by Tess Rothery
Fruit Basket Upset
A Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery
Tess Rothery
Contents
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Chapter One
February 28, 2020
February had been gloriously sunny in Comfort, Oregon, as Februarys in the Pacific Northwest often are. Picnics in nearly seventy-degree weather were welcomed in that late winter month, to be bitterly missed in June when the cold rain seemed unceasing. That last school day in February felt just as warm and lovely and full of promise as any day ever had. Nothing could go wrong in the upcoming month of March. Taylor Quinn was sure of it.
Flour Sax Quilt Shop was hopping. Taylor had once doubted the old adage that no press was bad press. Events, well, murders, had really killed business last fall. But something had switched in the mind of local shoppers, and they had become a sort of dark destination over the darkest months of the winter.
Her young brother-in-law, internet sensation Jonah Lang, and his online fanbase had helped. Small groups of tweens and their craft-inclined moms steadily dripped into town.
Her new friend Graham Dawson had helped with a few overly positive articles about the town, including the piece about Grandpa Ernie and his secretly generous life. Taylor had printed the online article and framed it for her grandfather.
But the cafés and quilt shops, the Yarnery and the Tillamook Cheese Factory Outlet, the hobby store that leaned toward Boy Scout activities and the giant antique mall, all owed their current success to Shara Schonely of Dutch Hex. She’d nearly abandoned her pseudo-Amish aesthetic and leaned in on Goth and the paranormal.
Her most successful attempts to draw people to town were her real-crime themed craft events and the haunted, quilt tours, both of which brought numbers that put Jonah and his Juvies to shame.
Taylor and the other quilt shop owners got the trickle down from the crowds, and it was enough. She’d expected things to slow down once it got sunny, since Shara’s audience enjoyed the grimdark nature of the short, vampire-approved Oregon winter days, but it hadn’t slowed. If anything, the murder-fiends kept coming as their regulars returned.
Flour Sax Quilt Shop of Comfort, Oregon now had three full-time employees. Her on-and off-again employee Willa had fully committed to retirement, but Willa’s daughter Farrah was up for the job. Having three full time employees, and being able to pay them fairly, felt like a huge accomplishment.
It was a big step, after some huge losses in 2019, and it felt amazing.
Since the shop was so well looked after—Roxy Lang as newly minted manager, Clay Seldon continuing his role as bookkeeper, and now Farrah Anderson —Taylor had plenty of time to help Grandma and Grandpa Quinny with kindergarten day at the Quinn Family Strawberry Farm, which was what she was doing this sunny, if chilly, February morning.
“You hear about that China virus?” Boggy Hudson, the grandfather of her ex-boyfriend and Grandpa Ernie’s best friend, was sitting on the back porch with Ernie while Taylor stretched lengths of wide, yellow ribbon between wooden stakes. Kids were always welcome at the Quinn strawberry farm, but when the whole kindergarten class came, it was best to give them strict boundaries.
“They got it up in Washington now.” Grandpa Ernie shook his head. “Can’t be too careful.”
Taylor tuned them out. Grandpa Ernie needed someone to grump around with. It was good for him. In the meantime, she was out of the bright yellow, grosgrain ribbon that Grandma Quinny preferred. Though it hinted at crime scene tape, it was very easy to see.
Taylor’s nineteen-year-old almost-cousin, Coco, was in the greenhouse with Grandma Quinny setting up planting stations for the kids. Coco had stayed with Grandpa Ernie during the day for a few weeks in the fall, but neither Coco nor Grandpa Ernie had liked it. At eleven am, thirty-some children would descend on the farm. They would tour the fields, get a lesson in how plants grow from seed to fruit, and the importance of honeybees. Then they’d go into the greenhouse to plant their own little sprouts to bring home, before heading to a snack station for Grandma Quinny’s famous scones and strawberry freezer jam. It was the kind of field trip kids talked about long after—showing up in the favorite memories section of the high school annual every year.
As Taylor tramped across the field to beg for more ribbon, she took a deep breath of the rich, healthy, clean, and hope-filled soil. The aroma of mist evaporating from lifegiving earth had to be one of the greatest gifts the planet had to offer.
Grandma Quinny and Coco were heading out of the greenhouse just as Taylor approached, so she hustled to catch up with them.
She hadn’t quite made it when they stopped short, and Grandma Quinny’s clear, reverberating scream rent the air.
Taylor’s heart stopped but her feet kept moving, the land around her blurring as she cleared the half dozen yards that stood between her and them. She almost kept running, but Coco physically stopped her. “No,” the young woman said. “Don’t. Turn around. You don’t want to see this.”
Taylor didn’t turn.
She’d learned to face some real fears in the last few years.
And the body half-buried in the healthy, dark brown, loam of her grandmother’s farm was definitely something to fear.
“Coco, go call the school.” Grandma Quinny recovered from her shock quickly. “Immediately. We must stop the children. Taylor, call the sheriff.”
