The Double Cross (8 page)

“That’s nice.”

“It’s not what you think. I wanted to grill him about Rita and George.”

“It could be both,” I suggested.

“Well, it isn’t.”

“So what did you learn?”

Bernie shifted in her seat so she could face me. “Pete said he and his wife, Siobhan, just moved into their house about six months ago. Rita and George owned the place already, but it was just sitting there empty. He didn’t know anything about Rita’s dad, but if he did own it, he must have bought it after I knew Rita, because I’m certain they didn’t have this place when we were kids.” She took a breath. “Pete said they tried to sell it once but they must not have been able to get a decent offer, because they pulled it off the market. He said there are a lot of old places for sale in this area.”

“So maybe they need money,” I said.

“They have to, considering the way that place looks.”

“But they must have had money at one point,” I pointed out. “Look at the way they dress.”

“Pete didn’t know what they’d been doing before or where they’d been living. He said they were always fuzzy about the details of their earlier lives. He said they kept to themselves until recently. Pete hadn’t even been inside the house until last night. One day last week, Rita showed up on Pete’s doorstep and suggested he take the class.”

“They have a daughter,” I said. “Does she ever come up to visit?”

Bernie seemed upset by that news. “He didn’t mention her.”

“There’s some rift there, so he may not have known she existed.”

“Pete said Rita and George aren’t getting along, but they seem okay to me.”

“They barely speak to each other,” I pointed out. “Have you ever seen them talking or eating together?”

“I didn’t want them to be happy,” Bernie said, turning back to face the windshield.

“Then you seem to have gotten your wish.”

“I guess,” she said. Then she just stared ahead.

There was a pay phone just outside the bakery. Bernie went in to get us coffee while I made some calls: first to Natalie, for news of the shop and Jeremy, then Carrie, to see if she could get info on Rita and George’s financial situation.

I filled Natalie in on the class, the Olnhausens, and the condition of the bed-and-breakfast. I asked her to do an Internet search on George and Rita and she asked me to pass her good wishes on to Bernie and Susanne. Everything at the shop was fine, she told me, though Jeremy missed his grandmother. Then she hesitated.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, sounding as though the world had fallen apart.

“Then tell me.”

“It’s about Jesse. He went on a date last night. Carrie saw them.”

It took a moment to process. “I don’t know how to respond,” I admitted.

“Well, it’s lousy of him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It is.” The great thing about girlfriends is that you don’t have to pretend to be okay when you’re not. “I guess he’s moving on.”

“Maybe not. I can find out details if you want. All I know is that they were at DeNallo’s for dinner. She’s got red hair, and Carrie had never seen her before, so she must not be from town. We figured you had a right to know.”

“Thanks. I actually have to call Carrie,” I said, and after a few more reassurances from Natalie that Jesse’s date probably meant nothing, I hung up.

Bernie was beside me, holding two paper cups of coffee. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted. “Nothing too serious, but Jesse has a girlfriend.”

“That can’t be.” Bernie handed me one of the cups.

“Carrie saw him on a date with someone.”

“A date isn’t a relationship.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted, “but it’s usually how things start.”

“If Jesse doesn’t realize what a wonderful woman you are, to heck with him. You’re better off without such a stupid man.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Bernie smiled. “I’m better at fixing other people’s lives than fixing my own. Call Carrie or we’ll get in trouble with Eleanor.”

I dialed Carrie’s number and gave her as many details about Rita and George as I knew. She offered to do a title search on their land and see where it led, and she repeated what Natalie had already told me.

“They didn’t look right together,” she said.

“Okay.” I wanted to talk about it for hours, and I didn’t want to talk about it at all. I decided on the latter. “Cell service is spotty up here, so I will call you tomorrow,” I told her.

Though it was a chilly April morning, Bernie and I sat at one of the outdoor tables to drink our coffee. I’d eaten breakfast, but Bernie dove into an egg-and-bacon sandwich while Barney salivated.

“At least he still has his sense of smell,” Bernie said.

“That’s what Eleanor says.” I patted the dog’s head. “Poor guy, he hates being away from his routine. I think it confuses him.”

“He’s not the only one who’s confused.”

“Confused about what?”

Bernie shrugged. “Why I came, I guess. It’s just been so long. Maybe too long.”

“Did you keep in touch with George and Rita at all after high school?” I asked.

“No. I heard things. We’re all originally from Long Island. I moved into New York City with Johnny. They moved to California for a time. Then I’d heard they’d come back east maybe fifteen years ago.”

“But you don’t know what they did for a living?”

“The last time I really wanted to know anything about them was so long ago. We were all kids. Everyone changed jobs. George wanted to be an actor, which seemed, when we were teenagers, like a really romantic thing to do. He said he wanted to make movies until he made enough money that we could travel the world.” She sipped her coffee and stared off at the distance. “At one point I heard he sold office supplies.”

