Threads of Deceit (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 1) (4 page)

Julie put a hand to her hip. “Now you’re just showing off. I assume that’s a cookie?”

Hannah nodded. “Despite your crabby responses to my cookie problem, you look cheerier overall. Did the sisters fall into the Missouri?”

“No,” Julie said as she popped her chosen pod into the coffee maker. The shiny black-and-chrome appliance was the one item they’d saved when they closed the New York office. Hannah had insisted they bring it, and Julie had to admit she would have missed it too. “I’m disappointed that you think seeing those sweet little old ladies fall into the river would make me happy. They’re perfectly nice.” For a moment, she was glad her nose couldn’t actually grow from the whopper she’d just told.

Hannah shoved an envelope into the cookbook for a bookmark and walked over to the counter. “Something has put a spring in your step. Let me see if I can guess. …”

Julie sipped from her steaming cup. “I could just be happy for no particular reason, you know.”

“Right.” Hannah thought for a moment, then smiled mischievously. “I know what’s caused the roses in your cheeks—our newest quilter.”

“He’s not a quilter. He tricked me a little there.”

“Wow, a trickster. He sounds perfect for you.”

“Snarkiness is not one of your more appealing traits.”

Hannah waved off the criticism. “So tell me some more about our sneaky new guest who has you so chipper.”

Julie leaned on the counter, her long fingers wrapped around the warm mug. “He is a historian on a treasure hunt.
Apparently he figured out the location of an old steamship wreck,
The Grand Adventure
.”

“Let me guess—you’re planning to dive on the wreck and beat him to the treasure?”

“No. First, I wouldn’t do that. And second, it’s not under water. At least, Daniel doesn’t think it is. He believes it’s buried on a farm here.”

“‘Daniel’? How quickly we’ve reached a first-name basis.”

Julie shook her head. “Hannah Marks, what has gotten into you? You know I’m not interested in romance.”

“Sure,” Hannah said. “Because you’re not human or anything like that.”

Julie took a sip of her coffee while she glared at her friend over the top of her cup. Finally, she let her well of enthusiasm bubble over. “This
is
exciting stuff. As I was helping him with his luggage, Daniel told me that he’s going to be excavating on the Winkler farm, and he expects to find some impressive pre–Civil War artifacts. Somehow or other, I plan to be involved with this.”

“Sure, because getting involved in a treasure hunt is a great way to lay low and avoid the attention of certain people who would love to find you.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Right, like you always are. And I just finished unpacking the last of my stuff.”

“Good, because we’re not going anywhere. I
will
be careful.” Julie drew an imaginary cross over her heart with one finger. She took another sip of her coffee just as Shirley Ott popped her head through the kitchen door. As always, the plump tea shop manager’s plume of bright red hair added several inches to her height.

“Oh, Julie, there you are. Could you come and give me
a hand in the tearoom? One of our guests only drinks white tea infused at seventy degrees. I have no idea how to do that.”

Julie looked at Hannah. “Thermometer?”

“I have a high-tech infrared one. That should impress them.” Hannah rooted in a drawer and handed Julie something that looked like a small gun. “Just point at the water and shoot.”

“If you say so.” Julie followed Shirley’s colorful form back to the tearoom. The tearoom manager could be counted upon to choose outfits every bit as vibrant as her red hair. Today she’d matched a handmade patchwork skirt in bright jewel tones with a fringed scarf shot through with gold threads.

Shirley’s attire never ceased to amaze Julie. The older woman clearly loved color, and her outfits also reflected her amazing sewing and quilting skills. Shirley proudly admitted she’d designed and made nearly every item in her wardrobe.

Together, they soon had the picky guest calmed down and happily sipping her perfectly brewed tea. Julie stood near the counter in the retail area with Shirley and looked around the room. The racks of fabrics and notions were impeccably neat as always. Most of the small group of tables had someone sitting, sipping tea, and nibbling on one of Hannah’s amazing baked goods.

“It’s busy today,” Julie said.

“Thanks to the gossip.” Shirley spoke in what she probably thought was a whisper, but since she was slightly hard of hearing, her whispers tended to carry.

Julie looked at her in surprise. “What gossip?”

“About the discovery of a steamboat on the Winklers’ farm,” Shirley said, her blue eyes sparkling. “With treasure, no less! It’s the talk of the town. And what a marvelous name—
The Grand Adventure
. Who can resist an adventure?”

Julie looked at her in speechless amazement, and Shirley laughed. “My dear, there is one absolute truth about this lovely town. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I can tell you that we are chockablock with good old-fashioned busybodies, of which I am the commander-in-chief. We were connected long before there was an Internet, and texting just makes us even faster. Nothing beats the speed of the Straussberg gossip network.”

Julie couldn’t help but be amused by the cheerful woman’s complete comfort with her role as house gossip.

Shirley leaned closer to Julie and said, “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to tell you something.”

“Oh?”

“I heard about the twins giving you a hard time. You mustn’t let them bother you.”

Julie stiffened slightly and considered hushing the smiling woman. She certainly didn’t want the guests in the tearoom to hear her gossiping with Shirley. Then the older woman patted her arm solicitously. “They have gotten their room moved every year they’ve come here. They always insist on the third-floor room because of the quiet. Then they complain about the heat and end up being moved to the second floor while still paying the cheaper rate. It’s a tradition, actually.”

“Really?” Julie was so stunned that she forgot about her worry over Shirley’s loud whispers.

Shirley laughed. “I suspect those two were near the top of the list of things that inspired Millie’s retirement. She’ll be delighted that
you
got to deal with them this year.”

Julie nodded without answering, surprised to realize that it made her feel better.

