Tie Died

by Carol Dean Jones

  Charles looked down at the two. He looked at Sarah and calmly asked, “Do you think Barney will kill him?”

  “I don’t know, Charles. He didn’t the last time,” she said smiling. They let Andy cool his heels for a while, lying very still under Barney. Finally, Sarah said, “Charles. This is Andy Burgess. He’s not dead. His brother is dead—his twin brother. That’s why we thought it was Andy.”

  “He was just telling me what happened when you came in. I hope you won’t hold it against him that he pulled a knife on you. He threatened my life, too, but he apologized.” She was clearly making light of the situation, trying to defuse the tension. “Let’s let him get on with his story.” Charles reluctantly agreed but didn’t find the situation at all amusing.

  “It’s okay, Barney. Let him up,” Sarah said. Barney slowly moved off of Andy but growled whenever Andy made a move. “Come over here, Barney.” He reluctantly moved to her side, still watching Andy’s every move.

  “You can get up, Andy, but do it slowly,” Sarah said. “Sit back down, and I would appreciate it if you would apologize to my friend. He can be a big help to us in figuring out what to do next.”

  “Sorry, man. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Andy hung his head. Charles was not moved by the apology but gave a short nod.

  While Andy sat with his head hanging, Sarah caught Charles up on everything that had happened so far. She saw anger in his eyes when she talked about coming in to find him in the house. She touched his leg gently with her foot to get his attention and shook her head almost imperceptibly. He understood.

  “Okay, Andy, please go on,” Sarah said gently. “Your brother was ransacking your house and yelling about the quilt. He told you he wanted it because of a key that might be in it that may or may not lead to your grandfather’s fortune.”

  “Well ... maybe not a fortune,” Andy admitted. “I actually don’t know how much is involved, but for George to get so crazy I figured it was a sizable amount.”

  “So what happened to your brother?” Charles asked, trying to sound patient. “What was his name again?”

  “George. George Burgess,” Andy said. “He was no good. We never got along and fought all the time as kids. He fought with everybody—ended up in jail three or four times ‘til he finally got life for killing a guy in a bar. I guess he got out somehow. Anyway, we started fighting, and we were both seeing red. We slammed each other all over the room. In the end, he fell and didn’t get up. I looked, and there was blood everywhere. His head hit on something—the edge of the fireplace, I guess.”

  “Was he dead?” Charles asked.

  “Yeah, man. He was totally dead.” Andy lowered his head, and tears began to run down his cheeks. He spoke softly, “He was my brother, and no matter how bad a guy he was, he was still my brother, and I killed him.”

  Everyone was quiet for a while. Andy reached for a napkin and wiped his face. With his head lowered, he glanced up at Charles, looking embarrassed.

  “What did you do next?” Charles asked.

  “I got in his car,” Andy said, “and shot out of here like a madman.”

  “The white car,” Sarah said softly. “That was Andy leaving.” Then she remembered the white car on the tape coming into the Village. “... and that wasn’t Andy testing someone’s car,” she added enthusiastically. “That was Andy’s brother pretending to be Andy so he could drive into the Village.”

  Charles, determined not to be sidetracked by Sarah’s epiphany about the white car, said to Andy, “And then?”

  “And then I did the stupidest thing there was to do,” Andy continued. “I continued to run because I was scared. I drove south until I got to my friends’ house in Orlando.”

  “Then my sister called.” He continued. “I nearly had a stroke when they answered the phone, and it was her. I thought she had found me, but it turned out she was calling to tell my friends I was dead. I grabbed the phone and hung up before they had a chance to tell her any different.”

  “That’s when I found out that you folks thought that was me lying there. It was a strange feeling. I wasn’t wanted for murder—I was dead.”

  “What about the fingerprints?” Charles asked, but of course no one in the room knew the answer to that question. “What did you do next?” Charles asked, deciding to put the question of the fingerprints aside.

  “I stayed with them for a couple of months. We drank and played cards. I tried to put it all out of my mind.”