“Doesn’t that make you feel better in a way, to know that he didn’t end up living the perfect life?”

She shrugged. “No one lives the perfect life. I made T-shirts when I first got married. Johnny worked at one of those free newspapers, drawing cartoons. Then when the kids came along, he worked at a greeting-card company, and I got a job behind the counter at a drugstore. When he died, I went back to school and became a pharmacist. It was a struggle but that’s life. It’s scary sometimes when you don’t know what’s going to happen next, but that’s what makes it fun.”

“That’s what Susanne says about making an art quilt.”

Bernie laughed. “She’s a wise woman.”

“And a good friend,” I said.

Bernie nodded. “She always has been. I guess I was a little rough on her. I think I was just embarrassed by how hard it hit me, hearing those names again.” She waved her hand as if to dismiss the topic. “We should get back.”

I was beginning to realize that something about Bernie’s story didn’t make sense. “George said Johnny was a millionaire.”

Bernie laughed. “His family had money, something to do with the insurance business. I never really knew much about them, because his father thought Johnny was a hippy, throwing his life away on some girl from nowhere. He cut Johnny out of his will. We never saw them after we were married. They never even met their grandchildren.”

“Does George know that?”

Bernie frowned. “Why would he care?”

“Maybe he thinks you can help. They’re obviously in over their heads at the bed-and-breakfast.”

“That’s crazy, Nell. Even if I could, I wouldn’t be so foolish as to invest money in a broken-down inn in the middle of nowhere.”

“It makes you wonder why they did.”

“Well, if you’re worried that they’re hoping to get some cash from me, rest easy. Johnny didn’t leave me anything but memories.”

I nodded. “Good memories, I hope.”

“Very good memories.”

I hesitated but I said it anyway. “Rita told me you were already married by the time she and George got together.”

“Did she? Well, I guess time plays tricks on some memories.” She got up and threw the rest of her sandwich away.

“Not so fast, Bernie,” I said as she walked toward the car. As I spoke a police car, lights flashing, pulled up next to me.

CHAPTER 10

“Hello there.” A large man in his sixties got out of the police car.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Maria just took some scones out of the oven. She always calls me when she has fresh ones.”

“You had your lights on,” I said.

He blushed. “I never have reason to use them, so once in a while I fire ’em up. Everyone in town knows it means there are fresh scones.” He looked at Bernie and me. “On your way through town?”

“We’re staying at the Patchwork B-and-B,” I said.

He nodded. “Quilt classes. They threw it together so quickly, I didn’t think they had time to find any folks looking to learn. Glad to see I was wrong.”

“We’re not taking the class,” Bernie explained. “We’re here to help the teacher.”

“Well, nice to have you here either way. I’m Jim McIntyre. I’m the chief of police, so if you ever need anything . . .” He started to walk away then stopped. “Can you ladies wait a moment? I’ll be right back.”

As he walked into the bakery, Bernie leaned in and whispered. “I feel like we should make a run for it.”

“Why? Have we done something?”

“Why else would he ask us to wait?”

We found out a minute later, when Chief McIntyre emerged with two warm cranberry scones and a dog biscuit for Barney.

“If you ever need me, my office is one street over,” he said. “But you’re more likely to find me here.”

“The hope is that we won’t need you at all,” I said. “Unless Maria makes another batch of scones.”

We watched him get back in his car and drive up the street, not so much because we were interested in the chief, but because the scones were so good that we couldn’t move until they were finished.

When we returned to the bed-and-breakfast, Bernie went straight to her room, saying she was in the middle of a good book she had to finish. I stuck my head into the class and saw that everyone was working away and Susanne seemed very much at ease. I stayed in the back, but Barney wandered the class, greeting everyone and being his usual welcome distraction.

The students had translated their sketches to fabric and were now adding details that expressed their point of view. One of the twins was carefully removing small twigs from a plastic bag and placing them on her quilt, while the other was adding words to her quilt in longhand. Frank had also added words, but he had printed them onto fabric, using Susanne’s computer, and was fusing them to his quilt top. The others were adding beads and drawings. Everyone seemed busy and focused on their work.

Susanne held up several antique postcards, smiling.

“They’re back,” I said.

“I must have dropped them or something. Helen found them on the floor near my desk this morning.”

“But we looked there,” I said.

Susanne just shrugged. Things seemed to be going better for her today, so I sat in the back of the class, taking notes on a small sketch pad and thinking about what kind of journal quilt I would make, until the group noticed I was there and began coming over to say hi. Rather than interrupt their work any further, I took Barney and headed toward the other small building, the one intended to house the quilt shop.