Wild Goose Chase (25 page)

Now was my chance. With my hand behind me, I gathered a large handful of the crazy quilt and pulled with all my might.

Nothing happened. The quilt stand rocked twice, but held fast. Myra looked back at me, her face distorted. She didn’t know why the stand was moving, but she sensed I was getting away. She shifted the gun toward me.

I heard the creaking of the wooden cross stands and the clanging of the pipes as the framework struggled to stay together. The stands held steady. My escape plan wasn’t working.

I looked at her face, expecting to see her exultant. Instead, her eyes flashed with terror. She was afraid. I’d thought she was powerful, but in fact, she had power only over those she killed. And I was still alive.

Keeping my eyes on her, I pulled back my right leg and cross-kicked the quilt support, using all the strength in my legs, catching the pipe fully. My hip bone resonated; the pain radiated from the ankle to the groin, setting up an answering throb in my head.

The quilt stands rumbled. It was working. The support shifted. The metal pole slipped from its crook and started down.

I ran, hands over my head. Behind me, metal rang loudly as it hit the convention center floor. The stands were toppling one after another. I ran alongside the falling supports, dodging wooden stands and jumping over rolling pipes. A pole clipped my arm painfully. I ran faster, putting all the falling stands behind me.

I made it to the doorway of the alcove and stopped and looked back. Myra was transfixed, her gun hand loose at her side, ineffectual. Poles fell like pick-up sticks all around her. I watched as a metal pole caught her on the shoulder, knocking her to the floor, toward the collapsing stands. Another pole hit her squarely on the head and she went limp. Claire’s quilt settled around her, covering her.

More quilt stands fell down. I ran again. The noise was deafening, as the quilt stands in the alcove collapsed one by one, their echoes reaching out as I cleared the entrance. My breath was painful, coming in short, cutting bursts. I got into the main exhibit and leaned over my knees, chest heaving with effort. Behind me the room was in total disarray—quilts, wooden stands, and metal poles scattered like driftwood on the beach. Myra moaned.

“Stop right there!”

My little friend, the security guard, stood in front of me, large Mace can drawn like a revolver, nearly beaning me with it. I stopped, holding my hands out in front of me.

“Oh, man, am I glad to see you,” I said, gasping for air.

I was so happy to see his ferret face, I grabbed him and kissed him. He jumped back and raised his Mace can at me again. I ducked, trying not to laugh at his startled expression.

“Don’t shoot me. The murderer is back there, under a pile of quilt stands. Call the police.”

“What’s going on?” a deep voice rumbled from behind the security guard. The little guy whipped his Mace can around, pointing it directly at Buster. Buster held up his gun, and the guard backed down.

I was never happier to see him. “Myra,” I said, my chest hurting with each syllable. “She killed Claire and Justine, and she’s back there.”

Buster barked into his cell, then pointed at the security guard. “Let’s go.”

They ran toward the alcove.

I sat on the floor and cradled my aching skull in my hands. Time slowed. Paramedics rushed past me. Sanchez appeared at my elbow. From my vantage point on the floor, I could see his black silk socks. Was it just two days ago I’d looked up at Sanchez from this same angle? The crease in his pants was so sharp, I could have flossed my teeth with it. The thought made me smile.

“Crimesolver Pelligrino. We’ve been looking for you,” Sanchez said.

“I told you I didn’t kill anyone. And it’s Pellicano.”

“That notebook gave Ms. Banks’ motive, and the ME pinpointed Justine’s time of death as during the time you and my detective were cavorting.”

“We were having lunch,” I protested.

“Oh, is that what you young folks call it these days?”

He started to walk away, but the entrance was blocked by the paramedics rushing through with a stretcher. Buster came through the doors right behind the paramedics. Sanchez followed the stretcher, telling Buster to stay with me. Nice.

He took a step toward me and held out his arms. I sank into them, relishing the warmth of his strong forearms. I began to shake, felt the answering beat of his heart, steady and strong.

