Fruit Basket Upset: A Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery

by Tess Rothery

  Dahlia seethed. “You’ve destroyed a precious child and will never pay for it.” Her face wasn’t running with tears or any other sign of grief. She was fuming with anger, veins popping in her forehead. Her words were a stream of lava from this eruption.

  “Please don’t hold me responsible for anything Taylor has done. She’s a fully grown woman.”

  “Ingrid…” Evelyn interjected. “I think what might work better is some sympathy. Mother to mother. Asha is a dear girl. Innocent as the wind-driven-snow, and it sounds like something dreadful has happened.”

  Ingrid gritted her teeth but pulled it together. Evelyn was right. Even if this woman’s anger was out of proportion. “It’s not like Asha is dead,” Ingrid found herself saying. “Maybe my sympathy is all tied up with the Kay family right now.”

  Dahlia spit at Ingrid’s feet. “I would that I could curse you. My grandmother could have. I would curse you and all that have your name.” She spit again, ripped herself out of Evelyn’s soft grip, and ran from the café.

  Ingrid pressed her fingertips to her forehead.

  “A soft word turns away anger,” Charlotte Jessup said. “All she needed was a little comfort.” She looked sadly at Ingrid. “Though it seems to me her curse is too late. You’ve already been cursed, haven’t you?”

  Ingrid’s lips sucked together in a nasty snarl.

  Charlotte had killed Molly Kay. And she had done it as a message for Coco. “Stay away from Robert Jessup.” But unfortunately for Charlotte, no one had gotten it. If they had, maybe she wouldn’t have had to come stir things up.

  “I’ll make it up to her,” Ingrid said to Evelyn. “I don’t like doing it, but I’m fairly well practiced in apologizing for my big mouth.”

  Evelyn nodded. “I know. But don’t put it off too long, will you? Comfort is a small town, and Charlotte is right. It turns to Discomfort pretty quickly.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Taylor hadn’t seen Graham since they’d rushed him into the ER, and she missed him.

  She was curled up in the visitor's chair in his little room, wishing he hadn’t been skulking around the house while they were rescuing Asha.

  Maybe it wasn’t fair to blame him, but Charles Holden hadn’t been shy with his motive. He had spotted Taylor and Graham right away, and knew they were being watched on the date. He already suspected someone was killing the women he cared about, and their spying fed his paranoia.

  His shot had been fired in defense of the girl he was keeping locked in his spare room.

  The issue of Charles Holden having a room to keep girls locked in was one the police were working on, and a great reason to keep him in jail.

  Graham’s complexion was a little gray, but he was awake and not complaining. She'd noticed in the short time they'd known each other that he wasn't much of a complainer. He had told her the extent of his injury, but he’d sounded fully detached as though he were reporting someone else’s gunshot wound.

  The wound had been sufficiently dangerous, but she’d had to work hard not to laugh. Charles Holden had been armed with a single action revolver—the Heritage Rough Rider, a cheap .22 generally used by the kind of folks who shot for fun. The bullet had lost some velocity going through the window, and by the time it hit Graham in his gluteus maximus it wouldn’t have killed him if it had wanted to. But it had lodged itself in that big pelvic bone called the ilium. They’d had to remove it surgically. His right ilium was webbed in fractures that radiated from the small bullet. This was a bad injury. He'd have trouble sitting, walking, doing other things one needed a pain-free pelvis to do. Taylor blushed at the thought. But it was also a slow bullet to the buttocks. And it took all her self-control not to laugh when he said it.

  "How is Asha doing?" Graham was propped on his left side, as you would be if you’d recently had a bullet surgically removed from the right side of your pelvis.

  "She's amazingly resilient," Taylor replied. "I didn't have half her internal strength after my first run in with trouble."

  "Your first run in with trouble was facing down the woman who'd killed your mom. And she was armed," Graham countered. "Then again, Asha was abducted. I’m impressed with how she got out of it. She’s a clever girl.”

  "And a pretty one," Taylor said under her breath.

  “What was that?” The lift to his eyebrow indicated he had heard just fine.

  "Sorry. I don't mean I'm jealous. It's just, she's awfully pretty, isn't she? And amazing. You're right. She really is a clever girl."

