“If they don’t lay the blame on Sissy, they’ll pin it on my Uncle Gil. They’ll say he poisoned the food.”
Gil Reuben, the head cook at the family diner, was even less likely to have killed Sissy’s aunt than Sissy was. He couldn’t even have known her. Taylor ran her hands through her hair and thought hard. Aviva and Cooper were feeding off each other’s fear, but they were still scared. Someone ought to do something for them.
Aviva leaned in and whispered, “She didn’t have any symptoms till she came to the restaurant. She drank one cup of coffee and then puked everywhere and then just…died.” Had Aviva realized how much more dramatic the childlike whisper of fear was, she would never have turned to trendy vocal fray again.
Cooper was typing something on his phone, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.
“Listen guys, I totally hear you. I can see why you’re scared, but you can trust the police, okay?” Taylor’s phone rang before she could say anything further. Belle’s number was on the screen, so she answered it. “Yes?”
“And hello to you too.” Belle’s generally warm, well-loved voice was hard to hear. Cell service in Comfort wasn’t fantastic. “Please help Cooper. He’s terrified and you can do it.”
“Did he just text you to make you call me?”
“Maybe he did. But what does it matter? You can help them. I know you can. You just need to meet people and ask questions. People tell you things.”
“And they attack me with flashlight-guns.” The woman who had killed her mother had attempted to kill her as well, with a unique and tricky weapon.
“You can stand up for yourself. Cooper and Aviva are just kids.”
Taylor walked away from the table and dropped her voice. As much as she felt for the teens in her kitchen, she didn’t want to relive what she had just gone through. “I don’t have time for this. It’s busy at the shop.”
“You’re hiring someone. Hire two someones and pay yourself less. You know you don’t need the money right now. You’ve got free room and board with Grandpa.”
“You are insane.”
“I’m a genius, and you know it.” This was true, but as far as Taylor was concerned, it didn’t matter.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Just go meet Sissy. Hang out with her. Help her. She’s going to try and solve this herself and she’s nowhere near as canny as you are.”
“Belle…”
“Gotta go. Have study group tonight. Love you.” Belle ended the call.
“Please?” Cooper asked. “For Belle.”
Taylor stared at her baby sister’s friends. Still at home finishing high school while Belle was off at college. She had never really had a choice. They knew she would help them. “I’ll meet your mom tomorrow, but I’m not making any promises.
Chapter Three
When Taylor arrived at the Dorney’s house the next day at noon, she was met by a roomful of people. She wasn’t usually shy, but it was a surprise to see so many faces. It knocked the little monologue she had been practicing right out of her mouth.
“Coffee?” Sissy was already laden with a mug of hot coffee when she opened the door. She wore a black smock, her name embroidered on the right-hand side. Her curly hair was tamed into waves and pinned back, something vintage about it pleased Taylor. She didn’t have her sensible shoes on yet, but she looked like she was about to head out for a day’s work at her salon rather than embark on an amateur detective scheme.
“Thank you.” Taylor stepped in. She could see all the way into the great room from the entry, and it was crowded.
“Cooper told us you wanted to come over and offer some assistance.” Sissy handed her the huge handmade ceramic mug and ushered her into the room with the crowd. “I wasn’t sure what you thought you could offer, but he reminded me of how you single handedly caught your mother’s killer, so I guess it won’t hurt.”
Taylor stood front and center in the room.
Sissy and four others waited with expectant looks on their faces. The nearest to her was an older man with a head full of thick gray hair and a pair of round, wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a ratty mustard colored cardigan sweater over a faded plaid shirt and had a slight hunch. He gave the impression of wisdom, but Taylor could have been reading too much into the glasses and sweater. Next to him, patting his leg, was a woman who looked about her age, but was possibly older. She had a head of dyed blonde hair styled in a shaggy lob. Her outfit looked expensive as did her diamond earrings. Taylor didn’t know if they were real or not, but the well-fitted cut of her wool jacket made her think the diamonds could be real.
