Vineyard Quilt: Pattern Of Betrayal Part 8

"Susan and I went to the winery," Kenneth said.

"Which one?" Julie asked.

He shrugged. "One with good wine."

"Sadie and I toured a few historic homes," Joyce said.

"That sounds like fun," Julie said automatically. The conversations at the inn were often as vanilla as they came, but at least they weren't talking about murders and snakes. "What about you, Carrie? What did you do?"

"Walked around town a bit, I guess." The girl pushed her owl-like gla.s.ses a little further up onto the bridge of her nose and squinted at Julie.

"How long are we going to do this?" Gregory asked. He had taken up his needle and thread. Though his fingers looked clumsy and awkward, his st.i.tches were carefully executed.

"A couple of hours," Julie said, tamping down her impatience. "Then you can get ready for dinner."

Gregory shook his head. "I don't mean quilt. Pretend that nothing happened."

"We're not pretending," Liam interjected. "We're just making the best of a lousy situation."

"Well, I for one think this is ludicrous," Gregory said.

"If you're not up for quilting," Julie said, "why not relax in the library or take in some of the town until dinner is served?"

"I'm going to my room," Gregory said. Then he stood with a flourish and pushed his chair back under the frame a little too forcefully. "Can't say I'm looking forward to another dinner in this place." With a sardonic bow, he pulled the poker out of the fire tool set next to the fireplace in the tearoom and made his way to the door. "Just in case the killer gets any ideas," he called over his shoulder, waving the fire poker.

With his departure, some of the tension in Julie's shoulders seemed to leave as well. She glanced around at the remainder of her guests, heads all bent over their work. That was when it caught her eye. She hadn't noticed until that very moment that Gregory wasn't the only one who was "armed." All of her guests appeared to have makeshift weapons.

Sadie had a knife-a really large knife-sticking out of her purse. Since Sadie and Joyce were rarely seen apart, Julie could only a.s.sume they intended to share it.

Liam had a small baseball bat stuck between his belt and waistband like a sword. It was only about eighteen inches long, similar to the kind she'd seen given away as promotions. But Julie supposed it could inflict bodily harm in a pinch.

Kenneth had a can of mega-hold hairspray on his lap.

Whatever Carrie had, she wasn't revealing it. But Julie thought she had the look of someone with a concealed weapon. As she studied Carrie, Hannah's voice popped into her head and admonished her for letting her imagination run wild. Julie sighed and decided she'd better just address the facts.

"Sadie, I-"

"Yes, dear?" The older lady looked up and met Julie's gaze, her expression innocent and oddly cheerful.

"I'm not sure it's appropriate for you to be carrying that knife around the inn. It's very large ... and sharp." Julie resisted the urge to use the term "small machete" to describe it.

Sadie smiled and then turned her attention back to the quilt block in front of her. "Oh, given the current circ.u.mstances, I think it's more than appropriate."

Julie tried again. "I understand the need to feel safe. But there are better ways. Pepper spray, perhaps?"

"I don't think so, dear. I like my chances with this knife much better."

"Sadie, I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to openly carry a weapon like that around the inn. What if you accidentally cut your hand? Or someone else's hand?"

Sadie looked up again, all wide-eyed innocence. "You want me to put it all the way in my handbag?" She lifted the large white bag and tucked the knife deeper inside.

"I'm afraid not." Julie held out her hand, palm up. "If I'm not mistaken, that's from our kitchen."

"But there's a murderer staying here." Sadie whispered the words as if everyone in the room didn't already know the dark secret.

"I really must insist."

Sadie looked as if she might protest further, but then her mouth twisted into a disapproving pucker, and she placed the handle of the knife in Julie's hand.

Joyce leaned over and whispered something in Sadie's ear. The smaller woman nodded and patted her handbag. Julie could only imagine what other kitchen utensils were hidden inside.

"Thank you," Julie said. Then she switched her focus to Liam. "Dr. Preston, what did you do today?"

The man everyone knew as Liam Preston didn't answer. His head remained bent over his work.

"Dr. Preston?" Julie asked again, wondering what he would do if she called him L.P.

His head jerked up. "Yes? Oh, sorry about that. What did you say?"

"I asked what you did this afternoon."

"I went to the library."

Kenneth raised his teacup in salute. "Here's to living life on the edge."

Liam shot him an irritated look.

"Can I join in?" Shirley didn't wait for an answer but pulled out the chair Gregory had recently vacated.

Julie smiled as Shirley started doing what Shirley did best-entertain.

"How about I tell you all a little story," Shirley said.

Kenneth had been slouched in his chair, but his eyes perked up at Shirley's suggestion. Of all of them, he had to be the most bored. He wasn't a quilter.

