Authors: Laura Childs
He shook his head
without breaking pace. “I don’t think
so.”
“It’s
possible she could have donated some items to the
historical society.”
Now he paused. “Novak?
And you say she donated
items?” He looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I said she
might
have,”
explained Suzanne. Then she
quickly summarized her reason for asking. Told him about
Peebler’s
quarrel with Jane Buckley concerning the miss
ing items.
“Oh my
goodness,” said Bunch, finally seeing the connection. “I see what you’re
driving at. So you want me to
check our records, in case the pieces are with us? I can
surely do that for you.”
“Would
you?” said Suzanne, feeling better already.
“That would be great.”
“And these were
paintings?” asked Bunch.
“That’s
what Evelyn Novak donated to the Darlington
College museum, but I don’t know
what items were miss
ing from
her house.”
Bunch sat back and
pursed his lips, looking suddenly
academic, as if he was about to deliver a lecture.
“You re
alize,
the Logan County Historical Society specializes in
American pieces only. Artifacts that
have to do with early
settlers.”
Suzanne smiled as
Bunch went on with his little speech.
He
really was a man dedicated to his job. Plus he had kindly
agreed to deliver a
short lecture at their Quilt Trail Tea on
Wednesday. Probably, Suzanne
decided, he’d be the perfect
counterpoint
to all their tea and frills.
Thirty
minutes after Arthur Bunch left, with an extra
scone tucked in his baggy jacket
pocket and a take-out cup
filled with Darjeeling, Suzanne, Toni, and Petra were
ready
to
throw in the towel. Busy days were welcomed, stressful
days were not.
“Whew,” breathed Petra
as she plopped down in a frayed
velvet armchair in the Knitting Nest. She shucked off her
Crocs
and gave her feet a much-deserved rest on the op
posing ottoman.
Toni joined her in a
swoopy orange swivel chair that
looked like it had once belonged to the Jetsons. “Glad I
cancelled
book club tonight.” She sighed. “I just don’t have
it in me.”
Suzanne was right on
their heels, also ready to call it
a day. “The coffeepot’s turned off and the front
door is
locked,” she told
them.
“What
about the back door?” Toni asked, in an ominous
tone.
“Checked that, too,”
said Suzanne. “Unless we have
customers storming the parapets, we’re done for the day.”
She
eased herself into a slightly frayed blue club chair.
When four thirty rolled around,
this was where the three
of them usually convened. To talk things out, giggle
about the day, or just de-program. Petra usually grabbed a pair of knitting
needles and worked on one of her many projects,
the clacking of the needles
lending a decidedly soothing
sound. Petra was
crazy over knitting and quilting—they
were her favorite forms of relaxation. Although to
Suzanne
both
needlecrafts looked like awfully tricky business.
“I just love that
quilt,” said Toni, gazing at the wall
where a striking blue-and-red-star pattern quilt
hung.
“Still time to bid on
it,” said Petra. The Knitting Nest was
holding a silent auction on a
number of handmade items, with all the money earned earmarked for Alzheimer’s
re
search.
“Come Wednesday, I’m going to hang it outside.”
“Then the bids will
really skyrocket,” said Toni, mo
rosely.
“You know,” said
Petra, kindness in her voice, “I’d make
you a quilt anytime you want.”
“Really?” said Toni,
thrilled.
“Of
course,” said Petra, gazing happily at the wooden
walls that were festooned with
knitted mittens and caps,
felted bags, and quilted throws and coverlets. Antique
highboys held skeins
of cotton and wool yarns in all colors of the rainbow. Large ceramic crocks
were filled with knit
ting needles, baskets held blocks of six-by-six-inch
fabric
pieces.
These square motifs came in different colors and
designs including baby motif,
calico, Christmas, floral, and
batik. Petra also made sure they were well stocked with
jelly rolls—pre-cut strips, forty to the count, and just per
fect for quilting.
Toni hauled herself
out of her chair, wandered over to the
knitting needles, and picked up
a pair of bamboo needles.
Pretending to use them like chopsticks, she said, “Consider
ing what happened
last night, today went fairly well.”
“Agreed,”
said Petra. “I was so busy most of the time I didn’t have a chance to think
about poor Chuck Peebler.”
“Me neither,” said
Toni. “Except when I hauled out the
trash. The arrow holes in the back wall are still
an ugly
reminder.”
“Stick a
little putty in them,” said Suzanne, letting her
eyes flutter closed. “Be good as new.”
‘Too bad they couldn’t
do that to Peebler,” mused Toni.
The smile dropped off
Petra’s face and she focused on
Suzanne with a steady gaze. “Suzanne? You think you can
help Jane?”
Suzanne opened her
eyes and squinted at Petra. “I prom
ised I’d try. Although, I’m not exactly sure what
I prom
ised.
I don’t really know what to do or where to start.”
“But you told Doogie
where to start,” said Toni. “Just
this morning. I heard you.”
“I’d like to tell him
where to get off.” Suzanne sighed.
“Doogie
listens to you,” said Petra. “He may be an ob
stinate man, but he’s savvy, too.”
“And Suzanne’s a
smarty,” Toni enthused, as she pulled
out a pocket mirror and fluffed her hair. “A
perfect blend of
Nancy Drew and Xena the Warrior Princess!”
Suzanne smiled, but
all she could think was,
Oh dear.
