2 Knot What It Seams (4 page)

The anti-Jo sentiment was getting to be a common refrain. “Oh, I’m not the mastermind of the recruiting effort. I’m only here picking up the cake. You know how Meadow is—she’s a one-woman welcoming committee. I haven’t been in Dappled Hills long enough to form an opinion of Jo one way or another. Although I’ll admit I’m not a fan of her philosophy of mail delivery. Why don’t you fill me in?”

Opal leaned forward. “I’m not usually the one to gossip.” She pursed her mouth into a bow.

Sure she wasn’t.

“But that woman makes me positively froth at the mouth.” Opal did, in fact, appear right on the verge of frothing, eyes open wide and mouth in a snarl. “I have my own personal reasons for hating her, but other people have had issues with her, too. She knows all kinds of things about people in the town since she delivers their mail. What they do in their private lives, their interests, which doctors they see. I don’t doubt she reads half the mail and makes educated guesses on the content of the other half.”

Opal sounded as though she had personal knowledge of Jo’s snooping. Jo couldn’t be very popular in such a small town with this approach. “Does she?” asked Beatrice. “I suppose it’s a good thing that my mail is as boring as it is.”

The elfish woman suddenly appeared very tough and hard and not at all as fluffily innocuous as she had before. “Most of the time, it’s just annoying things that you don’t want the whole town to know about. All I’m saying is to watch yourself around Jo Paxton. She’s not someone to be trusted.” She paused. “
Especially
if you’re a dog owner.” She squinted at her omnisciently. “Which I believe you are.”

* * *

“Meadow,” said Jo, staring around Meadow’s converted barn, “you sure do a lot of crazy quilts. Is that all you quilt now? It doesn’t look like you’ve tried anything else in a long time.” Jo squinted critically at the quilts, jabbing a finger to point at all the crazy quilts she saw.

Meadow and her police chief husband lived in a barn that had been converted into a house. Beatrice had been very doubtful when she’d first moved to Dappled Hills that the inside of their home could possibly be attractive. But ever since she’d first set foot in the barn, she’d fallen a little in love with it. The ceilings soared up to a skylight, and the kitchen and living room were all one room with beautiful hardwood floors. The feeling in the house was very loftlike and modern in some ways.

Meadow blinked at Jo. “I wouldn’t say that crazy quilts are
all
that I do. But I don’t have room to put out all my quilts, of course. They’re in cedar chests.”

Meadow’s wide-eyed expression told Beatrice that this guild meeting was not going exactly as planned. At least Opal’s cake was delicious red velvet with a delightful buttercream frosting. That, in itself, was reason to enjoy being at the Village Quilters guild meeting. Beatrice was already contemplating asking Opal to bake her a cake just to enjoy at home. No special occasion was really needed for cakes, after all. And there were so many types of cakes. Considering possible different cake options was infinitely better than listening to Jo Paxton give unrequested critiques on everyone’s quilts.

“And you’re also stuck on particular colors. Most of your quilts use vibrant reds, blues, and yellows. Visually, it gets stale after a while. You spend so much time in Posy’s store that you could easily find something totally different to inspire you.” Jo continued peering at the quilts around the big living area. “Posy must be buying those colors by the truckload just for you.”

Posy, quietly hand-piecing on the sofa, gazed anxiously at Jo. She clearly didn’t want to be brought into this lecture.

“You’ve brought up food for thought, for sure,” said Meadow eagerly. “Boy, it’s good to have some fresh ideas for the group!” Meadow was clearly willing to squelch any irritation she felt to keep the meeting running smoothly.

Jo now eyed Savannah Potter’s meticulously stitched quilt. Savannah and her sister Georgia’s quilts were about as different as they could possibly be. Savannah’s quilts were as tightly controlled as she was, and Georgia’s quilts were free-spirit expressions of soft textures and comfort.

While Jo started explaining to Savannah that pinwheel, flying geese, and Polaris star patterns were too limiting, Beatrice’s daughter, Piper, rolled her eyes at her. They were sitting next to each other on Meadow’s long sofa that was draped with yet more crazy quilts. “Does Jo think she’s judging a quilt show?” Piper whispered.

“Maybe she thinks she’s here as a speaker,” said Beatrice. “That’s what she’s acting like, anyway.”

