“Oh, it is!” Cathy snapped a selfie with her phone. “My husband is going to be so jealous.”
Once on the road, Cathy was full of questions about the car—how long Max had owned it, what she had done to it, and where she got it. By the time Cathy sat back in the seat out of breath, Lil said, “I think this is our turnoff coming up on the right.”
They made the turn. Max said to her guests, “So how well did you know Barbara? And by the way, what was her last name? I never heard.”
Mary said, “Her last name was Gunter. Of course, we just met her at the beginning of the trip so we didn’t know her well.”
Max debated how to diplomatically bring up Barbara’s love life and the cruise, when Lil said, “So what do you think about this guy she met on a cruise? Was he just stringing her along?”
“Welll,” Cathy looked sideways at Mary, “We talked about that, Mary and me. There’s lots of guys on those cruises looking to separate a widow from her money.”
“She was a widow?” Max asked.
“Yes. I think she said her husband died about two years ago,” Mary said.
“This must be it!” Lil pointed at a large dark red barn trimmed in crisp white with a gravel parking lot in front of it. A sign in the peak bore a painted ‘Flying Geese’ patchwork design and the name ‘Quilt Barn’ in block letters.
Discussion of Barbara Gunter ceased as the women got out of the car and headed in a screen door.
“Good Morning!” A short woman with blonde, frizzy hair looked up from behind a wide wooden counter at the back. She was cutting squares of a variety of orange print fabrics. “Is this your first time at the Quilt Barn?”
Max walked toward her. “Yes it is. Two of these ladies are on a bus tour, and my sister and I are visiting her son.” She turned to indicate the others and found no one behind her. All three still stood near the door, their mouths open, as they slowly took in the kaleidoscope of colors. Fabric bolts marched around the structure five shelves high. Multicolored quilts hung above the shelves on the walls and from the center beams. Max hadn’t even noticed.
She turned back to the woman and grinned. “I guess they like it.”
The woman smiled back and placed another bolt on top of the stack on the counter. “I take it that you’re not a quilter?”
“No, I’m not. I just appreciate others’ work.”
The woman spoke over Max’s shoulder to Lil, Mary, and Cathy. “We have a twenty percent off sale today on fall fabrics—everything on that east wall. There’s hot cider and gingersnaps on that table in the corner. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
“I think we’re all just browsing, but this will be hard to resist,” Lil said.
Max followed Mary Carmody around a display of flannels. “Do you make a lot of quilts?”
“Mostly small wall hangings. I’m looking for something for my niece’s nursery—she’s expecting a little boy in about six weeks.”
“How nice. Getting back to Barbara a minute, did she ever say when she went on that cruise?”
“I don’t remember for sure, but she talked about it a lot. She—oh, look at this print with Scotty dogs and the companion pieces! My niece and her husband plan to name their baby Scott. Maybe I should do a crib quilt instead of a hanging. I can’t believe how cute this is, and the colors are perfect.” She pulled three bolts in blues and greens out of the display. “Would you bring that solid blue and the one with the green and black stripes?” Mary marched back toward the counter, bearing the bolts in her arms.
Max tugged at the bolt of blue fabric and managed to work it loose, but the striped bolt was wedged in tighter on another shelf, and the texture of the flannel created more friction. Frustrated, she gave it an extra jerk, and the whole row of bolts tumbled to the floor.
Lil rushed over and started picking them up. “What were you doing?”
“Mary asked me to bring two of the bolts that she couldn’t carry. But one was stuck.” Max felt like a whiney little kid making excuses—which made her mad. She had tried to help.
Lil stood the bolts on end that she had picked up, but when she leaned over to get more, they fell over again.
Cathy motioned the clerk over.
“Oh, my!” She clapped both hands to her face. Then she giggled. “No harm. I’ll get it later. They need to be in order by color and shade.”
Lil said, “We can at least pick them up off the floor and stack them where you can get to them.” She laid two bolts on a side table.
“I’m so sorry,” Max said.
The clerk waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Fortunately fabric doesn’t break. Which are the other ones that your friend wanted, do you know?”
Max grabbed the blue and the striped fabric. “I’ll bring them up.” Lil and Cathy went to work stacking the wayward bolts.
The clerk asked Mary about the niece’s baby, her plans for the fabric, and other similar projects she had done. She measured off batting and added several spools of thread to the stack.
Lil and Cathy picked up all of the bolts off the floor, and brought their own choices of fabric to the counter. They chattered excitedly between bites of cookie and sips of cider. Max drummed her fingers on the counter, absently thumbed through a rack of instruction books, and checked her watch. Finally the purchases were done and bagged.
They returned to the car and Max opened the trunk to stow the bags. “Thank you so much for bringing us out here,” Mary gushed.
“No problem,” Max said. “I hope somebody remembers the way back to town.”
“Got it,” Lil said, holding up her phone. Once in the car, she gave directions over the voices of the two women in the back seat, who discussed their projects and any other possibilities in the barn that they had passed up.
“I’m thinking I need to bring my quilt group over here for just a day trip,” Cathy said. “It really isn’t that far.”
