Chapter Five
Guy Sauvage of Savage Surf returned her call early the next morning. “Taylor Quinn? This is Guy. You called about Hannah Warner, I think.”
“Yes, thank you for getting back to me so quickly.” Taylor was shrouded against the damp, chilly morning with an oversized acid-washed-denim jacket that had been her mom’s in the eighties as she traveled the short blocks from her little house to the shop where she and Roxy would look over the edits of some video they had filmed the week before.
“What do you want to know?” Guy’s voice was deep with a hint of California in the vowels.
Taylor pictured him as tall, tan, and muscled despite running their surf shop in Neskowin, a cloudy, rainy city on the Oregon Coast that would rent as many wet suits as it did boards. “She’s applying for a job with me. What is she like as an employee?”
“Good worker, good worker. I liked her. Smiles for the customers, keeps busy. Keeps the shop clean.”
“There’s a lot of math here at a quilt shop, do you think she can handle that?”
“Sure. She’s smart enough.”
“Is she trustworthy?”
“Yeah, man. She is.”
Taylor was used to calling on folks for jobs at Joann’s, where previous employers were most likely to just say “I confirm she worked for us and legally that’s all I can say.” Big companies seem to be like that—distant, concerned about their own liability. “Cool, cool. So, Comfort is a small town. Old fashioned, kind of. If she makes people mad outside of work hours, they won’t shop here. Any risk of that?”
He laughed, a deep, almost sexy sound. Lucky Gracie. “Hannah? No way. She teaches Sunday School. You got churches there in town? That’s where you’ll find her.”
“We’ve got a church.” Taylor pressed her lips together and tried to think of ways to turn the conversation to Reynette. “In the interview she mentioned coming out here to continue a job with a lady who has recently died.” Might as well just jump in, right?
“Yeah. Pretty tragic.”
“Did she work for both of you at the same time? And if so, did she handle juggling two jobs well?”
“She left us to work for Reynette, the gal who died. Hannah’s solid, I swear. Now that Reynette’s gone, I wish Hannah would come back. I like that kid.” There was a wistfulness in his voice that made Taylor wonder exactly how much he liked her.
“Hmmm. You make me think. Am I going to hire her and have her run back to you?”
“Hey man.” He sounded irritated now. “I don’t know how many ways I have to say this. I recommend her. Hannah is a good employee.”
“Sure, sure. I appreciate your time, but I really need someone I can rely on. Would you say without hesitation that if I hire her, I won’t regret it? Like, she didn’t kill her old boss, did she?” Taylor didn’t know where that question came from. It just popped out, but she liked it. Good shock value.
“Kill Reynette? You’ve got to be crazy. Who would ever kill her? She’s like the Nana you always wished you had. She was awesome. Seriously.”
“Just, one last time, and I’m sorry if I’m annoying you. If I hire her and spend the time training her, you think she’ll stick around, even though she’s not from here and doesn’t know anyone? You believe she’d be loyal to us?”
He laughed. “You’re hardcore, aren’t you? What kind of shop did you say this was? Like pot or something?”
Taylor laughed too, to mimic his mood, though she herself was on the edge of her seat. “No, no. We’re a just a quilt shop.”
“Hannah knows Art, Reynette’s husband. She’ll probably want to stick around just to be there for his sake.”
“Hmmm, really? Like maybe she might be some…comfort…to this Art guy?” Taylor put a little extra sugar on the word comfort. She had no idea how she was doing as a detective, but this was sort of like a game, and she was enjoying it.
“Art and Hannah? Woah.” Guy paused. “You know, she’s kind of an old soul, and he does have a thing for younger ladies. If she does hook up with him, will you call me? I’d love to hear that story.”
“Will do. Thanks for all the answers. I know this was kind of a lot. I just have to be sure I can trust my new employee.”
“Because the quilt world is fierce?” He laughed again. “Next time you’re on the coast, come by and say hi.”
