Pattern of Betrayal (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 2)

by Mae Fox

  Once Carrie was checked in, Julie joined the guests in the tearoom as they listened to Shirley spin her latest tale. What a group. She had a feeling the weekend would be anything but boring.

  Shirley was clearly enjoying it. She nearly beamed with joy at having such a captive audience. She’d been telling stories for so long, her voice had started to turn hoarse, and she was drinking almost as much tea as she served. As she finished a tale about the ghost who reportedly lived at a local farm and occasionally killed the chickens, Julie made her way to the front of the group.

  Hiding a smile, Julie refrained from pointing out that it might have been a fox doing the dirty deed. Better to let Shirley have her fun.

  “That’s all well and good, dear,” Sadie said to Shirley, “but what I really want to hear about is the Civil War journal you found here.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled among the guests.

  “You found a Civil War journal?” Liam Preston asked mid-sip. The tiny floral-patterned teacup he held looked ridiculous in his large hands.

  “It’s not a journal per se,” Julie interjected. “More of a manual that someone wrote in. But the entries date back to 1861.”

  “What a treasure!” Liam exclaimed. “Wherever did you find it?”

  “In the basement,” Julie said. “I was looking through some old boxes and happened upon it.” She didn’t add that she was trying to find an item for an upcoming school auction at the time. She switched her focus to Sadie. “How did you know about the book?”

  “There was an article in the local paper about it, dear,” Sadie said.

  Julie regarded her curiously. There had been an article in the local paper, but that didn’t explain how Sadie knew about it. She wasn’t from Straussberg.

  “The article was picked up by a couple of larger papers,” Joyce added, as if reading her mind. “I read about it in the Danville Times. That’s our paper.”

  “And then there’s the article on the Internet,” Sadie continued. “That’s how I heard about it.”

  The Internet? Julie thought Sadie might pull a smartphone out of her handbag and show her the story.

  She found it hard to believe anyone would give much thought to the old manual. When she’d first discovered it, she called an expert in Civil War memorabilia and told him what she’d found. He’d asked her several questions about the book and then had her take some digital photographs of the pages and send them to him. An hour later he’d called back to say it wasn’t worth more than two or three hundred dollars—to the right buyer. Julie thought that was perfect for the auction, though she still hadn’t received approval from Millie to donate it to the local school.

  Clearly the inn’s feisty owner had better things to do in Baja than answer emails as Julie still hadn’t received a response to her question about the book. Though annoyed by the delay, Julie knew that she’d be hard-pressed to answer her email, too, if she had the choice between looking at prehistoric paintings or a laptop.

  “Will you show us the book?” Carrie asked timidly. “It sounds fascinating.”

  Julie studied her for a moment. It was the first time the young girl had spoken since they’d entered the tearoom.

  “Yes,” Liam added, “I would love to take a peek at it.”

  Of course he would, Julie thought. He was a professor of literature.

  She gazed around at the eager faces. Well, most of the faces were eager. Sadie, Joyce, and Susan Calhoun looked as interested as Liam and Carrie, while Kenneth Calhoun, Alice Peyton, and Gregory Wilson ranged from bored to indifferent.

  Julie checked her watch. She was going to break in a few minutes so her guests would have enough time to settle in and get ready for the next event. “I suppose I could show it to you.”

  A chorus of yays rose from some of the guests, and Julie went to her office to retrieve the book. She had locked it inside the inn’s safe, more out of habit than true worry about the book being stolen. With deft fingers, she maneuvered the combination lock and extracted the manual.

  She hadn’t taken the time to read everything in it, handwritten or otherwise, but she could tell from the worn leather cover that it was very old. She’d done a little research online but wasn’t able to contact more than the one expert before she’d been forced to shift her focus back to planning the weekend’s activities.

  “Here it is,” Julie said as she returned to the tearoom. The guests crowded around to look at the tiny bound book.

