“It was because of the show last year I decided to take this class.” The speaker, one of the quietest students Theo had ever dealt with, was as subdued as her clothing. Beige with more beige. But her quilt and the fabrics she chose showed a different side of the woman. Her class project, a stunning combination of an oriental print of gold and teal and dark green, glowed in the classroom lights.
“Have I ever shown you the first quilt I made?” Theo grinned. “Every one of you has done a better job than I did.” She pulled the ragged quilt out of its storage box and spread it out on a table. The pitiful quilt was poorly sewn, made of hideous maroon and blue fabrics, and the binding, which should have finished the edges, gapped away from the quilt’s top. “See?”
“Well, the, um . . .” Each of the students in turn tried to find something nice to say about it. Finally one said, “That’s a quilt!”
Their laughter attracted the attention of some of the shoppers. When they came into the classroom to visit, they all expressed their appreciation of their work. With the exception of Theo’s first quilt. It didn’t even receive any pity votes for being complete.
Tony saw his mom’s name come up on caller ID. He wasn’t sure if he was glad the system was invented or not. This way, if he didn’t answer her call, he felt guilty. Then he felt irritated she made him feel guilty. So, he answered it. “Hi, Mom.”
“Tony, this is your mother speaking.”
Tony rolled his eyes. There was no sense in his saying more, especially as he heard the distinctive ring of irritation in her voice. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“You need to get out here. That bear of Roscoe’s is sleeping in the back of one of our visitor’s pickup. The man wanted to leave and now he can’t because of the bear.” She disconnected.
Hoping Roscoe was still working for his brother Gus, Tony punched another number.
“Yoo-hoo, Marc Antony, what’s up?” Gus’s merry voice boomed through the earpiece.
Tony was definitely not happy with caller ID today. “Is Roscoe with you?”
“Yep. And Baby too.” Gus laughed. “We’re trying to nail Quentin’s porch back together and attach it to his old trailer. So far we’re having a bit of trouble getting the odd bits all lined up.”
Tony was momentarily distracted by the mental image Gus’s words inspired. Quentin’s porch was so ragged and old, Tony doubted there was enough rot-free wood to put a nail in. “Are you sure about Baby? Mom just called and is claiming Baby is sleeping in a visitor’s pickup at the museum.”
“No kidding.” Gus paused. “Nope. I can see her from here. She’s busy trying to get grubs out of an old chunk of wood. Picnic time for Baby.”
“Let me talk to Roscoe.” Tony wondered who else to call. Roscoe had a special relationship with Baby. Could that mean he would be able to deal with another bear? Tony guessed he’d have to contact the game warden.
“Sheriff?” Roscoe’s voice was about an octave higher than his brother Gus’s. “Did I hear right? Did you tell Gus you’ve found another bear?”
“Not exactly, my mom says there’s one sleeping in a pickup at the museum. She thought it was Baby.”
“I kin go out and look,” Roscoe volunteered. “It’s a bit of a drive you know.”
“Meet me there.” Tony thought they could shoo the bear out of the truck and it would go home. Roscoe at least had some knowledge of bear behavior.
Tony arrived first. His mom was stalking up and down the gravel of the parking area flapping her arms at the bear. Ignoring her, the black bear, sleek and shiny, was clutching an upside-down, medium-size blue and white cooler with its big paws, and big claws. After dumping the cooler’s contents into the bed of the pickup, it rummaged around in the untidy pile and came up holding an apple impaled on one long claw.
Roscoe arrived a few minutes later and stood next to Tony watching the older woman fussing at the bear. “Your mom ought not to be standing so close. She don’t know that bear and worst still, that bear don’t know your mom.”
“Mom.” Tony called out keeping his voice low. She couldn’t hear him over her harangue. “Mom!” He yelled.
She turned and gave him the disgusted mom look. “What is it, Marc Antony?”
“That’s not Baby.”
Jane stared at him for a moment until his words finally made an impact. “Not Baby?” She seemed suddenly paralyzed. She didn’t even blink. “Roscoe, is this Baby?”