“Will do, Guy. Thanks again.” Taylor hung up and considered this Hannah. She sounded too good to be true, but she’d met Hannah and it was possible she was that good a catch. It’s not like being hardworking and trustworthy were rare. But Taylor paused on the idea of Art hooking up with Hannah.
Hannah was young. Younger than Gracie by at least ten years, younger even than Taylor. Guy had indicated Art had dated other younger women in the past. Had his perfect wife Reynette proved to be a little older than he actually liked? If so, who better to poison her than the person who had all the access to her?
Taylor posed the idea to Roxy when they were settled in at the worktable with coffee and the video.
“But didn’t you say he’d only been married a really short while? Surely he wouldn’t have jumped in just to immediately kill her.”
“Maybe he didn’t jump in so much as get pushed.” Taylor sipped her coffee. It was a bit strong and only had milk instead of cream. It made her feel tough, like a real detective.
“What would Reynette have gotten from this marriage if it had lasted?”
“Art’s a pretty good-looking guy.”
Roxy wrote that on the paper they were going to use to make notes about the video. “What else?”
“For some women that’s enough. Maybe she was really lonely. I wonder how long she’d been single.” Taylor realized she didn’t know a thing about Reynette, not anything useful anyway.
“That’s got to be easy to find out.” Roxy pushed the laptop her way. “Google it.”
Taylor did, but couldn’t find much. “Searching Reynette Woods brings up news of her death in the county paper and her website, but only because her name is Reynette and that’s pretty uncommon. Her previous name was Johnson and all I get Googling that is her business. She’s an interesting one to be teaching at Comfort.”
“Why?”
“She ran a large secondhand shop, nonprofit of course, funds going to the state foodbank. From there she, with Hannah, did their higher end resale stuff online. I kind of get why Gracie was a bit derisive about Reynette’s quilting. She’s not really a ‘quilter’ in the obsessive artist sense that you think of when you think of the College of Art and Craft.”
“But she did quilt, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, there’s a blog on her store website that has a story about using donated clothes that weren’t really resalable due to condition, cutting out the good bits, and turning them into quilts, but look.” Taylor turned the screen. “Not to be rude, but the picture she posted is pretty simple. Just a four patch. And her corners….”
Roxy cringed. “She was going to be teaching? Is that blanket mixing acrylics and cotton?”
“I guess if it’s old clothes it’s at least done all the shrinking it will do.”
Roxy stared at the screen in disbelief. “Was she super prolific or something?”
“Maybe so. There had to be something unique she had on offer. Every customer who comes in here every day seems more qualified to teach, based on their projects, than Reynette.”
“Folk art,” Roxy said dismally.
“Folk art can be really impressive.”
“Real folk art can. But there is a market for ‘primitives.’ If she was putting out a huge number of these, then I bet they were going to market her as a primitive.” Roxy glanced at the farthest wall of the shop, by the back door. One of her own quilts hung there, a masterpiece in triangles and curves and tiny delicate stitches. She had spent a year on it.
It had come in second at the state fair.
“I’ll have to call and find out. Seems like that was what Gracie was implying,
but wouldn’t teaching at a college focused on art ruin her reputation as a primitive? I mean, you don’t see old granddad who plays his spoons on his front porch getting a job at a music conservatory, do you?”
“If her job had something to do with her death, then you should definitely talk to the school about it. Maybe someone on staff really, really didn’t want her teaching there.” Roxy’s jaw twitched. She at least didn’t seem to want Reynette teaching at the college.
And Taylor didn’t blame her. The college paid a good living wage plus benefits, if you could manage to get in on a full-time tenure track job. Those jobs were rare in little shops like Flour Sax.
“That seems as reasonable as her husband suddenly deciding he didn’t want an old wife.” Taylor appreciated Roxy’s own frustration with the world they lived in, but she didn’t buy the theory as a motive for murder.
Roxy narrowed her eyes in consideration as she wrapped her hands around her mug. “No. No it’s not. Killing to get out of a bad marriage is more likely.”
