As soon as Beatrice spotted the email in her inbox, her phone started ringing. It was a breathless Meadow. “Did you get that email?” she demanded. “That dreadful, awful email?”
“I sure did,” said Beatrice. “And I know Posy didn’t send it.”
“She’s so upset,” said Meadow. “The email is from her own address, you know. She’s on her way over from the shop to talk with Ramsay and me. Want to come by?”
She was already heading out the door.
If Posy were upset by the email, Meadow’s was a good place to go to cheer up. Meadow’s home was a converted barn with soaring ceilings with skylights illuminating the exposed rafters and posts. Quilts covered nearly every surface and hung from the walls. Beatrice’s favorites were Meadow’s crazy quilts which definitely seemed at home in the barn. What was more, Meadow always had something delicious cooking on the stove. The entire effect was one of cozy comfort. And in that cozy comfort, Beatrice couldn’t help but notice that the philodendron that Meadow was rehabilitating was looking much perkier already. Beatrice sighed.
Posy was indeed upset. Although Meadow seemed even more upset than she was. And perhaps she’d dressed after getting the email because her attire was even more mismatched than usual, a riot of reds and hot pinks and turquoise. “It’s just such an ugly thing to have done,” she steamed as she pulled a cheesy quiche out of the oven. “And with Posy doing so much for quilting in Dappled Hills! Imagine!”
Meadow’s husband Ramsay, police chief for Dappled Hills said calmly to the anxious-looking Posy, “I certainly wouldn’t take it personally. Someone is clearly upset with Henrietta and wanted to convey that message to the general public. Your email list was just a convenient means to an end.” His whole presence was calming. Instead of his uniform, he was wearing a flannel, plaid shirt with red suspenders stretching over his well-fed stomach. His eyes were kind behind his reading glasses.
Posy blinked rapidly before saying sadly, “I hope you’re right, Ramsay. I’d hate to think that anyone would believe that I could be capable of sending out an email like this. And it was supposed to be so fun—our mystery quilt.”
“Well, it’s surely turned out to be a mystery, all right,” said Beatrice in a wry voice. “Posy, you can’t believe that anyone would think you could have something to do with this. Even the tone of the email sounds nothing like you. Henrietta Hunnicutt is lying scum. She should watch her back.”
Meadow, wielding a knife, sliced murderously into the quiche and throwing slices onto plates in a manner that made Boris the dog drool and edge closer to them.
Posy shivered hearing the text of the email again and asked, “But how did they do it? How did they make it look like the email was coming from me?”
Ramsay said dryly, “It doesn’t help that you’ve got your email login and password on the wall where everyone checks out. I’ve noticed that before while waiting for Meadow to wrap up her shopping. It didn’t take a hacker to send an email on your behalf.”
“There’s got to be a way to find out who did it!” said Meadow angrily. “I know I’ve seen on television where the police track down computers. You need to do that, Ramsay.”
“You mean by tracking the IP address? I’ll see how far I get with that, but I suspect that whoever was smart enough to log in as Posy was smart enough to use a public computer somewhere. Like the library’s computer,” said Ramsay.
“Disgusting!” spat Meadow as she violently shoved plates, forks, and napkins at them. “And, what’s more, how upsetting to poor Henrietta! She’s done nothing to deserve this. She’s just a quiet little mouse who rarely even gets involved in anything!”
Ramsay tilted his head to one side. “Are you really sure about that? Sometimes people aren’t exactly what they seem.”
This statement made Meadow even more irritated. “Of course, I’m sure. She’s simply a mild-mannered quilter, for heaven’s sake. She probably spends her free time watching game shows on television as she works on her next project. She’s hardly some sort of nasty gossip going around spreading filth about other quilters.”
Ramsay, accustomed to Meadow’s staunch defense of anything concerning quilting, said, “Okay, well, I’m going to change into my uniform and head out. I’ll speak with her and make sure she’s okay. I might also try to get a little information about who she thinks might be this upset with her.”
“Someone certainly is,” said Beatrice. “And it sounds as if Henrietta might be a gossip.” She ignored the exasperated sigh from Meadow.
Posy’s forehead wrinkled. “I can’t even imagine. She’s always been so quiet and sweet with me when she comes in the store.”
“Yes, but you don’t do anything for her to gossip about, Posy,” said Beatrice. “Maybe she’s different when someone she knows has a secret.”
Ramsay said, “Nobody in a small town wants her secret out. There’s nothing like having the whole town know everything about you. All right, so here’s what we’re going to do. Posy, you’re going to send out an email apologizing for the nastygram everyone received in their inbox, but explaining that it had nothing to do with you. I’ll poke around a little and see what I find—and also hope nothing else happens. Maybe this is the end of it.”
