“Ye know what!” Deydie yelled. “The new book in the Quilt to Death series.”
Sadie glanced down at the paperback in her hand and winced as if the book had burned her. But instead of dropping it, she clutched it to her chest.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Deydie barreled toward her. “Marta Dixon’s new book?” She thrust out her hand. “Give it here!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Ye know the reason I have to read every one of those books.” Deydie had a love-hate relationship with the Quilt to Death series. She loved the books…but not the author.
“I know, but you shouldn’t read this one. You’re not going to like it.”
“Hand it over.” Deydie reached for the book, but Sadie jerked away.
The lass had the audacity to take two steps back, acting as if she didn’t know Deydie owned a broom and knew how to use it on the backside of anyone who crossed her.
“I won’t give it to you,” Sadie said bravely.
“Ye American lassies can be so full of yereselves.” Deydie reached for the book again.
“Trust me.” Sadie’s sympathetic gaze said Deydie was a simpleton. “I sped read the book this morning, when it came in the post.”
“Why are ye acting strange?” Deydie looked around to see where her broom might be. “Did ye break the spine?”
“No,” Sadie said defensively.
“Did ye dog-ear the pages then?” Deydie saw her broom near one of the longarm quilting machines…all the way on the other side of the room. “If ye don’t hand it over right now…”
Sadie shook her head.
“What is it? What’s wrong with ye?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.” Sadie looked side to side as if someone else in the empty room might explain what was going on. “It’s the book.”
“What makes ye think I’m not going to like it? Spit it out!”
Sadie glanced down once more, staring at the book as if an awful secret lay inside. “Are you going to get mad at me if I tell you what happens in the end?”
Deydie glowered at the lass, wanting to shake her. “Any madder than I am right now?”
“Okay. But don’t take it out on me.” Sadie reluctantly handed it over.
“Ye’ve aged me another year,” Deydie grumbled. “Ye’re acting as if someone died or something.” She thumbed through the pages and grinned. “No quilting for me today. I’ll just spend my time with a good story.”
Sadie gently touched Deydie’s arm, getting her attention. “Someone did die.”
“Who?”
With trepidation in her creased brows, Sadie gave her a sad smile. “The Buttermilk Guild died. All of them. Ms. Dixon killed them off in the epilogue. On a ship, during a quilting cruise. They all drowned during a storm.”
Deydie glared at Sadie. “She couldn’t’ve.”
Sadie acted as if she had to hurry through the next bit. “The Detective Chief Inspector, though, went back to his fiancé in Edinburgh and got married. At least that part had a happy ending.”
“I don’t care about that mush!” Deydie’s old chest felt heavy. “Why would Marta Dixon kill off my quilters?” Dammit. “I mean, the quilters. Why would she do that? This is only the tenth book in the Quilt to Death series. I thought it would go on forever.” Deydie’s despair made her blood run hot. “I’ll take Marta Dixon to task for what she’s done. Aye, I will!”
“We aren’t the only ones who are upset,” Sadie said timidly. “I checked online. Everyone who’s read the book is complaining, too.”
Deydie smacked the paperback on the table. “I’ll tell ye what. I’ll do more than complain. When Marta Dixon shows her face in Gandiegow again…” She blew out a breath and was genuinely surprised when it wasn’t pure flames. “I’ll kill her. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll kill her!”
* * *
Glasgow, Scotland
Diana McKellen gazed around the bookshop, making sure everything was in its place—the podium, the rows of chairs, the table for signing, and the stacks of the latest Quilt to Death novels.
The only thing missing was the author and the quilt she was supposed to bring with her.
Diana couldn’t shake the feeling something dreadful was going to transpire tonight. You’re being silly. The awful thing had already happened—the killing of the Buttermilk Guild, and along with it, the series. It was a terrible way to spend her birthday week—thirty-five yesterday.