“Is she dead?” I asked into his chest, relishing the warmth there. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. How would I feel if I’d killed someone?

“No,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “But she’s out cold and won’t be coming to for a while. She caught one of those metal bars right on the noggin.”

“Is that police talk—noggin?”

He laughed. I wrapped my arms tighter around Buster’s back. If I could have climbed him like a tree, I would have. I didn’t want to leave the safety of his arms.

“She was going to kill me and make it look like a suicide,” I said into his shoulder, my voice cracking at the horror.

“Suicide?” Buster barked, his voice rough and low. “No way I’d have gone for that scenario.”

He pulled back, his eyes serious, belying the light tone in his voice.

“Shoot yourself?” he continued. “Now if you’d jumped off a bridge or gone under a train, that I could believe. But shooting yourself? Remember that time Kevin shot his foot with the BB gun? You fainted at the sight of his blood.”

“I didn’t faint,” I protested. “I sat down suddenly.”

“You were out cold.”

“Now you’re just lying,” I said, his silliness making me giddy.

He smiled, pleased that he’d made me laugh. “Look what I found. Does this belong to you?”

From behind my back he produced a QP bag. The Wild Goose Chase quilt. My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t speak, but nodded, pulling the quilt out of the bag and burying my face in it.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” Buster said.

Kevin whispered in Kym’s
ear and kissed her hair. He glanced at me, and she gave him a small shrug. He gave her a little shove toward me before pushing the full dolly away from the QP booth. He gave me a quick smile. Always the baby brother, wanting everyone to be happy.

It was Sunday evening, and we were tearing down the booth. The Seventeenth Annual Northern California Quilt Extravaganza was over. Kevin was headed for the truck, the dolly loaded with the tables and shelves we’d been using in our booth. Dad had called this afternoon with tales of late spring snows, road closings, and chains. It was just as well he’d missed this weekend. I’d sworn Kevin to secrecy for now. I would tell Dad all about it when he got back. This was my story to tell.

I was taking my time undoing the computer wires, neatening the cords with tie wraps and stowing them in a plastic box at my elbow. Kym was unusually quiet, boxing up the unsold books. What had Kevin told her? I knew she was worried that I was going to look for another buyer for Quilter Paradiso.

Myra had been taken into custody last night, charged with both murders. Her injuries had put her in the hospital, but weren’t fatal. She would live to stand trial for the murders of Claire and Justine. I had been in the emergency room for several hours getting my head checked out, and spent the rest of the night at the police station. Myra wasn’t talking and Sanchez had plenty of questions for me. He was genuinely interested in what I had to say. A new development, one I wasn’t sure I trusted.

Buster had dropped me at home at dawn. He wouldn’t come in the house, and made me promise to get some rest. I’d climbed into bed, under the Wild Goose Chase quilt, but sleep never came. I stroked the quilt and thought about my mother. By the time the weak morning sun had come through my window, I knew what I had to do.

I went to the quilt show to work in the booth. For the rest of the day, I enjoyed the simple pleasure of making customers happy.

To my delight, the POS program had worked smoothly. People flowed in and out of the booth. Kym spent several mostly successful hours on the computer. Quilter Paradiso had the best sales day of the weekend, and I was proud of what we’d done.

Now the booth was half-stripped, a shell of its former self. Kevin had already taken away the old-fashioned cooler. Piece by piece, the Dewey Mercantile booth was being dismantled.

Kym stopped, holding a book midway to a box, and cleared her throat. I looked at her. She was trying to say something.

“Dewey,” she began. I waited. “I’m sorry that I gave you a hard time about the computer.”

I choked back my surprise. Kym admitting she was wrong was not what I’d expected. Kevin must have insisted she apologize. I forced myself to be gracious.

“Thank you. I know if you let yourself, you might even learn to enjoy it,” I said.

She looked like she was going to protest, but thought better of it and returned to packing up the books instead.

If she was going to try to make amends, I would, too. I tried to keep the conciliatory spirit going. “Thanks to you we won first place for the Best Decorated Booth,” I offered. Eve had announced the results of the booth contest an hour ago when the show closed for the weekend.