That thought didn’t settle well with Taylor. It seemed so…murderous. A rivalry at the snooty art college full of eccentrics felt divorced from reality, like a costume drama TV show. But a man she’d just met killing a wife he decided he didn’t like felt bad deep in her gut. If Taylor could prove that wasn’t what happened, it would be a great relief.
Speaking of bad relationships, a familiar face appeared in the front door, with a lopsided grin.
“So that’s Clay?” Roxy asked as they both watched him knock on the glass.
“Yup.”
“I didn’t get a good look at him last time.”
“Yeah, yeah. Because I was kissing him.”
“He’s cute.”
“That’s a good word for him.”
“But not as good looking as Hudson.”
“Or as useful. If I took Clay back, I’d have to start fixing this building myself, and man, I’d hate to do that.”
Clay frowned, tossed his hands to the side and mouthed, “Oh, come on.”
“Will you let him in?”
“Nope,” Taylor said. “We’re not open.” She turned her back on him and navigated to the videos they were supposed to approve.
Roxy’s son Jonah was a good editor, and as always, Taylor approved the three fifteen-minute shows with no changes. It had been forty-five minutes, so obviously when they were done and Taylor looked back at the door, Clay was gone.
The feeling that enveloped Taylor wasn’t one of relief though. He was gone from her door, but he was still out there, having his two weeks off from work, waiting patiently for her to take him back.
Or not so patiently.
He was at the back door knocking, just after opening. Roxy let him in.
“You can use the front door after eleven.” They weren’t flooded with customers, so Taylor didn’t feel like saying it nicely.
“Sure, but then you’d have known it was me.” That grin.
Of course, they had seen him through the window in the back door as well, but said with his cheeky grin it was, as Roxy had said earlier, “cute.”
“Enjoying your vacation?” Taylor asked.
“I hiked the famous Bible Creek Falls in the rain. So that was fun. Then, since I was covered in mud, I ran down to the nearest laundromat. Did you know it was in Willamina? All the way in Willamina?”
“Yup. Nearest dentist is there too. And nearest TV repairman, though technically he’s retired.”
“Do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
“Yes.” Not a lie. Taylor was eating with Grandpa Ernie like she did pretty much every night.
“Come on, Taylor, you’ve got to at least eat with me.”
“What happened last time I tried that, Clay? Don’t you remember? Someone died.”
He laughed.
She pretended the sound of his laugh didn’t make her happy. It had been nine months since their big dramatic break up and so much of the sting of it was gone already. She hadn’t realized that until just this moment. She didn’t want him back, but the sound of his laugh didn’t make her angry either.
“How about after dinner? It’s a Thursday, Tay. You’re not going out on a hot date on a Thursday, are you?”
“No.”
“Then can I please take you to that little wine bar down the block for a piece of cake and a glass of something you’d like?”
“No, Clay. You can’t.” Taylor swallowed. Besides not wanting to leave Grandpa Ernie home during the evening, that little wine bar was super romantic and the last time she had been there had been with Hudson.
He had almost won her over due to the atmosphere alone.
The bells on the door jangled and three lady quilters came in giggling in their matching “Stitch and Bitch” T-shirts.
It jangled again and again, and the little shop filled. The early drizzle had faded away leaving behind bright, if cold skies. The sun had drawn out the local crafters as well as folks from out of town.
Taylor was able to abandon Clay, but to her chagrin, he made himself at home in the corner of the store where they had her mom’s old videos playing on a loop.
Grandma Quinny and her Aunt Carrie arrived pushing her youngest cousin in a stroller. The room was hard to navigate now, and Grandma Quinny seemed to fill it with her large presence even without the stroller. “Taylor, darling, Taylor!” She called out to her as though this was her home and Taylor ought to have answered the door for her.
“Back here Grandma!” Taylor hollered back. Why not? This was a small town.