“Man, I
wish I could do something about these wrin
kles,” said Toni, still peering
in her mirror. “It ain’t easy
being
over forty.”
“Don’t
think of them as wrinkles,” counseled Petra, “just
consider your face as being
gravitationally challenged.”
By
the
time Suzanne loaded up Baxter and arrived home,
she didn’t know which of them
was hungrier. So she
dumped a cup of kibble into Baxter’s aluminum dog dish,
then, while he
crunched and noshed, explored her well
stocked refrigerator for something quick.
The something quick
turned out to be a little leftover
beef Stroganoff. Forgoing the noodles tonight,
Suzanne
heated
the beef mixture on top of her stove, stirred in a
dollop of sour cream at the last minute;
then poured it all
onto a slice of toasted baguette. She loaded her plate onto a
wicker tray, then
went back to the refrigerator and poured
out a half glass of Barolo Riserva.
Baxter was finished by
then, so he accompanied Su
zanne into the living room for a casual dinner on the
learner
couch.
As Suzanne ate and
watched TV, Baxter watched Su
zanne
eat.
“Not this,” she told
him. “Not tonight.”
Baxter edged his
muzzle onto the couch and tried to
convey a sad, appealing look, but no dice.
Suzanne ate her
own dinner, cleaned up, then found herself back in front
of the TV. When
nothing seemed all that interesting, she
turned down the sound and reached
for Kostova’s novel,
The Historian,
which she’d promised herself she’d
start
reading.
Suzanne was deep into
chapter six when the doorbell rang. One loud, long
briiiing
that
startled both she and
Baxter.
Leaping up from where
he’d been twitching and snooz
ing, Baxter raced to the door, head held stiffly down,
hack
les bristling.
Tiptoeing after him,
Suzanne was also wary, recalling
last night’s bizarre incident and, at the last second,
stepping
to one side before
she asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s
me,” came Toni’s muffled voice.
Suzanne pulled open the
door. “Toni, what are you ... ?”
Suzanne stopped abruptly when she recognized the stun
ning young woman who
was standing next to Toni. “Kit?”
she said, her voice rising in surprise.
A smile lit Kit
Kaslik’s clean, scrubbed oval face. “You
remember me,” she said in a soft
voice. Then she shrugged
back her long blond hair, looking supremely pleased.
“Of course, I do,”
said Suzanne.
“From when I
pinch-hitted at your cake show,” said Kit.
“Sure,” said Suzanne,
still slightly blown away by Kit’s
appearance on her doorstep. Kit normally worked
eve
nings,
churning out a living as an exotic dancer at Hoo
bly’s roadhouse, a big, ugly
Quonset hut of a place out on County Road 18. Though Kit wasn’t a stripper per
se, because technically she didn’t remove her clothes, Suzanne
had still urged her to
pursue more suitable work, since ex
otic dancing wasn’t the most promising career
move. But
Kit,
for whatever reason, by personal choice or by dint of
simple economics, was still
prancing about in black go-go boots and red lace undies on Hoobly’s postage
stamp-sized
stage.
“We gotta talk,” said
Toni. “It’s real important. Be
sides ...” She did a quick little dance and shrug. “It’s
start
ing to rain like crazy.”
“Come on in,” said
Suzanne, opening the door wider.
Toni shrugged off her
brown leather bomber jacket and
hung it on the antique walnut coatrack that stood in the
entry.
Kit, dressed in denim jacket, baggy sweater, and cargo
pants—clothes that certainly didn’t
scream,
Look at me, I’m a wild and crazy dancer!
—opted to keep her
jacket on.
“Hey, Baxter,” said
Kit, bending down to pet Baxter,
who pretended not to eat up the attention, but
immediately
stuck his muzzle in Kit’s hand when she tried to pull it
away.
“Don’t mind him,” said
Suzanne. “He’ll bug you for
hugs
and pets and treats all night.”
“Sweet guy,” murmured
Toni, smiling at Baxter. Then
her eyes seemed to shift into serious mode and they all
trooped into the
living room, settling into chairs somewhat
self-consciously.
“We interrupted your
dinner,” said Kit, spying a tray on
the coffee table.
“Not really,” said
Suzanne. “I was just having tea and ba
nana bread. There’s plenty of
banana bread left if anybody
wants some. And a little bit of beef Stroganoff if
anybody’s
real hungry.”
Both women shook
their heads. “Pass,” said Toni.
“How about something
to drink?” Suzanne asked.
Toni shifted
nervously. “You got any wine?”
“Sure,” said Suzanne. “I’ve
got open bottles of Char
donnay and Barolo Riserva, although there may only be a
couple of fingers left
of the Barolo. What’s your choice?”
“The white stuff,”
said Toni. “Whichever one that is.”
“Sure,” said Suzanne.
She looked at Kit. “Kit?”
“Nothing for me,”
said Kit, holding up a hand. “I don’t
really
drink.”
Toni seemed
surprised. “Seriously? You work at Hoo
bly’s and never tip back a
brewski now and then?”
‘Trust me,” said Kit, “if
you worked out there, you
wouldn’t
drink, either.”
Suzanne brought back a
glass of Chardonnay for Toni
and the almost-empty bottle of Barolo for herself, then
settled cross-legged
on the floor. Baxter slunk over and lay
down next to her, pressing his
warmth against her body.