  “But then one day I told them what happened—the whole story. We talked about it, and it seemed like the right thing to do was to come up here and get the quilt, get the money, and leave the country. Partly it was the alcohol scrambling my brain. I’m not used to drinkin’ anymore. Anyway, I sobered up and headed back here.”

  “But now that I’m here ...” He continued contritely, “It just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do anymore. I should have stayed in the first place and faced the music.” Andy raised his head and looked directly at Charles. “Maybe that’s what I should do now.”

  Charles was quiet for a while. Then he said, choosing his words carefully, “Well, Andy. It was an accident. And as an accident, you probably would have gotten off at the time. But now I don’t know. You left the scene. I don’t know ...”

  Charles seemed to be drawing out his words, killing time. Sarah wondered what he was doing. Charles continued speaking slowly, “You’re right that you need to face up to what you did, but it doesn’t sound to me like you killed him purposely. But you did run.” He looked upward, appearing to be thinking, then added, “You could be charged with involuntary manslaughter, I suppose. But since you ran, well that could raise it to a felony I guess.” Charles continued to speak slowly and deliberately. “You would get some time in that case. A good lawyer might get you off. But if it were me, I would rather take my chances with the law than spend the rest of my life as a fugitive ...”

  “I wouldn’t be a fugitive, would I?” Andy interjected. “Everyone thinks I’m dead.”

  “But you aren’t dead, are you?” The voice came from the doorway as a tall, impeccably dressed man with finely chiseled features stepped into the kitchen, followed by two uniformed officers.

  “Detective Gabriel,” he said, introducing himself. “And you must be the infamous Andrew Burgess. I’m pleased to find you alive,” he said with a smile. Then turning to one of the police officers behind him, he said, “Cuff him and read him his rights.”

  Charles turned to Sarah and, with a sparkle in his eye, whispered, “I get chills every time I hear those words.”

  Sarah didn’t find it amusing and was upset with everyone. She gave Charles an irritated look for calling Gabriel, but immediately her face softened because she knew he had done the right thing.

  She told Andy she was sorry it ended this way and assured him that she and Charles would do everything they could to help him.

  Andy said he was glad to get it over with. Sarah could tell that he meant it.

  For the first time that night, she could see the old Andy in his eyes. She gave him a hug and whispered in his ear, “I’ll keep the quilt for you.”

  He smiled and winked.

  As the officers led Andy from the room, the telephone rang.

  “What the Sam Hill is going on over there?” Sophie yelled. “What are all those cop cars doing out front?”

  “Get over here, Sophie. Do I ever have a story for you.”

  TIE DIED

  See full quilt on back cover.

  Sarah Miller plans to make a remembrance quilt from her husband’s ties for their daughter, Martha. Make this 45½? x 45½? quilt for someone special in your life.

  MATERIALS

  Silk ties: 20-25 in assorted colors

  Accent fabric: 1¼ yards (¾ yard for sashing, ½ yard for binding)

  Foundation paper, such as Carol Doak’s Foundation Paper (by C&T Publishing): 32 pieces

  Backing: 3 yards

  Batting: 53˝ x 53˝
/>   Project Instructions

  Seam allowances are ¼?. WOF = width of fabric.

  MAKE THE BLOCKS

  Tip || A damp pressing cloth between the silk ties and your iron will prevent damage to the silk and help remove set-in wrinkles.

  Tip || A short stitch length throughout (15–20 per inch) will keep your stitches secure when removing the foundation paper.

  1.Use masking tape to join 2 sheets of foundation paper. Trim to 10½˝ × 10½˝. Make 16.

  2.Remove the stitching from the back of the ties. Open them and iron flat.

  3.Place a tie, right side up, across the diagonal center of a foundation-paper square.

  4.Pin another tie, right side down, on top of the first tie, matching the long edges.

  5.Sew along the matched long edge through the ties and the paper. Press. Trim along the edges of the foundation paper.

  6.Repeat Steps 4 and 5 until the foundation paper is completely covered. Trim block to 10˝ × 10˝. Make 16 blocks.