Diana knew Three Seals Publishing had hated to end the successful series and had tried to dissuade Marta from killing off the Buttermilk Guild. But Marta had stood firm and went so far as to decline an advance on the next series, taking a slightly higher royalty on the ebook. Ending the series was still a huge gamble. For months, Three Seals had been discussing, strategizing, and preparing for the backlash, knowing readers wouldn’t take the brutal end to the series lying down. And readers were already weighing in. The news of the quilters’ death had traveled fast. Initially, they’d managed to set up double the usual number of appearances for Marta’s new book, but since this afternoon, shops and quilt guilds were canceling their events at record speed. Bookstores were pulling orders. And shockingly, death threats were pouring in. Who knew quilters could be so violent?
But Diana had come prepared with a multilayered plan, and because of the cancellations this meant they were moving to plan B.
Diana looked out the bookstore window to the line, which was growing. The fans didn’t look upset, though. They smiled and chatted with one another, seeming excited. Weird.
Parker, Three Seals’ media guru from the New York office, sidled up to her, slinging her long blond hair away from her face, revealing the two cameras hanging on her shoulder—one for still photos, one for video. Parker’s name matched her fun, bubbly, and sometimes quirky personality. She was full of energy and a lot of fun to have as a business trip partner. Parker smiled brightly. “I’m shocked at the line outside, aren’t you?”
Diana shrugged, feeling befuddled herself. “Either they’re loyal, die-hard fans or they haven’t heard the news yet.” She tilted her head in the direction of the store owner. “I had to do some fancy footwork with that one to keep her from calling off the book signing.”
Parker checked the lens on one of her cameras. “I think she would be ecstatic to have the extra foot traffic.”
“She didn’t want to deal with unhappy customers…and possible returns. I don’t blame her.”
“It’s amazing the publishing house was able to keep this under wraps.”
“I know. News like this usually leaks out.”
Parker nudged her. “You know what people are calling you, right?”
“The Fixer.” Diana had heard it before. Over the years, she’d earned the Fixer name by fixing authors’ faux pas and embarrassing behavior. But this time they were expecting a PR miracle. Sometimes there was no recovering from a book-idea-gone-wrong, like when Helen Fielding had killed off Mr. Darcy in her Bridget Jones series. Sometimes, readership was lost. But Diana was going to do her best to make sure the last Quilt to Death novel didn’t crash and burn. She herself was a fan of the Buttermilk Guild and didn’t want the memory of them to turn into ash.
Parker looked at her expectantly. “So…what’s the plan this time?”
Actually the plan was complicated with contingencies A, B, and C. But Diana wouldn’t bore Parker with the details. “One of the things Marta needs to do is the usual on-camera interviews to explain why the series ended the way it did.”
Parker grimaced. “Why didn’t she just have the Buttermilk Guild ride off into the sunset? I love those old gals.”
“I love them, too,” Diana commiserated.
The back door opened and Marta—tall and straight—strutted in, wearing her signature white winter suit, offset by her blood-red scarf. The woman certainly had presence.
“I’m here,” Marta sang.
Tilly, a smidge taller than Marta, and the mousy one of the two, came in
after her, holding the latest quilt in her arms. Rance followed behind them.
Diana glanced at her watch. Marta had cut it close. There were things that still needed to be done—like hanging the quilt behind the signing table. More importantly, Diana needed to speak with Marta before the event started.
Diana walked over to her and handed her the itinerary. “Nearly everything is ready. We’ll have you wait in the back, while we open the doors and get as many in as will fit.”
Marta motioned to her sister. “Tilly, make sure my table is set up properly.”
As if shell-shocked, Tilly stared at the two ceiling-high vertical banners of the dark and ominous book cover looming on either side of the signing table. This cover design screamed that inside was a serious departure from the other books. The previous Quilt to Death novels had playful watercolor drawings on the covers, making murder-solved-by-amateur-sleuths look like a fun read.
But not this one.
