A Drunkard's Path (18 page)

“Well, I don’t think Jesse and I are really at that stage.”

“But you love him?”

“I wouldn’t say love. I think we like each other.”

“But you want it to be something more.”

“I don’t know,” I stumbled. “And I don’t know what Jesse wants.”

“I can see the way he looks at you. You guys are meant for each other.”

I was getting dizzy. Just who was digging for information here? I took a breath and regrouped.

“Have you ever been in love?” I asked.

Kennette shrugged. “Do you think Oliver and Eleanor are in love?”

“I don’t know. I can see that you really like Oliver.”

“He’s an amazing artist. I wonder if I could ever be as good, don’t you?”

“I guess.” This was going nowhere. And just as I was about to change subjects once again and ask her about her childhood, a customer came into the store. Kennette ran over to help.

I watched her immediately befriend the customer and make her feel at ease. Kennette had charm and charisma, though it was wrapped in kind of a goofy package. And it was clear she had talent. Even the choices she’d made for her quilt showed that. It was hard not to like her and even harder to imagine her killing someone.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t. As uncomfortable as it made me, I had to be open to the idea that anyone, even someone I liked, could commit murder.

“We got a shipment of fabric this morning,” Kennette told me after the customer left. “I didn’t know if I should open it so I left it behind the counter.”

“Let’s open it,” I said quickly. The arrival of new fabric was a major event, because inside the box were all the possibilities for new quilts. If Eleanor was going to take the day off, then she had forfeited the right to be here when the package was opened.

Kennette ran behind the counter and disappeared for a second, reappearing with a huge box in her arms, which she set on the counter.

“Kennette, that thing must weigh a ton,” I said. “You need to be more careful.”

She just laughed. “I can handle it. I just can’t wait to see what’s in the box.”

When we opened it, we were not disappointed. Fabrics for Easter and the Fourth of July were already arriving, as well as an entire line of soft romantic floral fabrics in faded shades of rose and green. Coordinating plaids and stripes had me already planning my next quilt.

Since Kennette was alone, I stayed at the shop to help. There were few customers and we debated closing up early. Then, an hour before closing, the shop door opened and an enthusiastic Barney trotted in. He immediately went around the shop, greeting Kennette, myself, and the customers. Behind him Eleanor breezed in, without explanation. She was surprised to see me there, but more than anything, she was happy. Really happy.

“How was your day?” I asked casually.

“Amazing.” Her face lit up. “I went through the fabric catalogs for spring. There are some really beautiful collections coming out. I nearly bought everything.”

“That’s wonderful,” Kennette jumped in. “Isn’t looking at fabric fun?”

Despite my best efforts I rolled my eyes. Eleanor caught me and the smile temporarily left her face.

“What is with you these days?” she said to me.

“I thought you were working today,” I said.

Eleanor looked at me as if she were confused. “I was working. I was buying fabric.”

I nodded. My grandmother was lying to me. I knew it. I just couldn’t prove it. And I knew there was no point in fighting about it.

“Well, it was slow today anyway,” I said, “so if you did take the day off . . .”

The smile returned. “Maybe I will sometime,” she said, “now that I have two great workers in you girls.”

She giggled and went toward the classroom to set up for a trapunto class she was teaching that night.

Kennette walked over to me. “She’s in a good mood.”

“She said something about buying fabric,” I told her.

“But you don’t believe her?” Now Kennette had a smile across her face to match my grandmother’s.

I shook my head. “My grandmother has been quilting my entire life, but I’ve never seen her giggle over it.”

Kennette nodded her approval. For once I kept my opinion to myself.

 

 

 

 

“S
he was late for work. Hours late,” I heard Carrie say on the phone to Maggie, relating word for word what I told her about Eleanor’s entrance into the shop.

After a few minutes of discussion, they seemed to reach an agreement. Carrie hung up the phone and came over to the wall where I was laying out my paints.

“Maggie already has plans to meet with Eleanor tonight, so we’ll get to the bottom of this,” she said solemnly.

“I don’t think she’s ever been late to work. I know it has something to do with Oliver,” I said, the fear and anger evident in my voice.

“Which is okay as long as he’s not involved in the murders,” Carrie reminded me.

“Right,” I said.

I wasn’t sure I felt that way but I knew I was supposed to feel that way. After all, my grandmother deserved happiness more than anyone I knew. She had spent her whole life being there for everyone. Wasn’t it time she had a little fun? Still, something in my stomach turned at the thought.

“The mural is coming along,” Carrie said, changing the subject.

I nodded. The buildings were all sketched in and now I was focusing on the large coffeepot that would be at the top right of the mural, “pouring” the buildings into existence.

“I kind of like it,” I said. “But it’s nowhere near finished.”

“Well, you have two weeks.”

“I can’t finish until you come up with a name for this place.”

Carrie grunted and walked away. The shop was really shaping up. Carrie was getting the fixtures put in place. Her espresso machine was coming in the next few days, and she was in the middle of hanging a collection of mirrors and weird little paintings behind the counter. My favorite thing, though, was that Carrie was looking for a baker to make the muffins, cakes, and cookies she planned to sell. While she looked, I sampled. And when I took a break from painting, I rewarded myself with a slice of lime cheesecake.

“Coffee Corner,” Carrie suggested as she munched on a brownie.

“Caffeine Fix,” I offered.

“Java Hut,” she countered.

“That’s the worst,” I laughed. “How about Caffeine and Calories.”

