Fruit Basket Upset: A Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery

by Tess Rothery

  “But what kind of information might I have?” Evelyn came around from the counter. “Asha and Miriam are both in today. Maybe we should go out and get a cup of coffee.”

  “Let’s.”

  The two women headed to Sacred Grounds; a little coffee shop run by the Methodists. All proceeds were donated to the emergency winter shelters in the county. Plus, it was the only place in town where you could get a fresh baked bagel.

  Sacred Grounds filled what had once been the Sunday school wing. There were hardly enough children on a Sunday for their own little service, but the uproar when the three classrooms had been turned to a café had been enough to split the congregation. Comfort had always been a one-church town, and the split had done a number on their little faith community.

  “I still can’t believe how many people are heading over to the old Russell place and calling it church,” Evelyn said as she settled onto the creamy yellow, vinyl chair that matched the laminate table. She’d donated it herself, and always sat there. She lowered her heavily painted eyelids, “I’ve visited a few times. You won’t believe who I’ve seen there.”

  Ingrid Quinn and Evelyn had both ordered regular old cappuccinos. “At least they’re going somewhere.” Ingrid couldn’t take another conversation about the start-up church.

  As far as she was concerned, the more Christians the merrier. What did it matter to her which building they met at? But then, growing up, her family had been a Christmas and Easter only family, so she didn’t have the same emotional ties to the old building. She sipped her coffee and considered the best way to segue to the murder. “Did Molly Kay go to that new church?”

  “She certainly didn’t go here.” Evelyn sighed. “I just hate the way this state is changing.”

  “She was such good friends with my sweet Coco. I’m worried about the girl.”

  “Coco is Ilsa’s granddaughter, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. My poor sister. They had nothing but trouble with her. I wish Lilly would have stayed with us as well, but she’s younger and everyone insisted on her finishing school back home.”

  “Sisters can have a grounding effect on each other, but not always. Perhaps it’s better for Lilly that she’s not here.”

  “Does your Asha spend much time with the girls?”

  “I hardly know her. She’s only worked for me a short while.” Evelyn stiffened.

  Ingrid set her cup down and produced her phone. It bit at her when women like Evelyn failed to open up to the younger generation. Who did she think would be there for her young staff if not her? One of Ingrid’s great regrets in life was retiring from the college. So many young artists graduating from that school without an ounce of common sense or someone to turn to in times of trouble. If she could be Grandma Quinny to the whole town, she would.

  “Anyhow,” Evelyn continued, “Molly Kay worked at the grade school and Asha works during the day at the Yarnery, so if they did talk, I wouldn’t know about it.”

  “I understand.”

  “Ingrid, Evelyn.” Sissy Dorney pushed her way through the little door of the café. “Glad I caught you here.”

  “Please, join us.” Ingrid stiffened. Far be it from her to say she disliked a woman, but if ever she did, it was this one.

  Sissy sat. “I saw Taylor walking down Main Street with that journalist. You’re not going to let him haunt her again, are you?”

  “Taylor is a grown woman.” Ingrid tilted her chin up.

  Sissy laughed, the sound filling the room and making little Mrs. Sylvester, who was having coffee with Boggy Hudson, turn her head. “If she weren’t, I hardly think Graham Dawson would keep coming back.”

  “If I recall,” Ingrid’s voice was icy, “Dawson was meeting you at midnight, the night Taylor found you and got shot.”

  “Which is why I feel obligated to help keep her safe. So, what are you doing about Dawson? You’re not having him stay with you, I’d hope.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Ingrid gripped the leather strap of her handbag. “I can hardly keep Taylor at our house, much less her friends.”

  “Good.” Sissy stood up. “The less welcome he feels in this town, the better.”

  “Sissy,” the barista called her name, and Sissy went to the counter to collect her paper cup of coffee before she left.

  “Sit, sit.” Evelyn patted the table. “Don’t let her get to you.” Evelyn’s smile had a twinkle. “She really means no harm.”

