The Double Cross (2 page)

“Well, he’s going to be too late,” was the response.

The gun was pointed directly at me. I wasn’t going to just stand there and get shot, so I turned and ran toward the trail. I’d taken ten steps when I heard a loud sound.

After that all I could feel was pain.

CHAPTER 1

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the closest two quilters have ever come to killing each other. “I’m not doing this to hurt you,” Susanne tried to explain.

“You’ve betrayed me,” Bernie spat back.

“You’re being an old fool.” Susanne sat back in her chair and looked to the rest of the group for support. The rest of us looked elsewhere.

It had started innocently enough. Just an hour earlier I’d closed up Someday Quilts for our usual Friday meeting. A small group of us met at my grandmother’s quilt shop each week to work on our quilts, eat fattening foods, and catch up on gossip. To an outsider we might have appeared to be an odd group. There was me, a twenty-six-year-old aspiring artist and part-time worker at the shop; my grandmother, Eleanor Cassidy, the shop’s owner; Carrie, in her midforties, a mother of two and owner of the local coffee shop; Natalie, my age and already a mom with a second child on the way; her mother, Susanne; and Bernie, the ex-hippy pharmacist and our most laid-back member—until now. The only member missing was Maggie, my grandmother’s oldest friend, who was in Ohio awaiting the birth of her first great-grandchild. On the surface we had little in common, and we certainly didn’t seem like a group of close friends, but we all quilted. And with that to share, the rest came easy.

Natalie, the shop’s newest part-time employee, had arrived early so she and I could make the coffee and arrange the chairs. Then we set a copy of the
Winston Weekly
newspaper on each person’s seat. I was expecting lots of excitement once everyone had a chance to see it, but
excitement
was hardly the right word for what I got.

“What do you want us to read?” my grandmother asked as she sat down. My grandmother, Eleanor, was part role model, part bulldog. A wonderful quilter, a strong business owner, a loving grandma (though never one to let me get away with anything), she was the person I hoped to be one day. Even her look was worth emulating. She had let her hair turn a no-fuss gray and cut it short, but stylishly. Her clothes, a pair of dark jeans and a pink oxford shirt, created the same pretty-but-practical effect.

“We have a celebrity in our midst,” I told her, to pump up the enthusiasm.

“A missing dog?” asked Eleanor. “Why is that a celebrity?”

“It’s not the dog,” I said.

Eleanor rolled her eyes and tossed the paper to me. I scanned it. The front-page story was about a dog that had gone missing while out on a hunt. The owner described it as a kidnapping. Apparently it was the second dog to disappear in less than a month, and the owners were convinced it wasn’t a coincidence.

I flipped to page two, then page three. There it was. I handed the paper back to my grandmother.

Just as I did, Carrie found the article in her copy and read it to the rest of us: “ ‘Award-winning quilter Susanne Hendrick will be teaching a class called Journal Quilting at the newly opened Patchwork Bed-and-Breakfast owned by Rita and George Olnhausen. It will be a weeklong class, beginning April second, that will encourage participants to express their thoughts in fabric and explore techniques beyond basic quilting. Beginners and advanced quilters welcome. Contact George Olnhausen for class details and enrollment.’ ”

“That’s amazing,” declared Carrie. “You’re well on your way to a teaching career.”

“I love teaching classes here at the shop,” Susanne said to my grandmother, “but I want to do something beyond Someday Quilts. You know, stretch myself a bit.”

“Yes, of course. I’m thrilled to see you taking on a new project,” Eleanor told her. “And soon I’ll be able to say that a world-famous quilt teacher got her start at my shop.”

“I can’t believe how far we’ve all come toward realizing our dreams.” Carrie pointed out the window toward Jitters, her coffee shop across the street. “I’ve got my place, Natalie is five-months pregnant with baby number two, Nell is busy pursuing an art career, and now Susanne has a weeklong quilt retreat. Everyone is doing what they love.”

And that was it. Bernie slammed the paper on the chair and headed toward the door. “I’m so happy for everyone,” she snapped. “I guess it doesn’t matter that it comes at my expense.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, and looking around it was clear that neither Natalie nor Carrie did, either. But the others seemed to understand. Eleanor and Susanne jumped up to stop Bernie from leaving and to coax her back into her chair. They spoke quietly to her for several minutes, and it seemed as though the crisis would pass. Then suddenly Bernie was upset all over again, until finally Susanne seemed to give up trying to explain and just got angry. After Susanne called Bernie an “old fool,” everyone was clearly at a loss for what to do.

“It’s a long time ago,” my grandmother said repeatedly, but it seemed to offer no comfort.

“So it doesn’t matter anymore?” Bernie shouted.

“Do you regret your life?” Eleanor asked sharply.

“Parts of it. Don’t you?”

Susanne and Eleanor exchanged glances; then Eleanor’s expression softened. She sat next to Bernie and quietly stroked her hand.

“Bernie, what would it take for you to let this go?” Eleanor asked.

Bernie looked at my grandmother with a coldness in her eyes I’d never seen before and never knew existed in her. “It would help if they were both dead.”

For a moment the rest us sat in stunned silence, afraid to look at Bernie and unable to look away. Finally Carrie looked at me, obviously hoping for answers, but I shrugged. I was new to the group, having moved to Archers Rest from New York City only seven months before. Carrie had been a member for just over two years. Whatever was going on with Bernie, it obviously predated our inclusion in the quilting circle.

I looked over at Susanne, who seemed on the verge of tears. An expert art quilter, she’d won awards, taught classes, and helped those in need. She doted on her grandson and would never hurt a friend. If anything, Susanne’s biggest fault was her extreme loyalty to those she loved.