But Taylor hadn’t needed to be told. She was already on the phone giving directions.
Coco ran back to the house to make her phone call. Nineteen was so young to see something like this, though thousands of soldiers through the years had seen this and worse.
Taylor took a step closer to the body doing her best to stay on the hard-packed path. There ought to be some kind of footprints in the soft dirt to help the deputies find out who’d done this.
The body—the woman—in the field was barely hidden under a shallow layer of dirt. It was almost like the killer wanted her found today. She was on her side, as though she’d been thrown quickly, and the dirt shoveled over her with speed. Her face, in profile, was young, and there was no stench of decay. “Last night,” Taylor murmured.
“It would have to have been,” Grandma Quinny agreed. “Your grandfather was out here yesterday afternoon tilling. We were planning to expand to this field again. It’s been a few years and we think it’s ready.”
“It’s the farthest corner from your house.” Taylor turned in a circle, assessing the scene.
“It’s the farthest distance from any house. The Farquhar’s place behind us is about one hundred acres. The house next door is at the road like we are, and they have their forest between them and our field.”
“And the lot on the other side is empty.” Taylor made a sucking sound on her lip. “If the killer came up through the empty land, why would they leave the body at a working farm?”
“Soft soil.” Grandma Quinny crouched by the field, took a pinch of dirt, and let it fall through her fingers. “If they were planning on burying the bod
y, they ran till they found something they could dig fast.”
“Who dug her back up?” Taylor squinted into the distance.
Grandma Quinny waved to the forest. “Racoons. Curious little devils.”
Taylor shuddered, remembering a run-in with said devils in her shop a few years back. “They didn’t….” She couldn’t bring herself to say “eat the body” but that’s what she meant.
“No, they didn’t.”
Sirens in the distance meant their tête-à-tête was at an end.
Taylor stayed with the deceased woman while her grandmother went to meet the sheriff. Grandma Quinny was cool and collected. Calm in a crisis. And, really, rather clever.
Grandpa Quinny led the sheriff’s posse to the scene and remained by his side to answer questions as Reg took pictures.
Maria, Reg’s partner, drew Taylor aside.
She held a notepad in a hand that wore a low-profile diamond band on the important finger. Taylor had a hard time keeping her eye off it as she answered Maria. “Yes, I’ve been here all morning. Yes, I planned to be here all day. Yes, I was already headed that way when Grandma and Coco found the body. Because I wanted more ribbon.”
“Earth to Taylor.” Maria waved her right hand. “Are you with me?”
“Sorry. I think I am. Maybe it’s a little shock.” Taylor, though she would have sworn she could no longer be shocked by something as simple as a dead person, had learned to identify the symptoms of shock in herself.
“If it helps, I’ll answer your question. Yes, it’s an engagement ring. No, we aren’t married yet. Yes, it’s because wearing a big decorative diamond isn’t safe in this job, and yes, I do have a big decorative one at home. And yes, the man who gave it to me is Reg. Now can we talk about the body?”
Taylor let out a long, slow breath. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Maria blushed slightly. “It’s a little new, still. He proposed on Valentine’s day.”
“That’s very sweet.” Taylor’s questions about the ring answered, her eyes had wandered back to the scene. The deputy wasn’t in a hurry to unbury the body. Reg was still taking pictures and Serge was measuring something in the dirt, hopefully footprints.
“Did you know the deceased?” Maria asked.
Taylor shook her head. “I didn’t recognize her, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t met at some time.”
“Where can I find Coco?” Maria asked.
“I’m not sure. She went in the house to call the school—to make sure the kids didn’t come.”
“That was smart.”
“Let me take you to her.”
They found Coco stretched on the sofa in the formal living room. Her eyes were closed, and she had a damp washcloth on her forehead. Her feet were bare, showing off a pedicure with strawberries on the big toes and tiny strawberry leaves on the rest. Her muddy boots had been left on the back patio.
“Coco, Deputy Maria has some questions for you.”
Boggy Hudson ambled into the room. “Shh.” He held his finger to his lips. “I just got her calmed down. She was in hysterics.”
“Good morning,” Maria greeted the tall, friendly old gentleman. “I do have some important questions for her.”
“You’ll just have to wait.” Boggy crossed his arms and looked down at the petite officer. “I found some cough medicine in the cupboard. The kind from Canada. Made her have a few swigs. She’ll be out for a little while.”
Maria didn’t flinch. She, as always, was unflappable. She stared down Boggy with a steely look in her cold, blue eyes.
But Boggy shook his head, as he refused to be intimidated. “You’ll have to have some grace for the poor child. That’s her best friend out there in the mud.”
“I’m sorry,” Taylor spoke. “I can make some coffee, try to wake her up.”
Maria shook her head. “No, let her sleep. Boggy, why don’t you and I have a chat?”
“Sure thing.”
Maria led Boggy into the kitchen.
Taylor stared at Coco. That was her best friend out there? Interesting. Who was the girl?