She rolled her eyes and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “That was a pity vote.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe she wasn’t happy about winning.

“We only won because they felt sorry for us.”

“Kym, the judges voted Thursday morning, before Claire and Justine …” I stumbled over my words. “Before any of the drama took place. We won fair and square.”

“Wake up, Dewey. They gave us the prize because of your mother’s death. We would have won this year even if
you’d
decorated the booth.”

“Hey!” There was no need to insult me.

“Sorry, but it’s true.”

I sighed. Kym and I would not turn into best friends overnight.

“No big deal,” she said. “It just means I have to get started really early to win next year. I’m thinking a circus theme.”

“Huh?” I stuttered.

“Think of it. Clowns, bareback riders. I’ll be the ringleader. Oh wait, unless you want to. I could be a high-wire act.”

Vangie came around the corner, dressed in sweats. Her hair was pulled into two thick braids with a Raiders cap perched on top. “I’m here to haul. What can I do?”

“Do you have a lion tamer on speed dial?” I asked.

Kym stopped her wild gesturing, her enthusiasm dying as I burst her bubble. I reminded myself that she acted a little nuts because she loved Quilter Paradiso.

“We can talk about it,” I said.

She shifted her attention to Vangie. “Get over here and help me take down the QP banner,” she demanded.

I gave Vangie a quick squeeze on her upper arm as she passed me, and she smiled.

Lark’s head appeared over a stack of boxes. “Anyone want to be on TV?”

Kym looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Lark stepped around the half-filled hand truck and the large plastic bins of unsold fat quarters, trying to get closer to where I was putting the cash drawer and scanner away. I looked for the cameraman, but to my relief, Lark was alone.

“I sure don’t,” I said. “Besides, no one wants to hear about murder on the home-decorating channel.”

“Not about this weekend. I want to do a show on your shop,” she said.

Kym’s eyes widened in surprise. I saw her start to say something, then bite back her jealousy. She was really trying. I took a deep breath. I had to start giving Kym more of what she needed from me.

I stepped over to Kym, flinging an arm around her shoulder. She started, unable to keep the surprise off her face.

“A show on Quilter Paradiso would be brilliant. I don’t want to be on camera, but I know someone who would be great,” I said, pointing at my sister-in-law.

Lark looked from me to Kym. She shrugged. “You call the shots, girl. Just let me know when. Call me.”

She walked away, making a phone sign, holding her thumb and pinky to her ear.

“Does this mean you’re not selling Quilter Paradiso?” Kym asked warily, picking a piece of lint off my sweatshirt. I managed not to flinch this time.

I didn’t answer right away, taking the Quilter Paradiso banner that my mother had sewn so long ago from Kym and folding it gently.

On the way to the show this morning, I’d stopped at the store. Since today was Sunday, the shop didn’t open until eleven, so I was alone. I stood in the middle of the display floor, turning around, feeling the history—the exposed brick wall, the rows of wooden drawers left over from the hardware business, the loft that the first Dewey had stored grain in. But it was the more recent history that captured me. The bolts of colorful fabric. A hand-lettered sign pointing the way to the bathroom. A half-filled notebook in my mother’s handwriting with ideas for new classes. The quilts.

Like a snake shedding its skin, there would soon be nothing left here that had my mother’s stamp on it. The fabric she’d ordered would all be gone. The Blocks of the Month finished. Her favorite patterns replaced with new ones.

I’d been trying to hold on to my mother so tightly that I’d nearly lost her. I’d been willing to sell the shop, rather than be the catalyst, the one to move things forward. I couldn’t keep the store stagnant and still stay in business.

Soon enough her presence would no longer be visible in the store; I would stick around at least until that happened.

I rubbed my hand along the wooden countertop. Generations of Deweys had worked here and, for a moment, I felt their warm spirit in the wood. I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have help.

Myra had been wrong. My mother loved her family, and she loved quilts. I needed to do whatever I could to stay connected to both.