  Ingrid Quinn scrunched her mouth. If she recalled correctly from all that work they’d done on that family tree, Evelyn was a second cousin to Sissy. Or maybe it was to Sissy’s mom. Either way, she was obliged to stand up for the woman.

  “I was so hoping you’d know something more about poor Molly.”

  Evelyn shook her head, then leaned forward. “I don’t, but of all things, do you know who does?”

  Ingrid lifted an eyebrow.

  “My brother-in-law, Robert Jessup, the old dog!”

  Ingrid forced a smile. The old dog indeed. If he was one of Coco’s…friends, then Evelyn had no idea.

  Chapter Four

  Taylor stared at Graham just standing there in the doorway, casually handsome in his corduroy jacket, baggy jeans, worn, brown, leather shoes, and floppy hair. Every time she saw him, it was the same. Sparks. Shivers. Raw attraction. Maybe it was true and he was just “her type”. Or maybe there was such a thing as a soul mate. She didn’t know. She just knew that she was so happy to see him, it was almost embarrassing.

  “Sorry it’s so early.” He offered a sheepish grin. “Glad you’re up. Breakfast?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He drove them to town and parked behind her shop. They walked down to Reubens. The day was bright and almost warm. She never trusted those bright cheerful days during a murder investigation. It felt rude. Oregon, November through June, was supposed to provide gray soporific days. Those sunny days that February were known for were usually a welcome change, but not now. Not in March when there’d been a murder.

  “I saw your article online, already.” Taylor tucked her hands in her pockets as they walked. She had the overwhelming urge to reach for his hand and intertwine their fingers, but he wasn’t her boyfriend.

  “Good. Glad to hear it. It was just bare bones, though, so I’m hoping you can fill me in on the important details.”

  “Sure.”

  They walked slowly, letting the sun warm their faces as she considered where to start on the story. She wanted to impress him with her insider knowledge, but so far, she didn’t know anything. Fortunately, her phone rang before she had to decide what to say.

  It had taken two days for Hudson to return Taylor’s call, and when he did, he only had one thing on his mind: the article Graham Dawson had written about the murder of Molly Kay.

  “I cannot believe what I read yesterday. I can’t. Do you have any idea how damaging this could be?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Taylor paused and let Graham walk a few steps ahead of her.

  “The article your friend wrote. About Molly Kay.”

  “I did get that much. But what do you think was damaging? It hardly said anything. Nobody knows anything yet.”

  “It’s not what he literally said. It’s what he implied.”

  Taylor wrinkled her nose and looked at the writer in question. He was looking at his own phone. Calm and collected. As far as she remembered, the article was just the facts as known so far. Young woman found dead on farm in small town.

  “For one thing, he didn’t need to print her name.”

  “She’s a murder victim. Her family had already been notified.” Taylor was assuming, but why wouldn’t they have been? “She deserves to be remembered.”

  “But not as a victim. She deserved better than that.”

  “Are you mad because the article exists or because Graham wrote it? Someone was going to.”

  “You can’t think that man’s good for you.” Hudson switched suddenly, reproving sti
ll, but less angry. He’d dropped to a lower note—what Taylor had come to think of as his “seductive” tone. She was glad she couldn’t see him; imagining him lowering his eyelids so he could look at her through his thick lashes was annoying enough. She’d have wanted to punch him in the nose if she could see him.

  “I know you’re thinking of last fall and not of this article. But you can’t possibly blame him for the actions of a serial killer.” More than a few of her evening’s out with Hudson had been derailed by this same argument. He just couldn’t help bringing up her injuries. It wasn’t that she was completely over it herself, but she certainly didn’t blame Graham.

  “He encouraged you to go after that man.” The sound of birds in the distance meant he’d gone outside. Nature was loud in Montana.

  “How did discouraging me from doing what I thought was right work out for you?” She stepped a few feet away from Graham. He didn’t need to hear all of this. And she wanted to be able to yell at Hudson.