“Great idea,” Mary agreed.
“Turn right up here,” Lil told Max, and pointed ahead to a tee intersection. “Then there’s just that short curvy stretch back to the blacktop. Easy-peasy after that.”
Max made the turn and they started down a winding road. The trees overhanging the road were aflame with color, with a backdrop of cobalt blue sky. The little Studebaker took the curves handily. Max relaxed into the drive and waited for a break in the chatter to ask more about Barbara Gunter.
As they approached a farm entrance on their left, a squawk and a flurry of feathers startled her out of her reverie.
She braked the car and it skidded to a halt on the dusty gravel. “What was that?”
Lil pointed out the window at three dark red chickens scurrying to the side of the road. Max suspected the squawks were not compliments directed her way.
“Did I hit something?” She opened the door and got out; Lil did the same. The looked under the car and examined the grill. They only found a few feathers.
“It must have just been a close call,” Lil said. They returned to the car.
Cathy and Mary leaned forward from the back seat. “Those are Rhode Island Reds,” Cathy said. “I was raised on a farm.”
“Me, too,” Mary said. “Did you ever have those chickens attack you when you were gathering eggs? One time—” And the rest of the way into town, they traded stories about chickens.
After Max dropped them off at the City Center Cafe, where they were supposed to meet the rest of the tour group for lunch, she drove toward the bank.
“Well, that was certainly a bust! Every time I was going to ask them about when Barbara’s cruise was, something happened. Mary finding that cute fabric, fabric falling over, chickens attacking my car… I can’t believe it. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways once they started to talk about chickens.”
“Last May.”
“Last May what?”
Lil grinned at her sister. “Barbara’s cruise was last May. I asked Cathy when we were picking the bolts of fabric up. Cathy remembered because B
arbara was very definite that she wanted to go before hurricane season.”
Max held up her right hand for a high five. “Great goin’, Sis!”
“You’re welcome. Now let’s hope Terry found out when Art was gone, if he was. By the way, Barbara also told Cathy that she had made some investments with ‘Al Carson.’ And she’s never heard any more about them.”
“So another motive. That’s good to know.”
“Do you really think Art is the murderer?”
Max shrugged. “There’s an awful lot of coincidences involved. Art happens to be gone when Barbara’s in town and reappears after she dies. Of course it depends on whether Al Carson and Art Carnel are the same person.” She pulled in to the bank parking lot. “Let’s go see what Terry found out.”
Chapter Nine
Max
Terry was bent over his desk in his office. He straightened when they entered. “How did your morning go?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Max said, “but we finally found out when Barbara took her cruise.”
“Who found out?” Lil asked.
Max rolled her eyes with as much drama as she could muster. “Okay, your mother found out. Because I was busy lugging fabric and chasing chickens.”
Terry smirked. “I’ll ask about that later. I have some information too. Have a seat for a few minutes and then we’ll go get lunch.” He perched on the corner of his desk and held one wrist with the other hand. The stance reminded Max of a principal once when she was in fifth grade and had put glue on the teacher’s chair.
“Are we in trouble?” she asked.
Terry burst out laughing. “Why would you say that?”
“Just the way you’re sitting on the edge of your desk.”
He moved back to the chair behind his desk. “That better? What did you find out?”
Lil smiled. “Barbara’s cruise was last May.”
Terry grew serious. “Huh. Art Carnel was gone at that time, too. Camille said he went to visit his brother in Michigan.”
“That’s what he told her, anyway,” Max said.
“Yes. I still can’t see him as a murderer, though.”
Lil added, “Barbara had also made investments with ‘Al Carson’ and had never heard any more about them. Her friends weren’t sure whether she was more interested in seeing this guy again or finding out about her money.”
“Hmm,” Terry said. “And then there’s the bank robbery and the nun’s habit.”
Max frowned. “What possible connection could that have to the murder?”
“That is a puzzle,” Terry agreed. “We’re just wondering if the house was used as some kind of hideout in the past and maybe still is.”
Lil frowned. “You said last night the robber was never caught. Was the money recovered?”
“No. We’re considering the possibility that it could be hidden somewhere on the property. It’s more likely that the robber has already spent it. The big question is why Barbara was there, or even near there. Or how she got there.”
“Last night, Mary and Cathy said that they were given contacts for a taxi service in case they wanted to go somewhere on their own. Maybe you—or the police—can check with that service and see if they picked her up. One of the women told us that Barbara left the group after lunch yesterday—claimed she didn’t feel well.”
Terry nodded. “The tour guide—Marg—told the chief and me that, too. She went back to the Inn, but no one saw her after that. Wendell said he didn’t see anyone come back, but he was out doing some fall cleanup in his garden.”
“How was she killed?” Max asked. “I haven’t heard anyone say.”
“Josh didn’t say it was a secret, I guess. She was strangled. That high necked-dress covered up the marks.”
Camille tapped on the door and opened it. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I would like to take you all to lunch at the Brat House.”
“That would be great,” Terry said. He turned to his mother and Max. “I usually have to buy, so we’d better take advantage of this.”
Camille smiled. “I didn’t say I’d buy; just that I would take you there.”
