The Devil's Puzzle (36 page)

“I came to see Eleanor one night in late May or June of that year. I walked out onto the back porch and I saw Glad and Winston talking over by the trees.”

“So what?”

“Glad was crying. Winston was calling her a child. He said she would get over it.”

“I don’t suppose you know what he meant?”

“Him, I assume. Don’t you?”

Jesse nodded slightly. “Why did you wait until now to mention this?”

“I didn’t want to stir up any trouble.”

“You were protecting Glad?”

“No. Heavens, no. Mary. She doesn’t need to be tarnished with her sister’s actions. She has enough of her own problems.”

“Okay.” Jesse got up from the chair, shaking his head. “Go change your pants, Ed. And get another muffin, on me.” Jesse walked toward me. “We should get back to Eleanor.”

We walked over to the shop, but by the time we got there, Eleanor was gone and the CLOSED sign was on the window.

CHAPTER 58

“H
appy birthday.” Jesse kissed me on the nose as I lay next to him in bed.

“What was that for?”

“Does the fact that I wished you a happy birthday provide any kind of a clue?”

“Not if you kiss me like you’re my grandfather.” Jesse smiled, leaned over me, and kissed me again. This time he got it right. “Happy birthday,” he said again. “What’s the plan for today?”

“The show is tomorrow,” I said. “And believe it or not, I haven’t quilted my devil’s puzzle yet. Plus, I have to get all the quilts ready to be hung and make sure that my volunteers are in place.”

“Any word from Eleanor?”

“Phone calls. She’s been at Oliver’s. I think she’s avoiding me. She hasn’t even come to the shop in two days.”

“That poor woman, still feeling embarrassed after all these years.” He leaned on his side, looking at me as I lay on my back in his bed. He ran his hand softly down my chest and rested it on my stomach. “But she’ll have to see you today.”

“True. And one good thing came out of it. We know what she was hiding, so that takes her off the suspect list for Winston’s murder.”

“Nell, if I were able to be objective about you, or your grandmother, which I’m not, I would say that her marriage to Winston not only does not take her off the suspect list, it actually moves her right to the top.”

“Except you know she didn’t kill him.”

“I do.”

“So, she’s off the list.”

“She was never really on the list.”

“Then why are we fighting?”

“Are we fighting?” he asked. “Because if we are, and the fight is over, then we should make up.”

With that he moved his hand lower on my body, leaned over, and kissed me again.

When I arrived at the shop later that morning, Natalie and Eleanor were there ahead of me.

“Happy birthday, dear,” Eleanor said.

I hugged her. “I’ve missed you these past few days.”

“I wouldn’t miss your birthday. Oliver helped me see that I need to move forward, not backward, so I’m ready to help you get the show together. Whatever you need.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Natalie said. “Happy twenty-seven, Nell. Look what we did for your birthday.”

With Natalie’s son clapping, Barney barking, and my grandmother and Natalie looking on, I opened up the large gift bag Natalie had placed in front of me. Inside was my devil’s puzzle quilt, and it had been beautifully finished.

“When did you do this?”

“When you were out solving the world’s problems,” Eleanor said.

“Natalie did the quilting and I sewed on the binding.”

“You could not have given me anything I would appreciate more. It was going to take up my whole day finishing this.”

“What’s a quilt group for if not to help you get a quilt finished . . .” Natalie started.

“Or investigate a few murders,” I said.

“Assuming you don’t spend your afternoon doing that,” Eleanor interrupted, “what will you do with your day?”

“Hang quilts.”

I headed over to Bryant’s Cinema, where I assembled the quilt poles for the quilts that would be shown in his lobby. Ed wasn’t there, but he’d left me a note saying he’d arranged for
How to Make an American Quilt
to play all day in a salute to the show and the holiday. After the poles were assembled, I hung the twelve antique quilts that would be displayed.

They represented generations of quilters, some beginner, some expert. Some used scraps, like the star quilt of blue denims and white and yellow shirtings that had been made in the seventies. Others were made from quilt kits that dated as far back as the twenties. And still others were made from velvets and silks with elaborate embroidery.

After I’d hung them on the poles, I placed the racks throughout the lobby. Bright appliquéd baskets in one quilt gave way to soft pastel log cabin blocks in another. A quilt from the Civil War faced a quilt made a hundred years later. In each one the maker was evident, and I stood wondering about each of these women and about the hard choices they faced, the rumors they lived with, and the losses they accepted. I felt a part of them, the way you do when you become a quilter. We are all joined by a love of needle and thread, by the usefulness and the beauty of a quilt, and by the friendships that form because of it. But as I looked at each quilt, I also saw the individual behind each piece. You can hide who you are from much of the world, but when you quilt, I realized, your personality finds its way into the finished product.

