Knot in My Backyard (A Quilting Mystery) (31 page)

“I just had to deal with a last-minute phone call. Give me a minute and I’ll tell you all about it.” I settled down in one of the cozy blue overstuffed chairs in Lucy’s casual living room. Every few years, she changed the décor in her home as easily as she changed her daily outfits. This latest version evoked an elegant cabin located in some snowy resort: furniture upholstered in richly colored woolen fabrics, Navajo and cowhide rugs on wide-planked wooden floors, and a coffee table made of polished burled tree roots. Above the fireplace hung a reproduction of a mainly yellow Remington painting of longhorn cattle. The room literally screamed Wyoming, where both Lucy and her husband, Ray, were born and raised.

“Was it an upsetting call? You look a bit peaky, dear.” That was Birdie Watson, Lucy’s across-the-street neighbor and the third member of our little sewing circle.

I fitted my multicolored Jacob’s Ladder quilt in a fourteen-inch wooden hoop. The Jacob’s Ladder block featured lots of little squares and larger triangles of contrasting light and dark materials. The more fabrics, the more interesting the quilt, and this one had dozens of different cotton prints. I threaded a needle with red quilting thread and looked at my friends.

“I got a letter from an attorney in LA this morning asking me to call him.” I told them about Harriet’s death and my surprise at being named executor of her will after such a long estrangement. “The creepy thing is, she was dead for more than ten months before her body was discovered.”

“How awful!” Birdie, naturally predisposed to worry about people, frowned and twisted the end of her long white braid. Birdie was in her seventies and looked like Mother Earth. She always wore the same thing: white T-shirt (short sleeves in summer, long sleeves in winter), denim overalls, and Birkenstock sandals (with socks) to accommodate her arthritic knees.

Lucy handed me a cup of coffee with milk. “You must have been close, for her to make you executor. Yet, I don’t think I ever heard you mention her name before.”

“We were best friends growing up.” I told them how our teenage friendship didn’t survive our adult lifestyles. “After I moved to Encino, my West LA friends forgot about me, including Harriet.”

Lucy shook her head. “Well, obviously, she didn’t forget about you. Do you know what happened to the husband?”

“I really don’t know any details. I have to see the lawyer this afternoon in order to get poor Harriet buried. The lawyer said he’d explain everything then.”

Birdie tilted her head. “So you’ve decided to go through with becoming the executor? Without knowing what’s involved?”

How could I say this without sounding morbid? “Let’s just say I want to do one last favor for an old friend.”

And I’m curious.

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Uh-oh. Please tell me you’re not going to get involved in another one of
those
again.”

Lucy’s voice was more than a tad disapproving as she alluded to my recent penchant for discovering dead bodies and getting sucked into murder investigations. And both times the killers came after me.

“This is way different, Lucy. First of all, the attorney never said we were talking about murder here. Second of all, being the executor of someone’s estate only involves signing papers and selling stuff. There’s nothing to worry about. What could be more straightforward?”

My redheaded friend shivered slightly. “You know, Martha, I’m getting a strong feeling about this.”

Lucy swore she had ESP and could tell when something bad was going to happen. In the past, I dismissed her feelings as some kind of displaced anxiety. But if I were completely honest, I’d have to admit that in the last several months her warnings turned out to be real. Still, the lawyer gave no indication that poor Harriet’s death was anything more than tragically premature.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lucy. Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson? Don’t you think I’d run straight to the police at the first sign of something suspicious?”

Without hesitating, Lucy and Birdie responded in unison, “No!”

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

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Copyright © 2014 by Mary Marks

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ISBN: 978-0-7582-9207-0

ISBN-10: 0-7582-9207-4

First Kensington Mass Market Edition: November 2014

eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-9208-7
eISBN-10: 0-7582-9208-2
First Kensington Electronic Edition: November 2014