  "That deputy is in love with her," Graham said.

  "I suppose I can't blame him," Taylor said with a chuckle. "I'm half in love with her myself."

  "I'd claim I wasn't," Graham said, "but she's a bombshell blonde. And even I wouldn't believe it if I heard myself say it." He smiled and reached his hand out towards Taylor.

  She took his fingertips in hers and stroked them, not sure how much pain he was in. Her own wounds, though in the shoulder and in the thigh, had made her whole body hurt. She was considering lifting his fingertips to her lips when her formidable Grandmother Quinny flew into the room.

  "I know who killed Molly Kay." Grandma Quinny's voice was a rough whisper. "And I know why she did it. She told me yesterday, and I wrestled with the issue all evening. We need the evidence, but how do we get it?"

  Graham Dawson pressed a little button that made his bed rise to a sitting position. He winced as he tried to roll over. Sitting wasn't the best move for someone with a bullet wound in the bottom. He pressed the button again till his bed was flat.

  "It would depend on what the evidence was," Graham said. "What are we looking for?"

  "I don't know," Ingrid said. "If I did, I wouldn't be here."

  "But how can we know what the evidence is, if we don't know who did it?" Taylor asked.

  "I know why she did it.” Grandma Quinny didn’t seem to register Taylor’s question. “The killer put the body of Molly Kay in my farm to tell Coco to stay away from her husband. Why Molly had to pay, for Coco’s crime, I don't know. And that's why I don't know what we’re looking for."

  "Perhaps evidence that the killer wasn't where she was supposed to be that night might help,” Taylor said.

  "I agree," Graham said. "And evidence that she had access to the weapon."

  "Anyone does on the internet," Grandma Quinny said, without revealing what the weapon was. "I'll need to contact the sheriff. I'll have to tell him everything that transpired. But I hate to give it to them without something concrete. The sheriff isn’t who he used to be."

  "Didn’t you say she just confessed? How much more concrete do you need?" Taylor asked. “And when you say she told you, were you alone? Did someone else hear?"

  "No, I was not alone. A few different people heard. But the one in particular has a vested interest in protecting the killer. Or at least I wouldn't trust her to take the same interpretation I did."

  “Whatever was said to you," Taylor said, "means you know the who and at least part of the why. That's gotta make it easier to find the how."

  "I know the how," Grandma Quinny barked in impatience.

  “You know how the murder took place? All of the details?" Graham pushed.

  "No. No, you're right. I know the means. I don't know how she was able to use it for murder." Grandma Quinny stared out the window. “And what do I do about that woman at the coffee shop?"

  "I feel like you've changed subjects," Taylor said. "What woman at what coffee shop?"

  Grandma Quinny turned her gaze to Taylor. "I’m going to have to deal with her, but evidence comes first. Yes, that's the right thing to do. I'll treat Dahlia right, but it’s not time yet. And you two, you have some explaining to do. Asha's family is not happy." Grandma Quinny glanced at her phone.

  Graham let out a low whistle. "I'd like to be far from this town when Asha’s father shows up ready for blood."

  "Her father? I’d take him any day over that mother of hers." Grandma Quinny slung a fuzzy Kelly-green sc
arf over her bright red blouse. She probably didn’t know she looked like a ripe strawberry. “If you two don’t have any new evidence for me, then this was an utterly wasted trip.” She exited the room as though she were the leading lady in all of life's dramas.

  "What on earth was that about?" Taylor asked.

  "It sounds like we’re about to solve this crime," Graham said. "Having you here is the very best part of having gotten shot in the butt. But if you don't run after your grandma right now, you’re nuts."

  Taylor leapt to her feet and ran after her grandma, in part motivated by the idea that she couldn't let an elderly woman solve a murder that she, herself, had worked so hard on.

  Taylor didn't catch her grandmother. But she followed her home.

  She found Grandma Quinny in the cozy little den. Coco looked like a cornered animal, cowering in a wingback chair. Grandpa Ernie was in the matching wingback chair frowning at the girl.

  "You stood mute for the sheriffs, because I told you to," Grandma Quinny said. "But I will not have you standing mute for me. Molly Kay's body was left in my field with a necklace, a burner cell phone, and a business card for marriage counseling. What message did that send you?"

