Shear Trouble

“A delightful new series as warm and cozy as a favorite quilt.”

—Krista Davis,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Domestic Diva mysteries

Quilt Trip

“Craig’s third entry . . . stitches together an updated and creative take on an old favorite and fills the story with a cast of fully rounded characters and a creepy setting.”

—
Richmond Times-Dispatch

“[A] very Christie-esque mystery where all the suspects are trapped together and someone (Beatrice) figures out the who, why, and how.”

—Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

“A great read with a plot that is full of twists and turns that kept it fresh.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Has the feel of an old-fashioned whodunit, complete with a group of unsuspecting quilters gathered in a mansion, terrible weather, and a killer in their midst. Craig’s use of humor and adventure adds to the mix, making this a very enjoyable cozy.”

—Debbie’s Book Bag

“The mystery has a touch of a gothic feel, with the
killing happening on a dark and stormy night at a Victorian mansion tucked away in the mountains. The loyalty of the quilting friends makes me want to sit in with the Village Quilters guild even if I don’t know how to quilt . . . and Craig’s clever character development and sharp mystery kept me riveted to the story.”

—MyShelf.com

Knot What It Seams

“Craig laces this puzzler with a plausible plot, a wealth of quirky characters, and rich local color as Beatrice and her friends try to restore peace for the piecers.”

—
Richmond Times-Dispatch

“There are plenty of descriptions of quilts, fabrics, and patterns, along with a solid mystery, to entice any quilt lover to put down their needle and sit a spell and read.”

—The Mystery Reader

“Fans of cozy mysteries, quilting, and well-written fiction will enjoy this book and this series. I highly recommend it.”

—Sharon’s Garden of Book Reviews

Quilt or Innocence

“A delightful new series as warm and cozy as a favorite quilt. Elizabeth Craig captures Southern life at its best, and her characters are as vibrant and colorful as the quilts they sew.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Krista Davis

“Sparkles with Craig’s cleverness and plenty of Carolina charm.”

—
Richmond Times-Dispatch

“A warm and welcoming new series,
Quilt or Innocence
is full of eccentric and engaging characters. The women Beatrice meets are unique and quirky, but in a down-to-earth, believable way, not a silly, comic way that such characters are often portrayed.”

—The Mystery Reader

“
Quilt or Innocence
is a delightful regional amateur sleuth due to the eccentric quilters. . . . Readers will enjoy touring Dappled Hills guided by colorful locals.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

Quilt or Innocence

Knot What It Seams

Quilt Trip

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014

USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

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A Penguin Random House Company

First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

Copyright © Elizabeth Craig, 2014

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

ISBN 978-0-698-15505-3

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

In memory of my grandmothers.

Many thanks to my talented editor, Sandra Harding, my hardworking agent, Ellen Pepus, and to the team at Obsidian for putting this book together so beautifully. Thanks to my husband, Coleman, and my children, Riley and Elizabeth Ruth, for their enthusiastic support. And thanks, as always, to the writing community for their encouragement and selfless sharing of resources, which help all writers perfect their
craft.

“The funny thing, Beatrice,” said Meadow, beaming through her red-framed glasses, “is that all this time I never knew that Boris was a genius.”

Beatrice looked doubtfully down at the aforementioned Boris. The massive animal of mixed bloodlines was grinning at her with his tongue lolling out. He actually looked rather slow. And this was the same dog who strong-armed his way into her kitchen on a regular basis and upset her canisters while searching for food. “How did you come to that conclusion, Meadow? I mean—I’m sure Boris is
smart
, but I wouldn’t have said he was more clever than . . . well, Noo-noo.” She looked with satisfaction at her own dog, a well-behaved, alert corgi.

“He’s so incredibly intuitive and communicative. Lately, he’s put his paw on my leg whenever he wants
to tell me something. I’ve been amazed.” Meadow looked wonderingly at the huge animal’s tremendous paws. Boris yawned. “Yesterday morning, I had a real absentminded episode. I put eggs on the stove to boil and then something distracted me . . . I don’t now remember what it was. Anyway, I walked outside to get the newspaper. While I was outside, I saw weeds were really making inroads into my flower bed. So I pulled weeds for a bit.”

