2 Knot What It Seams (17 page)

She stood near the little road in front of her house, studying the bed and wondering whether it needed to be fertilized, weeded, added to, or completely gutted and started over. Beatrice was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the sound of an approaching car until the last second when the sound became perilously close. Beatrice glanced up, saw an aging Lincoln just feet away, and stumbled farther into the safety of her yard.

Beatrice rolled her eyes as the car speedily passed over the spot where she’d been standing. Then a bony arm inserted through the car window and a withered fist was shaken at her. Beatrice let a shaky breath out. Miss Sissy. Deadly danger to Dappled Hills. Although Miss Sissy drove on sidewalks and into yards, she always thought that everyone
else
was to blame. Would that license of hers ever expire? Ramsay must just want to stay out of it and pray that Miss Sissy didn’t run over someone.

Another car approached, this one actually driving on the road. It was Karen, who lowered her window and asked in concern, “Are you all right, Beatrice? That crazy old woman. Did she scare you to death?”

Beatrice gave an unsteady laugh. “Almost. I’d like to sit down, and the ground isn’t very appealing.” She expected Karen to continue on to work, which was probably where she was heading at eight o’clock in the morning. But Karen pulled right into her brick driveway, put the car in park, and hurried to give her a supporting arm. It all made her feel somewhat elderly, although her jellylike legs definitely needed the help.

“Piper would have done the same thing if she’d seen Miss Sissy nearly run you down. That old woman should be locked up. Or have her keys taken away from her. Or something,” fussed Karen.

If there was one thing Karen was, it was efficient . . . apparently in every aspect of her life. Before Beatrice knew it, she was settled into her sofa, a light quilt over her legs, fluffed pillows behind her back, and a glass of tea in her hand. Karen had continued giving an off-the-cuff, clearly outlined argument for driving tests for the very elderly and how cars were deadly weapons. All the while she was whipping up some eggs with bacon and green onion and toasting some bread with cheese under the oven’s broiler. It had taken no time at all.

“Have you and Piper been friends for a while?” asked Beatrice.

Karen nodded, handing Beatrice the plateful of eggs and sitting down across from Beatrice with a small one for herself. “We’ve been friends since Piper moved here a few years ago. Not that close, though—mainly through the quilting bees since we’re in two different guilds. Lately, we’ve spent more time together and I’ve gotten to know her better. She’s a great quilter; she has a lot of natural ability. And she’s very sweet.”

Karen was definitely growing on her.

“Piper was so excited when you moved here, and I know she’s thrilled that you have gotten into quilting. It’s such a great hobby to do together. For me, of course, it’s gotten to be much
more
than a hobby. I’ve been working really hard to get to competition level . . . with my techniques and my designs and my execution of the stitching and handwork. And now I’m lucky to be at the point where I’m winning those competitions a lot.” Karen looked both humble and proud at the same time. “I’m very grateful,” she said.

“You’ve got quite a gift,” said Beatrice mildly, taking a big forkful of eggs.

“Have you seen my quilts?” asked Karen, leaning forward and piercing Beatrice with her dark eyes. “I know you were at the quilt show, but I wasn’t sure if you had an opportunity to see them that day. With all the news about Jo and all.”

Beatrice nodded. “I did see one of them. It was stunning. But then, you’re right. The day fell apart from that point on.”

“I’d love for you to come by my house and see more of my quilts. Maybe for drinks and supper? You and Piper could both come. I’d really appreciate your opinion and feedback on my work.”

Her work? She did take it very seriously. These quilts certainly weren’t just a way to warm up on a chilly Dappled Hills night to her. “Of course, Karen, I’d love to. Although I’m not sure how much my opinion is worth.” She reached over to the back of the sofa and unfolded one of her own, hesitantly constructed, rather shaky quilts. “You can see what I mean. You might be better off asking a longtime quilter like Miss Sissy to give you her advice. She might be crazy, but she knows her quilting.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed as she assessed the quilt. “You’re just new to quilting, Beatrice. There’s no reason why you should start as an expert quilter. No, your opinion still matters a lot—from the standpoint of an art curator and appraiser. You saw a lot of folk art make its way through your museum in Atlanta . . . and it’s your experience in that area that I’m most interested in. How about supper tomorrow night? As long as Piper can make it, too.”

