Kate and Phoebe, the two youngest Bees, were the least experienced quilters and had the least free time. And the rest of the group was happy to accommodate their busy schedules in order to keep them around. That way they could contribute another point of view, and the joy of quilting would spread to another generation of quilters.
Two weeks before, the Bees had each chosen a cat to work on; Kate took the dog. Po had volunteered to do two. Maggie had handed each one an enlarged photocopy of her original sketch to work from. And then they’d hold what were always vivacious discussions about colors and fabrics. In the end, those initial choices would make the final project, done by eight sets of hands, feel unified and whole, like the Queen Bees themselves—more than the sum of the parts.
In Maggie’s original sketch, she had used only brilliant blue and vibrant orange to outline her eight cats and the dog who filled the final square, and the Bees had talked about following through with that first impulse. In the end, however, they agreed you could stray, if needed to make the expression you were going for work. “But,” said Susan, one of the newer addition to the Bees. Her acknowledged expertise in color and ongoing studies in fiber arts often gave her the last word in these discussions. “Let’s make these color voices dominant,” she said.
Then they’d chosen six fabrics that would represent the color palette for the piece, and each Bee took a fat quarter. That way, they’d likely have some of the same fabrics in every square. And they’d each have a palette to mix on, as it were, when they chose complementary textiles to paint with.
With the finished squares laid out on the table, they were finalizing their decisions about the binding and sashing. “Perhaps black and white?” Susan suggested. “Or maybe a deep navy? What do you think of these?” and she laid a couple of additional bolts of fabric on the table.
As they talked, a tall, dark-haired young man burst in at the back door of the store, looking shaken, and out of place. “Aaron!” said Maggie. “What’s wrong?”
“Fitzgerald has disappeared, Dr. Maggie,” he said. “You have to come right away.”
Not two minutes later the strained young man and the Bees’ project leader were gone, leaving the women agape and almost speechless.
“I was there at the same time as Mercedes two days ago when she dropped Fitzgerald off at Maggie’s clinic,” Po said finally. “She was in rare form.”
“Maggie has told me about the list of special instructions her team gets when Mercedes boards the dog,” said Kate. “She wants them to wash his linens every day, but no fabric softener. At least three walks and two outdoor play periods, but only playtime with the dogs she’s approved.”
“I know she’s wildly proud of that dog,” said Leah. “But it does seem a little intense.” Leah was a professor at Canterbury College. And Po secretly thought that if Leah thought it was intense, that was a real sign. Leah was extremely creative, and yet could be very structured. She had to be to manage all those students and their work. And the combination made her a strong contributor for the Queen Bees. But still. The criticism was sharpest coming from her.
“He did win Best in Breed at Westminster a few years ago,” Selma said. “I remember there was a huge write-up in the paper.” Selma Parker owned Parker’s Dry Goods, an anchor for the Elderberry Road area for more than 50 years—and the weekly meeting spot for the Bees.
“And if you missed that, Mercedes will remind you,” Phoebe said. “She manages to work that in almost every time I see her at the country club. She could stand to cut back on the caffeine a bit; things might go better for her.”
Po laughed. She had come to count on Phoebe to contribute irreverent comments on all the goings on around her. And Phoebe hardly ever disappointed her.
Wild-child Phoebe’s straight-laced in-laws maintained her membership at the country club and quietly insisted that she find occasion to use it. Adoration for her up-and-coming lawyer husband and a strong desire to have her beloved babies grow up in a sphere of family harmony ensured her compliance, but it wasn’t always an easy road. In her words, the high society circles her in-laws cherished featured “too many prunes and not enough piercings.”
“Fitzgerald’s care gets particular focus, but I’ve heard she’s the same way about everything,” Eleanor said. At 85, the well-connected heir to the Canterbury fortune knew almost everybody—and often quite a lot about them. Her great-grandfather had settled his family along the banks of the Emerald River more than a century ago. He’d found the perfect place to build a thriving fur trading business. And with his other life ambitions achieved, he decided the town needed a college. So he built one in his own backyard. Eleanor lived in the elegant family home, separated from the campus by one elegant wrought-iron fence. And for all those years, the family had been in the know.