Savannah, usually a stern perfectionist who wouldn’t take kindly to advice on the topic, was surprisingly docile, hanging on Jo’s every word. It was almost as if this guild was starstruck at having a regional quilt show judge giving them feedback. It all made Beatrice feel fairly grouchy.

Miss Sissy, who had just polished off most of the hors d’oeuvres, grunted her agreement with Jo’s assessment. “Crazy quilts! Geometric. Bah!”

Georgia and Posy got similar critiques and Piper took hers with good humor and a couple of winks at her mother when Jo wasn’t paying attention. Piper grinned good-naturedly when Meadow teasingly proclaimed, “Go gently on Piper, Jo! You know she’s my daughter-in-training. I won’t have you insulting my future daughter-in-law’s quilting abilities.” Ash and Piper did have a nice little relationship going, although the fact that he lived on the other end of the country was a bit of an impediment.

Beatrice had listened to enough, though, and briskly interrupted Jo as she came over to study Beatrice’s current project. “I have a ways to go, I know. There’s no point in critiquing something that’s flawed to this extent. Right now I’m trying to learn the basics and enjoy the process.” Jo opened her mouth to interject some advice, and Beatrice stared her down firmly until Meadow intervened.

“We’re pleased as punch to have you in the Village Quilters, Jo! It’s such an honor for us.”

Jo preened a little. “It’s nice to be wanted. This is a much friendlier group than the Cut-Ups.”

Or a more malleable one.

“They never really listened to my advice there. That Karen Taylor.” Jo made a face as if she’d eaten something sour. “She always thought she knew best and is bent on making hideous quilts.”

“Hideous!” echoed Miss Sissy, raising her arthritic fist in solidarity.

“I tell her she’s never going to win shows with those things, but she keeps plugging away at them. And Opal.” Jo shook her head as if Opal were completely beyond hope. Beatrice couldn’t even imagine Opal and Jo being able to be in the same room together without having a blow-up.

Meadow clearly wanted to steer the subject into lighter, happier territory. Unfortunately, she chose the wrong tack to do it. “Opal. Yes, we saw Opal yesterday, didn’t we, Beatrice.”

At a memorable and conflict-ridden visit to the Patchwork Cottage. “We certainly did,” said Beatrice.

“She was very concerned about something, wasn’t she?” asked Posy, trying to remember. “What was it, again?”

Now Meadow’s brow creased with worry. Because Opal had primarily been concerned about Jo.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Posy. “It was about the town hall meeting tonight. Dappled Hills is planning on levying some taxes and fees on the quilters and charging us for meeting space for the quilt shows. Or I suppose the mayor is. Something to do with a revenue issue for the town.”

Meadow’s cheery smile returned now they were out of Opal-versus-Jo territory.

Jo squawked, “What! Taxing and charging the quilters! But we’re always giving proceeds to local charities!”

Meadow clasped her hands together anxiously. “Surely it won’t be much of a hassle, though. It’ll just be more of a pain to fill out the paperwork. It’s not like he’s going to be emptying out our coffers or anything.” They were straying again from the happy, calming atmosphere that Meadow had been aiming for.

Jo was on a roll. “It’s not the time or the money. It’s the principle of the thing! There’s a complete lack of respect behind his planning. It’s not right.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest, fuming. Then she wagged a finger. “I know what we’ll do. I know the way to force Mayor Grayson to our point of view. But let’s go to the town hall meeting tonight—all of us. Every quilter in each guild. I’ll call them myself. A show of force!”

A cheer erupted from the normally placid ladies of the guild. Even Piper, who was as apolitical as possible, was planning to be there. Beatrice hoped that the police department had riot gear.

* * *

Beatrice had lived in the South her entire life and had seen a lot of Southern politicians. Many times they perfectly fit their jovial, good-old-boy-network stereotype. Booth Grayson didn’t fit so neatly into a box, though. He was smart and acerbic with an accountant’s sensibility and desire to stick to a budget. He solemnly regarded the group of quilters over his glasses as they took seats in the town hall meeting room before things started.

Beatrice raised her eyebrows as Jo entered the room several minutes later. Jo wore a pantsuit that implied she meant business and had pulled her hair into a ponytail so tight that Beatrice wondered if it was stretching her skin across her face. Opal froze at the sight. There was bound to be trouble. And Beatrice had thought that Dappled Hills seemed like such a quiet community to retire to.

