Seven Sisters
Fowler, Earlene
Penguin (2001)
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SUMMARY:
While trying to unravel a feuding family's tragic past, Benni Harper, an ex-cowgirl who is now a quilter and folk art expert, uncovers a shocking pattern of tragedy--and stitches a hodgepodge of clues into a very disturbing design.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Seven Sisters, a challenging pattern that features a single six-pointed star surrounded by six identical stars, was most likely inspired by an observation of nature—the Seven Sisters is a loose grouping of stars in the constellation Taurus. Although the stars in the cluster appear to be close together, they are, in fact, quite far apart.
Praise for Earlene Fowler’s BENNI HARPER MYSTERIES
SEVEN SISTERS
“Fowler’s regular characters all show significant growth; the mystery itself is satisfying both as a puzzle . . . and as a story about secrets buried in a family’s past.”
—Booklist
“As in all of Earlene’s previous books, in addition to the mystery there are numerous other threads cleverly interwoven in the plot . . . enjoyable . . . well-written.”
—San Luis Obispo (CA) Magazine
“Benni is feisty, caring, loving, and one heck of a part-time sleuth . . . a not-to-be-missed view into the worlds of crime and the elite.”
—Rendezvous
MARINER’S COMPASS
Winner of the Agatha Award for Best Novel
“Captivating . . . [an] excellent addition to a notable series.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Fowler’s plots can be as outrageous as Ellery Queen’s, her turf is Ross Macdonald’s, and her tone is heir to Grafton and Paretsky . . . [She is] an up-and-comer worth watching.”
—Nashville Scene
“Fowler’s best work to date . . . Mariner’s Compass points the way to quality reading for the heart, mind, and soul.”
—Ventura County (CA) Star
DOVE IN THE WINDOW
Nominated for an Agatha Award for Best Novel
“Excellent . . . While the characters are perhaps the most vivid feature, setting nearly edges them out. Best of all is Benni’s sharp, sassy voice.”
—Booknews
“Fowler writes beautifully about the picturesque Central Coast, ranching, and local cuisine.”
—Booklist
GOOSE IN THE POND
Nominated for an Agatha Award for Best Novel
“Engaging.”
—Booklist
“Brilliantly crafted romantic suspense . . . waiting to be devoured by the reader.”
—The Mystery Zone
“A fast, fun read that jumps into the action right from the get-go.”
—San Luis Obispo (CA) Telegram-Tribune
KANSAS TROUBLES
Nominated for an Agatha Award for Best Novel
“Mayhem, murder, chaos, and romance . . . well-paced mystery ... fun reading.”
—The Derby (KS) Daily Reporter
“Fowler’s story about a sassy ex-cowgirl and quilter who loves to solve crimes . . . is a lot of fun to read. Fowler has a deft touch.”
—The Wichita Eagle
IRISH CHAIN
“A terrific whodunit! The dialogue is intelligent and witty, the characters intensely human, and the tantalizing puzzle keeps the pages turning.”
—Jean Hager author of Bride and Doom
“A blue-ribbon cozy . . . This well-textured sequel to Fool’s Puzzle . . . intricately blends social history and modern mystery.”
—Publishers Weekly
FOOL’S PUZZLE
Nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Mystery
“Characters come to full three-dimensional life, and her plot is satisfyingly complex.”
—The Jackson (MS) Clarion-Ledger
“Breezy, humorous dialogue of the first order.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“I loved Fool’s Puzzle.... [Earlene Fowler] made me laugh out loud on one page and brought tears to my eyes the next.... I can’t wait to read more.”