“Great. How about just calling it Get Fat and Jumpy.”

We were both laughing hard. The kind of laughing where it isn’t even that funny but tears are rolling down your eyes and you can barely speak. It was the first time since the murders that I’d been that relaxed. If Carrie didn’t have to pick up her kids, I probably would have stayed in the shop all day, safe from murders and suspects and my grandmother’s romance.

But that wouldn’t happen. Just as we were about to walk out of the shop, I saw Greg pacing outside Someday Quilts.

“What’s he doing?” Carrie whispered to me.

We were still in her shop, staring out the window and well out of Greg’s earshot, but I whispered back, “I’m not going anywhere until I find out.”

“I have to get the kids. I’ll go out the back so he doesn’t get spooked.” Carrie stood looking at Greg for another few seconds, then disappeared out the back of her shop.

It was funny to me how we had all become expert investigators so quickly. Or at least felt like we had.

I wasn’t sure what to do. If Greg looked up, he would see me peering out at him from across the street, but he didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem to be looking anywhere but at his feet. Was he contemplating taking up quilting but too nervous to walk into the shop? That would make him the talk of the quilt group. Did he have some news for my grandmother about the investigation? If there was news, I knew that Jesse would deliver it, not Greg. Maybe he was branching out, doing some investigating on his own. I stayed glued to my spot and waited for something—anything—to happen.

It took only a minute for Kennette to walk out of the shop. She was wearing the big teal coat my grandmother had given her and she looked happy and relaxed. I couldn’t tell if she was surprised to see Greg but she quickly engaged him in what looked like a friendly conversation.

After a few minutes of chatting, Greg looked around and I instinctively ducked out of sight. Crouched on the floor and peering through a corner of a window, I saw Greg and Kennette move closer. Kennette reached into her coat and pulled out a large piece of what looked like rolled-up paper. Greg unrolled it and looked, nodding seriously. Then he rerolled the paper and tucked it into his coat.

They chatted for just a moment more, then Kennette whispered something in Greg’s ear. Greg nodded, looked around once more, and darted down the street toward the police station.

Had I just witnessed a budding romance? Or was it something else? As soon as Greg was out of sight, I left the coffee shop and hurried across the street.

The class was starting when I walked in, so I found myself standing at the back, listening to Eleanor teach trapunto to the dozen or so women who had signed up, Maggie and Kennette among them. Trapunto is one of those advanced quilting techniques that actually looks harder than it is, at least that’s the way Eleanor explained it.

“Trapunto,” Eleanor said to the class, “creates raised areas in your quilt by using cording or small amounts of batting pushed in from the back.”

She held up a small whole-cloth quilt with a pattern of grapes, leaves, and vines. As Eleanor explained it, the quilt is layered with batting sandwiched between the top and bottom, just like a regular quilt. Then the shapes, like the grapes and leaves, are outlined with quilting. So far it seemed doable. A soft yarn is pulled through the vines from the back of the quilt, raising them slightly in front. For the grapes and leaves, a slit is cut into the back and a tiny amount of batting is stuffed in, making the grapes rounded and seemingly soft to the touch. Then a second backing fabric is added to cover the slits at the back. Finally the quilt is tightly stippled, a quilting technique of random-looking loops. The effect is three-dimensional and very dramatic.

While the rest of the class started working on sample twelve-inch blocks, I slipped into the main shop. Barney was sleeping with his head on a bolt of fabric. He lifted his head as I walked past, but once he saw it was me, he went back to dreaming.

I went toward the office and quickly checked Kennette’s coat. There was nothing in the pockets, not that I expected there would be. I went back to the front of the shop, flipped through the latest copy of
Quilters Newsletter
, and waited. Finally I got my chance when the class went on a break.

Kennette walked out of the classroom and toward the threads, then stopped, startled. “I thought you went home,” she said.

“I went over to Carrie’s to work on the mural.”

Her face lit up. “How’s it going? Can I see it?’

I nodded. “Soon. Anything happening around here?”

“Eleanor’s class is really cool. I’m thinking of using variegated thread for my quilting. You should sit in.”

“Not tonight,” I said. “How was the afternoon? Did anyone stop by?”

“Customers.” Kennette looked at me, confused. “Who were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. I saw Greg hanging out by the entrance and I wondered what he was doing. I thought maybe he had come to see you.”

Kennette’s face went white. “Yeah. He stopped by to say hello. He’s a nice guy, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Very nice. And single, as far as I know.”

Kennette smiled. “Oh, don’t be silly.”

“Why not? Two nice single people. I’m surprised no one thought of it before. He’d probably be interested in seeing your artwork, you know, and getting to know you. Did you invite him into the shop?”

“When?”

“When he came by today.”

“No. I went out for some fresh air and ran into him.”

“So it wasn’t planned?” I asked.

“Why would it be planned?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe he wanted to see your artwork and so you showed him. Have you ever shown him any?”

I knew I was sounding a little nutty, but showing Greg her artwork was the only innocent explanation I could come up with for why she had handed him that rolled-up document.

“No,” she said quickly. “Why would I show him something I’ve drawn?” She tilted her head the way a puppy does when he’s confused.

I shrugged. I didn’t want to push too far. “I just think you guys would be cute together.”

“You’re acting very strange tonight,” she said, and walked to the back of the shop where she straightened out a few bolts of fabric until the break was over and class began again.

It was the sort of avoidance behavior that I knew well.