Pattern of Betrayal (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 2)
Read Pattern of Betrayal (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 2) Online
Authors: Mae Fox,Amy Lillard
Pattern of Betrayal
Copyright © 2014 Annie’s.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. For information address Annie’s, 306 East Parr Road, Berne, Indiana 46711-1138.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Library of Congress-in-Publication Data
Pattern of Betrayal
/ by Mae Fox & Amy Lillard
p. cm.
I. Title
2014916058
AnniesCraftStore.com
(800) 282-6643
A Vineyard Quilt Mystery™
Series Creator: Shari Lohner
Series Editors: Shari Lohner, Janice Tate, and Ken Tate
Cover Illustrator: Kelley McMorris
10 11 12 13 14 | 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
PROLOGUE
“S
et it on the desk and back away slowly.” The mysterious figure known only as Ghost watched the cold surge of fear wash over the woman’s face.
It was sad really. These museum security guards were just cop wannabes who had no idea of the true worth of the treasures they were supposed to keep safe.
The guard’s eyes darted from Ghost’s masked face to the gun pointed at her. She set the pre-Columbian statue on the desk and then raised her hands in the air as she backed away. “There. Please don’t shoot me. I have a family, you know.”
Yep.
Ghost made it a point to know as much as he could about the people who guarded the priceless treasures he intended to take. He knew where they lived, what they drove, and where their kids went to school. He even knew what kind of ice cream they bought. “Just do as I say and no one has to get hurt. Understand?”
The guard nodded and backed up a couple more steps.
Ghost approached the desk and snatched the statue. It was about the size of a coffee can, a heavy thing, and ugly to boot. But it would fetch a fine price on the market. Ghost already had a buyer in mind. He tucked the statue under one arm, relishing the feel of it.
So much money.
“You have what you came for,” the guard said. “You should leave.”
The woman seemed to be gaining back some of her moxie. But no matter. Ghost had the treasure.
“Your radio,” Ghost said. “Put it on the desk.”
She didn’t move an inch.
“Radio. Desk. Now.” Ghost set the statue down and leveled his gun at her.
She was at a distinct disadvantage. Pepper spray was the most dangerous thing on her utility belt. Still, Ghost didn’t want a face full of capsaicin.
The guard pulled the device from her hip and laid it on the fine wooden desk.
“And your phone.”
The guard looked as if she might protest, but she unclipped her phone and placed it next to her radio.
By the time he took the pepper spray, her hands were shaking.
Ghost slid the guard’s phone across the desk and onto the floor, where he smashed it to bits with the heel of his shoe. The radio suffered the same fate.
The guard gasped. Judging by the look on her face, she feared her head would be next. But Ghost was a thief, not a killer.
Except for that one time … but that was different. That guard had been mouthy, disrespectful, and had failed to follow instructions. As long as this one did as she was told, everything would be fine.
“I’m leaving now,” Ghost said, scooping up the statue once more. “And you aren’t to move until a full fifteen minutes have passed. I’ve got someone watching this building.” It was a lie, but the guard didn’t know that. “His instructions are to shoot anyone who tries to follow me, and then he’ll go to 54 Carpenter Lane and shoot Sarah and Christopher while they eat their mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
The woman choked back a cry; then she swallowed hard and nodded.
Ghost motioned with the gun. “On the floor. Now.”
She looked almost relieved and did as instructed.
Good girl.
With a smile, Ghost strolled out the door, statue in one hand, gun in the other. It had gone well, but gloating would have to wait. A more pressing matter was at hand—getting from L.A. to Straussberg, Missouri, in time for the next job. Who would have thought a Victorian inn located in the middle of nowhere USA would be a lucrative target? Ghost sighed. In this business, one never knew where the next paycheck would come from.
Today it’s a trendy museum … tomorrow, the Quilt Haus Inn.
NE
“S
almon isn’t going to be cost effective,” Hannah Marks said. She adjusted her glasses and tapped the eraser end of her pencil against her notepad. “I decided to go with chicken. Joseph Winkler quoted me a good price on whole chickens from his organic farm. I figure coq au vin.”
“Uh-huh.” Julie Ellis stood at the front desk and ran her finger down the sign-in book for the Quilt Haus Inn. She pushed her dark hair over one shoulder and shook her head. “It’s crazy.”
“Coq au vin is French, but I wouldn’t say it’s crazy.” Hannah looked up from her notepad. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“Sorry,” Julie said, her steady gaze transfixed on the open book in front of her. “We had a cancellation yesterday, but it looks like we’re booked solid now.” Which was a good thing since this would be the first ever Quilt Haus Inn murder mystery weekend. How Julie had ever allowed the newly retired owner, Millie Rogers, to talk her into holding the event she’d never know. Murder was one thing she had seen more than enough of lately.
“Yep,” Hannah said. “I booked the last room.”
“When?” Julie looked up at her good friend and assistant, the painfully level-headed woman who had followed her from the big city to a touristy village in Missouri to live the quiet life. It was an unexpected yet necessary move after Julie had unwittingly angered a few of the wrong people in her former profession as an antiquities recovery expert. But Hannah seemed to really enjoy the slower pace of small-town living. Julie was … learning to adjust.
Hannah shrugged. “I booked it late yesterday afternoon.”
“But it was cancelled late yesterday afternoon. I took the call myself.”
“Consider it a blessing.”
Julie would consider it something, though she wasn’t sure blessing was the right word. Strange coincidence, maybe.
Until that point, she had been struggling to book rooms for Millie’s experimental murder mystery weekend—an idea the owner had hatched as she was making plans to retire and get to work on her bucket list. Then Millie had “skedaddled” off to see the cave paintings of Baja and left Julie to figure out how to make it work. In order to get the reservations needed for the unique weekend event, Julie had been forced to go outside their normal venues. After all, their target guest list was even more specialized than usual. They normally catered primarily to quilters and seamsters. For this event, they were seeking the same people, but ones who were also murder mystery buffs.
In Julie’s opinion, they should have waited until autumn to host the event so they’d have a full year to plan instead of only a few months. But once Millie set her mind to something, it was hard to move her from it. So, they advertised and posted the upcoming fun to the inn’s website and everywhere else Julie could think of. Even with the ad in the number four mystery magazine in the country, it was only at the last minute that the rooms had filled up. Just last week they had had only two confirmed reservations. A short five days later they were full.