“It’s always good to be optimistic, but I have the feeling that this is only the very start of it,” said Beatrice.
Posy returned to the shop to draft her email as Ramsay left to speak with Henrietta. Meadow and Beatrice remained, drinking coffee and mulling over the email.
Meadow said sternly, “I wish you hadn’t said that you had a feeling this was only the start of some sort of trouble. We don’t need any more trouble in Dappled Hills. This is an idyllic place. A quiet place! A safe place!”
“Most of the time,” agreed Beatrice. “Until it’s not.”
Meadow said, “You know what I think this all is? It’s jealousy.”
“How do you figure that?” Beatrice reached down with resignation to pet Boris, who had laid his massive head on her leg.
“Because of who Henrietta is. That email was spiteful and I can’t think of a reason that anyone would send it to shy little Henrietta unless it had to do with jealousy over her quilting ability. She does a very nice job with both machine quilting and piecing and I think someone wishes they could quilt like that.”
Boris looked adoringly into Beatrice’s eyes as she scratched him behind the ears. She would have to thoroughly wash her hands before returning to Noo-noo or else her little corgi would be convinced she’d been cheating on her. “I’m not sure, Meadow. I don’t know Henrietta like you do, but this doesn’t sound like jealousy to me. I’m tending to agree with Ramsay—I think Henrietta may know something about someone.”
Meadow waved her hand so energetically that coffee sloshed over the side and onto the table. “Who on earth does something like that, though? Let’s say that Henrietta does know some sort of unsavory information about someone. Who on earth hacks into an email account and sends out a threatening email to everyone else?”
“Maybe someone who’s afraid Henrietta is going to spill their secret. You know how it is in a small town,” said Beatrice. “No one wants everyone in their business all the time. Perhaps Henrietta is blackmailing someone and they’ve reached the point that they can’t pay her anymore. Maybe she’s threatening to tell everyone the secret.”
Meadow shook her head. “It’s just so hard to imagine. Let’s talk about something else. I’m starting to feel like Ramsay—crime is overwhelming!”
“You’re feeling like you need to escape to the back of the house with a copy of The Importance of Being Earnest?” asked Beatrice dryly. Ramsay, when he returned from talking with Henrietta, was almost certain to disappear with a favorite novel or book of poetry.
“Certainly not! But like I need to focus on something other than the dark side of people I know. Did you do your homework?” demanded Meadow.
“Oh!” said Beatrice. “Thanks for reminding me. The square is in my purse.”
She pulled out a square framed in dark blue, with a yellow background. The words Piper, will you marry me were centered in the middle and encircled by hearts, stars, and flowers.
“It looks beautiful,” gasped Meadow. She teared up and even Beatrice found herself blinking hard.
Meadow added, “But that’s not the homework I was talking about. Thanks for this, though ... I’ve made a huge amount of progress on the quilt.”
“What? What homework...oh, you mean the phrase from Piper?” asked Beatrice.
“Her favorite poem or song or phrase,” said Meadow. “Were you able to get it from her?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Beatrice, “Piper suggested that I just use one word—peace or love.”
Meadow gasped. “You didn’t tell her what you were planning on doing with it, did you?”
“No, but I had to tell her something so that she wouldn’t think that I was completely demented, Meadow. I told her that I was working on a quilt and was trying to experiment by incorporating words into it.”
“Hmph. Well, okay. That’s kind of basic, though. No favorite poem?” asked Meadow.
“She kept bringing up things like “The Lady of Shalott” and selections by Poe,” said Beatrice. “I don’t think that was going to do us any good.”
“Well, shoot. Too bad that she had to have those sort of dire poems as favorites. I guess ‘love’ and ‘peace’ it will have to be. Now, moving on to some other things. How about the quilt show tomorrow? Are you all ready for it?” asked Meadow.
Beatrice sighed. Right now it seemed as though quilting were taking over her life. She had an exhibit in the quilt show to get ready, a mystery quilt, and the upcoming Sew and Tell. With all the activities, it was a wonder she had any time to work on the actual quilting. She said, “Well, the quilt for the show is done, at any rate.”
“But the label? Have you sewn your label in with the date, name of the quilt, your name and contact info, and your techniques?” Meadow recited sternly.
“I haven’t gotten that far,” said Beatrice. “Maybe once I get home. I also need to roll the quilt for loose threads.”
“Not only that, but you’ll need a four-inch hanging sleeve for this show,” said Meadow.
Beatrice groaned. “Somehow I forgot that. Do you think it has to be a matching fabric?”
Meadow’s horrified expression answered that question.
“I can pick up some extra backing fabric at the Patchwork Cottage to match the quilt,” said Beatrice, standing and giving Boris a goodbye pat. “And now I’ve really got to go, if I’ve got all that to do.”