“Oh, one more thing. I need to stay late tonight to use some of the books from the inn’s library. I’m preparing a
new Stitches and Stories talk about pre–Civil War Straussberg.” Shirley’s Stitches and Stories talks were a tradition at the Quilt Haus Inn. Twice a week, the guests gathered in the formal dining room and sat at the long table, busily working on projects, while Shirley told stories from Straussberg’s history. Julie had sat in on a few and was surprised—and a little impressed—at how much gossip Shirley could pack into her historical talks.

“That will be fine,” Julie said. “Be sure to lock up on your way out.”

The remainder of the day continued at a bustling pace, and Julie was relieved when she was finally able to retire to her own small suite on the third floor. Her rooms were only lightly furnished. All the pieces were antiques, but they showed their wear even more than the breakfast room chairs. Julie didn’t mind. She liked living among things that felt well used and loved, though the rocking chair where she sat creaked nearly as much as the old wood floors.

She rolled her shoulders, acutely aware of the tension that had built up over the day. There was no way she could sleep while she was so stiff. She stood and began a series of stretches. Some she had “borrowed” from yoga, and others were just stretches she remembered from high school gym class. Over the years, the stretches had become part of the prep for every recovery job, loosening tension that could break her focus. Of course, lack of focus at her present job wasn’t likely to land her in mortal danger. If she were honest—and she tried always to be honest with herself—she was finding the new job a little chafing. It wasn’t boring. There was too much work and too many crises to be boring. But she missed the thrill of the hunt and the challenge of a good adventure. And she loved the feeling of completion that came at the end of a job.

At the inn, the job never ended.

She sighed softly as she kicked off her shoes. She needed to focus on her new life and stop pining for the one she’d left behind before it could kill her. She reached high over her head, her back slightly arched, and felt her muscles stretch from the demands she placed on them. That’s what she needed to do—stretch and appreciate the new demands.

As she swung forward to reach for her toes, a sound in the hallway caught her attention. She froze. The clock on her small fireplace mantle made it clear the hour was much too late for a guest to be wandering around up here. She wondered for a moment if Hannah might be coming up to see her. Then she thought of Shirley. Perhaps Shirley had found something downstairs that needed Julie’s attention, or a piece of juicy local gossip she had to share or she would burst. Julie raised herself to standing and waited for the knock at the door. No knock came.

Quietly, Julie crept to the door and opened it a crack. She saw that the door to the tower suite hung slightly open. It seemed Daniel Franklin had taken to wandering around at an unusually late hour.

I knew those blue eyes were trouble.

She slipped out of her room and tiptoed softly to his door. When she peeked in the open doorway, the room was empty. The beautiful brass bed was still neatly made. So why was their newest guest wandering around the inn instead of sleeping?

She padded barefoot down the smooth wood stairs to the second floor and glanced down the hallway. No sign of movement. Since she couldn’t imagine Daniel visiting any of her other guests, she continued down to the first floor. She peeked into the tearoom. The pastry case was empty for the night, but the case’s light was still on, bathing the room in
enough light to be certain no one lurked inside.

Then she checked the small library located beside the tearoom. Shirley sat curled up in one of the darkly upholstered Queen Anne chairs next to the fireplace. She had half glasses perched on the end of her nose as she squinted at one of the leather-bound books about Missouri history. Julie backed up quietly without speaking. She didn’t want Daniel to be alerted by any sound, and a shouted greeting from Shirley would certainly carry over half the downstairs.

She walked across the foyer toward the breakfast room. The light of a full moon poured through the tall windows that flanked one wall of the room, casting pools of light and shadow. But Julie saw nothing out of place as her gaze swept over the room—until she noticed the door marked “Staff Only.”

It stood ajar.

Apparently Daniel was not only restless, he was visiting areas clearly marked as off limits to guests. She quickly jerked open the door and spotted Daniel crouched down in the hall outside the kitchen, poking at the padlock on the cellar door with a thick piece of wire. His head snapped toward her at the sound, his eyes wide in alarm.

Julie crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you like to tell me why you’re practicing your lock-picking skills on my lock? Or shall I simply call the police?”

D
aniel scrambled to his feet and slipped the wire into the pocket of his dark hooded sweatshirt. “It’s not how it looks.”

Julie raised an eyebrow. “So you weren’t picking the lock to the cellar?”

Daniel ran a hand through his dark brown hair, his gaze darting about as if looking for the answer in the shadows around Julie. “Um, no, that part is exactly how it looks. I meant that I wasn’t trying to get into the cellar to steal anything.”

“Good to know,” Julie said. “So, what? You wanted to commune with the furnace?”

His face darkened. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to make it easier. You’re in a part of the inn clearly marked for staff only. And you were trying to pick a lock. I can’t think of any way to make a place more obviously off limits than a bright shiny padlock. So tell me why I shouldn’t call the police, or at least boot you out of the inn.”

“You know why I’m here in Straussberg.”

“I know why you
say
you’re here. Forgive me if I’m less accepting of your word in the matter, especially now.”

“I told you the truth about
The Grand Adventure
,” Daniel said. “But, while I was researching the ship, I found some information that ties the wreck to this inn.” He paused. “And ties this inn to the treasure.”

“I can assure you, we aren’t hiding a steamship in the cellar.”

“If you’d care to listen instead of making smart remarks. …”

“I enjoy doing both. I’m a multitasker.”

Daniel folded his arms across his broad chest, then leaned
back against the wall. “Fine. While I was researching the history of
The Grand Adventure
, I found a letter from the steamship captain to his wife. He references a vital cargo hidden aboard the ship, a cargo that must be kept secret.”