The Double Cross

by Clare O'Donohue

  Rita sat next to Bernie. “I can’t wait to get started. I feel like it’s just the thing I’ve needed—an outlet for my creativity and a stress reliever in one. Now I understand why you’ve quilted all these years, Bernie.” She smiled. “Honestly, I was shocked when George said you were here. It was such a wonderful surprise.”

  “It was a last-minute decision.”

  “I want to know everything you’ve been doing,” Rita said. “I know it’s a lot of years to catch up on, but I want to hear about every one of them.”

  Bernie nodded and looked to me for help. I assumed that Bernie had been picturing this moment, but now that she was facing Rita, she looked desperate to end it. I knew the conversation couldn’t go on much longer.

  “Bernie, I’m sorry to ask you this, but could you check on Barney?” I said. “I’m still eating and . . .”

  “Absolutely.” Bernie jumped up from the table. People flee a murder scene more slowly than Bernie left that room.

  “Maybe you can help her,” I said to Pete, who took the hint and went after Bernie. If I could get Bernie to have even a slight interest in Pete, it might water down the discomfort she felt and maybe even lead to new romance for two deserving people. And then there was my third motive for getting rid of Pete: I wanted answers.

  “So you knew Bernie in high school,” I said to Rita as soon as Bernie and Pete were gone. I was determined to get the whole story and figure out why, after all these years, this woman could so intimidate my usually confident friend.

  “We were the closest of friends,” Rita told me. “The absolute closest. We knew each other all through grade school and high school. We smoked our first cigarette together, drank our first cocktail.” She laughed. “We even had our first kisses at the same party.”

  “Was George your first kiss?”

  Rita smiled. But it wasn’t a real smile. A real smile is as much in a person’s eyes as in their lips, and Rita’s eyes were cold. “No. He was actually Bernadette’s first kiss. They were sweethearts for a time. Nothing serious, you understand, just high school stuff.”

  “So how did you end up together?” I looked across the room and saw George still sitting with Eleanor.

  “After they broke up,” Rita told me, “Bernie went off to college. She got involved with that Avallone boy. Johnny, I think, was his first name. Cute. I only met him once but I remember he was cute. George was devastated.” She smiled. “I guess I was his rebound.”

  “Seemed to work out,” I offered.

  “Yes. Happily married for nearly forty-two years.”

  “Any children?”

  “A daughter. She . . .” Rita’s voice trailed off. “She doesn’t live close.” She looked toward her husband, and for a moment, I thought she might go over to him and leave me with more questions.

  “You must have lots of stories about Bernie,” I said quickly.

  Rita turned back to me. She smiled, this time warmly. “I don’t know how we lost touch. I suppose . . .” She paused. “I suppose she was a bit surprised about George and me, but she was married and pregnant when we got engaged so I didn’t think it would bother her. I hope she was happily married for years and years.”

  “Eighteen years,” I said. “She moved to Archers Rest when he died.”

  “They didn’t divorce?”

  “That was her second marriage.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize. How many times has she been married?”

  Suddenly I felt like I was betraying Bernie by giving Rita too much information. Though I knew the answer was three husbands—the third one died after only a year—I told Rita that I’d only known Bernie a little while and wasn’t sure I was getting my facts straight.

  “But she has kids, right?” Rita pressed on. “She was pregnant the last time I heard anything about her.”

  I nodded. “As I said, I’ve only known her a few months. She can give you all the details next time you talk.”

  “I’m so looking forward to a nice long chat,” she said, more to herself than to me.

  There are some people you meet and, without having a good reason, immediately like. Rita was the opposite. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about the way she sat just a little too close to me, the way she stared at me so intently, and the way she made me feel slightly inferior to her by waving her jewelry in my face. And yet, she seemed genuinely interested in reconnecting with her old friend, and that made me want to like her.

  I thanked her for the dinner, which apparently George had cooked, then walked out of the dining room. As I did I caught Eleanor’s eye. It was clear that she had something she wanted to tell me, so I gestured toward the bedrooms. She nodded slightly, the way they do in spy movies, and turned back to her conversation with George.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I don’t think I can last another five days,” Susanne said, an hour later, as we gathered in the bedroom I was sharing with Eleanor. “I never should have agreed to do a whole week.”

  Eleanor sat on my bed, and I sat on the floor with Barney. Susanne just paced. We had barely settled in when there was a knock at the door.

  “It’s me,” I heard Bernie say. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” Eleanor said. “Susanne is worried about teaching her class. Tell her it’s going to be fine.”

  “It’s going to be fine. At least for you,” Bernie said. “I feel like a fool for coming here.”

  “Why did you?” I asked. I could see Eleanor give me the eye but I ignored it.

  And Bernie ignored me. “Anyone still hungry?” She was carrying paper cups, a small cardboard dispenser of coffee, and a bag of doughnuts.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked.

  “After dinner I went back to a bakery I found in town this afternoon. I figured we deserved a treat after that awful dinner.”