Another lady in her late twenties or early thirties sat in a recliner. Her face was blotchy from crying. Though she was slender, her round full face matched the glimpse Taylor’d had of the deceased. This could be a daughter. A man stood behind her, medium height, sandy hair. Nondescript in a way that made Taylor think she would have a hard time picking him out of a crowd, even if she had a picture. If she were an old-fashioned TV detective, those four would be her main suspects. But this was real life, and she had a feeling they were just the bereaved family.
“Well?” The rich looking lady next to the old man spoke with a firm voice. “Aren’t you going to pitch your services?”
Taylor looked behind her for a chair. She was absolutely not going to stand there and “pitch her services.”
Mercifully there was a small leather-like foot stool against the wall. She took a few stumbling steps backward and sat on it, being careful not to spill her coffee. “No, I’m not.”
“I told Cooper you wouldn’t be any help.” Sissy sighed with disappointment and sat on a second foot stool.
“So did I,” Taylor agreed. “He thought you’d need support, but it looks like you have plenty.”
The round-faced woman dropped her face into her hands for a moment, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Taylor remembered that kind of crying. She was definitely the daughter of the deceased.
“I’m really sorry for your loss, though. And I guess if there’s something you need…maybe food for the funeral? I don’t know. I’m happy to help if I can.”
“Food? Cooper said you were a detective,” the nondescript man said. “What kind of detective brings funeral food?”
“She’s not a detective. She just works in a store,” Sissy said.
The nondescript man just stared at Taylor.
“Flour Sax Quilt Shop.” She sipped her coffee, growing more uncomfortable as the moments passed.
“Oh! Reynette loved Flour Sax.” The expensive lady had removed her hand from the old man’s knee and was leaning forward, chin resting on her fist. “Your mother was Laura Quinn then, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Reynette loved her YouTube channel as well. Your mom was a very talented lady.”
“Thank you. Did Reynette quilt?” Taylor was fascinated by the rich lady and her interactions with the older man. They were close in a way that was not fatherly, but, at the same time, it seemed like he hardly noticed her or her affectionate touches.
“Sort of,” the expensive lady said with a chuckle.
“Excuse me?” The crying lady interjected. “Gracie, you know very well my mother was an acclaimed quilter. That’s why they hired her at the college.”
“She was. I know. She was very talented. It’s just not quilt shop quilting, you know? More like fiber arts, I guess.”
“Yes, the college would like that,” Taylor agreed. “I have a degree in fiber arts from Comfort College.”
“Reynette was self-taught. Almost a quilting savant.” Gracie smiled at the round-faced lady like she was giving in a little.
Taylor’s own smile went a little tight. Not that there couldn’t be quilting savants, but in her heart, Taylor knew this was an art form that was of women, for women, and by women. It belonged to the people, open to everyone. It wasn’t ever meant to be an art that only special geniuses could participate in. She’d always hated the
elitism that had developed in a craft form that came from need.
Taylor glanced at the round-faced woman and the little lecture died in her heart. This wasn’t about her, her opinions on the art form, or even quilting.
“You see,” the crackling voice of the elderly man started slowly, “Reynette was a dealer in vintage items and began to use these things to create her art. She was at the forefront of an important movement, which is why the school was so interested in her.”
“It sounds wonderful.” Taylor did not say that quilting with scrap fabric had long been the point of quilting. Or that recycling clothing was also a part of quilting’s rich history. If this man wanted to think Reynette had invented it, what did it hurt?
“You all are talking like my mother has been dead forever.” The round-faced woman shot an angry look from her wet eyes at the expensive young lady. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours. She’s not even at the funeral home yet.”
“I’m sorry, Fawn,” the old man spoke. “I’m in shock.” His voice was tired. He was probably right about his shock, which would explain both the rich lady’s hovering concern and the way he didn’t seem to notice it.
The expensive young woman—Gracie. Taylor took a minute to try and pin her name on her—put her hand on his knee again and patted it. “And you were such newlyweds still.”
Fawn, the round-faced woman’s mouth puckered. “I still don’t understand why you did that. We wanted to have a nice wedding for you.”
“Oh, Fawn, what does it matter now? They got to be married, isn’t that what’s important?” Gracie scooted just a little closer to the older man.
Fawn’s face crumpled.