  “That is truly spectacular,” Liam said. He cupped one palm under his chin. Julie thought all he needed was a pipe to complete his professorial look, or maybe a smoking jacket and crackling fire. But the late-spring Missouri weather was much too warm for a fire.

  After a few minutes of the guests oohing and aahing over the old relic, Julie checked her watch. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe it’s time to get this mystery weekend under way. You should have received your character sketches in the mail a few weeks ago. A big thank-you goes out to Shirley for creating such entertaining characters and such a shrewd killer.” The guests all clapped, and Shirley gave a quick curtsy.

  “Just to refresh everyone’s memory,” Julie continued, “this will mostly be an off-the-cuff event. It’s not a play. Your names and relationships have not been changed for the event, though your histories and backgrounds have been rewritten. This is not a team event, so even if you are here as a pair …” She looked from Sadie and Joyce to the Calhouns. “… it’s every player for himself.”

  Joyce clasped her hands. “Oh, this is so exciting!”

  Julie chuckled. “We’ve got forty-five minutes before dinner. So, please settle in and change into whatever costumes you brought and get into character. Remember, the success of this event rides on your shoulders. The more participation we have from you, the better experience everyone will have. Any questions?”

  Sadie raised her hand. “Will we be able to finish our dinner? I have to take medication at mealtimes, and if I don’t eat enough I tend to get …” She blushed. “Well, it’s not good, dear.”

  Julie smiled indulgently at the woman. “I can’t tell you when the murder will take place, but I will personally see to it that you have plenty to eat.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Anyone else?”

  The guests shifted anxiously and shook their heads. The enthusiastic faces had turned eager, and the bored ones still appeared … well, bored. Julie couldn’t help but wonder why someone would commit to such an event if they weren’t at all interested.

  The guests filed out of the tearoom, and she watched them go. Kenneth’s attitude she could almost understand; it was obvious he’d come because his wife wanted to attend. But Alice and Gregory were something of a mystery.

  Shirley rubbed her hands together, her round face lighting up with excitement. “This is going to be so much fun. We should think about holding a murder mystery event at least twice a year.”

  “Let’s wait and see if we survive this one first,” Julie said.

  “Hello?” A male voice called from the foyer.

  “That must be Brandon,” Shirley said, referring to the actor they had hired to play a key role in the mystery.

  “Good. Have you seen Daniel yet today?” Julie asked Shirley as they made their way to the front of the inn.

  “Right here.” Daniel’s tall frame stood in the foyer next to the young actor.

  Both men were dressed in costume. Since Brandon was a member of the local community theater, his costume was detailed and spot-on. He had the perfect turn-of-the-century cut to his coat and waistcoat.

  Julie couldn’t quite pin down the exact era of Daniel’s ensemble. Not because she didn’t know period dress, but because his interpretation of late-1800s fashion looked a bit more … eclectic than those seen in a museum.

  Regardless, he still managed to look rugged and handsome. But Julie knew better than to get involved with men like him. She’d been down that road before. She would ignore the playful twinkle
in his eyes and the way his white shirt made him appear even tanner. He was a stuffy old treasure hunter. Why couldn’t he just look like one?

  “I really appreciate you helping us tonight,” she told the pair.

  “It’s my pleasure.” Daniel smiled, revealing deep dimples and even, white teeth.

  “Glad to help,” Brandon said, casting a sidelong glance at Shirley. “I am still getting paid, right?”

  Julie shot Shirley a look.

  The redhead simply nodded. “Fifty dollars.”

  “Cool,” he said. “Thanks, Aunt Shirley.”

  “I’ll show you where you need to be.” Shirley took his arm and led her nephew toward the dining room.

  “And to think, you got me for free,” Daniel said, giving Julie another one of his killer smiles.

  “You’re not my nephew.”

  Daniel’s eyes darkened. “No, I’m not.”