“See you there tomorrow, if I don’t see you before then,” said Meadow cheerily. “And I’ll show you the proposal quilt tomorrow!”
Beatrice sincerely hoped she wouldn’t see Meadow before then. She had the feeling she’d be scurrying enough as it was.
Luckily, it ended up being a remarkably quiet afternoon and evening. She and Noo-noo even had time to take a quick, energetic walk after Beatrice had been sitting for a while and needed to move. Beatrice made herself a fast pasta meal, using jarred pasta sauce and found it surprisingly satisfying. Once she’d finished preparing her blazing stars quilt (a pattern she’d found challenging to complete), she went directly to bed.
The next day, Beatrice got a good deal accomplished. She took her quilt to the town hall for the quilt show set-up.
As she was about to leave, she saw Henrietta coming in, struggling with a couple of quilts. She wore a pair of black slacks and a simple black top with a pair of black patent-leather shoes. Beatrice held the door open for her and then hesitated. “Can I help you get set up?” she asked.
Henrietta smiled at her. It was something of a pinched smile, but Beatrice gathered that was common for Henrietta. “That would be great. It’s Beatrice, isn’t it?”
“And you’re Henrietta,” said Beatrice, taking one of the rolled-up quilts from Henrietta.
Henrietta gave her a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I’m easy to remember right now. I appear to be notorious.”
Beatrice gave her a sympathetic look. “I got the email, so don’t worry that I heard about it from any gossiping.”
“That’s cold comfort,” said Henrietta, pressing her lips together grimly. “Oh, the joys of small town life.”
Beatrice helped her gently unroll one of the quilts when they reached her display area. “Do you have any idea why someone would send an email like that?”
Henrietta bent to unroll another quilt and Beatrice could no longer see her face. “Pure spite?”
Beatrice started saying, “Spite over what ... ?” and then stopped as she took a look at the quilt she’d just unfurled. There must be over a hundred different fabrics hand-sewn into a quilt that looked almost like a painting. The result was something that Beatrice would have liked to display when she was a curator at the folk art museum. The quilt featured a peaceful scene of a sunset reflected in a lake as sailboats floated through. The sky was pieced with diamonds of various vividly colored fabrics. The effect was stunning.
“Oh, I see,” said Beatrice quietly as she surveyed the quilt.
Henrietta stood again, giving her a wary look. She relaxed a bit at Beatrice’s appraising and appreciative stare.
Beatrice said dryly, “I’m guessing you won a lot of prizes. Have you got more like these?”
“Several. The rest are home.” Henrietta hesitated. “Would you like to see them? Maybe after the show this evening, if you’re not burned out on quilts by then.”
Beatrice knew she was meeting Wyatt for supper, but figured popping over briefly wouldn’t hurt. “That would be great. I used to be an art museum curator and I’d love to see more of your work.”
They both turned at a voice from behind them. “Beatrice!” Hurrying toward them were sisters Savannah and Georgia, her friends from the Village Quilters guild. They gave Beatrice a quick hug and then smiled at Henrietta uncertainly. They’d have been on Posy’s mystery quilt email list, too.
The sisters were completely different and it was amazing that they were as close as they were. Savannah’s plain face was pointed and serious with a beaky nose and dark eyebrows that could potentially use some shaping. She carried herself with stiff comportment. Her sister, Georgia, was a much softer version of Savannah with pretty features, dancing eyes, and a rounded face with dimples.
Georgia was the first to recover and fill in the awkward silence. “Your quilts are absolutely gorgeous,” she told Henrietta reverently. “I feel like I’m taking a vacation when I look at them.”
Savannah, always a fan of geometrical patterns, squinted in an evaluating manner at the quilts before breaking out in a grin. “Amazing,” she said gruffly.
If Savannah liked a non-geometrical quilt, it was truly outstanding.
Henrietta attempted to appear modest, although Beatrice saw that it was something of a struggle. But she clearly was aware of her talent and the ingenuity she applied to her craft. Henrietta said politely, “What have y’all brought to show today?”
“Nothing nearly as innovative, although I’m rather proud of my blazing stars quilt. It was a challenge that I struggled to meet, but it turned out better than I hoped,” said Beatrice.
Savannah said, “I’d like to see it before you go, Beatrice. I brought in an Aztec design.”
Beatrice knew that Savannah’s quilt would be technically perfect, as always. She had quite the eye for detail.
“It sounds lovely,” said Henrietta politely.
“And I’m not showing today—I’m just here to support all of you,” said Georgia. “I’ve been so busy lately with school and with my pet clothes business that I haven’t had enough time.”
Savannah added slyly, “And busy with Tony.”
Tony Brock worked at the hardware store in downtown Dappled Hills and was Georgia’s boyfriend ... now her fiancé.