Beatrice took a bite of her shortcake cookie. She was used to Meadow’s meandering stories and had confidence that she’d eventually come to her point.

“Out of the blue, Boris bolted out the door. I swear I don’t even know how he opened it. Do you think he turned the handle?”

Beatrice didn’t.

“Anyway, he galloped outside, giving me this incredibly intelligent pleading look. I get goose bumps whenever I remember it.” Meadow thrust out her arm for Beatrice to view the indisputable truth. “He put his paw on my shoulder—that’s because I was stooped over weeding—clearly telling me to come inside. He gave a few sharp barks and ran to the front door. I tell you, Beatrice, I started running. Sure enough, the pot was already blazing when I went in, so I sprayed my kitchen extinguisher on it and put it out. Boris saved the day!” Meadow choked up at this last bit and pulled a tissue out of her purse, blowing her nose loudly.

Noo-noo looked concerned and Beatrice reached over to rub the dog’s head. “That’s a very scary story, Meadow. Thank goodness that Boris paid such close attention. I’d hate for this gorgeous barn to burn down.” Beatrice gazed around her. The old barn had been turned into a beautiful home. Skylights in the cathedral-like ceiling lit the large, open living area, illuminating vibrantly colored quilts hanging from the walls.

Meadow reached over to refill Beatrice’s iced tea before she could protest. Meadow took her hostessing duties seriously, but Beatrice was wondering if she’d need to make a pit stop by the powder room before she and Noo-noo walked home.

Before she knew it, Meadow had put another couple of shortbread cookies on the china plate in front of her. “Meadow!” she groaned.

“Oh, please. Like you need to worry about calories. I’ve never seen a fitter sixty-something-year-old than you. Platinum blond hair, carelessly stylish button-down, and capri-length khakis.” Meadow snorted. “How did I end up with the big bones and crazy hair? The least you can do is eat a few cookies with me in sympathy.”

“I’m afraid my hair is white, not platinum. I’m not as fit as you’re giving me credit for. And your hair isn’t crazy at all. I’ve always thought your braid suited you.” It was a long gray braid that did suit Meadow to a tee.

Meadow said, “Hey, how is your quilt coming
along?” Her eyes were wide and innocent, but Beatrice knew that this was a dead-serious follow-up.

“Oh, I figured I’d finish it the night before the quilt show. There’s still plenty of time,” said Beatrice in a studiously careless voice. Meadow gasped, choking a bit on cookie crumbs, and Beatrice chided, “Meadow. It’s all finished, of course. You know how I am about meeting deadlines.” She reached down and gave Boris a distracted pat as he laid his mighty genius head on her lap to look lovingly at her shortbread cookie.

Meadow flashed her a relieved look as she reached for her drink to wash down the cookie. She said, “Well, thank goodness. I only wish that everyone else in the guild had your work ethic. This show might be featuring a bunch of unfinished quilts from the Village Quilters.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think we can spin that somehow? Promote it as high art? ‘The Process of Quilting,’ or some such thing?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Somehow Beatrice didn’t think a postmodern deconstructed-quilt exhibit was going to go over well in tiny Dappled Hills. “Are you sure that everyone is running so far behind? That doesn’t sound like Savannah, for instance.”

Meadow cleared her throat. “Well, Savannah has been busy doing other things lately.”

“That sounds ominous,” said Beatrice slowly. “Are you talking about her little borrowing problem?”
Savannah, who looked like a prim and proper buttoned-up old maid, was a complete kleptomaniac.

“Let’s say she’s kept her sister busy lately,” said Meadow with a sigh. “I happened to be in the quilt shop when Georgia came in to return a thimble that Savannah had swiped. Sometimes she goes through spells with it, you know. Just be sure to nail down your stuff when it’s your turn to host a guild meeting.”

“Okay. Well, I can understand the two of them being a little behind, then. But Miss Sissy? She’s up all night with insomnia. You can’t tell me that she hasn’t finished her quilt. What else does she have to do?” Miss Sissy was the oldest member of the guild. She’d gotten a bit demented and was fairly arthritic, but she could still produce the best needlework of anyone in the state.