“If you don’t understand why I would want to try something new . . . ,” Susanne tried again.

“I understand why you want to teach. I just don’t understand why you have to teach there,” Bernie shouted.

“I told you.” Susanne was speaking slowly but insistently. “They found
me
. That George of yours called me and asked if I’d do it. How could I turn it down?”

“Because you’re my friend. That’s what friends do. Everyone here understands what I’m talking about.” Bernie looked at me.

I smiled weakly. “I guess I don’t understand,” I admitted. “Your high school boyfriend and his wife have a bed-and-breakfast in the Adirondacks, and they want to attract quilters, so they’re offering classes and opening a little shop,” I said, trying to piece together the story from what I’d just overheard. “But why is it wrong for Susanne to teach a class there?”

“Thank you,” Susanne sang out.

Bernie sighed. “I thought if anyone would understand what it feels like to be dumped it would be you, Nell.”

For lack of a better response, I smiled. Then I got up and walked to the counter to grab a cookie from the batch Natalie had baked for the meeting. Behind me, I could hear my grandmother.

“That was unnecessary, Bernadette Avallone,” Eleanor said. “I really don’t see how Nell’s romantic issues are fair game. It’s hard enough for her without you throwing it in her face.”

Nell’s romantic issues. That was a nice way of putting it. I’d run away from my life in the city after my fiancé took up with the woman I considered my best friend. Just the other day, I’d heard they’d become engaged. Maybe it wouldn’t have bothered me so much if my most recent romance wasn’t faltering. I’d been dating the town’s police chief, Jesse Dewalt, until the relationship ended because, as Jesse put it, I “couldn’t stop interfering in police investigations.” I was 0 for 2, and I guess that translates into “romantic issues.”

“Oh, Nell,” Bernie sighed, finally calming down. “I know I sound crazy, but George Olnhausen? And Rita? How can anyone have anything to do with them? I just know something bad will come of it. Mark my words. I have a feeling.”

Bernie was our resident, and as yet unproven, psychic. But even if her gifts were real, I had the feeling she wasn’t basing her prediction on anything other than her bruised ego.

I walked over and gave her a quick hug. I looked to Susanne to join me, but she just rolled her eyes. Our quilt meeting was, as usual, about everything but quilting.

And we hadn’t even told Bernie the worst part.

CHAPTER 2

“Do you have everything?” Eleanor called to me from the front porch as I packed up the car.

“Everything but you,” I told her.

“Coming. We’re coming.” My grandmother locked the door to her large Victorian home and headed toward the car. Beside her, as always, was her golden retriever, Barney. Now twelve, he was nearly deaf and starting to be a bit absentminded, but it only strengthened the bond he shared with Eleanor. It was no surprise to me that when Eleanor got roped into joining our Adirondack adventure, Barney came along for the ride.

After Bernie had gotten over the shock that Susanne would be teaching at the inn, Eleanor firmly announced that she and I would also be going. She did it in that way only my grandmother could, leaving no room for further discussion. I waited for another outburst, another accusation of disloyalty, but none came. Bernie just nodded, wished us luck, and said good night. As far as I knew, that was the last time anyone had heard from her.

“I’m looking forward to this,” Eleanor said cheerily, as she got in the car. “A week of peace and quiet in the country. I can’t wait to get started. I just want to stop at the shop first.”

“We have to hit the road. Susanne said she’s leaving at two,” I reminded her.

“Just a quick stop,” Eleanor said firmly.

It would put us behind schedule, but there was no point in arguing. There was never a point in arguing with my grandmother, though on occasion I’d given it a try.

We pulled up in front of Someday Quilts at a little after two, and Eleanor and Barney went in to give last-minute instructions to Natalie about running things while we were gone. In the more than thirty years since she’d opened, Eleanor had rarely left the place in anyone else’s hands. Adding to her stress, Natalie had only been officially working there for three weeks. But I knew she was more than up to the task. When I’d started I’d never worked in retail and had no idea how to quilt. Natalie had experience with both. Besides, she had an assistant of sorts. Her toddler, Jeremy, played in a little area we had set up especially for him, entertaining the customers and putting everyone in the mood to make a baby quilt.

However difficult running the business would be for Natalie, I knew it would be a breeze compared to the week Susanne was going to have, and not just because of the class. She’d never gone twenty-four hours without spending time with Jeremy. I could see that despite her insistence on being on the road by two o’clock, Susanne was inside the shop, holding tight to her grandson, as if she would never see him again.

Rather than join the excitement, I went across the street to Jitters. Though it had been open only six weeks, the coffee shop was already a town favorite. When I walked in, most of the tables were filled with teenagers hanging out, people working at their computers, and mothers looking for a little time to themselves while their babies napped in strollers. There were four people in line, so I did what I’d been doing since opening day. I walked behind the counter and poured my own coffee.

“Have Bernie and Susanne made up?” Carrie asked as I reached for a muffin.

“Not that I know of. I thought it would come to blows last week.”

“Over a man.” Carrie shook her head. “I still don’t get it.”

“I’ll let you know if I ever understand love.” I smiled. And as I did, I saw Jesse walk in.

I rang up my coffee and muffin, and dropped the money into the till.

“Aren’t you getting anything for Eleanor?” Carrie asked. “Some tea or something?”

“She said it would mean five stops between here and Winston.”

“Just in case.” Carrie handed me a bottle of water. “And in exchange you have to bring me back every tiny bit of gossip.”

“I would even if you didn’t give me water.”

Since there was a growing line, I poured coffee for the next three customers while Carrie rang them up. When it was Jesse’s turn, though, I let Carrie take over. As I walked out from behind the counter, Jesse stepped out of line.