  MAKE THE SASHING

  1.Cut 11 strips of sashing, each 2˝ × WOF.

  2.Sew 6 strips together at the narrow ends. Press. Trim 5 long sashing strips, each 2˝ × 46˝.

  3.From the remaining 5 strips, cut 20 short sashing strips, each 2˝ × 10˝.

  ASSEMBLE AND FINISH THE QUILT

  1.Sew 4 blocks and 5 short sashing strips into each row. Press.

  2.Sew together 4 rows and 5 long sashing strips. Press.

  3.Remove the foundation paper from the back of the blocks.

  4.Layer the pieced top with the batting and backing. Quilt and bind as desired.

  Turn the page for a preview of the next book in A Quilting Cozy series.

  Preview of Running Stitches

  There was no trial. Andy agreed to a plea bargain and was sentenced to five years in the local minimum-security prison farm. It was clear to everyone that Andy was no criminal. He killed his brother in the equivalent of a bar fight, which took place in Andy’s living room. George had burst in, belligerent and angry, and they’d fought as they had since they were young boys.

  It was an accident, and Andy probably wouldn’t have been charged if he hadn’t left town. But he returned home and was arrested. Andy was sorry about killing his brother, but he was mostly sorry that they’d never resolved their differences. He missed his brother, or maybe he just missed the idea of a brother. Andy was a kind and caring man.

  No one expected that Andy would escape, but that’s exactly what he did.

  * * * * *

  “It’s spectacular!” Sarah exclaimed as Ruth and her daughter Katie hung the quilt behind the cash register. “I’ve never seen a quilt like that! What’s it called?” Sarah was a new quilter and had limited exposure to the world of quilts.

  “This is called a sampler. We used fabrics from the Civil War–reproduction collection and these are all blocks that were popular during the mid-1800s,” Ruth explained.

  Katie spoke up saying, “It’s possible that some of these blocks were used by the Underground Railroad as secret codes to communicate with runaway slaves.”

  “Fascinating!” Sarah said. “I’d love to know more about that.”

  “We’ll be talking about all this in our next class,” Ruth responded. “In fact,” she added as she stood back and admired the quilt, “this would be a good quilt for you to make, Sarah, since you would learn all these different techniques.”

  “I love it,” Sarah exclaimed.

  Ruth Weaver owned Running Stitches, or as her customers fondly called it, Stitches. Ruth and Katie, her twenty-year-old daughter, provided a wide range of high-end quilting fabrics, all the necessary tools and implements, and an endless supply of books and patterns. The walls of the shop were covered with quilts made primarily by Katie who, along with her mother, taught classes for both the advanced quilter and those with nothing more than a desire to learn.

  Sarah had been in that last category. After her husband died, she had saved his ties, hoping to use them to make a quilt for her daughter, Martha. Unfortunately, Sarah had no idea where to start and came to Stitches as a novice. Ruth and Katie had patiently guided her through the fundamentals and, as a result, Sarah had become quite proficient.

  “Wouldn’t this be too advanced for me?” Sarah asked.

  “No. I’m calling this an advanced class, but I’ll be teaching the simplest blocks first and, by the time we get to the more difficult blocks, you’ll be ready.”

  Sarah examined the quilt more closely. “I bought many of these fabrics for the quilt I was planning for Charles.”

  “Have you used those fabrics yet?” Ruth asked.

  “No,” Sarah responded, thinking about the quilt she was planning to make for her friend, Charles. “Maybe I’ll sign up for this class and make this one for him instead. It’s historical, and I think he would like that.”

  Sarah and Charles had met many years before she moved to Cunningham Village; he was the policeman who came to her door almost twenty years ago to inform her of the accident that had taken the life of her husband, Jonathan. Despite the anguish of that day, the kindness of this gentle man stood out. After she moved to the Village, they met again. He was retired, as was she, and both were starting a new chapter of their lives.