After I finished, I went to each shop that had agreed to display a quilt outside and I put together the poles, hung a reproduction quilt, and placed it inside the window. At Jitters, my last stop, Carrie and I hung her reproduction Depression-era broken dishes quilt, an easy pattern of quarter square triangles. Each block looks like an hourglass, but when assembled, the quilt looks like a mosaic of broken dishes spread out over a muslin floor. For the borders, Carrie had cut wide strips of muslin and appliquéd dozens of small Scottie dogs to it. Scottie dogs were a popular appliqué item in the 1940s, as a nod to Franklin D. Roosevelt’s dog, Fala. While it must have taken hours back then to trace and cut out each three-inch pup, Carrie had made a more modern choice. She ordered the Scotties, precut and ready for appliqué, on the Internet.

“Just keep it in the window until tomorrow at ten a.m.,” I said. “That’s when all the merchants are supposed to put the quilts out on the street. The parade starts at eleven, so all the people will be watching just outside your store and hopefully enjoying the quilts while they watch the parade.”

“What time is the carnival?” she asked. “I’m taking my kids to that.”

“It starts at noon. After the parade and the big unveiling.”

“Glad’s statue.” Carrie shook her head. “Any hints on what it looks like?”

“None yet. I passed the park on my way here. The statue was there, but it was completely covered by a huge blue cloth and tied with a rope.”

“That’s going to be interesting.”

“Let’s hope it’s the only interesting thing that happens tomorrow.”

“What’s left to happen?” she asked. “Most of the town buildings have been broken into or vandalized already.”

“Whoever murdered Winston has done an excellent job of misdirection,” I said. “We’re no closer to finding the killer than we were when we found the body.”

“You certainly have enough suspects,” Carrie said. “Everyone seems to have had the finger pointed at them at one time or another.”

“Everyone but me,” I said. “I’m off the hook.”

“Only because you weren’t alive in 1975—if that’s a hint for a free birthday cupcake.”

“I already had one.”

“So have another. And make a wish,” she said as she put a small pink birthday candle on my cupcake.

“I want Winston’s killer to turn himself or herself in. And after tomorrow I want life in Archers Rest to return to normal.” I blew out my candle.

“Birthday wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud.”

“I knew it couldn’t be that easy,” I said, and bit into a lemon-filled vanilla cupcake with raspberry icing.

CHAPTER 59

T
he next morning I arrived at the shop, a little worse for the birthday celebrating—excessive champagne, rich Italian food, and a night spent at Jesse’s house. But I was smiling. For the first time in a long time, I was determined to focus only on quilting and having fun.

“Let me see it,” Eleanor said as I walked in the door.

“See what?”

“The ring.”

I held up both unadorned hands. “No ring.”

“When is he going to propose? Last night was the perfect opportunity.”

“Maybe he has another plan in mind,” I said. “When it comes to romance, he’s a bit of a perfectionist.”

“Jesse?”

I stopped. “Yeah. Jesse. Of course, Oliver is a romantic, too.” “Back to that again.”

“Well, the reason you were so against remarrying is that you thought there was a chance you might still be married,” I said. “And now you know you’re not.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Every puzzle has an answer.”

“Not every puzzle. But this one did. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t have him declared dead after seven years. Couldn’t you have done that?”

“But that would have meant admitting he was dead, and his sister wasn’t able to do it. Elizabeth assumed it, as I did, but to have it declared in a court of law, that would have been too painful for her.”

“Hey, what can I do to help?”

I turned and saw Molly walk in with Natalie.

“You want to help?”

“Sure. I am supposed to be here helping with the anniversary celebration, and it does sound kind of fun,” Molly said. “Besides, I figured Grace would want me to pitch in, as a representative of the family.”

“We’re getting ready to position the quilts in front of the shops,” I said. “If you can just walk down the street reminding the shop owners and assisting anyone who needs help bringing the quilts outside, that would be wonderful. And if you can do it without breaking into any banks or questioning any suspects . . .”

She laughed. “I’ll try. I may not have solved my great-uncle’s murder, but at least I got to know him a little. So I guess that’s something. And I have to say,” she paused, “I think he might have been wrong about this town.”

Natalie threw an arm around her. “You remind me more and more of Grace.”

“That’s a high compliment,” she said.

“But,” Natalie reminded her, “Grace knew how to quilt.”

“I may give up investigating and take up quilting,” Molly said.

“You can do both,” Eleanor told her. “Just ask Nell.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s get the quilts out before Glad finds me and throws another fit.”

Twenty minutes later, I hung my devil’s puzzle quilt just outside the shop, pinned Allie’s striped square next to it, and looked up at the sky—bright, blue, and clear.

“A perfect day,” I said to myself.

Molly must have felt the same way, because she was smiling brightly as she walked toward me. “The quilts are out, and Ed’s theater has all the antique ones ready for showing. He also told me he has the wine and cheese for the reception this afternoon. What else do you need?”

“Tourists, I guess. And coffee.”