2 Knot What It Seams (3 page)

Beatrice tried not to feel guilty. That Meadow. Always putting her in jams. She wasn’t about to confess that she’d come to get the scoop on Jo and see what kind of mess the Village Quilters had gotten into. Although she
had
been thinking about getting some reference books on quilting techniques.

“She’s not,” said Meadow loudly. “She’s here to give me some advice about the group quilt we’re doing. Beatrice is so good with themes and design, you know. I asked her for a quilt design not long ago, and she came up with something absolutely amazing. The color palette she suggested was stunning—a crimson and deep raspberry that you’d never guess would go well together. And she put a fresh spin on a traditional design by taking a log cabin design and making it pop.”

“You’ll have to let me know if it ends up looking good whenever you make it, though.” Beatrice was surprised to feel herself blushing a little.

Posy beamed at Beatrice. “That’s your art background helping you out. You’ve got a wonderful eye for art.”

Beatrice had been an art museum curator in Atlanta before moving to Dappled Hills to be closer to Piper. Although she gave herself a C-plus for learning how to quilt, she’d give herself an A for quilt design.

At that moment, Karen and Opal walked over to them. Opal’s face was still blotchily flushed with distress. “I completely forgot one of the main reasons I’m here today,” she said, her spindly fingers working nervously at the lace collar at her neck. “Seeing that horrid woman completely messed me up. I wanted to tell y’all that we need to make a special effort to go to the town meeting tonight. Mayor Grayson is bound and determined to collect taxes on our quilt show sales. And he even wants us to have a tax ID number to file taxes and fill out all kinds of permits! He might go as far as charging us for use of the town hall meeting room when we have quilt shows. I think he’s flipped!”

Karen frowned. “Surely that’s not necessary. Half the time the proceeds from our quilt shows go to charity, anyway. We’re always supporting children’s and women’s organizations and other groups. Besides, it’s not like we’re making much money.”

“He’s completely determined to follow everything by the book. He’s a very particular man! We need to put a little pressure on him at the meeting—remind him of all the good things the Village Quilters and the Cut-Ups do for Dappled Hills.” Opal was visibly bristling now.

“I swear I simply don’t know what this world is coming to,” said Meadow. But her slightly faraway stare testified that her mind was still on the upcoming guild meeting and officially adding another name to the Village Quilters roster. Booth Grayson should count himself lucky. A focused Meadow would have been a dangerous thing for him.

Karen tilted her head and looked curiously at Beatrice. “Hi there. I don’t believe we’ve met. Strange as that is, in a town this size.”

“Oh, mercy! I completely forgot to introduce you. Karen, this is the Wonderful Beatrice Coleman. I know you were looking forward to—”

“I certainly
was
!” said Karen, interrupting Meadow. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Coleman. I’ve read so much about you. Atlanta has lost a real giant in the art world, I hear.”

This kind of hyperbole always managed to fluster Beatrice. But she had to admit that it made her feel good. She hadn’t actually felt proud of her abilities since she’d retired, and quilting’s steep learning curve had been a real setback to her confidence. She said briskly, “No, I wouldn’t say that. But you’re very kind. Please call me Beatrice.” She felt her smile falter a bit and cleared her throat as she thought of a diversion. “I’m excited about seeing some of your quilts at the upcoming show, Karen. Meadow has really praised your creativity and talent. I can’t wait to check out your display.”

Karen glowed with the praise. “And I’m eager to hear your opinion on them. I also want to introduce you around a little to some of the quilting world that’s outside Dappled Hills. You’re really going to be an asset to the community. Maybe you could consider becoming a judge. We could use an impartial judge with your eye and talent.” Karen’s face clouded—she was probably thinking of Jo’s slanted views and aversion to Karen’s quilts.

“Thanks, Karen,” said Beatrice. “I’m still trying to get used to retirement and relaxing, though. I made a promise to my daughter, Piper, that I’d try to slow down—instead I keep charging around cleaning and doing yard work when I’m supposed to be taking life easy. Plus, I don’t really think I’m qualified yet to judge a quilt show. I’ll keep it in mind for later on, though.”

“You’re more qualified than most,” muttered Karen.

