The Double Cross (6 page)

“Don’t say that. I’m sure you have lots of talents. You’re already a pretty good artist.” I pointed to the sketch that lay next to her pile of fabrics.

“If I do alright, maybe I’ll start making quilts for the church auction. I’m very active in the community. Keeps me busy.”

“And it helps others.”

She nodded. “I do what I can.”

Message received. Helen was a giving, yet humble, member of the Winston community, and she wanted to be praised without seeming to want it. There were dozens like her in Archers Rest.

“I’m not sure I have the right blue for the sky.” She scrunched up her face as if she was intensely staring at the three blue silks before her, but I could see that she was watching her husband out of the corner of her eye.

Frank, who was only a few feet away from us, had cornered Susanne, asking more questions about her than about quilting. Susanne kept pointing toward his sketch of a rock formation and suggesting dark greens and purples as perfect colors to represent the rocks, but Frank had no interest in her ideas. Instead he stood uncomfortably close to her, smiling in a way that suggested he had mistaken the classroom for a singles bar. But the only man Susanne was interested in, other than her husband, was her grandson. Frank, no matter his charm, was out of luck.

“I saw a deer when I was walking,” Frank told her. “I like deer.”

“Yes, they’re beautiful animals,” Susanne agreed. “You can add one in if you like.”

“To hunt,” Frank corrected her. “Not to look at. Ever do any hunting?”

“No. My husband and I are not hunters.”

It was the fourth time in five minutes that Susanne had mentioned her husband, but Frank wasn’t getting the hint. Of course, any man who would flirt so openly just a few feet from his wife wouldn’t let a small detail like a husband get in his way.

“People up here like to get out in the open, enjoy nature. You enjoy nature, don’t you?” Frank moved closer to Susanne, who was trapped against one of the worktables.

“Enjoying the class?” I interrupted, much to Susanne’s relief. She quickly moved on to the twins, while I stayed with Frank. “Your wife is doing some amazing work. Take a look.”

Frank’s smile faded. We were in a standoff, but I held my ground. He struck me as a man who used his charisma to get what he wanted, and when that didn’t work, he tried intimidation. “Not this time,” I tried to say with my eyes. He held my gaze for what seemed like an eternity; then he blinked. I smiled and turned away. I left Frank with nothing to do but work on his quilt and talk to his wife. I moved on to Pete. He had no real talent for the art, but he was earnest and seemed to be enjoying himself.

“He’s a piece of work,” Pete said, nodding toward Frank. Frank caught Pete and I looking at him and scowled back.

“Not friends, I take it,” I said.

“Let’s just say we have a different way of looking at women.” He blushed a little. “Of course, he’s still married, and my wife just left me, so maybe my way is wrong.”

“I doubt it,” I said as I glanced back toward Frank.

“That’s why I’m here. Rita thought I should get out of the house and maybe use the class as an opportunity to meet someone new.” He nodded over to the twins. “Not what I had in mind though.”

“What’s your type?”

“Why? Do you know someone?”

I shrugged. I did think that, maybe, he might be a good match for Bernie. They were about the same age and had the same laid-back quality about them. I didn’t know if she would think so. But, then, I didn’t even know where she was. Eleanor had agreed to spend the day helping Rita set up the shop, but I couldn’t picture Bernie being anxious to offer her services. Maybe I needed to get her into the classroom for a casual introduction to Pete.

“I’m open to any woman who has the patience to put up with me.” He smiled and held up two pieces of fabric. “Now, what exactly am I supposed to do with this?”

“This would be a good color for the sky,” I suggested. I pointed to a hand-painted fabric that had streaks of pink and blue across it.

“I’ll take your word for it.” He cut a four-inch strip and laid it across the top of his felt square. “Looks good,” he admitted. “Like a sunset.” He grabbed a piece of dark navy dupioni silk. “I could put a small strip of this below it, as if it were the ground for the woods. It gets quite dark in there. Very spooky, really.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever take a walk in the woods at night,” I said. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.”

“It’s actually a lot of fun,” he said. “I’ve lived in the area most of my life and I don’t think I’ve ever looked at the trees in quite the same way as I did today. I was kind of dreading this, to tell you the truth. Figured I’d be looking for the exit the whole time. But this is cool.”