  The dinner was actually pretty good, but out of solidarity we all agreed. We sat, drank our coffee, and ate our doughnuts while Susanne and I filled the others in on the students.

  “It would be one thing if we had the right kind of classroom, with the right equipment, or if the students were really motivated. I think Rita and George just grabbed a few friends and neighbors and forced them to take the class,” Susanne said. “It’s not really a retreat. We’re the only ones actually staying here. I feel like such a fraud.”

  “Look at this place. Can you blame them for not wanting to stay here?” Bernie asked. “I tried to take a shower this morning and there was no hot water.”

  “Hot water is the least of our problems,” Eleanor said. “I woke up in the middle of the night and I swear I heard squeaking on the stairs. The place is probably filled with mice.”

  Susanne looked about ready to cry. “Not one person really wants to be in that class.”

  “But they are learning,” I pointed out, “and so am I. I’m excited to make a quilt based on one of my sketches.” As an art student, I had a million sketches, most of which would end up in a landfill. Translating a few to quilts would give a couple of good ideas a place to live.

  “They’re just such an odd group. I don’t think Helen and Frank spoke to each other all day,” Susanne said. “And Pete is a charming but he’s all thumbs. And the two sisters, the twins, there’s something off about them. I can’t figure out what they’re doing here. The others are all friends of the Olnhausens, but I don’t think they know them.”

  “They probably saw the ad in the Winston Weekly,” Bernie suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” Susanne said. “Alysse, or the other one, said something about how they had to take the class. As if they were forced to.”

  “Well, they’re learning, whatever their reason for being here,” I said. “And in their own strange way, they all seem to be enjoying the class.”

  “I suppose.” But Susanne didn’t seem satisfied with my observation.

  “At least you accomplished something,” Eleanor said. “I spent the day just trying to explain the basics of
owning a shop to that woman. She has never run a business. She’s never quilted. They’ve had this house, this land, for ten years—inherited it from her father. She said it was their summer place for years and years. And now she’s decided to turn it into an inn. Almost on a whim, it seems to me.”

  “She inherited it from her father?” Bernie looked at Eleanor. “I know I haven’t seen her in years, but she didn’t have this place when we were growing up. Her father was unemployed half the time. The kind of guy who would work a job for three weeks and then stop showing up. He was always getting fired, and they would end up with their electricity shut off or their car repossessed. It really embarrassed Rita as a teenager. I can’t imagine he ever put together enough money to buy a meal, let alone this place.”

  “Isn’t that interesting,” Eleanor said. “She painted an entirely different picture of her life. She did tell me that she and George had been working hard for so many years, dreaming of this place . . .”

  “Doing what?” I asked.

  “She was a little vague about exactly what they did. She did tell me that a year ago they decided to retire and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast and live out the rest of their lives . . . How did she put it? To get out of the chaos and instead be surrounded by beauty and peace.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

  “It’s nonsense,” Eleanor said. “I’ve been helping people open shops for years. I’ve seen plenty of weekend quilters get romantic dreams about opening a little business because they imagine they’ll spend all day making quilts and playing with fabric. And a few times I’ve been approached by nonquilters who want to know if there’s a lot of money in opening a shop.”

  “And you explain that there isn’t,” Bernie cut in.

  “Exactly. But I’ve never had someone like Rita want to have her own quilt shop. She doesn’t give a hoot about business or about quilts. So why this shop? Why now? To my mind, there’s something else going on.”

  “Especially with how run down this place is,” I agreed. “You would think they’d put their money into fixing it up rather than buying inventory for a store. They seem like pretty reasonable people, so I can’t figure out why they were in such a hurry to get this place open.”

  “They were both dreamers when I knew them,” Bernie said. “Rita was always coming up with money-making schemes. Maybe she still is.”

  Eleanor sighed. “I wish we had Internet access up here. I’d Google the two of them and see if I could find out the real story.”

  “We should call Natalie and see what she can find out,” Susanne suggested.

  “And have Carrie check their financials,” Bernie added. Carrie still had connections with bankers from her days in finance. She could get a complete financial history.

  “We can’t dig into these people’s lives just because we’re curious,” I pointed out. “Maybe all they’re doing is padding their life story a bit to impress Bernie. George said they went to a quilt show and couldn’t believe that there are millions of quilters out there. Maybe they saw this place as a way to cash in on that, and now they’re running out of money and a bit desperate.”

  It was rare that I was the voice of restraint in the group, but there was no good reason to invade their privacy. In a week we would be back to our lives, and this mess would be a distant memory.

  “She wants the names of my distributors, my favorite fabric designers, teachers, and book publishers,” Eleanor said. “She’s going to be spreading my name at every wholesale market and quilt show. I’ve spent years building a good reputation and I want to keep it.”

  I gave in. I grabbed my cell phone to call Carrie’s coffee shop, more anxious to hear how things were in Archers Rest than to investigate the Olnhausens. Maybe see if anyone missed me. But I couldn’t get a connection.

  “No service,” I said. “I think it’s pretty hit or miss in the mountains.”