  “He’s smitten,” her feisty friend, Sophie, had said the day she met him. Sarah was not at all ready for smitten and tried hard not to give Charles any encouragement. But she liked him and he’d become a very special friend.

  Sarah had moved to Cunningham Village the previous year at the insistence of her daughter, Martha, and against her own better judgment. But as it turned out, Martha was absolutely right.

  Cunningham Village was a retirement community with independent villas, a center with all the recreational and educational services a person could want, and a continuing care component, which was available to seniors who needed more care.

  That was Sarah’s original objection—the concept of a retirement village made her feel old. Or maybe, in her late sixties, it was just a reminder that old was a state rapidly approaching. But once she made the move, got to know her neighbors, and got involved in the activities, she quickly adjusted to her new life. Quilting had become an essential part of that new life.

  After signing up for the class and buying a few more fabrics from Ruth’s Civil War collection, Sarah drove home, again turning her thoughts to Charles. They were clearly becoming close, but she wasn’t sure just where she wanted it to go. But, wherever it was headed, she knew she wanted it to go there slowly.

  Jonathan had been her first and only love and, for some reason she couldn’t explain, her growing relationship with Charles was causing her to feel disloyal to Jon’s memory. She felt that Charles would understand. He had lost his wife many years ago and still looked wistful when he talked about her.

  All of Sarah’s concerns vanished when she opened her front door and was met by the enthusiasm and love of her precious dog, Barney. Barney ran in circles and snuggled in close to her with every muscle trembling in an attempt to keep from jumping up on her. “Good boy, Barney!” She told him, appreciating his effort. “Let’s go for a walk.” Barney ran to the hook and tugged on his leash, dragging it to her and dropping it at her feet. “Good boy,” she repeated, clapping her hands. Barney smiled.

  Sarah adopted Barney from the local Humane Society the previous year. There had been a murder on her block, and she originally wanted him for protection, but they’d become fast friends. He was a medium-size dog of no particular, recognizable breed. He had big brown eyes, almost the color of his coat. He was ever so slightly cross-eyed. He had a long snout of a nose and rather longish whiskers that twitched when he opened his mouth. When Sarah first saw him, she thought he was undoubtedly the homeliest dog she had ever seen, but he was most certainly smiling at her. Sarah had looked at his short wagging tail, his straggly coat, and she smiled back. He looked at her with appreciation. They’d made an instant connection. She had to have him. He had to have her
.

  Together they went out into the brisk night air and strolled up the block. The homes on her block, as well as on most of the blocks in the Village, were one-story villas attached in groups of five. As she passed Andy’s empty house, she thought about the tragedy that occurred there the previous year, resulting in Andy being sentenced to a few years in prison. She was eager for the day he’d be back home. She missed her friend.

  “What’re you and that ugly dog doing out there in the middle of the night?” Sophie hollered from her door. She already had her pink elephant pajamas on and had her trench coat over her shoulders as she walked toward them.

  “I could ask the same question of you. You look like you’re ready for bed,” Sarah responded, “... and Barney’s not ugly!” she added.

  Sophie walked hurriedly toward Sarah and Barney. Sophie was a short rotund woman in her mid-seventies. She had an infectious laugh that could be heard up and down the block as she told her greatly embellished versions of the many happenings around the Village.

  Sophie was also one of the kindest people Sarah had ever met. She took newcomers under her wing and helped them with what could be a particularly traumatic experience as they moved into a retirement community. She had been Sarah’s first friend and they’d remained close. Right now, however, Sophie looked worried.

  “I need to tell you something, and it’s not good news, Sarah.”

  Sarah stopped walking and turned to meet Sophie. Barney stretched out on the sidewalk and rested his head on his front paws. “What is it, Sophie?” Sarah asked with apprehension.

  “That young policewoman called me today and asked if we’ve had any contact with Andy.”

  “We talk to him every few weeks! Did you tell her that?” Sarah asked frowning. “Why does she want to know anyway?”

  “I told her about our phone calls to the prison. That wasn’t what she wanted to know. She wanted to know if he has been around here.”