“When my grandmother offered to teach me to quilt, I felt the same way; then I fell in love with it. And the way Susanne teaches, you can do whatever you like.”

“My wife would say that I’ve been doing what I like for thirty years,” he said. “So maybe that’s why this class is so appealing.”

“Her loss, Pete,” I said, and I meant it. I was glad to see that Susanne was already winning over students and that someone new was finding out how enjoyable it could be to make a quilt. But I was also getting quite stuck on the idea of reminding Bernie that there were nice men in the world. Nice, single men that didn’t own broken-down inns or condescend to quilters.

For a moment I thought maybe I shouldn’t focus so heavily on Bernie’s romantic problems and should instead spend a little time on my own, but that made me think of Jesse. And that made me think that he’d be pleased to see me spending my time on quilting and romance, and not, as he put it, getting myself into dangerous situations. And that made me think that maybe he should trust my ability to get out of dangerous situations—and I realized that in ten seconds I’d gone from missing Jesse to being mad at him. “That’s why,” I told myself, “I should focus on Bernie’s love life. Less chance I’ll get emotional whiplash.”

That was the thing about Jesse. He thought that just by staying away from crime scenes and criminals I was staying out of trouble. He had no idea how dangerous romance could be.

CHAPTER 7

We all gathered for dinner in the B-and-B’s mismatched dining room. Having skipped the traditional first-night “welcome to the quilt retreat” celebration, George and Rita put together lasagna and salad for the whole group after the first day of class was over.

Normally I’m against all forms of forced socializing, but I was glad of the dinner because it would give me a chance to finally see Rita. For the moment, though, the only Olnhausen in the room was George, holding an armful of quilts and looking for a place to set them down. When he saw me and Susanne standing near the buffet, he rushed over.

“I want to show you these. These are the quilts I was talking about,” he said.

He laid them out on a table, and Susanne, Eleanor, and I starting going through them.

“I would say they’re all quite old. Maybe a hundred years,” Eleanor said. “They’re all classic patterns: hunter’s star, log cabin, double cross. Really lovely workmanship.”

“Are they valuable?” Helen had moved closer to get a good view, as did one of the twins, Frank, and Pete. George moved aside to let Helen get a better view, and as he did, I noticed the way she smiled at him. It was a loving smile. But George didn’t pay attention. He was looking at my grandmother, and she was looking at the quilts.

“They aren’t in the best condition,” Eleanor said. “I’m not sure what they would be worth, but they are beautiful.”

“Whatever they’re worth, we’ll find a place for them once we’re done with the remodeling,” George said. “Nice to have something from the house to showcase.”

The twin started refolding the quilts. “You should store them somewhere safe,” she said. “I can put them away for you if you like.”

“That’s very nice of you, miss.” George directed her to an armoire in the corner of the dining room, and we all watched her lovingly place each quilt inside it. “Everyone’s so helpful,” he said as he headed back toward the kitchen.

I noticed that Bernie was the only one who hadn’t come to look at the quilts. I sat next to her, and we smiled, but she didn’t seem to want to talk, so I dug into my dinner instead.

“Thanks again for today.” Pete was behind me with a plate of lasagna.

“Join us.” I gestured to an empty chair across from me. “This is Bernie Avallone. Bernie, this is Pete . . .”

“Pete Carson.” He shook her hand then smiled at me. “You’re the last of the ladies who came up to help. Nell was telling me about you. About all of you.”

“It sounds like you’re having a nice time in the class.”

“Better than I thought.”

“Maybe Pete can show you around town,” I suggested.

Bernie looked at me. “I’m sure he has better things to do.”

“Not really,” Pete said, smiling.

As I looked for a way to make myself scarce, a woman walked into the room.

She had to be Rita, though she was not at all what I’d pictured. She was tall and model thin, with chic razor-short blonde hair. She wore black pants with a black turtleneck, a zebra-print belt, and high-heeled boots. A sparkly diamond bracelet hung from her wrist, and her diamond ring seemed larger than her finger. She looked like one of those women who wander Beverly Hills with dogs in their purses. Of all of us, she seemed the least likely to own a tear-down B-and-B in the mountains.