The nondescript man patted Fawn’s shoulder. “Hold up, if you can. Just till we talk to the police.”
Fawn reached for the hand on her shoulder and gripped it tightly. “Oh, Monty. If only I could trust them.”
“There’s no need for hysterics.” Sissy had been silent through much of this. “Monty, why don’t you and Fawn go for a walk and collect yourselves. You had a long drive down here. I’d like to talk to Taylor a little more before she goes.” She turned to Taylor and lifted an eyebrow.
“I think I’d rather just lie down.” Still holding Monty’s hand, Fawn stood. Together they went upstairs.
After they were gone, Sissy turned a stern look to the expensive looking woman. “Gracie, you are not helping anything. I can’t understand why you are here at all.”
She sat up very straight. “Reynette was Una’s stepmother. This loss affects our daughter.” She squeezed the old man’s hand. “Therefore, it affects me.”
Taylor shuddered, but tried to hide it. So the old man and Gracie had a daughter together. That explained much, including the creepy feeling she was getting.
“You and me both.” Sissy acknowledged Taylor’s involuntary reaction. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, a trophy wife like you showing up when her ex is grieving. Unless you’re just here to get him back.” She looked the man up and down like a piece of meat she didn’t find appetizing.
“I hardly think my husband would approve of that,” Gracie smirked.
“Gracie introduced Reynette and I,” the crackly voiced man in question spoke again. “Gracie and Fawn had been friends in college. She knew both of us.”
“Oh Art, we don’t need to get into all of this.” Gracie’s voice was soothing as though she were trying to comfort a sad child.
“If this was a murder,” Taylor said softly, “we might need to discuss quite a few uncomfortable things.” Yes, it was ugly curiosity that made her say it, but at this point Taylor was dying for the tea.
“Gracie was a student of mine almost fifteen years ago, at University of Oregon. I was a widower and she was a breath of fresh air. We married too quickly, though, and she was too young.”
“Oh, I was too young. And I was a terrible wife back then. But you stuck by me, didn’t you? I didn’t deserve you, darling.” She picked his hand up and kissed the back of it. “You think he’s handsome now,” she smiled softly at his pale, thin, lined face, “you should have seen him when he was forty-five. He took my breath away. It’s not as bad as it sounds, I was twenty-one after all.”
Taylor didn’t dare catch Sissy’s eye. From her perspective, that was exactly as bad as it sounded. “How long were you married?”
“Ten years,” Art said. “We tried to make it work for our little one, but it didn’t.”
“And who broke it off?” Taylor asked again.
“It was mutual,” Art sighed heavily as though it were an old story he was tired of telling.
“Please.” Sissy rolled her eyes.
“Art, you don’t have to take blame that isn’t yours. I was an awful wife and ran off with my current husband.”
“You say that Gracie introduced you to Reynette?” This was the dynamic that really interested Taylor.
“They have—had—such similar personalities,” Gracie said. “She was gentle and wise and loved knowledge and learning. I’d met her several times in college. Fawn and I weren’t best friends or anything, but we’d kept in touch. I went to their resale shop about a year ago to pick up this gorgeous vintage Givenchy I’d seen online. We got to talking and, before I knew it, I was telling her I knew someone she just had to meet.
At that, Art patted Gracie’s knee. “Reynette was a special woman,” he said. “I never thought I’d meet someone like her, not after my wife passed. Someone as brilliant, and passionate. A rare gem of a woman.”
“It’s okay.” Gracie caught Taylor’s eye. “I was a trophy wife. A hot little co-ed. I knew what I was when I married him. That’s why I knew what he really longed for was a woman of substance, even if she was a bit more substantial than I am.” She sat up a little, better showing off her tiny waist.
“That’s unkind,” Art said.
Gracie shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths, Art.” Her words bit a little and Taylor thought maybe their split hadn’t been as amicable as they were pretending.
“Did you see each other long before you married?” Taylor asked.
“It took a long time to finally get them together. The distance was a problem at first,” Gracie said.
Art didn’t seem to appreciate her telling his story and gave her knee a firmer sort of pat.
Sissy winced. She and Taylor exchanged another glance. Had that gentle looking man just slapped his ex-wife’s leg?