—Edgar® Award-winning author Margaret Maron
Berkley Prime Crime Books by Earlene Fowler
THE SADDLEMAKER’S WIFE
The Benni Harper Mysteries
FOOL’S PUZZLE
IRISH CHAIN
KANSAS TROUBLES
GOOSE IN THE POND
DOVE IN THE WINDOW
MARINER’S COMPASS
SEVEN SISTERS
ARKANSAS TRAVELER
STEPS TO THE ALTAR
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
BROKEN DISHES
DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS
TUMBLING BLOCKS
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
SEVEN SISTERS
A Berkley Prime Crime Book/ published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2000 by Earlene Fowler.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-50125-2
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
PRIME CRIME Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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For
Debra Jackson, my wonderful baby sister
and the real quilter in the family
and
Helen May,
dear friend and one of the most
courageous women I know
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I never forget that books and lives are not written completely alone. Some of the people below have helped me with gifts of information and technical advice, some with personal support and friendship, many with touches of both. To each of them I extend my gratitude and also confess that any mistakes in the manuscript are mine alone:
O, Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
Clare Bazley—for your precious friendship, insightful comments and for the great information on quarter horses, and
Tom Bazley—for giving me one of the best lines in this book.
Tina Davis—for your special friendship and cheerful, giving spirit.
Karen Gray, deputy district attorney, San Luis Obispo—for sound legal advice, and research help above and beyond the call of duty (with an extra thanks for being such a tremendous friend).
Jo Ellen Heil—for your Spirit-filled friendship, your graceful suppport, and your prayers, I truly give thanks.
Christine “Nini” Hill, the Queen of everything—for a friendship that defies description: No one makes me laugh like you do.
Steve Himmelrich, detective, San Luis Obispo Sheriff’s department.
Robert A. Jakucs, retired LAPD detective, Pacific Division.
Lynda Kay, M.D.—for expert medical advice.
Dean James and Donna Houston Murray—much treasured writing buddies.
Jo-Ann Mapson—beloved friend, writer, and shopping partner.
Mike and Magaline Messina and Lisa Marrone, fire captain, Department of Forestry—for showing me the Carrizo Plains.
Pam Munns, officer, California Highway Patrol, and Janice Mangan, officer, San Luis Obispo Police Department—for generously sharing your life and experiences.
Judith Palais, my ever remarkable editor, and Deborah Schneider, my wonderful agent.
My husband, Allen—who proves to me every day that love isn’t only someplace that you fall, but something that you do.
SEVEN SISTERS
The Seven Sisters quilt pattern, like many others, was most likely designed from an observation of nature. The Seven Sisters, or Pleiades, is a fairly loose grouping of stars in the constellation Taurus. Although seven stars can be seen with the naked eye, binoculars or telescopes reveal it actually consists of several hundred more. The quilt pattern itself, a single six-pointed star surrounded by six identical stars, has been seen as early as 1845. It became popular again during the Depression era, when hand-piecing difficult and challenging patterns was popular. It is also known as Seven Stars, Evening Star, and Seven Stars in a Cluster. An interesting phenomenon of the Seven Sisters star cluster is though they appear to be close together, they are, in fact, quite far apart.
THE BROWN FAMILY
First generation:
JOHN MADISON BROWN—judge, father, and husband (deceased)
ROSE JEWEL BROWN—96 years old—wife of John Madison Brown, mother of seven daughters
Second generation:
CAPITOLA "CAPPY” JEWEL BROWN MATTHEWS—75 years old—oldest Brown sister (took back her maiden name when she divorced her husband)
WILLOW JEWEL BROWN D’AMBROSIO—74 years old—second Brown sister
ETTA JEWEL BROWN—73 years old—third Brown sister
DAISY JEWEL AND DAHLIA JEWEL BROWN (first set of twins—deceased)
BEULAH JEWEL AND BETHANY JEWEL BROWN (second set of twins—deceased)
Third generation:
SUSANNA "SUSA” JEWEL MATTHEWS GIRARD—47 years old—Cappy’s daughter
CHASE MADISON BROWN—48 years old—Cappy’s son
PHOEBE JEWEL BROWN D’AMBROSIO—Willow’s daughter (deceased)
Fourth generation:
BLISS JEWEL GIRARD—22 years old—Susa’s daughter
JOY JEWEL GIRARD—22 years old—Susa’s daughter
ARCADIA JEWEL D’AMBROSIO NORTON—29 years old—Phoebe’s daughter and Willow’s granddaughter
GILES NORTON—35 years old—Arcadia’s husband
1
“BUT WE’RE IN love,” my stepson said, his dark chocolate eyes burning bright with the passionate angst of a nineteen-year-old male in full-blown heat.