* * *

That afternoon, Beatrice decided to retreat to the quiet of her backyard hammock with her book. One of Beatrice’s favorite things about her cottage was its backyard. Private and well landscaped by the previous owner, it was proving to be a relaxing sanctuary. Posy had thoughtfully given her some bird feeders, and Beatrice loved hearing the chirping of the birds as part of the background. The yard had azaleas that blossomed most of the spring through the fall and was fenced in and bordered with luscious bushes. But the best part of the backyard was the hammock. Many times she’d come out with her book, curled up in the hammock, and promptly fallen asleep. She was prepared to do the same thing today. In fact, Noo-noo had already started snoozing.

Beatrice had just drifted off when her phone’s chiming jerked her awake. Somehow, whenever she forgot to bring the cordless phone outside, it always seemed to ring.

Beatrice hurried inside and grabbed the phone, this time carrying it back outside with her to the hammock. It was Meadow. And Meadow sounded as if she was in a particularly scattered mood, which usually meant a longer phone conversation.

“I’m thinking about the guild meeting again.” Of course. “I’m barely believing it’s already time for it again! It really feels like we had the last meeting yesterday. Remember? Boris ate all the mini quiches I’d made?” Beatrice remembered very well. Those quiches smelled delicious. “Do you think time literally goes faster as we get older, or . . . ? No! Down, Boris! Bad! No cookie!”

Beatrice bit her tongue to keep what she wanted to say from slipping out, then asked in a voice that sounded tight to her ears, “You called me for something, Meadow?”

“Did I?” she asked in a blank voice. “But you called me, didn’t you?”

Beatrice didn’t bite her tongue this time. “Certainly not! I was dozing in the hammock.”

“Do you walk in your sleep?” Meadow’s voice was interested. “One of my cousins walks in her sleep. One night she woke up on her patio in the middle of the night. She was sitting outside in her nightgown with a raccoon staring at her. A raccoon!”

Beatrice waited. There was no point trying to get through to Meadow when she was like this. It was going to have to come from within her.

There was a sudden pause on Meadow’s side of the line. “You know what? I
did
call you! What do you know? Okay, here’s what I need,” she said, quickly businesslike. “As I mentioned to you before, I really want Jo to like our group, so I thought a cake might make her feel welcome. But I can’t pick it up today because I’ve got a dental cleaning in Lenoir, which I just remembered. So, could you pick it up for me? And this is the last thing I’ll ask you to do, because I know you already said you’d help to make the meeting go smoothly today. Keeping feathers from getting ruffled, and that kind of thing.”

And she’d also asked her to get acquainted with Jo at the Patchwork Cottage. That certainly hadn’t gone well. But she’d say anything to end the phone call and resume the nap.

“Do you think Piper can come? She always has a very peaceful aura about her. I hope that one day,” said Meadow, sounding suspiciously sniffy on the phone, “that she’ll be creating a peaceful oasis right in my own family.”

Piper was dating Meadow’s son, Ash. But it was a new relationship and a long-distance one . . . Ash lived on the West Coast. Beatrice liked Ash, but was glad that they were taking things slowly.

“Meadow, she told me she was going to try to make it for a little while. The teacher in-service is letting out early because the principal has a meeting. Piper would love to come. Quilting centers her, she says.” Beatrice carefully steered away from the topic of Ash and Piper.

“I’ve really missed seeing Piper,” said Meadow with a sigh. “Now, moving on to the cake—you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“No, it’s fine. Who’s the baker?”

“You know her, as a matter of fact,” said Meadow, still sounding as if she was wrestling with Boris over something. “Opal. Well, I guess you don’t actually know her, but you saw her today at the Patchwork Cottage. The small woman with the pointy chin. She makes amazing cakes from her home. Practically everyone in Dappled Hills uses her. Plus, she has the sight.”

“The sight?”

“You know, she’s psychic.” Meadow’s voice took on a respectful tone. “Opal can see the future.”

Probably a future full of taking money from gullible Dappled Hills residents.

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll go prepared to rebuff any offers to read my palms or anything.”

Meadow clicked her tongue. “She’s not like that, Beatrice. Opal isn’t doing that hocus-pocus type of stuff with cards or palms or crystal balls or anything. She gets hit with these extraordinary visions sometimes, without warning and without encouraging them to come. It’s not like she sits there in a turban and robes and tries to have spirits come talk to her. She doesn’t take any money. Now, don’t say anything negative about her gift! I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.” Meadow sounded alarmed. “Who knows what other powers she might possess?”