"Enjoy, everyone," Julie said, standing and brushing the wrinkles from her slacks. "I have a few things to do before dinner." Like return the sword Sadie swiped from the kitchen.

Julie paused outside the door, glancing back at the guests as they quilted and listened to Shirley's story. She couldn't figure out who seemed to be having the hardest time with their st.i.tching, Joyce or Carrie. She finally decided on Carrie. The poor girl's face was practically pressed to the fabric as she laboriously executed each st.i.tch. Evidently, the young woman needed a new prescription for her gla.s.ses. The one she was using now clearly was not cutting it.

Joyce made a st.i.tch or two and then found something else to do with her hands. She'd get a drink of water and then pat her hair back into place. She laid her hand on Sadie's arm as they talked. For whatever reason, her concentration seemed to be split between the quilt and everything else going on around her.

But what did any of it mean? Both behaviors were odd. But did they point to a possible killer?

SIX.

The bell over the door chimed. Julie turned, wondering where they were going to put this next round of spectators, but smiled as she recognized the visitor.

Daniel smiled in return. "I came by to see how you're holding up."

"I'm up," Julie said. "We were something of a tourist destination spot today, but it finally slowed down."

"People came to see the police tape?" Daniel asked, incredulous.

"And drive my staff crazy. Even Inga complained this afternoon."

"Inga?" His brows shot up in surprise.

"Shirley too."

"Shirley I can understand, but Inga?"

Julie nodded. "I know. She's usually so stoic under pressure."

"I was hoping you might have a minute to talk," Daniel said.

"I'm sure I can spare a minute or two." Talking to Daniel sounded like a welcome reprieve from her day.

Daniel flashed a satisfied grin. When he smiled like that, Julie wanted to promise him more than a few minutes.

She led the way back to her office.

"Detective Frost called me yesterday," Daniel said, taking a seat in front of her desk. "He asked me a few questions."

"Oh?"

"Standard stuff. Basically the same questions from the other night." Daniel pressed his fingertips together. "It almost felt like he was trying to trip me up."

"Figures," Julie said. "There's a real killer out there-maybe even staying here-and he wants to grill you." While Julie felt certain Everett Frost was a fine detective, she also knew he was as tenacious as a bulldog. She hoped he didn't spend too much time chasing a bad lead.

Daniel sat forward in his chair. "Do you honestly think one of your guests is a murderer?"

Julie threw her hands in the air with exasperation. "I don't know. I trust my staff, you know that. So, unless someone broke in, killed Alice Peyton, and then got out before we got the lights on, it has to be one of the guests."

"With an accomplice," Daniel said.

"How do you figure?" Julie asked.

"Someone flipped the breaker."

"Or it was a coincidence that someone took advantage of," Julie said.

"Or Alice Peyton got up, tripped, and hit her head," Daniel said.

"It seems about as far-fetched as one of the guests doing it," Julie said.

"Have you checked them out?"

She simply smiled.

"Dumb question. What have you found out?"

"I wish I could tell you that I have some great leads, but everyone checks out to be who they said. Well, mostly."

"What do you mean, 'mostly'?"

She explained how Carrie didn't show up in any of her searches and that Liam Preston was actually L.P. Wallis, famous mystery author.

Daniel snapped his fingers. "I knew that guy looked familiar."

"Well, don't bring any books into the inn to be autographed. I'm keeping that bit of information under wraps for now. There has to be a reason why he doesn't want anyone to know who he is."

"He probably wants a break from fans asking for autographs," Daniel said, looking a little disappointed.

"Then there was the issue with the snake." She recounted that incident.

"Do you think someone planted it there?"

"I can't rule out the possibility. I mean, there are only two bathrooms on that floor. Any one of the guests could have done it. Even Carrie." Even though the girl was staying in the tower suite, the tiny blonde had just as much access to that bathroom as any of the other guests.

"Well, this certainly puts a new spin on things," Daniel said.

Julie blew a wayward curl of dark hair out of her face. "I just wish Millie were here. This whole weekend was her idea, and it's been one disaster after another. I emailed her the day I found the Civil War book and still haven't heard back."

"Were you able to get someone to come look at the book?" Daniel asked.

"I talked to a guy Friday morning. He said it didn't sound like anything he would want to see. Basically, Civil War journals and such are worth a lot if they can be traced back to a famous person or even a regular Joe who fought in a pivotal battle. As far as I can tell, I don't have that."

Daniel frowned. "So it's not worth anything?"

"The guy said it would be worth about two to three hundred dollars at most. But here's the weird thing-Alice worked for him."

"Alice? The victim Alice?"

"The very same."

"Coincidence?" Daniel asked.

Julie shrugged.

"I have to admit," Daniel said, "I'm a little sad that it's not worth more."