  Something in his tone sent little shivers down her spine. Focus, Julie. She eyed his puffy shirt and riding pants. A pirate. That was what he reminded her of. A turn-of-the-century pirate. She raised an eyebrow and didn’t even try to hide her smile.

  “What?” Daniel asked with a laugh. “You don’t like my costume?”

  “Riding pants?”

  “It was the best I could do. I don’t have the resources of Straussberg’s community theater wardrobe department at my disposal.”

  “I suppose not.” Julie looped her arm through one of his and led him out of the foyer. “Come along, Captain Jack. I’ll show you what you’re supposed to do. Then I’ve got to run upstairs and change.”

  “If you need any costuming advice—”

  “Oh, does your pirate tailor work this late?” Julie asked, looking at her watch.

  “I hope so. I forgot my eye patch.”

  TWO

  Surprisingly, it turned out that Daniel’s costume was actually one of the better ones among the group gathered in the dining room.

  Kenneth, in keeping with his previous bored attitude, had donned a George Washington–style coat over his Hawaiian print shirt. He’d at least changed out of his khaki shorts and put on khaki slacks. If Julie had been handing out prizes for the worst-dressed, he would have won hands down.

  On the other end of the spectrum was Gregory. He looked like a character straight out of an Edith Wharton novel—authentic and impeccable. Everyone else fell somewhere in between.

  Sadie and Joyce had traded their pantsuits for dresses reminiscent of Little Bo Peep’s. All they needed to complete their looks were shepherd’s hooks. Both dresses were blue, but Joyce’s was just enough on the aqua side that it spectacularly clashed with her hair.

  “Oh, look at that dress!” Sadie exclaimed as Julie entered the room. “Almost as glamorous as the one Scarlett wore.”

  “Scarlett O’Hara?” Julie asked, glancing down at her dress. It was dark purple, not red, and not nearly as revealing as the one from Gone with the Wind. She gave the bodice a little tug just to be on the safe side.

  “No, silly,” Joyce said. “Scarlett Jones.”

  Julie blinked. “Who’s Scarlett Jones?”

  “A good friend of ours,” Sadie said with an impatient sigh. Then she took a long sip of wine, as if Julie should’ve known which Scarlett they were referring to.

  Julie could only smile in response.

  The two women bustled off to comment on Susan’s dress, their petticoats rustling as they moved. Like Gregory, Susan had gone all out, wearing long white gloves and a sparkling bracelet glittering around one wrist. She looked cool and sophisticated in emerald green.

  “There you are!” Shirley exclaimed as tiny Carrie Windsor entered the room, a timid expression on her face. Wrapped in a pastel pink sateen dress with big puffy sleeves, a heart-shaped bodice, and a drop waist, Carrie looked like she was headed for her high school prom … in 1987. Her glasses still dominated her face, though she had managed to secure all of her hair in some sort of French twist. She looked wholly uncomfortable as Shirley dove in for a hug.

  Inga Mehl, the inn’s housekeeper, marched into the room wearing her usual frown and drab gray dress. She was something of a fixture at the inn, having worked there for many years. No-nonsense, highly efficient, and stealthy, Inga still carried a slight accent from her native Germany and insisted on wearing the staid gray uniform of a traditional domestic while at work, even though Millie didn’t require it. Though she was a part of the murder mystery, she’d refused to wear a costume, forcing Shirley to rewrite her part so that she could “play” the part of a housekeeper.

  And then there was Alice, the spitting image of a prairie woman from the late 1800s. Her dress was high-necked, long-sleeved, and made from a pale yellow calico. Although her costume was sorely out of date, she blended right in with the rest of the diverse group. It wasn’t exactly how Julie had pictured the party, but it was the spirit of the thing that mattered.

  Julie stood at the head of the dinner table and clinked a spoon against her wine glass. “Good evening, everyone,” she said as the chatter died down. “As you all know, tonight someone will be murdered.” She paused for drama, looking at each guest in turn.

