overreacting.
The square Rose held in her hand now was obviously from a man’s blue oxford-cloth shirt, much worn in its day before being cut up. Some of the pieces hadn’t survived decades in the trunk, but enough had for a simple, authentic, beautiful quilt. Rose welcomed the distraction after talking with Beth Harper in Beverly Hills, the impact of her discovery of the murdered woman evident in the strain in her voice.
“I’m glad Hannah didn’t find a murder victim in January,” Beth had said. “That’s one thing, anyway, don’t you think, Rose? You and I have more experience with injuries and death because of our work.”
Rose hadn’t known how to answer. Hannah had almost become a murder victim herself. Was that any better? But Rose understood that Beth had been grasping for something positive to hang on to—some reason she’d been with Grit Taylor that morning and found a woman dead.
Was Portia Martinez’s murder connected to Derek’s death and Nick’s presence in Vermont?
How?
Rose knew she’d be better off contemplating leftover quilting pieces than speculating.
Myrtle Smith came out from behind the glass case and joined Rose at her table. “Are you thinking about starting your own quilt?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. There’s enough fabric here for a pillow or a wall hanging, anyway.” Rose set her square back on the table. “My mother loved to quilt.”
“Mine, too.” Myrtle plucked a blue calico square from the pile and held it to the fading afternoon light in the window. “I swear this could be from one of her dresses. My mother, my sister and I would sit under a pecan tree in summer, with a pitcher of tea and a plate of pimento cheese sandwiches. Granny would be there when she wasn’t coughing up a lung in the back room. She lived with us until she died.”
Rose smiled. “I can just see you. Where are your sister and mother now?”
“Still in South Carolina. Mother’s in assisted living. Gorgeous place.”
“Do they still quilt?”
“I doubt it. Mother has arthritis in her hands, and my sister’s a high school principal with four kids—two in high school, two in college. Husband’s a doctor. They’re on the go all the time.”
“But you’re the one who left home,” Rose said.
“I am. No husband, no kids. No house these days, either. Well, it’s still there but I’m not. Grit and Elijah are minding things for me. A SEAL and a Special Forces soldier.” Her lavender eyes sparked with unexpected humor. “Couple of macho guys, the two of them.”
“I don’t think of Elijah that way.”
“Of course not. He’s your brother. Maybe he and Grit will change the
“You don’t know what you’d have done if Grit hadn’t come along,” Rose said. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed about getting rescued by a Navy SEAL. You’re a reporter. Grit would probably freeze in place if he had to interview someone.”
“I don’t think Grit freezes in place for any reason.”
“He’s a Southerner, too.”
“I don’t get the impression he ever wants to go back.”
“Do you?”
Myrtle seemed startled by the question, although Rose couldn’t imagine she hadn’t considered it before now. “Washington’s far enough south for me.”
“It’s home,” Rose said.
“I didn’t say it’s home. I said it’s south enough. You’ve never lived anywhere else but here. If you did, wouldn’t Black Falls still be home?”
“I guess it would be, but I’m almost thirty. How old were you when you left South Carolina?”
“Twenty-one. I’ve been based in Washington for thirty years, but I’ve traveled a lot, spent long stints overseas. A tumbleweed.” She seemed to make an effort to pull herself out of the past. “I told the police to find out if Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan were in Washington around the time of the fire at my house.”
Rose felt a sense of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. “What do you think is going on, Myrtle?”
“No idea. I just keeping asking questions. I know I won’t relax until I find out who set my house on fire.”
“It’s a leap to get to Derek or Robert as the arsonist.”
“It was a leap to get to Lowell as the mastermind of a network of killers.” Myrtle sighed and looked out the window, the snow and ice on the river cast in late-afternoon shadows. “I’ve been trying to think back to that week in November. Grit was in town. We ran into each other outside the hotel where the ambassador was killed in the hit-and-run—on orders from Lowell Whittaker, we now know. The same two who killed your father did that hit.”
“We know Melanie Kendall and Kyle Rigby didn’t set the fire at your house,” Rose said. “Is there any concrete evidence that could point to Derek or Robert?”
“Not that I know of. Have you talked to Beth since she and Grit found the woman in Beverly Hills?”
“Dom and I both have.”
“Dom’s a mess. This is all finally getting to her. She’s been so cool, cooking, keeping the cafe running while you all hunt killers.” Myrtle picked up the oxford-shirt square that Rose had abandoned but immediately placed it back on the table. “I hope that didn’t sound callous. Gallows humor is sometimes my way of coping. Scott Thorne stopped by just before you got here. He’s hurting. I can see it, but he won’t say anything.”
“Neither will Beth,” Rose said.
“Ah, yes. So true. I don’t have to be born and raised in Black Falls to see that. Do you know what happened between the two of them? They seemed to be getting along great. Then all of a sudden, he comes back from Beverly Hills without her.”
Rose shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe Scott doesn’t have a lot of room in his life for someone else with a demanding job.”
“Not to mention someone whose sister is a Secret Service agent,” Myrtle said.
“I suspect Jo’s been an issue, too, if not the main one. Scott’s solid and decent, but he’s insecure.”
“Who isn’t these days? Does he want a woman who’ll worship him?”
“I don’t think that’s what he’d say, but Beth—”
“The Harpers all say what’s on their minds. Dominique’s convinced Beth and Scott have been on the skids for longer than most of us realize. They got together after your dad died. In my opinion, they talk shop too much. Their work’s become the focus of their relationship. It’s all they have in common.”
“Jo’s a federal agent and Elijah’s a soldier.”
“Totally different worlds. They’ve also known each other since you all were kids. Didn’t she cut the rope on his tire swing? When they’re together, you can see they’re for real. Scott doesn’t have that depth of history with Beth.”
Rose thought about Nick. They had no history. She’d seen him maybe a dozen times on her trips to California. She’d always envisioned herself with someone from Vermont, or at least from New England. But a former submariner? A smoke jumper? Her brother’s best friend and business partner?
Myrtle waved a hand, her nails bright red. “Scott and Beth can figure out their own relationship. I’m lucky I know where I’m sleeping tonight. By the way, I talked to the owners of the gallery across the hall. They’d love to get out of their lease and move to a smaller place down the street. I’ve been trying to convince the ‘sisters’ into expanding and starting a dinner service.”
“So I’ve heard,” Rose said, welcoming the change in topic. “Dominique’s for it.”
“She’s not sure Hannah will want to stay involved in the cafe.”
“Sean still owns the building.”
“He’ll approve of my plan,” Myrtle said confidently. “He’s a businessman. I more or less ran it past him in January and again last week. O’Rourke’s would benefit from bringing more people into town at night. The lodge, too. People like a lively village.”
“You have big heart,” Rose said with a smile.