“The cover looks even worse blown up like that,” Tilly whispered.
“Tilly!” Marta yelled. “What’s wrong with you?”
Tilly didn’t budge.
Marta marched over and yanked the quilt out of Tilly’s arms and thrust it at Parker. “Here.”
Parker looked a bit stunned, as if she’d been put in charge of a baby bear.
“I’ll take it,” Diana said. The bookstore owner rushed over and retrieved it from her.
Marta glared at her sister. “You’re useless tonight.”
So the rumors about Marta Dixon were true; she treated her sister like crap. Diana had only met her at one meeting and she’d seemed charismatic then. But now, the whole room was filled with awkward tension. The bookstore owner bit her lip and busied herself with hanging the quilt behind the book signing table. As the whimsical quilt unfolded, Diana saw a rook appear in the center, surrounded by bright stars and a few small rooks thrown in around the edges.
Rance stepped forward and draped an arm around Marta. “I’ll make sure your table is set up. I know how you like it.” The sexual overtone made the situation even more uncomfortable.
The few interactions Diana had had with Rance confirmed her initial reaction to the man. She didn’t care for him at all. But by the way Marta was beaming at him, apparently, she did.
Diana touched Marta’s arm. “We should talk first, before everything begins.”
Marta pulled away. “About what? I’ve done thousands of these events. You can’t tell me anything that I don’t already know.”
“I’m afraid this one will be different. You should be prepared. Because you killed off the Buttermilk Guild—.”
Tilly gasped, and all color from her face drained away. “What? The Buttermilk Guild is dead?”
“You didn’t know?” That’s strange, Diana thought.
Tilly hung her head and shook it slightly.
How could she not know this important detail! Tilly was Marta’s assistant, and one would assume she had read the book before it went to print.
Tilly appeared stricken, absolutely devastated. Diana was torn, because the clock was ticking. “Do you need to sit down? You don’t look well.” Diana’s PR brain went to the worst-case scenario and it wasn’t pretty. There would be a huge mess if an ambulance had to be called to carry Tilly away.
“She’s fine,” Marta insisted.
Diana didn’t think so. “Parker, can you find Tilly some water?”
“Sure, boss.”
Diana welcomed boss now over the Fixer, as she wasn’t sure she could fix anything right now. “Marta, there’s going to be some backlash—” Diana would have to be careful here with her words, for Tilly’s sake “—because of the conclusion to your new book.”
But Marta was half-distracted. “Poppycock.” She glanced down at her scarf and adjusted it. “You’re making too much of this Buttermilk Guild thing. The readers are going to be fine with it.”
Rance echoed her sentiment. “No one is going to care about the demise of those old biddies.”
Tilly gasped and gawped at Rance as if he’d said that he’d killed the Buttermilk Guild himself.
Diana turned to Rance. The man was oblivious to what this could do to Marta Dixon’s sales. Had he not been in touch with Three Seals today? But Diana couldn’t worry about Rance’s grasp of reality right now. She had to get through to Marta. “Please listen to me.” She gave her a pointed look and held her gaze. “You’ve been getting death threats since the book came out today.”
That got the self-absorbed author’s attention. She glanced around nervously. “Death threats? Well, I need protection! Three Seals had better get me a bodyguard.”
“I’ll protect you,” Rance said.
Marta glared at him. “This was your idea. You said I should kill off the quilters. That it would make things more interesting. Edgier.”
Rance put his arms out. “Listen, baby, don’t worry about a thing. You wanted to get away from that soft writing anyway, and into true crime. Didn’t I get you a four-book contract—”
There was a thud. Diana turned, worried it might be Tilly hitting the floor, but it was only Tilly’s bag. Surely she wasn’t just finding out about Marta’s new book deal!
Rance went on. “It’s all going to work out fine. It’s gonna be great. You’ll see.”
Marta shook her head and spun on Diana. “Get me a bodyguard. Tonight!”
