Pattern of Betrayal (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 2) (2 page)

“So, what do you think?” Hannah asked.

“I think it’s strange.”

“You think chicken is strange?”

“I’m sorry … what?”

Hannah closed her notepad. “I knew you weren’t listening to me.”

Julie smiled at her sheepishly. Ever since they’d arrived in Straussberg, a small tourist destination in the rolling hills of Missouri wine country, Hannah had taken her job as head cook at the Quilt Haus Inn
very
seriously.

“You’re right. I wasn’t,” Julie said. “And I apologize. But I know whatever you serve will be amazing.”

Hannah blew out a frustrated breath, stirring the blond hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I’ve just never served a dinner before. I mean, not here. And I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be.”

Shirley Ott poked her head around the corner, her bright red hair like a copper halo. “It’s showtime!” she singsonged. She looked particularly festive in her grass-green skirt and bright yellow gypsy top. The scarf looped around her neck was patterned with every color of flower known to man and then some. Shirley was the resident storyteller and keeper of the small fabric shop and tearoom on the first floor of the inn. She loved all things bright and colorful, even in her hair, and sewed most of her clothes herself. “I thought you’d want to know that the first few guests have arrived. They’re in the tearoom.” With a wink, she turned and disappeared, a blur of red, yellow, and green.

“And so it begins.” Julie began heading out to greet her guests, pausing to glance back at Hannah. “Are you coming?”

Her friend shook her head. “I’ll meet everyone soon enough. I really need to get dinner started.” Hannah gave Julie a tight-lipped smile and hurried toward the kitchen.

“Don’t fret,” Julie called after her. “You can’t go wrong with coq au vin.”

Hannah stopped and gave her friend a genuine smile, and then headed into the kitchen, shaking her head.

In appearance, the inn was as charming as a bed-and-breakfast could be. Victorian-era furniture and matching accessories filled the large mansion, with special attention given to the popular gathering area of the tearoom/fabric shop, which was run by Shirley. The main level also boasted a cozy library, a formal dining room, and a large breakfast room with white-linen–covered tables.

Julie still felt somewhat uneasy about the last-minute bookings, and she nearly sighed with relief when she saw the two little elderly women sitting in the tearoom, sipping from their cups and enjoying the latest treat from Hannah’s kitchen. They looked normal enough.
Why am I being so paranoid about this?

“Ladies,” Julie said in greeting as she entered the room. “I’m Julie Ellis, your innkeeper. I’d like to welcome you to the Quilt Haus Inn.”

The ladies nodded in unison. They both wore polyester pantsuits in bright colors with cream-color shells underneath.

“I’m Sadie Davidson,” the thinner of the two women said. Her suit was a bright aqua and made Julie think of the swimming pools in Miami. Three strands of perfectly matched aqua-color beads hung around Sadie’s neck and clacked together as she moved. “And this is my bestie, Joyce Fillmore.”

Bestie?
Julie figured at least one of these two ladies had granddaughters. “It’s so good to have you both here.” She offered a welcoming smile.

Joyce smiled in return. Unlike Sadie, who had snow white hair, Joyce seemed to favor a blue rinse that made her own cap of curls shine like periwinkle chrome. She was tall and solid, a handsome woman.

“We are so happy to be here!” Joyce exclaimed. “This was on our bucket list.”

“A murder mystery weekend was on your bucket list?” Julie asked.

“Number twenty-five,” Joyce said. “This inn is the
perfect
place …” Joyce turned to Sadie and added dramatically, “for someone to die.”

Julie laughed with Sadie. She was starting to think this wasn’t such a bad idea.

“An inn with a quilting theme is an added bonus, to be sure.” Sadie smiled, revealing twin dimples in her rosy cheeks. She looked like the quintessential granny, a large purse with a twist clasp looped over one arm. Julie suspected her big white suitcase likely contained everything from peppermints and tissues to bingo daubers and an extra tube of nude lipstick.

Julie went on to explain the amenities of the Quilt Haus Inn, particularly those that catered to quilters and crafters. “This weekend we have an Amish-style quilting frolic to go along with the murder mystery.”

The quilt frolic had been Hannah’s idea, a way to bring Millie’s murder mystery brainchild to life and still keep some kind of quilting theme.

