The Cavalier in White (Joanna Stark Mysteries) by Marcia Muller

Author:Marcia Muller [Muller, Marcia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Speaking Volumes
Published: 2011-11-08T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

The rain tapped in a steady rhythm on the flat roof of Mary Bennett’s quilt shop. The corner woodstove—which Mary had installed herself—smoked because, as she had once reluctantly admitted, she had not fully comprehended the instructions for venting it. Unconcerned, the big red-headed woman fanned the smoke away and handed Joanna a mug of coffee that was laced liberally with Irish whiskey. Then she eased herself into a wicker basket chair—the companion of the one in which Joanna now curled—and stretched her long legs out toward the stove.

“Well,” she said, “if you have to have a crisis, this is the day for it. No one’s going to come shopping for quilts in this weather.” Then she picked up her own, similarly laced mug from the table between the chairs and raised it to Joanna. “Cheers.”

Although the word seemed singularly inappropriate to the occasion, Joanna returned the gesture and sipped the coffee. The warmth of the whiskey spread through her and went straight to her head in record time. Belatedly she remembered that she’d had no breakfast or lunch today—nothing, in fact, since the Chinese dinner with Rafferty. But what did it matter if she sat here and got drunk, anyway? She had nothing to do the rest of the afternoon or evening—or perhaps for the rest of her life.

“So,” Mary said, “you had a big blowup with E.J., and he walked out on you.”

Joanna nodded. It was as much of an explanation as Mary had allowed her to give when she’d arrived here, disheveled and wet and close to tears, driven from her own house by its sheer loneliness. Her friend had immediately bustled around, tucking her into the chair under an eight-point star quilt, fixing her some coffee to match the mug she herself had been enjoying. Now she was all sympathetic ears, and Joanna had begun to regret coming.

“You want to tell me about it? Or did you just come by because you know I keep a bottle of Irish on hand?” Mary smiled, taking the edge off her words.

Still Joanna hesitated. She was not—never had been—a woman given to feminine confidences. Mary was the only person in Sonoma who knew more about her than what anyone could glean from the morgue of one of the San Francisco papers. And that was due to Mary’s own nature, rather than anything in Joanna; the big woman’s well-intentioned nosiness made it impossible to keep her at arm’s length.

In spite of their friendship, Joanna didn’t intend to confide everything about the quarrel with E.J. She said, “E.J. is angry with me because I kept a secret from him, and now he’s found it out. I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends again.” She saw a familiar, avid look come over Mary’s face, and hurried on before she could ask what the secret was. “But that’s not what seriously worries me; what’s happening to E.J. is one of those coming-of-age experiences, and if I know him, he’ll survive it and probably emerge all that much better.

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