“No ma’am,” Roscoe sidled up to the older woman and escorted her away. “I’ve never seen this bear. I’m going to open the tailgate and we’ll see if we can handle this all gentle like.”
Tony thought if it didn’t work and they would have to call the game warden, it would be the second-best solution. The worst might be if someone had to shoot the bear to rescue Roscoe. The only reason Tony hesitated to call the game warden was the illegal nature of keeping a wild pet, and the fact that Tony had turned a blind eye to Roscoe’s adoption of Baby. Tony now wished he routinely carried some kind of tranquilizer darts in the Blazer.
Roscoe walked to the rear of the bear-occupied truck and unlatched the tailgate. It fell open with a thud. Startled by the noise, the bear rose onto its rear haunches and made a low growling sound. Tony removed his pistol from the holster. Roscoe stood by the side of the pickup and clapped his hands together and said, “Get out bear!”
Possibly groggy from sleeping in the heat, the bear yawned in his face and looked around. Roscoe repeated the process, yelling this time. The bear lunged forward; the impact of its paws striking the metal floor of the pickup bed sent the apple flying forward and it landed on the ground. The bear followed the apple, looked up, saw a row of spectators, then turned and ran in the other direction, away from the people. Within seconds, it hurried past the last of the museum buildings and had vanished into the woods.
Everyone except Jane and the truck’s owner applauded. The owner slammed the tailgate closed, got in, and drove away without a word to anyone, leaving most of his picnic items on the ground.
“Not Baby.” Jane’s face lost its last bit of color as she wobbled to a bench and more or less collapsed onto it. “I petted it. It licked my hand, just like Baby does.”
Tony gave silent thanks to his mother’s overworked guardian angel. What a job to be saddled with. A least, he thought, since he was already bald himself, she couldn’t make his hair turn white. It was little comfort but it was some.
The Mystery Quilt
Second Body of Clues
Block One will need:
Fabric (A) 16 squares 2 7/8"
Fabric (A) 8 squares 3 1/4"
Fabric (C) 8 squares 2 7/8"
Fabric (D) 10 squares 2 7/8"
Fabric (D) 8 squares 3 1/4"
Preparation 1:
Place the 3 1/4" squares of Fabrics (A) and (D)’s right sides together. Mark single diagonal line from corner to corner. Sew scant1/4" line of stitching on both sides of the line. Cut on line. Press to darker fabric. Trim to 2 7/8" using a bias square ruler to maintain the center line and remove “ears.”
Preparation 2:
Sewing with an accurate 1/4" seam, make 2 Nine Patch blocks using the 2 7/8" squares of Fabrics (C) and (D) with top and bottom rows—D/C/D and center row C/D/C.
Assemble, pressing to darker fabric.
Layout:
Place 8 squares 2 7/8# of Fabric (A) in a stack, and place to the left of it, 8 half square triangle blocks, arranging the triangles of Fabric (A) next to the Fabric (A) squares and along top edge. To the right of stack, place 8 half square triangle blocks with Fabric (A) next to Fabric (A) squares and along top edge. Before sewing make sure the layout shows a mirror image on sides with points (D) up on opposite ends. (Make 8)
Press to make seams interlock with Nine Patch blocks.
Sew one of the units of half square triangles and blocks of (A) on opposite ends of the Nine Patch blocks so points of (D) are facing away from Nine Patch center. (Make 2)
Add a square of
(A) on each end of remaining pieced strips.
Finishing the block:
Place a row with squares of (A) on the ends, above and below the Nine Patch unit. Be sure points face away from Nine Patch center.
Sew.
Make (2) blocks, trim to 12 1/2" and Label—Block One.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
Tony decided to pay a visit to the courtroom. A couple of brothers were on trial. More precisely, one was on trial for shooting at the other one. Neither of them seemed particularly bothered by the situation.
