and Phyllis shook hands. Phyllis gave her a solid handshake.

“Do you mind, Posy?” asked Phyllis again. “It would really help me out.”

Meadow looked a bit scandalized. “But it’s a guild meeting for the Village Quilters!”

Miss Sissy wandered up from the sitting area and glared at Phyllis. “Village Quilters!” she repeated in a low growl.

“Pooh,” said Phyllis, waving away Meadow’s objections with a sweep of her hand and completely ignoring Miss Sissy. “We’re not talking about industrial espionage or uncovering state secrets here. Quilting is quilting, right? I’ve gotten behind because things have been completely awful at the Cut-Ups lately. In fact, Meadow, I was planning on giving you a call and talking with you about it. I might be a refugee from the guild.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked another voice behind them. This one was a good deal colder in tone. Beatrice turned to see Martha Helmsley standing nearby. Martha was also in the Cut-Ups and was their most elegant member, with her loosely upswept red hair, pearls, and tasteful designer clothes in various neutral hues. She was usually fairly reserved when she spoke, but this time her tone was downright frosty.

Phyllis colored slightly at being overheard, but raised her chin up and said, “You heard me, Martha. The Cut-Ups hasn’t exactly been a fun group for me lately. I don’t get the warm fuzzies when I go to the meetings anymore. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, either. You’re the one responsible for the rest of the group giving me the cold shoulder.”

“That’s ridiculous,” snapped Martha. “You’re imagining things. And I’m sorry to hear,” she added in a censorious voice, “that you’re behind on your quilt. You certainly shouldn’t be.” She stalked away to shop for fabrics.

“See what I mean?” asked Phyllis in a shaky voice. “So what do you think, Posy? You’d really be helping me out?”

“No room! No room!” snarled Miss Sissy. Beatrice decided she sounded very much like one of the demented guests from the mad tea party in
Alice in Wonderland
.

Posy, whose blue eyes had anxiously watched the standoff between Martha and Phyllis, said quickly, “Actually, I was just counting tables in my head. I’m sure we have room for you at the retreat.”

“But, for heaven’s sake, don’t tell anyone else!” said Meadow in her loud whisper, which could likely be heard by passersby on the street outside.

“Thanks so much,” said Phyllis, giving Posy and Meadow and even a startled Beatrice hugs. “I’ll be here Friday evening.”

“Let’s make it five o’clock,” said Posy.

“Remember to bring food,” Meadow called out as Phyllis started walking toward the door. “We have to have lots of sustenance for this kind of thing.”

The door chimed as Phyllis left the shop. “That was interesting,” murmured Beatrice.

“Those Cut-Ups with their silly melodramas,” said Meadow with a sniff. “It’s good to belong to a grown-up guild.” She froze as Martha Helmsley gave her an unfriendly stare. “That is . . . well . . . oops. I have foot-in-mouth disease. Sorry about that, Martha.”

Beatrice could barely see Martha’s tense face over the huge pile she was holding. She held yards of several different patterns of fabrics—enough material for several quilts—and quilt batting, to boot. Posy quickly rang her up and Beatrice raised her eyebrows at the final total for the purchase.