Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_02 by Framed in Lace Page B

Santa’s beard three different ways before deciding on French knots—there are ninety-two of them, you may count them if you like, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am that only a third of his beard is showing, because I may not ever want to do another French knot. I haven’t decided how to do the little girl’s hair yet, but it will probably be something difficult and tedious and wonderful to look at. I’m sorry”—Godwin did not sound the least sorry—“but it’s not for sale. It’s a gift for someone I love, that’s the only thing that makes it all worth while.”
    Diane turned and saw the helpless, commiserating look in Betsy’s eyes. “I see,” she said.
    â€œThat’s not to say you couldn’t have someone do a really fine embroidered or counted cross-stitch apron for you,” said Betsy. “It’s just that the price would make it the kind of apron you drape over a chair or hang on the wall as an ornament, not the sort you tie on to protect your clothing while you decorate cookies.”
    Diane smiled. “Some of my customers have kitchens with a full set of copper-bottomed pots no one is allowed to use. An apron also there strictly for show is a definite possibility.” She opened her purse. “How about I leave you my card? Perhaps you can ask some of your customers if they would be interested. They can call me or just drop by.”
    â€œCertainly,” said Betsy, taking the card. It had the crisp clean look of a new coin. NIGHTINGALE’S Enchanted Vintage for Home and Garden, it read. Diane Bolles, Proprietor . She smiled suddenly. “Maybe there will be some people interested in selling some of their projects. I have customers who complain that they just can’t stop doing needlework, even though they have a closet full of things and no room left to display any more of it.”
    â€œThey should rotate their work,” said Diane. “That way, their eyes are always refreshed by the display, instead of getting bored and not even seeing it anymore.” She had used that reasoning to increase her own sales of prints and silk bouquets.
    â€œWhat a good idea!” said Betsy. “I’ll suggest it; it makes my heart sink when a good customer starts in about having no more space.”
    â€œGood idea, certainly,” drawled Godwin, “but I think Diane just shot herself in the foot by sharing it.”
    Diane laughed. “I’ve done that before.” She looked around again. “You have really done some thinking in your layout.”
    Betsy shrugged, her eyes suddenly sad. “No, it was my sister who did this. I only inherited it.”
    Diane said, “I was very shocked when your sister died in that awful way. But I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. I’m certainly glad you were here to assist the police in solving your sister’s murder. Have you always done that kind of thing?”
    Betsy smiled. “Never before in my life. It was beginner’s luck, I assure you. And not likely to happen again.”
    â€œReally? But I understand you are involved in that skeleton business, helping the police with a major clue.”
    â€œNot really. The police brought me a photocopy of some fabric they found on the boat, and I’ve been asking my customers if they can identify it. And, as it happens, just yesterday someone did. It appears to be a sample of bobbin lace.”
    â€œOh, I saw some bobbin lace once! It was so gorgeous. May I see the photocopy?”
    Betsy indicated the Xerox copy still taped to the desk, and Diane looked only a moment before saying, puzzled, “ This is bobbin lace?”
    â€œI know, it doesn’t look like anything to me, either. But a customer assures me it is water-soaked bobbin lace.”
    â€œIt must have been soaking for a very long time.”
    â€œEver since that hot, dry Fourth of July in 1949,”