Having a new quilter in the group broke the tension. Bernie jumped up and headed to the rack to choose a quilt book. The rest of the women scattered throughout the shop, looking for the simplest patterns. Kennette got up and wandered around, examining the finished quilts that hung around the shop with the same dreamy attention she seemed to give everything.
Eleanor and I stayed in our seats but said nothing. What was there to say? Kennette had gracefully opened the topic and then closed it. I wondered if Eleanor was as relieved as I was.
“That one,” Kennette said, pointing to a blue and white quilt Maggie had made.
“It’s called a drunkard’s path,” my grandmother told her. “It’s simple enough, I suppose, but it’s all curves.”
A drunkard’s path quilt is made by repeating one simple block, a square with a quarter circle of a different color sewn into one corner. By repeating this block and moving the squares the quilt develops a zigzaggy look. Maggie once told me that the pattern went by many names, but during the beginnings of the temperance movement, in the late 1800s, it was renamed drunkard’s path. And it was easy to see why. The undulating effect of the semicircles did sort of remind me of a drunk staggering home.
“I like it. It feels playful,” Kennette declared. The rest of us walked over to the quilt and stared at it.
“It does feel playful,” Bernie agreed. “I never really thought about it. I guess it’s because I hate curves.”
“Nothing to them,” Maggie said. “A little more work maybe, but Kennette’s up to the task, aren’t you?”
Kennette beamed at the praise. “With help,” she said.
“You have said the magic words,” I laughed. “You’re going to get more help than you know what to do with.”
And, just as I predicted, the rest of the meeting was taken up with helping to choose the right fabrics for the quilt. Kennette quickly found a bold purple paisley that she loved. Though the pattern was too large and busy for the small drunkard’s path blocks, it was the perfect backing to the quilt—and the inspiration for the other fabrics. The group spread out to find light yellows, creams, and whites for the square part of the blocks and purples and blues for the quarter circles.
Then, using the acrylic templates my grandmother sold in the shop, Susanne showed Kennette how to cut the two pattern pieces.
Next Natalie showed her how to cut slits in the curve’s seam allowances to create more give and, she explained, “To make the block lay smooth.”
Once dozens of block pieces had been cut, Carrie used one of the shop’s sewing machines to help Kennette sew them together.
We all got so carried away in the excitement that we forgot about anything else. Susanne and I cut out the rest of the blocks, while Maggie, Eleanor, and Kennette sewed them together. Carrie and Bernie carefully pressed each block, and Natalie placed them on the design wall.
By eleven that night we had all Kennette’s blocks sewn and ready to be pieced together to make a quilt top.
“It’s amazing!” Kennette was almost in tears. “I can’t believe you guys did this.”
“You did it too,” Carrie said.
Kennette nodded. “I can’t wait to finish it.”
“Don’t get so caught up in the end result that you miss out on the fun along the way,” Maggie warned. “The real joy of quilting is in the process.”
“I suppose,” Kennette said, “but I still can’t wait.”
“Well, when things are slow you can use one of the classroom sewing machines to piece the squares together,” Eleanor said. “And in no time you’ll have a top.”
“And then we’ll help you quilt it,” Bernie said.
Kennette came back to the house with Eleanor and me, thanking us the whole way. Once home she went upstairs to Eleanor’s office and went to sleep on the pullout sofa. I walked Barney. When I came back, Eleanor was at the kitchen table, pouring tea into two mugs.
“She’s an interesting little thing, isn’t she?” Eleanor said.
“I bet there’s a great story,” I said. “I’m betting on a bad breakup and that the boyfriend threw her out without her stuff.”
“You don’t think she has a place to stay?”
“I don’t know. Or maybe where she’s staying is really horrible, ’cause she never seems to want to go there.”
“Poor thing.” My grandmother sipped her tea.
“If she stayed here . . . ,” I started.
Eleanor looked up. “Of course she’ll stay here. It will be easier for her to get to the shop and you can drive her to class. And see what you can do about lending her some new clothes.”
“I just can’t imagine what she’s doing,” I said. “What happens to people who live like she does?”
“They end up like that girl in the river,” she said. “With no one to claim them.”
I stared at my grandmother as she stared off into space. Kennette might have been a lost sheep, but she was, at least temporarily, safe—which was more than I could say about Lily Harmon.
CHAPTER 12
“Leave me alone,” Eleanor snapped. “I don’t need you to put jewelry on.”
I dropped her pearl necklace onto the dresser. “I’m just saying it looks nice on you. And when you have dinner with a friend,” I said carefully, “you want to look nice.”
Eleanor grunted, picked up the pearl necklace, and fumbled with it. Then she dumped it in my hands. “Put it on me,” she said.
I did as instructed. “You look great.”
“Honestly, Nell, it’s not a date. It doesn’t matter if I look great.”
“Haven’t you told me it’s always important to look great?”
“Make sure Barney gets his dinner,” she said. “And a short walk. It’s cold outside and I’m worried that he’ll get sick.”