When she went back outside, the sheriff’s crew had carefully removed the deceased from her shallow grave. She lay on a stretcher uncovered as the coroner took a look.
The deceased’s clothes were thick with the damp soil. She seemed to be wearing a pair of average jeans and a flannel buttoned up. She had a pair of canvas high tops, double knotted, and her flannel had a dozen buttons, at least, and they were lined up properly. Her hair was in a high ponytail, also covered in mud, but still secure in its elastic. All in all, it didn’t look like she’d tried to fight off an attacker.
Her face was bruised on the side that had been against the dirt, perhaps from a blow to the head, but maybe from blood pooling as she lay there dead all night long. Taylor wasn’t an expert on corpses, so she couldn’t have said.
A small tarp lay on the path next to the cot. A mud-covered phone, generic, like a burner phone, one Airpod, and a broken silver chain with a small silver oval shaped pendant on it. It looked to be the kind that people stamp with initials and sell on Etsy. She leaned down and flipped it with the end of a small twig. The letters were tiny, but clear. FoC.
What had this young woman needed a burner phone for? They weren’t common unless you had something to hide. Taylor was suddenly reminded of early winter last year, after she’d been shot. Coco had been in some kind of trouble that had kept Grandma Quinny busy, but Taylor had never heard what it was. The sting of irritation bit her. If only Boggy hadn’t drugged the child. Now she’d have time to come up with a story if she had secrets to hide.
Serge came in from the spot in the field where the body had lain and placed something new with the evidence. It looked like a business card.
When he moved on, Taylor leaned in close again. The card was half covered in mud, but she could still see the logo of a house with a heart for a door, the letters “rriage counseling”, and half a phone number. This girl could have been a newlywed, Taylor supposed. And maybe they’d had premarital counseling, or something, but then again, any number of her own cousins or aunts and uncles could have dropped that card in the field. Maybe even her grandparents.
Serge stooped at the tarp and began to bag and document the things that had been found with the body.
The coroner pulled a sheet over the young woman and helped bring the cot around to the front of the house where the ambulance waited. Taylor followed them, but as they drove away, she went back inside and up to Coco’s room.
Coco was Grandma Quinny’s sister’s granddaughter and had been staying at the farm for about six months. She and her sister had been sent by their parents to help with the market stall during the disastrous quilt expo last fall, and Coco had stayed. There had to be reasons, but Taylor had never heard them. Generally speaking, if you needed a safe place to land in life, one of Grandma Quinny’s spare bedrooms was always available to you. Especially if you were willing to help at the farm.
Coco’s room still looked like Grandma Quinny’s spare room. Farmhouse chic with a few cheesy strawberry accents. People were always giving Grandma little strawberry theme gifts, and she had plenty of rooms to hide them away in. A whole row of character strawberries with dangly legs and goofy smiles sat on a shelf above the window.
There was nothing about the room that said “Coco” whatever her last name was.
Taylor pulled open the drawer on the vintage, white-washed, student desk. It was empty except for three burner phones.
Taylor stared. That was not what she’d expected. She pulled her own phone out and took a picture, then shut the drawer. She had a feeling Coco would be out, or pretend to be out, for a while longer. She checked the closet. It was stuffed full of clothes, mostly jeans folded over hangers and pastel blouses meant for layering. But on the far end of where the closet rod was tucked behind the wall, Coco had four little black cocktail dresses.
The floor of the closet was littered with shoes. Vans, Ked
s, platform Mary Janes, rain boots, and duck boots were kicking around with three pairs of black, strappy, high heels graduating in height to a dizzying three inches.
Taylor shut the closet and looked under the bed, but it was empty—not even a dust bunny. The bedside table had a drawer, so she tugged it open. It held an iPad, a make-up bag full of cosmetics, a fat manilla envelope stuffed with cash, and a box of condoms.
Taylor sat on the bed with a thump. Her stomach was sick. Coco. Poor Coco. Surely, she didn’t hate life at the silly pseudo farm enough to have turned to prostitution.
A soft knock on the door was followed by Grandma Quinny speaking in an unnaturally quiet voice. “I thought I’d find you up here.” She took a seat on the bed next to Taylor.
“You might want to have a look at this.” Taylor opened the bedside table drawer.
Grandma Quinny glanced inside, then shut her eyes. “My sister warned me.”
“Why would the poor girl do this?” Taylor crinkled the strawberry print coverlet between her fingers, an effort at self-soothing that often helped.
“Coco’s family hasn’t had it easy. Her mother is a schoolteacher, but the district can’t pay much. When her father was disabled about ten years ago, they were hit hard. Lost their house. I think Coco struggles with feelings of insecurity. A fear about not having enough.”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
“Twice now, but she says she’s just dating generous men. She won’t admit that she’s an escort. Here’s the trouble for me: If I say she has to stop dating these ‘generous men,’ then she’ll leave. One of them has offered her an apartment in Portland, already, but she seems to prefer living a distance from the city.”
