MURDER BY VEGETABLE
THE BABY QUILT
BARBARA GRAHAM
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
Copyright © 2012 by Barbara Graham.
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Gale, Cengage Learning.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or used in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning, digitizing, taping, Web distribution, information networks, or information storage and retrieval systems, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Graham, Barbara, 1948−
Murder by vegetable : the baby quilt, a quilted mystery / Barbara Graham. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-4328-2621-5 (hardcover) — ISBN 1-4328-2621-2 (hardcover)
eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2736-6 eISBN-10: 1-4328-2736-7
1. Sheriffs—Fiction. 2. Quilting—Fiction. 3. Tennessee—Fiction. [1. Music festivals—Fiction.] I. Title.
PS3607.R336M88 2012
813′.6—dc23 2012016868
First Edition. First Printing: October 2012.
Published in conjunction with the Author.
This title is available as an e-book.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2736-6 ISBN-10: 1-4328-2736-7
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Visit our website– http://www.gale.cengage.com/fivestar/
Contact Five Star™ Publishing at [email protected]
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 16 15 14 13 12
For Huckleberry
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks to all the “usual suspects”—my husband, friends, and family who accept my imaginary friends as well as me. Special thanks to Michelle Quick for testing the mystery quilt pattern and feigning interest when I am babbling about myself too much. As usual, grateful thanks to Alice Duncan, editor extraordinaire, whose pithy comments and suggestions greatly improve the story.
RUNNING IN CIRCLES
A MYSTERY QUILT DESIGNED BY
THEO ABERNATHY
FIRST BODY OF CLUES:
Finished size is a lap or crib quilt top, approximately 48″ × 60″. All fabric requirements are generous and based on standard widths of approximately 42 inches. The instructions assume familiarity with basic quilt construction and an accurate 1/4″ seam throughout.
Fabric requirements:
Fabric (A). This is the main or theme fabric. Select a print—floral, novelty, or other non-directional print with at least five colors or shades of colors.
Fabric (B). A neutral, light or dark, should not be a busy print.
Fabrics (C), (D), (E) and (F) and (G). Select “interesting solids” (prints that appear to be a single color) of colors or small prints of colors found in the main fabric (A).
Yardage:
(A)—1 1/2 yards of print
(B)—1 3/8 yards of light or dark neutral
(C)—1/2 yard of print
(D)—1 1/3 yards of print
(E)—1/4 yard of print, a fat quarter will work
(F)—1/4 yard of print, a fat quarter will work
(G)—1/4 yard of print, a fat quarter will work
Cutting Instructions:
Be sure to label cut pieces with fabric letter and size cut.
(A)—from the 1 1/2 yards.
Cut 4 strips 4 1/2″ by LOF (length of fabric)
Cut 4 strips 2 1/2″ by LOF
From the remainder, cut 12 squares 4 1/2″
(B)—from the 1 3/8 yards of neutral
Cut 24 squares 5 1/2″
Cut 96 rectangles 4 1/2″ by 1 7/8″
(C)—from the 1/2 yard
Cut 12 squares 5 1/2″
Cut 4 squares 4 1/2″
Cut 4 squares 2 1/2″
(D) from the 1 1/3 yard
Cut 4 strips 2 1/2″ by LOF
Cut 3 squares 5 1/2″
Cut 12 rectangles 4 1/2″ by 1 7/8″
(E) and (F) and (G)
Cut 3 squares 5 1/2″
Cut 12 rectangles 4 1/2″ by 1 7/8″
CHAPTER ONE
Sheriff Tony Abernathy heard his twin baby daughters begin the snuffling sounds they made just before beginning to wail for their breakfast, and climbed out of bed. He felt unusually refreshed, and it was then he realized the girls had slept through the night. Glancing back at the bed, he saw Theo's tousled curls move as she rolled over onto her back. Her eyelashes fluttered and lifted. For a change, his wife's hazel eyes did not seem more bloodshot than green/gold.
“They slept all night? Both of them?” Theo whispered as she crawled from underneath the covers and pulled a robe on over her nightgown. Winter was finally over. The days had grown warmer, but nights and early morning were still quite chilly.
“Unless you were up with them and I slept through it.” Tony rolled his shoulders, giving them a little stretch. “I didn't hear a peep.” Before he could say more, the first baby's cry began, then her twin chimed in, the sound of their combined wails almost drowned out by the sound of a heavy boom from somewhere in the distance, echoing through the Smoky Mountains. Tony glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. “I guess I'd better have a chat with Quentin about his cannon. I think he needs to wait until at least nine before he starts shooting.”
“Cannon?” Theo squeezed through the doorway before he did and vanished into the tiny room, little bigger than a closet, shared by their twin daughters and picked up one of the babies. Lizzie. “I know I've been distracted and sleep deprived, but when and why did he get a cannon?”