“Tell us, dear,” Sadie asked, “how will it work?”

“Yes. When will someone die?” Joyce added. They’d clearly been “besties” for a long time.

Julie smiled. “It’s simple, really. We’ll have special meeting times throughout the day so everyone can get together to quilt and discuss the clues in the case as things unfold. At the end of the weekend, the quilt will be given to the guest who solves the case.”

“And the winner also gets a free weekend stay next year, right, dear?” Sadie pressed.

“That’s right.” Julie nodded as the sound of a voice outside caught her attention. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.
Please enjoy your tea. I’ll check you in at the front desk when you’re finished.”

The ladies gave another synchronized nod, and Julie left the tearoom.

The bell above the door chimed. The couple that strode into the foyer consisted of a bored-looking man with thinning brown hair and a small frown, and a woman who looked happy enough for the both of them. The man’s attire seemed somewhat out of place for mid-Missouri—khaki shorts, athletic sandals, and a Hawaiian print shirt that was loud and untucked. Julie got the feeling he’d rather be anyplace else in the world. It was as if he’d planned to vacation in an exotic locale and somehow ended up in Straussberg instead.

“Hi,” the woman gushed, removing her floppy white hat. She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head to perch like a plastic tiara on her frizzy hair. “We’re the Calhouns. Susan and Kenneth.” She pointed at herself and her husband in turn, as if Julie wouldn’t be able to figure out who was who without a little help.

“Welcome,” Julie said with a smile. She introduced herself as they registered and took their key. “Everyone is gathering in the tearoom before the event starts. If you’d like to get settled first—”

“Oh, no,” Susan said with a wave of her hand. “We can do that later.”

“I’ll show you the way, then,” Julie said as she helped Kenneth settle their bags by the front desk.

Julie led them to the tearoom where she hoped some refreshments and a story or two from Shirley would make Kenneth look a little less like he’d rather be having dental work done. Julie got the distinct impression that the whole weekend had been Susan’s idea. Julie hoped he would reign
in his less-than-enthusiastic attitude and play his part in the mystery like a good sport.

For the next hour and a half, Julie checked in guests, handed out keys, and directed the motley group of mystery quilters to the tearoom. Aside from Sadie, Joyce, Susan, and Kenneth, the guest list included Alice Peyton, a fifty-something divorcée whose frown was deeper and wider than Kenneth’s. Alice told them all that she had received the trip as a gift from her kids, but she didn’t look very happy about it. Maybe, like Kenneth, she’d had her sights set on someplace with a beach.

Dr. Liam Preston also joined the group. He was handsome in a bookish sort of way, with wire-rimmed glasses, wavy blond hair, and a dimpled chin. He introduced himself as a professor of literary studies. He certainly looked the part with his khaki trousers and tweed blazer complete with leather patches at the elbows. What he
didn’t
look like was a quilter. But Julie kept her mouth shut. She’d learned the hard way with a previous guest, Daniel Franklin, that looks could be deceiving.

Julie had been more than a little caught off guard last autumn when the ruggedly handsome Daniel had stepped into the lobby and requested a room. She hadn’t pegged him for the type to enjoy something as quiet and traditionally feminine as quilting. Yet, he knew more than most about patterns and techniques. He’d decided to remain in Straussberg and open a museum. Now he was something of a friend—a very handsome friend. But that wasn’t the point. No, the point was that she vowed not to make assumptions about any of her guests again.

She tried to apply that same theory to Gregory Wilson, the forty-year-old bachelor standing across the room from her. Gregory had a thinning patch of light hair, a middle-aged paunch, and beady eyes that shone behind thick glasses. He
made no effort to share his motivation for attending the weekend event. In fact, he didn’t say much at all. He simply listened to everyone tell their stories while he drank his tea in silence. Suspicious silence.

“I’m not going to judge,” Julie whispered to herself as she waited for the last guest. “I am
not
going to judge.”