After the minutes of the last meeting were read and the agenda followed, there came the moment in the meeting for public feedback, comments, and questions. Opal had a peach-colored piece of stationery in her hands, ready to deliver what she apparently considered a stern reproach to the mayor.

While Opal was still smoothing down her skirts, however, Jo had jumped up out of her seat and hurried over to stand belligerently in front of the council and address the mayor. “What’s all this foolishness, Booth? Your proposal means you’ll be drowning the quilt guilds in paperwork, permits, and taxes. Are you trying to make it hard for us to meet? What have we ever done to
you
?”

Booth studied her coolly. “There’s nothing personal about it—it’s purely a revenue-based and legal-based decision. Your groups are generating revenue. The town of Dappled Hills could employ some of that revenue to help us meet our budget. Your groups should have a tax ID number and pay taxes like other revenue-generating entities. End of story.”

The other council members fidgeted and their expressions were either nervous or wary. Maybe they’d run across the wrath of Jo before. Or perhaps they knew better than to have run-ins with quilters.

“It may be nothing personal on your end, but there’s something personal on mine. I have a problem with people who do things that don’t make sense. What you’re proposing enforcing won’t bring in much revenue for the town, but could do a lot to harm the quilting guilds.”

Booth set his jaw. “Thank you, Ms. Paxton. If that’s the end of your question, we’ll hear from the next citizen.”

“I don’t think we will,” said Jo in a cold voice. “I have the advantage, you see, of knowing certain tidbits of information about you. I know that you shouldn’t be as sanctimonious as you are. I happen to know things about you that aren’t so squeaky clean—”

“That’s enough!” said Booth, an ugly red stain spattering across his face.

“—and I’m thinking that maybe the people of Dappled Hills need a bit more information about the kind of person they’ve elected—”

Booth stood up, pushing back his rolling chair.

“—and the sorts of activities you’re engaged in.”

No longer the unruffled bureaucrat, Booth roared, “I said that’s enough!”

Everyone in the room perched on the edge of their seats, breaths held, waiting for the next explosion. But there clearly weren’t going to be any more explosions when Meadow’s husband, Ramsay, Dappled Hills police chief, drawled, “I think that’s enough, too. From both of y’all. Town meetings are supposed to be conducted in a particular way, and y’all are in complete violation of it. I need you both to take deep breaths.”

Booth returned to his usual iciness and regarded Ramsay without speaking. Jo folded her arms tightly across her chest. Her mouth pulled unhappily down into a severe frown and she didn’t appear to be making any efforts to relax.

Ramsay cleared his throat for effect.

“Isn’t he so handsome when he’s commanding like that?” said Meadow to Beatrice in her usual stage whisper. “It nearly makes me swoon. Even after all these years of marital bliss!”

Handsome
wasn’t exactly the word that came to mind when you met Ramsay Downey. He was a short, balding man with a stomach that had seen its share of hearty Southern meals. You wouldn’t think he’d command attention in a room, but there was a quiet authority about him that seemed to work.

“Now, I don’t know about Jo’s allegations,” said Ramsay, shifting from one foot to the other and looking as if he didn’t really
want
to know about the allegations, “but I think the argument today boils down to a couple of different matters. The quilters think that Mayor Grayson doesn’t fully understand the contributions they make to the community and that he’s only seeing the group from a dollars-and-cents standpoint. Mayor Grayson states he is simply searching for ways to increase revenue for Dappled Hills. Maybe the mayor can go to the next quilt show. If my memory serves me,” added Ramsay, “there’s one this very weekend.”

The mayor’s mouth twisted as he stared coolly at the peacemaking police chief. Beatrice knew Ramsay would do anything to avoid trouble. All he wanted to do was lounge around in comfortable clothes reading Thoreau and making stabs at penning poetry. Frayed tempers and veiled threats only meant a necessary return to police work.

Booth had apparently come to the same conclusion as his gaze rested on Ramsay’s anxious, supplicating face. “I suppose I could come to the quilt show before effecting the permit and tax change.” He no longer glared at Jo, who’d smugly swept out of the meeting room. Now Opal was busily giving Booth the time and place for the quilt show, jotting it on a piece of paper and hurrying over to hand it to him as she babbled on.