“He built it. I know you've been unbelievably busy since our precious girls arrived.” He made kissing sounds at the squalling babies. It had taken a bit of study before he and Theo could tell which baby was which and felt brave enough to remove their hospital identification bands. Little Kara had a dimple on her right cheek and Lizzie had none. More often, they depended on knowing Kara liked to shove three fingers in her mouth, disdaining a pacifier. Lizzie adored her pacifier and preferred to use her hands to grasp hair but not her own pale, feathery strands. In his dealings with Lizzie, Tony felt lucky to be bald. He winked at his wife. “I don't know how you could have missed hearing it before. Quentin and Roscoe have been working for months on their weapons.”
“I know, I know. If I'd do something besides spend all day on the couch reading magazines, eating bonbons, and soaking up the peace and quiet around me, I might have some idea what's going on in the world.”
Unable to suppress a smile at the far-fetched, and leisurely, picture she painted, Tony moved behind Theo and reached for the baby she hadn't picked up. Kara. Her tiny mouth opened wide, taking over her whole face, and she began screaming in earnest. It never failed to amaze him how such a tiny creature, barely bigger than a shoebox, could produce so much no
ise. He held her close to his chest and patted her back. Soon her screams quieted to giant shuddering hiccups. When he could be heard again, he returned to Theo's question. “Quentin has vegetable cannon. It's not made from vegetables, it shoots them. He plans to participate in the demonstration at the Ramp Festival along with Roscoe and his medieval siege weapon.”
“I've heard the sounds. I just didn't know where they came from or if I was dreaming them. Wait a minute; did you say a siege weapon? What is that?”
“I haven't actually seen it.” He watched Theo change Lizzie's diaper quickly and move away from the changing table so he could do Kara's.
“Do they have to practice at this hour?”
“That's going to be my first question.” He gave Theo and Lizzie quick kisses and carried Kara down the stairs. He'd give her a bottle well away from her mother and sister. Whenever possible, they switched the babies regularly at feeding time. Even at four months, Kara fit comfortably on his forearm. When her bottle was warm, he sat down with her and arranged her blanket. Wide blue eyes stared into his and her tiny hand grasped his smallest finger. Tony couldn't help thinking his girls were the prettiest babies ever.
His sons, Chris and Jamie, staggered into the kitchen, followed by Daisy, the family golden retriever. Chris let the dog outside and started rummaging for his favorite breakfast cereal.
“She sure can scream.” Jamie patted Kara's fuzzy hair.
Distracted by watching her brothers, Kara hadn't quite finished her bottle when Theo and Lizzie appeared. Theo handed Tony his cell phone, which she had evidently answered, and supervised the boys eating breakfast while she packed their lunches.
Balancing Kara, her bottle, and the undersized telephone wasn't easy, but he'd been practicing. “Yes?”
“Sorry to call you at home, Sheriff.” Tony recognized the voice. Rex Satterfield, his favorite of the dispatch officers. “I thought you should know there's been a big accident on the highway near Dead Man's Curve. The highway patrol notified me. It's a mess. I've sent about everyone out there but you, including the fire department and search and rescue. Didn't you hear all the sirens?”
“No. What happened?” Tony hated that stretch of road and its nickname. It was a vicious hazard. Because of the river, it couldn't be straightened and because of the solid rock wall on the other side, it couldn't be widened. At least, not within the county's current budget.
Rex interrupted Tony's thoughts. “The preliminary report came in from Sheila. There's a heating oil truck on its side, blocking both lanes of the highway. Of course it's leaking all over the place. I guess the driver didn't want to observe the warning signs about the curve and the speed limit.” His voice reeked of disapproval.
“I'm on my way.” Tony disconnected the call and handed Kara off to Chris, who had already finished his cereal and stood close at hand. No longer starving, Kara gave her big brother a toothless grin which earned her a tickled chin. Shocked he'd been able to sleep through the sirens and apparent chaos on the highway, Tony took the stairs two at a time, understanding the seriousness of the situation. Not bothering to shower first, he dressed as quickly as he could.
Minutes later, Tony opened the front door just as the cannon boomed again in the distance. He carried a new jumbo jar of antacids, guessing he'd need all of them on a day beginning with a big accident. Not expecting to be able to see anything didn't keep him from glancing at the mountain. “What is Quentin shooting at up there?”
As Tony approached the blocked section of highway, his attention focused for a moment on a roadside cross constructed of two branches tied in the center with a leather bootlace and placed, like so many similar ones, at the site of a fatal collision. Tony remembered several deaths at this particular place, years earlier. Over time, many less serious accidents had occurred in the nearby area. What really caught his attention was realizing weeds growing around the cross had been mowed and daffodils were blooming, presumably planted in the fall. Someone's grief seemed unabated. A nearby pair of white wooden crosses had not received the same treatment.