“So?” Kym insisted.

Vangie watched our faces closely. This was her family, too, and a divorce would be too much for her to take.

I looked into Kym’s eyes and nodded. “I’m not looking for a buyer anymore.”

Kym’s face split in a wide grin. She grabbed my hand and let out a squeal. She didn’t care why I was keeping the shop. The only thing that mattered to her was that it stay in the family.

“You’ll need to take some basic computer classes,” I said.

Kym’s expression was agonized. Vangie stifled a chuckle. I gave her a look. With a wisdom beyond her years, she pulled Kym aside to pile more bolts on the hand truck, chattering about creating a QP line of original quilt patterns. I smiled at Vangie gratefully and was rewarded with a sweet smile from her.

“You people got everything you need?” Eve was standing in the aisle.

It was the same question Justine had asked four days ago. So much had changed since then. I couldn’t speak. My eyes filled with tears. All the loss.

“Guess I’m not the only one who was up all night,” I said finally, looking at the bruised bags under her eyes.

“Thanks to you. That alcove was a mess.” Her smile took the sting out of her words. “Not to worry, we got most of the quilts rehung by the time we opened this morning. Two or three had too much damage.”

“Ouch. I didn’t mean to ruin your exhibit.”

Eve held up a hand. “Hey, don’t apologize. You put an end to the killing, that’s what counts. Believe it or not, this was the biggest Sunday crowd we’ve had in years.”

“So does that mean there will be an Eighteenth Annual Northern California Quilter’s Extravaganza? Same time, next year?” I suggested.

Eve shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve worked out an installment plan to pay off the convention center, and if I finish as promised in six months, they might be willing to allow us back again next year. Don’t know why, now that they’ve seen how much trouble quilters can really be.”

“That’s the truth,” I agreed.

“I don’t know if I want to, without Justine.” Eve brushed a tear from her eye roughly. She clasped my hand with both of hers and looked into my eyes. She was wan, but I could see a spark of life returning to her.

“Thank you, Dewey, for stopping Myra. It may be silly, but I feel like Justine will rest easier now.”

I nodded and squeezed her hand.

“Come to Reno and visit me sometime,” she said.

“I’d like that.”

“You hate Reno,” Kym put in, unable to resist correcting me.

I shrugged. Maybe it was time I learned to gamble.

Kym rolled her eyes. She took the family photos from Vangie and lovingly wrapped them in batting. Eve said her goodbyes and continued toward the exit.

Freddy came by next, surprisingly with Chester and Noni in tow.

“Got time for a drink? I’m buying,” he said.

“Oh, now, Freddy, this is our treat,” Noni said.

I laughed. “Start without me. I’m going to spend tonight with my family.”

I hugged each of them in turn, savoring Noni’s caring presence, Chester’s heartiness, and Freddy’s sense of humor. I looked forward to seeing them next year at the show.

Kevin returned with the dolly. He smiled at me shyly. All he wanted was for Kym and I to get along. I saw the hope in his eyes. We had some long talks ahead of us, but we were family. I smiled back, letting him know we were okay.

Kevin and Kym took another load out to the van. Vangie followed them with a hand truck full of books. I stayed behind, guarding the computer equipment. My eyes burned with fatigue, and I rubbed at them viciously. When I took my hands away, Buster was standing in front of me. He was off-duty, by the look of him. He was wearing a purple shirt with black jeans. The deep plum color of his shirt complemented his eyes, making them look bluer and deeper. His sleeves were rolled up, and he had that leather thong on his left wrist. He looked great.

I sucked in a deep breath. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey, yourself. You doing all right?”

I nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. What was it about Buster that made me vulnerable? He put his thumb in the cleft of my chin and raised my face so I had to meet his gaze.

I didn’t know if we had a future together. I only knew that I couldn’t stay closed up. The good stuff was only there if I was open to it.

Buster’s smile was gentle, softened by a sadness in his eyes. “You’re amazing.”