“I’ll take care of him.” I smiled. “It’s not like I have anything else to do tonight.”
“Maybe Jesse is working.”
“He’s not,” I admitted. “I called the station. He left at five.”
Eleanor furrowed her brow. “Then I can’t understand why he didn’t call you. I know his mother is home tonight, so he could have gotten a sitter.”
I shrugged. “I think maybe he’s not interested.”
“Nonsense. He’s had his eye on you since the day you moved into town. He’s just scared, that’s all.” Her face softened, the nervousness seemed to melt away, and she smiled at me. “We all get scared, you know.”
“Not you,” I said, laughing.
“No.” She added her own laugh to mine. “Never me.”
And then the doorbell rang.
We both took a deep breath. “Stay here,” I said. “Let me answer it.”
I sprinted down the stairs but I was too late. Our houseguest, Kennette, had already answered the door to an obviously surprised Oliver.
“Kennette, I didn’t know you lived here,” Oliver said as he walked inside.
“Oh, I don’t. I’m just”—she hesitated—“I’m just here.”
“That’s lovely,” he cleared his throat. “Is Eleanor ready?”
“Almost,” I said. “I’ll get her.”
Oliver nodded and cleared this throat again. “Lovely.” He looked nervous, and when Eleanor descended the stairs a minute later, he looked even more nervous. After a moment of awkwardness, they were gone.
“Don’t they seem like Cinderella and the handsome prince heading to the ball?” Kennette asked once we were alone.
I nodded. “And we’re the ugly stepsisters.” I threw my arm around her shoulder and we went into the kitchen for dinner.
I was, under my grandmother’s tutelage, getting pretty good at cooking. I could now just pick one of her recipes and, if it was simple enough, make it without supervision. Earlier in the day I’d made a quiche with asparagus and mushrooms, and as I heated up a couple of pieces, Kennette played with Barney.
Kennette seemed perfectly at ease in the house and in the clothes I’d lent her. She�
��d paired my gray argyle V-neck sweater with a pair of brown cords and tied a light blue silk scarf around her neck. They were probably the most boring clothes in my closet and yet, on her, they looked artsy and cool.
“I need to go out after we eat,” I said, trying to sound casual. I didn’t want any questions because Kennette didn’t seem like the type to keep a secret.
“Okay. Can I take Barney for a walk while you’re gone?”
“He’d love that. In fact I think he loves you.” Barney’s leg was shaking in that blissful doggy way as Kennette scratched his ear. “Just be careful.”
She smiled. “We’ll be fine. Barney will be my attack dog if anyone tries to approach us.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to remind her about the dead girl. I had a feeling that Kennette was just beginning to feel at home, and I didn’t want to take that away from her. Still, I said it again. “Just be careful.”
As soon as Kennette and Barney headed toward the river for their walk, I jumped into the car. I didn’t exactly know what I was going to say, but I knew I had to say something. When I parked the car outside Jesse’s house, I could see through the window that the TV was on and there was movement inside.
I was pretty sure I would look foolish no matter what excuse I came up with, so I didn’t bother. I just took a deep breath and headed for the door.
“Hi,” a surprised Jesse answered.
“Is it all right if I come in?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He opened the door and let me walk past him into the living room. In the months I’d lived in Archers Rest, I’d been to Jesse’s house twice. His living room was comfortable and lived in, with his daughter’s toys all over the place. It was welcoming except for the five pictures of his dead wife, Lizzy: their wedding photo, a vacation snapshot, and three photos with their baby. They made me feel like the other woman.
“You want something to drink?”
Jesse was already heading toward the kitchen without waiting for a response, so I sat on the sofa. When he came back, he handed me a beer and sat very close to me.
“Where’s Allie?” I asked.
“In bed. Your timing is perfect.”
“I was driving around and I thought . . .”
“No you weren’t.” Jesse grinned. “I know exactly why you’re here.”
I sat up. “You do?”
He nodded, then leaned in and kissed me. It was the kiss of a man who was very sure of himself, and it sort of threw me. Still, I stayed kissing him for several minutes before I offered a protest.
“What are you doing?” I said when I finally pulled away. “I didn’t come here for that.”
“Okay. That’s fine.” Jesse took a slug of his beer. “So what did you come over for?”
“I don’t know. I kind of forget now,” I laughed.
“Let me know when you remember.”
He leaned in and kissed me again, but before things got out of hand I stopped him.
“How’s the case going?”
“Aren’t you a little warm in that coat?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “Did you find anything else about that girl?”
“I think you should take your coat off.” Jesse reached over and started easing it off.
“Have you figured out where she lived?”
Jesse began kissing my neck.
“What’s gotten into you?” I got up. “Where’s my shy police chief?”
Jesse stood up, inches away from me, and took a deep breath. “The case is going slowly. Is that really what you came over about?”
The truth was that, yes, it really was what I came over about. But now it seemed like a bad idea to admit it.
“No, I came over because it’s a Saturday night and Eleanor and Oliver went on their date and . . .” I shrugged. I knew playing insecure female would get me in less trouble than amateur detective.