“Yeah,” Phoebe chimed back in. “I’ve seen her order her own food at Picasso’s, and it’s got as many requirements and a don’t-mess-with-royalty, kiss-my-hem attitude that just won’t stop. I don’t know how anyone could live with her. Nothing is ever good enough. Even Picasso’s!”
Conversation died for a moment, as each of the Bees contemplated the joys of Picasso’s menu at The French Quarter,a restaurant just two doors down, and wondered how anyone could find fault with the delicacies the jovial chef concocted. Po’s very favorite meal there was still Picasso’s steaming bouillabaisse and a loaf of crusty French bread. It made her mouth water to think of it now.
“She’s married, though. Remember?” Leah said. “And for a while now.”
“That’s right,” Eleanor said. “It was kind of a to-do at the time. Mercedes has some family money, and she married her handyman.”
“When was that?” Po asked. “About 10 years ago?”
“Maybe 15,” Eleanor said.
“Pretty decent deal for him, huh?” said Phoebe. “Maybe he still does some of her handyman work, but it can’t be that bad to have just one client. Although he does have to live with her dog.”
“Make that dogs,” Po said. “I think she’s actually got six or seven.”
“Well, I take it all back then,” Phoebe said. “Taking care of Mercedes’ seven dogs on top of actually living with Mercedes seems like anything but the lap of luxury.”
About that time, the store got busy, and Selma and Susan helped quilters pick out their new projects, found the perfect complement to that fabric they dug out of a closet, and consulted on yardages. Before long, Po found herself standing alone with Kate just inside the heavy wooden door that led to the street.
“Kate,” Po said slowly. “I didn’t want to say before, but Mercedes seemed particularly angry with Aaron when I was at the clinic. She made a big scene, and told your young man not to go anywhere near her dog.’”
“You’re kidding!” Kate said. “I’ve found Aaron so dependable. In fact, I recommended him to Maggie.”
“He told me that,” Po said. “And hopefully, it’s nothing to worry about. But Mercedes was mad enough to want him fired when she thought he was careless about letting the cat out. It makes me worry about what she’ll do if she thinks Aaron has played any part in the dog’s disappearance.”
“I’m glad you mentioned it,” Kate said, pushing the door open with determination. “I think I’d better watch out for that boy—and for Maggie.” Maggie and Kate had known each other since the now-doctor started babysitting her younger neighbor some 30 years before. And the renewal of their friendship since Kate had returned to Crestwood was wonderful for both of them.
“Now, don’t be rash,” Po warned as Kate tossed back her unruly mane of hair and corralled her project supplies on her bike rack. “It may all be fine.”
“Or it may be nothing but trouble, Po,” Kate said. As she headed out, she released the handlebar to wave at her dear godmother—and Po felt a dark sense of foreboding.
“I’m sure I’m overreacting,” she thought as she slung the tote where she’d stashed the fabric she’d bought for the binding. Selma and Susan
had offered to piece this week, and she’d said she’d do the binding when they got to that.
Just seconds after she headed for her car, she saw something that make her think her misgivings might be well grounded: the proud shape of Mercedes Richardson emerging from the
office of lawyer Max Elliot across the street. “What could she be talking to Max about?” thought Po.
CHAPTER 3
Po had tossed her new fabrics in the washer and was working on her own quilt project. An experiment for her, she’d started by painting on silk. Now she was using that sunset smeared swath of nubby, hand-dyed silk as the background for a gnarled tree branch. Usually, she found the inspiration of meeting with the other Queen Bees was just what she needed to fuel a productive day. But today, the disruption of their meeting and the worry she felt for Maggie left her staring at the display wall she used to track her progress.
“This is crazy,” she said to herself. But her small nudge of anxiety didn’t go away. So she picked up the phone.