  When Coco wanted to, she could have very large, round eyes. And she made the most of it now. She nibbled on her plump bottom lip and looked up and out of her eyes like those porcelain statuettes of twee children you could buy at Bible Creek quilt and Gift. "They must have just been the things Molly had with her. I don't know what you mean by a message."

  "Your sugar daddy's wife does." Grandma Quinny had abandoned her scarf that had made her outfit look like a strawberry and stood before her great niece in dark jeans with creases like knives, and a bright red satin blouse the color of fresh blood.

  "She doesn't know about me." Coco maintained that perfect look of false innocence.

  Taylor shivered. It was uncanny and wildly uncomfortable. That fair skinned, raven-haired little beauty in the chair would have fooled anyone. Looking at her, you would never have guessed her business had to have been the cause of her best friend’s death.

  "Listen here." Grandpa Ernie pressed on the arms of his chair as though he were going to stand. "Ingrid Quinn is a good woman, and she's been taken real good care of you. You answer her questions this minute or…”

  Coco turned her big eyes to Grandpa Ernie and batted her long eyelashes at him.

  "Ha," Grandpa Ernie laughed in her face. "You don't get to be my age without having seen more than one pair of doe eyes in your life. I'm immune, young lady. I had more than one sister, a daughter, and two wily little granddaughters. You've got nothing new. But I've got me one of them easy phones. That Jonah got it for me. All I do is type the number in, and the sheriff is here. He'll take you right back down. Because," Grandpa Ernie leaned forward, "we know what them men pay you to do."

  "He's not messing around," Grandma Quinny said. "Ernie Baker calls the sheriff and they take you right back where you came from, only this time all of us will tell them everything we know.” Grandma Quinny glowered at the girl. “Or you tell us what those items found with Molly Kay mean to you.”

  Two fat round tears rolled down Coco's cheeks. Whether from fear or as one last attempt to manipulate her elders, Taylor didn't know. But she wasn't having it. "She thinks we’re stupid." Taylor sat cross-legged next to her grandfather. "The symbols are obvious. The necklace said FoC which is Friend of Coco. It’s got to be a little gift she gives to all the girls who make connections on her website. It’s an easy enough product to purchase, customized from Etsy. Just a little silver pendant stamped with initials. Perhaps they were like dog tags on her girls—a sort of sign of ownership. Taking it off the girl means freeing her from her bonds.” Taylor was feeling inspired, so continued. “The burner phone is one Coco buys for the girls. Crushing it means breaking off the business arrangement. The business card is the easiest. Marriage counseling means the proper relationships will be restored. And of course, Molly herself, buried in the farm. She was the threat. One down, dozens more to go if Coco didn’t close up shop. You saw it all immediately, didn’t you?” Taylor asked the girl. “That’s why you tried to keep me away from the body.”

  Grandpa Ernie thumped the arm of his chair. It felt like approval to Taylor.

  "You're a real smart girl Taylor." Ernie Baker's voice cracked. He was so pleased.

  "Couldn't agree more," came the cheerful and uplifting sound of Angus Quinn, Taylor's other grandfather. "What's she smart about this time?" Angus ambled into the room holding a wrench and looking at it as though he wasn't sure why he wanted it.

  "Oh, Uncle Angus…" Coco turned her weepy eyes to her great uncle.

  "Ho, ho, ho." Uncle Angus held out the wrench as though it might protect him from the girl. "I know better than to fall for that. My Ingrid has warned me about you. You're lucky you got to come back here at all. I wanted to send you home to your mother."

  "Fortunately for you," Grandma Quinny said, "the sheriff disagreed with my husband and asks that you remain here for the present. After all there is an ongoing investigation into a murder that you are concerned with."

  "Taylor is almost as good as you with that murder stuff," Grandpa Quinny said.

  Coco tried to appeal to the man again. "They think I'm, they think I'm… They think I'm doing something so bad. But really your friend, you know your friend Robert, he invested money in my website. My little matchmaking website. He told me how much fun it was being married to a younger woman, and he said his friends wanted to meet girls, and he gave me money for the startup. And now," she took a deep breath almost like a sob, "and now they think I'm the reason Molly was killed."

