Death by Scones (33 page)

I glanced at Alyse to see what she made of her partner's behavior. She was absently tapping her cigarette case on the table in what appeared to be boredom rather than embarrassment or concern. She must have seen his tantrums dozens of times before to be so blasé about this one.

Tremain finally found his words, if not his coherence, and began to rant unintelligibly about biased reporters until his anger petered out, and his skin faded to a more normal pinkish tone.

Apparently it was just a matter of waiting him out, like any child having a tantrum. I asked, "Are you finished?"

He poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher in front of him. "For now."

"Then perhaps you can address the real issue of whether you've been misrepresenting your quilts. If you have some provenance for them, producing it might be more useful than shouting."

"I've got provenance for all my quilts." Tremain was completely calm now, his face a normal pink color, as if his tantrum had never happened. "The files are in my office. All anyone has to do is ask to see them."

"Why don't we take a fifteen minute break while you get the documentation for some of the quilts out front," I suggested. "I'd particularly like to see the provenance on the four-patch hanging on the back wall."

"I'd be glad to." He pushed himself to his feet.

Dee was gearing up to say something I just knew wouldn't be helpful, and I wasn't going to make it through another tantrum. Nausea joined the lightheadedness, warning me I was on borrowed time.

Dee was too fragile to risk stomping on her foot, so I took her hand and squeezed it gently. She sighed but got the message and refrained from provoking Tremain.

"Excellent." I stood more quickly than I should have, and the lightheadedness caused me to sway. I knew what would come next if I didn't get somewhere calm for a few minutes. A trip to the ladies' room to splash some cool water on my face might help, especially if it was followed by a few minutes viewing the four-patch quilt on the back wall. "We'll see you back here in fifteen minutes."

Alyse was the first to leave, rushing outside for her smoke by way of a side door that led to a hallway where the landlord had disappeared earlier.

Matt offered his arms to the two elderly quilters. "I'd be honored to escort you all to the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery. Chocolate fudge cupcakes for everyone."

It was more tempting than it should have been. There was something about his face …. No. I needed to have a moment to myself. "I'm going to stay here and check on a few quilts in the shop."

As soon as they were out the front door, I headed for the side exit where I'd glimpsed a ladies' room sign earlier when the landlord went out there. Alyse wasn't in sight, having already raced outside for her cigarette break.

Once inside the single-occupancy ladies' room, I shut the door and leaned against it, giving in to the lightheadedness. All I needed was a moment of clam, I thought, and then I'd be fine.

I slid down the door, losing consciousness on the way.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the floor, my face resting on the hexagonal tiles that, thank goodness, looked remarkably clean. I rolled onto my back to see if even that simple movement would send my head spinning again. So far, so good.

How long had I been out? I raised my arm to check the time. Only a minute or two had passed.

I sat up cautiously, prepared to lie down again if necessary. The nausea was gone, along with the lightheadedness, but my head hurt. I got to my feet and peered into the mirror. A spot of blood was congealing on my temple, surrounded by the faint imprint of hexagonal floor tiles. I must have hit my head when I passed out.

My doctor would have told me to cancel the rest of the meeting, but Tremain would never agree to a postponement. I'd never left a client in the lurch, and I wouldn't start now. I'd been through this sort of syncope episode before, and there wasn't much that could be done about it after the fact. Just avoid stress. Which was exactly what I'd been trying to do before Lindsay had dragged me into this mess.

It wasn't really Lindsay's fault, and I knew it. Part of me had been thrilled by the opportunity to get back into the fray one more time. Subconsciously I must have been thinking that if I could get through today's negotiation session with even a hint of nausea, or at least without passing out, then maybe I could go back to my old career, at least part-time. That was just a pipe dream, and it was time to accept reality.

Tremain was only mildly irritating, and I still hadn't been able to manage the stress. It made me wonder if I'd be able to handle my speech at the quilt show this Friday. If not, I might not get to say more than, "Good afternoon, quilters," before I landed on the floor with a thud.

I just had to hope that the flooring there would be softer than the tiles in here.

A damp paper towel took care of the smudge of blood on my forehead, and the imprint of the tiles was already fading. I tugged at my shoulder-length hair, grateful that it was thick and a dark enough brown to cover the worst of the laceration, and straightened my suit jacket.

After a final deep breath to confirm the nausea was truly gone, I headed back to the conference room. I was the first to arrive, with Dee, Emma, and Matt appearing a couple of minutes later, carrying travel mugs emblazoned with the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery's logo.

I must have missed something when putting myself back to rights, because Emma greeted me with, "Are you all right, dear?"

"I'm fine."

"Emma's being polite instead of direct," Dee said, pointing to the side of my neck. "You've got blood on your shirt."

I reached up to touch the sore spot on my temple. The blood must have dripped from there. "It's nothing. Just an old scratch that must have reopened while I was washing up."

"Sorry to be late." Alyse hurried into the conference room, having changed into pants. "I burned a hole in my skirt while I was outside." She took her previous seat. "Where's Randall?"

"Still in his office, I presume," I said.

Alyse glanced at the vintage silver watch on her wrist. "It's been twenty minutes. Randall is a brilliant man, but he can never keep track of time. I'd better go get him."

A few moments later, Alyse screamed.

Matt was the first to react, dashing out of the conference room. I was right behind him when he skidded to a stop in the doorway of Tremain's office.

I peered past him, catching sight of an open-eyed Tremain on the floor, with blood pooled around his head.

Alyse was still screaming, hugging the corner of a faded quilt to her chest, with the rest of it draped over her obviously dead partner.

FOUR-PATCH OF TROUBLE

A DANGER COVE QUILTING MYSTERY