“I wouldn’t dream of disparaging her gift, Meadow. I simply don’t plan on using it, that’s all. I’m simply picking up a cake. Period.”

Chapter 2

Opal’s house resembled the gingerbread houses people made at Christmas: minus the gumdrops and other candies, but with the same white icing trim and brown color. Beatrice’s hand was still raised from knocking at the front door when Opal yanked it open, beaming. “There you are!” She knit her brow. “Wait,
you
aren’t Meadow! Who are you again? You seem familiar. You’re not here to sell me something, are you? Because there’s no soliciting, like the sign says.” She pointed at a small white, curlicued sign with calligraphy that stated U
NLESS YOU’RE A
G
IRL
S
COUT, NO SOLICITING
.

“No, actually,” said Beatrice, clearing her throat. “I’m picking up the cake you made for Meadow—for our guild meeting. Meadow couldn’t make it over here, so I told her I’d come by and pick it up. I’m in the Village Quilters.”

“You don’t mind if I call Meadow, to make sure? You see, I really don’t
know
you, so . . .” Opal’s eyes were full of suspicion.

“That’s fine, of course.” Beatrice gave a small shrug.

Opal nodded, causing the frizzy halo of gray hair to bob around her head. Then she quickly backed into the gingerbread house and Beatrice heard the key turn in the lock. She walked back to her car and peered critically at herself in the rearview mirror. The same chin-length bob of shaggy, silvery ash-blond hair. The same high-cheekboned, solemn face that had stared back at her for the last sixty-odd years. Did she appear particularly dangerous today? Was it really necessary for Opal to lock the door?

Just as abruptly as the door had closed, it swung open again. This time Opal smiled at her, although the smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Kind of funny, isn’t it? A cake for a quilting guild meeting? Y’all observing someone’s birthday over there? I don’t think we’ve ever had a cake at the Cut-Ups meetings.”

Beatrice said, “Nothing like a birthday, no. I think the reasoning is that we’re greeting a new member of the Village Quilters. We’re welcoming her in with a cake, I guess, to make her like us more.” She walked back up to Opal’s door.

Opal beamed pleasantly at Beatrice, then while gazing steadily at her, opened her mouth to shriek, “June Bug!”

Beatrice was searching her clothing for a beetle when a small woman wearing an apron and a startled expression poked her head out of the gingerbread house. “June Bug,” said Opal in a milder voice. “Would you be so kind as to bring me Meadow Downey’s cake? I’ve verified our visitor’s identity,” she said, as if reassuring the woman that the dessert wasn’t being pilfered.

Still looking startled, the woman bounded off, returning in moments clutching a sheet cake that was ensconced in many layers of aluminum foil. “Thank you, June Bug,” said Opal graciously. When the woman kept standing there and looking at her with wide, buggy eyes, Opal said sternly, “That will be all, June Bug.”

After the little woman trotted off, Opal studied Beatrice with interest. “A new Village Quilter? And who might that be, if I could ask? Aren’t any new quilters that have moved to town, are there? The guilds are pretty set in their ways with half the quilters in the Cut-Ups and half in the Village Quilters.”

“Jo Paxton is the quilter. She’s moving over from your guild.” Shouldn’t a psychic know this kind of thing without having to ask? And Opal, in particular, since that was her guild?

Opal frowned. “Why would you take on someone like her? Jo lives for making trouble. Why do you suppose she’s not in the Cut-Ups anymore? If we were ever going
to have a cake at a guild meeting, we’d have it to celebrate the fact that Jo is no longer with our group. In fact, I do believe I’ll bring one to our next meeting for that very reason. I know Karen will be happy to eat a piece of cake to celebrate losing Jo.”

“I noticed she and Jo didn’t seem very happy with each other,” said Beatrice.

“They aren’t. That’s because Jo is very competitive and Karen is
super
competitive. Her mother kept telling her she was worthless at quilting, and now she’s focused her whole life around proving her wrong.”

Beatrice blinked. “That wasn’t a very nice thing for her mother to tell her.”

“Well, the woman’s dead now. But she wasn’t a great mother, that’s for sure.” Opal rolled her eyes, just thinking about Karen’s mother. “But back to Jo. I think you’ll end up with a whole host of problems if you let her join the Village Quilters.”