  "Don't think you can pull the wool over my eyes, young lady." Grandpa Quinny frowned at her, his gray eyebrows pulling together. "I wasn't born yesterday."

  Taylor's phone chimed brightly, a jarring note in the tense room. She glanced at it quickly to find a Snap from her mom. Well, from Jonah. But it was one of those many snippets of her mom’s show Jonah used to haunt Taylor with. She swallowed and turned the volume up ever so slightly so she could play the clip. It had happened too many times before. These clips always mattered in the moment.

  "At the end of this project," Laura Quinn, the beautiful face of the Flour Sax Quilt Shop YouTube show, said, "you will be able to say with all honesty that you have made your bed. And," she lifted one eyebrow, flirting cheekily with the camera, "you will have to lie in it."

  Grandma Quinny stared at Taylor. "That woman is the last thing we need right now!" She slapped her hand over her mouth for a second. When she spoke again, her voice was angry despite her words, "I'm sorry Taylor. I'm sorry. Ernie I'm sorry."

  Ernie pushed himself to his feet with shaking arms. "I know I'm a guest in your home, Ingrid Quinn."

  "Grandpa Ernie, calm down," Taylor said. "It's okay. We know you didn't expect to hear her. It's, it's nothing." She patted her grandpa's leg hoping to calm him down.

  "We all know what you thought about my girl. A bright shining star and you gave her so much grief. Right to the end of her…" Grandpa Ernie grasped his chest with his right hand. Right over his heart and staggered into his chair. His face had lost all its color, and he coughed into his fist.

  "Grandpa, where's your oxygen?" Taylor scrabbled over the tabletop as though the small tank of oxygen with its lifesaving hose should just be sitting there.

  "Oh, Ernie." Grandma Quinny sounded exasperated. "Where did you put that? I told you…"

  "Shush," Taylor interrupted. "This is hardly his fault. Grandpa where did you put it last?"

  Grandpa Ernie tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He didn't answer.

  “Here you go buddy." Grandpa Quinny was there with his calm comfortable smile in place, wrapping the clear hoses gently over Grandpa Ernie’s shoulder, and helping him put his oxygen in. "Let's not argue about things from so, so long ago." He directed his words generally to the room. Not calling out his wife or his friend. "Can I get you a
glass of water?"

  Grandpa Ernie's face slowly resumed a more lifelike color, but Taylor's heart was racing. He couldn't stay here. She couldn't keep him here when she knew, and had always known, how these people felt about her mom. She needed to get herself and her grandpa out of this house.

  She began to walk in a circle around the room, too fast for just pacing. It was like she needed to escape. Escape the tension that came from a problem she hadn't caused. Escape the crimes this shoestring cousin was committing. Escape the evil of murder that had made itself a part of her life.

  "You all hear the newest about that corona virus? The governor declared a state of emergency yesterday. " Grandpa Quinny’s conversational tone made it sound like a state of emergency was an everyday occurrence.

  Grandpa Ernie coughed into his mustache. He scowled deeply. "Don't know why it had to come here," he said, but that was all he said, as he closed his eyes and pressed the button that made the motor-powered recliner recline.

  Taylor's head was spinning. How could Grandpa Quinny act like nothing was wrong? How could he just smile and help Grandpa Ernie with his oxygen as though they weren't mortal enemies? How could they be friends?

  She turned again and looked at Coco. How could that girl have created so much evil in the world with her selfish grift? It didn't matter what shiny bow Coco packaged it with. She could call it a scholarship fund for pretty girls, if she wanted. But in the end, it was the world’s oldest profession, and it made Taylor sick.

  So sick, in fact, that she needed air. Fresh air. And she needed it now. It felt like she was pushing her way through some kind of wall as she fled the room, fled the house, and almost ran to the end of the driveway. She stood there by the mailbox looking at Bible Creek Road as the sun set. One direction led into the Coast Range Mountains and whatever secrets they might hold, the other direction led to the highway that could take her to any number of cities, where she could hide from a town that knew everything, admitted nothing, and still had a murder problem.