“Hi, Max,” she said when his warm voice answered. “I know we were planning to have a quiet evening, but would you mind if I invited a few other people over?”
Po’s frequent companion laughed. “It’s Saturday. I really didn’t think you’d be able to hold the group size down. Go ahead and plan your party.”
“Max?” Po continued. “Did Mercedes come see you today? I thought I saw her car at your office when I was leaving Selma’s shop.”
“She did stop by,” Max said. “I work with her on her estate planning.”
“Is she good to work with?” Po asked. “No worse than the worst,” Max said with a laugh. “But then, you know, as a lawyer, I don’t generally see people at their very best. They don’t want to talk about the stuff attorneys talk to them about.”
Po laughed. “Good thing you’re not my attorney, I guess.” With invitations left for Kate and Maggie to have a drink and to grill, Po felt calmer. Satisfied for the moment, she sat down at her beloved Bernina and lost herself in the warm whirr of the machine, the changing landscape of pattern and color, and the flashing needle.
Around 5, Po opened the door and found Kate on the doorstep with a bottle of wine in one hand and a fruit pie in the other. “I did a little hunting and gathering on the way over,” she said.
“You’re a dear, Kate,” Po said. And moments later, Po handed her a glass of the chardonnay she had already chilled,put the bottle Kate brought into the fridge, and shepherded her goddaughter out onto the giant deck. Then she put the final touches on a tray of cheese and fruit and popped some artichoke dip in the oven. She poured herself a glass of wine just as she heard Maggie’s clunker of a truck pull into the driveway.
Maggie had been threatening to get rid of her rattletrap truck for years. Every time she found herself under the hood coaxing it to start, in fact. But she never actually made the move. She did often show up with streaks of dirt or oil along one side of her arm or on her cheek. And she did tonight.
Po smiled when she saw the proof that the truck was still acting up, and handed Maggie a tissue. Just a minute later she and Maggie joined Kate in the peaceful, treed backyard. There was a soft evening wind blowing, and a quiet rustle of fall leaves moved in the background.
“What a day,” Maggie said, sinking into one of the many available chairs.
“Poor girls,” said Po, looking at the clearly exhausted Maggie and Kate. “So, give me an update. Did you figure out how Fitzgerald got out?”
“All I can think is that the electricians let him out,” Maggie said, sighing. “They were doing the last work in the boarding area, getting the Web cams and the new TVs set up.”
“Was Fitzgerald in one of the suites?” Po asked.
“Yes,” Maggie said. “He was in the tropical getaway suite. Mercedes is one reason I finally decided to take on the addition. As difficult as she can be, she’s our top client. And she was talking about taking all her dogs somewhere else for boarding. And she’s not the only one. My clients tend to see their pets as members of the family. They sure don’t sleep on a concrete floor at home.”
Po looked at Hoover, who was lying, as normal, at her feet. The tray of snacks was clearly holding his full attention. It was true she had three dog beds in the house for him: one in her room, one in her quilting studio and one in the sitting room. Not that he slept there if the sofa was unguarded, she thought.
“The problem,” Maggie continued, “is that the workers swear he was there safe and sound when they left. But he sure wasn’t there when Aaron went to walk him this morning.”
“Of course, none of this is going to matter to Mercedes,” chimed in Kate.
“You mean she doesn’t know?” Po said.
“We haven’t been able to get a hold of her,” said Maggie. “Angela called every number we have, with no luck.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if you found Fitzgerald before she called back,” Kate said a bit wistfully.
“Boy, it’d be a lot better than it’s going to be the way things stand,” Maggie said. “We’ve done everything we can think of. We called the shelter and all the other veterinary clinics in town. We drove all over town looking for him. We made a flier and posted 500 copies.” She trailed off.
“Aaron is still out looking,” said Kate. “He’s still feeling bad about letting the cat get away from him yesterday. Even when all the rest of us gave up for the day, he refused to quit. I think he took Mercedes’ dressing down very personally. He’s trying to redeem himself. But he’s maybe overdoing it.”
