Wild Goose Chase (11 page)

Thirty thousand dollars. I
left the Freitas sisters and headed toward the QP booth. Threading my way through the crowded aisles, I wondered how much money the Extravaganza had taken in today. There was a lot more cash floating around than I’d ever imagined.

Maybe the notebook was a record of Justine’s gambling debts. As I walked, I looked through it.

A drawing of a simple quilt block was repeated over and over. It was a rectangle with a triangle bisecting the length. I traced it with my finger. Easy to draw. I wasn’t sure of the name, but it was similar to blocks in the antique quilt I’d been given.

There was no mention of gambling wins or losses. Maybe the book was just what I’d originally thought—a record of vendors that JustEve dealt with.

Near the middle, I found a sheet with the QP name on the top and the number ten with several letters alongside. Ten? Was that good? Maybe on a scale for good vendors, we’d scored a perfect ten. Maybe it was the number of years we’d been doing business with JustEve. Whatever it meant, this was Justine’s private property. I closed the book guiltily.

When I got to the booth, Kym was on her hands and knees. She had pushed aside the calico skirts and was half under the table. She poked her head out to grill me.

“I need more promotional QP bags. Do you know where they are, Dewey?” she asked.

“Me? I didn’t pack that stuff, you did. In fact, if you remember, you insisted that you were the only one who could be trusted with that job.”

Kym rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t need so many bags if people wouldn’t use them for their own purposes. They should only go out to the customers, everyone,” she lectured. Jenn looked innocent. Ina was struggling to keep a straight face. “The customers who spend over two hundred dollars in one sale. And only those.”

Kym was looking right at me. How did she know I had taken a bag home with me last night? I arranged my face in a neutral position.

“We have plenty of those bags, Kym,” I said. “Vangie can bring us some from the store if we need them.”

Kym made a face and continued to rummage through the plastic bin.

I approached Ina. We exchanged grins behind Kym’s back. “Do you know what a Flying Geese is?”

“Sure, it’s a quilt block,” Ina said.

“Like this?” I pulled out the notebook and opened it to a random page. I didn’t recognize the name of the vendor on the top, but there was a row of the rectangular quilt blocks underneath. I pointed.

Ina said, “Yeah, that’s the block. You see a whole row of them in a border or they can be put together in different combinations to make quilt blocks.”

“I heard my mother liked them.”

Ina nodded idly, taking the notebook out of my hand and flipping pages. “What’s this book?”

“I’m not really sure. I found it near Justine’s room. I was thinking it might be hers. And now that I heard she stole the money …”

“What?” Ina asked.

“Justine took the JustEve bank deposit—thirty thousand dollars,” I whispered. “She stole the admission money and then gambled it away.”

Ina made a perfect O with her mouth. She held up the notebook. “So you’re thinking she’s done this before and kept some kind of record?”

I nodded. “Maybe.”

“Found them!” Kym gave me a smug grin and came out from under the table. I couldn’t tell if she’d heard me tell Ina about Justine. I tucked the notebook back in my pocket.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a bag out of Kym’s hand. She gave me a nasty look. “I need one right now. This box is kind of awkward to carry.”

“What’s in there?” Ina asked.

I pulled the box open to reveal the quilt. “Noni and Chester from Youngstown Quilts gave this to me.”

“They gave you a quilt?” Kym stood up.

As I unfolded the quilt, Jenn and a few customers gathered around us. I knew from show-and-tell at the store that antique quilts were like newborns, impossible for women to resist. Kym didn’t appreciate the shift in focus from her and cut in front of Jenn, running her hands over the quilt. I wanted to tell her to get her fingers off my quilt, but I restrained myself, just moving the quilt slightly so her hand fell off.

“Mom bought this for me,” I said.

Kym cut in. “How did your
mother
buy a quilt?” she said snottily. She was determined to step on any happiness I might have.

“Well, she didn’t actually buy it. That couple in the antique quilt booth, Chester and Noni, had been on the lookout for one like it for her. They just handed it to me,” I said.

“No one ever gave me a quilt,” Kym muttered.

Ina stroked it. “Beautiful. I think the block design is ‘Wild Goose Chase,’ Dewey.”

“I’d call it ‘Geese in Flight,’” Kym put in. Jenn pointed at her and nodded her agreement.

Ina wouldn’t take the bait. “You know how it is, quilt patterns have lots of different names.”

“I can’t remember all the details,” I said, “but when I was a kid I saw one like it in a book.”

A customer grabbed Kym’s attention. Jenn followed her, and the other customers drifted off, pulling fat quarter packs off the shelves and touching the bolts.

Ina and I refolded the quilt. “I know how being here drags up memories of other shows, of Mom,” I said to Ina. “You’d been together for what, fifteen years …”

“Nineteen,” Ina corrected.

“Sorry about yesterday. That was rough. Kym and I shouldn’t have fought like that in front of the customers.” My voice faded as I struggled to apologize.

“Kym’s always been a bit too big for her britches. With your mom gone, she likes to throw her weight around. She’s already hassled me today about my attire. Tough toenails, I’m too old to wear petticoats and go without my sneakers.”

Jenn crossed in front of us to get a ruler for a customer. Ina stifled a laugh.

“Check out her hair,” Ina whispered.

Jenn was dressed like Kym in an old-fashioned long skirt and high neck ruffled blouse, but her ponytail was tied back with a soccer ball printed scrunchy. Ina coughed out a little laugh.

“Should I tell her?” I said.

