Threads of Deceit (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

Lila’s eyes lit up. “That must be fascinating work. Is it hard to dive on a wreck in the river? I would think the current must be an issue.”

Julie forced a laugh and said, “That’s the amazing part. It’s not in the river. The course of the river shifted many moons ago, and the wreck is in someone’s farm field.” Julie would have sworn Lila’s look of surprise was genuine.

“When I begin bringing up artifacts,” Daniel said, “I’m going to be in need of experts in different handcrafts and arts. It looks like you might be someone to ask about baskets.”

“I have made a study of native basketry, but I’m sure you could find someone who knows a lot more, though I’d love to look at any baskets you find.” Lila pointed at her business card in Julie’s hand. “Feel free to call if you think I could help. I could probably place a basket in the general region it was made and tell you about materials, though you might know as much as me, considering how well you spotted the pine needle coil basket.”

Daniel tapped the desk. “You know, I think your name sounds familiar. A lawyer friend of mine may have mentioned you—Randall Cantor?”

Lila looked skeptical. “I didn’t think I made that much of an impression on Mr. Cantor. He’s looking into some copyright matters for me. I’m working on a book about Native American basketry. It’s becoming a lost art. But I honestly don’t think your lawyer friend is very interested in art.”

After a few more minutes of friendly conversation, Daniel and Julie took their leave. Daniel turned to Julie as they crossed the small parking lot. “She didn’t exactly strike me as the murdering type,” he said.

“I’m not sure there is a type, but she certainly didn’t act like she recognized you or anything related to the ship. I think we can safely mark her off the list.”

Daniel hauled the truck door open for her. “Great. Can we get some lunch now? I’m starving.”

“Sure. Then we’ll check in on Steven E. Needlemeyer.” Julie hopped up onto the seat.

“Doesn’t he live over in Chamois?” Daniel asked. “Do you want to be away from the inn so long?”

Julie snapped her seat belt. “Needlemeyer lives in Chamois, but he works in Straussberg.”

“That would be convenient for murder. Why didn’t we check him first?”

Julie shrugged. “You wanted to go to Washington.”

They stopped for lunch at a local winery. The flower beds, arched brick doorway, and heavy antique door of the restaurant gave the impression of stepping back in time as they walked in.

Julie blinked as she adjusted to the light inside the restaurant. The ceiling was crossed with heavy timbers of dark, weathered wood. The tables were heavy and plain. Though not rough, they had a similar weathered look. Beautiful woven cloth place mats marked each place setting.

The menu leaned heavily toward German dishes and suggested different wines to go with each selection. The rich smells of meat and spice made Julie’s stomach growl as she read through the selections. She liked German food, but she hadn’t had much experience with it outside of Hannah’s cooking, so some of the items on the menu looked a bit mysterious. She finally settled on the
Krautrouladen
, as she generally liked cabbage rolls. Daniel ordered
Jägerschnitzel
, pork cutlets in gravy.

Julie handed her menu back to the waiter and sipped her water. Her stomach growled loudly. “Quick, take my mind off food before someone calls animal control.”

“OK. Tell me, how does a woman who has a penchant for breaking and entering end up in Straussberg, Missouri, managing a quilter’s inn?” Daniel asked.

“I was looking for a change of scenery from New York City.”

“Where you were a cat burglar?”

She shook her head and looked around the room as if fascinated by the woodwork. “I was in antiques.”

“At an antique shop?” The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “You did a lot of lock picking there?”

She smiled, seizing on a possible answer that wasn’t exactly a lie. “You’d be amazed at how many locked drawers and locked trunks are out there—pieces where the key hasn’t been matched to the lock in decades.” She knew that was true. The head of an antiques auction house had told her so while she picked the lock on an antique desk she’d acquired for him. The lock had been surprisingly stubborn, and it made Julie glad that most of the locks she picked were much newer.

“I just can’t picture you toiling away in an antiques shop,” he said.

She smiled in return. “You’ve seen me toiling away in an inn. It’s really not that much different.”

He studied her in silence. She fought the urge to squirm beneath his piercing gaze and kept a pleasant smile.

Finally he said, “Considering I’m going along with you on this crime spree to find George’s killer, I wish you’d be honest with me.”

“We’re not on a crime spree.” She went for the water glass again, but Daniel reached out and laid a hand on hers.

He continued to look at her intently. “Why don’t you trust me?”

“I do.” Julie eased her hand out from under his and brought the glass of water to her lips.

He gave up then, and the rest of the lunch was quiet. The food tasted excellent, tender and bursting with flavor, but somehow it seemed difficult to swallow with the cloud of Daniel’s disappointment hanging over them. She was glad when they were back on the road.

Needlemeyer Construction had an office at the edge
of Straussberg’s commercial district, nearly as far from the Quilt Haus Inn as possible without heading into vineyards and farmland. Daniel pulled into the parking lot of the small strip of interconnected businesses. The construction company was nestled between a bank and an optometrist.

They walked into the reception area, where a man was bent over the receptionist’s desk, pointing to her computer screen while she nodded and typed. They both looked up as Daniel and Julie entered.

“Steven Needlemeyer?” Daniel asked.

The man stood, taking off the glasses perched on his nose. He slipped them into his pocket and held out a calloused hand. “The same.”

They shook, and Daniel introduced himself and Julie. “If you have a minute, I’m in the early stages of shopping for a construction company to build a steamboat museum.”

“Sounds like an interesting project.” Needlemeyer looked at his watch. “I have an appointment pretty soon, but I can spare a few minutes now if you want to talk about it.”

As the builder ushered them into his office, Daniel continued to talk. “I actually have a site for the museum. It’s an old factory building, so I suppose I’m looking at more of a remodel than new construction.”