Jesse nodded and took my hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve been spending a lot of time at the station. And I hadn’t spent any time with Allie in over a week, so I figured I’d give her my Saturday night. I should have just told you instead of making you wonder what was going on.”
“It’s okay. But you can talk to me about things, you know. I am your friend.”
“Got it,” he said. “Take your coat off and tell me everything that’s been going on.”
We sat back on the couch, and I filled him in on class, Kennette, and my grandmother’s big date. He told me about the coffee machine breaking at the jail and finding a dirty pink backpack downriver from the crime scene.
“Maybe it belonged to that girl Lily,” I suggested.
“We’re looking into it.”
“The ‘we’re’ means you and Chief Powell?”
He nodded. “He thinks she was murdered in his town.”
“He just wants an excuse to muscle in on your case.”
“She was found near Morristown.”
“But in Archers Rest,” I pointed out.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But based on the current of the river that night, Powell might be right.”
“But that would give him jurisdiction, wouldn’t it?”
He sat up a little and looked at me. “Not that you care, right?”
“I’m just expressing an interest in your work.” I tried to sound as innocent as possible. “In fact I heard that some kids may have found a photo and I thought it might be something.”
“Yes. I think it is something.”
“Really?” I brightened. “Because I got the impression from Susanne’s nephew that you had sort of dismissed it.”
He laughed. “I knew it. You’ve been poking around.”
“I have not. Susanne came to me and told me what Rich had said, so I talked to him.”
“That’s poking around.”
“Jesse, I talked to a friend of mine’s nephew. That’s it. And you think it’s something.”
“I think it’s none of your business.”
“I’m a citizen. I have a right to know if there’s a crazed killer on the loose.”
“Well if there is, you are putting yourself in danger.”
“Then tell me why you didn’t take Rich seriously and I’ll stay out it. We can go back to kissing.”
“That sounds suspiciously like you’re trying to bribe an official.”
I smiled. “What if I am?”
“If I tell you, then you have to stop interfering. You leave the detective work to me.”
“A counter bribe.”
“A threat, actually.”
“Okay. No more interfering.” I knew I was lying. I assumed Jesse did as well, but I knew it made him feel better to think, at least for a while, that I was staying out of it. “You said you thought there was something to the photo,” I reminded him. “What?”
“I think it’s a waste of time.” He took a sip of his beer. “Rich and his friends like to get high down by the river. They also like to break into houses. He has a long history with me, and one of the things I’ve learned is that he likes to embellish.”
“You think he’s lying.”
“I think that a dozen police officers from two towns went over that crime scene for days and no photo was found.”
“But someone could have taken it. The killer could have seen that the boys discovered the body and when they called the police—”
Jesse stopped me. “You’re assuming that the photo, if it existed, has something to do with the murder. And you’re assuming that the killer was standing around watching the action and then moved in and took the photo while the boys were waiting for the police. Except no one saw the killer.”
I could see his frustration.
“The photo doesn’t exist,” he said firmly. “End of story.” He shifted his body toward me. “We’re done with this, Nell.”
I wasn’t getting more information, and I certainly didn’t want to fight, so I dropped the subject.
“You want your bribe?” I asked.
He nodded
. “I don’t want you to think this will work every time.” “If you’d rather not—” I started.
Rather than let me finish, Jesse leaned in and kissed me.
CHAPTER 13
Eleanor said nothing about her evening with Oliver except, “It was nice,” and Kennette and I decided to leave it alone. Every morning Kennette went to the shop with Eleanor. I went with them, but instead of going to Someday Quilts, I went to Carrie’s coffee shop across the street. The idea of doing a mural still intimidated me, but Carrie liked my sketches so I bought the paints and prepared to move forward.
I lightly sketched out my idea on the wall. The plan was a cartoonish skyline of New York “poured” from a giant coffeepot. One of the buildings, of course, would feature the exterior of Carrie’s coffee shop; that is, if she could come up with a name.
“I don’t think it should be Carrie’s,” she said. “That seems a bit too arrogant, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s cute. In fact the whole place is cute.”
Carrie had been making quite a lot of progress on the shop. Now that it was painted, she was slowly bringing in furniture. It was all mismatched, bought from yard sales and secondhand shops. She arranged the chairs and tables toward the back, leaving the front open for the counter and a large couch. Maggie had given her an old sofa from the seventies that was ugly but still in good shape. Carrie reupholstered it in bright purple velvet, which gave the place exactly the funky East Village coffee shop look she wanted.
It must have seemed that my time was completely taken up with work, school, and the mural. And it was. But that was only because I was completely stuck on what to do next about the murder of Lily Harmon. Jesse wasn’t going to let me tag along on his investigation, and my grandmother would put me in the morgue if she thought I was out chasing a killer. But I knew I had to do something. Rich had seen a photo on the ground, and if it meant nothing, it would have been in evidence. So either it had been taken by the killer, lost somehow, or—and this nagged at me—Jesse was lying about it.
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