“Oh, the dip,” Po said, jumping up and heading for the kitchen. As she pulled it out of the oven, brown and bubbling and smelling of parmesan, she heard a quick knock, and local lawyer and terrific martini mixer Max Elliot let himself in. “You know, you should lock that door,” he said, pulling Po to him for a quick hug and his characteristic warm, just-for-her smile.
Po often thought no one could replace Sam, her late husband. She still missed having that partner in her life who shared more than 30 years of her history. But that didn’t lessen her appreciation for this gentle, modest man who watched out for her and kept life interesting.
“Yes,” she said, with an answering smile. “I know.”
“Don’t you say that every time you come in?” asked Kate, who’d come in for a refill.
“Yes,” he laughed. “Someday maybe she’ll listen.” Max made himself a drink and joined the group around the snacks. Maggie and Kate got him up to date on the events of the day, while Po started the grill and put together a salad. She was just about to put the kabobs on the grill when Maggie’s cell phone chirped.
“Man, I hope it’s good news,” she said, stepping inside to take the call. But when she came back out, they could see from her tight shoulders and firmly set lips that it wasn’t.
“Oh, Maggie,” said Kate. “Clearly they didn’t find Fitzgerald yet.”
“No,” Maggie said looking as worried as they’d ever seen her. “And as predicted, Mercedes doesn’t care how hard we’re trying.”
“What did she say, Maggie?” Po asked, with concern clear in her voice.
“She’s threatening to sue me,” Maggie said, with tears filling her eyes. “She told me that she’d sue me for Fitzgerald’s future winnings and for the lost value of his future offspring. And she said she’s calling the local television station and the newspaper tonight to tell them how careless we were.”
“That is so unfair,” Kate burst out. “Your team has been so dedicated to finding him. And you don’t even know how he got out.”
“I knew she’d be beside herself,” Maggie said. “I’ve been waiting all day for her to find out and the bomb to hit. But if the paper picks it up, the story really could kill my business.
“You know, Mercedes hasn’t actually been in herself as often lately,” Maggie said. “More often her son-in-law, Jack Francis, has brought the dogs.” She paused. “Bad luck really, that she happened to be there when the cat attacked Fitzgerald
. I’m sure she’s adding that relatively minor aggravation to this more serious problem.”
Maggie paused.
“What is it, Maggie?” Po asked gently. “Is there something else going on?”
“Well …” she hesitated another long moment as she looked around the table at her friends.
“I can’t figure it out,” she said finally. “But the practice isn’t doing that well.”
“What do you mean?” said Max with a thoughtful frown. “That seems impossible. Don’t you fill up your appointments pretty easily?”
“We’re superbusy,” Maggie said. “But we’re not making enough. If Mercedes really does sue me, I could go out of business.”
Max kept probing. “Is this a new problem?” he asked.
“Well, I’ve had times when the going’s been rough before,” Maggie said. “When I started the clinic, for sure. And when I first really hired help. More salaries sure make a huge difference; I had to learn to work more efficiently. But I’ve had some time in the middle where everything seemed fine.”
She paused again.
“It’s embarrassing, you know,” she said. “I feel like I should know my own business well enough to have all the answers. But I’m afraid I feel way more comfortable with a difficult diagnosis than I do with a cash-flow problem. I’ve been just hoping that things would turn around. Now it looks like I don’t have time for that.”
“You know we’ll do anything we can to help you,” said Kate with feeling.
“We absolutely will,” said Po.
Max was still thoughtful. “Who does your bookkeeping, Maggie? Do you think he or she could help you think through your revenue issue?”
“Oh Max, I don’t know,” she said. “Jane Flemming does it for me. But she just manages the payroll and does my taxes. Today I’m not sure I even care about the other issues. I’ve mostly been thinking about it when the truck threatens to break down. But what would I do if I lost my practice? It’s everything to me. I swear, Mercedes doesn’t care about anyone but herself. She’s about to kill me, and she’s not even going to lose a minute’s sleep.”
Dog-Gone Murder Page 2