From her spot by the hand dyed organic cotton they had just gotten, Taylor could see the bobbing heads of her aunt and Grandmother as they pushed through the crowd. It gave her a pretty good idea for reconfiguring the store, but she wasn’t ready just yet. Her mom had laid this out…Taylor shook her head. She had to do what was best for the business, and as far as she could see, that involved slightly wider aisles from the door to the back.
“What’s up?” Taylor gave Grandma Quinny a kiss, then dropped to give baby Hattie a little tickle. She was closing in on three, and not really a baby anymore, but who cared.
“Ellery invited us over for lunch with Ernie today and we wanted to see if you could get off in time to join us?”
Taylor assessed the crowd, “I’m sorry…”
“What has brought everyone in on a Thursday like this?” Grandma gave the customers a disapproving look. “Did you have a sale?”
“I think it’s just the sun. Everyone was ready to get out of the house again.”
“Interesting.”
The door jangled open. This time it was Art’s ex-wife Gracie, and Fawn, Reynette’s daughter. They loitered by the cash register where Roxy was ringing up the ladies in the matching shirts.
“Not even an hour off for lunch?” Grandma Quinny pressed.
Taylor laughed at the idea of more than a half hour for lunch. “No, I’m sorry. I need to go help some customers as it is.”
“We really were hoping….”
Taylor sighed. “Was today the day you were going to convince both Grandpa Ernie and me that it’s time for a change in housing?”
“Oh Taylor, don’t be so cynical. Your Aunt Carrie and I just had some time and we wanted to enjoy your company.” Grandma Quinny pulled at the soft loose knit cotton scarf she had carefully wrapped around her neck.
“Sorry.” A tap on her shoulder prevented her from elaborating. “Yes?” Taylor spun, only to find Clay, very close, and now with his hand on her lower back.
“Babe, I can help these ladies. You need a lunch break. You’ve been here since 6:30 this morning.”
Carrie’s brows flew up when he said babe. “Do you have someone to introduce us to?” she asked, her voice sweet like gummy bears.
“No.”
“I’m Clay.” He offered her his hand. “You might remember me as the fool who let Taylor get away.”
Grandma Quinny frowned. “Yes, Clay. We do remember you.” She tight
ened the scarf.
Taylor didn’t know what folks had talked about behind her back, but she had been sure not to gossip about him around town.
He slipped his fingers from the small of her back to a grip around her waist, a move he had often done when he felt insecure.
Taylor wanted to shift out of his touch, but she was backed into a corner full of chicken wire baskets, stacked artistically, and full of spools of thread.
“Young man, why don’t you come with me?” Grandma Quinny beckoned him to her.
He followed as most everyone would when she directed. “We need to have a bit of a talk. I think.”
Chapter Six
“She’s a terrifying woman.” Despite ignoring his panicked texts, Clay had dropped by her house for dinner around seven. He sat at the table with Grandpa Ernie and Taylor and the frozen pizza she had lovingly cooked for twelve minutes at 400 degrees.
“She’s not so bad.” Taylor sheltered her plate with two slices of pizza protectively. Clay had already consumed two-thirds of the alfredo and spinach delight.
“She’s a fine woman,” Grandpa Ernie stated.
Taylor wasn’t entirely sure he knew who they were talking about.
“I thought she was going to take me out to the woodshed for a whipping.” Clay had been eking out the story one hint at a time for the last ten minutes, and Taylor still refused to ask him what had happened. She wouldn’t have let him in, but he managed to be at the back door climbing the ramp Hudson had built them just exactly as Taylor was opening the door to let herself in.
“Is this how you let your friends speak of your folks?” Grandpa Ernie stared at Clay with disapproving eyes.
“No, Grandpa, it’s not. Listen Clay, you need to move on.”
Grandpa Ernie coughed.
“And show some respect.” Taylor nibbled her pizza. Now that Clay was in her house, she wasn’t sure how she could get him out again. And with both an empty bed in Belle’s old room and a couch in the front room, Taylor wasn’t sure she was justified in so doing. Except that he wasn’t family, or friend, or even invited, so she didn’t really have to let him stay. Her mind spun around on the issue.
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