The vision farther up the highway drove the memorials out of his thoughts. A small red heating oil tanker lay on its side. Because Park County was the smallest Tennessee county, the volunteer firemen were few in number but huge in willingness to pitch in. Their contribution to the community went far beyond extinguishing chimney fires. This morning Tony saw them hauling and stacking hay bales and doing what they could to limit the amount of oil going into the river. A heavy duty vehicle with a winch and a crane, presumably to set the tanker back on its wheels, eased past vehicles parked on the narrow shoulders. Tony recognized his deputy, Mike Ott, standing on the center line, directing traffic with flashlight and neon orange flag. There was a small crowd standing around watching, so Tony assumed his deputy was also receiving many unwelcome or unnecessary suggestions.
He parked his Blazer well out of the roadway and walked to the scene. Along with the firemen, the entire contingent of daytime deputies was hard at work—Mike Ott, Sheila Teffeteller, Darren Holt, and the one he normally worked with, Wade Claybough. Wade saluted with the shovel handle and went back to digging a narrow trench. Darren wielded a sledge hammer, pounding long wooden stakes into the hay to keep the bales in place on the slope. Sheila stood next to the driver, maybe for his protection, and was talking into her radio. The driver had a towel pressed to his face and bloodstains on his hands, but appeared to need no further medical attention.
Tony grabbed a shovel and started digging, working his way toward Wade.
Theo managed to load the children into her shiny yellow SUV in record time. Fifteen minutes. There was no such thing as doing it fast. Even with the boys carrying diaper bags and their school backpacks, it was an awkward series of events as she juggled her purse, two babies, and her keys.
She loved her new car. Its doors unlocked when she pressed the remote. It started every time she turned the key. The radio worked. The heater worked. She never got all the kids into it only to have to get out again and call the Thomas Brothers' Garage. The amazing yellow paint made it visible even on foggy mornings. Tony didn't love it because it had been a gift to her, and for some odd reason, she found his irritation entertaining as well.
She heard Quentin's cannon boom again. The sound echoed through the valley. This part of East Tennessee was filled with mountains, rocks, trees, and vegetation. Rather than requiring more water, in a normal year it required a Bush Hog to keep part of it mowed into submission. It also made determining the origin of sounds difficult. Now wide awake and knowing it was Quentin firing potatoes from a cannon, she recalled hearing that his friend Roscoe was involved with a trebuchet, a medieval siege weapon, and his plan was to have it hurling vegetables instead of stones. She had no idea what a trebuchet looked like but even the rumors involved “flinging” rather than “shooting.” Theo couldn't wait to see their demonstration at the upcoming Ramp Festival. In the past, Roscoe's obsessions had ranged from his deep and abiding love of Dora-the-vending-machine to rescuing, illegally, an orphaned bear cub named Baby. Theo didn't know if the new siege weapon would replace Dora-the-vending-machine in his affections or if it had frightened away Baby-the-bear or if they were all one big, happy, bizarre family.
Theo liked Roscoe. He was honest, hardworking, and a free spirit. He pretty much lived on his own planet. A very interesting planet, but not one she dreamed of visiting.
Theo dropped the boys off at school and headed to her quilt shop. She hoped there would be minimal interruptions at the shop because she needed to work on the can-can skirts she had been volunteered to make. Clothing construction was not her strong suit, and creating dance skirts to fit six of the county's biggest men, including Tony, required miles of ruffles and acres of black taffeta. The six dancers, representatives of the sheriff's department and some volunteer firefighters, had been selected for their size, not their dancing ability, as part of a fund-raiser. They would be performing the can-can at the Ramp Festival.
Theo's contribution to the costumes began and ended with the skirts. She hoped. Some other wife was in charge of the wigs and bonnets. Instead of the standard dancer's bodice, the men would wear black sleeveless undershirts. She learned from Tony that footwear had been discussed endlessly. Only two men could find high heeled shoes that fit. Tony was not one of them. His footwear would be hiking boots. A couple of the firemen planned to wear their firefighting boots.
With such classy accessories, Theo didn't think the skirts needed to be special, just very full and round so they could be swished—black on the outside with rows of colorful ruffles on the inside. Miles of colorful ruffles for her to sew. She couldn't decide if she was looking forward to their costume fittings or not. She didn't want to laugh at the men, but couldn't imagine she would be able to keep a straight face under such difficult conditions. As small as she was, it might look like a mouse dressing a cat.
CHAPTER TWO
With the tanker situation more or less under control, Tony climbed into the Blazer and managed a three point turn on the narrow road. Cars, motorcycles, and small trucks were parked on the road, waiting for it to reopen. The occupants thereof were surprisingly calm. Many waved to him as he passed, so Tony assumed the more impatient drivers had turned and headed to town and would continue to their destinations the long way around.
The tanker truck was back on its wheels, and more volunteers had arrived to help clean up the, thankfully, fairly small spill. There was nothing he could add to the chaos on the highway. He thought he'd take a shower at the law enforcement center and put on a clean uniform. This one had started soiled and ended up covered with mud, oil, and non-specific grime. His hands weren't likely to be clean until he grew new skin.
It had been months since anything more serious than burglary, bar fights, and bad behavior had involved his department. Winter kept many people inside with the doors and windows closed. Even his desk was fairly orderly.
Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable Page 1