“Maybe just a little bit,” said Georgia with a grin.
Beatrice said, “You and Tony must be getting excited about your wedding! What have you got planned so far?”
She hoped she didn’t sound too nosy, but she felt as if she needed to do a little bit of recognizance in terms of how people actually planned weddings in Dappled Hills. Wyatt’s sister, Harper, had gotten married there, but Beatrice had been more on the periphery in terms of helping plan. As the mother of the bride, Beatrice knew she would have to be a lot more on the ball this time.
Georgia said shyly, “Well, we’re mainly just trying to see what’s available in our budget. At first we thought we’d want something really small and intimate with just family and a few very close friends. But we had a hard time with that. How could I invite one person and not another ... in Dappled Hills? Tony and I felt like most of the town was almost like family. So we wanted to expand it to invite more of our friends. But we want it to be affordable, too. And fun! We have been so busy trying to figure out how to do that that we haven’t even set our date yet. The only things we’ve planned for sure are that we want Wyatt to officiate at the ceremony and we want June Bug to be in charge of the cake. Savannah will still be my only attendant.”
“There’s June Bug, now,” said Henrietta. “Just seeing her is making me think of cake.”
The little woman with the round, flushed face was hurrying through the exhibit area. Hurrying was what June Bug did best. She used to keep a little too busy by cleaning houses and baking cakes for anyone who wanted one. Beatrice and Meadow had helped June Bug set up a cake shop and bakery in downtown Dappled Hills. She was probably just as busy, but at least usually in one place. Aside from today, of course. When she spotted them, she smiled and trotted over to talk.
Georgia said, “You must have been asked to supply cake today for the quilt show.”
“Now I’m really looking forward to the quilt show!” said Savannah.
“Just protect the cake from Miss Sissy,” said Beatrice dryly. “Otherwise, it’ll all disappear.”
June Bug, familiar with Miss Sissy’s appetite, looked alarmed. Or maybe she didn’t—she had a perpetually startled expression to begin with. “Is Miss Sissy here now?”
“No, but I think Meadow is bringing her for the show,” said Beatrice. “On the upside, she’ll buy all the cake slices at the concessions stand.” The women laughed and then Beatrice asked, “How are things going at June Bug’s Cakes?”
June Bug’s eyes glowed. “Oh, they’re going really well. And I can’t thank you enough, Beatrice.”
Beatrice and Meadow had helped to physically set up the shop: moving chairs and tables in, adding pictures and quilts on the walls, and coming up with menus. But they’d also lent June Bug a little money to help her get started there. It was worth it to see the hardworking woman succeed.
“I’ll be in there soon,” promised Beatrice. “I can’t wait to have more of those muffins. I still think that we should have called your store ‘June Bug’s Cakes and Bakery.’”
Savannah frowned in thought. “Not as catchy.”
“No. But more descriptive.”
Beatrice noticed that Henrietta’s pleasant expression had faded and hardness was reflected in her eyes for a brief second before her face became impassive. Beatrice turned to see Orrilla Bush, one of the Cut-Ups that she’d been introduced to in the past, looking coldly in Henrietta’s direction. Orrilla wore a dark suit that hung on her tall, thin frame. She had high cheekbones and artfully highlighted hair. Everything about her looked hard.
June Bug beamed at them all and said, “Better run!” before scurrying off.
Beatrice asked, “So any other plans for the wedding so far?”
Savannah said, “I’m still trying to get Smoke as the ring bearer. Wouldn’t he be adorable in a little tuxedo?”
Georgia laughed. “He would steal the show, for sure. The only problem with that scenario is that Smoke does whatever Smoke wants to do. He’s a cat, after all. He’s just as likely to curl up on the aisle and take a nap as he is to prance down it with the ring.”
As Georgia continued filling talking about the pros and cons of having a cat as a ring bearer, Henrietta murmured, “Excuse me,” and walked over to stand in front of Orrilla.
Savannah said with more animation that she usually showed, “He would be precious, I’m telling you! And wait until I tell you what Smoke did this morning. He’s the cleverest cat ever! Georgia designed several adorable bowties for him, and when I was putting them out, he actually nosed one to choose it!” She was always a little softer when she talked about her cat. The little gray cat had really worked his way into Savannah’s heart.
Beatrice smiled and nodded but her glance kept flickering over to where Henrietta stood with Orrilla. She couldn’t see Henrietta’s face, but her stance seemed strangely relaxed. Orrilla’s, on the other hand, was anything but. Orrilla stared intently at Henrietta, tautness in the hardness of her face. She reached out to grab Henrietta’s arm as she made to turn away. For a moment, she gripped her arm tightly until finally shoving it and Henrietta away from her. Beatrice saw that the encounter left angry red marks on Henrietta’s arm.