Carrie Windsor, the first guest to make a reservation and the last one to arrive, finally skittered into the inn a half hour before the festivities were set to begin. Like Gregory, she wore glasses. Unlike Gregory, her oversized specs ate up half of her petite face, covering it from forehead to cheeks. She wore her pale blond hair pulled back with a claw clip, a few tendrils escaping to wisp around her face like a shaggy halo. The youngest in the group, she appeared to be no more than eighteen. Yet her eyes, though covered by the glasses, had an age about them that belied her pixie stature and innocent air. She looked a little like she had been caught in a storm, her clothes windblown and stretched out. In fact, everything she wore looked faded and old, as if she’d owned it since the dawn of time. She smiled politely and ducked her head as Julie handed her a room key.

Once Carrie was checked in, Julie joined the guests in the tearoom as they listened to Shirley spin her latest tale.
What a group.
She had a feeling the weekend would be anything but boring.

Shirley was clearly enjoying it. She nearly beamed with joy at having such a captive audience. She’d been telling stories for so long, her voice had started to turn hoarse, and she was drinking almost as much tea as she served. As she finished a tale about the ghost who reportedly lived at a local farm and occasionally killed the chickens, Julie made her way to the front of the group.

Hiding a smile, Julie refrained from pointing out that it might have been a fox doing the dirty deed. Better to let Shirley have her fun.

“That’s all well and good, dear,” Sadie said to Shirley, “but what I
really
want to hear about is the Civil War journal you found here.”

A murmur of agreement rippled among the guests.

“You found a Civil War journal?” Liam Preston asked mid-sip. The tiny floral-patterned teacup he held looked ridiculous in his large hands.

“It’s not a journal per se,” Julie interjected. “More of a manual that someone wrote in. But the entries date back to 1861.”

“What a treasure!” Liam exclaimed. “Wherever did you find it?”

“In the basement,” Julie said. “I was looking through some old boxes and happened upon it.” She didn’t add that she was trying to find an item for an upcoming school auction at the time. She switched her focus to Sadie. “How did you know about the book?”

“There was an article in the local paper about it, dear,” Sadie said.

Julie regarded her curiously. There
had
been an article in the local paper, but that didn’t explain how Sadie knew about it. She wasn’t from Straussberg.

“The article was picked up by a couple of larger papers,” Joyce added, as if reading her mind. “I read about it in the
Danville Times
. That’s our paper.”

“And then there’s the article on the Internet,” Sadie continued. “That’s how I heard about it.”

The Internet?
Julie thought Sadie might pull a smartphone out of her handbag and show her the story.

She found it hard to believe anyone would give much
thought to the old manual. When she’d first discovered it, she called an expert in Civil War memorabilia and told him what she’d found. He’d asked her several questions about the book and then had her take some digital photographs of the pages and send them to him. An hour later he’d called back to say it wasn’t worth more than two or three hundred dollars—to the right buyer. Julie thought that was perfect for the auction, though she still hadn’t received approval from Millie to donate it to the local school.

Clearly the inn’s feisty owner had better things to do in Baja than answer emails as Julie still hadn’t received a response to her question about the book. Though annoyed by the delay, Julie knew that she’d be hard-pressed to answer her email, too, if she had the choice between looking at prehistoric paintings or a laptop.

“Will you show us the book?” Carrie asked timidly. “It sounds fascinating.”

Julie studied her for a moment. It was the first time the young girl had spoken since they’d entered the tearoom.

“Yes,” Liam added, “I would love to take a peek at it.”

Of course he would
, Julie thought. He was a professor of literature.

She gazed around at the eager faces. Well,
most
of the faces were eager. Sadie, Joyce, and Susan Calhoun looked as interested as Liam and Carrie, while Kenneth Calhoun, Alice Peyton, and Gregory Wilson ranged from bored to indifferent.

Julie checked her watch. She was going to break in a few minutes so her guests would have enough time to settle in and get ready for the next event. “I suppose I could show it to you.”

A chorus of yays rose from some of the guests, and Julie went to her office to retrieve the book. She had locked it inside
the inn’s safe, more out of habit than true worry about the book being stolen. With deft fingers, she maneuvered the combination lock and extracted the manual.

She hadn’t taken the time to read everything in it, handwritten or otherwise, but she could tell from the worn leather cover that it was very old. She’d done a little research online but wasn’t able to contact more than the one expert before she’d been forced to shift her focus back to planning the weekend’s activities.