  “An alcoholic shouldn’t date a bartender.”

  “Repeat that but listen to yourself this time.” She wanted to hang up on him but couldn’t. Not till she found out what he knew about the victim.

  “Just because you don’t like the way it sounds, doesn’t mean I’m wrong. You like that man because he encourages your dangerous behavior. Reckless. He doesn’t actually care about you. When I love something, I want to keep it safe.”

  “Something?”

  “Don’t nitpick. You know what I mean.”

  “People aren’t possessions. They aren’t meant to ‘be kept safe.’ And anyway, how safe is your life out there? You’re alone in some cabin in the wilderness. Anything could happen.” She felt a bit of fear at the thought of him getting hurt, though the idea of what might hurt him was vague.

  “It’s not bad for a man to want to keep a woman safe.” He was defensive. His words clipped.

  “Yes, it is.” She straightened up. “It’s condescending and misogynistic. It’s rude. Adults get to do dangerous things, especially if they’re doing them for the common good.”

  “If you really wanted to fight crime, you’d go into law enforcement.” He was like a dog with a bone, still gnawing at the one point.

  “And how would you have taken that one? If we were still together, would you be cool with me joining the police academy?”

  He was silent.

  She waited.

  He remained silent.

  Finally, he said, “Police work is really dangerous.”

  “Indeed. Hudson, I don’t know why I’m fighting with you. We haven’t been a couple in more than six months.”

  “You met Graham six months ago. But the last night you spent with me was much more recent than that.”

  She leaned against the brick wall of Dutch Hex. He was right. She knew who he was and why he wasn’t right for her, but she had gone to him when he called. More than once. Giving him mixed signals. Maybe it was because she was disappointed that Graham hadn’t abandoned his life in Portland for her. Or maybe it was just because she missed Hudson sometimes.

  “I never would have moved from here.” She spoke quietly, not wanting Graham to hear. This alone was enough reason for them to have broken up.

  “I know.”

  “And yet you’re still in Montana.”

  “I’m coming back for good. I miss…. home,” his voice broke.

  “I’m not going to stop trying to help when there’s trouble,” she cautioned.

  “I’m coming home. Back to Oregon. To stay.” His voice was almost too low to hear.

  Her breath caught. She liked him better far away. He didn’t tempt her with random invitations on cold, lonely nights. She didn’t know if she could live in town with him. Not if she was alone, and he was alone.

  The question she needed to ask him was somewhere just beyond reach.

  She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what it was.

  But something landed gently on her head, like a soft kiss.

  “Sorry,” Graham whispered in her ear. That minty fresh breath.

  She shivered.

  Every inch of her.

  A fission of electricity like she’d never known before, but that always came from that one voice. One scent. One man.

  He slouched next to her, and she rallied.

  “Before I let you go, your mom said you knew something about Molly Kay that I should know. My cousin Coco is…. involved in something dangerous and Molly Kay may have been as well. Your mom thought you might know why.”

  “Molly.” He spoke the name with tenderness.

  “You can trust me. This isn’t gossip. It’s to help protect the other girls that my cousin has dragged into her dangerous business.”

  He exhaled. “I needed to talk to you about this a while ago. I’m sorry I didn’t. I wish I was there in person.”

  “I’m here now. It’s okay. Maybe better that it’s on the phone.”

  “Molly…has a child.”

  “She’s pretty young to be a parent.” Taylor’s stomach tightened, despite her resolve to handle whatever it was he told her. Because it sure sounded like he was about to say it was his kid.

  “She only told me this Christmas. I’ve only known a couple of months.”

  Taylor’s toe tapped fast against the concrete sidewalk. She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t control it. This shouldn’t hurt because Hudson wasn’t hers, and his secrets weren’t her problem.

  “She was nineteen. I was twenty-three. We dated, but not for a long time and then she left town. She only came back this year for the job at the school.”