“She has not changed one bit,” Bernie said. “Not one bit. Can you believe it? How does someone not age in forty-five years?”

“You are every bit as beautiful,” I told Bernie, and I meant it. Bernie might not have Rita’s Paris-runway fashion sense, but she had warmth and kindness and a smile that made everyone who saw it feel happier.

Pete looked at Bernie. “You know Rita?”

“Old friends,” I said.

“Ex-friends,” Bernie corrected me.

Pete looked at me for answers, but I just made a face that I hoped would convey that, however dramatic Bernie’s statement seemed, it was a minor thing that should not detract in any way from his interest in her. It was a lot to say with a smile, but Pete smiled back and seemed to go along.

“She’s a bit much sometimes,” he offered, in a supportive way that made me like him more. “She’s always disappearing on George. I was actually kind of surprised when they told me about opening the place as an inn. Seemed like more work than Rita, or really either of them, would enjoy.”

“Then why are they doing it?” I asked.

Pete shrugged. “Maybe they wanted a project. They retired early, and instead of the good life they got bored.”

“They probably had no idea how much work it would require,” I said. “They seem a bit in over their heads, with the condition of this place.”

Bernie put her head on my shoulder. “I suppose I can’t avoid her anymore.”

“You haven’t seen her yet?” I asked. “What did you do today?”

“I borrowed Eleanor’s car, went into town, and shopped. I couldn’t face it. I don’t know what I was thinking by coming here.”

It looked for a moment like Bernie might run from the room, but Rita glanced our way and all chance for escape was lost. We sat and watched her walk across the room, coming closer to us with each step. I could feel the tension rising in Bernie, so I took her hand under the table.

“Bernadette,” Rita called out. She grabbed Bernie and pulled her up, forcing her to let go of my hand. She hugged her close until Bernie managed to get free. “I have thought of you so often over the years. I’ve missed you terribly.”

“This is Nell,” was Bernie’s reply. “She’s Eleanor’s granddaughter.”

Rita held out a perfectly manicured hand. “Your grandmother is a lifesaver. I’ve never met anyone who knows as much about anything as your grandmother does about quilting.”

“And she’s happy to share it,” I said. “Did you get inspired?”

Rita sat next to Bernie. “I can’t wait to get started. I feel like it’s just the thing I’ve needed—an outlet for my creativity and a stress reliever in one. Now I understand why you’ve quilted all these years, Bernie.” She smiled. “Honestly, I was shocked when George said you were here. It was such a wonderful surprise.”

“It was a last-minute decision.”

“I want to know everything you’ve been doing,” Rita said. “I know it’s a lot of years to catch up on, but I want to hear about every one of them.”

Bernie nodded and looked to me for help. I assumed that Bernie had been picturing this moment, but now that she was facing Rita, she looked desperate to end it. I knew the conversation couldn’t go on much longer.

“Bernie, I’m sorry to ask you this, but could you check on Barney?” I said. “I’m still eating and . . .”

“Absolutely.” Bernie jumped up from the table. People flee a murder scene more slowly than Bernie left that room.

“Maybe you can help her,” I said to Pete, who took the hint and went after Bernie. If I could get Bernie to have even a slight interest in Pete, it might water down the discomfort she felt and maybe even lead to new romance for two deserving people. And then there was my third motive for getting rid of Pete: I wanted answers.

“So you knew Bernie in high school,” I said to Rita as soon as Bernie and Pete were gone. I was determined to get the whole story and figure out why, after all these years, this woman could so intimidate my usually confident friend.

“We were the closest of friends,” Rita told me. “The absolute closest. We knew each other all through grade school and high school. We smoked our first cigarette together, drank our first cocktail.” She laughed. “We even had our first kisses at the same party.”

“Was George your first kiss?”

Rita smiled. But it wasn’t a real smile. A real smile is as much in a person’s eyes as in their lips, and Rita’s eyes were cold. “No. He was actually Bernadette’s first kiss. They were sweethearts for a time. Nothing serious, you understand, just high school stuff.”