Beatrice said, “I’ll look forward to it. Maybe you can give me a few tips for moving forward with my quilting.”

“You know the biggest thing you can do to improve? Decide what your goal is. Is your quilting a hobby? Are you wanting to create art that you can hand down, and please yourself with? Are you interested in competing in quilt shows? Then, once you decide that, you’ll need to list the steps to take to reach your goal. Break them down into little steps that are manageable . . . and set yourself a deadline. You can do it—but you
have
to know what you’re working toward,” said Karen. Her eyes were bright and she waved her hands to punctuate what she was saying. This was a subject that was clearly important to her.

Beatrice said, “I do want to enter some shows—eventually, anyway. I’ve been trying to improve my hand-quilting, but haven’t been happy with the results. I skip stitches, pucker fabrics, and sometimes I’ll pinprick the squares and the threads pull right out. A disaster!” She put down her almost-empty plate and got up to grab her current project for Karen’s perusal.

Karen studied it. “Your stitches are a little long, Beatrice. Smaller stitches might come automatically if you focus on making your stitches even and consistent. I think the more you practice, the better you’ll get. Posy has you set up with the perfect tools and fabrics for hand-quilting. The needle is a size ten between size, which will go through the layers easier. The quilting thread is the best to use—it’s stronger and will last longer. The fabric you’re using isn’t too loosely woven or too densely woven. Now you’ve got a pattern that’s got long, straight lines. That does make it easier for you to quilt, but it does show up the crooked stitches. Maybe next time a pattern with short, curved lines might be more forgiving. But your materials and the tools you’re using are top-notch.”

“So basically, my quilting problems result from the quilter herself,” said Beatrice wryly. She took another big couple of bites of her eggs, polishing them off. Why didn’t her eggs ever taste this good?

“As I mentioned, you’re a novice. And remember, the mistakes help us learn and grow. At this point, I’d say you have a great eye for design. No surprises there, considering your background. You probably need to read up on technique and spend some time practicing the craft. Nothing beats hands-on practice for improving any skill.” Karen grinned at her. She was such a confident young woman. It was hard to imagine her being a novice at anything. She probably jumped into everything as a near expert. And Beatrice hardly thought that Karen took kindly to her own mistakes. She was likely a lot less patient with her own learning and growing process.

Beatrice said, “Sadly, I
was
trying to read up on technique, yesterday morning, at the Patchwork Cottage. Of course, under the tragic circumstances, I needed to leave rather abruptly. I’ll have to go back later to purchase the books I wanted. And maybe some magazines, too.”

“Such a tragedy,” said Karen, shaking her head. “Opal Woosley was a truly talented quilter. You know that we were in the Cut-Ups guild together. She was raised around quilters—the women in her family had quilted for generations. For her, it was all
about
practice. She must have made eighty quilts in her lifetime. The only thing that bothered me,” she continued, brushing a strand of blond hair out of her eyes, then impatiently brushing it back again when it resettled in her eyes, “is that Opal never tried to take her quilting to the next level. This was very frustrating to me because I knew that the talent was there. I knew that the experience was there. And she never pushed herself.” Karen gave a puzzled shrug.

“I suppose, for her, it was more of a hobby,” said Beatrice. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Karen looked blankly at her.

Beatrice cleared her throat. “It’s so sad, though, isn’t it? I’ve never gotten such a shock as when I realized Opal wasn’t simply napping at the Patchwork Cottage.”

Karen’s face softened and she shook her head. “Poor Opal. I was shocked, too. I couldn’t believe the news when I heard it.”

“Were you working when you got the news?” asked Beatrice. “You’re a Realtor, aren’t you?”

“I am. Not only for Dappled Hills, of course, but for a lot of the county. Business hasn’t been great lately, but I like having the extra free time to quilt. I wasn’t working yesterday morning, though—I was at home with the appliance repairman. It’s such an aggravating process, you know. The repair company said they’d send a worker between eight a.m. and six p.m. Well, that’s no help at all in narrowing down the time, is it? They never make it convenient. And my oven wasn’t working at all. But they did come out the day after I’d called, so that was good. It’s ABC Appliance, if you ever need somebody.”