“Oh, Sam,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “You’re still so young.” I reached down and scratched behind my dog’s soft brown ears. Scout was a part Labrador, part German shepherd mix with a suspected itinerant coyote grandparent. He gazed up at me with adoring ocher eyes.
“You were nineteen when you married Jack,” Sam replied.
There was no way I could argue that point with any sort of genuine conviction. I had indeed married my first husband when we were barely nineteen, and it had been a warm, loving relationship working together on our ranch for fifteen years until he was killed in an auto accident two and a half years ago. Since then, I’d moved to town, married Sam’s father, Gabriel Ortiz, San Celina’s police chief, and acquired a new life. A life that included being, or attempting to be, a proper police chief’s wife, curator of San Celina’s folk art museum, still occasionally wrangling cattle on my family’s ranch, and often acting as the buffer between my volcanic husband and his equally explosive son.
Now it appeared love was in the air. Or a reasonable facsimile. And it wasn’t even spring. Like the haunches of old mountain lions, the hills around San Celina were spotted with early September golds and tans, adhering to the old Central California Coast joke that this region possessed only two actual seasons, green and brown. Downtown streets were equally covered with new Cal Poly University students flush with excitement, hope, and abundant checking accounts. It was a natural fact that the hills would retain their dusty colors a good deal longer than the students did either their excitement or their bank balances.
“So who is this mystery woman?” I asked, leaning back against the sofa in the Spanish-style bungalow Gabe and I had called home for the year and a half we’d been married. We’d recently begun the frustrating task of house hunting because though this house was fine for one five-foot-one-inch widow lady with minimal luggage, it was spatially challenged for the burgeoning possessions of a married couple. Unfortunately we’d discovered in the twenty houses we’d viewed so far that our individual opinions as to the perfect house were as different as his silver-streaked black hair was to my strawberry blond. Yet another mid-life relationship challenge.
“She’s so great,” Sam said, flopping down on the sofa next to me. “You’ll love her. Actually you two have met.” The wide, gorgeous grin on his gingersnap-colored face made me instantly suspicious.
“We have?” I racked my brain trying to remember who I knew around his age who might be in the running. The redheaded girl with the pierced eyebrow who worked weekends at Blind Harry’s Bookstore where Sam also worked? The cute waitress with the wide blue eyes at Liddie’s Cafe? The vegetarian girl in hemp clothing at Kinko’s I’d seen him flirting with when I’d picked up orders for the museum ? Sam, like his father, was a very attractive man, so the possibilities were endless.
“Yep.”
I frowned slightly at him, gripping to my chest a suede pillow decorated with a bucking bronco. “I hate guessing games. Just tell me.”
He ran his long fingers against the hair on Scout’s neck, making it stand up. Scout’s tail thumped agreeably on the tan carpet. “It’s kind of complicated.”
Apprehension rippled down my spine. “How complicated ?”
“She’s kind of pregnant.”
I groaned loudly and threw the pillow at him. “Sam, how could you?”
He dodged it and went back to playing with Scout’s hair, refusing to meet my eyes. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”
I didn’t dispute his statement because I couldn’t guarantee his dad’s reaction. If not death, then tar and feathering was a distinct possibility. My place in this scenario, as it had been before, was to see if I could convince these two stubborn, emotional men to sit down and discuss the problem rationally. A headache, the first of many I was certain, started tapping on my skull’s inner walls. I touched my temples with my fingertips and started rubbing small circles.
“Well,” I finally said. “What are your plans?” Since he had just started his sophomore year at Cal Poly, worked part-time at my best friend Elvia’s bookstore, and lived in the bunkhouse at my family’s ranch, his ability to care for a wife and child was, to say the least, skimpy.
“Guess I’ll just take each day as it comes.”
Resisting the urge to strangle his tanned, muscular neck, I said, “Sam, you’re pretty much past taking each day as it comes. You have a child on the way who will need bottles and diapers and health care and a car seat and . . .”
“Geeze, Benni, I know all that. I was hoping for a little more support from you. Lectures I can get from my dad.”
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