“I’ll work on it.”
Marta glared at Tilly. “What are you doing just standing there? Make sure my table is right. You’re my assistant, aren’t you?”
Though Tilly looked like death, she obediently went to the table and began shifting the books—giving Marta extra room, laying out a packet of tissues, a bottle of water and a few lozenges.
Rance took Marta by the arm, and with the bookseller on the other side of her, ushered Marta to the back room to wait. As Parker tested the lighting one more time with her meter, Diana checked her watch again and headed toward the front door.
Once there, she stepped outside. “Is everyone ready?” she yelled to the crowd.
A resounding “aye” rose up.
She held the door wide as the fans crowded in. Some had canvas tote bags filled with Quilt to Death novels and quilts. “Remember, Ms. Dixon can only sign two outside items, plus an unlimited number of in-store purchases.” One of the store clerks stood just inside the door and marked outside items with a sticker. The tension of the day eased away as fans flocked to the mystery shelves to buy more books about the Buttermilk Guild.
“Take your seats as soon as you can so we can get started.” Both cash registers were dinging and Diana smiled. Her worry had been for nothing.
The chairs filled quickly and people filed along the back of the store, three deep. Diana nodded to the store owner. “It’s time.”
A moment later, Marta strutted out to applause, going straight to the podium. A line had already formed at the microphone for the question and answer portion.
“Welcome, everyone,” Marta started, all confidence. “I love seeing my adoring readers and I have great news to share with you, my darlings. I’m starting a new series.”
The crowd oo’ed and ah’ed.
“It’ll be something a little different. Starting tomorrow, I’ll post hints and sneak peeks on my website but tonight, how about I read the first chapter of my new book?”
Everyone seemed to lean in as Marta read. She had a great Scottish accent for each member of the Buttermilk Guild. She really did know how to hold an audience and keep them on the edge of their seats.
When Marta was done, she closed the book and flourished a hand in the air. “Let’s open it up for questions now.”
Diana reached over and turned on the microphone for the people in line.
The first woman stepped up, holding a miniature milk can with Buttermilk Guild plastered on the side in blue letters—a promotional giveaway for the previous book. She leaned into the microphone. “Your new book came in the morning post and I read it f
irst thing.”
Marta took the microphone from the podium and stepped closer to the woman, beaming, as if the woman had just complimented her newborn. “And how did you like it?”
The woman’s expression turned hard and ugly. “What made you think you could get away with murdering the Buttermilk Guild?”
Before her words could register with Diana, the angry woman ripped the lid off the milk can and threw the contents at Marta. Blood! It went everywhere, but mainly it hit Marta in the face. Her white suit soaked up a good portion of it, too, as if it’d been thirsty.
The crowd went crazy.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Marta yelled.
But the woman had fled and was almost to the door. Everyone must’ve been in shock, because no one stopped her as she tore out into the night.
Diana was mobbed by people who’d gotten splattered. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Parker, her video camera held up, the recording light on. Good girl. Hopefully, she’d gotten some footage that would help the authorities capture the milk-can-carrying woman.
“I’m going to kill that bitch!” Marta shouted into the microphone.
The crowd went silent, stunned at seeing the real Marta Dixon for the first time.
Diana rushed to her, taking the microphone away.
“I told you I need a bodyguard!” Marta screeched.
Diana tried to push her toward the back room.
“Three Seals is going to pay. Do you hear me?” Marta howled. “Where’s Tilly? I need someone to clean me up.”
The young store clerk ran toward her with paper towels, unrolling sheets as she came.
Instead of being grateful and thanking her, Marta barked, “Give me those!” She snatched the paper towels and scrubbed her face without a kind word to the young woman.
Up close, Diana realized it wasn’t blood at all. It was too thin. Was it dye? She looked over to see the store owner on the phone and assumed she was talking with the police.
“Excuse me.” An old lady touched Diana’s arm. “Are you in charge here?”
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