  “You just learned….” She closed her eyes.

  Another long pause. “I haven’t met him yet.”

  “A son?” Her voice cracked.

  Graham put his hand on her back.

  “Yeah. He’s four. He’s just up with Molly’s sister in McMinnville. She…she wanted to introduce me, but I was scared. And I left. I had this job lined up. It’s a big job.”

  “She might have been…involved in Coco’s scheme….” Taylor was careful with her words. She wasn’t sure how much Hudson had heard about the sugar baby business, “because she had a child to provide for.”

  “I guess.”

  “Thank you. For telling me. I didn’t. I don’t.” Her words kept forming fragments. Like her mind couldn’t complete a thought.

  “If I’d known while we were a couple, you’d have known. We’d have known together. Known him. His name’s Larry.”

  “Larry?” She tilted her head. “Larry?”

  “Yeah. From the book, um, they made the movie. Shit. What was it? Little Women.”

  “Do you mean Laurie?”

  “That’s what she wanted to call him, but no one ever did, so it’s Larry. From Laurence. He’s cute. The pictures I mean.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  They hung on the line, quiet. Graham, next to her, the gentle pressure of his hand on the small of her back providing a touchstone to reality while her mind tried to grapple with the news that shouldn’t have been news. Hudson wasn’t hers. He didn’t owe her this.

  “Thank you. I need to. I have to…”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  They ended the call.

  She stared straight ahead, not sure what to say.

  “That was a good question.” Graham’s voice was matter of fact. “It got you a big answer, didn’t it?”

  Taylor nodded.

  “Can I feed you?”

  She nodded again, and together they walked down Main Street to Reuben’s where they could shelter in a tall-backed, brown vinyl booth and warm up with something wholesome from the kitchen.

  Most of the reunion with Graham was a blur. It rankled Taylor that Hudson’s news had upended her like that. She had wanted to stare at the journalist, who was still a novelty, to sink into his dark eyes, and to glean great tips for investigating. Instead, she’d been lost in a cloud, picturing Hudson
raising a child. His child. A little guy who’d run up to him and leap into his arms. Someone he’d wrestle with and tuck into bed at night.

  Some kid that wasn’t hers.

  But it had her head spinning, and she barely noticed who she was eating with.

  When they parted, she only half registered that it would have been lovely to have a kiss goodbye.

  She was in no condition to try and interview anyone, but she headed to The Yarnery anyway.

  Asha Szkolaski was a slender young woman with the high full cheekbones and huge round eyes of a runway model. Her hair was a bright blonde, and Taylor remembered her now as a sunny toe-head from their childhood. Taylor figured Asha was a little more than five years younger, but she’d been around, a cute toddler, then a slim, tall youth. Too old to be friends with Belle, too young for Taylor to spend time with her. Yet again, Taylor was wishing she’d spent at least a little time babysitting the other kids in town. It would have been immensely helpful in these investigations.

  The Yarnery was quiet. Two older women were in a far corner crocheting something large and laughing gently. Though Comfort was a quilt town, in Taylor’s opinion, there were definitely devotees of the other fiber arts. “Asha?” Taylor stepped to the register and addressed the cashier she’d come to see.

  “Yes?” Asha looked vaguely at Taylor as though she didn’t recognize her.

  “Do you have a moment to talk?”

  Asha shook her head. “No. My boss left for coffee with a friend.”

  “Ah. Um…. My name is Taylor, and I was hoping I could chat a little about Molly Kay.”

  Asha’s eyes quickly filled. “I just can’t believe she’s gone.”

  If Taylor had heard that sentence once, she’d heard it a million times, but something in Asha’s face made it sound so…real. Like Asha really didn’t believe it.

  “Do I know you?” Asha dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her sweater.

  “I don’t think we’ve met. I own Flour Sax Quilt shop. I um, I was there at my grandparent’s farm when we found Molly.”