  “Until then,” Julie continued, “enjoy your meal and get to know one another. And stay in character as much as possible. This is a chance to just have fun being someone else for a couple of days.”

  “Here, here!” Susan shouted.

  Everyone raised their glasses in a toast.

  Julie sat back in her seat as Hannah emerged from the kitchen with a rolling cart of food and numerous bread baskets. Everyone got the same meal, which was plated in the kitchen and served efficiently with Inga’s help.

  Soon, all that could be heard was the clanking of silverware and the murmur of conversation as the guests warmed up to playing their parts in the mystery.

  “Good idea to have dinner first,” Daniel said, leaning close to Julie.

  She nodded. “This way everyone will have time to get used to their characters before the mystery actually begins.”

  Daniel smiled and gave her a wink. “No, because I’m starving.”

  She shot him an exasperated look. He merely widened his smile and then took a bite of his bread.

  It really was a shame he was so handsome. Maybe in another life, at another time, she could have fallen for him. But right now? She was a little tied up, hiding out from international art thieves. She and Hannah had come to Straussberg for one purpose and one purpose only: to save their bacon. Yet, somehow in the process, she had gotten entrenched in being Julie Ellis, a humble inn manager. And she actually rather enjoyed it.

  Daniel caught her eye again and pointed to his watch.

  She knew what he was silently asking, How long until it’s time to start the show? Julie glanced at the large grandfather clock on the other side of the room. It was seven fifteen. Shortly before eight, the lights would flicker and then go out. When they came back on, the “body” would be found, and the mystery would begin.

  She leaned closer to him. “Quit worrying about the time, and get your part done. You need to start planting clues.”

  He nodded and then turned in his seat toward the other guests. “I say,” he began in what had to be the worst British accent Julie had ever heard, not to mention overly loud. “You look a tad familiar, old chap. Have we met?”

  The other guests swiveled their attention to Daniel as they tried to figure out who he was talking to.

  Brandon looked up from his chicken and glanced around the table as if to check and see if Daniel was really talking to him.

  Julie had to admit, the kid was pretty good.

  On cue, Shirley ducked her head in shame. She let out a gusty sigh, dragging everyone’s attention from Brandon to her.

  Everything was going as planned.

  “I don’t think so, sir,” young Brandon replied. “I’m new to these parts.”

  “I see.” Daniel sat back in his seat, his eyes narrowed in dramatic fashion.

  A l
ong pause followed. The next line was supposed to be Inga’s, but she was having trouble getting into the swing of the evening. It would have been better for everyone if Julie had been successful in luring Hannah out of the kitchen to play Inga’s part, but Hannah had stated quite emphatically that she would quit on the spot if they did anything other than ask her to serve dessert. Poor, stoic Inga had been brought on instead. And she was already failing miserably.

  Shirley nudged Inga with one shoulder, somehow making it seem like an accident.

  “Oh.” Inga turned a bright shade of red. “Uh. What about you? I don’t remember seeing you around much.” She recited her lines in her usual deadpan monotone.

  Daniel adopted a cool air, like a riverboat gambler holding four aces. “My wife and I like to travel. We’ve been through here many times. Haven’t we, dearest?”

  Shirley beamed at him. “Oh, yes, and we just love staying at the Quilt Haus Inn whenever we’re in the area.” Shirley’s animated performance was as over the top as Inga’s was below it.

  “Indeed we do.” Daniel smiled at Julie, who was playing the part of the innkeeper—big stretch—and then shifted his attention back to Brandon. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere before. On the riverboat, perhaps?”

  Brandon shivered. “No sir, I get sick as a dog on the water. No sir, that wasn’t me on the riverboat.”

  Julie checked the clock. Seven thirty. They still had half an hour of playacting and banter before the lights were scheduled to go off. So far, so good.

  The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than the lights flickered and went out.

  Knowing they were in the midst of a murder mystery dinner, it should have taken no one by surprise when the room went dark—surely not enough that they would scream.