“We met five months ago and married last week.”
“Last week!” Taylor’s shock was impossible to hide.
“Yes. We didn’t want a fuss and wanted to move here for her job right away. I’m retired from the university and have been for quite some time. My son lives here as well, so it all seemed to fit together .”
“And your daughter?” Taylor asked.
A moment of confusion passed his face. Then recognition and a slight blush. “Yes, Gracie doesn’t live far from here. She and Guy and Una are only about an hour away in Neskowin.”
“At the coast then?”
“Yes, Guy owns a surf shop,” Art said.
Sissy sniffed derisively.
Taylor wondered about Gracie’s diamond earrings. A retired professor on the one hand and a surf shop owner on the chilly Oregon coast on the other didn’t add up to well-cut suits and diamond earrings, at least not with her math.
“Art, we may have worn you out.” Sissy got up and extended her hand. “Can I refill your coffee?”
He gave up his mug. “I think I need some lunch.”
“The two coffee shops on main street both have nice sandwiches.” Taylor didn’t feel right suggesting the diner where his wife had died.
“Thanks.” He stood and offered his arm to Gracie. She accepted.
He was less stooped as he walked. Standing, he looked less—old. Sixty wasn’t that old, after all, but he had a thin pale face which ages a person. He and Gracie still made a strikingly handsome couple, even with his silver hair. Taylor expected th
eir child, Una, was a beauty.
When they had left with a click of the front door, Sissy sighed heavily. “It’s just a mess, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Taylor leaned against the wall. “Cooper says Reynette was your aunt.”
“She was, but she wasn’t much older than me and we had always been close. When I was little and she was a teen, she’d sit me. I was so happy she accepted the job and moved here. I was the one who told her about the job and I was the one who told the school about her.” Her own eyes filled with tears. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”
“Oh! No. No, Sissy. It’s not.” Taylor meant it, but she didn’t have smooth, convincing words.
Sissy patted her eyes with the heel of her hands and shrugged away the accidental grief that had escaped. “I told Cooper not to bother you, but I admit, I got my hopes up when you called. We’ve just got to catch whoever killed my best friend. And yes, I do think it had to be one of them.” She stared at the couch where the widower and his ex-wife had been practically cuddling moments before. “Please, just help. I know you’re not a professional, but it will be so much better than trying to do it alone.”
Chapter Four
While everything about Art’s life seemed iffy to her at first glance, Taylor wasn’t convinced Reynette’s death was murder. The lab results were clear; she had died of aspirin poisoning, to use laymen’s terms. With her diabetes, the stress of the overdose had destroyed her already compromised kidneys.
Taylor didn’t make Sissy any promises, but she did think hard about the situation as she finished her day at the quilt shop. Reynette had rushed into marriage and uprooted her life for a new job. Maybe she’d realized she had made a huge mistake but was the kind of woman who couldn’t accept failure. Suicide wasn’t totally unreasonable.
The day dragged on and Taylor longed to be home with Grandpa Ernie, just hanging out. She missed his presence in the recliner at the back of the shop. She knew just sitting there all day, snoozing or watching TV, wasn’t the best for him, but on midweek days like this when the shop was quiet and she was all alone, she just missed his company. No one truly loves chain retail work, but Taylor also missed the regular bustle of her job managing a Joann Fabric and Craft. She missed having employees to schedule and train and big shipments to handle and a class schedule to maintain. She drummed the end of her disappearing ink fabric pen on the worktable. She needed to get some classes going. Flour Sax had classroom space. She dreamed of seeing the other quilt shops make a big weekend event together. It had been done before and deemed too much work for the return on investment, but that was before they had someone with advertising experience. She hated that she sounded like she was tooting her own horn, but the other three quilt shops were run by quilters, not by MBAs. No, that sounded even worse. She’d have to work on her pitch for the guild. If they could tie the event in with something happening at the college, it would be even better. There was no reason besides being a bit off the beaten track that their town didn’t go full Sisters (Oregon) and have a real presence in the quilt world. Taylor went back to stitching her sample block. The YouTube show was a demanding master and she was constantly planning content for it.
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