The judge was apparently the only person angered by the scenario. Archie Campbell, the county prosecutor, was presenting evidence, mostly the confession, that brother number one, Bradley, committed a felony when he went to his brother’s house after they’d been arguing on the telephone, and fired several shots. Archie stated his case clearly and concisely just to have it on record.
Carl Lee Cashdollar, attorney and the mayor’s nephew, was defending Bruce, brother number two. The defense involved brother number two—the one being shot at—accepting the plea agreement and explaining to the court how he’d provoked his brother and, therefore, “No harm, no foul.” Bruce summed up the situation with, “After all, it’s not like Bradley’s a good enough shot to hit me where it counts.”
The statement inflamed the judge. He appeared to be flapping his arms inside the robe, making him look like a man having a seizure. His lower jaw jutted forward and he pounded his gavel until silence returned, and he had the attention of everyone in the courtroom.
“There were innocent people in the area. Frankly, I wouldn’t get out of bed to hear this case except for one reason. If the two of you want to shoot each other, go right ahead, but do not endanger the innocent people in this community, especially its children. I understand there were several children seen playing volleyball not too far away from your tantrum.”
Both brothers nodded.
“I don’t like it because I feel like my hands are tied, but I’m going to sentence you according to the plea agreement y’all worked out with the prosecutor.” He pointed at Bradley, the shooter, with his gavel. “But if I ever see either one of you in my courtroom again, for any reason, I will throw the book at you. If you violate any of the conditions set out for this deferred sentence, I will throw the book at you.” The judge’s face was moving out of the red shades and into the purples. “If I see you at the grocery store and you’re pushing the cart recklessly, I will throw the book at you and toss the key in the trash.”
He stood abruptly. “Get out of my courtroom.”
The judge watched the brothers run for the doors, their lawyers hot on their heels, before settling heavily into his seat. He signaled for Tony to approach.
The two men had a decent relationship. Occasionally Tony thought the judge was either too lenient or too harsh, but he usually found him to be fair.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me shoot both of them myself?” said Judge Anderson. “You know, just to make the county a better place to live.”
Tony shook his head. “I’d prefer you wait until I leave the room.”
Judge Anderson released a heavy sigh. “What’s up, Tony? You don’t usually visit our courtroom, at least not during a trial, even if you are in charge of the court’s security.”
“Just thought I’d drop by and make sure everything is going the way it should be.” Tony, as the sheriff, had numerous responsibilities. He might be basically lazy, but he took all of his duties seriously. His favorite day was one in which he found his delegates doing fine without him.
“Sheriff?” Roscoe grinned, exposing his entire mouthful of crowded, crooked teeth. “Veronica has somethin’ to tell you.”
Tony thought, and not for the first time, how love had forged a powerful bond between the two most unlikely candidates ever. Never in his wildest dreams would he consider matching Veronica with Roscoe. Veronica held at least one Ph. D., and Roscoe held the record for the most years spent in Park County’s middle school.
Tony couldn’t even begin to imagine what their conversations must be like.
Veronica smiled and greeted Tony with a wave, never releasing Roscoe’s hand. Today she was dressed in knee-length pants, sandals and a t-shirt proclaiming her love of books. The petite brunette did not appear, on the surface, to be a likely candidate for either Roscoe or medieval weaponry. Tony knew she was a fan of both.
“Tell him,” said Roscoe in a stage whisper.
Tony felt his eyebrows rise.
Veronica obliged. “I’ve been seeing a professor from a nearby university around the area. Often.”
Tony hardly considered her statement alarming. After all, she fit the same criteria. Lots of people visited their county and many had weekend cabins in the area, but something definitely was bothering her. “Why is this professor a problem?”
“He’s skulking,” said Veronica. Roscoe must have looked confused by the term because she immediately added, “Sneaking around with binoculars.”
“Bird watching?”
“Not unless they’re invisible birds.” Veronica shook her head.
Impressed by her adamant demeanor, Tony said, “Where have you been seeing him?”
“Usually, we’ve seen him in his car, up on the ridge near Kwik Kirk’s.”
