A Drunkard's Path

Table of Contents

 

 

CLARE O’DONOHUE has been a television writer and producer for more than a decade. She spent four seasons as a producer on HGTV’s
Simply Quilts
, and is still trying to use up the fabric she was given while working on the show.

PLUME

Published by the Penguin Group

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

First published by Plume, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First Printing, October

Copyright © Clare O’Donohue, 2009

All rights reserved

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

 

O’Donohue, Clare.

A drunkard’s path : a Someday Quilts mystery / Clare O’Donohue. p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-14052-9

1. Quiltmakers—Fiction. 2. Quilting—Fiction. 3. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3615.D665D78 2009

813’.6—22 2009004345

 

 

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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I
had a lot of fun writing this book, the second in the Someday Quilts series, and I have a lot of people to thank for making the work easier. First, my wonderful editor, Branda Malholtz, for her help with the manuscript. The incredible publicity team of Mary Pomponio and Marie Coolman. My amazing agent, Sharon Bowers of The Miller Agency, for answering every question and helping me navigate the world of publishing. Thanks also to Illinois Crime Scene Investigator Howard J. Dean for his invaluable help with the blood-spatter section of this book. Special thanks to my mom for helping me proof the manuscript. To my book club, Kara Thomas, Allison Stedman, and Joscelynne Feinstein, for our fascinating discussions on books I never would have found without them. Maria Kielar, for her friendship, photos, and for keeping me from being a starving artist. Alex Anderson, for her incredible support and enthusiasm. The gang in LA, including Laura Chambers, Mary Margaret Martinez, Alessandra Ascoli, Cam Frierson, Kelly Mooney, and Celia Bonaduce. The Chicago crowd (though some have moved on since), including my cousin Margaret Smith, Kevin Dorff, Ewa Tchoryk-Bardwell, Kelly Haran, and Karen Meier. The New Yorkers, including Amanda Young, Aimee Avallone, Bryna Levin, and Joi DeLeon. My dear friend Peggy McIntyre, her husband Jim, and kids Matt and MaryKate. V, for being there. My tea buddies and best friends, Mary, my sister, and Cindy, my sister by marriage. And my family, Dennis, Petra, Mikie, Jim, Con-nor, Grace, Jack, and Steven.

 

 

 

 

“C
an I get you a glass of wine?” The waiter smiled.

I looked at my watch: 8:35. “No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t think my friend is coming.”

I got up from the table and walked out of the restaurant with as much dignity as I could muster. I had been stood up. Stood up on our first date.

As I walked toward home, an icy wind slapped me across the face. January is just a miserable month. The holidays are over and there is nothing but snow, cold, and long, lonely, dark nights. Now the one thing I had been looking forward to was over before it could begin.

I reached Main Street, the center of Archers Rest, and had a decision to make. I could go home, or I could walk down to the police department and find out why the local police chief, Jesse Dewalt, had left me sitting in a restaurant for more than half an hour without even a phone call.

He was supposed to be my friend, and he was the one who’d asked for this date. Actually, he’d asked me out three times before I finally said yes. But clearly it was a bad idea. I was getting over a broken engagement that had left me unwilling to trust my own judgment when it came to men. It was the reason I’d come to Archers Rest from New York City. After things fell apart, I realized that, even at twenty-six, I wasn’t sure what to do with my life. All I knew was that I wanted a fresh start. And I had one—new friends, new job, new home, and tonight, a possible new romance. But that hadn’t exactly worked out, had it?

Maybe Jesse was still mourning the death of his wife, Lizzy. For two years, he’d been a single dad raising a five-year-old girl. Maybe it was too much for him, I thought. Maybe he wasn’t ready.

If that was the case, what was the point in talking to him about it? I could just forget the whole thing and head back to my grandmother’s house where I was a non-rent-paying tenant. It might have been the sensible, even dignified, thing to do, but I couldn’t move my feet in that direction.

It’s not that she wouldn’t be on my side, but Eleanor Cassidy is not what you would call a cuddly woman. She would wonder why I hadn’t confronted Jesse, why I scurried home instead of standing up for myself.

A third alternative was to go to her quilt shop and sit for a couple of hours. I started working at the shop part time after I moved to town, and I had a couple of unfinished projects waiting there, which I could work on to pass the time. Then I could go home and mumble something to Eleanor and pretend the whole evening had gone as planned.