“Who knows?” said Meadow gloomily. “Whatever she’s doing, it’s not quilting. At least not on the quilt that’s supposed to be in the show.”

“And Piper?” asked Beatrice. “Surely my own daughter is enough like me to meet her deadline with lots of time to spare.”

“I think Piper and my son have been spending a lot of time talking on the phone together lately,” said Meadow. This, at least, put a smile back on her face. “Ah, they’re really a lovely couple, aren’t they? I can tell that Ash is just wild about Piper. Oh, and he’s probably at the airport even as I speak, getting ready to fly here for a little visit.”

It was a pity that Ash lived all the way over on the other side of the country. Beatrice was both happy for her daughter and sorry that she was in a relationship that might eventually result in a move. Piper had only recently returned from a long visit in California to see Ash.

“So Piper isn’t done with her quilt, either?” This
was
looking bad for the quilt show. “I wonder how the Cut-Ups are doing with their quilts?” asked Beatrice. The Cut-Ups and the Village Quilters had a friendly rivalry with each other. Friendly
most
of the time, anyway.

Now Meadow’s face looked even glummer. “I’m sure they’re completely done, as usual.”

“Well, why don’t we set up some sort of bee?” asked Beatrice. “You know the Village Quilters love to socialize—maybe that would be the best way to keep everybody from procrastinating and finish their quilts.”

Meadow brightened. “Great idea, Beatrice. Maybe Posy will let us use the Patchwork Cottage’s conference room. We could set up a bunch of long tables, run some extension cords, and everyone would have plenty of space to spread out.”

“A retreat,” said Beatrice, nodding. “A quilting retreat. We could all bring some food—that’ll lure them in if the quilting doesn’t.”

“Do you think Posy will go for it?” asked Meadow. “The shop has been so busy lately and it seems like she’s always on the go.”

Beatrice could tell when Meadow would keep stewing over this issue until it was addressed. “Tell you what. Why don’t we head over to Posy’s shop and find out right now? We can ask her about the retreat and I can pick up a few things for the new quilt I’m working on. Can Noo-noo visit with Boris while we run the errand?”

Meadow beamed at her. “Boris will
love
it!” she said as she snatched her keys off the kitchen counter.

Noo-noo apparently didn’t share the sentiment and stared reproachfully at Beatrice as she and Meadow left.

*   *   *

Beatrice felt a smile pull at the corners of her mouth as soon as she entered Posy’s shop. The Patchwork Cottage always made her feel a bit more relaxed, a little more mindful. Posy had soft music playing in the store, usually by local artists. The large room was a visual feast for the eyes with bolts of fabric and lovely finished quilts on display everywhere—even draped over antique sewing machines and old washstands. Gingham curtains hung in the windows. Posy had made the shop as welcoming and friendly as she was.

Beatrice and Meadow waited a moment while Posy was finishing up with a customer. Meadow elbowed Beatrice. “Looks like Miss Sissy has taken up residence in her usual spot.”

Beatrice glanced over at the sitting section to see the cronelike old woman sleeping on the sofa. As if
somehow feeling their gaze, she abruptly awakened, glaring around the store and muttering, “Poppycock! Poppycock!” She spotted Beatrice and Meadow looking at her and brandished an arthritic fist at them.

“Looks like she’s in rare form today,” murmured Beatrice.

Posy quickly walked over and greeted them and they filled her in on their idea for the quilting retreat. “Oh, I think that’s a marvelous idea!” said Posy, twinkling at Meadow and Beatrice. She was a tiny bespectacled woman with a gentle smile. “Believe it or not, the store has been so busy that I haven’t finished my own quilt yet.”

Meadow said to Beatrice, “See? This is what I’m talking about. Even Posy can’t get a quilt finished.”

“Can we do it Friday night?” asked Posy. “You know the shop closes early on Fridays, and that would give us a little time to catch up before the quilt show. We can put long tables in the storeroom and extension cords for all the tables.”

