4 Plagued by Quilt

Author:Molly MacRae [MacRae, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy, Crafty
Publisher: Penguin Group (USA) Incorporated
Published: 2014-11-04T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The bell over the front door jingled again. Three more customers came in, waving away assistance. Then Debbie’s customers made their way back to the counter, cradling armfuls of pastel baby wool. That was enough to rouse Ardis from her meditative slump. She whisked the cookies from the counter and assumed her warmest customer service smile.

“First grandchild,” one of the baby-wool customers said, stroking the cheek of a rosy pink skein. “Getting an early start.”

“No grandchild in sight,” the other said, “but can’t help jumping the gun.”

Ardis rang them up while Ernestine congratulated them on their good fortune and foresight. Debbie got her purse from the office and paused next to me before taking off for the day.

“What’s happened?” she asked quietly. “You look worried.”

“Complications. But that’s the usual pattern of our cases, right? So, nothing more than the usual, I guess. That and wondering about obligations.”

“Well, you’re not obligated to say yes to this, but if it’ll help free you up, I can work two or three afternoons this week or next. I sure wouldn’t mind it. I’ve had the vet out to see the girls a few times more than my budget likes.”

“Good to know. Thanks.” I’d have to check with Ardis before agreeing, though. We were already paying Debbie for extra hours while I helped with Hands on History. We had wiggle room, but if we wiggled too much, our budget wouldn’t be any happier than Debbie’s.

While Ardis finished with the new and potential grandmothers, I went to see if the other customers were still happy browsing on their own. I found them sitting in the three comfy chairs in one of the front rooms upstairs, three young women about Grace’s age, knitting and talking companionably. All was right in their world. I didn’t bother them. When I got back downstairs, Ernestine and Ardis were waiting for me, again looking doleful. I squared my shoulders and marched over to the sales counter.

“Ardis,” I said, “break out the cookies.” I patted the counter. “Put them right here.” She did, giving me a sidelong look that would have done Geneva proud. “Now everybody take one, raise it high, and let’s have a toast to solving this crime.” I started to raise my cookie, then thought better of it and took a bite. I couldn’t help a barely decent moan. Again, Geneva would have been proud.

“Ernestine, what was it you said about facts and possibilities?”

“They aren’t the same, despite what some . . . well, perhaps I shouldn’t repeat the rest.” She ate her cookie to cover her discomfort.

“What are you getting at?” Ardis asked.

“We have to remember the difference between facts and possibilities. That Grace is guilty is only a possibility. That we are capable of solving crimes is a fact.”

Ardis took another cookie. “Hear, hear.”

“Possibilities mean hope,” Ernestine said. She took her string of pearls out of her pocketbook and put them back on.

“And facts are facts,” Ardis said. She finished the cookie, picked up her pen.

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