The Double Cross

Read The Double Cross Online

Authors: Clare O'Donohue

Table of Contents
 
 
 
A PLUME BOOK THE DOUBLE CROSS
CLARE O’DONOHUE is a freelance television writer and producer. She has worked worldwide on a variety of shows for the Food Network, the History Channel, and truTV, among others. An avid quilter, she was also a producer for HGTV’s
Simply Quilts
.
ALSO BY CLARE O’DONOHUE
The Lover’s Knot
A Drunkard’s Path
PLUME
Published by Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A. •
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL,
England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books
Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community
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Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin
Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South
Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Plume, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, October
Copyright © Clare O’Donohue, 2010 All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCAREGISTRADA
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
O’Donohue, Clare.
The double cross : a someday quilts mystery / Clare O’Donohue.
p. cm
eISBN : 978-1-101-46098-6
1. Quilters—Fiction. 2. Quilting—Fiction. 3. Quilts—Fiction. 4. Murder—
investigation—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3615.D665D68 2010
813’.6—dc22 2010014242
Kirch
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
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To Sr. Mary Madonna, Una Moran, Kathleen Sweeney, Una Smith,
and Betty Sheehan. Thank you for being such wonderful aunts,
role models, and friends.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks, first of all, to the many people who have read the Someday Quilts Mysteries, and especially those who have taken the time to contact me. There have been days that a supportive e-mail kept me from hurling my computer across the room. Also thanks to my editor, Becky Cole, for her patience, support, great advice, and unwavering cheerfulness; Mary Pomponio, for her excellent, as always, publicity skills; and to all the unsung heroes in sales and marketing who get the books on the shelves. To my agent, Sharon Bowers, thanks for helping me chart a course for a, hopefully, long career. To Illinois Crime Scene Investigator Howard J. Dean, and Dr. Brian Peterson, Deputy Chief Medical Examiner for Milwaukee County, for their help with the murder part of the story, and to Debby Brown for showing me around a long arm quilting machine. While these three people provided invaluable help, I do want to say that if any of the details are wrong in the book, the fault lies with me. Thanks also to Alex Anderson, for her friendship and support, and to the folks at AccuQuilt for helping with the die-cut section of the book, and their enthusiasm for the entire Someday Quilts Mysteries series. I’d also like to thank my mother, Sheila O’Donohue, for helping with the manuscript, Jim McIntyre, for being such a good sport, and his family Peggy, Matt, and MaryKate for all the encouragement. Thanks to Maria Kielar for the photos, and Margaret Smith and Brian Mc-Donagh for the Sunday sessions. Thanks to all my friends, who have patiently listened to me talk about the series. And finally, thanks, as always, to Kevin, V, and my family—Dennis, Petra, Mikie, Mary, Jim, Connor, Grace, Jack, Cindy, and Steven.
PROLOGUE
I crouched behind the largest tree I could find and tried to steady my breathing. It’s startling how loud breathing can be when you’re trying to be quiet. My hands were shaking and I didn’t know how long my legs would hold, but my life depended on it. The thought made my hands shake more.
I listened. There was nothing but the sounds of a few birds. I knew it was probably pointless but I took my cell phone out of my pocket. There was one bar, so I took a chance and dialed Jesse. Just as it started to ring, the call was dropped. No signal, only the quiet of country life that my grandmother had been extolling a few days ago. I wrapped my fingers around the phone, just in case.
I heard leaves rustle. I tried to think. How close was the sound? Did I have time to run or should I just hope for the best and stay hidden behind the tree? I thought about every action movie I’d ever seen, hoping it would inspire a plan, but nothing came to me. All I could think of was Bernie’s warning about going into the woods. And my unfinished journal quilt—the one that was supposed to depict my life as I hoped it would become.
My heart was pounding. I looked around for a possible escape route. I wasn’t sure my feet would move even if I wanted them to, so I waited. More noise. But this wasn’t birds. This was something else. Footsteps. I held my breath and prayed they would move in the other direction.
Then nothing. The noise, the footsteps, had stopped. I realized I’d caught my foot in some tangled vines and my ankle was itching. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on the footsteps. I’d have plenty of time to scratch my ankle once I got out of this. If I got out of this.
The footsteps started up again and for a moment moved toward me. I held my breath. Then, just when they seemed on top of me, they stopped and seemed to move in the other direction.
“Keep going,” I thought. “Just let me get out of here and I will never stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I will live a long life making quilts and drawing pictures and staying out of trouble.”
Then the footsteps were gone. Definitely gone. I stood up, took a deep breath, and ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I didn’t care that tree branches were slapping me across the face as I ran. I didn’t care that my feet were getting muddy or that I had bitten so hard into my lip that it was beginning to bleed. I just wanted to get out of the woods and back to the inn as fast as I could.
I could see the hiking trail that led back to the inn when my cell phone suddenly rang. The sound was so startling that I nearly dropped it.
“Nell?” I heard Jesse’s worried voice on the other end.
“Jesse,” I whispered. “I’m near where we found the body. I’m in trouble. I’m heading toward the inn.”
“I’m coming to get you,” he said. “And Nell, I . . .”
The signal was lost again, and with it Jesse’s comforting voice. My heart sank.
“Don’t let that be the last time I talk to him,” I silently prayed.
Then I saw the gun.
“Jesse’s on his way right now,” I called out as defiantly as I could, but even I could hear the fear in my voice.

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