“May I come, too?” came a voice behind them, and they turned around to see an attractive woman who looked to be in her late fifties although she had a remarkably unlined face. “Sorry for listening in. But I’m way, wayyyy behind on my quilt for the show.”

Posy quickly said, “Oh, Beatrice. This is Phyllis Stitt—she’s a member of the Cut-Ups guild. I don’t know if y’all have met.”

Beatrice and Phyllis shook hands. Phyllis gave her a solid handshake.

“Do you mind, Posy?” asked Phyllis again. “It would really help me out.”

Meadow looked a bit scandalized. “But it’s a guild meeting for the Village Quilters!”

Miss Sissy wandered up from the sitting area and glared at Phyllis. “Village Quilters!” she repeated in a low growl.

“Pooh,” said Phyllis, waving away Meadow’s objections with a sweep of her hand and completely ignoring Miss Sissy. “We’re not talking about industrial espionage or uncovering state secrets here. Quilting is quilting, right? I’ve gotten behind because things have been completely awful at the Cut-Ups lately. In fact, Meadow, I was planning on giving you a call and talking with you about it. I might be a refugee from the guild.”

“Whatever do you mean?” came another voice behind them. This one was a good deal colder in tone. Beatrice turned to see Martha Helmsley standing nearby. Martha was also in the Cut-Ups and was their most elegant member with her loosely upswept red hair, pearls, and tasteful designer clothes in various neutral hues. She was usually fairly reserved when she spoke, but this time her tone was downright frosty.

Phyllis colored slightly at being overheard but raised her chin and said, “You heard me, Martha. The
Cut-Ups hasn’t exactly been a fun group for me lately. I don’t get the warm fuzzies when I go to the meetings anymore. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, either. You’re the one responsible for the rest of the group giving me the cold shoulder.”

“That’s ridiculous,” snapped Martha. “You’re imagining things. And I’m sorry to hear,” she added in a censorious voice, “that you’re behind on your quilt. You certainly shouldn’t be.” She stalked away to shop for fabrics.

“See what I mean?” asked Phyllis in a shaky voice. “So, what do you think, Posy? You’d really be helping me out.”

“No room! No room!” snarled Miss Sissy. Beatrice decided she sounded very much like one of the demented guests from the mad tea party in
Alice in Wonderland
.

Posy, whose blue eyes had anxiously watched the standoff between Martha and Phyllis, said quickly, “Actually, I was just counting tables in my head. I’m sure we have room for you at the retreat.”

“But for heaven’s sake, don’t tell anyone else!” said Meadow in her loud whisper that could likely be heard by passersby on the street outside.

“Thanks so much,” said Phyllis, giving Posy and Meadow and even a startled Beatrice a hug. “I’ll be here Friday evening.”

“Let’s make it five o’clock,” said Posy.

“Remember to bring food,” Meadow called out as
Phyllis started walking toward the door. “We have to have lots of sustenance for this kind of thing.”

The door chimed as Phyllis left the shop. “That was interesting,” murmured Beatrice.

“Those Cut-Ups with these silly melodramas,” said Meadow with a sniff. “It’s good to belong to a grown-up guild.” She froze as Martha Helmsley gave her an unfriendly stare. “That is . . . well . . . oops. I have foot-in-mouth disease. Sorry about that, Martha.”

Beatrice could barely see Martha’s tense face over the huge pile she was holding. She held yards of several different patterns of fabrics—enough material for several quilts—and quilt batting, to boot. Posy quickly rang her up and Beatrice raised her eyebrows at the final total for the purchase.

“Thanks so much, Posy,” said Martha smoothly. “You always have everything I need here.”

“Thanks for being one of my best customers,” said Posy brightly.

“Before I go,” said Martha carelessly, “I wanted to see if I could join you ladies on Friday evening, too.”

“Oh!” said Posy, startled. She looked helplessly over at Meadow and Beatrice for direction.

“No room! No room!” Miss Sissy repeated aggressively.

Meadow gave a ferocious frown, putting her hands on her wide hips. “I thought you told Phyllis that you were done with your quilt.”