Terry grabbed a jacket. “Great idea anyway, and we can compare notes on the case.”
Camille’s eyebrows went up. “On the case? Are you moonlighting as a detective now?”
“It’s my mother’s fault,” Terry answered.
Lil laughed. “Everything always is, isn’t it?”
Camille went to get her keys and purse.
Max asked Terry in a low voice “Should we tell her our suspicions about Art?”
Terry considered. “I think you should. Just be diplomatic, please?”
“Of course.”
They joined Camille at her car.
“What is the Brat House?” Lil asked as they started out of town.
“A very popular place overlooking the river. Famous for their German food but they also have good steaks and fish.”
“Doesn’t sound like a light lunch,” Lil said.
“It depends on if you have your pie a la mode or not,” said Terry.
The Brat House sat at the edge of a bluff overlooking the river. It had rustic decor with windows all along one side. Camille spoke to the hostess, and a waiter led them to a table by the windows.
“This is beautiful.” Lil pointed out the window. “Even a little waterfall.” The river below the restaurant tumbled over rocks and wound through narrow chutes. Bright colored fall leaves dropped from the overhanging trees danced along, contrasting with the deep green of the pines marching up the opposite bank.
“It’s my favorite spot,” said Camille. The waiter approached with a bottle of Chardonnay, showed it to her, and poured a small amount in her glass. She tasted it, nodded, and smiled. He poured the others.
Max glanced over the entrees and the prices on the menu. She opened the snowy white cloth napkin and spread it in her lap, catching Terry’s eye as she did so. She gave him a slight grimace as she thought about deflating Camille’s opinion of her boyfriend as thanks for this lovely lunch.
Lil also perused the menu with an uncertain look on her face.
After they’d placed their order, Camille leaned forward and folded her hands on the table. “So what’s happening with ‘the case?’ Should I have worn my deerstalker hat?” She grinned at them.
“I have a question—just curious about the bank robbery. Was there only one robber?” Max asked.
Camille shook her head. “Only one came in the bank, but there was a getaway driver. There were a couple of witnesses outside—it was a rainy day—and they didn’t recognize the driver, but they did get a partial license plate number off the car. Ironically, by the time they identified the guy—a year or so later—he had already been caught and sentenced for another crime. He died in a prison fight. So they never got to question him. The money was never recovered.”
Lil unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. “Wow. That’s quite a story.”
“Mother and Aunt Max have something else they want to talk to you about,” Terry said.
So much for putting this discussion off, thought Max.
Lil gave Camille her most sympathetic and understanding look. “It’s about Art Carnel.”
“Oh!” Camille laughed. “That mystery is solved. Art was making some sales calls out of state. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Yes, you did. That isn’t our question,” Max said. “You know that Barbara Gunter, the murder victim, asked several people if they knew Al Carson—a man she had met on a cruise.”
“Yes, I think I remember you saying that last night.”
“We think Al Carson and Art Carnel may be one and the same person.”
Camille sat back in her chair and her expression went flat. “What—what makes you think that?”
“It has to be investigated further,” Terry put in. “We just have circumstantial evidence right now. The names are similar, both sell investments, and Art was out of town at the time Barbar
a met Al Carson on a cruise.”
Camille said, “That’s why you were asking me about Art’s absences? That’s very circumstantial. You might as well say they were both born on a Wednesday or both like peanut butter.”
“Put like that, it sounds pretty flimsy,” Terry admitted. “It’s just that several people have said that Barbara was so certain that this Al Carson was from Burnsville, and yet no one here has ever heard of him.”
Camille shook her head. “No. I see where you’re going with this. You think that Art is the murderer?” Her shrill voice caused a few nearby heads to turn. “He’s not like that. I don’t want to talk about this any more.” She turned to Lil and Max with a plastic smile. “Terry said you took a couple of women from the tour out to the Quilt Barn this morning. What did you think?”
“It’s amazing,” Lil said. “Except Max tried to tear the place apart.” Over Max’s protest, Lil told them about the fabric bolt fiasco with some embellishment. The story lightened the mood and Camille appeared to relax again. The rest of the lunch, Terry steered the conversation away from the murder, the bank robbery, and the haunted house to tales of his children’s exploits and his own childhood in Kansas. Camille encouraged his stories by fielding interested questions about life in the Midwest.
They returned to the bank after lunch. Camille said a hurried goodbye, explaining that she was almost late for a meeting. Terry walked Max and Lil to Max’s car.
“Well, that didn’t go so great,” Terry said, as he held the door for his mother.
“No, it did not,” she answered.
Max leaned over from the driver’s seat. “To my mind, she’s a little too defensive. I’m not sure she has that much confidence in Art.”
“You may be right.” Terry leaned on the door. “But we don’t have much to go on: initials and being gone at the same time.”
“Careful of the paint,” Max said.
Terry stood up and put his hands behind his back. “Ooops. Sorry. I wonder if Barbara Gunter had a picture of her on-board romance?”
“The police chief should be able to tell you. Wouldn’t they have searched her room?”
Foliage and Fatality Page 7
