Death by Scones
Page 26
My doctor would have told me to cancel the rest of the meeting, but Tremain would never agree to a postponement. I'd never left a client in the lurch, and I wouldn't start now. I'd been through this sort of syncope episode before, and there wasn't much that could be done about it after the fact. Just avoid stress. Which was exactly what I'd been trying to do before Lindsay had dragged me into this mess.
It wasn't really Lindsay's fault, and I knew it. Part of me had been thrilled by the opportunity to get back into the fray one more time. Subconsciously I must have been thinking that if I could get through today's negotiation session with even a hint of nausea, or at least without passing out, then maybe I could go back to my old career, at least part-time. That was just a pipe dream, and it was time to accept reality.
Tremain was only mildly irritating, and I still hadn't been able to manage the stress. It made me wonder if I'd be able to handle my speech at the quilt show this Friday. If not, I might not get to say more than, "Good afternoon, quilters," before I landed on the floor with a thud.
I just had to hope that the flooring there would be softer than the tiles in here.
A damp paper towel took care of the smudge of blood on my forehead, and the imprint of the tiles was already fading. I tugged at my shoulder-length hair, grateful that it was thick and a dark enough brown to cover the worst of the laceration, and straightened my suit jacket.
After a final deep breath to confirm the nausea was truly gone, I headed back to the conference room. I was the first to arrive, with Dee, Emma, and Matt appearing a couple of minutes later, carrying travel mugs emblazoned with the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery's logo.
I must have missed something when putting myself back to rights, because Emma greeted me with, "Are you all right, dear?"
"I'm fine."
"Emma's being polite instead of direct," Dee said, pointing to the side of my neck. "You've got blood on your shirt."
I reached up to touch the sore spot on my temple. The blood must have dripped from there. "It's nothing. Just an old scratch that must have reopened while I was washing up."
"Sorry to be late." Alyse hurried into the conference room, having changed into pants. "I burned a hole in my skirt while I was outside." She took her previous seat. "Where's Randall?"
"Still in his office, I presume," I said.
Alyse glanced at the vintage silver watch on her wrist. "It's been twenty minutes. Randall is a brilliant man, but he can never keep track of time. I'd better go get him."
A few moments later, Alyse screamed.
Matt was the first to react, dashing out of the conference room. I was right behind him when he skidded to a stop in the doorway of Tremain's office.
I peered past him, catching sight of an open-eyed Tremain on the floor, with blood pooled around his head.
Alyse was still screaming, hugging the corner of a faded quilt to her chest, with the rest of it draped over her obviously dead partner.
FOUR-PATCH OF TROUBLE
A DANGER COVE QUILTING MYSTERY