Karen wasn’t exactly devastated over Opal’s death, clearly.

“At least he came early in the day and there was an end to it. So I wasn’t in town to hear the gossip. It made me sad when someone told me. Not just sad about Opal, but for Posy. A murder in a quilt shop can’t be good for business. We need the Patchwork Cottage to thrive—we all depend on it so much.” She carefully scooped up the rest of her eggs on her fork and ate them, then busily took both her plate and Beatrice’s to the kitchen, scrubbed them clean, dried them, and put them away.

“So, tomorrow night, then? As long as it’s good for Piper. I’ll look forward to it,” said Karen. And a minute later, she was gone.

* * *

Beatrice was back outside, cautiously regarding her flower bed again. If Miss Sissy had gone out, Miss Sissy would return. And if she was having the kind of day where Beatrice’s yard qualified as the roadway, then Beatrice needed to listen out for cars while she was working on the bed.

Having such a close call had apparently put some fire in her. Now she was easily able to decide to rip out the flower bed altogether. It was a so-so collection of flowers; nothing was really vibrant, and it didn’t match the rest of the yard’s colorful Southern coziness. She gingerly plopped down to the ground, put on her gardening gloves, and started pulling up plants.

The sound of a car engine made her jump. Beatrice scrambled to her feet and scooted back a few yards. The approaching car didn’t sound like the rattling old Lincoln that Miss Sissy drove, though. Beatrice was relieved to see Posy’s car driving up instead. Posy spotted her and pulled into her driveway. She rolled down the passenger window and called out, “Do you have a moment to visit? I’m glad I saw you in the yard. I wanted to call you this morning, but I thought you might be sleeping in, after the day you had yesterday.” She shivered.

Beatrice stood up, brushing herself off and taking off her gloves. “Of course we can visit,” she said. Apparently, this would be a morning for visiting.

“Oh, don’t stop what you’re doing,” said Posy quickly. “This is one of the best times of the day for gardening. I’ll join you. It’d be a shame to be inside on a morning like this one.” Posy loved working in her yard almost as much as she loved quilting. Her yard had been designated a backyard wildlife habitat, and she had both bird feeders and birdhouses scattered throughout her beautiful landscaping. Maybe Beatrice could get some advice on this pitiable flower bed.

Posy was wearing very casual clothes. “I’ve even got gardening clothes on,” she laughed, sitting down next to Beatrice on the ground.

Beatrice jumped up. “Let me at least get you a pair of gloves. Then I’d welcome the help—and the advice. I can’t decide what to plant in this spot after I take out these ailing flowers. Maybe you can help me figure it out.”

Posy squinted at the bed, considering it, as Beatrice headed to the house for the gloves and some water for them both. When she came back out, Posy suggested, “Have you thought about having several different levels of plants here? Maybe a pretty knockout rosebush to match the others you have in the yard, then some lamb’s ears plants and maybe some buddleia? I think the size of the bed is a little too small. You could make it larger and give it more impact and some visual depth with the different plant heights.”

Beatrice beamed at her as she set down a tray of water and handed Posy the gloves. “That’s a brilliant idea, Posy. I knew you’d know what to do.”

“Where’s Noo-noo?” asked Posy, glancing around as if expecting to see the little corgi poking through the bushes. “I thought she’d come running to greet me. I could use a corgi cuddle.” She and Beatrice glanced up at the cottage and saw the corgi standing up on her back legs to peer out the low picture window on the front of the house. Her mouth was open in a doggie grin and her big ears were alert.

“Poor Noo-noo!” said Beatrice. “I left her inside because I was almost run over by Miss Sissy this morning and I was worried about having her out here with me.”

“Ohhh. Poor you, you mean! Are you all right? Did it take several years off your life to have a close call like that? Miss Sissy is quite creative about what qualifies as the road.”

“It definitely shook me up. Actually, Karen happened to be driving by at the same time and saw what happened. She led me inside, fed me, and visited for a little while. So the experience wasn’t quite as dire as it might have been.”

Posy paused for a moment, staring toward the cottage. “Beatrice, would you mind if I go say hello to Noo-noo for a moment? It breaks my heart to see her watching us out the window.”