wouldn’t be Jack’s taste, but she wouldn’t mind hearing them again. She left the player and CDs on the floor in the hallway to take to the Spoonful later. It might be nice to listen to music—with or without customers. If nothing else, it would lift their spirits a little. The next box held her mother’s sewing machine and yards and yards of fabric. She carried the sewing machine to the kitchen table. There must have been projects her mother had never gotten around to, but perhaps she could use this fabric to make curtains for the apartment. She smiled, hearing her mother’s words in her head.
I just knew this would come in handy.
She lifted out the various folds of material and carried them to the bed. One was a white and blue plaid fabric, mostly white with a thin dark blue plaid pattern—perfect for curtains for the kitchen window. She measured it, stretching her arm out and holding an edge to her chest—about four yards, just right for café curtains. Another was a muted floral print in rose tones with a chinoiserie feel to it, as though copied from an oriental print. The bedroom, she thought. She quickly measured and refolded it—more than enough for bedroom drapes and even pillow covers. For the first time since she had returned home, she looked forward to creating something new that would help her feel she belonged. What could be better than using fabric her mother had chosen?
She quickly checked the clock. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to find something at the sisters’ shop and then get to work. She refolded all the fabric and carried it to the linen closet. Running her hands over the cloth, she held it to her face, relishing the aroma and imagining her mother’s hands caressing it as she picked it out.
T HE SISTERS WERE sitting on stools behind the glass display case when she arrived. Cecily waved. “Oh, it’s Lucky! Come on in, dear. We were just talking about you.”
“I hope it was all good.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course it was,” Cecily replied, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry we haven’t been in lately.”
“I noticed. I was hoping you’d come back and break the evil spell. We’ve opened every day since the murder, but no one seems to want to come near us. And of course, now with Sage…”
“Ooooh, we heard. That’s just terrible. Do you think…?”
Lucky was sure what the unspoken question was, and she stated emphatically, “No. I do
not
think Sage is guilty. Quite the opposite, and I’m going to try to do everything possible to get him out of this situation and back to the Spoonful. We’d fall apart without him.”
Marjorie looked at Lucky over the rim of her glasses. “You seem very sure.”
“I am. I really am. I think Nate jumped the gun. And I think the murderer is still out there somewhere.”
“Well, dear, I certainly hope you’re right—about his innocence, that is.” Marjorie’s words held a dubious tone. “But I don’t like the idea of a murderer being among us. Even if Sage is innocent, who do you think killed that awful woman?”
“Everyone around seems to have taken a great interest in her. Janie and Meg said they’ve seen her with one of the ski instructors up at the Lodge.”
“Oh yes,” Cecily said. The sisters nodded in unison. “I’m sure that’s true. And I don’t think she was ungenerous with her favors, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s just it. Who else was she seeing?”
“Well,” Cecily said breathlessly, “we all know about the double order on Tuesdays.”
“What’s the significance of Tuesday, do you think?”
“Someone who could only get away one night a week?Someone who had to make excuses. Perhaps a married man?” Marjorie sniffed.
Cecily replied, “What a scandal that would be if it came out.”
Marjorie cast a withering look at her sister. “Enough of that dreadful subject. That’s all anyone can talk about, it seems.” She rearranged her face and smiled at Lucky. “We’re so glad
I just knew this would come in handy.
She lifted out the various folds of material and carried them to the bed. One was a white and blue plaid fabric, mostly white with a thin dark blue plaid pattern—perfect for curtains for the kitchen window. She measured it, stretching her arm out and holding an edge to her chest—about four yards, just right for café curtains. Another was a muted floral print in rose tones with a chinoiserie feel to it, as though copied from an oriental print. The bedroom, she thought. She quickly measured and refolded it—more than enough for bedroom drapes and even pillow covers. For the first time since she had returned home, she looked forward to creating something new that would help her feel she belonged. What could be better than using fabric her mother had chosen?
She quickly checked the clock. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to find something at the sisters’ shop and then get to work. She refolded all the fabric and carried it to the linen closet. Running her hands over the cloth, she held it to her face, relishing the aroma and imagining her mother’s hands caressing it as she picked it out.
T HE SISTERS WERE sitting on stools behind the glass display case when she arrived. Cecily waved. “Oh, it’s Lucky! Come on in, dear. We were just talking about you.”
“I hope it was all good.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course it was,” Cecily replied, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry we haven’t been in lately.”
“I noticed. I was hoping you’d come back and break the evil spell. We’ve opened every day since the murder, but no one seems to want to come near us. And of course, now with Sage…”
“Ooooh, we heard. That’s just terrible. Do you think…?”
Lucky was sure what the unspoken question was, and she stated emphatically, “No. I do
not
think Sage is guilty. Quite the opposite, and I’m going to try to do everything possible to get him out of this situation and back to the Spoonful. We’d fall apart without him.”
Marjorie looked at Lucky over the rim of her glasses. “You seem very sure.”
“I am. I really am. I think Nate jumped the gun. And I think the murderer is still out there somewhere.”
“Well, dear, I certainly hope you’re right—about his innocence, that is.” Marjorie’s words held a dubious tone. “But I don’t like the idea of a murderer being among us. Even if Sage is innocent, who do you think killed that awful woman?”
“Everyone around seems to have taken a great interest in her. Janie and Meg said they’ve seen her with one of the ski instructors up at the Lodge.”
“Oh yes,” Cecily said. The sisters nodded in unison. “I’m sure that’s true. And I don’t think she was ungenerous with her favors, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s just it. Who else was she seeing?”
“Well,” Cecily said breathlessly, “we all know about the double order on Tuesdays.”
“What’s the significance of Tuesday, do you think?”
“Someone who could only get away one night a week?Someone who had to make excuses. Perhaps a married man?” Marjorie sniffed.
Cecily replied, “What a scandal that would be if it came out.”
Marjorie cast a withering look at her sister. “Enough of that dreadful subject. That’s all anyone can talk about, it seems.” She rearranged her face and smiled at Lucky. “We’re so glad
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