The Alpine Quilt by Mary Daheim

Author:Mary Daheim [Daheim, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780345484543
Publisher: Thorndike Press
Published: 2005-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I didn’t think Vida had noticed my brief encounter with Rolf Fisher, but I was wrong. Shortly before we made the turn off Highway 2 for Alpine, she inquired about “the handsome man with the beard.” Keeping my tone neutral, I’d reminded her of how Rolf had helped us discover some highly pertinent information concerning the murder of a local college professor. She made only one comment.

“I don’t know him. Should I?”

I merely shrugged.

The next morning, I noticed that Vida was being very selective about returning the phone messages in her in-basket. She made two stacks, which stood about even. Then she tossed one pile into the wastebasket before starting to answer the calls in the other. I assumed she didn’t like critics, especially of her radio program.

Meanwhile, I made a call of my own, to Roseanna Bayard. I asked if she knew that her mother-in-law sold quilts commercially.

“She could have,” Roseanna allowed. “I keep telling you, we weren’t close. For all I know, she could have been in the black-market baby business.”

“Did she ever make a quilt for you and Buddy?”

“Actually, she did,” Roseanna replied. “It was our wedding present. We got it just before our second anniversary. Hang on, Emma, I’ve got another high school senior, and she’s violating the dress code six different ways.”

I could catch a few words of the conversation, which grew fairly heated when Roseanna informed “Stacie” that she couldn’t wear her newsboy’s cap, the plunging neckline was out, as was the belly button—even though it wouldn’t appear in the photo—and the bare arms were verboten.

“But I have to show off my tattoo,” Stacie wailed. “I got it just for my senior picture. See—it’s a picture of my boyfriend, Dex, and it says, ‘Forever Together.’ ”

“If you wanted to show it off, you should have had it put on your face,” Roseanna snapped. “Go home, change clothes, and get back here in fifteen minutes so I don’t have to charge you a cancellation fee.”

I couldn’t catch Stacie’s dwindling protests, but she was obviously giving in.

“Sorry about that, Emma,” Roseanna apologized. “God, these kids. The girls come in here half-naked, and the boys look like they got their clothes at a rummage sale.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “But you ought to know that Gen still has quilts out there that aren’t sold. The attorney should know, too. The profits are part of the estate.”

After giving Roseanna the name and number of the Seattle store’s manager, I decided to call Edmund J. Dreizle myself.

Mr. Dreizle sounded as self-satisfied as his employees. “Ah. The Bayard works. You say you knew Genevieve?” He pronounced her name the French way, Jahn-vee-ev.

I told him I knew her family quite well.

“We had an exclusive contract with Genevieve,” Dreizle said, a note of regret in his voice. “Alas, I’m very saddened by her passing. Such nimble fingers. It required months for her to make a quilt—terribly painstaking work—but they fetched a marvelous price.”

“Who told you she died?” I asked.

There was a pause. “Let me think—I believe it was her son.

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