Ina shook her head. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered.

“Ina, what if I was thinking about selling QP?”

Ina’s face fell. “I figured that was what Claire was after. I saw you two talking yesterday morning.”

Why was I surprised? Nothing escaped notice at the quilt show. “Claire said my mother was going to sell. Why would she do that, Ina?”

Ina looked away. “Audra hadn’t made a quilt in years.” Her voice was rough and low as though she was telling me a shameful secret.

“What do you mean? She loved to quilt. She owned a quilt shop, for crying out loud.” I was thinking fast, trying to remember the last quilt Mom’d made. There was the Double Wedding Ring for Kevin and Kym when they got married, but I couldn’t picture another.

Ina said, “The shop took up too much of her time. She’d stopped quilting and she wasn’t happy about that.”

Claire had thought the shop had gotten too big for Mom to handle. Freddy talked about the dangers of working in a field you loved. Now Ina was saying Mom hadn’t sewn enough. Everyone had a different idea as to why Mom would sell.

“Do you think selling is a bad idea?” I asked. “I’ve had some other inquiries. I don’t know what to do. You know I’m no good at managing the shop.”

Ina pulled me in for a fierce hug. “Do whatever works for you, Dewey. Your mother wanted you to be happy.”

I nodded into her chest. Ina released me with a quick pat. I gently folded the quilt into the box and placed it in the QP bag. Last night Claire’s friends had remembered her with humor. Talking about Mom with Noni, and now Ina, had felt good.

I stashed the bag under the counter and clapped my hands together, trying to dissipate the emotion I was feeling.

“You know what, Ina, enough grief already. My mother loved working this show.”

“That she did.”

“My mother was a fun person.”

“That she was,” Ina agreed.

“And,” I said raising my voice so Kym could hear, “My mother always said no real quilter would allow a small thing like death to get in the way of buying fabric.”

Kym took the bait. “Your mother said no such thing,” she sniffed, handing her customer her receipt. Jenn glanced at Kym, who set her mouth in a straight line. Jenn frowned in echo.

I winked at Ina. She caught my drift and threw a convivial arm around my shoulder.

“Listen, kiddo, your mother and I missed a funeral once because there was a quilt shop on the way to the cemetery.”

“You did not,” Kym cried, keeping a careful eye on the two customers browsing the booth.

“It’s not like we missed the church service, just the burial,” Ina finished, barely suppressing a giggle.

“I never heard about that,” I said. “But she used to tell this story about this wake, for some big remodel customer Dad had in Los Altos Hills. Dad always joked that the guy dropped dead when he got the final bill. Anyhow, Mom ducked out before the priest said mass because Thai Silk was having a big sale. She got back just as Dad started looking for her, having spent two hundred dollars on dupioni.” I felt the tears coming again and laughed harder to keep them at bay.

“Do you think that’s appropriate?” Kym hissed, moving closer to me while looking over her shoulder at the customers. All around us, friends were spending time together, laughing, having a great time. I was tired of missing out.

“Put a sock in it, Kym. New policy at Quilter Paradiso. We’re going to have fun in this booth. I declare the period of mourning for Audra Pellicano officially over. She wouldn’t want us moping around here.”

“This
was
her favorite show, and we always had a good time,” Ina said.

“So, if you don’t have anything funny to say, don’t say anything,” I said.

Kym made a moue of disapproval. Jenn clucked in response. I didn’t care. Almost immediately, customers filed into the booth, already attracted by the new vibe. Ina went over to help out, leaving Kym and I standing next to each other.

“You look like hell,” Kym said, trying to brush my bangs out of my eyes. I dodged her touch.

“If that’s supposed to be amusing, you’re off to a bad start.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I pushed a hand through my hair, even though I knew by doing that I was risking a cowlick.

“Visions of Claire instead of sugarplums?” she asked.

Did she know what she was saying? Had Kevin told her about my dream? He wouldn’t.

“Hey, what’s this about you and Buster?” Kym asked.

My stomach sank even further. It would be awful if she knew about me and Buster sleeping together. She’d either go into full-on matchmaker mode and plan a double date, some cheesy limo tour of Napa, or she’d advise Buster to run while he could. Either way, I didn’t want her input.

I pointed at the band aid with pink hearts on the elbow she’d cut on the blade yesterday.

“You’re ruining the ambiance. Couldn’t you find a historically correct bandage?” I said, trying to stave off her prying. “I could rip up some muslin …”

“Dewey, it’s all over the show this morning that you found Claire’s body and spent the afternoon with Buster and the police. When were you going to tell me?”

So that’s all she knew. Good, I’d keep it that way. “I can’t talk about it. Police orders.”

“Speak of the devil. Buster!”

He was standing in the middle of the aisle, watching me. I felt heat rise on my face and smoothed my hand over my hair. Had he come to see me? I tried to read his expression—was that regret?

Before I could react, Kym raced out of the booth, throwing her arms around Buster’s neck. He looked over her shoulder at me sheepishly. I was glad she couldn’t see me, because I felt my face split into a big grin as Buster smiled like we had a secret.

She pushed him away, inspected him and wolf-whistled. He did look good, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit with a raspberry-colored shirt and narrow black tie. His leather belt had a San Jose Police Department buckle. The brightly colored shirt complemented his black hair and set off his blue eyes. I’d never wanted to date a guy who spent more money on his wardrobe than I did, but I had to admit, clothes did help make this man. Of course, I liked the way he looked without them, too. I blushed, remembering his touches.