“That can be even more challenging.”

“True, but visitors love to see historical museums in historical buildings.”

They chatted about the project for several minutes, and Julie was amazed at how passionately Daniel spoke. It was clear he really did intend to build the museum once
The Grand Adventure
was recovered. It was also clear that
Steven Needlemeyer had exactly zero interest in the actual excavation of the steamboat. Each time Daniel brought it up, he responded politely but steered the conversation back around to the remodel.

As soon as Julie ruled the builder out as the murderer, she lost interest in the conversation. To avoid distracting the men by fidgeting, she excused herself, citing a need for the powder room.

As she breezed out of the office, she thought about the euphemism “powder room.” She’d never powdered anything in a ladies’ restroom in her life. When she reached the receptionist’s desk, the young woman chirped a happy “Can I help you?”

“No, actually I got bored,” Julie admitted. “I can only offer so much moral support, you know what I mean?”

The woman nodded so enthusiastically that her wireframe glasses slid down her nose. “Uncle Steven is a sweetie, but all this construction stuff can be a snooze.”

Although she’d really already written off the builder as a guilty party, Julie still couldn’t resist fishing a little. “The only thing more boring about this process was the trip to Randall Cantor’s office to sign a mountain of papers.”

“Oh!” The receptionist dropped her voice to a bare whisper. “Don’t mention Cantor in front of Uncle Steven. They don’t get along
at all
.”

“Really? No surprise, I guess. I kind of thought the lawyer was a jerk,” Julie said in a matching whisper.

The receptionist sniffed in disdain. “He’s a pig. Unfortunately, Steven is dating the lawyer’s mom, so he has a tough time avoiding the jerk.”

“That must be hard.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” the young woman insisted.
“Elizabeth is a sweetie, just like Uncle Steven. But her son …” She gave a dainty shudder. “It’s obvious why the guy’s not married. Who could put up with
that
all the time?”

As Julie agreed, Daniel strode out of the office with Steven Needlemeyer behind him. “Make an appointment with Missy as soon as you’re ready to make concrete plans.”

“I have to get the ship out of the mud first.”

The builder shook his head in wonder. “A steamship in a farmer’s field. You just never know.” Then he turned to smile at Julie. “I hope Missy has kept you company. I know all the construction talk can be dull.”

Julie managed a giggle. “I did enjoy the girl talk more.”

Daniel gave her such a look of shock that she almost kicked him in the shin to keep him from giving her act away. Instead, she looped an arm through his and pouted. “Let’s go, Daniel. You promised me some shopping.”

“Right.”

They walked out, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t happen to take a nap around any alien pods?”

“I wasn’t body-snatched,” she said. “I was acting. I didn’t want Needlemeyer asking Missy about our chat. It’s better if I looked a little brainless.” She went on to tell Daniel about the connection between Needlemeyer and Cantor.

Daniel confirmed what she said. “I complimented a photo of a woman on Needlemeyer’s desk and found out it was Elizabeth Cantor. Though Needlemeyer didn’t do any name calling, when I mentioned that I knew a lawyer by that name, I could tell there was no love lost between them. They don’t strike me as cozy conspirators.”

“Me either. I think we can tentatively strike Needlemeyer
off the list. I wish someone would pop up who looked a little more suspicious. Though with two people off the list, we know S-E-N is either Cantor’s uncle or a state senator. And we have two senators to choose from.” Julie smiled slightly and added, “I always did want to go into politics.”

J
ulie could hear the sound of angry voices as soon as she stepped onto the porch of the inn. She peeked through the door. A dozen women crowded around the front desk. She turned to look over her shoulder at Daniel. “Apparently I missed a crisis.”

“I would guess the crises usually start when you get there.”

Julie opened the door and headed for the desk. The women were all guests, and five of them were part of the same quilting club. She’d pegged the young, tall woman who always wore a scarf as the leader of that club on the day they checked in. Now the young woman clearly had extended that leadership to include almost all the inn’s guests as they badgered Shirley at the desk.

The woman began shouting at Julie as soon as she reached them. “What are you going to do about this?”

“Considering I’m not at all sure what ‘this’ is,” Julie said, “I’ll need more information before I can answer that.”

Everyone began to talk at once. In the swirl of sound, Julie sorted through what words she could make out and realized they thought the inn was harboring a murderer.

Julie held out her hand, stroking the air in front of her like a cat that needed calming. “I assure you, the inn is
not
harboring a murderer.”

A gray-haired woman with the taut face of someone in chronic pain pointed toward Daniel as he tried to slink past. “That’s him right there!”

Julie frowned. “Mr. Franklin is no murderer.”

“He’s no quilter either!”

Julie looked around, trying to catch sight of who had shouted the last remark. It sounded familiar. She couldn’t make out who it might have been. Everyone seemed to be shouting except Shirley. She was practically draped over the front counter, looking very relieved to be off the hot seat.

“You let someone stay here who wasn’t a quilter?” This came from the hipster in the scarf and glasses.

“Mr. Franklin is a historian who specializes in traditional crafts,” Julie said. “So although he isn’t a quilter, he is a quilt enthusiast.” She saw Daniel wince at the description.

“We don’t care what his hobbies might be. We’re not staying under the same roof with a murderer,” the woman said, then looked around her crowd of supporters. “Are we?”

Most of the responses were less loud and less strident, but no less negative. Julie heard more muttered fretting about being “killed in my sleep.” She looked around helplessly. She had no idea how to convince them that Daniel wasn’t a killer.

“I’m ashamed of you all,” Julie said, putting her hands on her hips. “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

The hipster quilter matched her stance and her height. “We don’t want the man hanged; we just want him out of here.”