  “And there are no phones in the rooms.” Eleanor looked around.

  “The only one I saw is in the front hallway,” I told her. “I’ll run down and give Natalie a call.”

  I left the women in the room and ran down the stairs. The students were gone, and the hallway was dark. The only light came from under the kitchen door. I knew the phone was in the entryway, but instead I walked toward the kitchen. Maybe I had no good reason to eavesdrop, but that had never stopped me before, so I stood at the door and listened.

  “This isn’t working,” I heard Rita say.

  “I’m taking care of it,” was George’s reply. “I’ll get Bernie to understand.”

  “And the others? That Eleanor woman thinks I’ve lost my mind, opening the quilt shop.”

  “So what? We have to stay focused, Rita. We’re so close to getting everything we want.”

  Behind me I heard a thud. I knew George heard it too, because he moved toward the kitchen door. I ducked into the dark dining room, hoping to hide there, but it didn’t work. George walked into the room and turned on the light. I stood there, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

  “I heard a noise,” I said, hoping to distract him from the fact that he found me standing in the dark.

  He looked around the room. “I heard it too. There are a lot of strange noises in this house. I swore I heard footsteps a week before you came. Scared Rita so much I changed the locks.”

  I took the opportunity to move away from the wall where I had been hiding. When I did, I noticed something odd about the armoire. It was empty.

  “You moved the quilts,” I said.

  George walked to the cabinet and examined it so carefully it seemed as though he was looking for a needle rather than three large quilts.

  “Rita must have done something with them,” he finally said.

  He walked me back toward the stairs in a way that suggested he didn’t like me lingering on the first floor. I looked toward the phone, but there didn’t seem any chance I could use it without George listening in, so I headed back toward my room.

  When I got there, Eleanor and the others were waiting. I told them what I’d overheard, and my grandmother took it as confirmation that the Olnhausens were not to be trusted.

  “Bernie and I can go into town in the morning and make some calls,” I suggested, “if Susanne doesn’t need me in class.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Susanne said, more relaxed than she had been before. “I think most of them are in there for free. Not exactly what I’d imagined for my first quilt retreat, but I suppose it takes the pressure off.”

  “But it does beg the question,” Eleanor said. “If there weren’t people interested in taking your class, why did they go through with it? They could have canceled. Instead they’re paying you to teach a weeklong class to a group of people who don’t want to be there. Why drag you up here for no good reason?”

  “Maybe they have a good reason,” I said.

  “That’s what we have to find out,” Eleanor said, with a determination in her voice that made me remember my promise to Oliver that we would stay out of trouble. Maybe the only way to do that was to find out who George and Rita really were.

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning I waited for Bernie by the car. I watched as Helen, Frank, Susanne, and the twins each made their way into the classroom. Eleanor offered a few reminders about what information I should get, before joining Rita in the shop. Barney sniffed at the trees, and I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes late.

  Finally I saw Bernie coming from a wooded area quite a ways from the house. Behind her, Pete scrambled up to the walkway and headed into class. As she reached the car, Bernie caught my eye.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” Bernie jumped into the passenger seat.

  I shouted to Barney, who paid no attention until I grabbed him by the collar.

  “Backseat.” I pointed to the seat, and he jumped in the back; then I climbed into the driver’s seat and tried hard not to smile.

  “I suppose we could go back to the bakery you saw in town yesterday,” I
said.

  “Honestly, Nell, you get so many ideas into your head.”

  “About what? Baked goods?”

  Bernie laughed. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little sensitive. I came down early this morning. Didn’t feel like breakfast. I saw Pete walking, and we took a little stroll together.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “It’s not what you think. I wanted to grill him about Rita and George.”

  “It could be both,” I suggested.

  “Well, it isn’t.”

  “So what did you learn?”

  Bernie shifted in her seat so she could face me. “Pete said he and his wife, Siobhan, just moved into their house about six months ago. Rita and George owned the place already, but it was just sitting there empty. He didn’t know anything about Rita’s dad, but if he did own it, he must have bought it after I knew Rita, because I’m certain they didn’t have this place when we were kids.” She took a breath. “Pete said they tried to sell it once but they must not have been able to get a decent offer, because they pulled it off the market. He said there are a lot of old places for sale in this area.”

  “So maybe they need money,” I said.

  “They have to, considering the way that place looks.”

  “But they must have had money at one point,” I pointed out. “Look at the way they dress.”

  “Pete didn’t know what they’d been doing before or where they’d been living. He said they were always fuzzy about the details of their earlier lives. He said they kept to themselves until recently. Pete hadn’t even been inside the house until last night. One day last week, Rita showed up on Pete’s doorstep and suggested he take the class.”

  “They have a daughter,” I said. “Does she ever come up to visit?”

  Bernie seemed upset by that news. “He didn’t mention her.”

  “There’s some rift there, so he may not have known she existed.”

  “Pete said Rita and George aren’t getting along, but they seem okay to me.”

  “They barely speak to each other,” I pointed out. “Have you ever seen them talking or eating together?”