Tony knew the place. The Ridge, as it had been called for at least two generations, was a dead-end road. The unpaved road saw more traffic in a week than the highway. Dating couples. Bird watchers. Occasionally artists with their easels and stools. Its semi-solitude was provided by fabulously overgrown vegetation, and the view of the mountains from there was breathtaking. He himself often enjoyed parking up there while eating a sandwich, letting the world pass him by for a brief time.
Roscoe chimed in, returning Tony’s thoughts to the situation. “He wears this floppy hat, and he’s got binoculars, and he’s always looking into Candy Tibbles’s back windows.”
“A peeper?” Tony believed these two had seen what they claimed, but watching Candy Tibbles? Even a peeper ought to have higher standards and aspirations than that. In his opinion, she wasn’t worth driving two feet to see. “How do you know this?”
“We’ve been looking at real estate.” Veronica gently squeezed Roscoe’s hand. “We have very specific needs. The most important ones are that it has to be out of town, with no neighbors to bother us, on a sizeable piece of land. We need space for Baby and the siege machines.”
With those criteria, Tony guessed their real-estate search wasn’t going to be an easy one. Park County was tiny, the smallest county in the state, and while there was land available, the county was dotted with settlements, flourishing or invasive vegetation, hills, ridges, and mountains. “Having any luck?”
“There are a couple of old farms with distinct possibilities.” Veronica flashed him a grin. “But we have gotten lost from time to time. The roads are sort of randomly marked in places.”
“They are indeed. When I became sheriff, I made a point of learning them all, every twist and curve, three-way intersections and five-way intersections, and I swear sometimes a new one pops up that I haven’t seen before.” Tony laughed, remembering his days of teenaged driving and getting lost every time he left the main roads. He felt lucky he wasn’t still driving in the same circles. “What’s that got to do with the peeper?”
“We passed Kirk’s about forty times one day and kept seeing the same car, but it wasn’t always parked in the same place. It’s a white Cadillac SUV.”
“And it’s been there, or near there, every day,” Roscoe said. “And the driver’s had binoculars and a floppy hat each time.”
“Is he alone?” Tony was curious enough to have a look.
“Don’t know.”
“Out of curiosity,” Tony looked at Veronica. “What is he a professor of?”
“Botany,” she said softly. “He was at my university, but I believe he might have been asked to leave. He may not be associated with any school now
.”
Tony assumed academia had gossip grapevines like every other business. “Why did he leave?”
“I did hear there was some ‘impropriety,’ but I have no idea if it was personal or professional. Our departments didn’t exactly have much crossover.”
After the flurry of gossip Blossom had spread about Tony and another woman, it died as quickly as it began, replaced by the surfing incident, and now the upcoming parade and the quilt show. Theo’s classroom buzzed with women making award ribbons from scraps of fabric, poster board, hot glue, and marking pens with metallic ink. They chatted as they worked.
“Can you imagine thinking standing on a moving car would be fun?” Dottie, one of the regular older ladies, asked. “Honestly? I’m glad I didn’t see it. Gives me the palpitations to just think about it.”
“You always were a coward,” Blind Betty disagreed. “When I was a girl, I’d have tried it.”
“When you were a girl, cars didn’t go faster than I can walk. And I use a cane.” A voice from the corner reached them all. A white-haired woman hobbled toward the quilters. “I know we’re the same age.”
Pretty soon all of the ladies working were throwing mock insults at each other and laughing.
“What are you working on now?” one of the ladies asked another.
“A Civil War inspired quilt. Lots of small blocks.”
India Parsons had only recently begun joining the quilters. “Did she say a silverware quilt?” India elbowed her neighbor and shouted the words.
“No,” Dottie bellowed. The response was loud enough for people in the next county to hear. Several of the women jumped like they’d been slapped. “She said Civil War, not silverware.”
“Maybe I should turn on my hearing aids.” India fumbled in her purse and retrieved a small plastic case. “What about the Civil War? Isn’t it over yet?”
Barbara Graham - Quilted 05 - Murder by Sunlight Page 8
